Treasure Ch 08

Catherine squinted at the wooden dummy across the courtyard. The muscles in her right arm trembled with the effort of holding back the string of her bow, and the point of the arrow seemed to quiver over its target. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing her body into relaxation as she released the string. Whistling softly, the arrow whipped through the air, and a quiet thud sounded in the garden clearing as the point made contact. She grinned and jogged a little closer to the dummy, but her face immediately fell when she saw the white feather fletching quivering in the trunk of a nearby tree. With a groan, she stomped forward to retrieve it in a quick, angry jerk, her teeth gritted in annoyance.

"A lucky miss," she told the dummy. It stared dolefully back at her through the two worn paint dots that served as its eyes, and she turned in a huff and stormed back to her shooting spot. "But this breath will be your last, you splintery scoundrel," she declared in a fervent mutter, taking careful aim and chewing hard on her lip before loosing the arrow. With a soft thunk, the arrow planted itself a fraction of an inch away from the dummy's left eye, and Catherine thrust a fist into the air in triumph.

"Is that my practice dummy?" her father's voice called dubiously from several feet behind her, and Catherine cringed before turning. He approached with a pained look, grimacing at the bow in her hands and the quiver strapped to her back. His body was swathed in an enormous fur cape, and the blackness of it blended into the wall of obsidian-hued tree corpses around them. "Catherine," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation as he reached her side, "I'm past the point of forbidding you to practice archery. You're old enough to make that decision for yourself, and honestly, with the dragon still loose, I'll even admit that it might be a somewhat useful skill for you to learn. But I'd rather that you didn't riddle my fencing dummy with holes. Or our plum trees, for that matter."

"I'm sorry. I thought he existed to have horrible things done to him," Catherine admitted apologetically. "And I didn't realize that those were the plum trees. They all look remarkably similar without leaves." She offered him a little smile that he returned after a moment, and she lowered her bow as he wrapped a fur-draped arm over her shoulder and gave her a long squeeze.

"I wanted to apologize," he said quietly, bowing his head in thought. She watched him in confusion, and he took a deep breath before continuing. "For yesterday. Well, for the past few weeks, actually. Ever since you've returned to me, I've been rather...short with you."

"You've been worried," Catherine assured him. "It's alright. I understand---"

"No, I'm not sure that you do," he interrupted, and, frowning, she stopped short. "By the time Richard came to me insisting that a squire had seen you alive in that cave, I had accepted that you were utterly gone. It's not...something that any parent should have to go through, losing a child..." His voice broke and Catherine's heart ached as his fingers squeezed at her shoulder. "And with your mother gone..."

"We don't have to talk about it," she said hurriedly, but he only shook his head.

"I do. Because I've been so consumed with the idea of keeping you safe that I'm losing you in another way. I don't want you to feel trapped here, Catherine; Gods know you've been through enough of that already." Despite the weight of his words, Catherine felt her eyes squint suspiciously at him.

"You've been talking with Leda, haven't you?" she asked quietly, and his gaze turned abashedly towards the plum trees.

"She may have bent my ear about it," he admitted. "But that doesn't make this conversation any less genuine. Catherine, I need you to know that I love you..."

"Of course I know that," Catherine insisted hastily, and she quickly embraced him before he had a chance to notice her conflicted expression. "I love you, too. And I'll admit that it has been a bit trying, being cooped up in here so much, but I certainly don't

blame

you for feeling---"

"Catherine," he sighed. Catherine grew quiet, and her brows drew together in worry at the note of pain in his voice. "I'm leaving for the city of Merriwick tomorrow. It shouldn't be a long journey; no more than four days. I was going to bring you with me, but then I wondered...if that would be something you wanted." He swallowed and gave her a fond squeeze, and when he spoke again, his words sounded a little strained. "Would you like to accompany me? You're welcome to say no."

She stared up at him with thinly-veiled disbelief, her jaw slackening slightly. "Why are you---?" she began weakly, but he silenced her with a curt shake of his head.

