Chapter 2
The courtyard was filled with the ringing sound of steel kissing steel as figures in black moved in a macabre dance across the yard. In the shadow of the old and decaying Castle Acheron, they fought with a fury and calculating appreciation for each other. Even the few people watching knew better than to come a step closer and clung to the rails instead. The courtyard had been nearly deserted for hours since the Legion left to reinforce the walls and for the past hour it had been used for fighting lessons.
One fighter, a dark haired woman with pert and small features, ducked a coming blow and her sword slithered out to parry the thrust of a dagger. She twisted her wrist, catching the hilt of the dagger in her own sword, and disarmed her opponent easily. With a wild grin, she spun up from her crouch and smacked the flat of her sword against the leather-clad back. The man she struck went to a knee and his accompanying groan made her throw her head back and laugh. She gave him another hearty smack on the rear.
"You're getting slow, old man," she taunted, spinning about on her heel and heading to the weapons rack. "I should tell Lilith that her favourite Knight is struggling to defeat a girl like me."
Her attacker suddenly sprang to his feet, silent as a panther on the prowl, and walked stealthily towards her. He paused just long enough to look her over from head to toe with almost intimate thoroughness and then cleared his throat. She turned, an axe at the ready, and gasped as he took her throat in one hand. His fingers cruelly pressed so tight that she started to choke for breath. With a twist of his sword hand, he smacked her in the temple with the butt of his sword. She went down into a heap, lying stunned in the mud with her eyes wide-open but not seeing a thing. Her chest continued to heave for breath and eventually she moaned in pain. Her attacker lifted a hand, pressed his finger to his exposed lips, and shushed her. Instantly more spiralling pain began to pulse through her but, to keep him from knowing how badly she hurt, she bit into her lower lip so sharply that she bled.
Tearing off his fencing mask, the grey-haired man nudged her with a toe.
"I'm not that old, Ruby. And you're still bad for leaving yourself wide open. One of these days you're going to get stabbed and your precious Lilith won't have her protector around," he said with a confident grin. When she didn't move, he shrugged a shoulder and headed for the hitching rail where the crowd was slowly dispersing. He tossed one of the servants his bone-hilted sword, wincing when the boy dropped it, and started to pull off his gloves.
A loud clatter of hooves caught his attention. The horse was moving at speed and that usually meant trouble in his experience. Muttering to himself, he crossed the yard to look down the causeway, and the entire time he kept slapping his gloves against his hand in a repeated motion. Thundering down the road was a large white horse, its frantic run slowing up to an easy canter as it came to the slippery cobblestones. The woman on its back was at first glance a peasant, dressed in a ragged skirt and dirty white blouse with an old red cloak flying out behind.
Cain, the First Knight of the Legion, knew better than most how deceiving that first glance was.
"You stole the horse, didn't you?" he asked the rider as the pair rounded the corner at a high-stepping trot. Cain stepped over the barely conscious Ruby and went to the weapons rack. He took his time selecting a weapon, letting his fingers caress each sharp edge, before speaking over his shoulder. "I gave you orders to steal supplies, Meg, not horses."
Flinging her cloak hood back, the woman reined in beside him and gave the stallion a pat. "But look at him, Cain. He's gorgeous. And I like to collect pretty things," Meg said with an excited smile. But for all her smile and brave words, she seemed distracted. Something that Cain noticed, especially how she frowned when she seemed to think of something that troubled her.
He watched the beast as it snorted and stamped a hoof just inches from his own foot. A trained charger by his guess and a well-bred one at that. It was no Abaddon mule. "Where'd you get him, Meg?" Cain asked as he walked around the horse. As he eyed the fine lines of the horse, he saw her shrug and knew immediately that she was about to cause problems for him. "Answer me. Now."
"Some Angel in Elysium couldn't mind his own business. I had to distract him," she said, waving a hand flippantly.
"By stealing his horse?"
Her expression was stony calm but Cain knew that something else was going on underneath that carefully worn mask. She actually seemed flustered. "No...not exactly."
Cain saw that something had disturbed his pupil and tried hard not to smile. "I think I'd rather you killed him."
"Didn't get a chance. But next time." She drew a line across her throat with a finger and made a garrotting sound. "He's mine."
"I'm sure."
