Chapter Text
The bridge creaked as Katana tiptoed across it, moaning ominously under her every footstep. Underneath was nothing—at least, nothing she could see. There had to be a bottom somewhere, but a veil of mist hid it from sight. After dropping a rock through one of the narrow wooden slats on the bridge, she determined it was farther than she wanted to fall and maintained a wary distance from its edge. A brisk wind swept around her, swooping down into the ravine, then swirling around the iron gates of a distant cemetery and disappearing into the night. She pulled her threadbare shawl closer around her shoulders and shivered as another gust of air sent her beaten cap flying. The moon slept tonight, and the dim flickering light of the lantern in her hand was the only thing between her and the yawning darkness ahead.
Katana took a fortifying breath and marched ahead, past fiendish forests and over the corpses of severed stumps. Her walk led her into the cemetery and wound her around gravestones and tombs until she arrived at a broad mausoleum covered in vines of demon’s bittercress and guarded by two sad stone seraphs holding a broken harp. There she stopped still and silently bent over to pick at the harp’s damaged strings. A few chords later, the door to the mausoleum glided open, and she silently slipped in.
In any regular mausoleum, there might have been a gate to separate visitors from the dead. Here, there was merely an ancient, oak door with iron scroll work and a glowing keyhole. Light poured from the keyhole, a warm glow enticing visitors with a welcome promise of comfort. But Katana paid it no mind. Instead, she struck the door with a sharp rap of her knuckles.
“The master is not accepting visitors tonight,” said a lilting, lyrical voice from somewhere inside. Katana rolled her eyes.
“He’ll want to see me.”
There was a brief pause from behind the door before it abruptly swung open. The vampire on the other side was enthralling, capturing her with eyes like the warmest chocolate. Her fingers itched to push back the stray strands of coal-black hair that had tumbled into his perfect face. She pulled her hands back just in time, and shook her head as if to clear the web of allure that ensnared her. Without a word of acknowledgment, her guide turned on his heel and headed down a wide corridor.
As they passed crumbling stone staircases and ornamental displays of ancient armor that glistened under warm light cast by the glittering chandeliers above, their opulent surroundings tore Katana’s thoughts from her guide. The guide forged on ahead, down spiraling staircases and beneath musty portraits of long-forgotten royalty, disregarding the distant clinking of chains that echoed throughout the stairwell. Katana also gave no sign that she had heard them besides the slightest widening of her eyes. Her nostrils flared when she caught the metallic scent of blood wafting from an adjoined room, and she cast a nervous glance over her shoulder as she scurried past. Chains and shackles began to decorate the walls for a purpose that Katana feared was far more than ornamental. After what felt like miles of walking, the vampire pulled open a pair of heavy oak doors and beckoned her to enter.
“The master awaits you,” he murmured before he slipped away, silent as a wraith. Katana breathed deeply. This was it. Bracing herself, she stepped inside.
The room was cozy, with wooden walls lined with bookshelves. A crackling fireplace in one corner and bronze sconces between bookshelves cast a warm glow around the room, making up for the lack of windows. In the middle of the room, a wooden desk stacked high with teetering book piles and disorganized paper piles stood alone. It looked like an ordinary study; that is, if one failed to notice the iron manacles dangling off of walls and the faint remnants of lurid crimson on the carpet.
“Sit down,” commanded a voice of sleet and shadows, rough and mesmerizing. A muscle twitched in Katana’s jaw as she slowly spun around to face Chaos.
He loomed in the doorway, a vicious spiked bronze helm obscuring most of his face and covering his mouth. Only his slashing olive-toned cheekbones and forest-green eyes were visible. Katana tilted her head as she tried to picture him without it: perhaps a full mouth with a hint of a smirk, a sharp jaw, and rough stubble-
“Paint a portrait. It lasts longer,” Chaos snapped, eyes flashing. Katana startled, jerking her face up but averting her eyes just before they met his. She paused, mind racing as she tried to think of a witty response. She must have hesitated a second too long, for his eyes shadowed and he took a menacing step towards her, his sinuous leather armor rippling with every step.
“Sit.”
With a blink of her eyes, Katana acquiesced and sank into a plush black armchair. Chaos finally entered the room fully, and the door shut with an ominous click behind him. He bolted it.
