"Cullen, the hold is under attack."
With a sharp breath, Cullen jerked upright in bed, already swinging his feet out from under the covers and looking around for his sword and shield when he realized that he wasn't at home. The air of worry gone, his moves became sluggish as he glanced around groggily, the night's events having left him drained. He narrowed his eyes when he saw Mia standing at the side of his bed, arms crossed, head bent down toward him, and lips trembling in a poor attempt to keep from smirking.
"I can't believe that still works…"She lightly patted his frizzy curls before heading toward the door. "Come on then, shake that sleep off, and let's go."
Cullen rubbed his face with his hands, his blanket still draped over one leg. He'd worn his pants to bed, in case he had needed to get up in a hurry. Even as he scratched at his bare chest, nails scraping against soft, golden chest hair, he knit his brow together, turning his head slowly to follow Mia. "I know I said I was here to be abused, but waking me this early, when we stayed up that late…"
He had a mild headache. Rather than alcohol—he'd barely had two cups—it was from getting almost no sleep and then waking up far, far, far too quickly. The feast to welcome the keep's returning thane had lasted into the small hours of the night, and he and his warriors hadn't dared retire early, lest they look as though they were snubbing the ones so 'kind' to house them.
Part of him was certain that was why the festivities had gone on as long as they had, though he knew that was just foolish paranoia.
He'd noticed the thane's master of the hunt draw aside a server early in the evening and take them outside, spilling the contents of a mug onto the snow as he hissed something quietly. He'd returned to the table of honor a moment later with a different mug, gifting it to Cullen himself.
There was little doubt in his mind that the earlier one had been poisoned, though whether it had been something minor enough to simply make him look like a fool or strong enough to kill him was likely something he'd never have the privilege of knowing.
Perhaps that was for the best.
Mia didn't seem to care about his chiding, though she did feign a look of mock disappointment. "Well, I suppose you don't have to get up so early…."
With a sigh of relief, Cullen slumped back onto the bed. It was so ridiculously comfortable that he couldn't even bring himself to mind the fact that it wasn't in his hold. And he'd been having a good dream. He couldn't quite remember what it'd been about, but it had been pleasant. That was so rare these days. Typically, when he did dream, it was about something horrific or just miserable.
Even as he started to drift back into his dreams, he could feel Mia watching him. Opening one eye, he lifted his head a little. "What?"
"Oh, nothing…" Mia shrugged a little, playing with a lock of her hair as she attempted and failed to glance innocently around. "Blackwall and I just thought you might want to be there when he talks to Katrina."
"Why would I care if—" Cullen cut himself off as his sleep-addled mind pieced together what she was hinting at. In a flash he was sitting up again, brow pinched together, eyes wide. "The lowlander woman? She's awake?"
"I'd say we got our sign."
…-…
"I do not wish to pester you any more than you wish me to, but I will nag you until I get answers. In the very least, tell me where I am," Katrina said the words carefully as she glared at the Avvar woman who was just finishing re-bandaging a few minor scrapes. She'd gathered that even though they both spoke common, her accent was something they were highly unaccustomed to. It made conversing quite difficult, though she'd done her best to speak slowly and clearly.
Her hip and hands had been healed the night before when she'd woken up, and her head had seemingly healed itself—she felt like she ought to know what had happened with that, but couldn't quite remember.
Even so, she was ridiculously tired, as though she'd been running a marathon for days.
Healing spells—according to the few mage healers she'd dealt with in her life—drew mostly on magic, but the process of applying so much magic to someone without any often left them drained of energy. As she was, she felt like she could sleep for a month and still wake up tired.
No doubt this healer had been counting on that, and had expected her to fall asleep shortly after being healed, to be a minor inconvenience for a short time at worst.
She was fated to be immensely disappointed.
Katrina was not about to drift off until she knew exactly what had happened the night of her attempted assassination. Even if her eyelids were getting heavier with each passing minute…
When her healer and the other mage—Dorian, was it?—hadn't been interested in helping her, she'd asked to speak with the blonde man with the curly hair. He wouldn't be so dismissive, surely.