"You are my daughter, and I want to do everything in my power to keep you safe. But you're also a young woman---and a rather independent one at that---and it isn't fair of me to keep you under such close scrutiny." She released him and drew away to fix him with an inquisitive, dubious stare. Guarin Bastion, a long-standing Duke with a past riddled with wars and combat, wasn't exactly a man known for his emotional depth, and Catherine wasn't quite sure how to react to this sudden heart-to-heart. Certainly the two of them had shared a vast amount of heavy conversations like fathers and daughters were supposed to, but something like this, an open admission of guilt, was far from expected. "It's time that I started respecting your wishes," he concluded. Minutes passed in silence as Catherine gazed out at the gnarled mass of tree limbs behind him, trying to ignore the piercing javelin of pain that was burrowing slowly into her chest as she thought.

"I'd like to stay." When she looked back up at him, it was with a certain tentative hunch of her shoulders, as if the thought of his response terrified her. "Is...would that be...alright?" she added softly. His body seemed to droop slightly as she spoke, but he met her answer with a calm bow of his head. If he was devastated by her choice, he didn't let the emotion stain his expression.

"Eugene and Cedric will be staying behind to ensure your safety, of course." Catherine's eye twitched slightly in annoyance. "I promise I'll be back as soon as time permits. And I'll be sure to brief the guards on our conversation," he added, flashing her a worried little half-smile. His arms pulled her back against his chest, and Catherine felt guilt prick at her mercilessly. "I love you so much, Catherine," he said unsteadily. Prick. Prick.

"I love you, too, father," she managed to say, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and closing her eyes. They stayed like that for several minutes, but eventually her father pulled away and cleared his throat.

"Now," he said, and she was relieved to see his expression brighten slightly, "let's see how I still fare with a bow. I might have a few tricks to teach you if these old bones will allow it."

---

The sun retreated into the horizon a lot faster than she had anticipated, and soon she and her father were trudging back into the house. Their cheeks were flushed from the cold, but both were sporting wide grins as her father regaled her with an old jousting tale. The fencing dummy, now pockmarked with holes, was tucked under his arm as he walked, its wooden feet dragging noisily over exposed rocks in the grass.

"...and just when I had accepted that I had missed him, I felt a massive tug on the end of my lance," he continued, miming accordingly with his free hand. "The point had slipped right under the straps of his chestplate. I dragged that sorry bastard nearly fifty feet before he managed to get loose---"

"You didn't let him go?" Catherine choked, pressing a hand to her lips to suppress her laughter. "Father, you're absolutely awful."

"The crowd loved it. And the only thing I might have bruised was the poor man's ego."

"Are you going to participate the festival again this spring?" she wondered, and he heaved a sigh.

"I'm nearly fifty, Catherine; I think it's time to retire my lance and sword. One stray jab from any weapon could shatter my brittle old bones. Especially my knees, the blasted, creaky things."

"Oh, stop it. You're hardly some feeble old man," Catherine chided. "And Richard still jousts, and he's nearing sixty..."

"Richard doesn't have a daughter to watch over, or a city to run," he retorted as they reached the doors. "Besides, I'm nearly certain that the man's vigor stems from sheer denial. When he finally comes to terms with his old age, his back will suddenly go crooked and all his teeth will fall out at once." Catherine burst out laughing, and he rewarded her with a wide smile.

"Well, if you won't enter the games," she told him once her voice had steadied, "perhaps I'll do so in your stead." Guarin arched a magnificently bushy eyebrow, a gesture that tautened and stretched the pink, knotted battle scar on his left temple.

"While I have no qualms with teaching you archery," he grunted as he pushed the doors open, "the day I allow my daughter to battle fully-grown men on horseback is the day that I have lost the ability to speak and move without assistance."

"So...ten years, you think?" she said brightly. He made a face at her.

"I feel old enough without your help," he grumped. Cedric danced behind them to shut the doors, and her father deposited the dummy roughly onto the floor with a clatter before stooping down to unlace his boots. Catherine followed suit, stomping the floor to dislodge the caked-on snow. An uncomfortable combination of emotions was roiling inside of her. There was giddiness from their banter and the several hours they had spent contentedly mauling his dummy in the snow, as well as surprise. She had never dared to imagine a life where he father was so willing to accept her decisions, let alone one in which he would cheerfully give her pointers about using weapons.

