Warhammer (CH13) (Patreon)

Damn, I really need to think of a title.

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Kate stared at her childhood home from a distance. She still wore her panoply, her remaining supplies slung over one shoulder. She was tired and filthy and hungry, but she didn’t take a single step closer. That white-paved road, that short bridge, crossing the waterfall she knew led to the valley below, and the estate beyond—it hadn’t changed at all. It was just as breathtaking as the first time she’d seen it.

How long had it been? Three decades? Four? She couldn’t even remember. At some point, everything became blurred—a wash of scheming and fighting. Had it been a mistake? She wasn’t sure. She’d become much stronger, more capable when it came to violence, certainly, but that wasn’t all. She’d matured. But the independence she’d sought for herself was as far away as it’d ever been.

It was almost laughable. She had been a slave. But she didn’t regret it, not all of it. What she’d done, she’d done through her own ability and no one else’s. Nobody could take that away from her. And she’d gotten the elixir from Gaeleth before he put her under that accursed geas. It had burned through the blockage that kept her from having full access to her powers. Her human blood had been responsible for that, or so she’d been told.

She wasn’t helpless against the highborn’s enchantments anymore. She could resist their glamors. She could match their powers of foresight, deflecting blows that’d otherwise land and landing blows that’d otherwise miss. Her inferiority was a thing of the past. She was a half-blood in name only.

She breathed slowly. Then she moved her feet, the soles of her boots thumping heavily against the stones. She’d keep moving forward, as she’d always done.

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Kate sat in her bedroom, staring at herself in the mirror. For the longest time, she’d hated seeing her reflection. She was too pretty, too girlish, too elvish. She hadn’t always looked that way—the sharp features, white-gold hair and cat eyes. Once, she’d looked… human.

She sighed, tugging at her bath towel where it sat, just above her chest. It still bothered her, but now she had something to be proud of—the strength she saw in her legs, arms and shoulders, and the silvery scars that covered her skin. They were her own, lines she’d drawn and colors she’d painted onto what felt like someone else’s canvas.

“You’ve taken poor care of yourself, girl.” Derya said, tugging at Kate’s hair with a wooden comb, trying to get the kinks out. The aged imp, wrinkled like a raisin, had been one of the first she’d run into. It was no surprise, given she was always out and about, doing a little of everything.

Kate felt her lips tugging into a smile. “I had little time, and much to do.”

“Your sire was often on campaign when he was your age. He found time to at least brush his hair and trim his nails.” She scoffed. “He didn’t leave his poor old servant to do all his grooming.”

“I said I’d be fine on my own.” Kate said, rolling her eyes.

“You’ve not been fine on your own.” Derya retorted.

Kate said nothing. Instead, she closed her eyes, letting herself be pampered. In the past, she’d disliked being fussed over. Maybe something had changed, or maybe she was just tired, but she didn’t mind it as much now.

“Where is everyone?” She asked after a while. She hadn’t expected them to come running, but this silence was odd. Tarion, at least, would’ve demanded her presence in his study if he didn’t visit her himself.

“The Lord is with ser Mátrimyll.” Derya said.

The latter was Maeve’s father, and a close friend of Tarion’s. Kate had met him before, though she knew little about him. “I see.” She said. “And my sisters?”

 “The youngest is still abroad. The other carouses today, where I know not.”

“Licia’s abroad? What do you mean?” Kate asked confusedly.

“She is still chasing after that same pup.” The imp said matter-of-factly. “She’s followed him back home. That child seems earnest enough, though I suspect his feelings aren’t as pure as hers. Adelicia is a shapely one, more so than most fae.”

Kate’s expression was blank. “She’s serious about someone? Who is he? When did they meet?” She asked, questions bubbling endlessly.

Derya met her eyes in the mirror. She tilted her head. “Did you not receive her letters? I’m sure she would’ve told you about Perth. You were at odds before you left, but if it were that bad, she’d not have contacted you in the first place.”

