Sora's Quest (The Cat's Eye Chronicles #1)

by T. L. Shreffler

Lily sighed, watching Housekeeper Grem flounce about the room, dusting tables, straightening vases. The old woman hovered in the background like a vulture, casting malicious glances in her direction. She understood her anger. It was quite an honor, to be promoted at such a young age to a full Housekeeper. She wasn't entirely certain that she was qualified for the task. But if it would get her away from Grem's nasty claws, she would take it, no questions asked.

  “Sit down, my dear,” said The Honourable Dustin Fallcrest.

  Lily hesitated. It was a breach of protocol, but she couldn't refuse him. She took a stiff perch at the edge of the chair opposite him.

  The Honourable Dustin Fallcrest sat before her with a warm cup of tea. He was a stork of a man, tall and gangly, with a pronounced nose similar to his older brother's. She guessed him to be around forty, perhaps a little younger, with a thick head of brown hair, his sideburns turned a distinguished gray. His eyes were softer than his brother's, his tone less sharp. He took up the end of the couch, the armrest too low for him, but that was to be expected. They sat in Lady Sora's outer chamber, at the front of her compartments.

  He nodded politely to Lily. “It's a simple townhouse, smaller than you're used to, I'd imagine,” he said. “But our last Housekeeper has retired and we are looking for someone new.” He cast a side-glance at Grem. “And fresh.”

  Lily saw Housekeeper Grem cast a vicious look at Dustin Fallcrest's back. Lord Fallcrest, she corrected her thoughts. For lack of an heir, the title passed to the brother, though the lands were still held by the King's court until Lady Sora could be confirmed dead. Lily hoped that never happened.

  Lily held tightly to her handkerchief, her thoughts returning to her mistress. She still held on to a shred of hope that Lady Sora might return. She often lingered in her Lady's bedroom, gazing down at the gravel drive, wondering if her friend would appear some day, a little older and a lot wiser.

  But it had been almost two months since her disappearance, and the odds of her return grew slimmer by the day. The countryside still talked about her, but less frequently. Few serfs cared about the matters of the estate as long as they were able to work there. The farmers were more concerned with planting crops.

  The women were a different story. Midwives and farm girls still speculated about Lady Sora's whereabouts, chatting out of windows and over clotheslines. There had been several flurries of rumors. Some said she was dead, others said she was still in the manor, hiding in the attic or the basement.

  Lady Sinclair claimed to have seen her on the streets of the City of Crowns. Lily remembered the conversation darkly. She had run across the noble Lady and her companions at the marketplace. Pretending to buy fruit, Lily had lingered nearby, listening to their chatter.

  “Hiding in plain sight,” Lady Sinclair had put it. “Albeit in a despicable district.” She winked knowingly to her friends, who burst into a chorus of laughter. The point was clear. Lady Sora was now a woman of the night, a harlot begging on the streets. “Takes after her mother, I suppose,” Sinclair had snickered.

  But Lily didn't believe that. She also didn't believe the story that ran in the papers stating that Lady Sora was now living in Fennbog swamp, hiding from the law. She couldn't imagine her delicate friend surrounded by wild animals, living on berries.

  No, Lady Sora was somewhere safe and well-hidden, Lily was certain of it. She didn't know where. But she refused to believe the worst.

  Dustin Fallcrest sneezed heavily into his handkerchief, drawing her attention. The new Lord had arrived three weeks earlier to put the estate in order. He hadn't been able to balance the accounts, so he'd hired a bookkeeper and steward. Tomorrow, he would be returning to the City of Crowns. He didn't take well to country life, or so he had explained. He had too many allergies.

  His invitation to be his Housekeeper had come as somewhat of a surprise. Honestly, she had expected to be laid off, just like the kitchen staff.

  I suppose I should be grateful, Lily thought, and smiled politely. “I would love to accompany you, My Lord,” she said, once he was done blowing his nose. “It has been a pleasure to serve the Fallcrest family.”

  Dustin Fallcrest nodded, a wide smile coming over his face. At least he seemed friendlier than his brother. A shame that Lady Sora had never met him. Lily was certain they would have become fast friends.