“Why have you come into my peaceful domain, Lady Life?” He asked, a wary tone coloring his voice. Katana merely smiled.
“Peaceful isn’t necessarily the first word that comes to mind when I think of a kingdom of vampire spies and assassins that thrives off of a currency of lies and death.”
From across the room, Katana could feel the heat of his glare on her as he paced in front of the door.
“My network has brought me strange news from the west, foreigner. They’ve heard whispers of one who brings love and lust when she wants. They’ve listened to stories of a stranger who restores laughter into hearts and logic to minds as she wills. They’ve brought tales of a woman claiming to be a Fate, calling herself the Lady of Life where she goes,” Chaos murmured as he silently strode over to her chair. “They tell me she has deep oceans for eyes and wears the night as her hair.” He paused as he reached down, warm fingers brushing against her skin as he held up the necklace around her neck. “And they tell me she carries a vial of blood to remind herself of the frailty of life.
The room silently sat anxiously as Chaos exhaled, a long, whooshing breath of air. For a moment, all was quiet save the distant crackle of an ember in the fireplace. Then Chaos shattered it.
“Now, answer me. What do you want?”
Katana’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. She should’ve counted on The Lord of Spies and Assassins to know everything about her before she had set foot in the Magnificent North. His spies were the best in the world; there were few things that they could not discover if they wanted. Ah, well. It was fortunate, she decided, that she did not have to explain her history.
“You seem to be pretty well-versed in my history and reputation,” Katana commented, plastering a smile to her face.
“One of the perks of having a well-trained network,” Chaos replied. Unlike Katana, he did not bother to smile—at least not that she could see. His body language was unreadable; his face betrayed no emotion besides a vague expression of boredom. Katana’s eyes flickered; she needed to make this worthwhile for him.
“I want you to swear an Unbreakable Oath to me.”
His gazed snapped to her face instantly with eyes wider than saucers. Katana smirked to herself; not even an enchanted helm could hide his surprise now.
“No.” His answer shot out of his mouth fast as a dagger.
“Trust me, you want to.”
“Trust me, I don’t.” Chaos said, backing away. “Leave. We’re done here.”
“You don’t understand-”
“No, I understand you perfectly. You want me to make an Unbreakable Oath to an absolute stranger off of a whim. I’m sure you understand how outrageous that is, so I am confident that you will understand why I decline. ”
“It’s not that, it’s-” Katana protested. But a sneering laugh interrupted her before she could finish. In a blink of an eye, Chaos grabbed her wrist and hauled her to her feet. Katana rubbed her wrist and scowled.
“Get. Out,” Chaos whispered, still as death. “Don’t ever show your face around here again.”
Katana couldn’t say that she hadn’t expected a dramatic refusal immediately, but there was still an ace up her sleeve. It was time to play her last card.
“Oh, but you haven’t listened to what I can give you, Castor Valor,” she murmured, a sly smile spreading across her face. Chaos’ knuckles turned white as he clenched the back of the chair.
“What do you know about Castor Valor?” He asked, although it sounded more like a command. He took a menacing step forward, but Katana merely smiled; the trap was set. Now to catch her prey.
“Enough.” Katana’s cryptic response only served to infuriate him more, and, before she could catch her breath, his gloved hand pinned her against the wall. Her heart thumped in her chest like a traitorous rabbit, and she could feel his breath hot against her face as he leaned down.
“Don’t test me,” he whispered as he tightened his grip. Katana didn’t answer; all she saw was red. Her heart still pounded, but now anger drove its pulse instead of fear.
“How dare you touch me?” She seethed. His hand was hot through the glove, but she didn’t feel it. Her senses closed as she struggled blindly against his unyielding body. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. She was trapped. A flood of panic washed over her, and she lashed out again with kicks and muffled screams. Her power was unraveling inside of her; she could feel it creeping up her throat as it prepared to lash out. But it couldn’t—she couldn’t jeopardize her chances at an alliance any further. Instead, her hand snuck into the pocket of her cloak and pulled out a small needle.
