True to Night

In the dead of night, not so far away from the twinkling lights of Camelot, the vaults lie as if in wait. A network of tents and disheveled dwellings bound in the thick of lumbering oaks, the vaults are the playground of the lost, the wicked, and the heartless. Even the sleepless rue the day in the vaults, and the thieves dare not steal there. Its harlots and mercenaries stray out only at twilight and the road in is ever in shadow. Only those with the worst of intentions ever find there way into the vaults. It is a place cloaked in endless decadence, a place where the death shroud doubles as a cloak against the constant cold, where a gold coin can mean both nothing and everything, where a lie is more credible than the truth.
My name is Cat, and I rule this world.

***

Cat watched him intently, wondering politely what he was doing in her rooms. The man didn’t look up to murder and seemed too clumsy to be a thief. Unaware that she was behind him, he continued pawing over the various items on her desk. He examined her quills and extra bits of parchment, sometimes picking them up to look more closely. Then, his fingers ran over the rippled embossment on the lid of a small chest and he made as if to lift it. She coughed softly and the partly opened lid thudded back into place. He whirled around and, looking suddenly terrified, took a step backward.
Cat smiled. “Is there some reason in particular that you were riffling through my
things, or are you confused as to exactly whose residence you have infiltrated?”
The man looked thunderstruck, and his back hit the wall behind him, leaving him precious little where else to go. “L-lady Catherine de Poures?”
“Ah, then you are not confused. You simply refused to acknowledge the normally acceptable social standards to which most decent people hold their guests. Then again, I was not aware I had a guest, so I suppose you could argue... What?” The man had tremulously pulled out a sealed letter and was holding it out to her. It wavered in the air between them. She strode to him and took it from his shaking hand. “What is this?” He bowed his head. She broke the seal, unfolded the letter, and immediately recognized the tall, curvilinear handwriting. “And call me Cat,” she said to the man distractedly as she scanned the short missive.

Lady Catherine of Poures,
I call you back into my service. Make ready.

“Who are you?” She leaned over her desk to a candle and lit the letter on fire. They both watched in silence until it was nothing but flaky black ash billowing out of Cat’s fingers. The man crossed to her and bowed again curtly.
“My name is Horden, Lady-“
“Cat.” She turned to face him.
“Yes. Cat. My name is Horden. I am a messenger for the great enchantress Morgaine le Fey.”
“No, my pet, you were her messenger.” The knife slid silently into his abdomen, and he sighed his last breath before collapsing to the floor, unmoving. His face held that same shocked expression. She kicked him over onto his stomach. Cat once again bent over her desk, this time choosing a quill and sucking on the end a bit before setting it to a blank bit of parchment. She scribbled a response and folded the paper quickly. Her thumbprint, outlined in ash, served as a seal, and she walked to the open window with the creased paper. Taking the paper into both hands, she raised it to her lips and blew. It flew out of the window, out of reach, and, rather like a wounded moth, fluttered into the night and out of sight.
~So, Morgaine has returned.~ Cat slumped into a chair. ~That could put a damper on the wedding festivities.~ Camelot had erupted with the announcement of Guinevere and Author’s engagement, and the same when double for their upcoming wedding. Although she didn’t much care about Camelot’s affairs, she was interested in the wedding. It would bring every knight of the round table home, one in particular. She felt the heat of anger rise from the pit of her stomach to her cheeks. Two hot tears fell on the dead man at her feet. She whipped around and strode from the room, her ears suddenly keen on the raucous laughter and loud clanging coming from the enormous tent attached to her rooms. Court was being held without her, and she wanted to forget.

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AN: Hey, I’m looking for a few people to write this story from opposing views with me. If you’re interested in Beta-ing for me, or co-writing, let me know. If not, please read and review anyway. I know it’s short, but it’s just the beginning. -TooMuch