With a fatherly smile, he passed the charger again while Meg slid from her horse's back. Her hands were rubbed raw from holding the reins so tight and she quickly tore up a chunk of her skirt to wrap the blisters. As she wrapped, she eyed the brunette now woozily getting to her feet.
"What happened to Ruby?" she asked. She looked at the Knight to see he was standing incredibly erect and she instinctively backed up a step.
"She forgot her lessons." Cain spun and from the weapons rack a short sword flew to his hand. In the next step he swung, just missing her wrist, and Meg jerked her hand backward. He tilted his head a little. "And it looks like you're no better."
"Damn it," Meg muttered and extended her hands. A rapier and dagger set flew to her hands and she dropped into an elegant pose, ready for him. Cain moved quickly towards her, each stride jagged yet crisp.
"I taught you better, Meg," he said, clucking his tongue to scold her.
She spun the dagger in her hand and narrowly missed being able to lift it to block the sword slicing towards her throat. Heaving the strike to the side using his own strength against him, they both heard the loud crack as the force of Cain's blow chopped a wood rail in half. Meg swallowed down a curse word when the Knight managed to smack her upside the head with his free hand.
He was still clucking his tongue at her. "I taught you better, Meg."
"I'm not a child," she pouted and tried to press an attack. He raised his sword to block the slow swing and glared down at her, his burly form intimidatingly close.
"A child moves faster than you. A child I taught from birth would know that you don't leave your enemy alive. Any of those Angels is a problem." He thrust and she parried again, the swords ringing loudly as they clashed. Cain continued with his lesson as if they were in a classroom and not fighting tooth and nail. "An enemy left alive is showing mercy. Mercy is weakness."
He shoved her back and then began to circle her, leaving Meg to watch him warily. It was his typical recitation. Even as she fought to save her own skin, Meg wondered how much of it he still believed. Cain preferred gardening at his estate to teaching anymore. Only Azazel's command had forced him from retirement and he had not been happy about that. That had been years ago and he had served loyally ever since, and Meg was a better swordsman for it. Not that she'd ever tell him that.
Suddenly, Cain swept in and pressed another attack. Meg blocked the furious volleys as best as she could and cried out when he sliced her deeply on the arm. She'd been too slow again. Frustrated, she banged her sword on the ground and then moved back into an offensive pose. The man across from her snorted and rolled his eyes.
"You're distracted," Cain observed. The bland tone of voice infuriated Meg. She'd beaten him before, when she'd gotten lucky, but he hadn't cut her like that in years. Cain knew it too. "Distracted means dead."
To prove his point, he spun under her sword and head-butted her so hard that stars swam in her vision. Meg retreated, shaking her head and cupping her bloody nose with a hand. Damn it, she was distracted. By Elysium and that damned Angel captain.
There was no way in Hell that she'd tell Cain about either.
"Thinking about the prisoner," she lied and knew she was caught the instant she finally met Cain's steely gaze. He was already opening his mouth to question her so she rushed ahead. "Do I get to torture him next?"
"You're not touching him. What is going on in that head of yours?"
"I'm not in the mood." She lowered her sword and then touched her tender, bloody nose with the back of her hand.
"Not in the mood?" Cain threw his sword onto the rack in clear disgust. "You're ill? Pregnant? Lost a limb?"
"Oh please. I don't get sick." Meg rubbed at her mouth next and then spit out a mouthful of blood. At Cain's look, she shrugged. "I just feel strange, is all."
"Maybe you're allergic to him."
Her head bolted up. "What?" Meg demanded, her voice dropping to a dangerous note. One that the Knight ignored.
"The Angel captain. Maybe meeting him unsettled your... better nature," Cain said with a sneer. He had to leap backward as Meg suddenly advanced on him with her own attack. The bone-sword came to his hand this time and he clambered to catch up to Meg's fury.
"You taught me to pick my battles," she said, heaving for breath as she fought harder than she had before. A volley was turned aside but she kicked out and caught him in the stomach, sending him to a knee. But he was up before she could carry through and she saw the way he lurched to the left. The bone sword lifted and she feinted to the right to avoid being run through. On his next pass she parried a thrust and ducked. With a jerk of her dagger, she cut him high on the ribs and grinned at his grunt of pain.