And then, there was the guilt. Horrible, gut-wrenching guilt. If he really was leaving for four days...that meant she would be gone before he returned. Quite possibly for several years, if not forever.

"What's wrong?" Catherine's head jerked back towards her father, who had removed his boots and was staring at her with an odd expression. "You've gone pale..."

"I'm fine," she said quickly, kicking off her lambskin boots, which were heavy and thoroughly saturated with melted snow, and toeing them towards the roaring fireplace at the other end of the foyer.

"Are you certain?" he continued. His eyes seemed a bit brighter, and she grimaced at the concern in his voice. "For a moment, you looked as if something terrible had happened." Once Cedric had taken his cloak and hurried off to the closets, he knelt down so their faces were level. "If you're worried about the dragon---" he began quietly.

"I'm

not,"

she urged, taking his hand in hers. "Honestly, with all of the protection around the city, it's the last thing on my mind." He watched her dubiously before yielding to her with a nod, then straightened up and looked pensively at the wall.

"Part of me is often surprised by how level-headed you've been about all this," he mused. Catherine tried to keep her expression steady. "But then I remember you mother. Catrina wouldn't have behaved any differently, would she? Imperturbable and kind, more rational than the best scholars in the kingdom..." He trailed off, and Catherine's heart ached at the glazed look in his eyes. Then he coughed and clapped a broad hand over her shoulder before turning to gaze blearily towards her. "Cat was my tether to sanity. I'm forever grateful that her temper was passed on to you." Catherine swallowed hesitantly, and then she beamed cheerfully at him.

"I got a little from both of you, I think," she offered. He chuckled and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

"I suppose you're right."

"What is this?!"

Leda's voice suddenly shrieked from the main hallway, and both Catherine and Guarin cringed before turning to look at her. Her eyes were wide and bright with the sort of madness that could only be inspired by a near-obsessive regard for cleanliness, and she pointed severely at the floor with a gnarled finger. "Look at this mess! Water all over the floors, boots everywhere...and what is

that

doing here?" she added angrily, indicating to the woebegone practice dummy that lay abandoned on the stone floor. Her father bowed his head and muttered some sort of excuse under his breath before he strode quickly out of the hallway. Catherine looked up at Leda guiltily.

"I can help you pick it up," she said meekly, and the old woman rolled her piercingly blue eyes.

"Don't be absurd. Dinner's been on the table long enough as it is. Go wash up and eat." Catherine nodded and scurried off in the direction her father had retreated, and the heat rose to her cheeks when she realized that she was trailing tiny droplets of water behind her from the soaked hem of her dress. She would hear more about that later. Sometimes she wondered who exactly was in charge of the house.

Catherine and Guarin, slightly more somber after Leda's scolding, consumed their roasted duck and glazed carrots over quiet conversation. Their moods were lightened a bit when the cooks brought out the remainders of Catherine's pies, which the two devoured quickly and enthusiastically, and her father rose to his feet after brushing the lingering flakes of pastry from his velvet tunic. Catherine followed suit, smiling a bit when she saw a faint glow breaching the thick layer of gloom that had swallowed him up for the past three weeks. Something was restoring a lightness to his disposition. Something that might be shattered when he would return to find her gone.

"I need to finish the preparations for the journey," he told her, and she inclined her head in a polite nod. "I'll come find you tomorrow before we leave. Goodnight, Catherine."

"Goodnight." She turned to leave, but he suddenly emitted a sound of realization, and she glanced at him from over her shoulder. He was watching her with worry in his eyes, although the corners of his lips were jerking into an amused smile.

"You'll go easy on the guards, won't you?" he asked quietly. Catherine grinned.

"I'll certainly try," she teased. He bowed his head in rueful acceptance, then turned and vanished down the main hall in a flurry of fur and fabric.

Once he had left, Catherine made her way to her chambers and allowed herself to be fussed and fretted over by Leda, who was lamenting the windswept knots that had wound themselves firmly into her hair. Thankfully, the problems her hair offered seemed to distract her from their confrontation earlier, and she left without shrieking about the trail of water she had left all over the house. Her nose did seem to wrinkle in disapproval when she gathered up Catherine's dress and cloak, and she eyed the muddy stains and soaked hems with something akin to horror before bustling quickly out of the room. The door shut and latched itself tightly, and she exhaled a sigh of relief. Finally, she was alone.