  “You'll have your bags packed in the morning?” Lord Fallcrest prompted, sipping on his tea.

  “Gladly, Milord,” Lily replied, and stood up, then dipping into an elegant curtsy. “I will see you tomorrow.” She stepped lightly from the small sitting room, thankful when the door closed. For the next twenty-four hours, she would have to avoid Housekeeper Grem. She was certain the old crone would find countless ways to punish her before tomorrow.

  Perhaps Lily would enjoy a final walk across the lawns, revisiting her favorite spots. A bit of sadness tugged at her heart. A shame that she would have to do it alone.

  Sora seemed to plummet forever. The fog was so dense that she could see nothing but white; as far as she knew, she could have been falling up. Her stomach churned sickeningly. The wind whistled past her. The fall seemed to take a horribly long time, but then again, falling was better than landing.

  Wham!

  Icy water engulfed her, as hard as rock. She was immediately stunned. The air rushed from her lungs, her muscles cramped and convulsed. Her eyes closed tight, and for a brief moment, she blacked out.

  The freezing water brought her back almost immediately. She writhed against it, as clumsy as a newborn child, fighting to organize her limbs, moving on instinct alone. She couldn't tell if she was facing up or down, but there was no time to decide. With the desperation of a drowning beast, she picked a direction and kicked her legs as hard as she could, propelling her numb arms, her lungs screaming for oxygen.

  Luckily, she picked the right direction. A few seconds later, Sora exploded through the surface of the lake, her mouth wide open, like a caught fish. She was too numb to feel any sort of pain; too overwhelmed by adrenaline. She looked around wildly, her eyes keen with panic, expecting an attack.

  But nothing happened. Besides the smooth, swirling mist and rippling gray water, nothing moved.

  It took a long minute to regain her thoughts. I'm alive, I'm alive, she kept thinking as she treaded water; a mantra of survival. Still, she couldn't quite believe it. The mist seemed to hint at an afterlife; a thin veil between her bruised body and the underworld. Any minute now, she expected the North Wind to appear in all of His dark glory, a herald of the Goddess, to escort her into the beyond.

  She focused intently on the deep fog. She tried to regain her breath, though it seemed impossible to use her lungs. She kept choking on air, her body shaking uncontrollably, succumbing to fits and starts. Then, unexpectedly, she saw a shape drift into sight, obscured by mist. Her heart stuttered.

  A low, flat object bobbed into view. It took a moment for her to recognize it. A fragile wooden platform, perhaps a long-forgotten elevator, floated along the surface of the lake.

  Sora couldn't believe her luck. Still fueled by adrenaline, she surged toward the floating boards, swimming as fast as possible. She reached their side in under a minute. Desperate, she dragged herself on top of the slippery wood, sinking her fingers into the spongy dry rot, clawing her way up like a wet cat.

  Once fully on-board the platform, she collapsed, shivering and shaking, absolutely exhausted. Her thoughts spun wildly. She wondered if the Catlins would follow her down to the water. Should she try to paddle her way to the forest, escape...? It was the most immediate choice.

  Then she sat bolt upright. Crash!

  Finally her thoughts cleared, her shock dissipating. By the Goddess, where is he? Had he survived the fall? Was he somewhere on the lake? He must have landed nearby.

  She put her hand to her chest, trying to calm her heart. He might be dead. The thought didn't truly upset her—but he was her only chance of survival. She wouldn't last a day in the swamp, with
no supplies and no weapons. And how was she supposed to rescue the Wolfies by herself?

  Her eyes searched the water desperately, her vision obscured by fog. He had to be somewhere around here—she was certain of it. Spotting him should be easy. If he was still on the surface. Alive.

  Of course he's alive! she thought. He had to be. Crash was the most capable person she had ever met—even if he was an evil bastard. And if he was dead...well, that didn't bode well for her, either.

  She gazed at the water, still ruffled by her violent landing. Another shape loomed out of the mist—a giant, contorted pile of ropes and wood, the remnants of the bridge. Luckily, it had fallen quite a ways from where she had landed. She put her arms in the water and propelled her little raft towards the wreckage. Crash was probably nearby.

