Cat's Quill

by Anne Barwell

  Christian snorted. "You might be his nephew, Cat, but you are also a thorn in his side. Far enough from the throne not to be a threat to it but close enough that your vocal discontentment with the way things are is an embarrassment to him. Why do you think he's arranged this marriage for you to someone like Deryn? Think about it, cousin."

  Pulling away from Tomas, Cathal got to his feet and tried to pace, swearing under his breath when the rope prevented him from taking more than three steps. "I am not some bloody submissive!" he said angrily, kicking at the straw under his feet. It didn't fly far, dirty, damp clumps sticking together, refusing to obey. "I don't care if he is my uncle or the king, I'm not marrying her, and that's final."

  "See what I mean," Christian told Tomas. "He's vocal with that opinion too, and lucky it hasn't got him thrown into a nice comfortable dungeon before now. Add in the other risks he takes, although thank God he's a little more discreet in those, and this has the potential to be so much worse." He shook his head. "I leave him alone for four months, and look at the mess he's in."

  "You told me that you didn't get to talk to anyone," Tomas said to Cathal, wondering just how much of the little he'd been told was true. "That you felt isolated because of that."

  "That would be the discreet bit I mentioned," Christian added helpfully. "He's vocal about Deryn, but the rest he plays close to his chest." He smiled a little. "You, he hasn't mentioned to anyone at all. But I doubt anyone who knows him even a little wouldn't have worked out he'd fallen for someone recently, and hard, at that. He might be difficult at times to get information out of, but he's never learnt to hide his emotions very well."

  "Be quiet!" Cathal ordered. "Don't talk about me as though I'm not here. It's rude, not to mention insulting." He sniffed. "I can hide my emotions when I need to." He faltered, glancing at Tomas for a moment before turning away. "I have to."

  Christian frowned. "What did she say to you, Cat?" He awkwardly got to his knees and edged closer to their cell. His clothes were ill-fitting and baggy in places, tight in others, and already turning from dark grey to black from his time in the cell. Tomas wondered what happened when he'd changed back into human form. Were these his original clothes, or had he been given something to make do because he'd been naked? They looked more like something someone in Will's position would wear, rather than the quality of cloth that Tomas had been given. "She tried to make a deal with you, didn't she?"

  The question was met with silence. Cathal shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."

  "Cat, please." Tomas stood, trying to move closer, but Cathal kept just out of reach, shivering without the added warmth of the cloak. Even a day would be enough to make someone sick, let alone however long Cathal had been there. Tomas could already feel the damp seeping into his aching joints, aggravating the pain running through them, his muscles cramping when he shifted from sitting to standing. If he never got on a horse again, it would be too soon.

  "I don't want to talk about it," Cathal repeated stubbornly. "When the time comes, I will do what I need. There's nothing to discuss." He kept his eyes focused on the door at the far end of the room, almost as though he was willing someone to come through it. Or wishing it would never open, especially if Deryn was on the other side of it.

  "To hell there isn't," Tomas snapped. He'd just about had enough of this crap. They were getting out of here, he didn't care how, but they'd find a way. Deryn was not getting her claws into Cathal while Tomas had breath to draw to prevent it.

  "Excuse me?" Cathal turned to glare at him. "This is my life, Tomas. I'll do with it what I damn well please. This is my decision and mine alone. Stay out of it."

  Tomas pulled at his restraints. "Christian's right. She tried to make a deal with you, and it doesn't take a genius to work out what that probably was."

  "Don't do this," Cathal begged. "I don't want my memories of you to be of this, of arguing with you." He turned away again. "I need to keep you safe, and I'm going to make sure I do whatever it takes to achieve that."

  "What about what I need?" Tomas snarled, cursing the ropes holding him, wanting to force Cathal to face him. To kiss him senseless and show him exactly what he needed.

  Cathal stilled completely. "I can't give you what you need," he whispered hoarsely. "Not in this world and I don't fit in yours."

  "And besides, you're in a cell and not about to get into his...." Christian trailed off, catching sight of the expressions on both their faces. "Well, maybe later," he amended hurriedly.

  "Shut up!" Both of them yelled at him simultaneously.