“Letters?” Kate asked dumbly. She’d sent a few of her own shortly after becoming Gaeleth’s knight, but when they were met with silence, she’d given up. She’d just assumed everyone was still mad at her, and had been kept too busy to bother.

Then it struck her. Gaeleth. He’d intercepted her letters. She didn’t have to guess why. He’d isolated her. She’d seen him do the same to others. ‘Stupid.’ She thought. He wouldn’t want anyone to find out about the geas. She wouldn’t have been able to tell, but her behaviour might’ve tipped off those closest to her.

“You didn’t get them, then?”

“No.” Kate said through gritted teeth. Then she sighed, a hand going to her forehead. “They thought I ignored them. They must hate me now.”

“They were certainly unhappy.” Derya said. “But you’re returned. Any misunderstandings can be amended.”

Kate nodded.

Silence stretched for a while, but then Derya spoke again. “There’s another thing. It’s perhaps better for you to find out now than later.”

“Is it bad news? If it is, I’d would prefer to find out later.” Kate said. She wanted to relax. Just for today.

Derya shook her head, the little bells at the end of her braids tinkling. “It’s not-…well, I’ll just tell you. The Lady, your mother, has gone.”

Kate blinked. ‘Mother’ could only refer to one person. “Mórrígan has gone? Gone where?” She asked. She hadn’t spotted that tall, dark figure since arriving, but that wasn’t unusual. Mórrígan could disappear for days on end, gods knew where to. Kate was never told, and she’d never asked.

“I do not know.” Derya said. “But it has been years. She’s not here anymore. And-…” She halted.

Kate thought she knew what went unsaid. ‘She probably isn’t coming back.’

“She remained a mystery until the end, it seems.” She said, fiddling with the end of her towel. Mórrígan had always given her an inscrutable feeling. She’d played the part of stepmother well. Played being the key word. Kate never knew what she was really thinking or feeling, nor what she’d even married Tarion for. Perhaps she’d never find out. Her father clutched his secrets like pearls.

“Is there anything to eat? I’m starving.” Kate asked after a while, changing the topic. There was no point in dwelling on what couldn’t be resolved.

Derya chuckled, the sound dry and scratchy. “Those hollow cheeks told me you’d be. The kitchen’s working as we speak. Follow me to the dining hall when you’re dressed.”

“Thank you.” Kate said. The woods hadn’t starved her—she was too good of a hunter for that—but road-rations and wild game was unappetizing. More so, given her terrible cooking.

When Derya finished Kate’s grooming, the insect-like wings on her back buzzed, aiding her leap onto the windowsill. In the blink of an eye, she was gone, the unnerving sound disappearing into the distance.

Kate grimaced. She remembered being frightened to the point of tears when she’d first seen it. Those alien movements still weren’t exactly pleasant to witness.

She sighed, returning her attention to the mirror. She tilted her head this way and that. Her shoulder-length hair now had a braid running along the top-right. The rest hung loosely, but had been trimmed so it could easily be tucked behind her pointed ears.

A finger tracked the scar that ran along her nose and cheek. She remembered the pain of getting that one. It been deep enough to shear entirely through the cartilage. By the time she’d gotten to a healer—Gaeleth’s tasks usually had her working alone, away from the Summer Courts—it’d been too late to prevent significant scarring. It wasn’t impossible to treat, but why bother?

She stood, shutting the doors and windows. Her feet carried her to the wardrobe, towel slipping off to reveal a lithely-muscled, yet womanly body. She’d taken at least a little after her mother in that department, not being as lean as most fae.

She skimmed through her dresses, finding not a single pair of trousers. Annoying. She’d have to fetch her belongings from the knight’s quarters-…

A huff escaped her. She’d almost forgotten she could simply have a few pairs tailored. It wasn’t her own money anymore, so there was no need to be miserly. She didn’t feel bad. The decades’ struggles had long-since drilled an unrelenting practicality into her. And Tarion insisted, time and time again, that all that was his was hers.

She picked out something loose and simple for the time being.

