Cullen led his warriors through the slowly thawing woods of the Frostback Mountains, gaze straight ahead, doing his best not to look as horribly glum as he felt. He was going home. They all were. That was what mattered, wasn't it? A thane shouldn't dawdle in another's hold, leaving his open to attack. He had responsibilities to tend to, an image to maintain.
And it wasn't like anything could have happened between him and Katrina, anyway. Even if he could argue that he had, in a sense, caught and 'stolen' her from the Lowlands, he hadn't made the claim when he needed to. At best, he could have brought her back to his hold as a guest, and she'd have been little more than a temporary romp in the sheets—assuming she would even want their relationship to be of such a nature.
He'd never even gotten a chance to ask her. He could still see the way she'd looked as she'd talked to him about his hunts. He could see the way she'd turned away from him, her gaze lingering until she couldn't hold it any longer, as he'd taken those ill-fated steps after her, following her into the one part of the keep that he should have never gone unattended.
They'd left yesterday, before noon, and the Red Lions were making good time. Another week and they'd be home.
So why did each thud of Gunvor's hooves on the thawing winter ground feel like someone hanging chains around his neck?
The world passed them without him making much of a note of anything—they were still in Shadow Wolf territory, and he didn't see a point in memorizing the layout. After all, if they ever decided to raid Thane Blackwall's hold—Mia's hold—they wouldn't be taking such a direct route.
As they trod onward, with a few idle conversations providing a rolling loll in his ears, he heard someone draw their horse closer. He could smell the beast, hear the creaking of the leather saddle. He kept his gaze straight ahead, knowing exactly who it would be.
"This was for the best, Cullen." Her voice was harsh, matter-of-fact as always. When he didn't respond, he heard her make a faint huff. It wasn't the disgusted sound she usually reserved for anything she believed to be poor judgment, and that finally drew his gaze toward her.
She wasn't much different from usual: her shoulders were squared back as always, leathers and armor in place, every strap and tie perfect, and her hair was a wild mop crowned with that familiar braid. However, her face, usually drawn and serious, showed the slightest hints of concern. That perfect line her lips made dipped down further ever so slightly at the corners, her brow pinched just a hair together, the hint of a worry line visible betwixt them when the light hit her face just right.
She was genuinely concerned.
"I'm sure," he finally forced himself to say. Even he couldn't buy such an obvious lie.
Cassandra's frown deepened even further, for just a breath. She let her own gaze wander ahead. "If one thing is constant, it is that everything changes. Your misery will not last forever." She paused before adding. "Perhaps you should steal a proper wife. You are thane. It would do to have an heir, unless you want fighting for the title when it's time for you to give it up."
"I'm well aware of what I am." It came out harsher than he'd meant, and he almost winced as his gaze flickered toward Cassandra again. If he'd offended her, she made no show of it.
"So you say," she murmured, already pulling on her horse's reins to drop back, "yet here you are brooding like a young boy who's been told he's too young to go on a hunt."
Cullen chose not to let his gaze follow her back, though he did bristle slightly at her comments. He wasn't acting childish. He was doing what needed to be done, wasn't he?
He was in little mood for further conversation, even once they'd set up camp for the night. Two of his warriors had wanted to press on, not trusting the Wolves to let them go in peace, but Cullen was confident that even with his blunder, they would still be allowed safe passage home. After all, they had held up their end of the bargain and—loathe as he was to admit it—Thane Blackwall had honor.
He was more surprised than anything that Thane Blackwall had still allowed his people to take their compensation for their assistance with the raid—the trunks and cloths and leathers that filled them would bring smiles to those at his hold, for certain.
Rosalie would no doubt be disappointed that they hadn't received any trinkets from the Lowlands—as the youngest, she'd always clung to a fascination with the Lowlands, much as their mother had. It was her way of keeping their mother's memory alive, or so Cullen assumed. Avvar didn't generally covet material items beyond those needed for survival, but Rosalie had inherited their mother's stash of hair pins and ribbons and other odds and ends that their father had gotten her.
