Chapter 10: Trapped

"Wake up."

Gaston groaned. Something throbbed wickedly in his head.

"Wake UP!"

This time the command came with a splash of icy water in his face. That got his attention.

"You..."

It was the girl, the one that had to be dead. So this was a dream. Or maybe the hereafter. Gaston tried to pinch himself, but his right hand wouldn't obey. Neither would the left. In fact, he found that he could hardly move at all. Not a dream, but a nightmare. He closed his eyes, but when he opened them again, she was still there.

Somehow she'd survived. His shot should have killed her. So how was she alive?

"Quiet. Don't speak," ordered the girl, and she backed up her order with the point of a long pike at his throat.

Gaston gritted his teeth. For the moment he'd have to take orders.

He immediately saw, and felt, why his hands were unable to respond. They were restrained by a pair of shackles which might have been meant for a smaller man's legs. His ankles were likewise hobbled, though with knotted ropes instead of chains.

Probably couldn't find any big enough for me. Even captive, Gaston couldn't help but stroke his own ego.

The girl…Sable, that had been her name…looked so different from the last time he had seen her. Still frightened and pale and on the skinny side, and still had that strange leather mask covering up most of her face, which made her nearly impossible to read. Gaston realized what had changed.

She was wearing a dress. Albeit one in which she'd made long slashes up the sides for easy movement. And her wild dark hair was braided. Even with the mask covering her face, she almost looked presentable.

Still, no one humiliated him like this. Especially a girl.

"If you don't untie me right now," Gaston growled, testing the shackles, "you'll wish I'd have killed you quickly with that arrow."

The pike point thrust itself up under his chin. "You're not in a position to make requests," Sable said. "Now why were you following me?"

"I wasn't, you crazy mochete." He pulled again, and thought he felt a bit of give. "I just noticed that open door while was trying to find a way out of here. In case you hadn't noticed, there doesn't seem to be one."

Sable paused, ignoring his insult. She'd been called much worse. It was this last bit that intrigued her. How long had Gaston been inside these walls? How long had she? She still didn't know. The only person who might know was a madwoman with no sense whom she couldn't find. "What is this place? Did you bring me here?" Sable asked Gaston, looking for an answer.

"Go to hell. I'm not telling you anything." Gaston spat at her.

It missed, but infuriated her anyway. Without thinking, Sable swung the blunt end of her weapon at Gaston's handsome face. It connected with a satisfying thwack. Gaston looked up at her, unfazed, though a scarlet ribbon of blood trailed from one nostril.

"You'll have to do a lot better than that," he said, and smirked.

Now Sable's blood was racing. The last few years of her life had been spent in the company of men like Gaston and Adrien. Men who taunted her, cursed her, kept her tied up like a dog, threatened to violate her. She lived in a world at the mercy of such men. And now, for once, the tables were turned. She could do anything she wanted. The thought of such power was exhilarating.

Kill him. Torture him. Make him scream for death.

And yet she secretly wanted to do none of these. What good would any of it do? If she killed him, he would only be a martyr to the townspeople, who she had to assume were still out there somewhere seeking revenge. Torture would be messy, as Adrien had once demonstrated, and anyway, what would be the purpose? Petty retribution? Information that he probably didn't have?

Sable suddenly had a better idea. "Oh, I can do better," she said softly, lowering the weapon for the time being and removing her mask in one fluid motion.

Gaston's expression changed instantly from fury to horror. His blue eyes went wide and he gasped. Their reactions were always the same. It was especially effective against men like him, the handsome ones, who thought that maybe they might be infected just by looking. Like ugliness was some kind of plague.

"Aren't I the pretty one?" she taunted, unable to resist a little goading. "Do you not like what you see, hunter?"

"Merde! Put that mask back on!" Gaston hissed, though he, like all the other men, was transfixed, unable to look away.

She had never again looked in a mirror after the incident that left her scarred. She knew well enough the ruined landscape, having traced each one of the scars with her fingers in the dark. A demon's face. A monster's. Repulsive. She kept her burning gaze fixed on him.

This was a form of torture after all.

Gaston had closed his eyes and was murmuring…praying...under his breath. There had been an outbreak of pox in a neighboring farm village when he was young. A few of the refugees had made it to Ste.-Eulalie, already mottled and dying, seeking relief. Their faces had been terrible to look upon, and had haunted him in his childhood. They were the faces of cherubs next to this girl.

He'd always told the villagers he feared nothing. Everyone feared something. He was terrified of only one thing: becoming ugly, though he'd never told a soul. Gaston still remembered his father's words when they rode by some of the pleading pox victims in the street.

At least that is not you.

When he looked up again, Sable had put the mask back on. Gaston didn't know if he could look her in the eye again now that he knew what lay beneath. As for Sable, she seemed ashamed, even distraught. He didn't blame her. There was a face that could break mirrors. But she had him at a distinct disadvantage at the moment. He wasn't going to be able to break the handcuffs, no matter how hard he tried. Solid iron. The leg bindings, maybe. Then, perhaps he could get the jump on her, strangle her from behind. She was going to let her guard down at some point…and that was when he would press his considerable advantage. He was stronger, bigger, and more experienced. She was just a girl.