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Kate sat at the table with some stiffness, her cutlery hovering on mid-air. She had no idea when he arrived, having looking up from her meal to find Eltarion suddenly there, standing in the hall’s entrance. His scrutinizing gaze had pinned her, making her feel out-of-place like an intruder in someone else’s home.

“Katherine.” He said eventually. He rounded the table in slow, graceful strides. His valet trailed behind him, undoing his cloak and hanging it over a high-backed chair. “You’ve returned.”

Self-conscious and annoyed at feeling that way, she wiped the sauce from her chin. “I have, Father.”

He drew the chair back, taking a seat, folding his long-fingered hands neatly in his lap. The same attendant carefully picked out food and drink from the spread, arranging it in front of him in a selection of differently-sized plates, bowls and cups. Each contained enough for perhaps three bites or two swallows. Tarion was a well-known fussy eater.

His face ever a porcelain mask, he elected to stare at her in leu of eating. It wasn’t much of a surprise. He’d always been strict with everyone, including his only blood-daughter. Really, Kate had only seen his expression soften when he dealt with-…

Her hand tightened around her knife. It was a second or two before she exhaled, setting the handle down, the blade balanced against the rim of her plate. Sher reached for a crystal decanter, filling her glass to one-third, then draining it in a single swallow. The drink was strong enough to burn her throat and nasal passages to the point of tears.

“It’s mid-day.” Tarion said when he saw her pour a second.

Kate glanced at him, her glass continuing its journey to her lips. “I noticed.” She said after swallowing another mouthful of burning liquor. For years, she’d been antagonistic toward her father, refusing to even acknowledge him as such. She felt it would be a betrayal to her deceased family. That moving on would be a betrayal. She now knew that wasn’t the case, because she’d been told as much by the very same. Still, she wouldn’t force herself to be friendly.

Tarion sighed. Resignation was one emotion he did show, especially when it came to her. “At least your vigor hasn’t diminished.” He said, starting to pick at his food. For a while, they ate in silence, until he spoke again. “How long will you be staying?”

Kate raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze across the table. “So eager to be rid of me?” She asked.

He leisurely deposited a few crusts into his soup, stirring it and then spooning them into his mouth. Only after chewing and swallowing, and dabbing at his lips with a napkin, did he reply. “A time, then. Good. You’ve neglected family-matters for long enough.”

Her expression turned displeased, disliking his lectures as much as ever. Still, her retorts died on the tip of her tongue. He was right.

“Prince Gaeleth didn’t return with you, I hear. Nor the rest of your company.”

Tarion saying as much could only mean he already knew everything. “So is this the part where you say ‘I told you so’?” She asked sarcastically.

The corner of his lips quirked upward. It was enough of an answer.

Kate glared at him before lowering her head, forking a piece of grilled, buttered fish—deboned, of course—and shoving it into her mouth. It was still warm, kept so by the hot metal plate it sat upon. The salty, sweet and somewhat zesty flavors coated her tongue.

“I would advise against giving the younger prince your allegiance.” He said, dragging the words out. As if he expected her to ignore them, like she did the first time.

“I know.” Kate said, speaking through another mouthful of food. She’d postponed giving her reply until Alastaïr’s party had returned safe-and-sound—when they could no longer kill her and dump her body in the woods. Her answer had, of course, been no.

Eltarion blinked. “You refused him?”

“Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

“…I didn’t expect you to have that much sense.” He pointed out, sipping his tea. Really, it was mostly cream and honey.

“So you’ve dropped the act and are just insulting me now-…?” She started, only to find Tarion’s gaze disconnecting from hers, looking over her shoulder. Soles clattered against the tiled hallway behind, even-paced and long-strided. A man’s, but who could it be? She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“You’re back early? I’d have joined you for lunch if I knew-… Oh, you have a guest, but… wait, that’s-… K-Kate?!”

Kate glanced over her shoulder, spotting a tall, blue-skinned youth with horns and a tail. He was dressed in a regular white shirt with leather trousers and boots, and looked rather handsome, if a bit thin. Despite how much he’d grown, she had no trouble recognizing her ‘older’ brother.