Whoever decided to steal Rosalie was going to have a miserable time getting her out of the hold if they tried to leave her things behind.
She would have loved to meet an actual Lowlander…
Cullen frowned as his thoughts circled back to Katrina. He really couldn't get her out of his head. Just as he was about to excuse himself to go glare at the ceiling in his tent, someone sat next to him by the fire and held out a mug of ale. Cullen frowned as he looked down at it and then let his gaze wander up the muscular arm to see who was bothering him.
Jim.
When Cullen simply waved away the drink, Jim cocked his head, appraising him. His shoulders were a little tense, an irritated pinch between his brow when he finally spoke. "The way that wench has you under a spell makes me wonder if she's some sort of Lowland's witch."
Cullen stared at Jim, mouth a thin line, his brow lowering slowly.
Turning to watch the fire dance in front of them, Jim shrugged a little, as though wishing to take back what he'd said and escape his thane's dark gaze. "I don't get why you didn't just steal her."
"We both caught her and—"
"I meant steal her from the Wolves," Jim interrupted, giving him a nervous, crooked grin before growing serious again. "I doubt she'd fight you. Korth's teeth, she'd probably carry you out of the hold."
Cullen couldn't help a small laugh at the image that brought to mind. He could picture Katrina attempting to lug him along, thin arms wrapped around his waist and trying to heave him into the air. He doubted such an endeavor would end well, though.
Hesitantly, he glanced at Jim. "She's a Lowlander, though. They have different traditions. I don't know that she'd want to be an Avvar's bride."
"You won't know unless you try," Jim pointed out with a shrug. His gift of ale rejected, he began to drink it instead. "And I think you'll regret it if you don't."
"Taking her would cause problems between the clans," Cullen said, before he could allow himself to get too caught up in possibilities.
To that, Jim scoffed. "Let it. The bastards know what they did, even if they won't own up to it."
"Sometimes I wonder," Cassandra cut in on their conversation, taking a seat on Cullen's other side. Most of the others had already headed to bed, leaving the three of them around the campfire. Cassandra had taken the first watch—Cullen might not think the Wolves would attack them outright, but he still wasn't going to leave his camp unprotected—and she would be up for a while anyway. "The way they whispered in their hold, they act as though they think we were the ones who started everything."
"What good would that have done us?" Jim spat.
Cassandra, however, didn't seem willing to back down. It occurred to Cullen that she hadn't been present when the…incident had happened, so her feelings on it were likely not as strong as his or Jim's. "What good would it have done them? Both clans lost the Caverns in the end, did we not?"
The three of them fell to silence for a moment before Cullen reached up to scratch the back of his neck, his gaze unfocused as he stared into the fire. "Mia wanted to have peace talks come the end of Spring. She thought there was real hope. I don't know if she still wants to, the way they kicked us out, but… I think there might be something worth pursuing there."
"It would help our own hold if we didn't have to worry about them being so hostile," Cassandra murmured, a slight hint of approval in her voice.
"If I steal Katrina, I doubt we'd be able to have any real peace talks," Cullen conceded to himself, shoulders slumping. "I…" He felt something twist inside of him as he finally admitted it to himself, "I may want her, but they need her."
"To read books," Jim groused. "I may not be a Lowlander, but I'm pretty sure that can be done anywhere, can't it? They give you a few books, she reads them. Then she can trade off, update them with what she's found, get new books to read."
"And how would I convey that to them if I'm stealing her?" Cullen asked, brow quirked. "The whole point is to not be caught. Kind of defeats the purpose if I walk up and say I'm taking her, but you don't need to worry."
"You are a smart man," Cassandra offered, rising from her seat to begin a short patrol around the outskirts of their tents. "I'm sure, if you truly want her, you will think of a way."
With a smirk, Cullen watched her recede from the firelight. "Does that mean I have your blessing to doom our hold with a Lowlander's presence, Cassandra?"
In response, she let out a guttural grunt from the back of her throat as she kept walking, her figure disappearing into the shadows around the camp. Despite the sound, there was still that hint of approval in her voice when she called out, "I know you will do as you will."
Looking back at Jim, Cullen quirked his brow. "And you won't be sore that the woman who broke your nose is living in our hold?"
"Plenty of people have broken my nose, my thane," Jim shrugged. "I don't hold most grudges long."
Their conversation turned away from Katrina as they spent a few more minutes chatting beside the fire before Jim retired for the evening, leaving Cullen to sit by himself. He watched the flames dance before him, mulling over what could be done.
Then, a thought occurred to him: if he wanted to steal Katrina, he would need to do it now, when the Wolves' keep was still barely more than a day's hard ride away. Slipping to the perimeter of the camp, he found Cassandra as she walked quietly along, peering into the shadows, watching for signs of beasts or Avvar, anything that might endanger their sleeping companions.
"I'm going to need you to lead our warriors for a day or two."
"Of course."
…-…
Katrina flipped a page, staring down at the words scribbled across it without really paying attention to what it said.
That inconsiderate…
"Good thing you haven't any magic, or that book would be burning," Dorian called to her, sitting back against the far wall as he made a few notes on a piece of scrap paper in regards to what was happening in the journal he was translating.
"Is it common in Avvar culture to leave without a word?" She snapped before she could stop herself.
Dorian slowly looked up to stare at her blankly. "You're…still on about that? Really?"
"I could try to understand, if it's a cultural thing. But where I'm from it's… It's rude is what it is," Katrina muttered. "You don't tell someone you're going to be there for them and then just ride off into the sunset, hands washed of the whole ordeal."
"Not really what happened," Dorian muttered, gaze dropping back to his work. "He was never going to stay very long anyway. Yours was a doomed friendship from the beginning."
Katrina drummed her fingers on the back of the journal in her hands, staring at a rather droll paragraph that detailed a group of hawks migrating to find better hunting grounds. It was so… mundane. Like she cared what some birds did thousands of miles from where she lived. This had nothing to do with helping the Avvar or saving her sister.
Perhaps, though…
Perhaps it was some code? The hawks might be representative of a type of military faction or a smuggling ring?
But then why involve the Avvar?
Just as she considered that perhaps their involvement really was just to unknowingly dispose of the evidence, a book cracked into the wall next to her head.
"I won't miss next time."
"You are a terror," she muttered back, throwing the book back at Dorian. It bounced harmlessly off the wall over a foot from his head.
He gave her a most disappointed look before picking it up and placing it back on a stack that sat beside him.
As though he hadn't started it.
Honestly.
"And you, my dear Lady Lowlander, are a headache." As he kept writing, he added, "Our hold's lady suggested chaining you to the wall to show you we're serious about you doing your part, but I told her I didn't think that would end well for anyone. You'd probably curse so much that the Gods left us just to have some peace and quiet."
Katrina scoffed, picking at the fur lining on her vest. Even with the undershirt and vest, gloves and boots, and thick pants, she was still freezing. She had a cloak as well, but it did little to keep the cold out. How could the Avvar stand it out here? Dorian kept telling her that it was warming up, but she couldn't tell. It felt as miserably cold today as it had the days before.
Perhaps, though, it was something else keeping her cold. Perhaps it was that same thing that had left her oddly crushed when she'd asked to speak with Cullen—she'd wanted to apologize for getting him in trouble—and had been told he'd left. When they'd told her, she'd instantly thought back to his smiles, his reassurances, the times he'd helped her—mostly restraining her as she tried to do something stupid.
Maker, it was no wonder he'd left without a goodbye.
She was the terror, not Dorian.
A juvenile, belligerent terror…
"I'm reading!" She snapped when she heard the soft rustle of paper as Dorian picked up another book on the other side of the room. However, even as she spoke, the next book thudded lightly against her shoulder. At least he'd thrown it softly.
When she glanced over at him, he had a smirk in place, though his gaze was on his work.
How did the Avvar have such an avid reader in their midst? Even they'd admitted that they weren't ones for reading.
The book he had tossed at her had landed open on her lap, on top of the other book she'd been reading. Even as she went to throw it back, a small phrase caught her attention and she stopped, leaning down to read through what it said.
The littlest lamb made quite the fool of itself, trying to follow in that great red ram's footsteps.
It wasn't much. It could easily have been about some wild sheep or… that was what rams were, right? Sheep?
Katrina paused, briefly considering that she really had no clue when it came to animals. However, as she tried to think on it, abruptly, a memory bubbled back up.
She'd just arrived in Val Royeaux, and had been staying in one of the plainer inns—despite being nobility, Katrina had always fit in better with a rougher crowd, often enjoying the company of a full tavern to that of fellow nobles in a sitting room. As she'd headed to bed after a few drinks, having been able to procure an audience with the empress in a few days' time had left her with a sense of triumph that required some brief revelry, she'd heard two hushed voices at the door she thought was her room.
She'd paused, listening, wondering if it was one of her father's servants sent to retrieve her before she could make a fool of herself.
"…can't believe he might actually think he can bring his family back into good graces, especially after what his father did." A man had protested, sounding aghast as he spoke.
A woman had laughed lightly. "He's as hard headed as that old Great Red Ram."
"I can see how he got the title," the man had laughed. "He certainly did hit his head against the wall enough times."
"Until it broke his neck," the woman twittered back, smug. "You know how that really happened, don't you?"
Slightly inebriated as she was, it had taken a moment or two before Katrina had realized these people had nothing to do with her, and that this was not actually her room. Once she'd made that actualization, she'd departed, teetering her way down the hall until she came to her door. Then she'd opened the door to see that it looked like someone had rifled through her things and had all but forgotten the idle gossip she'd overheard as she checked to make sure all her belongings were still there.
After that, she'd headed to one of the higher end inns, hoping that security would be better and that she'd be able to keep what she needed until she could present it to the empress.
Katrina cursed under her breath as she picked up the journal, flipping back a few pages to try to see if she could find anything telling about the lamb and the great red ram mentioned in the book. So engrossed in her search was she that she didn't notice as Thane Blackwall and Mia entered the room.
"Katrina!"
Dorian's voice in her ear finally jolted her out of her thoughts, and her head snapped up, nose nearly smashing into the augur's. The three Avvar stared down at her, varying degrees of bewilderment mirroring her own.
"Dorian, these books aren't about animals at all. They're about people."
"Well, that's not really that surprising," he murmured, rocking back a little to put space between them.
As he crossed his arms, she tapped the journal he'd hit her with. "I don't know this lord's name, but he's aristocracy in Orlais. These are coded documentations of his and his family's actions." She ran her fingers through her hair, frowning. "I'm not from Orlais, so I don't know the nicknames for their nobles, but…" She paused, shaking her head. She shifted her attention to the journal she'd been looking through earlier. "This one refers to a family of hawks that had to—"
"Hawks are solitary animals," Mia interrupted.
"Did I not just say that they represent nobility?" Katrina snapped back. "Clearly, they're not really hawks. They had to move apparently, because they were crowded out of their 'hunting grounds'."
Thane Blackwall knelt beside her, staring uselessly at the book she was talking about. "What does it say exactly?" When Katrina read a few paragraphs, he let out a string of what she could only guess were swears in Avvar. She was picking those up from being around Dorian, but still wasn't sure which word meant what. "Those are Hawks. They're the White Feather Hawks, another Avvar tribe. I remember them passing through our territories and talking about… that." He pointed angrily at the book she was holding.
Katrina shifted a little where she sat. "So these are notes on everyone from or near Orlais then."
"I'm curious," Dorian said, squatting beside Katrina. He nodded toward her with his chin. "Does your family have an animal affiliated with you?"
"Our family seal has a lark," Katrina offered, then frowned. "Though I know people called my father a vulture when they weren't happy with him." She paused and shook her head. "I don't know if these journals would extend to the Free Marches, though. We do have interactions with Orlais, but nothing serious enough that we'd be…"
With a frown, Dorian cocked his head and motioned to himself and his fellow Avvar. "And we have so much to do with them?"
"Don't you tend to steal their belongings all the time or something through raids?" Katrina asked, shrugging a little. "Seems like they'd be more likely to go after you in vengeance rather than some random noble family in Starkhaven."
Mia crossed her arms. "if they can't guard their things, they don't deserve them."
"And I see I've offended our lady's delicate sensibilities," Katrina muttered.
Shifting her weight, Mia put a hand on her hip, glaring down at Katrina. "Thane Magicsbane is no longer here for you to hide behind. You might want to curb that attitude."
"By all means, kill me," Katrina replied, putting a hand over her heart. "I'm sure Dorian can keep my corpse viable long enough to read all… these… tomes…" She motioned around them. "And if not, you can always take a road trip a few thousand miles north and find someone else who speaks Antivan." She tugged her shirt. "You might want to pack light, though, dear lady. You'd die of heatstroke wearing all that fur." She paused. "Or do you just melt?"
While Mia seemed ready to smack Katrina—something Katrina was not at all unfamiliar with—Thane Blackwall held out a hand, keeping his wife back. "She has a point. There's no reason for this attitude when it will only get you in trouble."
"Maybe you should have kept the other thane around, then. I liked him more than you." Katrina shrugged lightly. "Not nearly as condescending and rude."
Mia looked most puzzled, shifting a little as she eyed Katrina. "But… you can't play them against one another any longer."
Katrina stared at her blankly. "I can't… what?" She let the words roll around in her head for a moment and then scowled. "If I had any sense for that miserable, damned Game, I wouldn't be freezing out here right now, now would I? We Free Marchers are damned well better than that. We don't trap ourselves in all this nonsense." She added under her breath, "I thought you Avvar were better than that, too."
With a huff, Mia shook her head. "Have you found any journals about wolves? Or lions?"
"Not yet," Dorian said, glancing at Katrina and then repeating his words when she shook her head. "We'll keep looking, though."
"You think the journal may say why they involved you, rather than just that they did?" Katrina asked, allowing her anger at Mia's accusations to simmer.
Thane Blackwall nodded once. "We can hope."
Her desire to make a snappy comment at whatever he had to say died as he spoke. Even if he had insulted Amelia and been little more than a prat in the time she'd known him, she couldn't be cruel when he was that honest. When it had been her family ensnared with Orlesian politics, she'd done everything she could to make things right. The thane and his people were just trying to do the same. It really didn't make sense for her to be so unmanageable.
Grudgingly, she turned her attention once again to the volume about the Hawk clan. When she spoke, she still sounded grouchy, as though the words themselves were some sort of defeat. "It'll likely take a while, but—as I already said I would—I'll try to find something for you."
She didn't know if the thane and his lady appreciated her shift or not, but they did leave her and Dorian to their work. The two read well into the night before they could fight back sleep no more. Katrina had been moved to one of the honorary rooms in the Thane's home—she suspected it had less to do with honor and more to do with keeping an eye on her—and Dorian walked her there before heading off to his hut.
She didn't remember laying down, nor falling asleep.
However, when she woke with a start, she could remember that her dreams had involved Cullen, not that she could remember them well. He'd been shirtless, holding his hand out to her, that reassuring smile in place as he said something she hadn't been able to make out as a snow storm had rolled in.
Even as she cursed herself, realizing that she must have kicked off her blanket as she'd turned in her sleep, she heard a noise from out in the hall.
In her hazy, half-awake stupor, stories sprung up that she'd thought long forgotten. She could hear her mother and a few other ladies twittering away about their latest romance serial, where the lady was whisked off to be a bride.
The Avvar stole their wives, didn't they?
In that sleepy single-mindedness, her thoughts wound back to Cullen, and she sat up, barely realizing that she'd fallen asleep on top of her blankets, rather than under them, with her clothes still on. It was a wonder she hadn't frozen to death.
However, that notion was gone soon as she heard another noise and then saw the curtain to her room move and a large, dark figure slip into the room. Narrowing her eyes and trying to blink the sleep from them, she tried to see clearer in the dark.
"Cullen?"