That had elicited smirks from both mages, though neither had bothered to go get the man, or do much of anything else. Dorian had simply left the room and the woman had pretended she couldn't understand anything Katrina said, even though she'd talked to her briefly when Katrina first woke up.
"Why can't you just answer—"
Even as she spoke, a sharp knock on the doorframe interrupted her. A man's voice—vaguely familiar at best—spoke in the Avvar tongue, and the woman beside her responded curtly, all but flying from her seat beside the bed and sweeping out of the room as though demons were nipping at her heels.
Katrina was in a rather small room—it had a cot against the wall opposite where the door was—with no windows and single door blocked with a simple curtain. She hadn't really seen anything beyond her new bedroom, save that she thought there was a fire pit in the next room. Overhead was a small hanging brazier, casting soft and eerie light into her small accommodations.
She was wearing a loose, rough brown chemise, and had several fur blankets piled on her bed. At present, she was sitting with her back against the wooden wall, blankets tugged up around her to keep that dastardly chill in the air at bay. It didn't help that her long hair was still mostly wet from washing it earlier. The woman had helped her braid it—tired as she was, her fingers were clumsy, even with the feeling returned to them—but it was still cold on her scalp and against the back of her neck.
People were talking quietly in the next room over.
Even as she considered following to the door to see what was going on—that would mean letting her bare feet out from under the warmth of her blankets—the curtain was swept aside by a large hand and a bear of a man stepped inside. Katrina narrowed her eyes at him as he appraised her with a quirked brow and cocked head.
Mr. Woodland Hero followed him in.
From the waist down, both were dressed similarly to what she'd seen during the raid. However, neither had deemed it necessary, even in this incessant cold, to don a shirt. The bear took the chair the healer had been using, and the hero took a seat at the foot of her bed.
Just looking at them made her blood run colder. Did they have no sense?
Not that it wasn't a pleasant view….
She barely caught introductions as they were offered, each of the men speaking of their titles with the same brisk fashion as some courtier. When they were finished, Thane Blackwall—who did not enjoy being called Randolph at all—motioned toward her with a hand that looked like it could break granite in half with a minimal flex of his fingers. "We were told your name is Katrina?"
"It is."
"That's it?" Thane Blackwall asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his muscular arms across his chest. "No surname? No titles?"
"My apologies," Katrina said, struggling to keep from rolling her eyes. Things seemed to be going better than they had before—she wasn't tied up for one—and she didn't need her sharp tongue to leave her in poor standing. With that in mind, she barely managed to bite back a comment about not realizing she was making an entrance to a grand ballroom, and instead reached up to scratch her eyebrow. Considering how often she was berated for being too crass or rude, she tried her best to channel her best impersonation of Amelia. "To be perfectly honest, I…" How much would it discredit her if she told them she had likely been disowned for rebelling against her father's wishes one too many times? "I didn't think my title would carry much of anything down here. I'm Katrina Trevelyan of Starkhaven."
"Lady Trevelyan—"
"I would prefer Katrina," she interrupted, trying to maintain a polite smile.
"I must say, I was expecting you to try to kick me in the head again." Katrina rolled her eyes and Thane Blackwall grinned.
"I doubt you'd be overly friendly if people said Avvar were going to kill you and then you ran into some who were all scowls, swords, and rope bindings."
Thane Magicsbane—she couldn't help but think of him as Cullen, despite his request that she use his title—leaned toward her, resting one of his hands near her knee. "Who told you we would?"
"Honestly, they didn't tell me. Not intentionally, anyway." Katrina shifted a little so that she could face both of them more easily. "I just happened to hear about Avvar being involved when I was escaping that wretched, old outpost they tried to lock me in. They said they'd step in and end things after I'd been slain."
"Why were you brought out here?" Thane Blackwall asked.
"To be killed."
"But why?" Cullen pressed.
Thane Blackwall pointed to her. "Our chevalier says you attempted to murder someone."
"Oh? You're friends with the Orlesians, then?"
"Not quite," Thane Blackwall tilted his head to one side. "And you haven't answered my question. Are you out here because you tried to kill someone?"