  She examined the murky depths, her vision obscured by clots of dirt and grass, mud and branches. Shards of wood floated past, drifting away from the main wreckage. She thought she saw a peculiar amount of ripples towards one end of the bridge. Small bubbles breaking the surface.

  She couldn't wait any longer on her raft. Crash might be caught under the ropes, drowning. Or perhaps he had been knocked unconscious by the fall. She hated the thought of entering that icy cold water, but she didn't see any other choice.

  She stripped off her boots, then leapt from the raft, diving smoothly as a swan.

  The water bit into her body, making her wounds burn. It was shockingly cold, close to freezing, as though the sun had never warmed its surface. She forced her limbs to move and dove downward, under the water, beneath the collapsed bridge.

  Underwater, she could make out vague, lumbering shapes; wooden planks and ropes, all tangled together. A large bulk floated up in front of her, emerging from the cloudy depths, and Sora almost screamed. It was the body of a giant, dead Catlin, its glassy eyes wide in terror, a snarl frozen on its face.

  She swam past it. She had to find Crash. He had already been submerged for too long. Then she saw another humanoid form floating in the distance, caught beneath a large pile of wood. There.

  She kicked her legs, propelling herself further down. Her lungs burned, but she didn't have much further to go. She used her hands to navigate the sinking bridge, pushing beams of wood out of the way.

  Finally, a piece of black cloth floated before her eyes. She snatched at it in slow motion, her fingers thick and numb. She gave it a tug and pulled Crash's shoulder into view, followed shortly by a head of black hair. Relief flooded her. Wrapping one frozen arm around him, she started up to the surface, her lungs aching.

  She didn't know if she could make it. Crash's body was heavy and she was almost out of strength. A little further, she told herself. The surface was visible, only a few more yards....

  Then a rope suddenly drifted in front of her. It was knotted to a series of boards that still floated above the lake. She grabbed it, desperate, and started dragging herself upward. Crash was impossibly heavy, and more than once she almost lost her grip. She hooked him firmly under the armpits and continued to climb. The rope tore at her hand with each pull, but it was her only lifeline, a solitary route back to the surface—she thanked the Goddess for every inch.

  A moment later, Sora broke the surface of the water. Her hair, having come undone from its braid, was a heavy mass against her back. She took a deep, aching breath before the assassin’s body pulled her back into the water. With the remainder of her strength, she slung Crash's unconscious form over the remnants of the bridge, using the driftwood to help move the assassin to her makeshift raft. Gasping and shivering, her teeth chattering uncontrollably, she hauled him onto the wooden platform. She dragged herself after him with her last ounce of strength.

  Panting and wheezing, Sora lay Crash on the narrow raft. She shook uncontrollably, her body numb. Exhaustion crept forward, clouding her thoughts.

  No. She had to make sure that Crash was still alive. Dragging herself to her hands and knees, she turned towards the unconscious assassin.

  He was stark white except that his lips were blue.

  Her breath caught. She leaned over him and rested her fingers against his nose and mouth. He wasn't breathing.

  Sora forced herself to remain calm. She thought back to last summer, when she and Lily spent almost every day at a nearby river that bordered her father's lands. They tied ropes to trees and swung out over the lazy green depths, falling into the gentle currents.

  Once, she dove in and struck her head on an unseen rock. Lily dragged her from the water. Her handmaid had saved her life by breathing air back into her lungs. After that, Sora had learned the trick herself, determined to be prepared should it ever happen again. She tried to remember the steps Lily had demonstrated, every little detail.

  Sora opened Crash's mouth to see if anything obstructed his throat. Nothing.

  She tipped his head back and closed his nostrils, then firmly set her mouth against his.

  At first his lips were freezing, as cold as a corpse. She continued to breathe into him, counting silently between intervals. She had to repeat the process quite a few times before she felt him start to move with her. She was flooded with relief a second time.

  He stirred beneath her. Abruptly Sora sat up, wiping her mouth off on her sleeve. I hope I don’t get a disease, she thought wryly.