A good hunter always took his time. He'd be patient.

"Are you enjoying this?" Gaston said, testing her.

"Am I enjoying what?" Sable didn't look up. She was looping the length of chain hooked to his manacles around one hand.

He flexed his feet, seeing that she wasn't looking. A few more inches to work with. "This game of yours. You're no fighter. You only beat me because you cheated. You have nowhere to go, and I doubt if you'd even be able to serve as a whore for blind men with those looks. You're nothing. What are you pretending at, keeping me tied up like this?"

The dagger was in her left hand instantly. "Don't test me, hunter. I'm only keeping you alive because…" She trailed off. Why? Because he's still useful? That's as good an answer as any. "Because you can still help me," Sable finished.

"Guess you want a decent roll in the hay before you die?" Gaston laughed. "Trust me, that's not going to happen. I wouldn't have you and neither would any man."

Sable growled and thrust the dagger a hair's breadth from his throat. "I didn't say I wanted you for your looks. Aren't you supposed to be some kind of tracker? You're going to find me a way out of here, and I don't care how. Now move!"

It took a moment for Gaston to realize she wasn't going to kill him. It was just for show; he saw the fear in her eyes. More bark than bite. Yet another weakness. "Fine. Have it your way." He rose awkwardly and felt the pins and needles. He must have been out for a while. Since she currently held all the sharp objects, Gaston was made to walk ahead of her like a dog on a leash. Sable was silent as they took a left and headed down a corridor, lit only by the single torch.

Gaston didn't want to admit it, but this empty chateau deeply unnerved him. He had a bad feeling there was no way out. The time he'd spent walking the corridors had led in circles, as if the place was one big maze. Even if there was an escape, the nearby passes were all probably snowed in by now. He, and the girl, might be stuck here a very long time. There was the matter of finding food. And then there was what could only be described as a presence. Maybe there weren't ghosts like his father had said, but there was something. He'd spent enough years in the woods to know when he was being watched. Those portraits, the ones without faces…what had happened to them? A couple of times he was sure he saw the briefest flicker of motion in the corner of his eye. With the gloom and the oppressively dark interior, though, it was impossible to tell.

"So, when do you plan on killing me?" Gaston spoke to break the silence as he shuffled along. He also wanted to see what his captor was really made of.

"I didn't say I was going to kill you." Her reply was hushed. "I said I was going to keep you alive for as long as you were of use."

She doesn't have a killer's instinct. Probably never took a life before her master got on the wrong side of her. "You know, if a man shot me with an arrow, I'd find the bastard and kill him," Gaston said almost casually.

"Do I look like a man?"

She had a point. He was quiet again. They passed a tall pair of double doors flanked by faceless statues of saints. Mon Dieu, they gave him the creeps. And there was another, more pressing, matter at hand aside from the unseen watchers and the fact that he was starving and thirsty. Gaston stopped.

"What is it now?" Sable snapped.

"If you don't mind, mochete, I need to take care of some business."

She stared blankly at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Well," Gaston said wryly, "unless you want me to piss all over this nice carpet, I'm going to need a chamber pot tout suite. Got it?"

Sable narrowed her eyes. She was expecting some kind of trick. "Fine. Go right ahead and do that. I'm not letting you out of my sight," she said. "It's not going to bother me, if that's what you're worried about."

"All right, but would you at least mind turning your head?"

Stupid girl…actually bought that.

Gaston had been slowly working loose his ankle hobbles to the point that they were free. In the instant it took for Sable to turn away, he'd kicked them aside and drawn the small dagger he always kept inside his boot. The one she'd forgotten to relieve him of when she knocked him out. Her mistake.

He sprang at her like a wolf, knife in hand, but Sable was quick. She may not have been a real melee fighter, but her cat-like agility was undeniable. Any other person would have been gutted with Gaston's stroke. She dodged aside nimbly, but in the process, dropped the length of chain connected to his manacles.

"Bastard!" she hissed at him, crouching defensively and drawing her own dagger.

"Not very ladylike. You need to learn some manners, girl."

Sable barely avoided the whirling length of chain he swung at her. Again, only quickness saved her. She dropped the dagger and thrust the pike at him instead. Now it was his turn to dodge. She didn't know how to use the weapon properly, and it was easy. Her momentum carried her right past and Gaston landed a glancing blow with the combined weight of his fists and the iron cuffs.

"Now who's cheating?" Sable said. There was blood at the corner of her lips.

Gaston never got to respond, because at that moment the double doors behind them opened with a fierce blast of air and flash of light. He and Sable were both knocked to their feet, dazed.

Sable realized two things right before the blackness descended. She'd lost control of Gaston, and the woman who served her food was back.

~~s~~

"Laurent, oh, my Laurent, where are you?"

Sable woke to the sound of weeping. This getting knocked out, and then not knowing where she was… it was becoming tiresome.