"Hardly," Katrina replied, tossing her braid over one shoulder before settling back against the wall again. Both of the men were watching her. Cullen seemed to have more faith in her though, and she chose to meet his gaze instead. "It would have been better if I had, though. Less hassle."
"So no attempted murder?" Thane Blackwall clarified.
Taking in a deep breath, Katrina twisted her mouth to the side. "Attempted murder implies I hunted someone down with the intent to kill them. Trying to kill someone implies that during our last conversation, I decided the man needed to die. I never made such a decision, though I'm sure he spun it that way."
"Then what exactly did you do?"
"He—the Comte de Forseau—attacked me," Katrina replied. Then, she shrugged, making a vague motion around them. "I grabbed the closest thing to hit him with. I figured that if the black-hearted bastard was too busy tending to a clubbed head or broken hand, he'd let me go." She paused and shrugged again, when she saw the flicker of a smile tug on Cullen's lips for just a second. "The closest thing turned out to be a lovely little letter opener, and I happened to hit him in the eye. Purely accidental, though it served its purpose."
"Letter…opener?" Cullen asked, brow knitting together. There were slight circles under his eyes, and she wondered if he'd slept well recently.
She glanced from him to the other thane and back, tugging her blankets a bit closer about herself. "It's…a bit like a small dagger. Not as sharp. Mostly just for cutting paper."
Thane Blackwall crossed his arms across his broad chest and drummed his fingers against his arm. "So…this Comte sent you out to be murdered, because you did almost kill him, accidentally. And you did that because he attacked you first?"
"Yes."
"Why would he attack you?" Cullen asked. His accent was stronger than Thane Blackwall's, though he was still easy enough to understand. His amber eyes searched hers, the beginnings of worry wrinkles already forming near their corners. Even so, he had a handsome face, and she found herself rather abruptly glaring at the wall furthest from him, if only to keep herself from blushing when she realized how close he was.
"Because I ruined him." She snapped, sounding angrier than she'd meant to. When she heard an incredulous laugh, she eyed Thane Blackwall from the corner of her eye. "Or I tried to. Clearly I didn't do a very good job if he's still able to come after me."
"You know what I'm going to ask," Thane Blackwall said, a smirk in place as he rolled his wrist for her to continue.
"Oh, you mean why did I try to ruin him?" When Thane Blackwall's smirk spread into a full grin, she shook her head, finally turning back to face them as she said, "He hurt my sister." She shifted a little in her seat before adding, "Very badly. So she left. Everything."
Everyone.
Even as she felt a faint pressure through the bundles of blankets she'd hoarded around herself—Cullen had put his hand on her shoulder—Thane Blackwall scoffed. "So your sister was too weak to fight her own battles, and you tried to fight for her."
…-…
When Cullen had entered the small room where they were keeping Katrina, Cassandra's warning about how she could never live up to what he'd made her in his mind had danced around at the back of his consciousness, whispering her words over and over.
His mother's stories had twirled in an elegant dance with Cassandra's. Her recounts of ballroom dances and introductions that lasted hours and all those other odd stories that had left his eyes wide with wonder as a child had given new form to the nameless ladies mentioned in them.
Though…her foul mouth had already countered a few of them.
Regardless, he hadn't known what to expect.
Then he'd seen her. She'd looked somewhat akin to a caged animal as she watched Thane Blackwall move over to the chair in front of her. However, the mistrust in her eyes had died down when she saw Cullen. It had sent an odd curl of…something through his chest.
He'd ignored it as he sat next to her and kept up with her story as best he could. And then the subject of Katrina's sister had come up.
One moment, she'd been docile, very much akin to the ladies in stories, lower lip quivering ever so slightly like she might start crying. The next, she'd been lunging toward Thane Blackwall with more than a few curses falling from her tongue.
Cullen caught her before she made it off the bed, pulling her backwards. Even as her balance shifted, she kicked out, toes just barely missing Thane Blackwall's nose.
This time, she was harder to mollify, her anger fresh and body healed. However, he wrapped an arm firmly around her waist and held her to him, his other arm bracing around her shoulders.