After tugging open the drawers beneath her vanity and searching through its dark depths, her fingers finally found their prize: a battered white feather quill tied firmly to several scrolls of parchment, as well as a lustrous glass inkwell stoppered with a cork and wax. She unrolled a smaller scroll, lowered herself into the stool in front of her vanity, spread out the paper in front of her, and dipped the tip of the quill tentatively into the rippling pool of black, black ink.

Father,

she began, and the scratching of the quill on parchment was nearly deafening in the silence of her room.

I need you to know that this isn't happening because of anything you've done. I love you, and I will always love you, but I think that somewhere out there, there's a place I might belong. And I've come to realize that it isn't Blackwall.

I won't be alone. I've fallen in love with someone, and I know he would rather die than let anything happen to me. Maybe I can come visit someday when the world is less of a disaster than it is now, but until then, you can rest knowing that I am safe. Never doubt that I am safe, and incredibly happy, and always thinking of you.

Catherine

She gently placed the quill back into the inkwell and set it onto the surface of her vanity, trying to fight back the flood of tears that were stinging at her eyes. Since the day she had returned, she wondered if her life might have been easier if she had simply let Adeon abscond with her to a faraway land. While seeing her father had indeed lifted a weight from her chest, the guilt of leaving him again had replaced it twofold. It hung heavily from her heart like a brimming pail, spattering anguish deep in the pit of her stomach with every swing. The ink seemed to have dried, so she rolled up the parchment into a tiny scroll and fastened it shut with a long length of blue ribbon she found stashed in her drawer. For several moments, she simply held it in her palm and stared at it.

And then a loud

thunk

sounded from her window.

She immediately scrambled to her feet and dashed towards the noise, and she stifled a gasp when she saw a pair of green eyes gazing desperately at her through the glass. Once she had jerked the window open, a tangle of long limbs and pale skin tumbled utterly gracelessly through space and landed heavily on the wooden floor. Adeon let out a weary groan as she hastily shut the windows, and she knelt at his side.

"Are you hurt?" she whispered hoarsely, reaching tentative fingers out towards his jerking shoulders. Quick as a flash, he had captured her hand in one of his, and he gazed up at her through the strands of white hair that had fallen into his face.

"No," he croaked, and she watched worriedly as he splayed out the fingers of his other hand and pushed himself up into a sitting position. His arms seemed to quake with the effort, and he stared blankly at the floorboards once he was upright. His reptilian eyes were hooded with weariness. "It was a long journey. I---" He cut off with a grimace. "I'm a bit travel-weary," he finally admitted, and Catherine's brows slanted in despair.

"Do you need food? Water?" she insisted, slightly abashed by the motherly notes that had invaded her voice, and he shook his head grimly.

"That soft bed of yours," he bit out, and he released her hand to wave her away when she tried to tug him to his feet. "I can manage." She watched hopelessly while he pushed himself to his feet, and then her eyes grew wide with horror as he lost his balance and was pitched forward. He crashed to the floor, trapping her beneath his torso, and she squirmed as his muscles seemed to slacken sleepily. "I missed you," he slurred muzzily into her ear. Despite being pinned beneath a large amount of exhausted dragon, Catherine cracked a weak little smile.

"I missed you, too," she cooed, kissing his forehead.

Then a loud knock came from her door, and she felt herself go pale. Adeon's chin lifted slowly to fix her with a baffled look, and she quickly wormed her way out from underneath him.

"Come on," she hissed, grabbing one of his arms and tugging. A jolt of terror stung her insides when he didn't rise to his feet, and she gritted her teeth with effort and dragged him slowly across the wooden floor. His reptilian eyes gazed up at her in barely-lucid confusion as she pulled him towards her bed. She released his arm and chewed worriedly on her lower lip, then stooped down next to him and kissed his cheek, hard. "I'm so,

so

sorry about this," she whispered frantically, and she shoved him under her bed.

"Wait," he said weakly, staring pleadingly up at her and groping around for her with his long, pale fingers, but another push of her hands slid him entirely beneath the bed frame and out of sight. A soft little noise of protest sounded from the dark space, but then he went quiet.