  "You two are so well suited." Christian shrugged. "Both of you are stubborn idiots who won't back down. This relationship of yours is going to be very interesting." He grinned. "I'm looking forward to watching it develop."

  "We don't need an audience, thank you," Tomas said stiffly. "This is private, even if you have no concept of the word." He cleared his throat, determined to carry on despite the interruption. "Come sit next to me, Cat, I want to talk to you." Cathal met his eyes for a moment. His own were red, and he appeared very flushed. One lock of hair flopped down limply over one eye, but he didn't attempt to move his head to shift it. Shuffling his feet, he did what Tomas asked.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice muffled. "She threatened to kill you, and I don't know what else to do. I can't be responsible for your death and--"

  "Ssh." Tomas kept his voice low. "It's okay, Cat." Christian settled down cross-legged again and closed his eyes, his way of giving them some illusion of privacy.

  "No, it's not." Cathal bit his lip. "This is my fault, all of it. Christian has been living as a cat, and now you're in this cell because you followed me."

  "Because I made the choice to follow you," Tomas corrected gently. "Christian made his own choices too. He fell in love with Alice, and it wasn't because of you." He leaned over and kissed Cathal on the forehead. "Feeling guilty and blaming yourself doesn't change anything. Believe me, I know. I've spent a lot of my life doing that for situations that were out of my control."

  "This was within my control. I knew I was taking a chance going through into your world again. I was drawn to you the first time I saw you, yet I didn't stay away."

  "It was mutual, Cat. I wanted to spend time with you, to be with you." He smiled a little. "I could have stayed away and kept safe like you wanted, but I didn't. I'd prefer a short time together like this than a lifetime of not knowing, of wondering what had happened to you."

  "Like my Alice," Christian whispered softly. "Did you really want that for Tomas, Cat? Leaving him forever like I had to?"

  "I never wanted to leave him. You know that. I had nightmares," he shivered, leaning into Tomas, "about coming back too late." Cathal was quiet for a moment. "I'm so sorry, Christian, I don't mean to rub salt into your wounds. This must be very difficult for you, seeing us together."

  Christian shook his head. "I don't begrudge you any happiness, cousin. I had a year with Alice. It's more than many get." His voice softened and saddened. "I hope the two of you have longer than we did." He shot Tomas a disbelieving look, his demeanor changing in a split second along with his tone. "It never occurred to me that you would be stupid enough to wind up in here with us. What happened to 'Mr. I Don't Trust Anyone'?" Rolling his eyes, he snorted. "Of all the well-laid plans of mice, men, and cats, but then I had no choice but to rely on you for the cavalry."

  "Cavalry?" Tomas stared at him blankly before another part of the jigsaw locked into place. "You left the flute for me to find, didn't you?"

  "Flute?" Cathal paled. "Christian, God, tell me you didn't."

  "I didn't," Christian repeated obediently, his lips turning into a smug grin. "It wasn't me who dropped it, now, was it?" The flute was Cathal's. With the design on it, it had to be.

  "I didn't drop it. I wouldn't have done that." Cathal shook his head. "You weren't supposed to be able to get here. It was in my pocket, along with the pendant I'd been carving. She t
ook that, I never saw the...." He groaned aloud. "No. No."

  "Oh yes." Christian nodded. "As I said, you've never been good at hiding your emotions. When you lunged for Gwalch, the flute fell out of your pocket. I managed to hide it in the grass before following you through. I knew Tomas would come looking for you, that he wouldn't give up where others might." He grinned. "I know obsession when I see it."

  "I am not obsessed," Tomas started to say, reddening. "Okay, maybe I am," he amended, "but it's a good kind of obsession, because I wouldn't have gone to the tree otherwise, right?"

  "Right." Christian nodded in agreement. "Like a dog with a bone." He stopped, visibly twitching. "You'd think the cat vibe would wear off after a day, wouldn't you, but no."

  "Give it time, cousin," Cathal suggested. "The magic is probably still lingering. The bracelet only does so much." He snuggled closer to Tomas. "I'm sorry you got involved in this. It is not your fight. But, at the risk of sounding selfish, I am also glad you are here and I have you for a short time at least."

  "You're not sounding selfish, Cat." Tomas smiled, wishing again he could put his arms around Cathal. The smile faded to a frown, his brain catching up with Cathal's sudden change of tone and loss of concern for Tomas's safety. He'd made a decision of sorts, that much was obvious. "Just promise me you don't do anything stupid like going along with what she says to keep me safe."

  "It's not stupid." Cathal raised his chin stubbornly. "I have no intention of being bedded by her, but I will sign the confession if I need to. After all, it is the truth, where the other is not."

  "You will sleep with her over my dead body," Tomas growled. There had to be a way to free themselves from these ropes, but however much he tried, he couldn't find an end or a knot to try to undo.

  "That would be her plan, yes," Christian reminded him dryly, "and the whole reason why Cat's thinking about cooperating with her." He looked Cathal up and down, an expression of what could only be approval on his face. "Confession, hmm?" His voice softened. "I see you've been busy carrying on with our work while I've been away."

  Cathal's eyes narrowed; he didn't like Christian's tone. "Someone had to. The resistance needed a leader, and I'm more than capable. Just because I preferred a different kind of battlefield than you did doesn't mean I'm not capable of defending myself in a fight, or of attacking if I'm provoked."

  "Hold up!" Tomas ordered, his fingers stilling for a moment. They were sore already; the rope was coarse and heavy. "What resistance? What confession?" He shifted so that his back was against Cathal's, his fingers brushing against the blond's wrist, bare skin cold against his own. "And what bracelet? The one you usually wear is gone."

  "I gave it to Christian," Cathal explained. He wriggled, his fingers brushing against Tomas's, twisting his body slightly, his back digging into Tomas's side. "Ow!" Cathal jumped back. "What was that?"

  "What?" Tomas looked at him blankly. "It's my cloak, you leaned against it." That was odd, the material was soft; it should not have got that reaction. Perhaps there was a hard piece of stone under where he was sitting. He stood up and shook himself to make sure.

  "Yes, I know that." Cathal sounded a little annoyed. "I also know what a cloak feels like, and it wasn't just that." He frowned, his brows narrowing in thought, shaking his head. "Your cloak has pockets, does it not?"

  "Well, yes," Tomas told him, not sure where this is going. "But there's nothing in there that should...." His voice trailed off, and he blushed, feeling like an idiot. "Oh," he murmured, his mind unable to supply anything more intelligent to say, which was rather apt, considering.

  "Yes?" Christian's voice was dangerously low. "What's in your pocket that we should know about, Tomas? What are you hiding?"

  Tomas mumbled something under his breath. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid. "Umm," he said, looking everywhere but at his companions. "I have a knife."

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  Chapter Twenty-Five

  "A knife?" Christian stared at him. "Surely you aren't serious?" He shook his head, laughing. "You have a right one here, cousin."

  Cathal opened his mouth and then shut it again. "All this time you had a knife?" he asked very calmly and slowly, his voice even. "Where did you get the knife from, Tomas?"

  "It's Deryn's," Tomas said defensively. "I put it in my pocket when I retrieved it from the river, and I forgot it was there." He colored. "I had other things on my mind." Hopefully, no one would ask what those other things were, exactly.

  "I'm sure you did," Christian commented dryly, giving Cathal a smirk.

  Cathal chose to ignore him, much to Tomas's relief. "We'll worry about the details later," he decided. "If we are freed from these ropes, we stand a better chance of getting out of here." He wriggled closer to Tomas, who turned sideways, trying to grab his cloak with his hands so that his pocket was where Cathal could reach it.

  "Damn," Tomas muttered when the task proved more difficult than it appeared. He stood, bent forward, and then to the side, the cloak moving with his body. Cathal managed to grab one end of it, and between them they maneuvered the cloth so that Cathal could rummage inside Tomas's pocket. "Be careful," he warned. "It's sharp."

  "What else is in here?" Cathal frowned, using his fingers to press the fabric back against Tomas so that he could get a better grip.

  Tomas went red. "Umm, that's not in my pocket, Cat." He hadn't realized that the fabric was quite that thin when pressure was applied to it, although where Cathal's hand was felt very good.

  "Oh!" Cathal blushed, moving his hand back a bit. "I thought it felt a little soft for a knife."