Luckily she seemed to be in exactly the same spot where she'd fallen. Or was it lucky? Gaston was nowhere in sight. If he was still around, and tried to attack…Sable did a quick inventory of her surroundings. The double doors which had burst open, the silent, faceless statuary, blood on the rich carpets. Hers, probably. She winced and reached up to touch her split lip. Nothing else seemed to be broken. That was the lucky part.

"What just happened?" Sable asked, gingerly rubbing at the rest of her body.

The woman didn't answer. She was crouched beside the open doors, hugging herself and rocking back and forth. Over and over, she repeated her lament.

"Who is Laurent?"

No answer.

Sable rose to her feet. She was in one piece, and sore but otherwise unhurt. If Gaston came back, that might not be the case. "Do you think I might get some more food? Or some water?" she asked instead.

"It is not how things were meant to be," said the woman, her voice shaking.

"Well, it was earlier. You brought me a tray of food. Don't you remember?"

"No. It is not that…it is…"

"It's what?" Sable snapped, and for a moment, the rage flared up in her again. "I need to know where I am, and how that bastard," she pointed at the ropes which had bound Gaston's feet, "wound up here with me. My life might depend on it. I want answers."

All of a sudden the woman looked at her with alarm. "You truly do not know?"

Sable sighed. Talking to this woman was like fumbling around in the dark. "I guess not. You could start by telling me what just happened," she said.

"I lost control. I'm so sorry."

"You lost control? I don't understand."

"All of this…it is all my fault. Because I loved too much."

Something in her voice made Sable feel sorry for her. "This Laurent, was he your husband? What happened to him?"

"He was my child. And now he is gone."

Sable could only imagine how the woman must feel. Living all alone in this place, no one to talk to, surrounded by those awful paintings and statues. She must have been some kind of servant to the people who lived here. She's not a noble lady herself. But what happened to the nobles? Did they die? Did they flee and leave her here? There were still a thousand questions she wanted to ask. She started with something simple.

"Can you at least tell me your name? Mine is…" She started to use the name she'd once had. It had been so long that she'd nearly forgotten it. "Sable," she said instead, using the moniker Adrien had chosen that night back in New Orleans.

"I am called many things by many people. You may call me Lilure."

There was finally a name to go with the face. And something about Lilure's face seemed terribly familiar. Up close, Sable could see the worry lines etched into what had once been a youthful appearance. There were streaks of grey in the dark, tangled hair. And the eyes…dark, alert, but brimming with sadness and the strain of being alone.

"All right. Lilure it is. Why don't you start by telling me how you came to be all alone here?" Sable asked, then added, "I want to help if I can." It might be my only chance to get out of here alive.

Lilure stopped hugging herself. It was as if madness and sanity were at war within her. "You mean to hear all of it?"

"Anything you can tell me will help."

The effect was like the moon being covered by clouds. Lilure closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and began as if in a trance.

"There once lived a duke here. He was a gentle soul, really, the kind of man everyone loved. He married a noble lady who was kind but frail. For many years they hoped for an heir. When one finally came, it was at a terrible price, for the duchess died giving birth. The duke was heartbroken. He was an old man by now and he never married again.

I was a maid to the duchess. I also had a child around this same time. Laurent, my son. But…" Lilure's voice trembled, "…he was taken from me. I am sure he is dead."

"What happened to the duke?" Sable said, trying to change the subject.

"The duke…by then he was dying, in mourning for his lost wife. He made plans for his heir to rule after he died. His younger brother was to be regent until the heir came of age. But the young duke was cruel, power-hungry…and he meant to rule for himself."

Sable knew a thing or two about that. "Did he?"

"I wouldn't allow it," Lilure said stubbornly.

"You were a maid. How could you…" Sable trailed off. Something the older woman had said earlier now made sense. I lost control. All of it clicked. The door flying open. The horrible feeling of being watched. The huge chateau seemingly lost in time in the middle of the woods. The portraits without faces. "You're telling me you're a witch?"

Lilure's eyes flashed. "Mustn't use that word. Mustn't use it at all. I always had the power. I couldn't help it! My older sister had it more than me, but she was the pretty one. I was," she sighed, "only a dumpy little kitchen maid. But I could still do something. I made it so that things would stay the same until they were returned to the right way, the way…"

"'…things were always meant to be,'" Sable finished for her. She hadn't understood it earlier, but now a terrible knotted feeling took hold in her gut. "So I can't leave? Not until things are set right? Is that what you mean?"

"Why would you even want to?" If Lilure had been lucid for a moment, that moment was gone. "Such a beautiful place, dear. You would be dead," she gestured to the swirling snows outside the window, "out there. In here I will protect you."

Sable had been afraid of that. Then there was the problem of Gaston. She had no idea where he was, what he was planning, or if she could fight him again to even a draw. She was cold, exhausted, and still weakened from all the exertion of the past few days. Still, she decided to ask Lilure one more question.

"That man who was here. Did you let him in too?"

"It seemed such a pity to leave a handsome one like him out there."

In the bedroom on the far side of the chateau, Gaston stared intently into the mirror. He knew only two things for sure.

There was no getting out of here that he could see. Even if he could, the snows were too deep and the wind too frigid. He was stuck.

And the next time he saw the girl, he was going to finish her.

To Be Continued