Chapter 8

True to her word, Dorothy woke Quatre up from his fitful slumber, the following morning. His eyes felt as if they were crusted over with grime and his head was spinning from the exhaustion from the previous string of events. After his vision cleared, he sat up, holding a hand to his throbbing skull. Looking up, he saw Dorothy packing away jars of powder. Braul had obviously been sent to get supplies for the journey.

"You need to get up," said Dorothy not hesitating in task. She spared him a glance at his lack of movement. "I see you're still weak. I suspected that so I arranged for two horses. You shall ride on one. If we are stopped, you will pose as my cousin. There will be guards everywhere. They know you're out there somewhere. We will take back roads." By now Quatre had finally gathered enough strength to sit up in bed; only to find he was trying desperately hard not to lose what little was in his stomach.

"Where are we going?" Dorothy paused for only a moment before continuing.

"We're going to Ezpa, it borders the Nolamdo River. When we reach the boarders we will find the Catalonia settlement. At some point or another, Quatre came to the conclusion that he should be grateful towards this woman, Dorothy, but that is as far as his feelings went. He did not need to be here anymore. But the mentioning of the wide search for him made him weary. Perhaps he could find a use for this woman, at least until he managed to find safety. All in all, he still wanted to test his limits with her. He carefully made his way to his feet and stood his full height, ignoring the dull throb in his head. He set his face in a stern expression. Dorothy had stopped to look at him. Her eyes were set in a quizzical expression.

"What if I don't want to go to Ezpa?" Quatre growled. Dorothy calmly put down a jar containing her precious powders and turned back to place her hands on her hips.

"You can't get out of here without my help. Even if you stayed here and waited them out, they'd do a sweep of the city. Maybe if you were one slave of that other group, they'd forget you eventually, but you're an ex-Patron. Don't look so shocked. I knew who you were the moment you left that carriage. The only reason why I didn't throw you back in is because I have a plan and use for you. If you choose to be difficult I will leave you here and tell the guards where you are and that you are in the city. You can't get far." Quatre felt his body tensing with every word she spoke. He was not an animal to be thrown around at will.

"What if I simply killed you? Then you wouldn't have to worry about anything!" he growled through clenched teeth. His words were suddenly cut off as small tingling sensations ran up and down his spine. His back became stiff and immobile. There was a dull glow being emitted from around his neck. It was a collar being led by a long chain to another collar around Dorothy's. Quatre felt as if he was suffocating, yet he couldn't move. Dorothy moved forward slowly, relaxed with her arms linking behind her. Her eyes were narrow as a sly smile spread across her face.

"You can't kill me." Quatre's face was turning bright red. "Last night, I had us linked. We share a soul now. If one of us goes, so does the other. Your body won't allow you to kill me."

"Witch," growled Quatre. Dorothy's eyes narrowed.

"No need for name calling. We're going to be together for a very long time. I suggest we make the effort to get along." By now, the glowing had faded away into nothing, as well as the chain. Quatre gasped and fell to the ground, his hands clenched, head hanging as sweat dripped slowly off his chin, splattering over the wood. His eyes were wide as he realized the enormity of what was happening. Suddenly, he felt a cool hand caressing his cheek. His head rose to stare into icy blue eyes. They were commanding. He felt his heart skip a beat quickly.

"Don't fight me, Quatre Rabarba Winner. There is really no point." With that said, she threw Quatre's chin rather roughly from herself. "Get up. We have a long way to go by nightfall." She steadily returned to her packing.

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Cathy's vision was blurred at first, finding that the intense aching at her side prevented any immediate movement. Trying to keep her mind off the pain, she stared at her surroundings, raising her head slightly to get a better view. With a curse, she let her head drop back down, causing her to cringe from the sudden contact of skull against stone. Letting out a small hiss of air she raised her undamaged arm to nurse her bruised head.

"I see you've finally woken up." Cathy turned her neck to try to see through the darkness, and failed eyesight still evading her. She knew who it was simply by the voice, so frigid and void of emotions. "You will begin your work in an hour." Grunting, he got up from his place on the stone floor and knocked once for the guard to let him out. As the guard fumbled for the keys Trowa turned and looked her up and down with a glacial expression. By now, she was attempting to sit up. "I wouldn't try to sit up quite yet. You'll need all the energy you can get." He turned but paused still facing the now open door. "If anyone asks, you are my wife come to assist me."

"And if I don't comply with your requests?" Trowa wavered and motioned for the guard to relock the door. It was done with some irritation. Very slowly, Trowa turned back to the ex-slave. Without a second thought, he had his hand firmly wrapped around her throat and off the ground, pinned solidly against the wall. She gasped staring down at him. She clawed at his hand, trying desperately to be released, unable to fight because of her drained state.

"You would not be foolish enough to turn down my generous offer." She was now desperately seeking air to fill her starved lungs. Just as quickly as the hold had her was she released, falling hard against the wall. Sputtering and coughing she caressed her abused throat.

"You have the privilege of living another day. I would not compromise it so quickly." When she finally recovered her voice, it was hoarse.

"Why *cough* why me?" she croaked out with difficulty. At first it seemed as if he wasn't going to answer her or that he had decided he would not hear her.

"Because you survived… as did I." Cathy's comforting over her throat ceased. Her eyes narrowed in confusion.

"I don't understand," she whispered, still weak from their last encounter.

"The man who was in charge of me did the same for me as which I have done for you."

"You were a…"

"A slave, if that is what you wish to call it. I was more precisely a rich woman's toy who displeased her so I ended up in the arena." The memory obviously still made him irritable. Cathy tucked the information away fro later examination. "Eventually, I plan to leave and pay my regards to the woman who had me branded. Until then, I will continue to take slaves from death. It is small victory on my part, but it will do for now." By the look on her face he responded to her silent question. "I have no interest in any particular slave. They are nothing to me."

"And how many 'wives' have you had then?" she said bitterly.

"Two. You are the second."

"What happened to the first one?" His face suddenly seemed even more pallid in the dim light.

"She's dead." Cathy visibly paled.

"What…"

"It is late and a guard will escort you soon to the death room. Do not put up a fight or I will allow the guards to hunt you down next time and I won't stop them from doing their own designs." The meaning was quite clear. With that said, Trowa once again prepared to leave. This time the guard was prepared and he was escorted out quickly. Trowa briefly stopped the guard.

"Make sure she is properly fed before evening vespers." The guard saluted as Trowa left, "Oh and one more thing, this disobedient woman is my wife. She is not to be touched." The guard bowed.

"Yes Master Trowa." Satisfied, Trowa turned and began his long walk back to the death room. One name echoed through his mind. 'Midii.'