The needle was dagger-sharp and paper-thin, hardly noticeable in the dim lighting. But if someone chanced to see it and decided to take a closer look, they might have noticed the thin film of black liquid that coated it. And if anyone was unlucky enough to stab themselves with it accidentally, they would discover exactly what curse had wrapped itself deep into the needle, just waiting for a victim. In this case, that victim was the vampire whose hands were wrapped around Katana’s throat.
Katana slammed the needle into Chaos’ left cheekbone, and pain exploded in her vision as her head banged against the wall. Within seconds, she was lying on the floor with Chaos kneeling over her wearing a confused expression. He cleared his throat, somewhat bashfully Katana thought, when he noticed their position and backed off her quicker than lightning.
“What was that?” He asked, slight befuddlement coloring his voice. Katana glowered at his gloved hands.
“It was something that I hoped I could save for another, more important, fate,” she responded sulkily. His eyes darkened as he processed her response.
“I don’t care what you wanted to use it for. I want to know precisely which type of cursed liquid you just injected into my bloodstream,” Chaos growled, glaring.
“Oh, nothing much,” Katana replied airily, affecting an air of nonchalance. “Just a simple little potion that Potions whipped up for me.”
“What did you do?” Chaos asked, voice deathly quiet. Katana shivered and glanced over at the fireplace; the shadows of the room had cast an eerie chill. But perhaps it was merely the consequences of her actions. The decision was made far too hastily, and the guilt whistled through her in a gust of regret.
“It’s a Binding Curse. In expectation of less-than-favorable receptions by the Fates, I asked Potions to whip up a simple concoction for me in case things went bad. It kind of mimics the Undead Queen’s spell on Her Handmaids.”
“You made a deal with Potions? And he created a potion for you that mimicked the Undead Queen’s powers?” Chaos gritted out. “Are you insane?”
“I gave him something he wanted, so he owed me a favor. I just collected it,” Katana said, shooting daggers at him with her eyes. “Surely you don’t think me that stupid.”
“After the hi-jinks that you’ve pulled in the half hour we’ve spent together? I wouldn’t put it past you. Not to mention the fact that you willingly went to Potion to procure a replica of one of the most dangerous spells alive.”
“Inconsequential. Besides, it’s barely even a proper spell—it merely prevents you from hurting me.”
Chaos cocked a skeptical brow.
“And where’s the catch? There’s always a catch.”
Katana paused, uncertain if she should tell him. Chaos was pacing again, though, and rubbing a weary hand against his neck. Something about the slump in his spine and his uneven strides evoked a sense of pity in her, and she sighed. He had a right to know, she supposed, for she was the one who had dragged him into it. She had decided his fate for him—it wasn’t as if he chose it.
“Well, the spell may be slightly more complicated than that-”
“Of course it is.” His eyes rolled so far back into his head that Katana feared he would lose them.
“If you would stop interrupting, I might actually be able to explain it,” Katana said severely. She couldn’t say she blamed him for his attitude, though. Honestly, she was surprise he had only tried to murder her once. Chaos huffed out a sound that was far too mean to be a proper laugh.
“I’m all ears, stranger.”
“Potion may have taken some liberties with the request I gave him. I asked him for a spell that mimicked the Undead Queen’s curse on Her Handmaidens; however, Potions took offense that I had asked him for such a basic concoction. So he made a few changes in the spell. He added a mirror curse to it-”
“Potions added a mirror curse aspect to the potion,” Chaos bit out. “So not only do I have to worry about not getting myself killed, now I have to worry about not getting you killed. I hope you’re not very injury prone, stranger.”
Katana ignored him.
“-and also made it a mutual binding. He thought it gave me “too much power” if I experienced no repercussions from its use. Now, before you get your knickers in a knot, don’t fret. The binding spell is quite a simple thing—the only restrictions are that we can’t harm each other. And it comes with perks, too: we can communicate without words and will be able to sense the other each other’s emotions,” Katana finished, plastering on an impassive facade.
“I would prefer my thoughts to remain my thoughts and my emotions to remain my emotions, thank you very much. Hand over the antidote.”
“Now, unfortunately, that’s where our partnership hits a snag. Because I’m afraid I simply cannot do that,” Katana responded pleasantly, ignoring the volcano of Chaos’ anger burrowing beneath her rib cage. “First of all, I don’t possess the antidote. Even if I did, it would be wasting an extremely expensive potion and opportunity.”
“He didn’t give you an antidote.”