"Say it again, you cold-blooded—"
Cullen shifted his hand from her shoulder to cover her mouth, and she tried to lean back, though she just ended up with her head against his shoulder as she gave him a betrayed glare. He leaned his head closer to hers, whispering, "Insult him in his hold, and he must restore his honor. You will not like it."
If Katrina insulted Thane Blackwall, she'd likely just get locked up or tied to a rock until they broke that spirit of hers. He didn't know all the common words to explain that, though.
Thane Blackwall seemed vastly amused by his attempts to quell Katrina's anger. "He's right about that. Respect goes just as far out here as it does in your cities."
Gripping Cullen's arm, Katrina tried to jerk his hand away, and he let it drop, watching her cautiously. "You say that as you disrespect my sister."
"Let us get back to the raid, then," Thane Blackwall offered, shrugging a shoulder as she continued to glare his way. "You're saying that all you know is that you were to be killed by Avvar? And you've no idea why? No inkling? You weren't supporting a new law or some project that might have hurt him more than your…how exactly did you try to ruin him?"
"I brought the terrible things he'd done to the attention of the empress," Katrina replied. A shiver trilled through her, and Cullen dragged one of the discarded blankets over to her, wrapping it around her gently. She gripped the edge of it, glancing up at him—he could swear he saw her cheeks flush, though that was likely from the cold—and giving him a short nod. Even with the fur, she still leaned against him. "She said she would handle him. She swore it. Yet…" Her shoulders slumped. "I'm not Orlesian. I don't participate in any politics that would have done anything to him, bad or good."
"And when you looked into him, he never seemed to have something against the Avvar?" Thane Blackwall pressed.
"He was a bit busy drugging his first wife and acting as a loan shark. And murdering people. And getting away with it."
Cullen leaned forward a little, watching her carefully as contempt twisted her mouth into a sneer. He rested his hand on her shoulder, nodding toward her when she looked up at him. "If the empress took care of him, are you sure he is the one who wanted you to die?"
"I haven't pissed anyone else off!" She scowled at Thane Blackwall when he murmured his doubt of that in the Avvar tongue. "Even if someone else got their men to wear his family's crest when they captured me, I haven't done anything to anyone!"
"He didn't have allies?" Cullen asked softly. "There was no one who would…suffer if he lost his power?"
She just stared blankly at him for a moment before shrugging. "I don't know? I don't play with Orlesian nobles. I barely play with Starkhaven nobles."
"So you're telling us you know nothing," Thane Blackwall said. Even as Katrina glared at him again, he stared back at her, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his eyes. "You're useless. We wasted our time dragging you here and healing you."
Before Katrina could reply with a no doubt scathing comment that they would likely only half understand, Cullen looped his arm around her again, tugging her slightly toward himself. "I wouldn't say useless."
The look Thane Blackwall gave him…
By the mountain father, it was cold. He shook his head, switching to their native tongue so that he wouldn't struggle so with getting his point across. "She's still noble. Perhaps we can lure the people who wanted her dead out here if we show that she hasn't been killed? We could draw someone more knowledgeable to us. Or," he added quickly, when his fellow thane did not seem sold, "couldn't she help with reading those books? Your augur can read, yes, but wouldn't she be faster?"
When he glanced back at the lowlander, she was watching his mouth, almost as though she were mesmerized by the way he formed such simple words. She quickly blinked out of it when she realized he was watching her, directing her gaze toward the wall.
Thane Blackwall leaned forward in his seat, recapturing her attention and making sure she would listen before he spoke. "There were books in the carriage that was supposed to be attacked. We think they might have been important. Can you read them?"
She shifted a little in Cullen's grip, tugging the blankets closer to her as she eyed Thane Blackwall. "You think the Comte or his friends or whoever might need these books?" When the thane nodded, she hesitated. "What language are they in?"
"Not common," Thane Blackwall replied dryly.
"That's not helpful," Katrina retorted, eyes narrowing. "I can take a look at them, but depending on the language, I may not be able to even read the titles."