“Hello, Hawke.” She said, the corner of her lips quirking upward. She was happy to see him, and strangely proud at his growth. She’d always felt like the older sister despite his, arguably negligible, advantage in the age department.

His gaze roamed her seated form, pausing briefly around her legs and chest. “U-uh, I d-didn’t know you were… y-you know, coming. Are you-… how are you?”

“I’m well.” She said, noticing how his cheeks turned a darker shade of blue.

He nodded. A few too many times. “T-That’s great. I was worried-… I mean, we all were. You, u-uhm… didn’t write back. To my letters-… e-everyone’s letters.” Suddenly, his expression twisted, one hand going to the back of his head. “Sorry. You were busy, right? I understand-…”

Kate giggled once. Then her lips pressed together, features smoothing. It was an odd feeling. She hadn’t laughed in-… she couldn’t remember how long. “No, I’m sorry. I should’ve written back. I would’ve, had I gotten your letters.” She said. Somehow, it felt too much like making excuses. She hadn’t been attentive enough, and that wasn’t acceptable. Who knew what else Gaeleth had kept from her?

Hawke’s expression instantly took a turn for the better. Beaming like a child at Yulemas, he pulled out the chair next to her. “That’s great-…! I mean, it’s terrible, but I’m glad you weren’t-… that you weren’t in trouble. Or something.” He coughed, trying and failing to regain his composure. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

She shook her head.

“Why didn’t you get them?” He asked after he’d dragged a bottle of liquor closer. His plate was piled with sweat treats, nothing that’d be considered a proper lunch.

Kate had returned to her own meal, still hungry. Her appetite was nothing to scoff at. ‘He hasn’t changed.’ She thought, reflecting on Hawke’s layabout nature. That much could be gleaned just by looking at him. If it weren’t for his ancestry, she suspected he’d have no more muscle than the average courtier-nymph. He didn’t look like he’d be capable of putting up much of a fight as things stood. “It’s somewhat difficult to explain, but it won’t happen anymore. I’ll be staying for a while, if father doesn’t take issue with it.” She said, glancing at Tarion.

The person in question ignored her thinly-veiled sarcasm, picking at some kind of meat glazed with sauce.

Hawke appeared a tad uncomfortable. Rather than having to do with their conflict, he was generally uneasy in front of Tarion. It had always been that way. He regained his smile when he saw their father wasn’t really interested in arguing. “How long will you be staying?”

“Not sure.” Kate said. She’d been thinking about it for the entirety of the return trip, but hadn’t yet decided on her next course of action. That said, following in Tarion’s footsteps was as out-of-the-question now as it’d ever been. She had no patience for diplomatic negotiations, and managing the estate was too much busywork.

Against her better judgement, her hand when to her robe, palming Alastaïr’s ring where it lay. He hadn’t let her return it, insisting she keep it in case she changed her mind. She wouldn’t, but a similar avenue of work would be preferrable. Knighthood was dangerous, but it made her feel free and alive like nothing else. All her thoughts and worries just seemed to fade away whenever she had a blade in her hand.

Distracted as she was, she hadn’t even noticed Tarion speaking until Hawke put his hand on her shoulder, jostling her.

“Come to my office afterwards.” The elf repeated, when her attention was on him.

Her lip twisted. She expected another strong-arming attempt, perhaps to get her to marry—that’d been one of the many reasons for her departure.

Tarion huffed, as if he could read her mind. “Don’t draw pointless conjectures in your head, daughter. You’ll find out the reason soon enough.”

Holding he knife in reverse-grip, Kate stabbed a steak of marbled beef, dragging it into her plate. She sliced at it aggressively, maintaining eye-contact all the while. Did he expect her to believe she wouldn’t be hassled? Ridiculous. Even if he wasn’t planning to, he wouldn’t be able to help himself.

They finished the rest of their lunch in silence, with Hawke sitting awkwardly off to the side.

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