  Crash sat up unexpectedly. Sora gasped, leaning back. He didn't spare her a glance, but turned over and heaved. He coughed violently, water gushing from his mouth, over and over again. It looked like he was vomiting up half the lake. Then he collapsed backward, gasping, his breath wheezing in and out of his lungs.

  “Crash!” She leaned over him in concern, then put a hand to his face. His skin was still dead cold. His eyes fluttered briefly, but he didn't respond. She checked his pulse at his neck—it was strong, steady. This, she assumed, was a good sign. But he was definitely unconscious again.

  Sora suddenly wanted to laugh. She stuck her tongue out at the sleeping man. Not so useless now, am I? she thought.

  But it was a useless victory. They couldn't stay on the raft forever. It was too cold on the lake; they would both catch pneumonia, or even worse, freeze to death. She had to get them to safety.

  As she peered through the fog, she was finally able to make out the gigantic trunks of trees around her; huge, lumbering shadows stretching into the mist, giant sentinels, a reminder of the Catlin magic above. Would the beasts follow her down to the lake? She would have no way of defending herself.

  Abruptly a light caught her eye. She stared, shocked. As she drifted around the trunks of the trees, she saw bright light glinting off the surface of the lake. She leaned down and paddled toward it with her hands.

  Finally, she rounded the massive trunk. A harsh glow dazzled her eyes. Sticking out of the tree were two torches, burning quietly with unnaturally white fire. Perhaps even more shocking was the door between them. Barely discernible in the gloom, it blended perfectly with the curve of the tree trunk. She paddled closer until she could tentatively touch the rough surface.

  A trap? Sora gnawed her lip, worried, but she didn't have a lot of options. She rested her hands against the curved surface of the door. She swallowed nervously, then gave a cautious push. The raft rocked gently at the force, and for a few perilous seconds, she thought it would tip over. But when she looked back at the door, she found that it had opened a few inches. Well, better than nothing.

  Balancing precariously on the raft, Sora pushed the door open all the way. A small, dark space resided beyond. Based on the meager light, she judged it to be the size of a servant's bedroom, roughly ten by twelve feet. It looked abandoned, dusty, forgotten.

  She leapt from the raft to the tree, then turned and dragged the assassin’s heavy body after her—dear Goddess, he’s like a stone! It took countless minutes of tugging and grunting before she had him fully inside the crawlspace.

  There was no time to marvel at her good luck. She needed to make a fire as quickly as possible. She went back to the door, d
ragging a few pieces of driftwood from the water. She was so tired that she could have collapsed, but she threw them into a pile in the center of the floor. Then she grabbed one of the torches from outside, wiggling it out of the stubborn embrace of the sconce. Her Cat's Eye murmured quietly when she got close to the white light. Magic.

  The wood lit immediately with the unnatural white flames, and Sora sent another silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess. She then laid Crash out and pulled off his wet boots, gloves, cloak and shirt, leaving only his pants, for the sake of decency. With the last of her strength, she pulled the wooden door shut, closing them in the small space.

  The fire heated up the room in a matter of minutes. It was warmer than a normal fire, and it had a light, metallic scent, irritating her Cat’s Eye senses. The smokeless flames unnerved her.

  Sora tried to remember if there was anything else she was supposed to do—secure the raft, bank the fire, anything to that effect—but her eyes were already closing. Exhaustion crashed down on her like a lead quilt. Darkness claimed her, and she fell into a deep slumber.

  Sora awoke to the sound of movement nearby.

  She reached for the dagger at her belt, but it was gone. She berated herself silently—how many times had Dorian warned her about forgetting her knife? It was an amateur mistake!

  Why is the air so musty? she thought groggily.

  With a shock, Sora was brought back to the present. All of her aches and pains rushed back to life. She sat up, immediately alert, and looked around the small room.

  Crash stood with his back to her, adjusting his belt, his shirt slung over one shoulder. She stared at him, breathing deeply until she was able to calm her heart. No need to panic. He was the only living thing in the room—unless one counted dust mites.