"Let us make a deal then," Thane Blackwall offered, "you read those books for me, find out why they matter, and I'll see to it that my men get you to Fereldan. That was where you were headed, so I assume you wish to go there?"
Cullen felt oddly betrayed by the promise, though he couldn't quite place why. Katrina, however, glanced from one man to the other, clearly skeptical. "But what if I can't read them?"
"Pray to whatever Gods you have that you can."
…-…
Katrina tugged on one of the gloves she'd been given as she walked after her Avvar escort. She didn't know these men, but they were grim, eyeing her with either mistrust or condescending amusement. No doubt, she looked quite out of place in the clothes she'd been provided. They were Orlesian, cotton blends that reminded her of less effective versions of her riding leathers. She'd thought those had been bad at keeping out this abominable cold.
Maker, these were summer wear, she was sure, though the shirt did have long sleeves.
The damned Avvar were wandering about in short sleeves or shirtless, as though there weren't still piles and piles of snow heaped against everything, with icy droplets dripping off everything. More than a few had dropped down her neck, though she'd managed not to jump after the second one.
It gave her guards too much pleasure to watch her squeak and squirm.
She had, at least, also been given a rather voluminous cloak as well. It looked almost royal, with slightly frayed golden thread embroidered into a deep blue. The Avvar had had these trophies for a long time.
All of them were dusty and smelled of moths and must.
At least her shoes fit.
Thank the Maker for small miracles.
Though, it was hard to say how much of a miracle it really was. For all she knew, they were just as damnable as the horses she'd stumbled across in the woods. Temptations that would only lead her further into misadventure.
She needed to get back to the 'lowlands'. She needed to make sure that the Comte paid for his crimes. She had promised someone, hadn't she? That she could find a way?
Attempts to remember did little more than give her a headache.
However, that was not her main concern at the moment. It was far more important that the asshole Avvar had threatened her, and Cullen had done little more than tighten his grip on her, rather than actually argue.
They had left shortly after the threat, with Thane Blackwall saying he would send someone with clothes he thought would fit her. Cullen had merely nodded to her, giving her a gentle, reassuring smile that tugged on the scar on his upper lip before following the other thane.
One thing seemed certain: the thanes were not in agreement with what to do with her, and the one on her side seemed out of his element.
If her sister were here, Amelia would have advised to try to seduce the kinder one into making damned sure that they were allowed their freedom.
However, Amelia was miles and miles and miles away, and Katrina couldn't seduce a gnat, much less a man in power.
And so she grudgingly followed after her escort, wondering just what was going to happen to her if the books were written in the Anders' tongue. Surely they couldn't fault her for not being able to read something when they themselves couldn't read it?
After all, she would be doing them a favor. The likelihood that there were any simple books that could bring a man like the Comte down was…
As she entered into a throne room of sorts—bones of great beasts hung from the ceiling and adorned the rough wooden walls, and boasted that whoever had claimed the creatures' lives was powerful indeed—she saw the thanes, speaking with half a dozen others. Cullen stood to the side with one woman beside him.
A wife perhaps?
Katrina was surprised at how disappointed the thought made her.
He was rather handsome—and shirtless—but that hardly meant she needed to be invested in whether he was available or not. After all, it wasn't like she was going to be staying out here very long.
Regardless, she gravitated toward him, stopping in front of him and then eyeing the others when their scrutiny turned her way. She recognized Dorian, who simply gave her a wry smile before stepping forward and motioning toward one of two halls that left the back of the room.
"Lady Katrina, I'll show you to the books."
Even as he led her down one of the halls, she glanced back. Cullen still stood back with the other woman, though he gave her a small smile when their gazes met.
There were several rooms along the hall, sporting various bounties just barely visible behind the curtains blocking them mostly from view—piles of old clothes, chests of trinkets, pretty things stolen from her world. An innate terror bubbled up that she might be tucked away in some such room, though, that wouldn't be much different a fate from what her family had planned for her.
When they reached a small side room, Dorian motioned for her to enter and followed after her, pointing toward the contents of the room. "These are all of them."