  Christian sniggered. "Keep doing that, and I bet it won't feel that way for long."

  "Either come over here and do this yourself or be quiet," Cathal snapped, still searching for the knife. Tomas felt something sharp prick the side of his leg, and then Cathal motioned him to turn around back to back. "Got it!"

  "Sorry, cousin, but he's not my type. You're going to have to grope him yourself." Christian stood and walked over as close to the bars dividing their cells as he could, watching Cathal's progress closely. "There's also the fact that I'm stuck in this cell all by myself while the two of you get lucky."

  "Not yet," muttered Tomas, trying to stay still while Cathal attempted to saw through the ropes with the knife. Biting his lip, Tomas hissed when it slipped, a sharp pain going through the base of one finger.

  "Sorry," murmured Cathal, managing to grab the handle before the knife hit the floor. "Do you want to try? I don't want to hurt you again."

  "It's fine," Tomas reassured him. A little pain would be worth it if they could get out of here. "I trust you. Just do what you need."

  "These ropes are made of horseweed," Cathal complained. "It's going to take a few minutes, even if I can get a decent grip on this knife." He hissed suddenly, gritting his teeth. "This had better work."

  Something warm ran down Tomas's wrist, the knife's motion getting steadier, the ropes starting to loosen. His fingers felt slippery. Cathal's breathing began to speed up.

  "Cat? Are you okay?" Tomas pulled at his restraints, trying to help, however futile the attempt.

  Instead of answering, Cathal kept sawing at the rope. Tomas glanced behind him, noticing beads of sweat on Cathal's face. Tomas yanked at the rope again, cursing when it didn't part.

  "Cat?" This time Tomas snapped the question. "You're not okay. You need to stop this now!"

  "Bleeding to death is not going to get any of us out of here, Cathal." Christian's voice was rough. "Put down the damn knife."

  "When I've finished!" Cathal's face twisted into a grimace. He swore loudly, and the ropes suddenly fell from around Tomas's wrists. Cathal swayed on his feet and sat down heavily, the knife slipping to the ground. It was covered in blood.

  Tomas turned Cathal around quickly to take a look at his hands, his breath catching, not wanting to see the damage he'd obviously done to himself but knowing if there we
re open wounds they would need to be dealt with, and fast. "You bloody idiot!" he hissed. Cathal's palms were raw and bleeding, a mishmash of cuts covering them where he'd gripped the knife. "This wasn't worth it. I'm not worth it!" Pulling Cathal close, Tomas held him tightly, kissing the top of his head.

  "I'm fine, and they will heal," Cathal muttered, leaning into Tomas's embrace. He raised his chin, defiant, his complexion even paler than usual. How much blood had he lost? Fuck, it was over the knife as well as his hands, not to mention the crimson soaked into the folds of cloth that made up Tomas's cloak. "You are worth it, and we don't have time for this. The knife was at the wrong angle, and it was going to take too long." Cathal closed his eyes for moment. "Cut my ropes, and then we're getting out of here."

  "We're getting out of here once I've dressed your hands," Tomas argued, letting go of Cathal and bending to pick up the knife. Cathal shifted so that his back was to Tomas, who began to cut through the ropes. Whatever this horseweed was, it wasn't easy work even with a sharp knife and his own hands free. Cathal was definitely a lot stronger than he appeared.

  "Tomas is right." Christian rolled his eyes. "You're a bloody idiot. Haven't you learned anything at all? That was one thing I worried about with being stuck in Alice's world and you here. It was only a matter of time before you did something like this to protect someone else. What is wrong with you? Have you got some kind of death wish? Is that the real reason you signed up for the resistance? You have nothing to prove, Cat. You're a good man and nothing like the rest of the aristocracy. It's not your fault that your father was born with a title."

  "You have a nerve," Cathal said coldly. "Try practicing what you preach before you tell me how I should live my life. We might be related, but I am not you and never will be." He winced when Tomas loosed the last of the ropes and removed them, flexing his fingers, smiling a thin smile of gratitude before returning his attention to Christian. "I can, however, run this resistance just as well as you did. We have twice as many followers now, and there is a strong feeling of discontent evident in our people which my uncle will not be able to continue to ignore."