Things were not supposed to come to this.
Of course, it was a rare occasion when being kidnapped and tied to a post was part of a plan, but Cat wasn’t in much of a position to consider that, coming back to consciousness from a swift kick to her head. Damn, they needed to stop doing that, or just bash her head in all at once if that was what they were planning. She wouldn’t be any good to them with her brains in a mess--then again, she thought, she wasn’t any good to them anyway. She was hungry and thirsty and her head really hurt beyond measure, but that she could deal with. What she couldn’t handle was the suspense. She wasn’t rich, not like Sarriya, tied up behind her; she’d convinced them that her husband didn’t love her enough to pay a ransom, her family was poor, there was no one to miss her...and yet The Bitch, Harlyn, refused to kill her. Cat knew she served no purpose. All logic (what little was left in her addled brain) told her that they should have run her through when they’d taken her out of Bree.
But yet, there she was, alive. Not that she was upset about that, really, but she’d like to at least know what they wanted from her. Sport? She wasn’t the most entertaining of women, with a tongue too sharp for her own good, as she’d already learned. If they tried to sell her, she supposed they could get a fair price, if the buyer didn’t consider a whore damaged goods. She could come up with a million reasons if she thought long enough. None of them were reassuring in any way.
So instead, she decided to take a quick stock of herself. Several broken (or damn close) ribs, and she didn’t really want to think about what had happened to her face. She was still talking at least, and that was enough of a victory. Bordering on dehydration (who was she kidding--she was absolutely dehydrated) and starving, feeling a bit woozy from the lack of food. But, at the very base of things, she was alive, and that was enough.
Didn’t mean she was going to pick her head up to look when the door opened again. From the sound of the footsteps, it had to be The Bitch. Cat knew her name by now, of course, but it was far more fun to simply call her The Bitch.
Cat screamed as the first kick slammed into her stomach, fighting against her bindings to try and curl in on herself. The Bitch jerked her head back by the hair. Much to Cat’s disapproval, their faces were only inches apart.
“We’ve got a problem, girl.”
Yes, Cat thought as she felt one of her ribs finally crack, I’d say so.
---
Untied, blindfolded, forced to stand, carried, thrown on a horse, arms holding her on, taken off the horse, led by a rope, tied to something else, and finally unblindfolded. She didn’t recognize where they were, other than inside a house, and that wasn’t anything useful.
Cat slumped against the statue they’d apparently decided to bind her to, knees bending as far as they were able. They’d taken Sarriya to another room. Cat knew why, and cursed herself for it. The Bitch knew she had a fondness for children. Knew that she’d drive herself crazy, worrying about Sarriya, shout herself hoarse demanding they take her to see the girl. She knew what they were doing, damn it, but she couldn’t stop it, couldn’t keep herself from worrying or panicking or--
She tried to take a deep breath through the pain in her chest. The house had fallen silent for a time, although she could hear muffled voices outside her door. She couldn’t distinguish whose. Probably The Bitch and Needles. The other man didn’t seem to be very talkative.
Cat was embarrassed for a lot of reasons, the least of all being captured in the first place. She’d shown her hand, given up Anelore’s name, nearly gotten the young thief girl drowned, asked Sarriya to watch whatever Needles had done just so she could keep her own eyes…and worst of all, she realized, she’d begged for her life.
Thought you didn’t have anything left to live for. The Bitch’s words echoed in Cat’s mind. Cat had thought that too, thought she didn’t care if she lived or died, thought she had wanted to die, but yet...the minute they had started talking about “disposing” of her, she’d panicked and the words had flown out of her mouth in an unfamiliarly shrill, frightened voice--please don’t kill me, please.
It had worked. She was alive still, although worse off for her begging, tears and blood dried on her face, and a future with more uncertainties than she liked. She knew she would die. That much was an unavoidable truth, but she’d be damned if she wasn’t dying on her terms, and she wasn’t leaving until Sarriya had been freed--death counted as leaving, in Cat’s mind.
She hadn’t thought she’d had anything left to live for, and maybe that was true. But she sure had something to die for.