There were two bookshelves on the far side of the room that immediately caught her attention, lined with old, gilded tomes. However, Dorian was quick to draw her attention down toward the middle of the room, to an object she'd at first dismissed as a low table of some sort.
Maker.
There had to be at least two hundred books in the stacks in the center of the room, if not more. Katrina had never been good at estimating at a glance.
Her gaze slid toward the augur who arched his brow as he motioned again toward the books. "Well? These are the ones I can't read."
"Oh, so there's even more?" Katrina asked, unable to hide the incredulity from her tone.
"Many more. Some are in common, fortunately," Dorian explained, trotting over to the books and picking up a few. He held one out to her. "Our chevalier confirmed that they were to pick up these books after they'd dropped you off. It was to look as though you were the contents of the carriage, not the books."
"Which makes no sense," Katrina muttered, taking the tome and inspecting its cover idly. It didn't have a title and the way the leather was cracked and frayed, she had a feeling this was more a personal journal than some library book or scholarly recourse. "I wouldn't have been heading back to Orlais."
"You realize people lie, yes?" Dorian pointed out, crossing his arms as he watched her flip to the first page.
"If they wanted to lie, they'd have to say where the carriage came from and have proof that I paid for it and…" Katrina trailed off as she flipped a few pages forward. She flipped a few more.
This journal was useless. It was discussing the migration patterns of hawks.
"Oh, I almost forgot," Dorian pulled a rather pristine note—especially compared to the others—from a pouch on his belt and handed it to her. "There's also this. It was on the captain of the chevaliers. It's in Orlesian, so I could only make out a bit of it, but I think it was his orders to kill you?"
Katrina opened the note and skimmed it quickly.
Wait for the guards to kill the Avvar and then tell them their debts are paid if they handle the lady with an Avvar weapon. I want every man under your banner to be able to say that she died at an Avvar's blade without lying. Too many people can see lies, even behind a mask.
Recover the body for identification, and kill the guards so that there are no witnesses. Burn the carriage. Make sure everything burns; we don't want any bits of correspondence left to be found.
Burn these orders with them.
– C.V.
A thought occurred to her, even as Dorian said something else, something about how he was sure they could easily fabricate the evidence she'd been rambling about earlier.
She went back to the cover and inspected the binding.
These books, despite their horrid condition, were of a fancier make than one's typical journal. Instead of a simple paper cover, they were hardback and leather-bound.
With a frown, Katrina ducked her head forward a bit, eyes narrowed as she inspected the cover itself. It was leather, and it was in atrocious condition. She thought she heard Dorian lament this, though she didn't bother to look up at him to check. Instead, she was too focused on the book itself.
Whatever glue had been used to put the leather onto the cover's board had been undone and then redone—poorly. She couldn't quite remember the names for half the practices that went with books being made, but she knew what this meant.
She caught the edge of the leather and slowly worked it up, tearing it free from the book's brittle cover. Katrina tugged it harder, tearing the leather a bit and ignoring as Dorian let out a startled cry.
That she would find a scholar out here in the middle of nowhere was….
The Maker had a cruel sense of humor.
She held up a hand as he tried to get the book from her, holding it back so that it was out of his reach. "Give me a second." Despite his grousing, he complied, stepping back a pace and crossing his arms as he watched her further mangle one of his clan's prizes.
She'd worked an entire side of the leather free when she saw it. Paper tucked under the leather, hidden between it and the main part of the cover. It took a little more effort to work it free, but once it was, she let the book thud to the floor, inspecting the folded piece of paper.
It was worn and old and looked like it had been opened and read a hundred times.
Dorian closed the space between them, turning a little so that he was standing next to her as she unfolded the paper—a letter. His chin hovered above her shoulder as she skimmed the contents of the letter quickly. "What does it say?"
"I…it refers to something without ever naming it, so I'm not completely sure," Katrina admitted. "But this looks like…orders perhaps? Something about a rock and a cave and…" She paused, realizing the augur was so close and turning to look at him. He arched an eyebrow, though straightened up. "It'll probably make more sense if there are more in the books."
"So…we're destroying works of literature, then?"
"Well, just the covers."