Step two: recover his things. His life wouldn’t be worth living if he got out of this place without his staff or his armor—they were essential. Once he was dressed again and back in his element, he’d have a lot more room to maneuver.
Step three—an optional step, but one he couldn’t help but put on his list—get the gauntlet. Haspar would be furious either way when he returned after having been captured, but bringing the gauntlet home would at least make it a bittersweet tale of redemption, not just a failed mission in which he nearly got himself killed for no reason. He also wanted as many artifacts from the musty old dragon vault as he could carry, but that was an irrational desire motivated by spite and the aching of his head, so he was going to put it aside, at least for the time being.
Step four—get the hell out of here. That one, at least, was straightforward. Once he had his armor, he’d be able to vanish without a trace. But getting his armor, that was going to be another question altogether.
Heaving a sigh, Cato returned to the bed, reluctantly lying down on his back in the hopes that it might ease his aching head. The problem with the enchanted stone walls of this mountain was that it made it hard to tell whether it was day or night… unless the enchantment was sophisticated enough to mirror the natural rhythms of the rise and fall of the sun outside, which Cato had a feeling this one wasn’t. Too much power, too much maintenance required by dragons who clearly didn’t know what they were doing. Had it been minutes or hours since the dragon guard had knocked him out? Was he about to be hauled before some kind of authority to be scolded for his crimes, punished for his wrongdoing? If so, he hoped they’d give him a chance to rest his eyes first, just for a moment… his head really did hurt…
An incalculable amount of time later, Cato came roughly awake again, this time in response to the squeal of metal hinges as the door of his cell opened. He resisted the impulse to sit bolt upright again, not wanting a repeat of the way it had jolted his sore head, but his heart was pounding hard as he slowly, gingerly rose to a sitting position.
“You’re back,” he said, voice a little hoarse as he took in the familiar sight of his captor. She was dressed as before, in decorated but clearly functional armor, one hand resting on the hilt of the sword at her hip. Not that he needed any further reminding of the fact that she was armed. The problem with a uniform was that it was the same every day—his captor’s outfit gave him precious little information about how much time had passed. “Great to see you.”
Stony silence. The woman was barely looking at him. Cato got the curious sense that she was angry with him.
“Was it something I said?” He tilted his head beseechingly, summoning his most winning smile—which would have been more effective, he couldn’t help but think, if this frustrating woman would actually make eye contact with him. “Hey. I think we got off on the wrong foot. But I’m willing to forgive the concussion in exchange for your name, how about that?”
“I don’t make deals with thieves,” she said, her voice mechanical. “You’ll have an audience with the Queen in a few minutes. Make your preparations.”
“Oh, I’d love to, but I’m afraid I’ve woken a little underdressed.”
She took him in, her expression unchanged. “Are you referring to your weapons? You will obviously not be entering the Queen’s presence armed.”
“Obviously,” he agreed impatiently. “But I was referring more to my armor.”
She was a stone wall. “You will not require armor.”
“So you know where it is.”
“It’s with your weapons.” It was beginning to actively bug him, the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes. It was like trying to talk to a brick wall. A brick wall that was giving you bland responses to all of your questions.
“And when will I be receiving it back?” he asked, real impatience breaking through. “For someone who’s so upset about thieves, you’re certainly not putting your best foot forward.”
Triumph! Just a flicker of emotion on her face, but it was enough. “Disarming a thief is not the same as robbing a Palace.” The wall went back up—but he could tell he’d rattled her, and that was enough to spur him on.
“Disarming, is that what you call it?” He tilted his head, hoping she could see the smug, teasing smile he was giving her. “Was it you that stripped me? I put that armor on every day, I know for a fact I have to be shirtless to get most of those pieces on and off. It’s fine, no need to apologize,” he said quickly, studying her face closely for any kind of reaction. “I do generally like to be conscious when a beautiful woman is tearing all my clothes off, though—”
“Enough,” she snapped, her voice lashing across the space like a whip. “You’ll be silent until you meet the Queen. Understood?”
“How am I supposed to—”
“Understood?”
Cato nodded mutely, lifting his hands up in a gesture of surrender… but he could see the tension in her jaw and the anger blazing in her green eyes, no matter how skilled she was at hiding it. He’d gotten under her skin. That was all he’d wanted… just to plant a few seeds. Inota had always rolled her eyes when he’d explained the complex tactics he used to flirt his way out of scrapes, unable to understand why he thought it was a good idea to annoy people he wanted to manipulate. But the other mage was too short-sighted to understand the levels he was working on. Any strong emotion you could engender in your target was a win, even if it was a negative emotion. Annoying this woman would be the first step to winning her over.
At least, he hoped so. If he was honest, he hadn’t had a great deal of experience with dragons in his travels. But if it worked on wolves, bears and even a panther once, surely it could work on this woman. Whose name he still didn’t know, he realized belatedly, gritting his teeth. Dammit. Names were useful… names were like a crowbar you could use to prize up the edge of someone’s mask of professionalism.
Step one, he told himself, a sub-list to go underneath his main list. Get the hot guard’s name. Step two, figure out why he’d automatically started thinking of her as the hot guard, when she’d given him absolutely no indication that there were any feelings in her heart aside from anger and duty. Step three… no, he just really wanted to know her name. Strange, that.
Cato made a show of adjusting his hair in the mirror in the little bathroom, leaving the door open so she could see his performance in detail. It seemed awfully trusting of them to put a second room in a cell with a door that could be closed completely… privacy was a weapon in the right hands. Well, he wasn’t going to be drawing their attention to it. He’d been forbidden from speaking, after all. That was a game he was going to enjoy—starting with giving her a pained expression when she asked if he was ready to see the Queen.
A flicker of irritation on her face as the silence stretched. “You may nod or shake your head.” He did both in short order, and her eyes narrowed, just a flicker. “Foolishness doesn’t impress me. Come here.”
She had a length of rope in her hands when he approached, and he sighed, extending his hands in front of him… only for her to click her tongue and gesture for him to turn around. “Really?” he couldn’t help but ask as she pulled the rope tight around his wrists. “I thought I was going to speak to the Queen.”
“Don’t need hands to talk,” she said matter-of-factly, giving the rope one experimental tug before turning to lead him out of the cell, satisfied with her work.
“Not to make sound, no, but to gesture—”
“See how much you’re talking right now with your hands bound? Perhaps I’ll bind your feet, too, give you a real challenge.”