Still panting for breath, she grinned wickedly at her teacher. "So I did. He couldn't follow me, not on foot, and he thought I was a peasant."
"So you're telling me not to worry that you've lost your nerve?" Cain asked and she flashed a toothy smirk at him. Then shrieked as he swept his leg against hers and sent her flying to the mud. She had to struggle to breathe, lying there so close to the manure and muck leftover from the legion's horses, and eventually she opened her eyes again. Cain stood over her and he leaned down, holding the sword to her throat. He tapped it several times on her skin. "I always worry, Meg. It's why I've lived so long. I don't trust a soul."
She coughed, catching her wind back. "That the lesson for today?"
"For today," he agreed and he eyed where Ruby was sitting, looking as worn out as Meg. The two women wore matching, sulky looks now and he sighed, giving up for the day. He snapped his fingers at Ruby first and then at Meg. "Ruby, the Queen will want you. Meg, go see Alastair. He wanted you upstairs for some reason before we started our little—" He grinned. "— session."
She always did recover fast, he observed when he saw how Meg's eyes nearly sparkled. "Did he get him to talk?" she asked excitedly.
"I doubt it." Cain shook his head, smiling with admiration. "The boy's a strong one."
"Maybe we just need the right leverage," Ruby said as she took Meg's hand and helped her up. "Isn't that what Alastair's been teaching you?"
The smaller woman nodded and her grin was a wicked one. "Just press the right nerve and your victim will sing for you if you ask."
Cain gave her a disgusted look. "Watch your back around Alastair. He's just as likely to strap you to that rack of his as he is to give you lessons."
"Like you, Cain?" Meg taunted as she and Ruby started for the tower across the causeway together. They'd separate at the entrance for the tower.
"Keep that smart mouth up, girl, and not even Azazel will save you from me," he threatened but he was already turning away. Meg stuck her tongue out at his back and then zipped it back into her mouth when he loudly said, "Someone should watch your tongue for you, Meg. Sooner or later, it may get ripped out."
Ruby leaned close to her. "You shouldn't make him angry, sister."
"I've done worse. Recently too," Meg snapped. "So butt out."
Ruby's large brown eyes widened impossibly. "You are in a bad mood. What happened in Elysium?" she asked.
"Nothing that's any of your business," Meg snarled before leaving the other brunette at the foot of the stairs. Ruby watched her climb and smirked.
"Give the Prince my love. He probably thinks I'm nicer than you anyway. Which is true," she called out and Meg turned on her heel. She grinned at Ruby.
"And you're a worse fighter, too."
The tower that Alastair occupied smelled foul and mouldy, like bones doused in old blood. Meg rubbed her nose and walked up the spiral staircase to the second level. The entire time she walked, she was aware of a low slithering sound. A sound made, she knew, by scales on the brick. The smell and heat only intensified the higher she went. Unlike other parts of the old castle, the tower's stairs were not enclosed. The centre of the tower was completely hollow, reaching far up ten stories. The fourth level was where a platform had been erected centuries ago. The tower itself had been built for one purpose alone: torture. Meg craned her neck back and saw that on the platform two small men were scurrying back and forth, operating on some silent bidding and handing each other tools.
They almost seemed lonely, all the way up there, and she smiled to herself. Maybe they'd like some company.
Meg gathered her ripped skirts high about her waist and took the steps two at a time to get to them. The entire time she thought about the Master Torturer and what lay beyond these steps. She was curious, always had been about Alastair and his practices. A curiosity that Cain said would get her killed one day. As high as the tower was, the endless stairs were nothing now compared to the chance to know what exactly Alastair had figured out. With one hand knotted in her skirts, she ran the last few flights of stairs and came to a breathless stop at the platform.
Hate-filled green eyes were what waited for her. The man strapped to the rack had once been a Crown Prince but here, on Alastair's rack, he was nothing more than a plaything. A plaything Meg had watched for several weeks now when she wasn't riding the borders. He'd been here a month, long before Court had moved to the old castle, and he hadn't broken yet. Not that the others hadn't tried. The signs of Alastair's torture was all over his body. Long scratches, scorch marks, teeth marks, sewn wounds, even an ugly tattoo of a dragon had been forcibly burned over his heart. Still he hadn't broken. He was resolute that his brother would save him and that they'd all pay for what they'd done.
Meg would have admired him if only he hadn't gone out of his way to let her know what he thought of her every single time she visited.
"So, Alastair's little bitch is back," he drawled. His voice was scratchy, made deep from the constant screaming he did, and she stared in open fascination at him. As always, his words managed to enrage her just a little but she ignored the fury. Instead, she walked over to the small side table and picked up a tiny saw. There was a slither to her right, and then a harsh intake of breath.
"Don't let him bother you, little Meg. He's just feeling testy this afternoon."
The voice boomed all around her and Meg turned to watch the shadows in the centre of the tower. Something was moving in a slow, sinister way, but she had no fear of it. Behind her, the two men were cowering behind the rack. With one eye on the shadows, Meg approached the rack and reached out to touch the bare chest of the prisoner. Despite his bravado, he was trembling. She plucked at some of his catgut stitching and heard him grunt in pain.
"Just tell us what we need to know. Where does Elysium hide its garrisons?" she asked, pulling on the catgut a little.
"Go to Hell."
"Such manners, Dean." The shadow's voice chuckled. "I'm sorry. Should I say 'Your Royal Highness'? It's such a mouthful. Hardly worth the effort"
Meg jumped back as a massive reptilian head appeared and hovered over both herself and Dean. Mocking orange eyes glinted at them both from within scales of dark green and grey, and the horns sprouting from the top of the dragon's head curved wickedly. Teeth the size of Meg were licked by a long forked tongue and she shuddered in revulsion and fascination.
"Did he tell you anything, Alastair?" she asked the dragon and the massive shoulders shrugged. The long chain that held him tethered to the four posts that decorated the roof tinkled with the movement. As useful as he was, even Azazel wasn't going to trust the dragon to be unchained and free. A good choice, in Meg's opinion. The dragon unsettled her for different reasons. That he hadn't flamed her to death yet only meant that she still amused the big beast, not that he actually liked her.
"Nothing yet. He is very... difficult." The beast looked at its two sycophants. "Not that they are much use." The cunning orange orbs fixed on Meg. "Are you sure I can't convince you to try the knife today, Meg? All you ever do is poke and prod. You only ever use the knife when you think its necessary. Can you show a little imagination? Cut to the quick this time?"
Meg heard the seductive wheedling in the dragon's voice. The few times she had helped him she had been filled with a sense of power and she hadn't touched her magic once while doing it. Alastair insisted his human student do things the old fashioned way but hadn't been able to convince her yet that his way was the right way. Meg thought the old beast thought she was weak and was determined to keep it that way. But she had felt something else: anger that a dragon could manipulate her. Like her relationship with Cain, Meg was determined to outdo her teacher.
She could get Dean to talk, she knew she could. Then Azazel would see her worth.
She picked up the knife and turned to the man on the rack. He was stiff as a board and looking like he was ready for anything she threw at him. Instead of just doing as Alastair wanted, Meg spun the knife from hand to hand and approached until she was just steps away from Dean. Then inches. So close she could smell the smoke on his body. As she raised the knife in the air, tip pointed down, his chin jutted out bravely and he gave her a cocky grin.
"Go ahead. Not telling you a damn thing."
"You will." Alastair was moving again, massive body rubbing against the walls of his tower. "Sooner or later."
"My brother is coming for me." Dean was watching Alastair again. "You'll see."
"It's been a month. He's not coming," Meg said for the dragon. "We'd let you go if you just told us what we need."
It was a lie and they both knew it. Dean laughed and looked away from her. His hands kept clenching and unclenching, but any magic he had was confined by the shackles that bound him. Meg doubted that he had any magic. Princes weren't known for being bright. Or powerful. Just figureheads to large armies.
She wondered if he even remembered her name.
She raised the knife and was ready to strike when outside a large brass bell was struck. It ricocheted through the entire building and like the animal he was Alastair went on high alert. On his skinny neck, his boxy head swivelled about and his eyes focussed on the tiny windows that let in light. He huffed out a smoky breath and his nostrils flared bright red in warning. Confused, Meg turned around and set the knife down before she approached a window. Peering through, she gaped at all the smoke and fire racing across the moat that guarded the old castle. There were men and women racing to put it out and far below, the Legion was already preparing for battle. She could just make out Cain shouting orders to them and the chaos of the courtyard meant that the fiery attack must have been recent.
How had that happened?
Behind her, Dean was laughing weakly. "Told you," he said, his accusing tone making her turn to glare at him.
"It could be anyone. Not everyone is looking for you, princess," she sneered.
Alastair was strangely silent until he inhaled deeply. His voice was a furious hiss, "I smell Angels."
"Angels?" Meg was dumbfounded. The arrogance of those soldiers to attack on Abaddon territory like that. Never-mind that her own people did it on a yearly basis. She made for the stairs and turned just as her foot met the first one. "See to him. Azazel wants him kept hidden."
Alastair's tongue hung out hungrily and with a slow, wet drag of it he licked Dean from head to toe. "I'll devour any who enter."
Meg looked at Dean next to see the Prince staring at her. "I'll be sure to give your brother your love when I see him. Before I slit his throat," she said as sweetly as possible. His angry scream followed her as Alastair's men began to carve into him again. Meg only focussed on racing down the stairs.
Her armour. She needed her sword and her armour.
The battle was going to be a long and torturous one, Castiel knew that as he watched garrison after garrison be sent in. The one before his own had Balthazar and Uriel as its commanders and the two men were bickering about the best course when a catapult rock nearly smashed them both into a flat cake. Then they were off, still fighting, still arguing about the way into the castle. When the bugle came again, the sharp cry of his own men let Castiel know that it was their turn to provide flanking coverage for the infantry. An infantry fighting hard to make up the lost ground from the first failed charge.
The calvary was struggling because the Legion had been ready for them and the use of magical ground spears and hunting bows had taken down many of the horses. Try as he might, Castiel had to also focus on his own problems. He'd been nearly bucked off at the first charge and he cursed that peasant woman with everything he had for stealing his horse. The bay charger he'd borrowed from Anna spooked at every raised sword, at every holler he gave, and he could barely keep his seat. As he reorganized his men into formation, he glanced over his shoulder at the hills. His commander, along with Michael and Raphael, were waiting for either their success or their defeat. Castiel was one of many to them and already he'd seen one garrison fall to near ashes from the magic fire blasted from the catapults. Then, as the hours passed, a second and a third garrison fell, until it was his turn to lead a charge. Balthazar and Uriel were fighting at the North side of the castle and couldn't be spared.
His life, on the other hand, could be.
Something about this stretch of land was costing them riders and he needed to figure out why. Reining in tightly, he looked over the terrain and saw what it was costing so many lives. Covered in straw and mud, the ground was filled with spikes and somewhere, a demon sorcerer was using magic to cause them to spring to life. A low movement to his left caught his attention and the glint of red only sealed his suspicions. Grabbing a spear from the tall heraldsman at his side, he balanced it neatly and then flung it through the air into the shrubs nearby. The solid 'thunk' and the loud chortle made him know he'd hit something hard. With a low groan, a red-eyed man fell to the ground out of the bushes and Castiel dismissed him from thought. There was more to be done.
"Full side right side. Flanking!" he shouted and his coarse voice filled the air.
"Sir," the heraldsman said and Castiel followed his gaze to across the plains leading to the castle. A line of horses, bedecked in black leather and black metal braces, were standing at ready. He thought he saw a white horse amongst them but shook his head. That would be impossible. She was somewhere in Elysium.
"No mercy!" he shouted and his men cheered the same back at him. With a heavy kick to the horse's ribs, Castiel charged into battle.
It raged for a day with the sort of blood letting that would make even the most staunch commander sick. And Castiel did feel sick as he led yet another charge. His horse ran over corpses and the still-dying, and Castiel prayed for forgiveness for having to act so rashly. Many men lay, their silver armour stark on the blood-soaked ground, and amongst them in black leathers were the demon soldiers. It wasn't clear who was winning and Castiel felt exhausted to his bones. The cost of everything seemed too great, and he was feeling disheartened.
His sword hand was swollen and sore. Still he managed to lift his sword and deal a killing blow to a soldier who chopped at him. Muttering a prayer for his soul, he let his hand rest down on his thigh and he eyed the heavy leather armour he had taken after the silver proved too heavy. At least, he thought, he would be less of a target. Turning in his saddle, he looked over the plains ravaged by battle and had to look away from the sight of so much death.
He had only just ripped off his helmet when he heard a loud bugle of the heraldsman and he spun to see his unit's herald at the open gates. The marker was planted and all at once the remaining garrisons began to move en masse. Renewed in their faith, they moved quickly and surrounded the castle moat before pouring into the main causeway. They pushed back the demon soldiers, forcing them inch by precious inch back towards the castle. Castiel saw a flash of silver and recognized Michael riding amongst them now and something in him rebelled a little. The Prince was in there and Michael didn't care how many he lost to pull him out. Castiel did. He cared too much and Anna had told him that before, though it wasn't a crime to her. Like the others, he rode for the gates and passed into the smoking ruins of the castle. His own men had let bloodlust carry them away and he knew that by now it was too late to stop them from the rampage they were on.
Disgusted, Castiel turned and nearly caught a sword to the face from a helmeted attacker. He leaned back, his bay horse rearing at the movement and the other rider backed away to avoid being struck. Castiel had to rein his horse around in a sharp circle to control it before he could manage to see who it was attacking him. Through the smoke, it was hard to see even just a few feet but enough for him to clearly see the horse they rode. A white charger when most of the horses from the Legion were black or brown. Even decked in black and silver, he knew that horse. Stunned, he looked up and raised his sword. The rider at first raised their own sword, then stopped and turned around in the saddle. The rider saw something in the distance and without realizing why Castiel followed their helmeted gaze to the distant tower. A dragon. A... dragon... He stared at it in wonder as it ripped its way out of the tower and roared with a fury at a figure in silver and blue climbing the outer staircase. Castiel blinked. It was his herald. His…tall...herald.
"Oh damn," Castiel whispered, realizing who it was.
His way was blocked by the other rider and he swung his sword in an arc towards them, only to have it blocked. There was a squeal of metal on metal as the swords dragged down one another. Then the white horse spun on its haunches and launched itself towards the tower. The way was blocked by smouldering wood frames and patches of oil-lit fire, but they rode with obvious ease over the dangerous terrain. Furious, Castiel spurred his own horse and followed the dangerous fire-lit path close behind. The rider dropped their reins and stood up in their stirrups, raising their dagger hand high and bracing to throw. Castiel realized that they were going to throw the dagger at the tall herald fighting the dragon.
He raced them down the path, feeling the heat and pressure of the surrounding fire, and knew that there was no way he could block the blow in time. Instead, he rode his horse as close as he dared until they were rubbing boots and he could feel the weight of their body against his. When both horses leapt over an overturned wagon he jumped out of the saddle and crashed into them, wrapping an arm around a surprisingly slender waist. They flew through the air, landing in a smoking ruin of a building that was collapsing even as he rolled off the rider. Castiel felt the impact pounding through his body with a painful ache. Groaning, he got to his knees and looked up to see the other rider already on their feet.
Dark hair spilled out as she ripped the helmet off her head and Meg glared at him from eyes turned bright by the fire surrounding them. Eyes that with his magic he realized were as black and pitiless as onyx. She was fighting for breath yet the black leather she wore making her seem like a spectre from a nightmare. Castiel stared, confused.
"You..." he whispered.
"Me." She sneered and those black eyes seemed to have tiny sparks of orange within them.
"You're a soldier…a demon." He moved up onto his feet and stared at her still. "An evil little..."
"We're way beyond name-calling, Clarence," she taunted. "Don't you remember?" She licked her lower lip. "I do."
He shuddered. "If I'd known what you were, I would have killed you the second I saw you."
Meg drew her sword through the dirt as she circled him, struggling to hide a limp from him. "Don't make promises you can't keep."
"I want Sword back," he warned and at her confused look he nearly sighed. "The horse."
"Oh but I like him. He's so pretty," she teased and he was almost taken in by her smile again. "I take you're here for the little Prince?"
"The Crown Prince. He better be alive." Castiel deepened his voice as if to seal the threat. "For your sake."
"Oo, you talk so sweet. The other prince is making you throw away your lives for him, huh? Typical Elysium royalty."
The Captain snorted and circled with her. "What are your people doing right now?"
She laughed. "Living."
Castiel raised his sword and pointed it at her. He was moving easier since discarding his metal armour after the first charge and the heavy leather would guard him if she was lucky enough to catch him. He didn't like how easily she held that sword. Meg lifted her own sword and stroked it teasingly down his.
"Come on, Clarence. Don't make me wait," she whispered with a coy grin and cocked eyebrow.
So he attacked. It was pure skill that saved her life as the wild arc of his sword just grazed her ribs and she leaned to the side to dodge it. She swung upward with her elbow and caught him in the side, and she let herself drop down to a knee to dodge his second blow. Castiel caught her by the hair and hauled her back up, taking a slap to the face next.
He groaned as his teeth cut into his lower lip and backhanded her away. Meg grasped her jaw with one hand and backed up a step, her eyes wide and startled. Then they went to slits as she focused upon him. Twirling her sword in one hand, she reached down to her boot and pulled a dagger. Triangular in shape, it was pointed to a wicked edge and Castiel stared at it. His own expression closed off and he leaned forward, sword extended.
Meg took the invitation and leapt into an attack as well-practiced as his had been. It made her predictable but still Castiel had to keep his guard upEach thrust was met by his parry and she fought hard to find an opening in his armour. Castiel's leather guards protected him but not enough when she closed the distance between them and sliced sharply downward. His pained yell made her grin and she twisted under his arms to dance her way just out of reach. Pointed chin thrust outward in defiance, she dangled her triangle dagger from a hand and kept her guard up with her sword held loosely by the other hand.
Castiel clutched his chest and felt the blood seeping through the leather. Startled by the pain, he stared at her. "You're devoted to them, aren't you?"
"Comes with the territory," she admitted. "The royals? They're going to rule all of Elysium some day."
He clenched his jaw tight and circled her, sword still lifted between them in case she made yet another wild charge. But she stayed back, her smile all wickedness while her pose screamed carelessness. Castiel trusted neither. Dragging a leg in the ground, she limped just a little, as if the soreness was too much to hide, and Castiel knew he could use that. If he was fast enough, that was.
But he wasn't much better. The series of tiny cuts she made into his armour had weakened him and created an overall ache that he couldn't ignore. His swollen sword hand could barely clutch his grip properly. He knew the truth then. He didn't have much time and he might not have enough fight left in him if she managed a deeper cut.
As lost in introspection as he was, he missed her scooping up a handful of dirt. She held it close and circled him.
"I don't have all day, Clarence," she taunted and he glared at her.
"Don't call me that."
"I could call you worse names. Light pusher, angel-face, light's poor excuse for a soldier, the list is endless," she continued. Castiel glared, ignoring how she prattled on as he carefully closed the distance between them. When her eyes darted away from him, he started for her and then, for a strange reason, hesitated before he could follow through. His sword hand was lifted, the blow should have carried through, but he stopped himself.
In response, Meg threw the handful of dirt into his eyes and laughed at his startled yelp. She ducked his wild flailing and grabbed his hand in hers, twisting him over her shoulder. He landed with a loud bang onto the dirt and she kicked his sword away when she saw his hand going for it. As he struggled to scrape the dirt free from his eyes, she wearily limped her way over to where she dropped her own sword. When she turned around, he was kneeling and swaying forward and back in his exhaustion. She moved fast to stop him from getting any further and she struck him hard on the mouth when he opened his lips to say something. Hitting him was like hitting a brick wall and she winced at the pain that flared up her knuckles from the impact. His head rocked to the side and his eyes blinked fast several times before he seemed to recover.
He spat out a mouthful of blood and stared at her, clearly shocked. "You cheated," he whispered.
"Of course I did." She stretch her one arm out as if to stroke his face and he jerked back away from her touch. "I'm a demon, remember?"
"Should have known better," Castiel muttered to himself but the glimmer of steel distracted him. The blood-rusted sword she held was at level with his throat and he bravely rocked upward on his knees, willing to meet death head on.
"Nothing personal, Clarence. Just how it is," Meg said and her voice actually hinted at regret. Castiel stared up at her, aware that his hesitation had cost his life.
Almost.
He wasn't ready to let some demon of a woman end his life. Not like this.
Castiel saw the blow coming and launched himself upward, grabbing her by the wrist. He hauled forward and pulled the dagger from his boot as he moved faster than she could see. Instead of burying it in her like he'd first thought, something stalled his hand and he scraped it down the length of her sword to parry the thrust. Meg shouted something at him that he didn't understand, and he pulled even harder. Pulled until she stumbled into his arms and he wrapped his arm around her. They collided like twin forces of nature and no matter how she fought back he was too wrapped within her for her to get free from him. Ignoring her cursing, he forced her to turn so her back was to his chest and he struggled with her until he was clasping her wrists in his hand. His other hand put the dagger to her throat and she went rigid, knowing that a single move could cost her life.
Still something stopped him and he stared at her in frustration. Her head turned and he saw how ready for death she was. But he couldn't. Meg's understanding dawned on her face with a brilliance that might have been from the fire glow, and he glared at her as she began to laugh.
"You can't do it, can you?" She leaned into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, and almost crooned to him, "You can't kill me."
Her lips just touched his jaw, kissed the sensitive and vulnerable flesh beneath, and he only tightened his hold upon her. He didn't trust her tricks, no matter how they made him feel.
"So what can you do, you impotent sap?" Meg whispered, her breath hot and moist against his cheek.
He didn't answer her, because there was nothing he could say. The blade was there, drawing a faint red line on her pale throat, but he couldn't complete the maneuver. He didn't want to kill her and he should. He wanted to punish her but what was there to do someone who was glorying in battle like she was?
Then he thought of something a demon soldier could never understand.
"I'm not going to kill you," he whispered. "I'm going to do something worse."
"This is worse?"
Ignoring her raspy chuckle, he removed the dagger and clasped her throat in his hand. He pulled her back closer, lips grazing her ear as he spoke.
"I'm granting you mercy."
He felt her shock, her dismay, and he knew he'd surprised her. He shifted his grip on her throat, holding her for a moment longer than he needed, and then with a shove he sent her sprawling to her stomach in the fire. The black leather protected her from the flames and she rolled to face him, her eyes murderous as they pinned him from behind her curtain of wavy hair. Castiel stared back.
Neither moved for their weapons though the tension hadn't left the air.
A blur of grey went past him and an iron-grey horse appeared behind Meg, rearing in a beautiful display. Castiel saw the rider was a grey-haired man who used the horse to block the Angel from Meg. The rider gave him a look that warned him not to move a step toward them and Castiel hefted his sword to the other hand before leaning heavily on it as crutch. Every muscle burned and ached and the small cuts Meg had left on his body were weeping through the heavy leather armour.
The rider in grey held out his hand to the girl on the ground. "Come on, Meg, we've lost the castle," he ordered.
She never broke her gaze from Castiel. "We can still do it, Cain. We just need…need to regroup…" Her voice was breaking apart, as if she was too weary to manage to keep her head up.
"You never learn, Meg." Cain reached down and plucked her up from the ground. With a grunt, he slung her up before him on the horse. "Some battles you have to let go!" When she squirmed, he wrapped an arm tight around her waist. "Let it go, milady."
At first Castiel could only stare before the tickle of the title started to caress his ear. Startled, he straightened up and almost instinctively bowed. "Lady?" he whispered, his eyes only on Meg. She clutched her injured arm close and glared at him, but Cain was already turning his horse away. Taking her with him and Castiel could only watch them go. For the second time since meeting her she'd left him confused and a bit in wonder of her.
Then he realized what he had done. He'd nearly killed Abaddon nobility. A move that every garrison knew was the greatest honour they could achieve. Each noble was a great threat to the Archangels. Even if she was just a lowly noblewoman, she was dangerous.
A loud roar drew his attention away to the dragon still guarding the tower. Swinging his sword left and right, he headed for the tower to finish the mission he'd come here for. It was easy to forget Meg then and he didn't think of her once as he climbed the tower to the rack where a lone prince was still strung up. Where the prince's brother was still fighting to live as the dragon roared and spewed flame at him. Not even when he nearly was barbecued alive himself did he waver once from the mission.
He only thought of her when he laid his hand on the Prince's shoulder and broke him free of the shackles. When he saw the smoke and blood that clung to the tortured flesh. He thought of her and for a second, believed he saw her in the smoke rising from the ground in thick columns.
A vision made of smoke and flame.