“I was on a tight schedule.”
“For what, a missed nail appointment?”
The volcano was expanding rapidly, and the taste of Chaos’ anger coated Katana’s mouth like castor oil. This was far more of a nuisance than she bargained for. And he was far more of a headache. What she really needed right now was a comfortable bed to sleep in.
“No. You’re leaving right now and you are never coming back. Ever.”
Chaos stood up and grabbed her wrist, clenching it tight enough that she gasped in pain. A flicker of a frown floated across his face, gone before she could capture it, and he loosened his grip as he dragged her from the room.
“Stay here,” he commanded her roughly. And he was gone, as if he had vanished into the night air. Katana didn’t dare venture far, for she supposed she had done enough damage that night. But she didn’t have to move to find Trouble; Trouble came to her.
That night, trouble came in the form of an impetuous, brown-eyed vampire wearing a lop-sided gold crown. He strolled languorously down the corridor, examining portraits and fingering daggers. Until he spotted her.
In a second, Katana found the cold stone wall digging into her back and manacles slapped onto her wrist. They were cumbersome and heavy, frigid claws of metal biting into her wrist.
“Release me.” The words snapped off of her tongue as her eyes shot silver daggers at the vampire. “Now.”
“Why, I don’t think I shall,” the vampire murmured as he circled her. And this time, Katana didn’t harness her power when he lunged for her throat. With a flash of silver lightning, she fought back with magic and spells and curses and everything she had. And this time, she won. But she didn’t notice. She didn’t see the vampire as he turned tail and ran. She didn’t feel the tears that ran in rivers down her face. She didn’t register the scent of smoke and shadows that barreled towards her and past her, chasing the vampire-boy. And she didn’t hear the tortured screams and vicious snarls that echoed down the hallway.
When Katana could walk, she ran. She ran up stone stairs and through marbled rooms and across cold courtyards and into dark passageways. The doors all looked the same through her tears, and she didn’t care that she was hopelessly lost in an underground labyrinth of locked rooms. All she wanted to do was escape. Time lost track of her; it may have been minutes, hours, or even days before she calmed down enough to tuck herself into a hidden niche in a dusty passageway and fall asleep.
She floated in and out of dreams that night, sifting through them like sand but never quite finding one to settle on. Glimpses of blood and war and sharp, snow-white fangs chased her through them as she followed a distant scent of sultry smoke that taunted her with the promise of dangerous safety.
It was that smell that woke her up with a start, and she fumbled around blindly in the darkness, trying to find its source. It reminded her of something valuable, but her brain was still clouded with fog and her thoughts escaped her. The floor was softer than she remembered, and her head rested against something fluffy that felt more like a pillow than a wall. Her spine stiffened. But she did not sense anyone else in the room—or, rather, no one human, for sensing the living didn’t help when one was surrounded by the Undead.
After tentatively tiptoeing out of the bed and switching on the light, Katana stood silently as she surveyed her surroundings. Light beamed from an ornate chandelier dangling from the ceiling, and she squinted against the sudden brightness. The first thing that she noticed was the bed. Made of the darkest obsidian, the bed dwarfed everything else. The sheets were a dark crimson red, and Katana shuddered at their uncanny resemblance to dried blood. She supposed it was a practical choice for a vampire, but it did paint a macabre picture.
To dispel the ghastly image, Katana’s eyes wandered around the rest of the room. There was no mirror, no window, no pictures. The shackles on the armchair unnerved her, so her eyes skipped over them like a stone. Time had abandoned an old grandfather clock standing at attention in one corner; the wheels and cogs inside no longer turned with the minutes, leaving the clock a husk of its former glory. The room was sad, Katana decided. Sad in a forlorn and abandoned type of way, like when someone talks but no one cares enough to listen.
She left.
Katana wove her way through the corridors, trying to retrace her steps. She didn’t know where she was, so she merely took stairways up and slipped along quieter than a ghost.
Then, with one push of the door, Katana was out. She lapped up the rays of sunshine as they smiled down on her, relishing the crisp fall air and gentle breeze brushing her shoulders. She ignored the gentle nudge that coaxed her back towards the shadows she left behind, and did her best to block the slight stirring of smoke and shadow that came from a dark corner of her brain.