  Firelight flickered across his back. It was impossible not to notice his broad, powerful shoulders, his sleek muscles and tanned skin. His back, like the rest of him, was covered in small nicks and scars, imperfections made obvious by the white light.

  Realizing her thoughts were more than a little odd—this was Crash, after all, the man I hate—she averted her eyes and poked at the fire with a piece of wood. The white flames burned steadily, with no need for assistance. Strangely enough, there was no ash. The wood pyre didn't seem burned at all, despite countless hours having passed. She wasn't sure what to make of that.

  Crash turned around at the sound, a strange expression on his face. He looked down at her.

  Sora met his gaze, but her eyes caught on his jaw and her breath lodged in her throat. A long, gruesome scar traveled down the length of his torso, starting at his collarbone and trailing to his navel. It must have been a gruesome wound—she wondered how he had survived it.

  "A lesson learned," Crash murmured.

  She looked up, startled, to see that his eyes had followed hers. "What happened?" she asked, wondering if he would answer the question.

  "Bad timing," he said coldly. Then he turned away and pulled on his shirt.

  Sora was somewhat stung by his words. She wasn't sure if he was referring to the accident or to her question. But she recovered quickly.

  “So what are we going to do?" she asked instead.

  "About what?" he grunted.

  "The Wolfies."

  "Rescue them." Crash finished dressing and turned to her, his eyes shadowed. He bowed his head in thought, then started pacing. "Do you know where those stairs lead?"

  Sora frowned. Stairs? She glanced around the room, then noticed them. They were almost invisible, far back from the door, shrouded in darkness, covered in dust. The stairway appeared to have been carved out of the tree, just like the room itself. It disappeared upwards, into the trunk.

  She shook her head wordlessly.

  “Then we need to find out.” He started toward the staircase.

  Sora watched him, surprised. That was it? No comment on how they had arrived inside the tree in the first place? The icy lake or his inability to swim? She frowned. “We should rest for a while longer,” she ventured. “That was quite a fall.”

  “We don't have time. The Catlins will kill Burn and Dorian soon. We have a day left, at most.” His eyes were trained on the dark staircase.

  Sora followed his gaze. She wondered where the stairs led. Perhaps a dead end? Exploring could be a greater waste of time, but Crash wasn't the kind of person to argue with.

  She let out a long, strained sigh, then started to stand up. A sharp pain made her stop. She winced and sucked in a breath. Her side began to throb just below the ribcage. She hadn't felt it before because of all the adrenaline and ice water, but now that things were calm, she could remember the Panthera's claws digging into her.

  Crash paused at the base of the stairs. His eyes flicked to her shirt. He hesitated, staring, then started towards her.

  “W-what are you doing?” Sora asked, backing up. He wasn’t looking at her face, but at her torso. She wanted to look down too, but her eyes were glued to his intense expression.

  He stooped before her, his broad shoulders blocking out the light of the fire. His hand went to her waist where the pain ate at her side—he touched the spot with surprising gentleness. Sora stared down at the top of his head, too shocked to do anything else. She watched as he inspected the wound. She could see now that there was a bloodstain on her shirt, left over from yesterday. But she didn't think the wound was still bleeding.

  “The Panthera did this to you?” Crash asked quietly.

  Sora swallowed, “Yeah.”

  Crash grabbed the base of his shirt and ripped a long strip from it. “It's not too deep,” he said. “All we need to do is bind it.” Then he tied the cloth securely around the wound. He met her eyes. “You cleaned it out when we went for that swim earlier."

  The words hung between them, silent, a shade awkward. He frowned, still staring at her, as though she was not quite what he had expected. He cleared his throat. “I...well, thank you.”

  She was speechless. Gratitude? From this assassin? Not bloody likely, she thought, and yet there it was. Loud and clear.

  “Of course,” she said solemnly. Then she couldn't help it. She cracked a smile.

  To her surprise, Crash let out a quiet chuckle. He stood and gave her a hand up, helping her to her feet. He picked up her cloak and threw it around her shoulders. "Come on."

  With that he started up the steps, not waiting for her to follow. Sora blinked after him, still surprised, momentarily frozen in place. Then she hurried to catch up. Some things never change.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN