Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You can’t be serious.” 

Fiammetta de Riva paced Neve Gallus’ office, bright blue wisps lazily drifting out of her path as she changed directions. She owed the detective credit for adapting to such a strange space, but the curious spirits dwelling there still set her on edge. Perched atop her desk, Neve sat with one leg crossed over the other. Her dwarven-crafted golden prosthetic glinted in the soft light as she bounced her foot in the air impatiently. 

“We’ve all got tough decisions to make. I know a family reunion isn’t the move you were hoping for, but we need an assassin, Rook.”

Rook. The nickname still took getting used to. Only Varric and Harding had called her that, up until Solas’ ritual had ruined everything. A small part of her would always be Fiammetta. Fi to her friends, if she could hope to still have them after disappearing from Treviso, leaving behind nothing more than a hastily scrawled letter to her cousin. 

Vi - I’m sorry to leave like this. I know you risked everything to keep me in Treviso, but you can’t stow away House de Riva’s shame in villa Dellamorte forever. One of the prisoners I rescued from the Antaam - Varric Tethras - said there’s a force that threatens all of Thedas. He needs an assassin, and I need purpose. Give Caterina my gratitude, even if she won’t accept it, and tell Teia I’ll write soon. 

“You have me. For free. Why hire another Crow? Contracts aren’t cheap.”

“We need another assassin. You may have been Treviso’s Little Flame, but even you admitted your training was… unconventional.” 

There was weariness to Neve’s words as she touched her face and winced, forgetting about the nasty cut gracing her forehead. With a pang of guilt, Rook considered how things might have ended differently if she’d told the mage to stay behind when they were confronting the Dread Wolf. Neve might not have gotten hurt, andmVarric...

She shook her head, swallowing hard. Varric was going to be fine. 

“You’re a mage first.” Neve continued, “A talented one, but we need—”

“You need the Demon of Vyrantium.” Rook muttered. “This conversation is just a courtesy to my pride, isn’t it? You’ve already made up your mind.”

Neve offered a smile, retrieving a letter from her desk drawer. Rook took it apprehensively, her fingertips tracing the wings of the Antivan Crows’ seal.

“Of course. You’ve already put things in motion.” 

“I’ve arranged a meeting with his grandmother, First Talon Caterina Dellamorte, and your cousin, Viago.”

“Great…” Rook muttered, discarding the envelope with a resigned sigh. “Lucanis is expensive. And there’s a good chance Caterina will bash in my skull with her cane the second she sees me. But… you’re right.”

Neve pushed off her desk, squeezing Rook’s shoulder on the way out.

“If it’s any consolation, I usually am.”

Rook arranged for them to meet with her closest friend, Teia, in Treviso, prior to visiting Viago and Caterina. It would soften the blow of returning home to be greeted by a friendlier face first. As they strolled through the markets, a familiar pair of arms threw themselves around Rook’s neck.

“You made it.” Teia breathed, squeezing so tightly Rook questioned if this was a contract killing, rather than a reunion.

“It’s good to see you,” she choked out, hugging her back.

“I hear you go by Rook these days.” 

“It’s complicated.” She pulled away and gestured to her companion. “This is Neve Gallus. Neve, meet Andarateia of House Cantori.”

“The detective and I had the pleasure of crossing paths not long ago. No need for formalities amongst friends. Teia, please. Come, Viago is gathering the others. He’s happy you’re home.” 

“I somehow doubt that.” Rook followed, weaving through the market stalls. “When you said the others, did others include Illario?”

“Oh, please, Fi- Rook. He doesn’t bite.”

“He might as well.” 

“He’s been through a lot lately, okay? Go easy on him. You already broke his heart once.”

Rook ignored the jab, and instead appraised their surroundings. The city had been conquered and subsequently occupied by qunari military—Antaam—in the last year. It wasn’t until now that she had seen the consequences. The quiet streets that were once bustling with life, romance, and joy now were lined with dilapidated buildings and a sense of dread that permeated the air. 

“I hate seeing Treviso ground down like this.” 

“The Antivan Crows remain. This occupation will not last.” Teia replied adamantly, “And one day, I will see a knife through every would-be tyrant’s throat.” 

A tall building loomed overhead, bustling with patrons and uniformed Crows as they approached  

“A casino.” Neve raised her head to admire the lighting as Teia ushered them inside a narrow stairwell. “Nice.”

“The Cantori Diamond.” Rook sneered. 

“Watch it.” Teia called back to her.

The top floor was unnervingly silent, not a Crow in sight. Supply and weapon crates were stacked against the walls, and on a desk near one of the windows, Rook eyed a pair of empty goblets, wondering which was full of the diluted poison Viago dosed himself with every day. Paranoid bastard.

She pushed through a curtained archway to the lounge, finding her cousin waiting with one leg crossed over the other, polishing a dagger in his lap.  

“Two years.” He said, setting the blade down on a side table, pinning it against the wood with two fingers.  

“Nice to see you too, Vi.”

“Did you finish that contract? To stop your Dread Wolf?” 

“It wasn’t a formal contract. I left, remember? When you called me an embarrassment to our house?” Rook swallowed the urge to sob and throw her arms around him in relief. “But since you asked, no, not yet. Things are more complicated.”

She couldn’t bear to admit how much she’d missed him. Bastard. 

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Viago admonished her. “Crows always finish the job.”

“We just can’t take initiative, right? My run-in with the Antaam taught me that.” 

Viago rose, snatching his dagger in one fist, and took a purposeful step in Rook’s direction as she reached for the sword at her belt.

“Love always comes with a knife in House de Riva, doesn’t it?” Teia interrupted, stepping between the two of them with her palms out. “Don’t let him scold you too much. Vi was worried about you.”  

Viago lowered his head, clearing his throat and kicking at the polished ground under his boots. “Fiammetta-”

“It’s Rook, now.” 

“I will not be calling you-”

The familiar, steady click of a cane against marbled floor echoed through the room, and Rook suppressed a shudder as she turned to face it.  

“Caterina.” She gave a respectful bow as the head of House Dellamorte limped into the room, her grandson Illario sulking behind her. His expression was pained as his gaze flicked to Rook’s. Caterina slowly eased herself onto one of the couches, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, quickly redirecting his attention to the nearest window. 

She’d deal with him later.

“So you’ve finally come to your senses and returned home?” Caterina rested her cane against the side of the sofa, the silver Crow head decorating its top watching everyone in the room. Rook knew the question was best left unanswered. After months of changing the First Talon’s linens and bringing her breakfast, she’d had acquired a fondness for Caterina, but an equal, sensible amount of fear. 

“I’ve come to ask for assistance.” She said quickly, before losing her nerve, “My current target is a pair of elven gods - that’s what they call themselves, at least. They’re ancient Blighted mages. I need our best. Someone who brought blood mages and Venatori to their knees.”

Caterina’s expression soured, and Viago took a step forward.  

“Lucanis is dead, Fiammetta.” He said grimly, “He was killed a year ago. If you’d remained home, you’d know-”

“Dead?” Rook blinked, looking to Illario for an explanation, but his eyes remained fixed on the window. She never thought it possible for anyone to best the Demon of Vyrantium. Not unless foul play was involved. Despite his occasional smugness — which paled in comparison to his cousin’s — she found no pleasure in the news. Particularly since there wouldn’t be another assassin on offer even half as talented. And perhaps because she’d developed a certain appreciation for him over the years. 

Beside Illario, Caterina remained silent. The First Talon would never admit to playing favorites, but in the time Fiammetta spent in her home, it was clear Lucanis was the favored grandson to take her place. Before Rook could offer her condolences, Caterina snatched her cane and struck the bottom on the floor. Everyone in the room flinched as it echoed through the casino, loud enough to be heard over the chatter on the floors below.

“What I say doesn’t leave this room.” Caterina leaned forward, holding each person’s gaze like a silent threat. “The body our people brought back was not my grandson. It was dressed in his clothing, but it had been altered with blood magic.”

Beside her, all color drained from Illario’s face. 

“My cousin is still alive?” He hissed, pointing at his chest furiously, “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“His ship was attacked.” Viago exchanged a look with Teia as he addressed the First Talon, “We knew someone sold him out… so you kept your suspicions to yourself?” 

“But you’ve brought it up now.” Neve mused from the wall, “Why?” 

“I’ve had eyes on the Venatori ever since they took my grandson from me. They were hunting your Dread Wolf. And what you did to his ritual threw them into disarray. They made mistakes, and now I have a location.” Caterina pushed herself to her feet, producing a folded note from her pocket and passing it to Rook. “The Ossuary. That is where they’ve kept Lucanis.”

Rook closed her fist around the paper, not daring to break eye contact with the First Talon.

“I’ll free him. You have my word.”

“I’m not certain what your word is worth these days, Fiammetta.” Caterina said, “but if you find Lucanis, you’ll have your god-killer. And I’ll have my grandson.” 

“Come. Caterina arranged a boat. One of our mages will meet us there.” 

Illario led Rook and Neve towards the docks, refusing to look either of them in the eye as she fell into step beside him. 

“A boat?” She followed him closely down a flight of stairs, resisting the urge to push him to the bottom. 

“Did you think the Venatori would keep a normal prison? Or that one could hold the Demon of Vyrantam? The Ossuary lies beneath the sea. A fact I learned mere minutes ago. Maybe she thought I’d act too rashly trying to save him.” He said bitterly, eyes piercing hers as he held her gaze. “Seems everyone enjoys keeping me in the dark.”

“Illario-”

“I would have words with you upon your return, but for now, I need to learn whether my cousin is still alive.”

A gondola rocked in the gentle current by the dock, a lantern affixed to its bow. A Crow mage in a purple hood watched them warily, waiting.

“You’re not coming?” 

“You can play the alluring hero. It’s you who needs redemption so badly.” Illario was on edge, but there seemed to be more to it than a broken heart and family drama. “Someone has to make sure we weren’t followed.”

As the boat pushed away from the dock, Rook watched him disappear into the streets of Treviso. He’d changed since they were children. Once her oldest friend, whatever brief affection that passed between them over the years had only seemed to make him bitter. Most times, she didn’t like him. But she knew how he felt about his family, and her heart ached for him, even just a little. 

By Lucanis Dellamorte’s count, he had been in his underwater prison for a year. 

Give or take.

It would have been beautiful, if he’d been there for any other reason. 

Occasionally, he’d prayed the enchantments keeping the Ossuary in place would fail. That he’d drown and get lost in the Fade, or wherever he was bound to go. What would happen to him in death? And Spite, the demon who shared his body and consciousness? They had an agreeable allyship here, if only because they were both imprisoned and stuck with one another against their will. 

He’d scratched a mark for each day in his crystalline tomb. With no weapons, he used his fingernails, sometimes scraping until he bled to carve a line deep enough. He had to remember, even if just the passing of time. He had to survive. Everything else — every emotion, memory, desire —he let fall away. 

The days Calivan didn’t send for him, he scratched to the left. The days he was tortured, on the right. Eventually, the right became so crowded, they all blurred together. 

A familiar feminine voice caught his attention outside, interrupting his ritual.

“We don’t have to fight. We’re just here for Lucanis Dellamorte.”

Spite rumbled with intrigue, and Lucanis felt every nerve under his skin come alive.  

“Come to save us?” The demon asked eagerly. “Took them long enough.”

But who was it? Not Caterina. He’d know it was her in an instant. Not Teia…

As an Ossuary Guard outside began an incantation of blood magic, Lucanis felt a familiar itch behind his eyes. 

“Now, now!” Spite urged, desperate for escape. With the guard distracted, the defenses of his prison were weak enough that the demon propelled them over the top.

In seconds, Lucanis was flying, landing gracefully between the bewildered Venatori guards. 

A lifetime of training and muscle memory returned to him instantly. He seized the nearest from behind, using him as a shield as another advanced with a sword, a look of shock on their face as they cut clean through their own ally. With a swift, fluid motion, Lucanis propelled the lifeless body into his attacker, sending them into the air to be impaled by a nearby crystal stalagmite. With a running charge, he snapped the necks of two more advancing guards, stealing one’s sword. His hand closed around the hilt, the cool metal causing him - and Spite - to shiver with anticipation. He turned at the sound of footsteps, slashing the throat of the final Venatori.

”Lucanis?”

The voice called out to him as the essence of Spite’s wings retreating into his spine. Was someone truly sent to free him, or was he only doomed to a worse fate? 

He turned slowly towards his rescuer, blinking in surprise. This, he had not expected. 

Fiammetta de Riva. 

Viago’s little cousin. A childhood acquaintance, sentenced to serve as Caterina’s assistant after foiling a Crow operation. Good intentions aside, she’d acted rashly. Whether she believed it or not, her cousin’s intervention likely saved her life. 

Despite her reputation for being a bit of a spitfire, living up to her namesake of “Little Flame,” she was quiet. Polite. Pleasant company when he’d visited the villa. And she treated his grandmother well. She earned Caterina Dellamorte’s respect. 

No simple task. 

Lucanis knew she looked at Caterina’s home, the home he grew up in, and felt he hadn’t earned it. And she’d been right. He’d only earned his place in those halls by birthright, but his place in the Crows… he’d earned through blood and sweat.

But never tears. Caterina had no patience for tears. Poor Illario. 

Fiammetta kept everyone at arm’s length, with the exception of Teia. And Illario, for a time. The three of them were inseparable during in their youth. Oh, how Illario had pined for her. She entertained it for some time, before his spoiled nature got on her nerves. But he fell hard. Once, he drank himself into such a state outside her locked door that he nearly failed to fulfill a shared contact. Lucanis had to slap him awake, then pull him along just so he could do all the heavy lifting.  

He’d do it all over just to see his cousin again.  

“Little Flame? Looks like a grown woman to me.” Spite mused, making him acutely aware that he was never alone in his thoughts. 

“Rook. He’s possessed by a demon.” A dark-haired woman beside Fiammetta warned. Her hesitancy suggested that they’d come to rescue him. She was more than willing to abandon the job now. 

“Rook?” Lucanis tilted his head curiously. When had she changed her name? Or had he been here so long he’d gotten it wrong? Reality felt so fragile. 

“It’s complicated.” She folded her arms as her eyes swept over him suspiciously. “Caterina promised us a mage killer if we broke you out of here. Can I count on you?”

He nodded. “I can still work.”

“Are you really possessed?”

“It’s complicated.” He glanced around the room. “I will help you, but I need something from you first. They have a vial of my blood. They can use it to control me. I cannot leave it in their hands. And… I had a contract when I was captured. One of my targets is here. Calivan.”

“Blood magic.” She scowled. “Let’s go, then.”

“Forget the contract. We need to get out of here!” Neve protested.

“Crows don’t break contracts.” He and Rook said in unison.

Neve appraised Lucanis for a moment before sighing and pinching her brow. 

“Alright, but let’s do it quickly.”

“I’ll owe you.” Lucanis said as they exited the chamber. 

“I’m sure we’ll owe each other when this is all over.” Rook countered.

“Yes. I’d like to be owed a favor by the Little Flame.” Spite growled with delight.

De Riva was an impressive assassin, he thought to himself, as they fought their way through Venatori. He hadn’t seen her fight before, and it was encouraging to see another Crow in action after so long. It was good action, after all. 

“I found it!” 

Rook’s voice broke him from his thoughts as she held the flask of his blood in the air. His stomach clenched. Ally or not, she was a mage, and with his blood in her hands-

“Destroy it!” He and Spite snarled at the same time. She hesitated, staring at the vial in her palm. 

“Can I trust you? Can you promise me I don’t need to stow this for safekeeping?”

“Not hers!” Spite screamed in his head. “Stop her! Throttle her until she-”

“You can trust me,” Lucanis said evenly. 

Rook’s eyes narrowed. “I hope you’re right.”

She threw the vial to the ground, and with a flick of her wrist, ignited the remnants of his blood in flame. 

Lucanis released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and nodded at Rook appreciatively. 

“Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it. Let’s go kill your target.”

Caterina was nowhere in sight when Lucanis returned to Treviso.

“Maker…” Teia breathed as he and Rook entered the top floor of the casino. The room was in disarray. Smashed crates were being swept aside by the staff, blood stained the floor and walls, and there was a familiar heaviness that lingered in the air. It made the backs of his eyeballs itch.

Blood magic.  

“What happened here?” He demanded. 

Illario slammed his fist on a nearby table. “A message. From Zara Renata.”

Spite raged in his skull. It was Zara who’d decided to keep them alive, to torture and experiment with the two of them for the last year.

Lucanis had been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed his cousin approaching, grasping his hand earnestly and squeezing.   

“I can’t believe it. You’re home.” He said, his grip almost painful. 

“Zara… her people got this close?” Lucanis asked, letting his arm fall to his side as he paced, assessing the room. 

“The woman who runs the prison?” Rook asked.

“The woman who captured me.” Lucanis glanced towards the door. “Where’s Caterina?”

Teia covered her face with her hands and stifled a sob.

“The Venatori got her in the confusion.” Viago said, placing his hand on Teia’s shoulder and hanging his head. Something had always existed between Viago and Teia, but Lucanis wasn’t sure if they’d acted on it yet.

“I get you and Fi back, just to lose our grandmother.” Illario lamented. Always the dramatic one, his cousin.

“Lucanis… I’m so sorry.” Neve said from behind Rook.

“No… time… to… grieve!” Spite roared inside of Lucanis’ skull. 

“I need to work.” He gritted out, unable to look anyone in the eye as he focused on a spot of blood on the floor, fighting the demon for control of his consciousness. 

“You should take some time-” Neve began, holding out her hand.

“He doesn’t need time.” Rook interjected, stepping forward and holding his gaze as he lifted his head. “He needs a target.”

Spite’s responding arousal was palpable. 

“I like her.”

Lucanis braced one arm on the weathered mantelpiece, staring into the flames as they crackled on the hearth. He was in the Fade. Or something like it. The Lighthouse, Fiammetta had called it.

“-they’re the same thing. Mostly. Kind of,” One of Rook’s companions, Bellara, theorized out loud from her seat at the kitchen table. Beside her, Neve eyed Lucanis nervously. The two had been debating on how to deal with Spite since his arrival. 

“Except one will manipulate you, or kill you,” Neve replied. “Or both.”

The doors to the kitchen flew open, and Rook entered, her boots falling softly on the stone floor.

“What’s everyone talking about?” 

Lucanis turned away from the hearth, keeping his eyes low. 

“Spite.”

“The demon inside of Lucanis.” Neve clarified. “When a person gets possessed, the demon usually takes control.”

“And they turn into a monster. The spirit just… molds them, however they want.” Bellara added.

Neve’s mouth formed a line. “I’ve heard of abominations being cured by killing the demon in the Fade. That’s not a sure bet, though.” 

“Well, there’s one way…” Bellara said, staring at her hands, “but it’s… well… we’d have to, um…”

“You’d have to kill me,” Lucanis finished. 

The room seemed to hold its breath.

Rook shook her head, bracing her palms on the table. 

“We’ll find another way.” 

She didn’t seem impassioned about the statement, but it was comforting she wanted him alive. Behind her, Spite’s violet-hued, ghost-like figure manifested, admiring her with a sinister smile. Lucanis wondered how she’d react, if she knew the demon was so close.

“She won’t hurt you.” The demon purred, a ghostly hand reaching for her, “How sweet.” 

“Get away from her.” Lucanis demanded wordlessly. 

The demon leapt back next to the fireplace, crouching, and Lucanis turned his head to ignore him.

“I want to talk to her.”

The others continued their conversation, obvious to the demon’s fit, but Lucanis couldn’t hear anything over Spite’s impatience. 

“Let me talk to them! I want. To talk. To Rook!”

“Rook!”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, Spite’s voice a snarl accompanying his own. The demon had channeled all of his energy into the equivalent of a punch to the face to attempt to seize control.  

Lucanis pinched his nose, feeling the blood pool between his thumb and forefinger, and stifled a gasp of pain. Bellara shot up from her seat, mouth agape.

“Lucanis!”

“No.” He held out his hand in protest, his voice calm, summoning years of training to keep himself from trembling. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Rook blinked, her brow furrowed with concern. “What just happened?” 

“He’s throwing a tantrum because he didn’t get his way. He’d do this in the Ossuary. The Fade does whatever a spirit wants - real walls with chains, not so much. Just… give me a minute. He’ll get bored once everyone leaves.” 

As the others departed, Rook lingered, drawing closer as her eyes swept his form. She regarded him silently, starting to circle him like a predator would its prey. Spite rumbled excitedly, as if it were a game. 

“Having an abomination in the Lighthouse makes me nervous.” She said, not unkindly. He bristled anyway.

“Well, being an abomination makes me nervous, too.” Lucanis stepped closer until he was only a sword’s length away, his eyes curiously tracing her features. “Still no scars. You must be a talented assassin, de Riva.”

Rook pulled down the collar of her jacket, revealing faded marks along the side of her throat.

“My second most valuable asset is my face. I protect it.”

Lucanis couldn’t fault Illario for being heartbroken. She was stunning. How many times had she used her looks to her advantage? Was she like Teia, killing only men who deserved it by luring them to their deaths, like a siren at sea? Or did she use the advantage of her beauty to kill more than just politicians and rapists?

“What other scars does she have? What other scars could we give her?”

“Hmm.” He ignored Spite’s lust for violence and shifted his focus to adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “What’s your first?”

Rook turned to depart, dragging her finger along the wood of the kitchen table as she strode towards the courtyard doors. She winked at him over her shoulder as she threw them open, offering a taste of just how alluring she could be. 

“My aim.”

Chapter Text

“When they get scared, little flames should be neither seen nor heard.” 

Dante de Riva’s advice to his young daughter had always been cryptic. The “Little Flame of Treviso,” he had called Fiammetta. He came to regret the advice when his daughter became so good at hiding that neither he nor his wife, both assassins trained to track people down, could find her when she took to sneaking around the home. 

No child of an Antivan Crow grew up with the luxury of safety. Parents created rituals, games, protocols - all conceived to keep their children prepared for the worst. Fiammetta hadn’t faced true danger. Not really. But today, for the first time since she’d been chased through the streets of Treviso by an angry rooster from the market, she was scared. And so she did what her father trained her to do, and kept out of sight. 

Because today was her mother’s funeral. 

Gemma de Riva, “The Gem of Antiva,” lived a brief life. Twenty-eight years, to be exact. When assassins died young it was typically a contract that took them out. Fiammetta didn’t know what a contract was, but she knew when her parents accepted one, because they would be gone for days, sometimes weeks. Usually one at a time, but every once in a while, they’d go together, and she’d stay with auntie Viamma and cousin Viago. 

Crows always came home to roost, but when they didn’t, contracts were to blame. Fiammetta always believed contracts were the only bad thing that could happen to a Crow. Until her mother. 

For weeks, Gemma’s health declined. It had started with fatigue. She’d sequestered herself away for a couple of days, claiming she just needed to rest. Days later, her eyes were bloodshot, and her olive skin grew clammy and pale. When her mother couldn’t leave bed, Fiamma had joined her, and Gemma would read aloud to her, pausing occasionally and dozing off mid sentence. That was usually about the time when her father would send Fiammetta to play alone in her room. 

And then mama was gone. After a brief recovery, lasting just long enough to give false hope, Fiammetta heard her father sob when he went to check on her one afternoon, and knew her mother was dead. For the next week, she and Viago would peek from behind corners in the hallway, listen to their parents whispering about poison - something Viago explained to her like a sickness you gave someone on purpose. But it would be okay now, Viago assured her, because now they could all move in together and make a new family. His father was a king, but didn’t talk to him, because he was a bastard (Viago couldn’t tell her what that meant). He had half-siblings, but he’d never met them. But Dante and Fi could be his new family, he had told her enthusiastically. 

And Fiammetta loved Viago, she really did, but how could he and auntie Viamma possibly replace mama?

Hiding out in the back room of the cathedral during the funeral, Fiammetta lined up colored rocks in a row. A green one for Viago, a red one for daddy, gray for auntie Viamma, and a purple one for Fi. She pulled the pink ribbon from her hair and set it off to the side to represent the Cantoris. Teia couldn’t talk very well yet, but Fiammetta had a feeling they’d be good friends someday. The stones felt off, no matter how she rearranged them. Frustrated, she swiped her hand along the floor, sending them rolling across the granite tile. 

“Are you playing marbles?” 

A boy dressed in a too-large suit stood in the doorway, his black hair barely brushing the top of his shoulders. His dark eyes surveyed the room as if he were searching for monsters in the shadows. 

“I’m making a new family.” Fiammetta said, crawling on the floor to retrieve her rocks one by one. The boy crouched beside her, helping her search.

“Out of rocks?” 

“Auntie Viamma wouldn’t let me bring my dolls.”

“Oh. You’re Fiammetta.” The boy frowned. “I’m sorry. My parents are dead, too.”

“My daddy is still alive.” 

The boy retrieved her green rock from under a nearby statue of Andraste and dropped it in front of her. “Yeah, but parents always die.” 

“That’s not true. Lots of people have parents.”

“Not Crows.” 

“No. You’re wrong.” Fiammetta insisted, “I’m smarter than other six year olds. You can’t trick me.”

“My little cousin Illario is nine and can barely read, I believe you.” The boy said with a smirk. “So, which rock is you?” 

“The purple one.” She said, chewing on her lip. “It doesn’t seem right, though.”

He hummed in admiration. “I like the purple ones. They’re my grandma’s favorites. They’re called tourmaline. There are pink and green ones, too. But here…” 

He shoved his hand in his pocket and dug out a small, iridescent stone that shimmered between his thumb and forefinger. Smooth and cube-shaped, it reflected glimmers of white, pinks, and blues back to her. 

“Take it. It’s a fire opal. You should have it for your collection. It kind of reminds me of you.”

Fiammetta plucked it carefully from his hand, letting the cool rock roll around on her palm.  

“But it’s yours.” She protested, holding it out to him.

“Nah. I stole it from my grandma’s dresser.”

“You shouldn’t steal.” She said, but closed her fist around it, anyway. 

“Caterina won’t miss it. She likes it when I steal, but only from her. She says it will make me a good Crow someday.” 

“Your grandma is the First Talon? That makes you Luca, right?” 

“Lucanis.” He corrected her quietly. “Nobody calls me Luca anymore. Not since my mom died.”

“Oh. Well…” Fiammetta set down the opal next to the tourmaline and the red stone. “Maybe you can be the purple rock.” 

But Lucanis didn’t answer, and when she turned around, he was gone. From the cracked door, she could see the shadow of her mother’s coffin as it was carried through the front hall. Footsteps and hushed whispers followed, as if her passing were shameful. The ultimate failure of an assassin, after all, was to fall to their own death, rather than deliver it to another.  

With a shuddering inhale that felt too heavy for her tiny body, she gathered her stones and shoved them into her pockets. They rattled against one another as she stepped into the hall, weaving through the crowd that loomed over her. She found her father behind the procession, head hung between his shoulders as he stared at the floor. Reaching up, she slipped her tiny hand into his, and he blinked rapidly in surprise. He appraised her for a moment, but did not force a smile, did not squeeze her hand reassuringly as he typically did. Their playful banter had died with her mother, as had his affection as the days drug on.

Instead Dante de Riva swept his daughter aside towards his nephew, wiped his face with his sleeve with a harsh sniff, and schooled his expression into one of indifference.

“He can’t be weak in front of the others.” Viago whispered in Fiammetta’s ear, steering her through the crowd by her shoulders, “you shouldn’t be either.” 

She slapped away the tears of humiliation that stung her eyes. “But it’s a funeral.” 

“Your first of many.”

Fiammetta whimpered, swallowing hard to keep from bawling. Her cousin sighed and, reluctantly, snatched her hand, squeezing it tightly in his own. He was getting too big to dote on her anymore, but hidden within the mourning crowd, he could spare her one last gesture of kindness. 

Rook woke up with a start, scanning the room. Schools of fish swam in the Fade’s illusions overhead and she exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. The Dread Wolf-Solas he called himself-now strangely bound to her through dreams, had called this place a meditation chamber, but since her arrival here, all she’d had were nightmares. Though, with the addition of Lucanis to their team, it seemed she would no longer be haunted by visions of Varric being stabbed over and over again. Instead, just memories of dead people and rocks, apparently. 

She wasn’t sure which was worse. 

Rising from the green chaise she called her bed, Rook pulled a fresh pair of training leathers from her wardrobe and slipped them on. They’d become worn over the past year, the stitching slowly coming apart at the seams. Viago would call her a disgrace – it wouldn’t be the first time. 

The main hall was empty, oscillating rocks and miscellaneous objects shimmering in blue light above. On a nearby desk, a scroll tied in purple ribbon waited for her - a contract. 

She delicately pulled at the thread and uncurled the parchment. It bore only four short lines, a missive from Illario: We need to talk. Café Pietra. Nightfall. Bring Lucanis. 

Rook tossed it aside. They were fighting elven gods, what possible news could Illario of all people have that required their attention? At least he wanted his cousin to tag along - that meant this was business, not a personal call. Judging by the hourglass on the table, they had an hour to get to Treviso. 

She crossed the courtyard, taking note of the changes that had occurred in the past week. Since Bellara had fixed the Eluvian and they’d cleaned the Crossroads of some of the Blight, it had become more pleasant to look at. Passing through the kitchen, she knocked on the pantry door. Of all the rooms the Lighthouse had to offer, Lucanis and his demon had chosen a glorified closet to call home, a far cry from the luxuries he used to enjoy in Caterina’s estate. 

“Come in.” A voice called from within. Crossing her fingers for Lucanis, not Spite, Rook pushed inside. 

“You asked for time… has it been long enough?” She asked, leaning against the wall. 

“Yes, my head’s clearer.” Lucanis said, sitting cross-legged on his makeshift cot and sipping from a mug in his hands with a wince. “Though I would kill for a good cup of coffee.” 

Rook could have rolled her eyes. Growing up in Treviso would cultivate a snobbish affection for quality roasts in anyone, but Lucanis’ standards were, at best, unreasonable. Maybe his habits were endearing to the others, but she knew wasn’t exaggerating: there was a good chance he would kill to satisfy his caffeine craving, if he hadn’t already. 

“You’re in luck, then. Illario requested a meeting in Treviso tonight. With both of us.” 

“You don’t seem thrilled. Not exchanging love letters with my cousin anymore, I presume?”

“There were never any love letters.”

Rook shoved off from her place on the wall, standing over Lucanis as he swirled the grounds in the bottom of his cup, unphased. 

“I might have been your subordinate in the Crows, and yes, you had the pleasure of seeing me at my most humiliated. But within these walls - in this contract - we are equals.”

Lucanis sat his mug down on the floor and stood, holding out his hands in a peaceful gesture. He bowed - genuinely, not mocking her - bending slightly at the waist. 

“My apologies. I meant no disrespect.”

Despite being only a few inches taller, he had the imposing presence of someone looking a full foot over her. Perhaps it was just that she had a rough tally in her mind of all of the people he’d killed. She sighed, slumping against the wall behind her and letting her head fall back. 

“No, I’m sorry. I haven’t been sleeping. I’m on edge.” 

“I can empathize. Spite is stronger when I’m asleep so I try not to do it much.” He stepped past her, holding the door open. “Let’s go find Illario. There will be time to chat on the way.”

A comfortable silence settled over them as they returned to the main chamber of the Lighthouse and descended the staircase to the Eluvian. Lucanis glanced at her from the corner of his eye occasionally, until he finally spoke. 

“You’ve got questions, you might as well ask them.” His voice echoed in the nothingness surrounding the bridge to the mirror. 

“I have a few…we’ll start with the obvious: how did the Venatori manage to capture the Demon of Vyrantium?”

“Someone set me up. I had a contract for Calivan. I took a ship from Treviso to Minrathous, and the Venatori were waiting for me when I arrived. I don’t know how they convinced the Crows I was dead, but I woke up in the Ossuary with Zara gloating about it.” 

He stepped through the Eluvian, moving seamlessly once his feet landed in Treviso without interruption, as if it were the most natural thing in Thedas. Rook had been using the Eluvians for days and still felt dizzy every time she exited one. 

“Illario’s note said to meet him at nightfall.” She said, glancing at the sky. “I have no desire to get there early, so we have a little time to kill.” 

“Good. I need a few things from the market.”

Rook groaned, but didn’t object. The man had just spent a whole year in an underwater prison, who was she to decide whether he should go grocery shopping? 

She followed him from vendor to vendor, watching him cross items off a crumpled list he’d stowed in his pocket - a spearmint plant for Harding, fresh fruit for Neve, ingredients for a Dalish seafood dish Bellara wanted to make. Gifts for all of his companions, except her and Varric. Typical of him to overlook her, but it was fine. She was used to it by now, and Varric hated gifts anyway. When he was preoccupied with one vendor’s spice selection, a familiar voice called out to her. 

“Fi!”

She turned and smiled at an old man meticulously sharpening a wyvern tooth dagger.

“Dom. How’s business?”

“Slow, since the Antaam became more bold.” He grumbled. “And since you went away. How long has it been, a year?” 

“Something like that.” Rook said, retrieving her coin purse and depositing a few silvers on the counter. “Here, does this make up for it?”

Dom smiled and polished the dagger’s blade before passing it across the table to her with a wink. 

“Here, this makes us even.”

Rook nodded gratefully and stowed the knife in an empty sheath at her belt, rejoining Lucanis as he paid for his spices. 

“Is that everything on your list?” She asked, nudging him gently with her elbow. 

“Should be. Let’s get to the café.”

“So,” Rook began, stooping to drop her spare change from Dom in a beggar’s dish as they exited the market, “I know Caterina volunteered you to work with us. Are you okay with that?”

Lucanis chuckled. “Did Viago ever consult with you before sending you out on a contract?”

Rook snorted. “No.”

He paused as they crossed over a bridge, watching the streetlamps reflect over the dark waters below. He took a deep inhale through his nose, closing his eyes and wrapping his fingers around the railing. Rook gave him the moment to enjoy in silence. It was the kind of thing that might keep a person sane through a year of torture - the promise of return. The desire to protect. 

“It’s good to be home, no?” 

She flexed her hands at her sides. “It’s fine.” 

“Fine?” He opened his eyes and gave her a puzzled look, as if he’d never heard anyone describe Treviso anything short of breathtaking. “You didn’t miss home while you were away?”

“I left of my own volition after becoming a local disgrace. I don’t have the right to miss it, or call it home.” 

“Nobody gets to tell you what you can or cannot call home,” he said, shaking his head. “Home is a feeling. Not a bed, not a house. Not even a city.” 

“Caterina volunteered you for a contract, not to play therapist.” 

“Volunteered or not, Fiammetta, there’s still plenty of reason for me to work with you.” He pushed off the railing, giving her his full attention. “I owe you a debt, for one.”

She dipped her chin, pivoting to continue down the path. “It’s Rook.”

“Right, sorry.” He said, taking a few long strides to catch up.

“So, what do you think Illario wants?” She asked, changing the subject. 

“Hopefully, he has intel on Zara. Or… he just wants to whine about how much he’s missed us.”

“He might miss you,” she said in a low voice, “But don’t even joke about-”

“Illario.” Lucanis said, cutting her off as his cousin stepped into view. 

“Finally, I thought you might leave me all by my lonesome.” He replied, giving Rook a once-over before gesturing for them to join him at a nearby table near the water’s edge. 

“Please, you think I’d ever pass up Café Pietra’s coffee? I haven’t had a cup of Andoral’s Breath since before the Venatori stuck a demon in me.” Lucanis’ smile was wasted on Illario, whose eyes remained fixed on Rook as he pulled out a chair for her. She lowered herself cautiously, as if it could be snatched from under her at any moment. 

“You see, Fiammetta? My cousin is all stomach and no heart.” His words were syrupy as he took his place across from her, but there was something very, very threatening in his gaze. 

“Rook.” Lucanis corrected politely. “She goes by Rook now.” 

Illario’s eyes narrowed. “I heard. You would really abandon your namesake? Your father’s legacy?” 

“I don’t need the name nor the reputation that precedes it in this fight.” Her voice remained plain and unaffected as she replied. “I earned Rook, it wasn’t bestowed onto me like some curse. I’ll return to Fiammetta once it suits me again, if it ever does.” 

“Well, then you won’t mind me continuing to address you by the name your father graced you with? I would prefer to honor the Flame of Treviso, not cause him to roll in his grave any more than he already has.”

“One has to have a body in order to roll in a grave, Illario.” She said with a warning smile. While the years had hardened Rook, they had also changed her for the better. Apparently, Illario had only gotten worse.

“Enough.” 

Lucanis had been silent for most of the exchange, his arms folded as leaned back so far in his chair that the front legs lifted off the ground. Lucanis typically didn’t get involved in their spats unless he felt a line was crossed. Which Illario was known to do, from time to time. Like now. 

“Whatever.” Rook waved her hand dismissively. She wasn’t attached enough to Varric’s nickname to play this game all night, nor did she have the energy for it. 

Lucanis shifted forward in his seat, clasping his hands together. “Let’s get to business, mm?”

“Agreed. I think we’ve done enough Three Crows in a Coffee Shop Bickering to bore the spies.” Rook said. 

“Just about. The most persistent one gave up when Lucanis started waxing romantic about roasts.” Illario sneered. 

“It’s a very good roast.” He grinned, bringing a bit of levity to the conversation. “So, you have something, or did you just miss us?” 

“The Crows I sent after Zara have picked up her trail. They say she’s gone to Vyrantium.”

Rook raised an eyebrow. “How did she get all the way there when she was just in Treviso to kill Caterina only days ago?”

Lucanis nodded. “She’s right. Zara’s given you a fake lead, cousin.”

Rook did her best to not take too great a pleasure in his approval. Or Illario being proven wrong. 

“You have better information?” He demanded. 

“It’s obvious, is it not? We’re compromised. There’s no other way Zara could even touch Caterina.” Rook said. 

Illario’s lip curled. “Yes, you would know so much about my grandmother after serving as her errand girl for a couple of months, wouldn’t you?”

“Rook is the one who broke me out of that underwater nightmare, and she’s been the only one trying to save our home from certain doom at the hands of elven gods.” Lucanis snapped. “Whatever transpired between the two of you, put it to rest.”

“If the Crows protecting Zara are here in Treviso, she has no reason to leave.” Rook interrupted, as if Lucanis didn’t just scold his cousin on her behalf. “I’m telling you, your lead is wrong.” 

“Fine. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll clean house.” Illario rose abruptly to his feet, his iron chair scraping loudly in protest against the cobblestone underneath. “Leave this to me and worry about all that saving the world business you’ve been going on about.” He shot a glare at Lucanis and stormed off.

“How long do you think he’s going to lurk and watch us to make sure we’re not talking about him?” Rook asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

Lucanis rose without excusing himself, and walked to the bar, returning with two mugs of coffee. “Long enough for me to get a refill.” 

He pushed a cup towards her and swirled his around before taking an appreciative, slow drink. Rook leaned onto her elbows, resting her chin on her wrists. 

“Is it everything you dreamed it would be?” she asked snidely. 

“It’s enough of what I need it to be, for now.” He said, setting his cup down. “You know, I understand why you’d change your name.” 

“I didn’t change it.” She sat back quickly in her seat. “I’m just… taking a break.” 

“Still…” Lucanis averted his eyes. “Even before I was captured, my life was never really my own, so much has been determined for me.” He leaned over the table, holding her gaze. “The mess with the Antaam - you owned it, and you paid the price. When you had a rare opportunity to reinvent yourself, you made the most of it.” 

He fell back in his chair. 

“Make whatever name you want for yourself, Rook. I’ll call you whatever you tell me to.”

She smiled at his words and reached into the hilt at her waistband, producing the wyvern tooth dagger Dom had given her, and placed it before him on the table. 

“For me?” He asked, raising his eyebrows and turning the blade in his hands. “I loved wyverns as a kid. Caterina would never let me have one of these, though.” 

Rook watched him run his fingertips over the edge delicately, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done something that made someone else happy. Not since Varric had…

“Thank you, Rook.” Lucanis said quietly, tucking the blade in his belt. “I feel like a fool, I didn’t get you anything…”

“Sure you did.” Rook brought the cup nestled in her palms to her lips and winked, taking her first sip of Antivan coffee in over a year. It tasted bitter and sweet. Like Treviso. Like home.

Chapter Text

To Rook’s relief, the Demon of Vyrantium’s addition hadn’t upset the peace of the Lighthouse much, but he had a terrible habit of brooding.

With Varric still on the mend, Rook had been savoring her moments with Neve, Bellara, and Harding in the days leading up to Lucanis’ arrival. Even with almost certain death on the horizon, the four had spent several evenings lounging with their feet in the small pool centered in Harding’s room. Lace’s quarters closely resembled a vibrant greenhouse with trails of thick ivy cascading from the ceiling, the floor littered with potted plants from regions of Thedas Rook had never even heard of.

In more recent days, Lucanis had revealed talent in the kitchen that rivaled his expertise as an assassin, and he soon became something like a savior. He possessed an uncanny ability to transform a loaf of bread, some spices, and a few tomatoes into a dish one would serve to impress on a first date. If she was honest, his food rivaled her mother’s and flooded Rook with nostalgia, but she’d never admit it. Or maybe she would, if it meant she’d never have to consume one of Neve’s oil-drenched fish again.

Bellara, never still for more than a few minutes at a time, paced the floor of the main sanctum where the other women were gathered. “So, we have the Shadow Dragons backing us, the Veil Jumpers, the Crows…now what?” 

“We need Wardens. If we’re dealing with the Blight, they’ve got ages of experience under their belts.” Neve said. Beside her, Harding was curled up in a way that made even the stone bench seem inviting. 

“Not to mention all that corruption they love sweeping under the rug,” Rook grumbled. 

Harding straightened in her seat. “Hey, not all Wardens are-"

The doors swung open interrupting Lace as Lucanis strode in, his steps skillfully muffled on the granite floor. “Rook, do you have a minute?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Of course, is something the matter?”

He beckoned her to follow him, silently climbing the stairwell to her chambers.

“Don’t be too long, Rook,” Neve said, miming a rather offensive gesture with a wink before her face turned serious again. “I’ve arranged a meeting between you and the First Warden at the Cobbled Swan at sundown.”

Rook returned Neve’s gesture with one of her own and followed Lucanis upstairs.

“You’re starting to give everyone the wrong idea about us.” She said, shutting the door behind her. “Any reason this needed to be top secret?”

“Teia wants to meet.” He said, pacing the floor with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “To plan Caterina’s funeral.”

“Oh.”

“If you don’t mind, I could use some backup, in case Spite gets out of hand. And I thought, since this is Crow business, and you and Caterina had… some sort of relationship...”

“Understood.” Rook grabbed her staff from its place on the wall. “Let’s not keep Teia waiting.” 

The casino was enveloped in a heavy silence as they entered, the lights dimmed in a show of respect. Most  non-essential staff and Crows had been dismissed, adding to the stillness.

“Good, you’re here.” Teia pulled Rook into a tight embrace while Illario idled behind her, his downcast expression mirroring his sullen mood. Among all the people she had left behind, the absence of Teia had weighed most heavily on her conscience. She hadn’t even left a note, yet the Seventh Talon had shown no resentment since their reunion.

Lucanis joined them, lingering near the back wall. “Thank you for making the arrangements, Andarateia.” 

“For Caterina? How could I do otherwise? I’m so sorry, Lucanis. This must be such a blow.”

Rook felt a pang of sympathy - he looked so lost. It was easy to forget that someone like Lucanis, who had grown up under the care of the hardened First Talon, could still experience such profound grief. Especially when his only remaining family was Illario, who was emotional enough for the both of them. She shuddered, reminding herself that Viago was a blessing, even in the moments when he more felt like a curse.

Teia reached out, her hand gently squeezing Rook’s. “Thank you for coming with him. I need one Dellamorte to plan this. His cousin has been no help at all.”

“I’m sorry, Teia. This is just…too much right now,” Illario said, his hand passing wearily over his face. Rook suppressed the urge to dismiss his words as melodrama, choosing instead to inject a hint of levity into the conversation.

“Lucanis wouldn’t have come without me,” she quipped playfully. Beside her, he folded his arms, widening his stance and shooting her an irritated sideways glance. 

“Here for emotional support? You’re always such a dear. You certainly didn’t learn that from Viago.”

“Well, I did care about Caterina. She deserves to be honored.” Beside her, Lucanis’ posture softened a bit, but Illario remained tense as ever. “What do you need us to do?”

Teia nodded. “There’s a lot to plan, but first I need the ashes.” 

“…Ashes?” Illario’s face slacked.

“Maker help us. Caterina’s ashes … from the cremation?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” He let his arms fall heavy at his sides. “I’ll get them to you right away.” 

“Illario, what happened?” Lucanis asked, standing up straight. “How did the Venatori get to Caterina? When? Where? In the estate? In the city? How did they get past our people? What did they use? Poison? Blades? I need to know!”

Illario stepped forward and pressed a palm to his shoulder. “Cousin, stop. You can’t dwell on this. It will drive you mad.”

Lucanis brushed his hand away. “I’m not dwelling. Zara killed the First Talon. I have to know if I’m going to stop her!”

“And I’m telling you, I’m handling it!”

“Boys! Enough of this. We have other things to discuss.” Teia snapped. 

“My apologies, Andarateia.” Illario said. “Please, continue without me. I’ll… get you the ashes.” He cast a final, pained glance in Rook’s direction before he left. It was obvious he wanted her to follow, to comfort him so he could talk her into taking her clothes off out of pity.

She had her feet rooted firmly in place. Not happening.

“Something’s going on with him.”

“When he’s not on the job, my cousin always has his head in the clouds.” Lucanis said dismissively. 

“She’s right though. Illario can be a handful, but the only time I’ve seen him this way was when you were presumed dead.” Teia gave Lucanis an appraising look and grinned. “You’re worrying, aren’t you? What will people say if they hear the Demon of Vyrantium has a big, soft heart?” 

“It’s been an issue before.” Lucanis mumbled.

“An issue?” Rook glanced between them. “What kind of issue?”

“Remember Lucanis’ big contract for the Wigmaker? What he didn’t tell everyone is that he went rogue and freed a bunch of slaves before killing his target. Good karma, but bad for his reputation.” Teia said. “Sound familiar?”

Rook blinked. Maybe this was why he’d gone so much easier on her than Viago had. Save for her accidentally interrupting a Crow operation, their situations were nearly identical. 

“I ignored Caterina’s most important lesson - not to let emotions become involved in assassination. It makes you sloppy.”

“You’re kidding.” Rook scoffed. “Only Crows could make something like freeing slaves into a shameful occasion.”

“Fi…” Teia warned as Viago stepped into the room. She tugged on Lucanis’ sleeve, pulling him aside. “Come, I’ll get us some drinks and we can make arrangements.” 

Viago came closer, the sound of his boots echoing on the casino walls. “Any more complaints about how we should be running things around here?” 

“Come on, Vi. You know what I meant.”

“Illario was inconsolable at the wake.” He said, changing the subject. “He needed you, Fiamma. I had to use a mild poison to sedate him and get him to stop his blubbering. Maybe you should try to be there for him this time around.”

“I owe him nothing.”

“At the very least, you could help another Crow-”

“Please. Are you upset that Illario’s alienated everyone in his life, or that you couldn’t pawn a drunk spoiled brat off on me at your friend’s wake? Who, might I mention, is alive and well in the next room.” She said, gesturing at the wall. 

“Forget Illario! I’m upset that I grieved two people at once!” Viago roared. “Lucanis was my friend, but you were my family. And you abandoned me-”

“You abandoned me!”

“You disobeyed orders!” Viago closed his eyes and swallowed hard enough that she saw his throat bob before he lowered his voice to a whisper. “You could have died.” 

“Vi- I’m obviously al-”

He cut her off and pulled her into a crushing hug.

“I am a bastard. My father does not want to know me, and my half-siblings took their hush money and disappeared. My mother is gone.” He said, holding her close, “Sure, I had Teia and Illario and Caterina. But we are blood.”

The back of Fiamma’s throat burned as he broke the embrace and held onto her by her shoulders. She narrowed her eyes and glanced at his hands.

“We never hug. Is there poison on your gloves?”

“Could be. Don’t let your guard down, cousin,” he released her, clearly embarrassed by his own display of affection. “But I’m serious. If someone could take out Caterina… I’m glad Lucanis is with you, at least.” 

“I handled myself fine without him before.” 

“And you’ll handle yourself better with him now. He could teach you a thing or two about restraint. And patience.”

“Not with that demon in him.” 

“Don’t make me worry again, please. I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep in months.” Viago groaned. 

“I think the demon likes me,” Rook winked and Viago wrinkled his nose.

“I regret saying anything at all.”

“Fine. I’ll change the subject…” she lowered her voice. “You and Teia seem close.” 

“We’ve always been close. She’s a Talon.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Fi, flirting is what Teia does. You’ve known her your whole life.” 

He was right. And she also knew both of them well enough to know what was happening behind her cousin’s closed bedroom door. 

“It’s never just flirting with you two -” Rook ended the exchange as Teia and Lucanis’ voices drew nearer. 

“Our house owes you for handling all this.” 

“Caterina was family. Can you imagine what she’d say if she saw us all like this?” 

Old Crow instincts kicked in, and both Rook and Viago eavesdropped, letting their conversation go unfinished. 

“How is working with Fi?”

Rook couldn’t hear Lucanis’ reply.

“She’ll come around. You remind her of difficult times.”

Viago suppressed a grin as Rook cursed under her breath. Teia was always spilling her secrets. 

“How… is she?”

“Too hard on herself. But a good leader. My… Spite listens to her. Which is odd. He doesn’t really listen to anyone.” 

“Spite?”

“The demon.”

“I told you,” Rook nudged Viago, earning a sharp elbow to the ribs in return. She pinched his forearm, and he took two large sidesteps away from her, folding his arms across his chest.

“Oh. And you?” Teia continued, her voice echoing off the walls.

“And I what?”

“Do you listen to her?”

“When she has something to say, sure. Usually, she ignores me.”

Rook’s mouth fell open. “She’s doing this on purpose!” she hissed. “She knows we’re eavesdropping.”

A curt “of course” was all her cousin said in return, clearing his throat as Teia and Lucanis rounded a corner.

“I’ll have my people keep an eye on Illario.” Teia said, winking at Rook as she sat down on a nearby sofa and crossed her legs.

Lucanis nodded, “Thank you both.”

“Go on. I’ll let you know if something comes up.” Teia shooed them away with a wave of her hand. “And Fi? We’re overdue for a chat, when you have the time. I know you’re a busy woman these days.”

Rook nodded, giving Viago’s wrist a quick squeeze before following Lucanis across the walkway back to the Eluvian. Perhaps she and her cousin hadn’t completely worked things out, but this seemed like a step in the right direction.

“Lucanis, you wouldn’t be feeling… generous, by chance?”

“This sounds foreboding.”

“I was just thinking, since I was such wonderful moral support, that you could be my backup on a little errand I have to run?”

“Fine, as long as you stop trying to charm me into it.”

Rook placated him and dropped the act.

“Are you up for a quick trip to Dock Town with me? Neve set up a meeting between me and the First Warden.”

“Wardens? Eugh. Isn’t there something I could stab instead?”

“I had to stand in the same room as Illario, you can bear a Warden. Come on, I’ll let you sulk across the bar. I just need you in case things go south. You won’t even have to introduce yourself.”

He mulled it over. “Is there wine?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

“Deal."

Lucanis settled into a booth at the Cobbled Swan with a bottle of Antivan vino tinto and a glass that he had to polish a few times with the cuff of his sleeve before feeling comfortable drinking from it. Rook had definitely misled him when she dragged him along, conveniently “forgetting” her coin purse, forcing him to pay for their drinks.

“Don’t pretend you can’t afford it. With all that unspent money accruing interest in your bank account while you were in the Ossuary?” she had teased him. There was a delighted laugh somewhere in his mind. 

“Like her. Funny. Not Afraid of Spite.”

He took a long sip and grinned. If he was stuck with a demon, he could at least find a little solace in the company. 

From a safe distance, he watched Rook attempt to reason with the Warden. At first, her side of the conversation appeared to go well. She carried herself like a leader - Wardens were always receptive to that. But the First Warden - Jowin, he’d called himself - became less and less amused the longer she spoke. As he placed his glass on the table, Lucanis discreetly reached for the dagger at his hip.

“The important thing is, the gods are making the Blight worse. D’Meta’s Crossing was just the beginning. That’s why we need the Wardens-”

“It’s clear whatever you did to unleash the Blight has corrupted your already weak mind.” Jowin nodded to his guards behind her. “You will be taken to Weisshaupt and placed under heavy guard until the danger you caused by unleashing the Blight passes-”

“No, wait-”

Lucanis sprung from his seat, and with a flash of steel, appeared at Rook’s side, daggers drawn.

“She’s not going anywhere. Try again.” 

“I was handling this,” Rook growled.

“By getting yourself a private escort to prison?”

“I should have known.” The First Warden said, “You Crows are meddling where you-”

“Adamant Fortress. 9:41 Dragon.” Someone announced loudly from across the room. “The Grey Wardens tried to raise an army of demons.”

A man strode between them and the Wardens, placing a hand on his hip. His clothes bore the Shadow Dragon mark, and there was a slight burn behind Lucanis’ eyeballs.

“Mage. Strong. Smells like Tevinter-”

“Hardly the models of good judgment yourselves, are you?” He continued, examining his fingernails.

“Everyone knows Warden-Commander Clarel acted alone at Adamant Fortress.” The First Warden retorted. 

“Acted alone, you say? Imagine if everyone saw the letter I discovered where you authorized her actions…”

The First Warden scowled. “Are you prepared to risk the security of the Grey Wardens for this girl?”

“Disrespecting Rook! Can we kill? Please .Let. Us. Kill!” 

Lucanis pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep Spite at bay. High emotions always gave the demon a chance to break through. 

“You may be surprised to find I care very little about the security of the Grey Wardens.” The mage continued with a shrug. 

The First Warden squinted at Rook. 

“Stay away from the Blight, and do not address the Grey Wardens again with your nonsense,” he said, motioning for his guards to follow and storming out of the bar. 

“Blackmail, really? Impressive.” Rook murmured, extending a hand. “I’m-”

“Rook, I know. A mutual friend thought you might need some support.” He took her by the hand enthusiastically. 

“Are you Dorian? Of the Shadow Dragons? Varric’s mentioned you.”

“The very same.” He turned and frowned, undoubtedly picking up on Lucanis’ demonic passenger.

“Lucanis.” He introduced himself with a bow, preferring to keep his distance.

“You’re both Crows?”

“Yes.” Rook answered.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Dorian eyed Lucanis as he shoved his hands inside the pockets of his robes. “Right, well…” He cleared his throat with a smile. “Don’t hesitate to call on me if you need assistance. A friend of Varric’s is… usually, a friend of mine.” 

As Dorian took his leave, Lucanis leaned over to murmur in Rook’s ear, “He can sense Spite.”

“Are you sure? Maybe assassins just make him nervous.”

“Really? He’s a Shadow Dragon, Rook.”

“Just trying to make you feel better,” she shrugged and looked at the empty booth where he’d been sitting. “Should we have another glass before we get out of here?”

“Viago would have me killed if I let you drink unsupervised wine.”

“Good call,” She said and tossed a coin on the bar, slipping out the door.

“I thought you forgot your coin purse?” Lucanis fell in step with her on the street, his cloak billowing lightly in the breeze behind him.

“And I thought you owed me a debt?”

She ducked into a small clothing shop, and he followed. From floor to ceiling, tailored garments hung on display, textile samples arranged neatly in long lines on battered tables underneath. Several were missing a leg, or propped up on bricks to keep them steady.

“Smells like leather and mothballs.”

“Are you saying my debt is now paid in full?”

“I don’t know. Is breaking you out of an underwater prison an even exchange for a glass of wine I didn’t have the chance to finish?”

Lucanis smirked, a huff of air escaping his nose. Her moxie rivaled Caterina’s. He shuffled out of her way as she squeezed past him to peruse another section, her long, dark hair sweeping against his shoulder, the curve of her hip just barely brushing against his.

“Smells like-”

“So…was that you or Spite who had my back there with the Warden?” Rook asked, thumbing through stacks of fabric.

“-rosewater and smoke”

“You can say it was both of us.”

She hummed to herself and picked out a leather pantsuit, holding it up against herself to check the size before placing it on the counter. As she dispensed a few gold pieces on top of it, the shop-owner’s eyes widened as he did a double-take, confirming Lucanis’ suspicions that she’d overpaid.

His head began to feel fuzzy again, and he positioned himself sideways, watching the shop door out of the corner of his eye. A few hooded figures milled about, and he placed his hand on Rook’s lower back.

“You look exhausted. Best we get back.” He turned his attention to the shop owner. “Mind if we use the back door?” Lucanis asked politely.

The shop owner nodded and gestured between two clothing racks, appreciatively holding out Rook’s purchase. Lucanis guided her out, stepping carefully over the clothes strewn across the floor.

Rook huffed indignantly. “I look exhausted? You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

“Smells like-”

“I believe you.” He said, pushing her into the alley.  

“So, Scout Harding glows now? Is that a thing everyone’s doing or just her?”

Rook flopped on the bed opposite Varric and sighed loudly. 

“Fuck off. I need some advice.” She let her hand fall to the side, allowing him a glimpse of Solas’ dagger in her palm. “What do you think this is?”

“Shit. That looks like the one my brother tried to kill me and Hawke for. Lyrium.” 

“How do you think Solas cleansed it of the Blight?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Ugh. This is all too much.” Rook whined and rolled over, burying her face in a pillow.

“Chin up, kid. You’ve got this.”

“Do I? I’m starting to feel as crazy as the First Warden thinks I am.” She turned her head to catch her breath, muffled voice becoming clear again. “I mean… fuck. I seem pretentious, don’t I? Masquerading around as some kind of leader, asking people who’ve known me since childhood - my own family - to call me Rook?”

“You remember when I gave you that nickname?”

“Yeah, yeah. When you taught me how to play chess, passing time in Minrathous while we waited for a contact.”

“The rook on a chessboard represents strength, stability. It’s second only in power to the queen piece.”

“Are you the queen in this scenario?”

“Funny,” Varric narrowed his eyes and pointed an admonishing finger in her direction, “As I was saying - it’s a major player. But unlike the queen, who can move in any direction she wishes, it’s up against odds, limitations. The rook has the unique job of protecting its allies, while it also searches for its enemy’s weakness. It must move around its fellow pieces carefully, sometimes waiting for them to act before it can make its move.” 

“You sound like my father,” she whined, “all lessons and metaphors.”

“Fatherhood was never my calling, but I am a damn good mentor.”

Tears brimmed in Rook’s eyes for some reason, and she swiped them away hastily. “You are,” she whispered. 

“Hey Rook-“ Harding knocked softly on the door as she entered the room. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

She sat up so quickly she saw stars, “No, not at all.” 

“Tell us what you’ve got, Harding,” Varric said. 

“Lucanis mentioned your trouble with the First Warden…”

Rook grimaced. “How kind of him.”

“I was just thinking - I have some friends. A married couple in the Wardens who have been researching the Blight for years. I could reach out to them, if you’d like? See if they could help?”

Rook exhaled. “That would be great, Harding.”

“I’ll get on it.” 

“Hey - did Lucanis… say anything else?”

She shook her head. “Only that the First Warden was an ass to you, and he wanted to tell him where he could shove his blade. Now that I think about it, though, I’m not sure if that was him or the demon talking.”

“You’ve got to look at the eyes. Purple is Spite.” 

“Oh. Well… then I guess it was just Lucanis.”

Rook hummed to herself as Harding left, falling back onto the mattress as she looked at Varric, who was grinning ear to ear.

“What? You have something to say?”

“No, no, just… touching that the Demon of Vyrantium is so heated on your behalf. Is he the same older assassin you used to wax poetic about when you’d get drunk?”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re getting at.” Rook mumbled, throwing herself to her feet and gathering her things. “Why don’t you take another nap, old man?”

“Oh!”

Rook covered her mouth and suppressed the bile that rose in her throat. Harding’s connections had sent them searching for a Grey Warden in the High Anderfels, and so far, all she and Lucanis had found was a tent full of Blight and decomposition. 

“That’s… unfortunate.” Lucanis said, before something above caught his attention. He searched the sky carefully, one hand reaching for his dagger.

“What-”

He held a finger up to cut her off, beginning to crouch low, just before a loud squawk echoed throughout the canyon and a pair of claws came descending towards them. Lucanis shoved Rook out of the way, and she landed hard on her knees, hands scraping on the rock as she scrambled to catch herself without plunging to her death. The creature swooped in front of them again, landing a few feet away, scratching at the earth and snapping its beak.

Rook pushed Lucanis aside and crawled forward, holding out her hands in invitation. The half-eagle, half-lion, cocked its head curiously as Lucanis lowered his weapon.

“Rook! Are you crazy?” He hissed. 

“It’s a griffon! A real griffon!”

“Trouble is, he’s not sure what you are. Neither am I,” announced a tall elf in full Warden armor, climbing up the nearby hill. Rook rose to her feet, offering her hand. 

“I’m Rook,” she inclined her head backwards, “this is Lucanis. We’re looking for Davrin.”

“You’ve found him,” He placed his hands on his hips. “Mind telling me why you smell like darkspawn? Griffins hunt darkspawn.” 

“It’s the tent.” Rook protested. “It was like that when we got here…Blighted.”

“Blight? Where are Remi and-?”

There was a sudden chorus of griffons crying out overhead, and Davrin drew his sword, bracing himself. 

“Time to go. You can explain while we run. Come on!”

Recruiting their new friends hadn’t gone as planned. Ambushed by a Gloom Howler and several darkspawn. The remaining griffons were abducted. But Davrin agreed to return to the Lighthouse with them, under the condition that they’d help retrieve the stolen griffons in return. 

“So, you live in the Fade?” He asked as they stepped off the Caretaker’s boat. Behind him, his griffon, Assan, screeched excitedly. 

“Yep,” Rook cleaned darkspawn guts off her blade with the heel of her boot. “And the gods can’t find us here. It’s a pretty solid setup. There are plenty of rooms to choose from. Your odds on getting a good one are high since Lucanis chose to camp out in the pantry.”

Lucanis glowered. “Rook, would you please -”

As they rounded the next corner, the rest of their companions came barreling into view.

“Well… here’s everyone.” Rook gave them a skeptical look. “Everyone, this is-”

“Dragons!” Bellara braced her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “Dragons.”

Davrin drug his hand across his face. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“Minrathous is under attack,” Neve clarified.

“Treviso too.” Harding skidded to a stop behind her.

“Mierda.” Lucanis breathed. 

“We can’t be in two places at once, Rook.” Harding said, “You’ve got to make the call.”

Lucanis seized Rook by the arm, a pleading look in his eyes. “Rook, it’s Treviso. People will die without us-Teia, Viago, Illario-”

Her stomach churned as she locked eyes with Neve. Her new friend. The one she’d grown most attached to during her fleeting time in the Lighthouse. 

“Neve, I’m so sorry. I have to-“

“I get it. Treviso is your home. But I have to go save mine.” She Fade-stepped backwards and took off running to Dock Town’s Eluvian without another word. Rook glanced around at her companions as they waited for her to make a decision.

Damnit, Varric. She never wanted to be a leader.

“Davrin, with us,” She didn’t want to split him up with people he hadn’t even been properly introduced to yet. “The rest of you go with Neve. We’ll meet you there as soon as we can.”

Rook stared down at her arm, where Lucanis still had ahold of her, expecting him to release her, but he pulled her along, as if afraid she’d turn her back on Treviso if he didn’t drag her there.

“Is it always like this?” Davrin asked as he quickened his pace, following them through the Crossroads. Behind them, Assan flitted through the air anxiously. 

“I wish I could say it wasn’t,” Rook replied over her shoulder. She yanked herself free of Lucanis’ hold as they reached the Eluvian, and followed him in, gasping as she materialized on the other side.

Her city was burning.

Chapter Text

Rook used the back of her hand to wipe away the blood and sweat from her face, doubling over to catch her breath. Beside her, Teia’s eyes were fixed on the wounded dragon’s fading silhouette as it retreated into the horizon. 

“I can’t believe we fought it off.” She panted. 

Dense soot fell from the sky as flames simmered on distant rooftops. The air carried the scent of wood smoke, reminiscent of All Souls Day, when Treviso would remember its dead, and the Chantry would light fires across the city to mark the burning of Andraste. Tonight, there was no peaceful remembrance of the fallen, no parades marching through the streets. Only fresh death and palpable despair. Despite their half-victory, Treviso remained shrouded in dread of what lay ahead.

“It’ll be back,” Lucanis’ voice held a haunting quality. “If Ghilan’nain hadn’t called it away…” 

Rook stood up straight. “Next time, it dies.”

“That thing was tough. It’ll be hard to put down for good,” Davrin warned. Behind him, Assan dug holes through the frost coating the governor’s lawn, the remnant of the dragon’s icy attack. No one stopped him - the Crows hated politicians.  

“What happened to Treviso would have been much worse if you hadn’t arrived when you did,” Teia threw her arms around Rook. “I cannot imagine how much worse…”

“Fiammetta!” 

Rook disentangled herself from the embrace and turned in the direction of her cousin’s voice. Viago, typically cool and collected, looked like an utter wreck as he approached.

“So he does have a soft spot,” Lucanis murmured to Teia.

“He has several,” She said with a wink. The Demon of Vyrantium raised both eyebrows and blinked uncomfortably. 

“You saved our city, Fiamma. Our people. Our home…” Viago’s mouth fell open mid-sentence as his gaze drifted over her shoulder. “Is that… a griffin? ”

Rook nodded emphatically and Viago crept forward, staring at Assan with childlike wonder. The griffin squawked and swished his tail in the air. 

“Never thought I’d see him get excited about anything other than snakes and poisons,” Lucanis mused. 

Rook scoffed and squatted to clean the blade of her dagger on the grass. “Says the guy obsessed with wyverns…”

Restless, Davrin sheathed his sword and shifted his weight. “While this is all endearing, don’t we need to check in on-”

“Minrathous.” Rook’s eyes widened as she turned to Lucanis. “Neve!”

Viago reached for Rook’s shoulder. “Fi, don’t go running into-“

Lucanis stopped him mid-sentence, laying his hand on his arm. “She’s got this. And if she doesn’t, I’ve got her back.”

A long moment passed as Viago held his gaze before he acknowledged with a nod. 

“Send word when you’re safe.”

Davrin whistled, signaling for Assan, and breaking into a run. Rook followed, stowing her dagger in her belt. 

“You worry too much!” She shouted over her shoulder as Lucanis delivered two reassuring pats to Viago’s back and then sprinted after them.

Minrathous was barely recognizable, and Rook relied on Lucanis and Spite’s sense of blood magic to navigate its burning streets. It had been a miracle the Eluvian was even in one piece when they stepped through it.

They spotted Neve on a rooftop along with Asher, the leader of the Shadow Dragons often referred to as "the Viper", and Tarquin, his second in command. Rook, with a dramatic flourish, pitched herself onto the roof from the highest rung of a nearby ladder.

“We’re here! What’s the situation?” 

“Look around,” Neve waved her arms in a display of exasperation. “I don’t know where to start. Is Treviso alright?”

“It’ll pull through. I’m asking about Minrathous.” 

“The Venatori had a clear shot at the palace while we faced a dragon we could barely hurt. The Viper drew it away from the safe house and took a claw to the gut as thanks. A healer could fix the wound, but the Blight’s already in him...”

“I know of magic that may slow the corruption. It will give me more time,” Asher rasped. From Rook’s vantage point, the wounds appeared severe. Tarquin lunged at her, forcefully jabbing his finger against her chest. 

“This is all you! The risen gods, the Blight, the dragon! Now the city’s lost to the Venatori-”

A low growl emanated from Lucanis, his eyes momentarily tinged with violet as Spite intervened, positioning himself between them.

“Do not. Touch. Rook! ”

He took a step backward, blinking rapidly.

Asher propped himself up on an elbow, suppressing a cough. “Tarquin, it is what it is. You know Rook isn’t to blame.”

A groan of frustration escaped Tarquin’s lips as he returned to his post alongside the Viper, burying his face in his hands. 

“Tensions are a little high,” Neve said apologetically. “You should go for now. I need to be here a while. See to things.”

“Neve…”

“You had to defend your home. I don’t fault you for that, Rook. But it still doesn’t change what happened to mine.” 

Lucanis, seemingly in control of himself again, laid a hand on Rook’s shoulder and gently pulled her towards the ladder. 

“Come, let’s give her some time.”

Defeated and feeling guilty, Rook paced the halls of the Lighthouse alone. Judging from his snoring in the other room, Varric was asleep, and she didn’t want to interrupt his rest. Solas was an asshole, and confiding in any of the others was only likely to burden them, so Rook summoned her courage and approached the pantry, hoping there’d be at least one person she could commiserate with.

She rapped twice before cracking the door and peeking through. Lucanis lay sprawled on his narrow cot, tossing an apple into the air and catching it over and over again. He turned his head nonchalantly as she stepped inside.

“You know, we have other rooms and plenty of space. I don’t know why you-“

“You don’t know why the trained assassin would choose a room with only one entrance and good choke points?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s worse than I thought. You’ve forgotten all your training, Rook.”  

“Basta. I don’t need to be reminded of any more of my inadequacies today.” 

Lucanis sat up, leaning forward and clasping his hands together. “That bad, huh?”

“That bad,” With her back against the cold stone wall, Rook slid to the floor. “I know Neve doesn’t hold it against me, but I can’t help feeling like her trust - and faith in me - are fractured,” She confessed grimly. “And just as I slipped back into Viago’s good graces…”

“Were the tables turned, she would have picked her home. She knows that. That’s why it’s hard for her to work out. She’ll come around. Just like Viago did.”

“I had to fight a dragon to change Viago’s mind.”

“You might have to fight another one to change Neve’s,” A small smile tugged at the corner of Lucanis’ lips as he rose to his feet. “Besides, Viago never really lost faith in you, Rook. You have to know that.”

“I’m not sure how well you know Viago.”

“I know what it’s like to be a big brother - cousin - but I think you know what I mean…” He squatted in front of her, resting his forearms on his knees. “He’s hard on you because he wants you to survive. It’s why Caterina was hard on me. And why I’m hard on Illario.”

“Please don’t compare me to Illario.”

“I would never,” Lucanis said, his grin widening as he rose to his full height. “You’re much more pleasant.” 

“My father was hard on me, too,” Rook said. “Nothing like Caterina, I’m sure, but after my mother died, he changed. He was my protector all my life until he had to teach me to protect myself. I’m grateful, but…”

Lucanis’ expression softened as her voice trailed off. “I’m sorry. I wish I knew how to... comfort you.”

“I just came to strategize. I don’t need comfort,” Rook said coolly. 

“Those are a lot of big emotions for strategizing, de Riva,” He took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Come with me. I think I might know who can help.”

“Cheer up, Fi. So we didn’t slay the dragon. It flew away! From us! That counts for something, right?”

A trip back to Treviso and a glass of one of her cousin’s best vintages later, Rook found herself on the receiving end of a pep talk from Teia. Sinking deeper into the green velvet cushions of Viago’s couch, she glowered across the room at Lucanis. 

“You thought this would make me feel better?” 

Rook finished off her wine, the glass clinking softly against the side table as she set it down. Nestled in Viago’s favored armchair near the fireplace, Lucanis shrugged, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames.

“Oh, come on, I know you missed us.” Teia extended her wineglass towards Viago as he entered the room with a fresh bottle. He topped her off and filled Rook’s to the brim again.

“You’re in my seat.” He grumbled at Lucanis, who reluctantly pushed himself up with a groan and relocated to the couch.

“I warned you.” Rook said as she made room. “Viago’s very particular about these things.”

Lucanis grunted as he eased himself down beside her.

“Where’s Illario? I thought you invited him?” Teia asked Viago. “Too good to celebrate our victory?” 

“He’s sulking at Caterina’s villa. I didn’t want to disturb him.” 

“Fine by me,” Rook mumbled, snatching her wine back off the table. As the conversation continued, her gaze wandered towards a large terrarium in the corner of the room. A death adder, one of the most venomous snakes in Thedas, was coiled around a twig, flicking its tongue at her.

“So tell me, cousin, where did you acquire your new pet?”

“Emil Kortez planted it in my wardrobe at the last Crow summit in Lago di Novo.” 

“Its bite nearly killed him,” Teia said. “Good thing our Viago takes his morning coffee with diluted poison.” 

“And you let it live?” Lucanis asked. “You really are getting soft, de Riva.”

“That snake came closer to taking me out than any man can say. He deserves my respect and a good home. With all the mice he desires,” He brought his wine to his lips. “Besides, I can extract his venom for Adder’s Kiss.” 

Rook stood, a little unsteadily, and crossed the room. Reaching out to feel the cool glass against her fingertips, she examined the snake, noticing a bulge in its belly, evidence of a recent meal. Its slow blinks seemed content, almost serene. As far as snakes went… it appeared fat and happy.

“Does it have a name?” She asked with a hiccup. 

“Emil.”

Teia raised her glass. “May he rest in pieces.”

Rook flopped back down on the couch beside Lucanis, her wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her glass. He frowned and snatched it from her hand, setting it aside.

“With you off saving the world, I needed a new roommate. Emil’s quieter,” Viago remarked.

Rook ignored her cousin’s sarcasm, knowing it only veiled his hurt feelings. A heavy silence fell between them before he spoke again. 

“I’m turning in, but this is still your home too, Fiammetta. Your room is exactly as you left it. Perhaps you should sleep in your old bed tonight. I’m not sure I can endorse traveling through the Fade under the influence,” He rose from his armchair. “Lucanis, you’re welcome to the couch.”

“What about me?” Teia asked with a wink. 

“I’ll expect to find you where you usually end up,” Viago purred, disappearing into the shadows of the hall. 

Rook knocked her head back against the wooden frame of the sofa. “I didn’t want to hear any of that.” 

“You two are…?” Lucanis pointed between Teia and the hall, his wine glass balanced delicately between his ring and index fingers. 

“Happened after your… funeral.”

“Teia!” Rook cried. 

“What? Grief is a powerful aphrodisiac. Besides, with Lucanis back, that means someday we’ll get to grieve for him all over again...”

“I think that’s my cue,” Lucanis said, and pushed himself up from his seat. “I’ll give you two some time to catch up.” 

As he slipped through a pair of glass doors onto the balcony, Rook reclaimed her half of the couch. 

“Alright, we’re only doing this once,” She said, throwing back the rest of her wine. “Spill.”

After Teia went to bed, Rook joined Lucanis outside. Silhouetted against the moonlit sky, he leaned over the railing, tracking her out of the corner of his eye as she approached. With a weary sigh, she sat down on the ground and slotted her legs through the gaps in the rails, dangling them over the ledge.

“I might be back off the Crows’ housecleaning list after saving Treviso.”

“You impressed Viago. That is quite a challenge on its own.” 

“You have no idea…” Rook muttered. 

“Here, not that you need it.” Lucanis picked up a decanter on a nearby table and joined her on the ground, topping off her wine. 

Rook took his offer appreciatively, “Thanks.”

Wordlessly, they sat together while she swung her bare feet in the open air below. A gentle breeze rustled through the night, carrying with it the lingering ash, remnants of the dragon’s chaos. Mist and smoke floated over Treviso, the flames once painting the horizon finally subdued. The city was damaged, but it would come back, as it always did. Stronger. 

“Why do you not mind when Teia calls you by your old name?” Lucanis asked suddenly. “I’ve never heard you correct her.”

Rook sipped her wine. “After everything that happened, nobody used my name to say anything nice to me - or about me. Only to scold me. But Teia… I’ll always be Fi to her. It feels like home when she says it. I think that’s what a name should be.”

“For what it’s worth, I’ve never scolded you,” Lucanis said, leaning in to bump his shoulder into hers.

“Your grandmother did plenty,” Her voice echoed inside the glass as she took another drink. “And your cousin.”

“Caterina only scolds people she likes,” He said with a smile. “Illario too, but I understand it’s not an honor to be liked by him.” 

Rook laughed bitterly. “No, no, it isn’t.” 

“What happened between you two?”

“It was never that serious, Lucanis. Not for me. I think Illario was more enamored with my father’s legacy than with me.” 

“I mean… your father was an impressive man. He wielded fire with more precision than the best of assassins could wield a blade. The way he could set a politician’s home aflame and make it look like an accident, or cauterize a wound before his victim had the chance to draw the poison out…” Lucanis let out a low whistle. 

Rook groaned, “You’re just as bad as Illario!”

Lucanis laughed. “I’m not, I promise. But I did have a high opinion of him. There aren’t many assassins of his caliber who turn down becoming Talon. I envied him most the day I learned Caterina was grooming me to become First.” 

“The mage killer, idolizing a mage.” 

“The Flame of Treviso wasn’t just a mage - he was a beacon of hope, Rook! He valued justice over titles and riches. He would be proud of you, Crow or no. You are the legacy he left behind. His daughter, his little flame, now a formidable fire…”

Lucanis reached out, crooking a finger under her chin and tilting her head towards him.

“It’s in your eyes. Not just the amber of your irises - your drive to do what is right. To protect those who cannot protect themselves. I don’t just owe you a debt - I think you’re a leader worth following. Fi, Fiammetta, Rook…”

His hand fell, “I’ll call you whatever you want.”

Warmth spread across Rook’s face as her cheeks flushed, and she tore away her gaze. The balcony spun slightly as she struggled to her feet, the effects of the alcohol pulsing through her body, a gentle buzz at her fingertips. She was a leader, she thought to herself, with some embarrassment. She should be acting like it. 

“Mind if we crash here tonight? I think I’ll fall to my death if I try to venture through the Crossroads like this.” 

“Not at all. I think a break from the Fade would be good for you,” Lucanis glanced at the empty bottle behind them. “Should we clean up?”

“Leave it. Viago’s used to picking up after me.” 

She shuffled through the door and Lucanis followed, ducking under her arm and draping it over his shoulders, one hand encircling her waist as he helped her inside. 

“Let’s get you to bed.”

Rook didn’t protest, allowing him to guide her while the apartment swam around her. He smelled like leather and cardamom, and she suppressed a drunken urge to shove her tongue down his throat. She hadn’t been with anyone since her last assignment in Minrathous several months ago. A one-night stand with a Shadow Dragon. She never bothered to learn his name, after all, he didn’t bother to give her an orgasm.

Down the hall, Teia giggled behind Viago’s closed door. With a grimace, Rook stepped inside her old room as it came into focus, finding it exactly as she remembered. The floor to ceiling windows cast faint lines of light through the panes, projecting strips of yellow upon the furniture. Someone had neatly made her bed, and the vanity remained untouched. On the other side of the room, a thin layer of dust covered her collection of perfumes and poisons on the fireplace mantle. Even her ivy hanging from the ceiling was alive - Viago must have watered it in her absence. Hopefully he didn’t plant another snake in it. 

“You’re okay with the couch?” She asked Lucanis, holding her breath as she waited for his response.

“It will be a slight upgrade from the pantry,” He grinned as he released his hold on her, hands hovering in case she faltered. “But lacking the good choke points.” 

Rook crossed the room, taking a match from her nightstand and lighting a few candles.

“I like the way you say it… Fiammetta. ”

Lucanis folded his arms, leaning against the door frame. “Is it so different from the way everyone else says it?” 

“It sounds like poetry when you do it,” She said, a shy smile playing on her lips. The matchstick flickered, and she extinguished the flame with a quick flick of her wrist. “Maybe it would be okay if you used it - just between us.” 

“We’ll see if you change your mind tomorrow. Once the wine has worn off.” 

He let his arms fall to his sides and fell back into the hall. Rook stumbled after him, propping herself up against the wall as she peered around the corner.

“You know, my room has good choke points, too.” 

Lucanis turned slowly, his eyes widening. Eyebrows knitted together, mouth slightly agape, only a quiet sound of surprise left his lips before she retreated inside her room and pressed her weight against the door, shutting it with a soft click.

Chapter Text

Aunt Viamma stood barefoot on the couch, peeking through the window nervously. 

“Viago, take Fiammetta to her room!” She hissed, “Dante, what is she doing here?”

“Relax, she doesn’t bite. It’s probably a contract,” said Fiammetta’s father, as the two children snuck to their favorite eavesdropping spot in the hall and exchanged a look.

“Are you kidding me? My sister’s been in the ground one week! You’re grieving! We’re grieving!”

He motioned her aside and opened the door, ignoring her objections.

“Caterina, to what do I owe the honor?” He beckoned her inside with a polite gesture.

Calm and collected, the First Talon entered the den, her cane tapping against the wooden floor. An unfamiliar boy clung to her coattails as she walked, and Lucanis trailed behind them, his head bowed. 

“I’m sorry to trouble you during such a painful time, Dante,” she kissed him on each cheek in greeting, “but my grandson has gifted your daughter something that was not his to give away.” 

“What did you do, Fiammetta?” Viago demanded, pinching her arm.

“It wasn’t me. It was Lucanis!” she whispered, slapping his hand away and running to her bedroom. Throwing herself under her bed, she retrieved one of her mother’s old hat boxes and pried off the lid, sifting through her trinkets in search of the opal. The sound of Caterina’s muffled voice carried through the wall from the next room.

“I encourage my grandson to steal whatever his heart desires, if he can get away with it, presuming he’d go after sweets or knives. Instead, he takes books and gems,” She huffed. 

“The makings of a good Crow,” Dante said. “An eye for knowledge and beauty.” 

Caterina made a noise of disapproval. “Any other would have been inconsequential, but this one… has history. I was having a new setting made and he swiped it before I could get it to my jeweler…”

With a pounding heart, Fiammetta carefully took out the gem and cradled it in her palm one last time, before she closed her fist around it, stashed the box back under her bed, and shuffled into the den.

“Miss Caterina,” She straightened her posture, extending her hand. “Please don’t be mad. Lucanis just wanted to make me feel better.”

Dante’s mouth fell open in surprise as Caterina bent down and plucked the opal from his daughter’s hands. His eyes widened as she held it in the light, examining it. “Is that…”

“Yes,” Caterina retrieved her coin purse from inside her coat and slipped it inside. “You are a very honorable girl, Fiammetta. My grandsons could learn a great deal from you.” 

Behind her, Lucanis raised his head, his brown eyes heavy with embarrassment. “I’m sorry for getting you in trouble.”

“Nonsense, Lucanis. She isn’t in trouble for your oversight,” Caterina snapped.

Fiammetta’s father crouched beside him. “It was a kind gesture,” He said, placing a hand on Lucanis’ shoulder. “I’m sure you meant well.”

Caterina nodded. “I apologize for the intrusion, Dante. My deepest condolences… but if you don’t mind lending me just a bit more of your time, there’s some Crow business I’d like to discuss,” She glanced around. “Is there somewhere we can chat?”

Dante rose to his feet. “Of course. I’ll have my sister-in-law put some coffee on,” He turned to Fiammetta and kissed the top of her head. 

“Why don’t you take Lucanis and Illario to play with Viago? I’m sure he’s not far...” her father murmured, frowning with gentle disapproval as his gaze drifted toward the shadow in the hallway. 

As the adults departed, Viago emerged from the hall, nudging Lucanis with his elbow and gesturing towards the front door with a subtle tilt of his head. With a shameful look, Lucanis tore his eyes away from Fiamma’s and followed her cousin outside. 

Charging forward, the youngest Dellamorte seized her hand, shaking it a little too hard.

“I’m Illario,” He said earnestly. “Can I see the rest of your house? I bet it’s not as big as my Nonna’s!”

Fiammetta blinked, her gaze moving past him to the door as it shut behind the older boys. Forbidden from leaving the house without her father’s escort, she had no choice but to stay behind.

“Um… sure,” She said, trying to hide the disappointment in her tone. “Do you like art? My papa has lots of paintings in his office.”

Illario grinned, giving a charming bow, as if reenacting something he’d seen an adult do. 

“I like whatever you like.” 

Not even a dragon attack could close the Treviso markets. The following day, they opened as usual, with a nervous undercurrent of chatter among the merchants. Lucanis browsed the stalls, taking the opportunity to shop while Rook slept in. Viago and Teia had already left to handle Crow matters at the casino, and he needed some time to clear his head.

Spite’s unpredictable nature gave him an aversion to sleep these days, and thanks to Rook, he wouldn’t have slept last night even if he wanted to. Lying on Viago’s couch, he stared at the ceiling, struggling to dismiss the images her words had evoked as his cock strained uncomfortably against the front of his trousers. Worse, Spite took a maddening amount of delight in Lucanis’ discomfort, and even more so at Rook’s mischievousness. It worried him - how would Spite react to Rook the next time he took control? He couldn’t risk sleeping, couldn’t risk Spite climbing into bed with her when she was inebriated, vulnerable, alone…

“Maybe Rook wants you in her bed! Spite is just helping!”

He shuddered and deposited a few gold coins in a merchant’s palm, wrapping up his purchase and heading back to Viago’s apartment. If he was lucky, Rook would wake with a nasty hangover and have forgotten the entire evening.

Upon his return, the house was still quiet. Lucanis laid out his groceries on the counter and lit the stove, setting a kettle of water atop it, before venturing down the hall to knock softly on Rook’s door. He cracked it open, knowing if he let her sleep any longer, she’d be furious at him for not waking her. 

Through the gap, he watched her lift her head, brushing her tousled hair from her face to look over her bare shoulders at him. Her white sheets slid down, settling just below the curve of her waist, and he shifted uncomfortably in the doorway. Holding them over her breasts, she squinted at him and rolled onto her back. 

“Lucanis?” She muttered, shielding her eyes from the light pouring in through her windows, “What time is it?”

He averted his gaze, preferring to stare at the sun than endure this any longer. 

“Midday.”

She jerked forward. “Why did you let me sleep so late?” 

“I thought you might need it,” He said, turning back to the hall, “Get dressed. I’ll make breakfast.”

Lucanis moved with measured steps, his eyes glued to the floor until he reached the kitchen. He prepped Viago’s glass coffee maker, admiring the craftsmanship, and pulled out a cutting board, peeling and mincing several cloves of garlic. 

Rook wandered in soon after, hair freshly brushed and clearly having capitalized on the availability of her old wardrobe. She wore a lace-necked blouse, a crow brooch pinned at the base of her throat, and a pair of loose, black trousers. Around her shoulders, she had draped a velvet purple cloak that fell just above the soles of her leather boots. 

He glanced up with a raised eyebrow, then returned his focus to the tomato he was coring.  

“I made coffee,” He said stiffly. 

“Of course you did,” As she went to pour herself a cup, her hip brushed against his, and Spite stirred.

“Smells like lavender and citrus blossom.”

He cleared his throat, picking up another tomato. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Morning hangover aside?” she sat down across the counter from him and took a sip from her mug. “I appreciate you trying to relieve me of some of my guilt yesterday, but let’s keep the vintage away until after we’ve killed a few gods, hmm?” 

He smiled, letting a huff of air escape from his nose. “Of course.”

“How did you sleep?” 

“Fine,” He lied, dicing a bell pepper while admiring Viago’s kitchen knives. They were sharp enough to make a clean kill if they needed to. Maybe that was the point.

“Can I help?” Rook nodded towards the stove. Did she remember a single thing she said last night? Was she toying with him? Or too embarrassed to bring it up? 

Spite bristled impatiently at his thoughts. “You bring it up!" 

“The pan should be warm enough." Lucanis said, ignoring him, "You can oil it.”

She stood and rummaged through Viago’s cabinets, retrieving a bottle and uncapping it. “So how does Spite feel about Illario?” 

“Spineless! Whiny!-”

“About how he feels about most people,” Lucanis scraped garlic and onion into the sizzling oil, adding an assortment of spices. 

“And that is…?”

He incorporated the tomatoes and a dash of cream, stirring as he tried to ignore her curious gaze over his shoulder. Taking his coffee from the counter, he sipped it slowly before responding. 

“Impatient.”

“Even with me?” She batted her lashes. “Do you ever think he’ll just get fed up and-”

“Why don’t we talk about something else, mm?” Lucanis suggested, pulling out one of his market bags and retrieving a few eggs. He steered Rook aside, placing his hands on her shoulders so he could reach the stove.

“The counter! She'd enjoy being bent over-”

“Oh. Sure,” She returned to her seat. “Thanks for making me breakfast.”

“It’s not entirely unselfish. Viago has a nicer kitchen than the Lighthouse does,” He said, breaking the eggs into the stewed tomatoes.

Rook rested her chin on her hands. “True.”

Lucanis removed the pan from the stovetop and divided its contents across two plates. He gave her one, then took out a baguette and sliced off a few pieces for them to share. “Is it nice being back?” 

“In some ways. When I was on Viago’s bad side, it wasn’t always so nice. I might still be on his bad side. Who knows?” 

Rook took a bite of her food as Lucanis settled beside her, mopping at his eggs with his bread, letting the yoke bleed into the tomatoes. She suddenly uttered a soft moan of pleasure, and Lucanis tensed, dropping his silverware. To his relief, Rook remained oblivious and continued eating without further audible appreciation. Breakfast was finished in silence, the hallmark of a well-prepared meal, and Lucanis rose, picking up their plates and mugs and taking them to the washbasin. They needed to get out of here, for more reasons than one. 

“I told you, Viago is used to picking up after me,” Rook said with a grin. 

So she did remember last night. 

“If he has a good side, I’d like to stay on it,” Lucanis said, scrubbing the dishes clean. Rook joined him near the sink, grabbing a towel and holding her hand out. He passed her a plate, and she dried it carefully. 

“Are we… good?” She asked, pushing the plate aside to take the next one. 

“We’re good,” Lucanis shook water from his hands and wiped them on his pants. “Let’s get back to work.”

The days that followed dragged on. Devastated by Neve’s absence, Bellara became determined to find a dragon hunter and a Veil expert, furiously taking notes and charging ahead with renewed vigor. And find them she did. After excursions to Rivain and the Necropolis, Emmrich Volkarin, a Mortalitasi, and Taash, a Qunari with a talent for fire-breathing, joined their team. Emmrich arrived with an animated skeleton assistant, Manfred, who was quickly becoming Rook’s favorite recruit. More odd, but enjoyable personalities, to add to their collective. 

“So Lucanis, you’re an Antivan Crow?” Taash asked, their feet kicked up on the dinner table as Lucanis prepared dinner.

“Yes. Like Rook,” He replied from the stove. Rook could feel his disappointment from across the room - he undoubtedly missed the accommodations of Viago’s kitchen. 

“Do all Antivan Crows have demons?”

“What? No!” He spun around. “Spite was put into me by the Venatori.”

Since their arrival, their new companion had bombarded Lucanis and Rook with endless, bizarre questions about Crow customs. Varric would have relished the chance to spin his wild tales for Taash. Unfortunately, he took most of his meals in his chambers and wasn’t keen on visitors other than Rook.  

“Demons typically infect mages through manipulation, but Lucanis’ situation is… rather unique,” Emmrich explained. 

“Oh. That’s messed up,” Taash removed their feet from the table and leaned forward. “What’s Spite like?”

“Angry. Impulsive. Annoying,” Lucanis said, taking the soup he was making off the fire. 

“If he’s so unhappy, why doesn’t he just leave?”

“It would likely kill me.”

“No offense, but why would he care?”

Lucanis hesitated. 

“Because we have a deal.”

Rook’s head snapped up as she set Emmrich’s bowl down in front of him. “You made a deal with a demon? ”

Manfred let out a hiss of discontent, stomping his feet in a panic. 

“Oh, Lucanis…” Emmrich lamented, shaking his head. “That was a very foolish thing to do…”

“Zara was waiting for Spite to break out of my body like a moth in a cocoon. I convinced him we wanted the same thing and promised I’d give it to him.”

“And that was that?” Asked Taash. 

“Her. Dead.” Lucanis said, bringing the soup to the table and ladling it into the bowls Rook had set out. The large doors to the kitchen swung open, and Davrin entered, Assan playfully nipping at his heels. He took the furthest seat from Lucanis at the head of the table. The two hadn’t gotten on particularly well ever since Davrin found out about Spite. 

“Play nice,” Rook warned in a low voice, handing the Grey Warden a goblet and filling it with port. She took a seat beside Lucanis, whose end of the table always filled up slowly. Rook suspected his demonic passenger was to blame.

As she blew on her spoonful of soup, Rook caught sight of Bellara entering with Harding and, to her astonishment, Neve. The three appeared to be mid conversation, putting her slightly on edge.

“Are they really gods, though?” Harding asked, looking up at the detective.

“They’re gods. Or the closest thing to them.” 

“Neve!” Rook breathed, setting down her silverware and bracing her hands on the table. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” she said, not sparing her so much as a glance as she took her seat next to Davrin. “I am.”

The cold shoulder stung, and Rook lowered her head, taking a measured inhale. Neve’s feelings were her own, and she had the right to be disappointed.

“A couple of new people have joined our team since you left,” Harding, seeking to ease the tension, chimed in. “This is Professor Emmrich Volkarin, he’s our Fade expert. That’s his assistant beside him, Manfred. And there’s Taash, our dragon hunter.”

“Hey.” Taash said.

Emmrich gave an elegant wave. “Charmed.” 

“A dragon hunter?” Neve asked Taash, “Minrathous could have used you.” 

Rook stiffened as something grazed her knee beneath the table. Startled, her eyes flicked to Lucanis, who offered a tight smile and reassuringly squeezed her knee.

Mierda. This was trouble. 

“So what’s going on?” Rook asked Neve, tearing her gaze from Lucanis. He withdrew his hand and glanced down awkwardly, returning to his dinner.  

“Back home? What isn’t?” Neve sighed, mustering all the civility she could. “Look, you made an impossible call without enough information. I get it. It’s the corner the gods put us in. It just…might take time to shake off.”

Rook dipped her chin. “Of course.” 

“You are back, though, right?” Bellara asked. 

Neve lifted her wineglass and took a deep drink. 

“Yeah, Bel. I’m back.”

Chapter Text

Neve’s demeanor softened as the days went on. Unsure if it was duty or guilt driving her, Rook dedicated much of her time to helping out in Dock Town, which incidentally provided a good excuse to avoid Lucanis. Even better, when a letter from Viago arrived requesting assistance in Treviso on several matters, she sent the Demon of Vyrantium in her stead. He could live up to her cousin’s standards. 

Soon, Rook found herself in high demand. Davrin’s invitation for her to train in the Arlathan Forest with him and Assan turned into a much needed reprieve. Later, she accompanied Harding and Taash into the Deep Roads to seek out a better understanding of Lace’s newfound power. Unfortunately, they ended up fighting an animated assembly of rocks and getting vague riddles from an ancient stone.

Wardens Evka and Antoine summoned Rook to inform her of new Blight-related developments in the Hossberg Wetlands, but the First Warden cut her visit short. Upon returning to the Lighthouse, Emmrich requested she and Bellara’s company investigating the curiously named “Hand of Glory,” only to find an old colleague abusing the living and the dead. Dejected, he spent the next several days in his chambers, but Rook was able to cheer him up by accompanying him and Manfred on a graveyard stroll. It seemed to, for lack of a better term, lift his spirits. 

Exhausted from her endeavors, Rook returned to the meditation chamber, propping her staff against the wall and depositing her bag next to the wardrobe.

“Don’t tell me you’ve spent so much time away from the Crows that you’ve forgotten to check a room when you enter it, Rook.”

Startled, she looked down to find Lucanis sprawled across the chaise, his arm propped behind his head. He shifted into a sitting position, leaning forward.

“Viago would have a fit if he knew you were taking necromancy lessons.” 

“We lit candles and laid flowers on graves, Lucanis,” She rummaged through her pack, setting aside a few parcels containing gifts for Davrin and Neve. “Did you tire of the pantry? Certainly the Lighthouse could conjure you a new dwelling place outside of my chambers.”

Lucanis rose to his feet, following her as she wandered around the room. 

“I was checking for those choke points you mentioned.” 

Rook’s hand hovered over Varric’s shaving mirror just as she spotted Lucanis’ reflection. He stood behind her, leaning against a bookcase, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

Fuck. He was getting good at this. Whatever this was.  

“Are we done? I have to be somewhere soon.”

“Take me with you. I need to work, Rook,” He caught her by the arm. “We have a contract. Use me.”

She moved closer and Lucanis tensed, his eyes fixed on her finger as she trailed it up the length of his arm. Even the most innocent of touches seemed to put him on edge, and she’d grown to enjoy getting a rise out of him. She leaned in, pressing her lips to the shell of his ear.

“I’m not certain you’re ready to find out what happens to people when I use them.”

He stepped backwards, releasing his hold on her with a groan. “Teia is a bad influence on you. You were never this much of a flirt before. I can’t even have a conversation with you.”

“I’ve barely seen Teia in the last year,” Rook placed her hands on her hips. “Did Viago send you to nag at me in his place?”

“No. You’re just… not the Fiammetta I remember,” He said and glanced to the side.

Rook arched an eyebrow. “You used my name.”

“You asked me to.”

Her gaze lingered before shifting to the schools of fish in the meditation chamber’s window.

“Neve and I are going to Dock Town to meet with the Threads. You can join us,” Her arms fell to her sides. “We leave in ten.” 

As she passed him, she leaned in again, resting her palm on his chest and winking. 

“And don’t pretend the change isn’t working in your favor,” She murmured in his ear, giving him a gentle shove before she walked away, leaving him with only his troubled thoughts for company. 

And Spite, of course.

Lucanis had always said death was his calling. He just didn’t know Fiammetta de Riva would be the cause. 

Rook was toying with him. He knew she was. What he couldn’t figure out was whether it was a game, a defense mechanism, or a way to get him to lower his guard.

He’d never been intimidated by strong women. After all, the Crows wouldn’t function without them.

“Well-positioned seeds, planted subtly and nurtured over time, grow stronger roots,” Caterina had always said. Few men among their ranks, save for Viago, had the patience for that level of foresight or strategy.

But being intimate with a strong woman… that was a different story. Rather than serious relationships, Lucanis had fumbled through an occasion or two of casual flirting and a handful of blundered evenings in his twenties before giving up entirely. He wasn’t like Illario, who could have a different woman in his bed each night. Better to give up on intimacy altogether, keeping his fantasies to idle daydreaming, or between the pages of romance novels. Feelings were risky and falling in love got people killed. Being alone was easier when he could find pleasure in little things - coffee, cooking… killing. If he didn’t keep anyone close, it was one less person to worry about, one less distraction from his work. 

He settled down beside Rook in their booth at the Cobbled Swan, wincing as he drank coffee that might as well have been brewed with piss. 

“So… the Threads and the Shadow Dragons working together.” She said, “how do we feel about that?”

“It’s what’s best for Dock Town,” Neve replied, “I saved their leader last week. They have just as much motivation to take out the Venatori as we do - and they owe me one.” 

Rook tensed beside him and Lucanis looked up, following her gaze towards a tall, fair-haired man, likely in his mid-30s, walking in. Well dressed, he walked with an air that made it clear he considered himself important. Accompanying him was a younger, shorter man with enough resemblance to Illario that Lucanis stiffened in surprise.

“Shit,” Rook whispered, her eyes glued to them as they approached.

“Trouble?” Neve asked. 

“Well…”

“Dock Town’s protectors, at your service,” the tall one confidently eased himself into his seat across from them. “What can the Threads do for…” He paused, brow furrowing as he gave Rook a once over. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Smells like smokepowder and arousal.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Lucanis grimaced and turned his head to the side, trying to keep Spite in check. 

“Makal Damas? You said you were a Shadow Dragon, not the leader of the Threads.”

“And you said you were an Antivan Crow. I thought we were having a little fun lying.”

“She is a Crow,” Neve said dryly.

“You’re the Rook everyone’s making such a fuss about?” Damas asked, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. 

“Anyone care to explain what’s going on?” Neve asked. 

“Rook and I have a little history, that’s all,” He took a swig from his stein. “Well, at least we can skip half the introductions. This is Elek Tavor, my second in command.”

Elek looked up from tracing the rim of his drink and nodded. 

“And you’re the infamous mage-killer?” Damas asked Lucanis. 

“Something like that,” he leaned over Rook to trade his coffee for a bottle of wine at the end of the table. 

“I’ve got names of missing people, including those hardly anyone noticed yet,” Elek interjected, eager to change the topic. “All yours. No catch.”

“No catch? Now that’s friendship,” Neve leaned back in her seat and clasped her hands together on the table. 

“Consider it a personal favor, if you want,” Damas purred. 

“The Venatori are getting too confident,” Elek continued, “We’ll increase our odds of getting them out of our streets if we work together.”

“You seem tough enough on your own,” Lucanis said. “Why do you need us?”

“I get my knuckles bloody from time to time. But if you haven’t noticed, there’s a lot going on. Those blood mages walked into this bar and abducted me,” Damas stuck his finger into his chest. “I’d like to correct that. The Threads are better neighbors than the Venatori, don’t you think?” 

“They are,” Neve chimed in. “Let’s speak candidly, then. Aelia’s a pain for both of us. I want her dead.” 

“Okay. Then we both hunt for Aelia,” Damas said. “You find her, you kill her. We find her? We’ll do the same. Dock Town is ours.” He leaned forward in his seat, lowering his voice. “But I’m open to sharing, Rook. Bear that in mind.” 

“So generous. I’ll remember that when I put everyone’s drinks on your tab.” 

Damas smirked and rose from his chair.

“I knew I liked you,” He chuckled before turning to address Neve. “We’ll keep you posted.”

Neve’s head snapped towards Rook once Elek and Damas had cleared the front doors. “When did you sleep with the head of the Threads? ” 

“Give me a break. It was a whole year ago and if I had any idea who he was - or how bad it would be -”

“You could show her something better!”

Lucanis choked on his wine, quickly clearing his throat to cover it up, and stood abruptly from the table. 

“I’m going back to the Lighthouse. Next time you bring me along, make sure there’s something for me to kill.”

As she ascended the steps to her chamber, all Rook wanted was a nap. When Davrin came running after her, she knew it wasn’t happening.

“Rook,” He panted, bending over to catch his breath, “the First Warden is summoning everyone back to Weisshaupt. Word of darkspawn hordes on the move, and an Archdemon with them.”

“Fuck,” her hand instinctively reaching up to rub her tired eyes. “How much time do we have?”

“A day, a week? We’re going in blind, though. We need to know what we’re up against.”

The possibility of sleep now seemed distant and trivial, as guilt gnawed at her conscience. Was she so selfish that she could think about sleeping at a time like this?

“I’ll talk to Solas. Make sure the others are ready to move.”

No longer eager to return to her quarters, she begrudgingly shoved the doors open. Conversations with the Dread Wolf were rarely enjoyable. 

With a lazy flick of her wrist, she ignited a row of candles on the ancient altar in front of the window and knelt before them. Eyes closed, she drew focus, her consciousness wandering from her body, searching the Fade for Solas’ prison. 

“How fares your battle?”

She opened her eyes with a start. The sight before her was bleak and colorless, a barren expanse stretching into infinity. The bald elf waited for her across the rift, hands clasped behind his back.

“The gods are moving against Weisshaupt and the Grey Wardens. I have little time. There are rumors of an Archdemon involved. I need to know how to deal with them.”

Solas paced, as if searching the ground beneath his feet for answers. “How are the Grey Wardens? Do they understand the danger they’re in yet?”

“Some. The First Warden is completely in denial, though. That…complicates things.” 

Solas halted, his gaze piercing through her, his demeanor growing more serious. “To defeat Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, you must unite the Wardens under your banner. How will you bring them to your side?”

“Seems I need to get around the First. Easy. Make him lose credibility. Classic political destabilization.”

“Spoken like an Antivan Crow,” Solas’ voice carried a hint of ambiguity that made it difficult for Rook to decipher whether he was praising or criticizing her.

“There never were Tevinter gods. The Archdemons, as you call them, are weapons of the Evanuris. To harm them, you must first defeat their life force - the dragon thralls. And even with their dragons dead, they’ll be difficult to defeat.”

As Rook absorbed Solas’ revelations, her heart raced, its pounding echoing in her ears. “So what do I do?”

“Use my dagger. The one you recovered. It can pierce their enchantments and strike them down.”

“Got it,” Rook said, turning on her heel, eager to leave.

“You’re going in too fast! Take a moment. Remember what is at risk!”

She whirled around.

“I know exactly what is at risk!” she pointed at her chest. “That dragon could have leveled my city! Killed my family!”

“Yes. Good. Hold on to that. Remember the loss you have already survived. You will endure more, but your motivation to prevent it at any cost will keep you on the right path.” 

Rook scoffed. “You’re sick.”

“And you’re tired. Perhaps you need some rest. A moment to remember…”

As Solas faded away, the meditation room came back into view. Rook let out a long sigh and laid her head on the seat of the chaise. What the fuck was the Dread Wolf even talking about? Always lessons in everything. He was just as bad as Varric, as her father…

Exhaustion overwhelmed her, making her eyelids heavy and her limbs weak, a weariness that seeped into her very bones. A planned moment of focused breathing, meant to center herself, stretched into minutes, then…

Nothing.

Fiammetta woke to a noise coming from the den and jolted upright in bed. She and her father’s small apartment carried sound through every wall, and she was certain if she’d noticed it, he was already investigating. 

When little flames are scared, they should be neither seen nor heard. 

With caution, she slipped her hand between her mattress and the bed frame, retrieving the encircled blade she’d gotten for her seventeenth birthday from Viago just days ago. She crept towards the door, carefully opening it a crack, and peered through the darkness, her eyes straining to see.

“I’ll give you a chance to leave my home, without consequence, but you must go now,” Her father growled from the kitchen. Fiammetta peered around the corner, discovering him with his blade drawn, defensively poised and ready for a fight. She knew if she weren’t here, he’d have already engaged. 

He was buying her time. 

The intruder was facing away from her, and in the dim light filtering from the windows, she could see the glint of her father’s eyes as they met hers.

“You’re a Crow, no? Did someone put a contract on me? Surely my nephew, Viago, doesn’t think I’m a threat to him becoming Talon…”

Still buying time, but also providing thinly veiled directions. Fiammetta read between the lines. 

Get out. Get help. Get Viago. 

She nodded in the dark and retreated to her room. The instant she shut her door behind her, she heard pots and pans flying, kitchen cabinets being thrown open, blows exchanged. Her movements were controlled and calm as she slipped a cloak over her nightgown and pulled on her boots. Unlatching her window, she crawled on top of her dresser and outside to the roof.  

This wasn’t their first break-in, or assassination attempt. Her father would be fine. She was simply leaving to give him peace of mind and fetch a cleanup crew. 

She navigated the rooftops to Viago’s, a short, five-minute walk, and jumped several feet over a gap in houses, aiming for his balcony. Missing just by inches, she caught herself on the railing, clinging to the rungs. She hoisted herself up, feeling the strain in her muscles as she flopped down onto the balcony stomach-first.

As she got up and brushed herself off, she caught sight of her cousin approaching, knife in hand, lowering it when he spotted her. With him was Illario Dellamorte, who he’d adopted as some sort of mentee. The boys always seemed to stick together. It was fine. She had Teia, after all. 

Viago had taken contracts as soon as Caterina had allowed him to, and it wasn’t long before he’d amassed a small fortune for himself. He was a talented assassin. Incredible with poisons, not too bad with a blade either. Aunt Viamma had married a few years back and settled down just outside of Treviso, so he’d purchased this apartment for himself as a reward for his efforts, deciding it was time for him to branch out on his own. 

“I’ve told you Fiammetta,” Viago said through the glass, unlocking several deadbolts. “Use the front door.”

“The streets might not be safe. Someone broke into our house,” She said, as if reciting something she’d memorized. Everything felt slow, disjointed.

“What?” Illario blurted. 

“It was a Crow. My father’s holding him off in the kitchen. He’ll probably have handled it by the time we get back, but there could be others…”

“Right. Let’s go,” Viago said, leaping over his balcony railing to the neighboring roof with ease. Fiammetta followed, successfully making the jump this time, with Illario trailing close behind. 

“Taking a contract on the Flame of Treviso. Fools,” He mumbled. “I’d like to know what idiot would even put one out.” 

“If it’s really a contract, it’s not sanctioned by Caterina or any of the Talons, to my knowledge.” Viago said, “Your father isn’t interested in Crow affairs anymore, so it can’t be anyone fearing competition…”

As they reached the apartment, Fiammetta nudged her window pane and slid her curtains aside. Before she could step through, Viago held his hand out, entering first. Illario ducked in after him, offering his hand to Fiamma. His arms were warm, a reassuring sense of security as he guided her down from atop the dresser.

The house was silent, still dark. A knot wound itself tightly in Fiamma’s stomach. 

Something was wrong. 

Viago motioned for them to stay back, slowly opening her bedroom door and creeping into the hall. The floorboards creaked beneath his weight, likely intentionally on his part, as he tried to draw out the intruder. Illario’s arm snaked tightly around Fiammetta’s waist, his shortsword drawn as they followed, shattered glass and splintered wood crunching beneath their boots.

The kitchen was a disaster, but noticeably empty. It wasn’t until Fiammetta turned around to face the den that she stepped in something wet. Her breathing became shallow as she waved her hand to ignite a candle, but her nerves made her magic unstable, lighting every candle in the apartment. 

The three of them squinted, eyes adjusting to the overwhelming brightness, before Fiammetta’s legs gave way beneath her. Illario clung tightly to her as she fell to the floor with a single, devastated sob, burying her face in his shoulder. 

Dante de Riva’s lifeless body was slumped against the fireplace, a dead crow stuffed where his head should have been. His corpse was drenched in blood, the wedding band still on his left hand gleaming in the light through streaks of crimson. 

This wasn’t a clean job, wasn’t just a contract. It was an execution. 

Viago crouched beside the body, his elbows on his knees, and lowered his head. 

“Get her out of here, Illario,” His tone was void of emotion as he looked around for clues. This was future Talon, Viago. Not a grieving nephew. “Send Caterina and Lucanis back. Take major streets, stay out of the shadows.”  

Illario nodded, his grip on Fiammetta tightening as he lifted her off the floor. Her chest heaved, throat constricting as her gaze fell upon her father’s desecrated corpse again, and he hoisted her into his arms, carrying her out the front door. 

“Walk, Fi. You have to.” 

She shook her head as he set her down outside, tears streaming down her face.

“I promise you, there will be time to grieve later, but now we have to go,” He cupped her face in his hands. “If you think you’re safe out here, weeping in the street, you’re wrong.” 

She sniffed and nodded, and he ran his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away her tears. 

“No one will hurt you. Not while I’m here.”

He took her by the hand and led her through the streets to Caterina’s villa, stopping to glance around corners, fingertips never leaving the hilt of his sword. 

The doors of Villa Dellamorte crashed open, making the windows tremble in their frames. Illario let them rattle shut behind him as he guided Fiamma to the couch in the sitting room.

“Mierda, Illario! Do you always have to make such an entrance?” 

Lucanis Dellamorte appeared in the doorway and paused, his forehead wrinkling as he drew nearer. He looked down at Fiammetta, her hands woven through her hair, as she hung her head low, staring at the flames rising in the hearth across from her.

“De Riva? What happened?” 

Illario looked over his shoulder, exchanging silent words with his cousin. Lucanis’ lips parted in surprise, gaze settling on Fiammetta again.

“No…” He breathed.

“Parents always die, right?” She raised her head to stare intently at Lucanis and his face twisted in a grimace of guilt and agony. 

“And someone always pays,” Illario reassured her through clenched teeth. 

“Who is slamming doors in my house!” Caterina shouted as she rounded the corner, her cane knocking against the wood. Her eyes fell upon Fiammetta for several seconds, and she glanced between her grandsons in horror. 

“Dante?” she breathed. “How can this be? Where is Viago?” 

“With the body,” Illario said quietly. 

Caterina frowned. “Lucanis, go. Stop on your way and send Arandrateia Cantori here. I will meet you at the de Riva’s.” 

He departed swiftly, without question, casting one final shame-filled expression of apology in Fiammetta’s direction.

The First Talon’s obedient little dog.

“Illario, get a change of clothes from the spare room. Mierda, my floors…” 

Fiammetta looked down at herself, finding the lower half of her nightgown drenched in her father’s blood. Following a trail of crimson footsteps, she realized she’d tracked blood across Caterina’s white marble hall.

“These moments define Crows, Fiammetta,” Caterina said firmly. “I have buried my own parents, my children, all but two of my grandchildren. None of them died natural deaths. It does not get easier, but you endure. Or you let it get you killed, too.” 

She leaned forward on her cane. The handle featured an intricately carved crow’s head, and Fiammetta’s stomach roiled. 

“Honor your father in death by not forfeiting your life. Grieve, and then let that fury guide you to survive.” 

Caterina rose, placing a hand on her shoulder. “This deed will not go unpunished. The Dellamortes and the de Rivas are strong houses. We Crows honor our own,” She said, her cane scraping across the floor as she departed. 

Bullshit, Fiammetta thought to herself, Crows slit one another’s throats for even a shred of power.

She sank to the floor, kneeling on the bearskin rug in front of the fire, wrapping her cloak tightly around her. When Illario returned, he set a neatly folded stack of clean clothes on the couch and joined her. Rolling on her side, Fiammetta rested her head in his lap, staring into the hearth. His fingers hovered for a moment, surprised, before he tenderly combed them through her hair.

“I will avenge your father’s death, Fiammetta. I swear on my life.”

She didn’t respond. Numbed, she transitioned into a state somewhere between dreaming and disassociation. She didn’t hear the door in the foyer creak open, or the shuffling of feet behind them. Only Teia reaching for her hands, squeezing them tightly in her own, caused her to stir from her oblivion.

“Fi…”

Face crumpled in dismay, Teia laid down beside her, and the three clung to one another until sunrise, when Viago and Lucanis returned home, looking nearly as haunted as Fiammetta felt.

“Rook? Hey! Rook.”

Davrin banged on her chamber door with his fist again, and her eyes snapped open. Disoriented, she braced herself on the chaise and pushed herself up.

“Coming!”

She blinked rapidly, trying to dismiss the memories and emotions threatening to resurface, and grabbed her things.

“About damn time,” He grumbled as she joined him in the hall.

“How long was I out?” Rook asked, hurrying down the stairs after him.

“I don’t know, but things at Weisshaupt are getting worse. It’s time to go. Hopefully, your Dread Wolf friend had some insight.” 

“He’s not my friend. We don’t get tea in his little prison and exchange pleasantries.”

“What do you exchange, then?”

“Information. Verbal jabs, mostly.”

When they arrived in the hall, everyone else was waiting for her command. 

“There’s an Eluvian in storage in the vault. It was a gift from the Dalish,” Davrin said.

“Ours should go right to it… probably,” Bellara added. 

Rook caught sight of the Crow head buttons sewn into Lucanis’ vest and hesitated, overcome with a desire to pluck each one loose and cast them into the nothingness of the Fade. He took notice of her lingering gaze and furrowed his brow, tilting his head curiously. With a deep breath, she steeled herself and shifted her attention.

“So we sneak into Weisshaupt, nice and quiet, then find Antoine and Evka.”

“Was… there a plan after that?” Neve asked.

“I’m not giving a speech.” Rook muttered, “Let’s go kill a fucking god.”

Chapter Text

As she passed through the eluvian, Rook’s footsteps echoed across the stone floors of Weisshaupt. Davrin stepped through after her, glancing around with a worried expression. 

“This isn’t the vault.”

“They moved the eluvian?”

The fortress trembled violently, and she lost her footing as loose bricks broke free from the walls, crashing down in a deafening avalanche. Davrin drug her back into a pile of crates that splintered underneath their combined weight, and the eluvian crashed through the wall, tearing half the room away with it. A plume of dust rose in its place, several birds taking flight from nearby trees as it met the ground below.

Davrin clambered to his feet and peered out over the ledge.

“It didn’t break!” His voice echoed as he called over his shoulder to Rook.

She squinted through the haze and joined him, sighing with relief at the sight of the eluvian, miraculously intact, several stories on the lawn below. Neve emerged unscathed, followed by the others. Lucanis hoisted himself over the edge, standing and placing his hands on his hips, examining the wreckage.  

“You call that nice and quiet?”

“Sorry, catch up when you can!” she called down.

Spite’s wings flared wide behind him and he launched himself upward, soaring up to join them. He landed next to Rook, close enough that she felt his boots reverberate against the floor.

“All caught up,” He purred in her ear. The gravelly tone told her it was Spite's voice speaking, somehow much more quietly than usual. So he did have an inside voice.

The violet sclera of his eyes gleamed mischievously and she held his gaze until all signs of the demon disappeared. Soon, Lucanis blinked back at her in surprise, their faces only a breath’s width apart. Rook turned her head abruptly in the direction of the exit. 

“Time to go.”

“Shh! Darkspawn outside!” 

A faint whisper came from behind the shelves near the door. A young girl rose to her feet, dressed in Warden’s clothing tailored to fit her small frame. She was just barely illuminated by the torches on the wall as she held a finger to her mouth to silence them, but from Rook’s vantage point, she looked to be about seven years of age.

“Darkspawn, in Weisshaupt?” Davrin asked, sounding equally perplexed.

Rook crouched beside the girl. “Just… keep hidden—"

“Mila.”

“Sit tight, Mila,” Rook forced a reassuring smile and pushed through the doors. “We’ll be right back.”

They exited to the courtyard, where they were greeted by a chorus of dying screams and shouts for backup. Rook cast another nervous glance over her shoulder towards Mila, hidden behind the shelf, her wide brown eyes fixed on their every move. Lucanis gave her arm an encouraging squeeze, pulling her attention away.

“She’ll be fine. Don’t get distracted.”

“ She’s too young to see this,” Rook rasped. “I’d seen just as much carnage by her age. But not like this, not darkspawn-"

“Rook, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I need you focused. Let me worry about Mila. You don’t worry about anything but getting me a clear shot to Ghilan’nain.”

He took off in a sprint, a purple aura enveloping him as he drop-kicked a darkspawn and cleaved its head clean off. Ahead, Davrin and Assan were clearing out the rest of the horde. Rook joined in, sending fire spells in every direction before pulling out her mage knife.

“Where are all the Wardens?” She yelled, cutting the arm off an advancing ghoul.

“Fighting outside, from the sound!” Lucanis’s voice came from behind, and she turned in time to see him deliver a fatal blow to a giant Hurlock, its enormous fists poised to crush her.

“Thanks,” Rook panted.

“Just remember our talk, mm?” He sheathed his blade with a metallic click and surveyed their surroundings. “That’s all of them, for now.” 

Mila appeared from behind a rock. “At least it wasn’t ogres!”

“You know your darkspawn,” Davrin remarked.

“My dad’s a blacksmith for the Grey Wardens.”

Rook tightened her grip on the hilt of her knife, her knuckles turning white. Their plan hinged on her ability to focus and pull her own weight. “Mila, do you know Antoine and Evka?”

“Yeah. They’re probably in the war room. I can show you,” she offered, running ahead. Rook trailed closely behind, keeping alert.

“Oh no, the door’s blocked! I know a secret passage. Come on!”

They rounded a corner, coming up on a dead warden, slumped over next to a darkspawn impaled against the wall. Its grotesque form served as a barricade that held the passage shut.

“Damn,” Rook slapped a hand over her mouth to block out the stench. In her periphery, Mila was putting on a brave face.

So she’s seen death.

“That’s Commander Janos. One of our best,” Davrin said remorsefully.

“Then let’s make sure he didn’t die in vain,” Rook pulled Janos’ sword from the abdomen of the darkspawn, examining it in the light before slipping it into a spare hilt in her armor.

He wouldn’t be needing it anymore, but she might.

The corpse fell forward, and the passage slid open, allowing the four to step inside.

“When did the darkspawn attack, Mila?” Lucanis asked.

“Just a while ago, they started climbing the walls!”

“You should stay here.”

“I can’t. I need to find my dad!”

Rook swallowed hard. She once clung to that hope, that her father would be fine, that she needed to protect him . Only to come home and find…

No . 

She didn’t have time to reflect on that dream again. Fucking Dread Wolf. Why would he think pressing her about her father’s death would do any good?

Rook froze as they pushed through another pair of vaulted doors, revealing swirling black clouds that formed Ghilan’nain’s face, her eyes like blue fog.

“Grey Wardens! I wield the power of the Blight.”  

“How the fuck do I stab a cloud?” Lucanis hissed. 

A dragon dove in the sky ahead with a shriek, disappearing beneath the horizon, before swooping up and taking half the platform with it. Stone and armor and weapons went flying, and Rook stumbled, shielding her face. She couldn’t hear any more of Ghilan’nain’s words over the ringing in her ears.  

“Do you pray? Might be worth a shot.” Davrin said, charging forward.

“The war room’s this way!” Mila hollered.

Rook shred through two ghouls, drops of Blighted blood painting the ground beneath her feet. “Good, you’ll be safe there.”

“Not yet. I need to find my dad.”

Rook let out a frustrated sigh and pushed against an enormous pair of iron doors with all her strength, entering the room just as the First Warden barked orders. A dozen Wardens talked over one another, suggesting different courses of action.

“Good luck,” Mila said, taking off in the opposite direction.

Evka stood toe to toe with the First Warden as Rook approached. He loomed over her short figure, and it brought Rook subtle delight to see a man so large rattled by a woman half his size, with twice the guts.  

“There’s no choice, ser. We’re under siege - we have to fall back to the dragon trap!”

“Forget the trap!” He said, holding up a hand to silence her, “Send word to Commander Janos. Rally outside the wall.”

“We don’t have time for this…” Rook muttered and drew Janos’ sword from inside her coat.

With a resounding thud, the weapon landed on the table, splattering blood across the map. Knocking out Janos’ strategy piece, it rolled to a stop before the First Warden.

“Janos is dead.”

His eyes narrowed in anger. “What are you doing here?”

Rook braced herself on the table. “Fighting your battle.”

The First gestured to the Wardens standing behind her. “Arrest them.”

Antoine caught him as he tried to turn away. “Non! You need to listen to them! We are under attack by a god!”

“Do you hear yourself? There’s no such thing. Stop finding excuses to be a coward! Order every blade out of Weisshaupt!”

Evka rushed forward. “We’ll all die ser!”

“That’s an order, Warden!” 

The grip holding Rook’s arms behind her back loosened, a sign of the Grey Wardens’ growing doubt in their commander, allowing her to break free. Balling her hand into a fist, she let her temper guide her as she stepped in front of the First Warden and punched him square in the jaw, just the way Viago taught her. She shook the shock out of her fingers as he hit the ground, unconscious.

Lucanis crossed his arms, admiring her work. “Can’t say you didn’t try.”

Several Wardens advanced on them, blades drawn, and he took a defensive stance in front of her, hands on his daggers. 

“No!” Evka said, stepping between them, “Listen to Rook, that’s an order,” She turned around, lowering her voice. “I assume you have a plan?”

“I don’t, but… the dragon trap you mentioned…”

“It was built 900 years ago to stop an Archdemon,” Antoine began, “But-”

“Get down!” Davrin shouted. 

A flash of violet wings unfurled around her and Rook was tackled to the floor just as the dragon appeared in the window, unleashing flames through the entire war room. Bodies and debris flew in every direction, and as Lucanis landed on top of her, her skin suddenly felt dry and raw from the fire overhead. He lifted his head from where it had fallen between her neck and shoulder, all signs of Spite gone from his gaze. Rook blinked in surprise, her lips only a breath apart from Lucanis’ as they panted in unison. He swallowed hard and rolled off of her, bracing against a stone table behind them for cover.

“Where’s this trap?” Rook asked, huddling beside him and ignoring the goose flesh that was forming on the back of her neck.

“Other side of the fortress,” Antoine said, “but it’s never been used-” 

“It only has to work once. Let’s go!” 

She broke into a run, and Weisshaupt soon became a blur of blood and Blight. Every decision she made was guided by urgency and her conviction to their plan, which was still unfolding as they moved through the stronghold. Bells rang overhead, disorienting her. Rook was blown back repeatedly by fallen debris, Archdemon attacks, or darkspawn, and each time, Lucanis or Davrin would yank her up by the collar and pull her along. When every exit vanished as they fought their way to the dragon trap, a ladder suddenly was thrown over a nearby ledge. Mila, who had vanished in the war room, and in fact not found her way to safety, stood above triumphantly. Rook pulled herself up to higher ground and kept running, ensuring Mila remained behind Lucanis, but ahead of her and Davrin, always protected. 

When they finally reached a courtyard, Taash opened a pair of doors for them. 

“Rook! Get your asses in here!” 

Lucanis leapt and sliced through the darkspawn, killing his way through the horde while Rook, Davrin, and Mila navigated the Blight pustules bursting open on the ground.

“Go, go, go!” Rook fired several spells behind her until she made it inside. Lucanis slipped in after them, shoving his full body weight against the doors. Everyone else did the same, and they rattled shut, but threatened to burst back open as the darkspawn plowed into them from outside. 

Taash braced against the barricade. “You’re alive.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Rook said with a grunt. 

“If this door doesn’t hold, all bets are off,” Davrin said, straining beside them.

“But what about the dragon trap?” Bellara asked. 

A man in matching attire to Mila’s brought a hammer down onto a contraption near the doors, and a wooden beam fell down behind them, holding them in place. 

“The trap will work.”

“Dad!”

As Mila ran into her father’s arms, Rook slouched against the door, leaning her head back and wiping sweat from her brow. Lucanis crouched beside her, reaching for her shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

She didn’t respond, watching the reunion with a weak smile.

“Rook?”

“I’m fine.” 

The blacksmith approached, Mila’s arms hugging his waist as he smiled at Rook. 

“Thank you for keeping Mila safe.” He reached down and ruffled his daughter’s hair playfully. “I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.” 

“She was incredible,” Rook rasped, her eyes shining. 

With Mila’s father, Holden, taking the others to deploy the dragon trap, Rook, Lucanis, and Davrin cut their way through Blight and darkspawn in the Weisshaupt library. As she stepped onto the roof, the cold air whipped against her face, throwing her hair back.

“Rook - Ghilan’nain is a cloud.” Lucanis wrapped his fingers around her wrist as she stared at Solas’ dagger. Distant strikes of lightning reflected in the lyrium. “Are you sure this is a fight we can win?”

“I mean to find out.” She said and thrust the knife into the air.  

Ghilan’nain’s vestige turned on her, and her Archdemon soared through the cloud resembling her face, landing on the walls of the fortress. It sunk its claws into the bricks, sending them tumbling as it threw itself down on the ground and ominously stepped towards Rook.

“Come on…” Rook mumbled to herself. 

The dragon struck, and she leapt aside, surging with relief as she heard the click of a footplate. The trap activated, unleashing spears on chains to embed themselves into its scales, dragging the beast to the ground. An eruption of cheers broke out above as Davrin pulled her to her feet, looking down somberly.

“Give Assan a hug for me, okay?” 

“Anything, Davrin…” Rook said hoarsely as he passed her off to Lucanis, who gripped her shoulders, fingertips digging into her light armor.

“Stand down, Warden!”

Rook turned in surprise to face the First Warden as he stalked towards them from the nearby rubble.

“My war, my glory.”

Rook held up her hands indifferently and pulled Davrin back. “It’s all yours.”

He scoffed. “At least you’ve got some honor in the end.”

Spite growled behind her, peeking through Lucanis’ features. She knew he’d run the First Warden through with a blade if he weren’t already stepping towards his death so willingly.

The First Warden, sword drawn, limped past the Archdemon’s glowing eye as it blinked at him weakly, still assessing, and climbed atop its head. He took his blade in two hands, raising it overhead, and aimed it at the dragon’s skull.

“As supreme authority of Weisshaupt, I hereby declare this Blight at an end!” 

As he brought the sword down, Ghilan’nain-the real goddess, rather than her smoky figure-burst from her thrall’s belly, and snatched the First Warden in the air. She held him by the throat, and his hands grasped wildly at her fingers, legs kicking helplessly below him. 

“Racing heart. Ragged breaths. A waste of useful blood!” she screamed, shoving her hand through his chest. Rook recoiled at the sound, the sickening squelch of flesh and bone breaking. His blood splattered on the Archdemon below, the Blight within it restoring the monster, and Ghilan’nain discarded the corpse in the trench over her shoulder. The body vanished under the waves, tossed by the violent surge as a serpentine head burst from the Archdemon, letting out a deafening screech that echoed through all of Weisshaupt.

Rook readied her staff and unleashed a torrent of lightning until the beast retreated. It rose again, crashing down beside her on the field. She recovered her footing and focused on her training, the long days and nights when Viago would teach her to dodge, parry, and shield. Her cousin knew little of magic, but at least that part came instinctively. While he was alive, her father taught her all he could, and she intended to use it. 

“What is that?” Lucanis exclaimed as a mass of darkspawn crawled up over the edge of the trench and descended upon them. He cut through a line of them in one fell swoop.

“The real Archdemon!” Davrin replied, “We have to kill it! Ghilan’nain’s invulnerable until we do!” 

The beast rose and fell several more times, each impact sending shockwaves through the ground. Rook ducked and rolled clear of each of the creature’s attacks, but her energy wore thin as a second head ascended from the ground. She let out a scream of frustration and drew her mage knife, jumping and slicing at the serpent’s veined neck when it dove towards her again.

“Get out of there!” Lucanis called out as a third head appeared over the ledge. Rook balked, and he shoved her out of its path into the rubble.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” She said, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. 

“You have to keep going.” He urged her, “At least until I can get my shot.”

Rook traded her sword for her staff and Fade-stepped across the battlefield, throwing as many spells at each serpentine head as she could. Anything that would stick. Assan attacked from above, slaying several ghouls as her surroundings became tighter than she’d have preferred.

It wasn’t until all three heads came down that she gave it everything she could. With a roar, the Archdemon screamed, blood spurting from its injuries and raining down upon them. The creature collapsed and writhed, its movements growing weaker with each passing second.

“Davrin, kill it!”  

The Grey Warden nodded, stepping forward with a deep breath, stabbing it through the eye. He looked like he had been bracing for something, but as the creature’s death rattle came, he met Rook’s gaze, surprised... and alive.

Shaking her disbelief away, Rook threw Solas’ dagger to Lucanis, who was poised on a nearby ledge, ready to strike. 

“Now, finish her!” 

He caught it in one hand, Spite’s wings flaring out behind him, and leaped into the air, gliding overhead until he reached Ghilan’nain.

Lucanis was a blur in the sky, but he made contact - Rook was sure of it - before he was flung to the ground. He landed on one knee, his arm braced out before him, face contorted in sheer rage as he skidded across the soil. 

He missed. 

Ghilan’nain touched her face and gasped as she drew away blood from a faint scratch upon her cheek. With a shriek, she raised her arms in the air to summon more of her Blighted monsters to come to her aid.

“Let’s go!” Rook screamed, grabbing Lucanis by the shoulder. 

“Give me another shot!” He snarled, shoving her off, eyes fixated on the elven goddess. 

“Lucanis, don’t you dare!” Rook railed her knuckles into his arm to catch his attention.

Mierda. He fully intended to fly back up there. 

Desperate, Rook threw herself in front of him and shoved, hammering her fists against his chest until he scowled, relenting and turning to retreat towards their allies. She chased after him, her feet pounding into the earth with so much force that she could feel the buzz in her skull. He could be pissed at her later. She didn’t care. She sprinted to where the eluvian glowed between Bellara, Holden, and Mila, and leapt through.

The last of the civilians and Grey Wardens made it to Lavandel, but not without devastating losses. Davrin received word of the climbing death toll: the once mighty order of over a thousand had quickly dwindled to the low hundreds. 

In grief, there was also tension. Davrin and Lucanis, both battle-worn and weary, had been at one another’s throats since their return to the Lighthouse. Davrin blamed the Demon of Vyrantium for missing his shot, claiming Spite was pulling his punches, and Lucanis retorted with an insinuation that the Blight in the Grey Warden’s veins might have been manipulated by Ghilan’nain. 

Poor Harding and Emmrich had tried to act as peacemakers, only to be snapped at in the line of verbal fire. Varric, a voice of reason amidst the chaos, urged Rook to break up the escalating conflict and dismiss the team to gather themselves. Bellara, who had only just had a run-in with her presumed-dead brother days ago, was carrying massive guilt in his betrayal, as if she had anything to do with it. Neve was still grieving for Minrathous. Taash was still working out their identity and a disagreement with their mother. Even Harding was coming to terms with magic that Rook wasn’t even sure she trusted.

Everyone had baggage to attend to, and they needed to work as a unit, not divided. 

Exhausted and emotionally drained, Rook longed for her bed, but she wasn’t done yet. Lucanis had stormed off and locked himself in the pantry, and she didn’t want to think about the rage boiling within him that would only feed Spite’s determination. With their luck, she’d wake up tomorrow with two dead allies and an orphaned griffin.

She knocked, cracking the door. “Lucanis, are you in here brooding?”

“I’m fine,” came his response, tired and melancholic. He sat on the bed, glaring at the floor, hands clutching a cup of coffee.

Rook stepped inside and gently closed the door behind her with a gentle click. “That’s not a no.”

“I had her. She should have never gotten away from me,” he shook his head. “This was our contract, Rook. I don’t fail my contracts.”

“Think of it less as a failure, more an… extension?”

His stare, dark and intense, met hers from under lowered lids. “You shouldn’t go easy on me. In our line of work, mistakes get people killed.”

Rook groaned loudly, throwing her head back. 

“Alright, fine. You fucked up. Maybe it’s because you’re not sleeping, maybe it’s because you were aiming at a god. We get over it, and we get back to work.”

“I thought I had this,” Lucanis said. “Whatever else I am, I’m a professional. After the Ossuary, I thought I could at least still take out a target.”

“You can. You just need to sleep.”

He stared at his hands.

“You might be right. I was distracted. That cannot happen again. I need to get my head on straight…”

Rook joined him on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. It was little more than a blanket laid across a stone slab - by far the most uncomfortable thing she’d ever sat on. This had to be some twisted, self-imposed punishment on Lucanis’ part.

“You might have missed your target, but you saved my life out there more times than one. I owe you for that.”

“Ah, so now we’re even?” He asked, smirking and nudging her with his elbow. 

She shrugged. “If that makes you feel better, sure.” 

Lucanis frowned. “You’re too lethal to be a damsel in distress, Fiammetta. What happened out there?”

Her ears instinctively pricked at the sound of her real name, and she lowered her eyes.

“Solas had this way of… bringing on a nightmare after I spoke with him in the meditation chamber. Some sick way of trying to motivate me.”

“What was it?”

“It was a memory of my father. The night…”

“Are you serious?” Lucanis’ voice rose as he stood up. “He can’t do that! You can’t let him just get in your head and-“

She tugged him down gently. “Says the guy with a demon making the calls half the time.” 

He scowled and sipped his coffee. 

“You know all… this isn’t part of our contract. You don’t have to keep trying to protect me.”

“It doesn’t need a contract,” He said plainly. 

“Is it for Viago, then? Because I swear -”

“It’s not for Viago.” 

She blinked at him. “Then why?”

“I like you alive, Rook. More than getting paid, more than keeping your cousin’s favor.” 

With a playful glint in her eyes, she shoved him. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m glad you didn’t get yourself killed today.” 

Lucanis’ brows shot up as he covered the rim of his cup, preventing his coffee from spilling. He set his mug down on the bedside table, grinned, and leaned closer. Rook held her breath in anticipation, but he quickly squeezed his eyes shut and turned away with a grimace. 

“Lucanis?” she reached out to touch his shoulder, and he flinched.

“I need to work,” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if fighting off a migraine. Spite, more likely. “I’ll check in with the Crows. Once I sort this… Zara stuff, I can focus again. The others, Davrin-”

“I’ll handle the others,” Rook stood up to leave. “Get some rest.” 

“I’ll try.”

She rested her head on the doorframe and lingered with a pleading look. “Do it for me?”

“For you?” He stretched out, tucking his arms beneath his head, and managed a tired smile. “I’ll try harder.”

Chapter Text

Rook cracked open Neve’s door, her eyes widening at dozens of wisps gathered above the detective’s desk. Soft specks and dots of blue glowed as they floated leisurely in the air, spanning from the floor to the vaulted ceilings, shimmering in the afternoon light as it beamed through the windows. Around the room, she noticed several crude traps made of heartwood and string.

“What are we doing?”

The sound of the latch clicking shut echoed in the room, causing the wisps to briefly scatter before regrouping. Neve turned to face her, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

“The wisps are drawn to something around here,” She explained. “I’ve baited the boxes with notes, baubles… things they steal.”

Rook’s eyes flickered to one trap, her frown deepening when she saw her missing brooch nestled among the trinkets.

“I’ve been looking for that!”

Neve chuckled, a warm, melodic sound.

“I’ll return it later. That one seems like the biggest hit so far.”

Rook looked up, captivated by the wisps skittering about in delight overhead.

“Maybe they’re drawn to you?” She said as she watched with childlike wonder. Neve shook her head.

“They’ve been seen here when I’m not. There’s more to it.”

“I mean, it’s possible something terrible happened in this room…”

“Are you really that bored, Rook? I’ll take the company, but don’t give me nightmares.” 

The chamber door swung open, and Lucanis entered, carrying a tray of coffee. As he set it down on Neve’s desk, the doors shut with a resounding slam, scattering the wisps in another mild panic before they returned to their slow wandering above.

Rook raised an eyebrow. “You bring Neve coffee now? How sweet.”

“Neve boils the beans. It’s terrible. I’m doing everyone a favor,” Lucanis said plainly. “If I’d known you were here, I’d have brought you some too.” 

“I never took you for the jealous type, Rook,” Neve teased, “What’s the matter? I’m sure Lucanis would make your coffee in the mornings, if you asked.”

“I’m not jealous-”

Neve’s sarcasm went completely over Lucanis’ head.

“I could deliver it to your room, if that’s what you want,” he offered sincerely.

Rook groaned. “Damnit, Neve. you’re such an ass.” 

“You two say such sweet things about me,” She said, leaning back on her hands. 

“I’ll leave you to chat,” Lucanis said, retreating from the room with a curious expression. “Fiammetta, there’s a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen, if you need some.” 

Neve leaned forward on her desk, the wood creaking beneath her weight. “Fiammetta? I haven’t heard anyone use that in a while… Don’t you prefer to be called Rook?”

“Lucanis just uses it out of habit, I’m sure.” She said, averting her gaze. There was a soft thud as one of the trap lids fell down. 

Neve smiled and hopped down off of her desk. “I think we caught a wisp.”

She knelt down beside it and released the flimsy latch. A wisp drifted out, curiously circling them. Neve plucked the golden crow out of the bottom and rose, taking Rook by the wrist.

“He says your name with such ardor… Fiammetta.” She pressed the brooch into Rook’s palm. “Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

She swallowed, closing her fist around the trinket and forcing a smile.

“I’ll… keep an eye out for wisps. See you later, Neve.”

Wanting to forget the entire interaction, she forwent the coffee invitation and hurried to her chambers. Her mind ached for solitude as she laid out on the chaise, preferring whatever nightmare awaited to another uncomfortable encounter with Lucanis.

Fiammetta wanted a quiet eighteenth birthday, to Teia’s dismay, and left to Viago’s apartment as the sun began to set, triumphant, eager to sit amongst the docked gondolas in the canals, reading in the quiet until dawn. Her persistent best friend had attempted to arrange several surprise parties, all of which she had successfully evaded. Light fell on the canals behind her, white glimmers flashing in the water’s soft ripples as she took a seat on a gently rocking vessel, taking out her pack as she found a seat. Rummaging around, she retrieved her book and opened it to the page marked with a swan’s feather. She’d picked the memento up near the markets with her father years ago, and kept it carefully preserved in every volume she'd read since.

A small piece of parchment slipped from between the pages, dancing through the air before gently landing on the bench beside her.

A gift you actually want. Opera House. Moonrise. - I

Fiammetta snapped her book shut, her lips parting slightly. Curiosity getting the best of her, stowed the novel back in her bag and slung her cloak around her shoulders.

The streets were quiet this time of night, but it brought her more comfort than unease. She was a Crow, after all, by far the most intimidating thing haunting the Treviso streets after dark. By the time she reached the Opera House, the moon was directly overhead. The stained glass windows were imposing, colorful depictions of crows poised to watch over the city, She cautiously pushed open the arched doors, the hinges protesting with a slight creak. The wind rushing in through the crack as she held tightly to the handle. Thinking of Viago, she reached for her dagger. He would surely reprimand her for walking into a potential trap. Was this a test?

“Fiammetta?” Illario’s voice called out, his footsteps falling quickly on the marble floors. Expensive shoes, not assassin’s boots. What was the occasion?

She didn’t answer, but moved closer until he came into view, wearing a high collared, black tunic.

“You’re here,” He exhaled with a charming smile. “Good. I got you something.”

He reached inside his coat pocket and retrieved a thin, long box. She took it in her hands, fingertips delicately tracing the seam of the bow. 

“I don't celebrate my birthday, Illario. I even told Teia I wanted to be left alone tonight.”

“I know, but you’ll love this,” He said eagerly, his eyes on the present. “Go on, open it.”

She pulled the string, drawing it back from the box, and lifted the lid. Inside was an intricately designed dagger. The metal was durable enough for years of use, but still possessed a certain elegance. Gold embellishments curved along the hilt, where an amethyst was nestled. Flashy enough to be retrieved, it was good for throwing. Perhaps not as useful for kills requiring a bit of subtlety, but it was certainly to a Dellamorte’s tastes. 

“This is beautiful, but it’s too much. You didn’t have to-”

“This is only half of it. Come with me. I have something to show you.” He took the box from her and quickly discarded it, taking her by the arm and pulling her after him. Fiammetta clung tightly to her new weapon in her free hand.

When they rounded the corner, her blood ran cold.

A man was bound to a chair at the center of the opera house stage, struggling against his restraints and screaming through a rag meant to silence him.

“What is this?”

“This… is the traitor responsible for your father’s death. And now, you can have the pleasure of killing him.”

“Illario…” she croaked.

“I promised you revenge, Fiammetta. Take it.”

Her legs wobbled beneath her as she stepped forward, pulling the gag out of the man’s mouth.

“Fiammetta? Please, I’ve known you since you were a girl. You have to listen to me, there’s been a mistake-”

“Silence!” 

Illario brandished his own dagger and stalked behind the man, holding it to the base of his throat. 

“He’s a Crow. From a house of nobodies. He was jealous of your father’s reputation. Thought killing the Flame of Treviso would earn him enough renown to challenge a Talon’s seat!”

“How do you know my name?” Fiammetta’s voice quivered slightly, her fingernails digging into her palms.

“Your father was my colleague for years." The main blubbered, "We’ve shared contracts. I visited the apartment sometimes, when you were much younger, before he retired-”

“He wanted to gut the entire de Riva House, Fiammetta!” Illario roared. “He has a personal vendetta against your family name!”

“He’s lying! An eager pup dying to prove his worth!”

A snarl escaped Illario’s lips as he cuffed him on the side of the head.

Fiammetta flinched. “Illario, are you sure…”

“I found Lucanis’ report to Caterina. This is the man that led the Antaam to your father’s door.”

“Antaam?” She asked, lifting her head and furrowing her brow.

“Your father stopped taking Crow contracts years ago, Fiammetta. He was hunting and killing Antaam to avenge your mother’s death,” Illario’s voice was soft as he spoke. 

“But my mother was poisoned.” 

“I came to warn your father, Fiammetta. Not kill him,” The man interrupted. 

“Why would the Antaam poison my mother?”

“They didn’t poison her. They were moving lyrium,” The man said desperately, “Your mother was addicted to lyrium.”

“No…” Tears stung her eyes as she paced in front of the hostage. “My mother was poisoned.”

“See, he lies! There’s been word Antaam are running poisons through Treviso. This man intends to sully your mother’s reputation! He brought Antaam to your apartment that night! Dante de Riva’s blood is on his hands!”

“I was trying to help you-” The man broke off into a heaving sob. Fiamma looked down in disgust as urine began to stain the front of his trousers, dripping down his pant leg and pooling on the opera house stage beneath him.

“There was an animal carcass where my father’s head should have been!” she shrieked, pulling the dagger out and pointing the tip at his heart.

“I warned him and left, Fiammetta. Please, I have a wife, two daughters of my own-”

“Stop. Saying. My. Name!”

She turned away and crouched, covering her ears and staring at the floor as she wept. Illario sank down, holding her in the curve of his arm.

“This is your revenge. This is how you make this right!” He murmured. “This is a dangerous, manipulative monster. He could hurt more people...”

Fiammetta’s grip on her weapon loosened, her body trembling. “I know your heart is in the right place, Illario, but this is… I can’t-"

“You can, Fi. You must.” 

“No- I… it isn’t right…”

“Thank you, thank you,” The man whimpered behind her. “I’m so sorry, if I had known - Dante and Gemma were-“

Fiammetta froze, bile rising in her throat, and the room fell silent. She rose slowly, turning towards him as he shook violently in his chair. 

“Keep their names...” Her voice was cold and filled with venom. “Out of your traitorous mouth.”

With a swift, decisive motion, she ran her blade through him.

Panic in his eyes, he gave a gurgled gasp, blood flowing from his lips. She pulled the dagger out and watched his blood stain the metal, dripping onto her hands, face devoid of emotion.

Suddenly, Illario leapt forward, his hands cradling her face as he kissed her. His lips moved against hers, but she remained as still as the fresh corpse behind her, and pulled back impassively.

“That was incredible,” Illario breathed, “Fi-“

“I need the names of his wife and children.” She said, stowing the dagger in her spare hilt at her waist. “I want to make sure they’re taken care of.” 

Illario’s face twisted in irritation. “This man took your father from you!” He gestured at the body. “You would reward his family for it?”

“Besides having a terrible father, what else did they do wrong? How many people did my own father take from their families?” 

“You’re even, Fi,” Illario reached for her hand. “Don’t punish yourself for this. It will ruin you.”

“I’m already ruined. There’s no balance here, no reward in death. I just took someone away from the people who loved him.” She pulled out of his reach. “And you helped me do it.” 

Her footsteps echoed in the vast hall, their hollow sound amplifying the silence as she departed. Pausing for a moment, she glanced back briefly.

“Thanks for the knife,” she said, her words devoid of gratitude, before disappearing into the darkness.

“Never easy, is it, kid?” Varric’s voice broke through the meditation chamber, causing Rook to stir from her nightmare. “Making the big choices, then living with the consequences?”

He wandered into her room as Rook sat up, taking deep and labored breaths to calm herself.

“It’s like you know what I’m dreaming about.”

Varric winked. “I’ve known you long enough.”

She stood up and paced across the room, pressing her forehead against the window. “I’ve done a lot of terrible things, Varric.”

“I’m sure most of them were well-intentioned,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “That’s why I recruited you, Rook. You were fresh off a fuck-up when we met, but that fuck-up saved my life. I knew you were the kind of person who could fill my shoes if they ever needed to.”

Tears welled in Rook’s eyes. Intuitively, Varric yawned to break the tension.

“All this chat is taking it out of me. Think I’ll go take a nap,” He limped past her before lingering in the doorway. “Hey, Rook?”

“Yeah?”

“Normally I’d warn against befriending abominations, but in this case, I’ll just say… keep an eye on him,” He winked and disappeared into the hall.

Rook sighed and walked to her wardrobe, opening the doors and pulling out the bottom drawer. Sifting through a stack of letters, she paused when she found what she was looking for and copied three names and an address onto a spare parcel. Retrieving her coin purse, she deposited a few gold coins inside and hid it within her cloak.

She stopped to pat Assan a couple of times on her way through the courtyard before opening the kitchen doors. 

“Lucanis, there you are. I need to make a trip to visit my cousin, would you-”

She froze at the sight of seven dinner knives lodged in the table. Lucanis rested his weight on the table, lifting his head from where it had been hanging between his shoulders.

“This is ominous…”

“Viago found something.”

“Something bad, I take it?”

“Venatori in Treviso. A lead on Zara,” He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “We have to get this done. I’m not losing anyone else. We’ll only get one shot at this.” 

“Then let’s go visit Viago,” Rook said, turning around and holding the door wide. Assan squawked eagerly, and she bit her lip. 

“You’re going to hate this, but there’s someone I think we should bring along…”

Viago sat with his legs crossed in his favorite chair, Teia perched in his lap as one arm snaked around her waist, the other balancing his glass of wine.

“When have I not been energized?” He asked with mock offense. 

“Certain mornings,” Teia quipped.

“Only after certain evenings.” 

“Why am I here again?” Davrin asked, finishing his third glass of wine beside Rook on the couch. She glared at him and nodded towards the kitchen, where Lucanis was making coffee.

“Because Lucanis wanted to debrief on Zara, and you’re helping us kill Zara, because you two need to start fucking working together.”

At Viago’s feet, Assan stared expectantly, waiting for more treats to be slipped to him when Davrin wasn’t watching. Lucanis entered the den with two steaming cups of coffee and ignored the empty space on the other side of Rook, instead choosing to sandwich himself between her and Davrin. 

“Is it too late to ask for wine?” She asked, accepting a mug from him.

“You told me no more wine until after we kill the gods.”

“Well,” Davrin slapped his hands on his thighs and rose to his feet. “I think I’ve got all the intel I need. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” Assan took one final, hopeful look at Viago as Davrin whistled for him to follow.

“Maybe you need a dog, Viago,” Rook suggested after they were gone.

“Why would I need a dog?”

“You just seem to… yearn for a bit of animal companionship.”

Viago snorted, taking a sip of his wine. “Dogs are loud, needy, filthy, animals-”

“Okay…” Rook exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Teia and Lucanis. “What about a cat?”

“I like cats,” Teia added.

Rook clapped her hands together. “There we go! Dock Town has a booming population of stray cats-”

“Fleas,” Viago said, placing his empty glass down with a lack of interest. 

“You’re no fun, Viago.” Rook snarked.

“Teia thinks I’m fun.” He pulled the Seventh Talon to her feet, his hand finding its way around her waist.

“Only after certain evenings,” she purred, “Don’t mind him, Rook, he’s grumpy because his little cousin is fighting the big bad Venatori tomorrow and he doesn’t want to admit he’s worried about her.”

“I’m not worried. I just wish they’d let me poison her, handle this whole thing without Lucanis and Fiamma getting too close-”

“No! Mine!” Lucanis rocked forward on the couch, bracing one hand on a cushion and the other on Rook’s thigh as he tried to pacify Spite. She tentatively reached out, touching his shoulder. Viago and Teia blinked, startled.

“Fiammetta, a word?” Viago asked tersely.

With a look of humiliation, Lucanis stared into his coffee mug as Rook stood from the couch and followed her cousin into the hall. Teia glanced between them and retreated to his bedroom. 

“How long has that been going on?” Viago asked in a low voice, his eyes flicking towards the den. 

“I mean… since the Ossuary. Spite is a demon of determination, and right now, he’s determined to get revenge-”

“I’m not talking about Spite.”

Rook blinked and narrowed her eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

“You. And Lucanis. How long?”

“Are you insinuating-”

“I don’t have to insinuate anything-”

“Oh, fuck off, Viago. You’re clueless.”

“In any other situation, Fi, I’d be thrilled to see you together. But he’s an abomination. Until we get that thing out of him-”

“We might never get Spite out of him. Can you live with that, Viago? Or do you plan to put a contract out on one of your oldest friends?” 

He pursed his lips. “Just be careful.”

“Always am.”

“Fiammetta, please. No, you’re not.”

She reached inside her cloak, retrieving the small parcel from earlier. “Get this to the attached address for me, will you? I’ll see you once we’ve handled Zara.” 

He took it with a raised eyebrow, but didn’t comment on it.

“And Viago? We’re not fucking, if that’s what you’re-”

“Stop. Go to bed. Your own bed. Alone. Here or your Lighthouse, I don’t care,” He said, and stormed down the hall, flinging his bedroom door shut behind him. 

Lucanis poked his head around the corner moments later, raising an eyebrow in concern. 

“So, how long do you think I have before he puts out that contract?”

“Don’t let it get to you.” 

He hummed, brushing past her, and wandered into her bedroom. Strolling the perimeter, he picked up various trinkets and mementos, admiring them one by one before setting them back down. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Rook asked impatiently.

“Just realizing there’s still so much I haven’t learned about you,” He took a book from her nightstand and flipped through it.

“I’m not a target. You don’t need to poke around in my things to get to know me.”

“Your bedroom has more personality than Viago’s entire apartment.” 

“Does it have more personality than me? Because I’m standing right here. You can just ask me questions.”

He turned a page and glanced up at her. “How many contracts did you complete before Viago sidelined you?”

“I don’t know… two or three a month over several years… three hundred?”

He snapped the book shut, setting it down precisely where he picked it up. Assassin’s habit.

“So, why live with your cousin? I know what contracts are worth. You could afford a place of your own.”

“Why did you stay at your grandmother’s when you have your own place?” 

Lucanis frowned, and Rook cursed under her breath.

“I’m sorry.” she muttered, lowering her gaze. He waved dismissively, as if she hadn’t just reminded him his grandmother was dead.

“Because it… was… home. Even if I have other residences.”

Rook blinked. “How many homes do you have, Lucanis?”

“More than one.”

She shook her head incredulously and sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh.

“I got into some trouble and took out a sizable loan from Viago when I was eighteen. It took me a long time to repay it, and by the time I did, I’d left Treviso.” 

“He wouldn’t just give you the money? He has more than enough,” Lucanis gestured at the surrounding apartment.

“It wasn’t about money. It was about teaching myself a lesson.” 

“You messed up that bad?”

Rook lowered her gaze. “Yeah. I did.”

“I won’t pry,” Lucanis reassured her.

“We should get back. You need rest before we face Zara tomorrow.”

He nodded, slipping into the hall.

“I lost a year of my life to that Venatori witch,” He said as she caught up. Spike’s tone crept into his voice as he leaned down to hiss in her ear. “I owe her for that.”

Rook froze, a shiver running down her spine, before she trailed wordlessly after him.

“The Fifth Talon said someone was coming. That you?”

Viago’s contact waited underneath an awning as Rook, Davrin, and Lucanis stood in the rain. Droplets of water fell from Lucanis’ hair onto his armor, and she couldn’t help but stare.

“The Demon of Vyrantium,” The informant mused, either in awe or flirting. “I thought you were dead.”

“I get that a lot,” His tone was a little too rough to be charming. 

After obtaining Zara’s location, they climbed a nearby trellis and hopped between platforms, navigating the slippery rooftops in the rain. Rook nearly lost her footing on several occasions, rattling her enough to consider asking if they could turn back. As they finally reached the Chantry roof, Illario strode out from behind a wall, his face coming inches from hers. She stumbled backwards until Lucanis caught her by the shoulders and steadied her.

“Fiammetta, always a pleasure. Touring our old stomping grounds with my cousin? You used to enjoy the sights with me.”

“Illario?” Lucanis combed his wet hair out of his face and stepped in front of her. “What are you doing here? This is my job.”

Illario’s eyes drifted to the dagger nestled in its sheath at Rook’s waist. “Oh, Fi! After all these years, you still like my gift.”

She scowled, raising her voice to speak over the downpour. “How did you even know we’d be here?”

Ignoring her, Illario’s attention shifted to Lucanis.

“Send Fiammetta home. I’m coming with you, cousin. No objections.” 

“Lucanis told you not to come,” Rook said from behind him. 

“I was under the impression you’ve been siding with him because you’re both in this little save-the-world plot together, but it goes deeper than that, doesn’t it?” Illario asked, “Never accepted an invitation to my bed because you were waiting to warm his?” 

Davrin clenched his fist as Lucanis’ rage simmered beside her, a violet burn behind his eyes. 

“Where do you get off making those kinds of accusations?” Rook snapped. 

“Is it an accusation, or has it been right in front of all of us this whole time?”

“Enough!” Davrin said, stepping between them. “I didn’t come here to listen to a bunch of Crows bicker.”

Lucanis seized Illario by the arm, yanking him aside. “Rook and I are colleagues. We don’t have a physical relationship, and you know it. This is between you and me. Leave your jealousy out of it.”

“My apologies, Fiammetta,” Illario sneered.

She didn’t respond. He was baiting her with insults to get information. There was nothing genuine about that. 

“Go home, cousin. This isn’t your type of job. There’s no one you can charm into dropping their guard,” Lucanis said, releasing him with a shove. “Only fanatics.” 

“You think I’m not good enough?” Illario pointed a finger to his chest, voice rising again. 

“Are you?”

“Fine. Have it your way, cousin. You know best.”

He stepped off the roof and vanished, swallowed by the buildings and fog below.

Lucanis grimaced, “I’m so sorry. That was completely out of line. I don’t know what’s gotten into that idiot.”

“I expect it by now.” 

Davrin frowned. “You have history with that clown, Rook?”  

“Unfortunately,” She mumbled.

“Let’s go,” Lucanis ducked inside a broken window and motioned for them to follow. “Zara is waiting.”

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe they’re hiding in the chantry,” Rook said, pulling her mage knife from a Venatori’s chest. They collapsed to the floor behind her as she walked through a row of pews, looking around. “I used to come here as a girl, for prayer… my mother’s funeral-”

Davrin snapped his fingers at Assan. “I didn’t take you for a religious woman, Rook.”

The griffin raised his head curiously from the body he was sniffing, his feathers rustling as he romped after them.

“I’m not. But there’s peace in ritual,” Rook crouched next to a bookshelf, looking for signs of a hidden passage. “And religion has a lot of it.” 

Lucanis had been uncharacteristically quiet - far more than usual - the closer they got to Zara. Rook turned her head, watching him search the bodies they’d left in their wake. He rolled one over with his boot in disgust before giving up and using their vest to wipe his blade clean. 

As Rook hesitated over a book with a suspiciously dust-free spine, a faint creaking sound filled the enclave. The shelf rattled and slid to the side with a mechanical click, revealing a narrow platform.

“Well, well. Where does this go?”

“Good work,” Lucanis muttered, throwing himself over the top rung of a ladder with ease, seemingly unconcerned with what awaited below. Davrin and Rook exchanged a worried glance before descending after him. 

The three wove through a maze of hallways to a courtyard where they eliminated Faustus, Zara’s lapdog, and both of her bodyguards, before entering an underground chamber. An aqueduct or faucet dripped slowly in the distance as Rook examined the tiled walls, her brow furrowing. 

“What does Zara need a bathhouse for?”

“Nothing good. Someone’s using blood magic,” Lucanis said, “A lot of it.”

“He can sense that?” Davrin asked Rook in a low voice.

“It makes the back of his eyes hurt.” 

“Something with Spite?”

“He had this before,” She said, pushing through another door. As it swung open, she covered her mouth with her arm, gagging.

Piles of decomposing bodies lined the floor, their rotting forms piled atop one another, each indistinguishable from the next. The air was so thick with flies that she had to shield her face as they walked through.

“We should have Emmrich give them funeral rites after this,” Rook said, her voice strained as she held her breath.

Entering the bathhouse, the once cleansing waters now ran red. A sea of blood greeted them, and at its center, a woman turned around and casually waded in their direction.

“Lucanis. It’s terribly uncivilized to drop in on a lady unannounced,” She chastised with a pout. “Now the evening’s ruined.” 

“Zara.” Lucanis and Spite growled in unison. 

“You brought me a Warden to play with!" Zara rose from her pool of blood, a bodice of carrion just barely concealing her, and crooked a finger, beckoning Rook closer. “And is that a mage? Come here, girl, let me show you how to kneel before your betters.” 

“Mine! Do not. Touch. Rook! ” Lucanis and Spite snarled.

“Temper, temper…” Zara examined her nails. “Whatever shall we do with you?”

Two doors swung open on the far end of the hall and more Venatori poured in. Zara took advantage of the distraction and seized her weapons, springing forward to swipe at Lucanis. 

Rook, immediately engaged by a nearby mage, could hear the clash of steel behind her as she parried against an incoming blade. She drove her sword through her opponent’s throat, the warm spray misting her face, and ducked just in time to avoid the desperate grab of another from behind. Meanwhile, Assan launched himself into the air, remaining just out of reach as he dive-bombed Zara from above. Davrin charged through a pair of guards, elbowing one in the face and kicking the other into a pillar with a resounding thud. He cleaved his blade across their middle before they could get back up.

Suddenly, something struck Rook from behind, the force driving her head against the pool’s edge. Sharp pain seared through her skull as she was dragging beneath the crimson liquid. Disoriented, she reared back, gasping for air as Zara’s long nails dug into her scalp, clutching a fistful of her hair. 

“I know exactly who you are, Little Flame,” she said in her ear. “I want your blood next.”

Rook’s head was forced back under, and she held her breath, squeezing her eyes shut. As a teenager, her father had done the same to her during training. She recalled the chill of the Treviso canals as he repeatedly dunked her head below.

“If someone is drowning you, don’t struggle. You’ll expend all your energy.” Dante’s voice echoed in her head. “Be still. Be patient.”

“Uncle! What are you doing?” Viago had screamed, running to Fiamma’s rescue, mortified by her father’s methods. 

“Stay out of this, boy! She has to learn just like everyone else. Do you want her to be weak? Do you want her to die?”

The weight suddenly disappeared from Rook’s back, and she propelled herself to the surface, choking and retching violently. Blood dripped from her hair and into her eyes as she wiped her vision clear in time to see Lucanis throwing Zara across the room into a pillar. He shifted his focus to Rook as Zara groaned in pain, and waded into the pool, hauling Rook out of the depths and setting her down on the ledge.

“You okay?” His eyes glimmered with a purple fog as he bent down to brush away the blood from her temple. Rook winced but nodded, pulling his hand away as she fought back tears, refusing to show weakness. Lucanis gritted his teeth, looking back over his shoulder at Zara, who was dragging herself across the ground past her dead guards. 

“I’ve got her,” Davrin said, kneeling beside Rook. “Go show us why they call you the mage-killer, Dellamorte.” 

Lucanis nodded, leaped into the air, and landed in front of Zara, blades drawn. As her blood magic waned, her youthful glamour vanished, leaving her to desperately claw her way towards the pool. He dug the heel of his boot into her hand and she cried out in pain. 

“So serious, Lucanis. Why don’t we talk?” Zara’s voice trembled as she groveled at his feet. “I can tell you much about Venatori. And your Crows.” 

He cocked his head, hesitating.

“No!” Spite roared. “I want her heart quivering . On our knife!”

“You want to know who betrayed you, don’t you? Who sent you to the Ossuary?”

Lucanis regained control, but given the flash of violet in his eyes, Spite wasn’t surrendering easily. 

“Talk,” He said in a strained voice. 

Zara smiled, showing her bloodstained teeth. “I knew you were-”

A blur plummeted from the rafters between them. Illario seized Zara by the throat, holding Lucanis’ gaze with a confident grin.

“Amatu-” she began, before Illario snapped her neck without hesitation.

“No! Mine!”

Spite tackled and pinned Illario to the ground, dagger raised high above his head. Rook and Davrin exchanged panicked glances before sprinting forward.

“Lucanis, stop!”

“Rook, I can’t! ” Panic filled his voice as he battled Spite for control. The demon lowered the blade while he desperately fought back. “Get… Illario… out! ”

“That’s enough!” Illario’s arm crossed his chest, and Rook sensed something that made her skin prick as Lucanis fell back, Spite’s presence evaporating like smoke. 

“Relax,” Illario whispered, holding out his hand and staggering to his feet. Rook acted swiftly, seizing him by the collar and slamming him into a pillar. 

“What did you just do?” 

“Nothing,” He sneered. “I don’t know what happened any better than you do.” 

“That was blood magic,” Rook hissed. “You think I don’t know? I’m a mage, Illario. You’re not. How the fuck-”

“It seems you hit your head,” His thumb dug into the side of her temple. “Maybe you’re seeing things.” 

Rook recoiled and reached for her face as he shoved her off of him. Davrin caught her as she nearly toppled over the side of the pool, and a flash of remorse crossed Illario’s features for a moment before he steeled himself.

“Keep him away. From Treviso. From the Crows. He’s a danger to the family,” He said, pointing at Lucanis, unconscious on the tile floor. “If you were smart, you’d keep away from him, too, but it seems you have a death wish.”

“You expect me to just abandon him because of Spite?” Rook stepped out of Davrin’s grasp and fell to her knees beside Lucanis. “This isn’t his fault!”

“I don’t expect you to abandon him at all. We both know he’s more than a soldier in your army, Rook ,” He spoke her nickname with disgust, spitting into the water after. She pulled Lucanis’ head into her lap as Illario turned away. Blood matted his hair, and she brushed it from his face, angry tears brimming in her eyes.

“How does it feel, Illario?” She called after him. “With your cousin out of the way, you can finally be First Talon. You finally have everything you’ve ever wanted.” 

“Not everything, Fiammetta,” He said, meeting her gaze with the most believable look of remorse she’d ever seen. “Not everything.”

“I thought Spite took over when he slept?” Davrin asked as they entered Viago’s apartment, an unconscious Lucanis slung over his shoulder. The downpour outside had soaked through their armor, but at least it washed the blood away.

“Well, ever since Illario put him in a coma, he doesn’t seem to respond, so can you just help me?” She asked, leading him through the apartment to her room. “Fuck, I wish Viago were here. He whines less.” 

Davrin unceremoniously dumped Lucanis on her bed. “Where is he?”

“The casino, most likely. He’d never leave work this early in the evening,” She knelt down and tugged off Lucanis’ boots, setting them by the door. “Sorry for snapping. I appreciate your help.” 

“It’s alright. However I felt before… I get it now.” He said, “Lucanis doesn’t deserve this, I know that. No one does.”

“Crow drama is a lot… even for Crows.” She said, taking off her cloak and throwing it on the floor. 

“So you and the cousin were a thing?” 

“Hardly. He, Teia, and I were inseparable once Viago and Lucanis started taking contracts and became the Crows’ favorites. Illario always felt something for me but…” she unlaced her own boots, kicking them aside. “Every time we got close, he’d do something to ruin it.” 

“What about you and Lucanis?”

“What about us? We’re colleagues,” She crouched in front of the small wood-burning stove in the corner of her room and ignited it with a slight wave of her hand. 

“Sure…”

Rook walked to where Lucanis lay unconscious, the sheets damp underneath him. She unbuckled his daggers from the sheathes in his armor, setting them on the nightstand before beginning to unfasten the crow-shaped buttons of his leathers. 

“Whoa-” Davrin held up his palms in protest, “I know I said we’re cool, but I don’t need to see any more of Lucanis than-”

“You can go. I’ll do the rest. There’s a spare bath at the end of the hallway. But here…” she grabbed a bottle of soap from the rim of her tub, “It’s impossible to tell what’s poison and what’s not in this house. And don’t go in Viago’s room. It’s full of traps.” 

“Great…” Davrin stared at the bottle in his hand. He clicked his tongue and nodded in the direction of the den.

“Assan, fireplace.” 

The griffin rose from where he was watching in the doorway and hung his head, padding off down the hall.

“Just… keep it professional in here while I’m gone, alright?”

When Rook threw a shoe at him, Davrin smirked and ducked out of the room.

Once he was gone, she finished undressing Lucanis down to the knitted sweater and trousers he wore underneath his armor. She did her best to give him a modicum of privacy, but it wasn’t a simple task when he was dead weight. With his overclothes piled in a soaking wet heap on the floor, she eased him onto the pillows and brushed damp strands of hair out of his face. He looked peaceful, and she hoped that the comatose state Illario had forced him into was at least a restorative one. 

She took off her bloodied clothes and drew herself a bath, occasionally glancing over her shoulder, praying he or Spite wouldn't wake until after she was done. One hand pressed to the cast iron tub, tiny flames peeked out from under her fingertips as she warmed the water before stepping in.

Rook scrubbed hard against her skin, trying to shake the image of the bodies in the hall outside the bathhouse. Unsure if she’d ever feel clean after all the blood she choked on, she sunk underwater, combing her fingers through her hair, but soon emerged with a gasp as the image of being nearly drowned by Zara overwhelmed her.

With a shudder, she wrapped her arms around herself and hastily drained the tub, wringing out her hair as she climbed out. She toweled off near the stove and dressed in the most modest nightgown she could find in her wardrobe, pulling a thick, fur-lined robe around herself for good measure. 

Facing her vanity mirror, she lit a few candles and peered at her reflection. The darkness cast harsh shadows over her bruised face, but the cut on her temple wasn’t terribly deep. Rook reached into a drawer, retrieving a med kit and carefully began stitching her injury shut, wincing and biting her lip. She was lucky she still had an eye. 

“Need some help with that?” Davrin asked from the doorway.

Rook grimaced. “If you don’t mind.”

He knelt down, taking the needle and thread from her hands.

“Thanks,” she mumbled as he worked, “For everything.” 

He grinned. “Of course. We’re all a team, right?” 

“Right.”

Davrin looped off the last stitch and setting the kit on the vanity, checking his work. 

“Definitely gonna scar, but you should survive.”

Rook groaned and checked herself in the mirror again, arranging her hair to cover half her face.

“Looks like you’re full up here. I’ll take the couch, just in case you need backup,” Davrin gave her a casual salute with two fingers, casting a final glance between her and Lucanis.

“Colleagues my ass…” he grumbled, disappearing into the hall.  

Rook smiled to herself and shut the door, draping her robe over a chair and crawling under the sheets with a shiver. Lucanis’ brow furrowed in his sleep, and she rolled on her side, propping herself up on an elbow as she brushed her knuckles along his cheek. His lashes fluttered in response to her touch, and she flinched, pulling her arm back as he opened his eyes.

“You’re awake!”

Lucanis sat up in bed, his gaze sweeping across the room.

“You brought me to Viago’s? ”

“You were unconscious. It was too much work to get you back to the eluvian. If it’s any consolation, he’s not home yet.”

He grunted and looked down at himself, raising an eyebrow.

“You were getting my sheets wet.” She explained.

Lucanis pressed a palm to his damp sweater. “Still am.”

“There’s a drying rack by the fire. I was waiting for you or Spite to wake up and handle the… rest.”

He nodded appreciatively and crossed the room, pulling his sweater off over his head and arranging it over a wooden rung.

“Spite is… quiet. Angry. It scares me.”

“Oh,” Rook sat forward in bed, hugging her legs to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. In the dim light, she could see the muscles in his back tensing as he faced away from her. He tucked his thumb under his waistband and hesitated, staring at the rug as he spoke.

“It should scare you too, Rook.”

“Oh, please, Lucanis. I’m not afraid of you. And you even said, Spite likes me...”

“Rook…” Lucanis warned. Choosing to keep his trousers on, he removed his hand from his waist and instead ran his fingers through his hair.

Rook swallowed hard, her cheeks turning bright pink.

“We need to talk about Illario,” She said, changing the subject. “He wants you to stay away from the Crows. He thinks you’re a danger to your family.”

Lucanis turned around. “He’s not wrong. If I lose control…” 

“He used blood magic to control Spite.”

“I know. I felt it,” His jaw tightened. “Spite did too.” 

Rook took a slow, deep breath.

“The night you were captured, did Illario know you were boarding that ship?”

“Yes.” 

“I know he’s your cousin, Lucanis, but I won’t pretend I haven’t seen Illario at his… worst. When he doesn’t get his way, he loses it. If he’s jealous of you, if you stand in the way of what he wants… I can’t put it past him to betray you.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and gestured in the air. “I never wanted First Talon! He knows that.”

“But you’re still a threat to his claim. Caterina’s groomed you for her role since you were a child. And Illario knows everyone thinks you’re better suited for it!”

“Maker help my idiot cousin...” Lucanis wrapped his fingers around one of Rook’s bedposts, glaring out the window. Her eyes darted away, trying desperately to avoid staring at the way the leather of his pants hugged his hips.

“It should have been my knife to finish Zara. Not Illario’s. After everything she did to me…”

He sank onto the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands.

“Is there anything I can do?” Rook asked quietly.

He crawled towards her and reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing her stitches. “I never should have brought you into my mess.”

“Lucanis- I’m here because I want to be. For you.” 

“And look what happened,” His thumb ghosted over her temple and he frowned. “Not to mention Illario throwing a tantrum and implying…”

His voice trailed off, and he rose to his feet.

“You’ve done more than enough, Rook,” a weak smile tugged at his lips. “Get some rest.”

Her fingers caught his wrist, pulling him back.

“Davrin took the couch.”

“I’ll make coffee. I shouldn’t sleep anyway, not with Spite like this.”

She tugged him down. “Stay.”

“This isn’t a good idea, Rook…”

“It’s just sleep,” She said, pleading through her gaze.

Lucanis scrubbed his face with his hand and cursed under his breath in Antivan before relenting. Stretching out beside her, he stared at the ceiling, one arm propped under his head.

“You’re killing me, Fiammetta,” he said hoarsely. 

“I know,” She rolled in the opposite direction, drawing the duvet closer around her body. Both of them remained still, barely breathing, until she drifted off to sleep.

At some point in the night, Rook stirred as Lucanis shifted beside her. His fingertips, cool and deliberate, moved her hair aside before slowly tracing the outline of the tattoo on her back, just below the base of her neck. Nearly all Crows had one to identify them by house. A show of loyalty, or a means of identification, should they fail a contract. Known for their snake-derived poisons, the de Rivas' depicted a crow mid-flight, clutching a serpent in its talons. 

Rook didn’t dare speak or breathe. Lucanis’ touch lacked any sense of violation or impropriety. Instead, it was tentative. Restrained. Curious.

With a heavy sigh, he eventually rolled out of bed, retrieving his sweater by the fire, and slowly closed the door behind him as he slipped into the hall.

Chapter Text

Rook stirred as the morning light hit her pillow. Rolling over, she reached for Lucanis’ side of the bed, wondering if it had all been a strange dream. Her fingertips curled against the soft sheets in his absence, and the skin at the nape of her neck pricked as her body recalled his touch, the phantom his curiosity left behind. Her mind wandered to the movements of his shoulder blades in the firelight, the way his thumb pulled his waistband away from bare skin, the slight curve below, concealed in shadow…

“Fiammetta!” 

Viago’s muffled voice thundered through the wall and Rook flinched, sitting up with a start and clutching the blankets to her chest. Her bedroom door slammed open, and he charged inside, index finger pointed at her.

“Tell me why, after I spent all night having your magic mirror moved, I come home to a Grey Warden sleeping on my couch, and Lucanis sulking in my kitchen!”

Rook smirked. “Did he at least make breakfast?”

Viago yanked the covers from the bed, snatching Rook’s robe from the floor and thrusting it towards her.

“Get up and get dressed,” he hissed. 

She glowered at him, wrenching the robe and pulling it over her shoulders. “We needed somewhere to crash after killing Zara-”

“No, no, no. Lucanis already filled me in. Are you out of your mind? Illario is using blood magic and you come here ? He’s got this apartment under constant surveillance. Apparently, he’s exiled Lucanis from the Crows, and claims you’re under his demonic influence and in need of saving. He came into the casino last night threatening to smash your eluvian to pieces.” 

“Well, as you can see, I’m well within my right mind,” She jumped out of bed. “Where did you take the eluvian?” 

“It’s in the den. I’ll keep it here, and an eye on Illario, until we figure something out. Treviso isn’t safe for you. Or Lucanis.”

“And just when you were enjoying having me around again...”

Viago threw his head back with a groan. “Go to your Lighthouse, Fiammetta. I’ll send word to you when I know more.”

Rook sighed as he slammed her door on the way out. At least he still loved her enough to be pissed at her. 

She shed her robe and nightgown, rummaging through her dresser until she found a too-tight set of leathers. Not ideal, but they would do, for now. As she zipped up her top, there was a soft knock on her door.

“I hope you’ve come with an apology!” She called out. 

“Viago just left. Does he owe you an apology?” Lucanis offered through the door. “I’d be happy to beat it out of him for you.”

Rook let him inside and grinned. “Best not try your luck.”

He returned her smile and glanced around, gesturing to his armor on the floor. 

“Could I-?”

“Of course,” She crouched and moved her damp clothes out of the way, tucking them into her pack.

“How did you sleep?” Lucanis asked, shaking out his leather shoulder pads. 

“Surprisingly well. Dreamless, without the Fade or Solas meddling,” She flipped her hair out from beneath the collar of her shirt. “You?”

“I didn’t.” He said, threading a strap through the buckle on his waist.

Rook sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on her boots with. “How long are you going to keep this up?”

“As long as it takes,” Lucanis finished assembling his armor over his clothes and took his sword from the nightstand, tucking it into his belt. “Spite is restless. Who knows what he’s capable of now?”

Rook gingerly slid his last two gleaming daggers off the nightstand. The metal scraped across the polished surface and she passed them to Lucanis. His fingertips grazed hers, and with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat, he sheathed them across his chest and loosened the cuffs of his sleeves.

“So if you didn’t sleep… what did you do?” She asked.

“Drank coffee in that chair until I heard Viago come home,” He nodded towards the vanity. “Davrin wouldn’t have appreciated my presence while he was sleeping, and it was raining too hard on the balcony. I hope you don’t mind. The bed… I couldn’t…”

“Like I said, it’s just a bed,” she swept past him into the hall. “If you like being an insomniac, I won’t stop you.”

Davrin was waiting when they reached the den, eager to leave.

“I don’t know how I feel about the eluvian being here.”

“Viago will keep it safe,” Rook assured him as Assan bounded towards her, greeting her with a nuzzle against the back of her knees that nearly knocked her over. Lucanis caught her by the elbow, steadying her, and she blushed, patting the griffin on the head to displace her embarrassment. “Besides, if I couldn’t get home, my cousin would have no one to nag at.”

They slipped through the eluvian and returned to the Lighthouse. Davrin quickly excused himself to catch up on sleep in a “real bed,” while Lucanis and Rook checked in with Neve. 

The detective looked up from her desk as they stepped into her office. “Does this mean Zara is dead?” 

“Yes, but… not in the way Spite would have liked.” Rook cast a nervous glance towards Lucanis. 

“My cousin, Illario, intervened and killed her himself,” He explained. “We have reason to believe he’s engaging in blood magic.”

“That’s… bad news.” Neve stood, bracing herself on the desk with the tips of her fingers. “Anything I can do to help?”

Rook shook her head. “I’ll let you know if something comes up. For now… Viago’s handling things.” 

“Well, if you’re looking to kill time, dinner’s on me in Dock Town.”

“And I think I’ve had enough fried fish for a lifetime. I’ll get some rest,” Lucanis grumbled, disappearing into the courtyard without another word. 

Neve’s eyes flicked between Rook and the door. “What’s his deal?” 

“Long night.”

Lucanis was acutely aware he was dreaming. Since Spite had taken residence in his body, dreams often felt like an unfolding play, memories being unraveled by the demon for study rather than a simple way to pass the hours as he slept. The pleasant sometimes came as a comfort, reclaiming what he'd forgotten in the Ossuary.

In the mirror of his bedroom at villa Dellamorte, he straightened his collar in the mirror. This memory he'd nearly forgotten: home only one day after his most recent contract, Caterina wasted no time hosting a gathering, insisting upon both her grandsons’ attendance. He’d recently earned himself the nickname of the Demon of Vyrantium - recognition he’d rather have let his cousin have. Illario would have found it more enjoyable. 

“Cousin!”

He looked over his shoulder as Illario barged into his room, overdressed as usual.

“You’ll never guess my luck.”

“I wouldn’t dare spoil your opportunity to tell me all about it,” He said, fixing his cuff links. 

Illario flopped dreamily onto his meticulously made bed. “Fiammetta de Riva.”

Lucanis frowned. “Did that poor girl finally give in after years of you pestering her?” 

“Some of us can appreciate a lifetime of pursuit, cousin. It’s called patience,” Illario tucked his arms under his head. “I think it’ll be a romantic story to tell our children. Childhood sweethearts.” 

“Out with it then. What’s your news?” 

“She’s moving in with us.”

Lucanis dropped his arms at his sides, furrowing his brow. “How did you ever convince Caterina of such a thing? Don’t tell me you got her pregnant?”

“No, no. Fi and I aren’t together… yet. But she recently ruined a Crow operation by swooping in to save a bunch of the captives from the Antaam. Viago is furious. Prohibited her from taking contracts and assigned her as Caterina’s live-in assistant as punishment.” 

“I heard about the incident but… that sounds harsh.”

“She needs harsh. Her heart is too soft. Caterina will be sure to beat that out of her.”

Lucanis frowned. From experience, his cousin wasn’t just speaking metaphorically. 

“Illario, if Fiammetta were interested, don’t you think she’d have expressed that by now? And what about the girl you had in your bed last week? Are you sure you’re ready to settle down?”

“You don’t get it, cousin. Fi’s not like the others. She’s a slow catch, that’s what makes her worth it. But once I have her…” he closed his fist in the air and grinned. “She won’t be able to get enough of me. Besides, no one ever said I couldn’t have a little fun on the side.” 

Lucanis made a face in disgust. “Did Caterina teach you nothing about decency?”

“She was too busy teaching you.” Illario said, sitting up in bed, “You’re too sentimental. Nobody waits around saving themselves for the one.”

“I don’t save myself.” Lucanis shooed him off the bed, and Illario scowled, moving to a nearby chair by the fire. “But I also don’t waste people’s time. Or my own.” 

“You think sleeping with people is a waste of time?”

“I think in our line of work, feelings get people killed.” 

“And that’s why I’ll settle for no one but Fiammetta. She can take care of herself.”

“Whatever you say,” Lucanis opened his bedroom door. “Let’s go. We’re already late.” 

They descended the stairs of the villa and strode across the courtyard together in silence, entering through the opera house doors and sifting through the crowd already amassing there. 

“There she is, cousin,” Illario hissed, pointing to where Fiammetta stood in a floor length black gown with a plunging neckline. She was sipping on a glass of wine in a corner with Andarateia Cantori, peering over the rim and appraising the party. As Illario dragged Lucanis closer, Fiammetta’s frown deepened. Not the face of a woman who wanted to be there. Or anywhere near Illario. 

Fiammetta and Teia were inseparable, only a couple of years apart. Cantori was favored to become the youngest Talon ever, but de Riva didn’t seem to share the same ambition. Like her late father, she was content to fill contracts and keep her head down. Lucanis liked her - she was clever, dedicated, and seemingly loyal. All makings of a good Crow. All qualities his cousin possessed large deficits in. Illario was obsessed with taking Caterina’s place, and liked attention, praise, and power. They seemed like a poor match, and Lucanis could only hope, for her sake, that his cousin would soon lose interest. Unfortunately, even with Illario’s wandering affections, the candle he held for Fiammetta never so much as flickered.

Lucanis hadn’t seen her in years, but those years had treated her well. Her brown hair was long and straight, falling just above her waist. Expertly embroidered satin roses decorated the straps and collar of her dress. On her hands, a long pair of lace gloves trailed up her arms, stopping just short of her elbows.

Expensive. Either Viago was funding her wardrobe, or she was getting good contracts these days.

“Fiammetta, lovely to see you this evening,” Illario bowed and kissed her hand. She exchanged a glance out of the corner of her eye with Teia and forced a thin-lipped smile.

“Likewise,” She muttered, pulling her hand back. 

“Lucanis, rare to catch you at one of Caterina’s parties.” Viago nodded in greeting as he joined them from the wall. The Fifth Talon was prone to paranoia, particularly regarding poisoning. Not one for handshakes. 

“Viago,” Lucanis gave a slight bow of his head. 

“I hear you’ll be staying with us, Fiammetta.” Illario casually threw an arm around her shoulder and drew her closer. Wincing, she ducked out of his grasp and sidestepped. 

“Working,” She corrected firmly. 

“That she will,” Viago’s tone came as a warning as the two exchanged a tense look. 

“For your grandmother,” She clarified to Illario, “I won’t become some live-in maid, just so we’re clear.”

“Of course not.” Lucanis reassured her. Her gaze fell over him as he spoke, assessing him with sudden interest that made him more self conscious than he’d felt in years. Clearing his throat with his fist, he glanced around the room uncomfortably. Viago, oblivious to the exchange, had been studying Illario intently, and craned his head toward the wall. 

“Come with me, Dellamorte. Let’s have a little chat.” 

Illario followed reluctantly, glancing over his shoulder at Fiammetta and winking as he disappeared into the crowd with Viago.   

“I’m going to eavesdrop, be right back,” Teia whispered, giving Lucanis and Fiammetta each a nudge with her elbow before she left them standing alone. Fiamma swirled her wine, eyes passing over the crowd, suddenly feigning disinterest. 

“No date, Lucanis?”

He chuckled nervously, but tried to play it off as charming. “Caterina keeps me too busy to court anyone.”

“She doesn’t aspire to great-grandchildren?”

“She knows better.”

With one swallow, Fiammetta finished her wine and fixed him with a keen look.  

“Parents always die, right?” she asked with an amused grin. “You should take up a second job as an oracle.”

“That was not my best moment, Fiammetta. I apologize.”

“My father’s been dead for ten years, Lucanis. Enjoy some dark humor. We kill people for a living, after all.” 

“And yet those words are all you remember when you see me. I regret ever speaking them.”

“We were kids. Don’t hold onto things like that,” She set her wine on a nearby table and offered him her hand. “Care to dance?”

Lucanis glanced over his shoulder. “Best we don’t.”

“Are you afraid of my cousin or yours?”

“Truthfully? Both,” He leaned over her and exchanged her empty drink for a fresh glass as a server passed by. She nodded gratefully and accepted it.

“Viago would chastise me for taking wine I haven’t tested, but if I’m lucky, this will be poisoned,” She muttered, “Illario’s going to make my life hell. I just know it. No matter what kind of threats Viago is making over there.” 

“Come to me if you have problems. I’ll deal with him.” 

“I’ll bear that in mind,” She said, “You know, I don’t mind your company, Lucanis. Even if you are a Dellamorte.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as his mouth stretched into a grin. “What’s so bad about Dellamortes, de Riva? ” 

She leaned closer, letting her arm bump against his as she stepped in Teia’s direction to join her. 

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

Bellara caught Rook just as she dropped Neve off at her door. She gave the detective a wave goodbye and descended the steps with a smile.

“Rook! How was dinner?”

She scoffed. “Well, the fish fry was closed, so we skipped rocks on the water. It wasn’t a total waste - Neve had some sort of epiphany, as she does, and we made some progress on locating Aelia.”

“Oh. Fun! Well…”

Rook raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t unusual for Bellara to be anxious, but she was practically vibrating. 

“Alright, out with it. What’s going on?”

“It’s just…” She hesitated, picking at the skin around her thumb and glancing over her shoulder at the kitchen. 

Rook’s face slackened. “What happened?”

“Nothing bad! Well… nothing horrible. It’s… easier if I show you.”

Bellara beckoned her in, leading her past the kitchen to the pantry. Taash stood with a wide stance, arms crossed, blocking the exit.

“Good, you’re here.” They nodded towards Lucanis. “Demon’s back.”

Lucanis was sitting in bed, his eyes a vivid purple as he moved erratically, on edge.

Spite.

“I don’t think he ever leaves.” 

“He’s acting weird,” Taash said. “Worse than last time.”

“Wait,” Rook looked between them. “This has happened before?”

“A week ago. Spite made a run for it in the eluvian room, but Lucanis woke up and said he just needed more coffee.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “And nobody thought to tell me?” 

Bellara bit her lip. “Lucanis asked us not to.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s got a big fucking crush on you,” Taash said.

Bellara gave them a corrective jab in the ribs. “He doesn’t want to put anything else on your plate…”

Rook groaned, her head falling back as she turned towards the demon rattling on incoherently from the bed. 

“Spite, let us talk to Lucanis, please,” Rook said. 

“Smells like wood smoke and berries,” Spite smiled unnaturally wide at the sound of her voice, Lucanis’ canine teeth becoming visible. On the wall behind him, Rook noticed a pair of wings drawn in a smoked out fashion. Shit. 

“Hey! No! No, ” Taash uncrossed their arms and pointed their finger at the demon. “Sit your ass back down!”

Rook waved them out. “I’ll handle this. Go make sure the eluvian room is blocked.” 

“Now we get to talk, ” Spite said eagerly as the door shut behind them. “ How I’ve wanted to… talk.”

“Then talk, Spite.”

He disappeared in a blur of pink and violet, Fade-stepping before her in seconds. 

“Lucanis made a deal. He hasn’t kept.”

His eyes traced the contours of her figure with an air of fascination, more interested in the anatomy than in anything lecherous. With her hand firmly planted in the center of his chest, Rook pushed him away to give herself some space.

“I’m aware. Care to fill me in on the details of your agreement?”

“Break our chains. Kill. Escape our prison. And live.” 

“Hasn’t that happened?”

“No!” Spite seized a vase from the shelf and smashed it against the wall. “I want out!”

Rook flinched as clay shattered around her, shielding her face. She straightened slowly, keeping her tone level.

“Out to where? Tevinter? Orlais? Nowhere is safe for a possessed man.”

“No! No!” Spite’s voice became more panicked, but his presence seemed to be fading, “He promised. Tell him. He listens to Rook. Anything for Rook! Make him-”

Lucanis flinched and drug a hand across his face. As he raised his head, he blinked in surprise.

“Rook?” His tone was soft, weary, worried, but carried a hint of relief. 

“You’re alright,” She reassured him. “Just sleepwalking.”

“Spite was sleepwalking,” He pulled away, glaring at the ground. “I didn’t want you to see that, Fiammetta.”

“He puts on a good show, but he doesn’t scare me. Neither do you.” 

“You said that last night, but I—”

Rook scooped her hair over one shoulder, revealing the edge of the tattoo on the back of her neck. 

“Did you learn anything about me last night, Lucanis? Answer all your burning questions?”

His face slackened. “I shouldn’t have-”

She smoothed the fabric of his vest between her thumb and forefinger, drawing him in. 

“Don’t get shy just because you got caught.” 

Lucanis worked his jaw, his gaze falling to her lips. He eased himself forward with a grin, bracketing her against the wall between his arms, and pressed his forehead to hers.

“You like to walk a little too close to the edge.”

“So do you,” She tilted her head, their noses touching briefly.

Lucanis’ lips moved against the shell of her ear. “At least I know when I’m doing it.”

Rook traced the front of his neck, his stubble rough beneath her fingertips. “And I don’t?” 

He lifted his chin and held her gaze, leaning in closer. Just as Rook’s mouth parted to claim his in a kiss, Lucanis suddenly cleared his throat, pulling away.

“I - need to clear my head,” He turned around and ran a hand through his hair. “Excuse me.” 

Rook’s heart skipped as he passed her and she stepped in front of him, blocking the exit. 

“Coward.” she called after him. 

Incensed by her insult, Lucanis paused, jaw clenching. “I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t like to repeat myself.” 

Of all the things to call a Crow, Rook had picked a phrase that seldom ended in anything but bloodshed. But she steeled herself and swallowed as Lucanis closed in on her slowly, like a predator cornering its prey. Instinctively, she pressed her back against the door, reaching for the knife at her hip. 

“You’re used to getting what you want, aren’t you…” He snatched her wrist as she reached for her weapon and pinned it above her head. “… Fiammetta?” 

He enunciated each consonant in her name harshly. Not as if she were beneath him, but as a warning. She blinked innocently. Still, her other hand drifted to her waistband and her fingers found the hilt of her spare knife. Lucanis didn’t scare her, but he was trying to.

“Only because I’m not afraid to take it.” 

His hand plunged down to disarm her. Rook didn’t offer much resistance as he deftly worked her dagger out of her grasp. Pulling it free, he casually admired it, twirling the weapon between his fingers as its blade gleamed in the candlelight. Her breath hitched, and his eyes found hers again. The knife stopped spinning, and he flicked his wrist, catching it and pressing it into the palm at her side. His fingers laced themselves through the hand pinned to the door, squeezing tight. 

“If I’m a coward, it’s for your own good.” 

He turned the handle at her back, holding her gaze as he released her. Rook expected a hint of purple glow for Spite to say something, but the eyes that stared back at her were the same deep brown she’d known since childhood. Spite was not here. 

She almost wished he was.

Rook swallowed hard and stumbled as the door swung open, navigating backwards through the kitchen. Her hands reached behind her, using the furniture to guide her until she found the exit. Hurried and clumsy, her movements across the courtyard mimicked those of a fawn taking its first steps. Lucanis followed, stopping to fold his arms as he watched from the kitchen doorway, backlit by the flames in the hearth. 

So that’s how someone could get a rise out of Lucanis Dellamorte.

She never wanted to do it again.

Chapter Text

In the middle of the villa gardens, Fiammetta de Riva slid a vial of fish oil over the iron bistro table towards the First Talon of the Antivan Crows. 

“Caterina, please just take it. Let’s be done with this.”

Her early weeks at the Dellamorte residence hadn’t been entirely awful. By some stroke of luck, she and Caterina got on well, and typically took their breakfast together amongst the rose bushes, weather permitting. Their only point of contention? Caterina’s health. 

“Pretend I did, and I’ll tell your cousin how fabulous a job you’ve been doing around here.”

“You were going to do that, anyway." She swapped Caterina’s coffee for a glass of carrot juice. "Take it, or I’ll give you decaf.”

Caterina expressed her displeasure by ignoring her and poking at the half-eaten grapefruit on her plate. With an exasperated sigh, her breath visible in the crisp morning air, Fiammetta examined the gardens. The flowers were bare and wilted from the autumn chill, and a few stray leaves drifted from the trees, sprinkled with dew from last night’s rain. Serene, save for the occasional rustle of foliage as birds skipped the surface, pecking and tugging freshly surfaced worms from the dirt. 

Suddenly, Caterina threw her arms wide with a loud gasp, interrupting her thoughts.

“Lucanis! My boy!”

As he strode across the courtyard, Fiammetta shivered and gathered her cloak closer. She never understood how a man so close to her in stature carried himself as if he were seven feet tall. Stooping to plant a kiss on Caterina’s cheek, he grimaced as his grandmother squeezed his face between her hands, showing off a warm smile she only reserved for him. 

“How was your contract?” She asked, patting the empty seat beside her. 

“Too long,” He eased himself into the chair and reached for the carafe of coffee, pouring himself a cup. Leaning back, he nodded at Fiammetta in greeting. “Enjoying your stay?”

“I would enjoy it more if your grandmother wasn’t so stubborn,” She said, returning her attention to Caterina and dropping her voice. “Take. The. Fish oil.” 

“Caterina, why do you give Fiammetta such a hard time?” Lucanis asked.

The First Talon scowled at her grandson’s admonishment and threw back the vial, her rings glinting in as sunlight peeked through the clouds. She chased it with juice and held out her hands expectantly.

“She abuses me, Lucanis,” Caterina grumbled, snatching her coffee from Fiammetta’s grasp.

“De Riva, how can you treat a poor, defenseless old woman like this? After all she’s done for you?” His wink turned into a cringe as Caterina knocked her cane into his shin under the table.

“Call me old again and see what happens, boy,” She growled, standing up and shuffling past them. 

“Oh, come on, don’t be dramatic!” Fiammetta called after her. “You’re not going to finish your coffee after all that?”

“You two deserve one another’s company!”

Fiammetta leaned in towards Lucanis. “You saw her spit that fish oil into the carrot juice, right?”

“Old Crow trick,” He said, drinking his coffee. “People usually reserve that method for poisons.”

“Caterina thinks all medicine is poison. She’s going to be the first Crow to die a natural death.”

Lucanis smirked. “She’s too stubborn to die.”

Her chair scraped over the patio stones as she stood and gathered the remnants of breakfast from the table. “I should go make sure she’s not putting out a contract on me.”

“Allow me,” Lucanis offered, swallowing as he set his cup down. He stacked the empty plates, taking the rest of the dishes from her hands and adding them to the top. 

“No need to pick up after the help, cousin!” Illario called in the distance, rounding a corner by the pond, arm in arm with his latest paramour: a wide-eyed wisp of a girl who clung to him, shivering, far too scarcely dressed for the cold. Illario’s influence, no doubt. 

Lucanis frowned, and Fiammetta elbowed him in the ribs before he could speak.

“Just let it go,” she said under her breath.

“De Riva’s here as punishment,” Illario explained to his date, pulling out a chair for her.

“You couldn’t even spare a blanket?” Fiammetta asked cooly, turning on her heel and pushing past Lucanis. “Classy, Dellamorte.”

His lip curled, and he shrugged off his cloak, draping it around his companion’s shoulders. The girl opened her mouth in protest and he shushed her, muttering something in her ear. Fiammetta ducked under Lucanis’ arm as he held the kitchen door open, casting a disappointed glance over his shoulder towards his cousin.  

“He was sweet the first week,” She said as she set the dishes in the sink. “Then when he realized I wouldn’t jump in bed with him, he started parading around women to make me jealous.”

“Are you?" Lucanis asked, nudging her aside and filling the sink. "...Jealous?” 

“Of yet another victim of Illario’s facade?” Fiamma braced her palms against the marble countertop and hoisted herself up. “I pity her. He’s become such a selfish, cruel brat. I don’t even know who he is anymore.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Lucanis said, scrubbing at the plate in his hands harsher than necessary.

Fiammetta hopped off the counter, reaching for a towel. “You’re such an old-fashioned romantic, Lucanis. How did you end up that way?”

“Probably the brief influence my parents had over me,” He said, passing her a clean plate to dry.

“Make sure whoever you end up with someday remembers to thank them for that.”

A huff of air escaped his nose as he watched her from the corner of his eye. “Death is my calling, Fiammetta. I fear any fool who fell in love with me would only share that fate.” 

“Don’t fall for a fool, then,” she quipped.

Lucanis’ smile faded as he watched her put away the dishes on a nearby shelf.

“My cousin is an idiot. Just ignore his antics. He’ll get bored, eventually.”

“Why are you cleaning?” Caterina’s cane clacked against the tile as she stormed into the kitchen so quickly Fiamma wasn’t even sure if she needed it. “If the maid doesn’t have enough work, she gets lazy!”

“We’re avoiding Illario. Have you seen his newest conquest?” Fiammetta inclined her head towards the window. “She’s quite the catch.”

Caterina stood on her toes, peeking through the curtains, and scowled. “Too young for him, but sufficiently naïve.”

“A shame. I’d hoped he might have finally found the one,” She murmured, giving Lucanis a wink.

Caterina lowered herself, having seen enough, and tapped her long fingernails on top of her cane. “Take your cousin to Viago and find him a contract, Lucanis. He clearly has too much time to spare.” 

He snorted and wiped his hands dry on his trousers, returning Fiammetta’s wink. “I’ll be seeing you, de Riva.”

Caterina’s eyes narrowed, shifting between them as her grandson stepped onto the patio. She motioned towards the den with a contented grunt.

“Come, Fiammetta!” she said, “I need you to pen some correspondence for me. My carpal tunnel is acting up again.”

“Mail.”

An envelope hit Rook in the face, and she sat up with a start. Glaring at Taash, she snatched the letter from the floor. 

“Can someone with a more delicate touch handle that next time?”

“Got a specific abomination in mind?”

Rook threw a candle and Taash ducked with a smirk, watching it crumble as it hit the wall behind them. “Get out before I kick your ass.” 

“I’d like to see you try.” 

They flopped beside her on the chaise hard enough that it rocked back. Rook braced her arm on the seat to keep from toppling onto the floor. 

“So I’ve got this thing with my mother later. Can you come with me?”

Rook gave them a bewildered look. “You’re asking favors? Now?”

“Uh. Yeah? That a problem?”

She sighed. “No, Taash, not a problem. I’ll be there when you need me.” 

“Thanks.” 

As they departed, Rook stared at the envelope in her hands bearing the de Riva seal. She hadn’t seen Viago in a week - the longest span of time since they’d reunited. It’d been a heavy week, too. She, Davrin, and Emmrich had descended into a nightmarish Grey Warden stronghold called the Cauldron, filled with Blight and darkspawn. Hopeful to find where the Gloom Howler had taken the missing griffins, they discovered her plans to Blight them instead - a twisted idea of freeing them. Davrin was rightfully distraught, but kept a cool head, turning his attention to researching obsessively in search of answers. 

The tension between herself and Lucanis hadn’t helped, either. He was sulking in the pantry more than usual, carrying a look of shame every time she glanced in his direction during dinner. Why should she feel guilty about him wandering around like a kicked dog? He was the one who wanted to play the role of tortured romantic.

Rook took her dagger from her belt and worked its tip underneath the wax seal, tearing the parchment free and skimming her cousin’s missive. She squinted, trying to make sense of it, before she rose from the chaise and left her chambers. In a daze, she descended the worn stone staircase and crossed the courtyard as she reread it, her attention never leaving the page until she pushed through the kitchen doors. They creaked loudly on their hinges in protest, breaking Lucanis’ focus from behind the stove.

“Rook?” He looked up in surprise, carefully removing a steaming pot of water from the heat and setting it aside. “Are you alright?”

With a trembling hand, she extended Viago’s letter towards him. “What do you know about this?”

Perplexed, he reached out and took it from her. His eyes darted back and forth on the page, his frown deepening the further he read.

Cousin, 

I hope this finds you well, and that you understand how deeply I regret our last encounter. I have feared for your safety my entire life, and never more than now, as you take on these gods. Know I will always come to your aid whenever it is in my power. Do not be afraid to call on me. 

I’ve passed on your parcel, but I have many questions. You should not feel obligated to take care of Manius Casini’s family. Hear my words when I tell you they have more than enough gold for a good life in his absence. The Crows made sure of it ever since we recovered his body from the canals. 

Your generosity is admirable, but do not spend another silver on the Casini family’s behalf. If you feel so inclined, perhaps that money could be put to better use on a place of your own in Treviso? That way, your vagabond strays can stop sleeping on my couch.

-V

Lucanis scratched his cheek and passed the letter back to her. “I’m not sure I understand, Rook.”

“Why have the Crows been taking care of Casini’s family when he was the one who murdered my father? I thought we only did that for honorable Crows.”

“That’s what you think?” Lucanis tilted his head to the side. “Viago and I killed the Antaam responsible for your father’s death. The same night of the murder.”

He hesitated before continuing, clearly uncertain he should. With a sigh, he pulled out a chair, the wooden legs scraping against the stone floor, and gestured for her to sit.

“I don’t need to tell you that Dante de Riva was losing his mind, Rook. He was suspicious of everyone, even Viago. Casini was a double-agent in a Crow operation against the Antaam. The only reason your father wasn’t aware was because he’d stopped taking contracts and isolated himself so much. Casini came to warn him, but your father didn’t believe him, despite their long history of working together. He fled for help, but by the time he reached the Crows…”

The room suddenly felt suffocating and Rook’s knees, already trembling, gave way as she slumped in her seat. Lucanis’ lips parted in astonishment.

“You killed him,” He breathed as he drug out another chair, his eyes never leaving hers as he sat down. “That’s why you’re sending his family money.” 

“I thought he- I didn’t-” 

“I’m not judging you, Rook,” He reassured her. “You don’t have to justify it to me.”

“I thought it was him, Lucanis. Illario told me-”

“Illario?” He straightened in his chair. “What does he have to do with this?”

“He read the report-”

“Then my cousin must be illiterate. I wrote that report myself. I was very clear.” Lucanis leaned forward, his demeanor softening. “Tell me what happened, Rook.”

She swallowed hard. “Illario brought Manius to the Opera House. On my eighteenth birthday. He had him tied to a chair like a gift. He gave me this… ” She tore her dagger from its hilt and flung it across the table. It knocked against the wooden surface, rolling to a stop at the center.

“You’re not at fault for this, Fiammetta,” Lucanis said, taking the weapon and examining its blade in the firelight before setting it on the mantle. “Illario is.”

“I think a part of me knew. I just thought if I had revenge, it would go away. This feeling- this empty horrible-” 

“My cousin restrained an innocent man, handed you a weapon, and told you where to aim all that grief and pain,” Lucanis crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his. “You’re an assassin, Rook. Illario knew what he was doing.”

She watched as he traced circles over her knuckles with the pads of his fingertips. For the work he did, his hands were surprisingly soft, where they weren’t calloused from years of wielding his blades.

“Manius claimed my mother was addicted to lyrium. Is that true?”

“She got clean, but died from complications during withdrawal.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Rook. I thought you knew.”

“So my father was paranoid and a liar?” She sniffed, drawing her hand away and wiping her nose with her wrist. “And everyone knew but me?”

“Don’t let it change who he was to you. Grief blinded him, and he hunted down every Antaam running lyrium through Treviso. Unfortunately, it put a target on his back.”

Rook squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back tears. “Why did no one tell me?”

“Viago asked them not to, to preserve your parents’ memory. He was trying to protect you. But he should have told you himself by now.” 

“I deserved to know then,” she said hoarsely.

Lucanis’ thumb brushed against her cheek comfortingly. “You did.”

“I can’t forgive Illario for this. Not ever, Lucanis.”

He tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. Firelight gently illuminated his brown eyes, shadows emphasizing the contours of his face. “I’m not asking you to.”

“He’s the coward. Not you. I should have never-”

“Rook…” A defeated sigh escaped through his nose, “I’ve been trying to figure out what to say to you about that day. There aren’t words enough to apologize-”

“No, I shouldn’t have called you that, you’re not-”

“I have been. With you.” He rose with her as she stood, one arm snaking around her lower back, pulling her against him. She blinked in surprise as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Rook rested her cheek against his palm, and a slight smile played on his lips.

“Fiammetta, I-”

The kitchen doors burst open, and they simultaneously recoiled. Clearing his throat, Lucanis turned towards the fireplace, watching the flames, and Rook planted her hands on the table as Harding entered.

“Rook! I’ve been looking for you…” she paused, glancing between them.

“What is it, Harding?” She asked, glaring at the patterns in the wood, trying to compose herself.

“Right…” Lace seemed keenly aware she was interrupting something, even if she didn’t know what that something was. “The Wardens sent word. One of Ghilan’nain’s Blighted dragons is in Hossberg. Not far from Lavendel.”

Lucanis turned around. “The one that attacked Treviso?”

Harding nodded. “No sign of the one from Minrathous, as of now.” 

“Get the others.” Rook pushed herself up. “We shouldn’t waste any time.”

Lucanis caught Rook by the arm as she moved to follow Harding.

“Now? Are you sure about this? You should take some time to process-”

“Not to sound religious, but I don’t get to decide when these things happen. The gods do.” She tried to pull her hand free, but his grip tightened around her bicep.

“Lucanis! Let me go-”

He pulled her in and smoothed his hands down the sides of her hair until he was cradling her face between his palms. His eyes searched hers desperately as his mouth hovered above her own.

“I am a coward,” He said breathlessly, “But only because I don’t want you caught in my mess.”

His bottom lip caught on hers as he turned his head and released her with a tormented expression. 

“You deserve better, Rook.”

Her fingertips brushed against her parted lips as she watched him leave. Shoulders slumped in self defeat, Lucanis pushed through the doors without a glance behind him. With a shaky breath, she composed herself, reluctantly retrieved her dagger from the mantle, and followed.

“Damnit!” Neve shouted across the battlefield, “We need more hands!”

Rook’s knuckles turned white around her weapons as Ghilan’nain’s Icetalon extended its long neck and roared, spreading its wings wide as it took a menacing step in her direction. They’d put up a good fight until a second dragon, the very one that attacked Minrathous, had arrived. With an endless supply of Blighted blood at Ghilan’nain’s disposal to feed her thralls, Rook and the others were getting nowhere and only growing weaker. Even with Taash, a seasoned dragon hunter, on their side, they couldn’t seem to subdue them.

Lucanis and Assan soared overhead, striking at weak spots just as a streak of green blasted through the sky and lodged itself in the side of the dragon’s head. The Icetalon staggered back, falling to the ground. 

Rook turned around to search for the origin and cried out in relief.

“Viago!”

The ballista aimed for the Seartooth and fired another bolt, disorienting it. Her cousin leaned over the edge of the wall with a cocky grin.

“Thought you could use a hand!”

She smirked as the last dragon standing roared. Seizing the moment, Rook jumped over the dead Icetalon’s tail and dispersed a chain of lightning across the field. Stunned, the Seartooth barely caught Lucanis coming down upon its head, burying his blade in its skull. With a shriek, the beast shook him off and stumbled, collapsing in a heap.

Davrin cut in, sprinting and launching himself onto the dragon’s back, just as Assan dove through the air, swiping at its eyes. The Grey Warden drove his sword into its throat, gripping the hilt as he swung in the air, yanking hard to tear a line down the front.

Blood rained over the battlefield and Ghilan’nain’s thrall flapped its wings in a panic. With a feeble cry, it took to the sky only to plummet, shaking the ground beneath Rook’s feet with such force that it knocked her on her back.

The walls behind them erupted in cheers, and an ominous sense of déjà vu came over Rook as Ghilan’nain seethed above.

They were celebrating too soon.  

“She’s reanimating the dragons!” Neve warned. “We have to stop her!” 

Rook nodded, ducking under floating limbs and Blighted tentacles to reach the closest ballista. She employed all her strength, digging her shoulder underneath it, lining it up with Ghilan’nain.

With a sharp inhale, she found her shot, just as her father had taught her during archery lessons. She fired on her exhale and took a step back, watching as the missile embedded itself in Ghilan’nain’s core. The dragons fell motionless, as the elven god howled in pain. The Wardens on the walls rallied, charging closer and Rook fell to her knees, exhausted. She grinned up at Neve as she caught her breath.

“For Minrathous?”

The detective smiled, offering a hand and yanking her upright. “For Minrathous.” 

Their faces fell as the air stirred with magic, static crackling above them. Neve threw out a shield just as a nearby group of Wardens were propelled back, and time slowed. Rook raised her head against an invisible force as Elgar’nan appeared beside his injured sister. He surveyed the field, frowning as his attention fixed on Rook.

“One resists…”

“The Dread Wolf’s influence,” Ghilan’nain rasped, “His presence lingers.”

Elgar’nan scowled and waved his hand. “Ever defiant, for now.” 

The air crackled again as they disappeared into nothing. Time progressed, marked by the sound of falling bodies - alive and dead - as they crashed to the ground with haunting thuds.

Neve released her shield and doubled over, chest heaving, and Rook scanned the field anxiously for her allies. Above, Viago and the other Crows, stood with Emmrich, Harding, and Bellara. To her left, Assan licked Davrin’s face as he sat up from where he’d fallen. Taash sheathed their weapons not far behind.

“Where’s Lucanis?” Rook asked in a panic. 

“Here.” 

She turned as he heaved himself from a deep puddle with a grunt, thick mud clinging to his boots and armor.

“We survived,” Neve said bitterly, staring at the sky. “Some of us, at least. Too bad the gods got away.” 

“We have our revenge. And so does Minrathous,” Viago announced, casually descending a wooden staircase and leaping over a pile of debris. With a sob of relief, Rook rushed forward and flung her arms around his neck. He stiffened, attempting to pry her off.

“You’re making me look soft in front of the Wardens,” He hissed.

“Just let her.” Lucanis clapped a hand on his shoulder as he limped past. “She needs you right now.” 

With a resigned grunt, Viago encircled Rook with one arm, giving in to a reluctant half-embrace. 

“You did good, Little Flame,” He whispered. “You did good.”

Chapter Text

Rook joined Emmrich in his chambers, taking a seat in a worn armchair by the fire as Manfred shuffled over with a platter of tea. 

“And how did you sneak past Lucanis with that boiling water?” She asked with a mischievous grin as the reanimated skeleton set out two cups, his bony fingers clattering against the delicate porcelain as he poured, teeth chattering with fascination as steam billowed over the rims.

“I’m beginning to think that people outside the Necropolis find Nevarra… unsettling.” Emmrich said as Manfred enthusiastically snapped a pair of tongs together, grabbing a sugar cube and plopping it into Rook’s drink.

“Don’t mind them,” Rook reassured him, the warmth of the tea seeping into her hands as she cradled the cup. “They’ll come around. I, myself, enjoy your enthusiasm for your work.”

Emmrich smiled. “Death is one of the primordial forces. It breaks bonds, and it lays the ground for the new.”

“When you put it that way, it makes me feel a little less guilty about what I used to do for a living,” Rook mumbled.

“And how are you doing with your recent discovery?”

She hesitated. “Not so well. I–”

The chamber door struck the wall with a resounding bang, the bottom of a boot visible as someone kicked it open. 

“You wanted to get me excited about necromancy, Emmrich?” Lucanis drug in a large, misshapen burlap sack and dropped it to the ground with a thud, pointing his index finger at it. “Make her talk.”

Rook recoiled. “What the fuck, Lucanis!”

Manfred echoed her displeasure with a hiss, gesturing wildly. Emmrich frowned, setting his drink down and clasping his hands together in his lap. 

Lucanis’ gaze shifted between them, and he wrinkled his nose in disdain. “Are you drinking tea? ” 

Rook leaned forward in her chair and squinted at the heap on the floor. “Is that a body? ” 

With a heavy sigh, he heaved the sack onto a stained marble slab Emmrich used for autopsies and speaking with the dead.

“It’s Zara Renata.” Lucanis pulled the burlap away to reveal her decaying form. The Venatori’s carrion bodice had greyed, the rot setting in much sooner than the rest of her. It had a stench to match. 

Emmrich laid his hand over Rook’s reassuringly. “Lucanis and I discussed this earlier. We may be able to… glean some information from her,” he said, rising from his chair. “I wouldn’t agree if it was unsafe.”

She shook her head in disbelief, directing a glare at Lucanis. “Fine.”

Like a shadow, Rook silently trailed behind Emmrich, standing on her toes to look over his shoulder. Manfred clutched the end of the slab and sank to his knees, swaying back and forth as he scrutinized the body with interest. 

“Mind lighting a few candles for us?”

Rook nodded tersely, snapping her fingers, conjuring several flames around the room’s perimeter. With a nod of gratitude, Emmrich cleared his throat and raised his hands, gesturing as if conducting a symphony.

“Let flame rekindle your sight.” His fingertips traced invisible patterns over Zara’s form. “Let breath and light rise again.”

For a moment, there was no response. The room remained still, the body motionless. Lucanis and Rook exchanged an uncertain glance and cringed as the mage suddenly lunged forward, gasping for air. 

“Tell us about Illario Dellamorte!” Emmrich said in a commanding tone. 

“Amatus…” Zara’s voice was distant, otherworldly, and deeply disturbing. “He fooled us both.”

“You were lovers…” Rook’s brow furrowed. “And he killed you?”

“Yes...” There was an underlying tone of sorrow that Rook might have sympathized with, had Zara not trapped a demon in her friend.

“It’s not uncommon for Illario to use his charm to get what he wants.” Lucanis crossed his arms and widened his stance. “I’m not surprised he’d kill a lover to keep his secrets safe.” 

“Ask direct questions,” Emmrich urged him, “we’re running out of time.” 

“Why did Illario want me dead?”

“You took what he wanted most in this world…”

“The title of First Talon?” Rook asked.

Zara’s head swiveled towards her, eyes vacant and unseeing, saying nothing. 

“Jealousy is a powerful motivator,” Emmrich said as Rook took a step back. 

“Why imprison me and risk everything? I thought he cared enough about me to grant me a quick death.”

“Ah, an improvisation on this one’s part.” Zara’s head turned back towards the ceiling. “You had too much potential to die so young.”

Lucanis scowled. “And Caterina? Did Illario hire you to kill her?”

Zara hesitated, her thin lips curving into a smile. “No.”

“Our risen spirit is strong!” Emmrich warned, “Make haste.”

Lucanis gave a dismissive wave. “Let her go. We’ve heard enough.”

As he turned to leave, Rook caught him by the arm. “What are you going to do?”

“Take away everything from him.”

Lucanis removed her hand and stormed out of the room.

Rook returned her attention to the body. “What do we do with this?”

Manfred reached out with a bony finger, poking Zara’s foot, and immediately recoiled with a shriek, fleeing into the hall. Emmrich sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll take care of it. You should… keep an eye on our friend,” He said, “And his passenger.”

Rook found Lucanis in his usual spot, sulking on his bed in the pantry, with a cup of coffee cradled in his hands. 

“Seems like we’re both pissed off at my cousin now.” He said as she entered, not looking up.

“You weren’t before?”

“Before? Before, I hoped there was some misunderstanding. Now?” Lucanis set his cup aside and stood up. “Now? I want to kill him.” 

“‘There’s no place for emotion in killing.’ ” Rook said, quoting Caterina.

Lucanis smiled bitterly. “It’s sloppy.”

“File it down. Make it useful,” Rook said, mustering her best impression of the First Talon.

Lucanis shifted on the bed, staring at the floor. “I miss her.”

“I think you could use some sparring practice,” Rook suggested. “Why don’t you show me those good choke points you’re always talking about?”

He smirked. “You can’t identify them yourself?”

“I could…” Rook scanned the room for any advantage, “but let’s pretend I’m rusty.”

Lucanis stood and sauntered closer. “Well, to start, there’s this one…”

Grabbing her by the throat, but not too roughly, he guided her into the corner, positioning her so the shelf blocked her exit. Rook’s breath hitched as her shoulders hit the stone, eyes darting around to determine her next move. With the wall at her back as leverage, she pulled both feet up from under her and kicked Lucanis square in the chest. He rebounded off the wall, and she slipped past him, tumbling to the center of the room and throwing open the door. 

She heard a half-frustrated, half-excited snarl as he chased after her and tackled her to the floor. They rolled across the ground, narrowly missing the fireplace, before they jumped in the opposite directions, taking up defensive stances. 

“You’re pulling your punches.” Rook panted as he circled her. 

Lucanis smirked. “You can barely catch your breath. If I go any harder on you, I might do some real damage.” 

“Can’t finish what you started?” She yanked a chair free from under the dining room table and positioned it between them. “Maybe you should let Spite have a go.”

He lowered his head, grimacing as he fought the demon back.

“No.”

Lucanis ripped the chair from between them and hurled it into the wall. Rook instinctively threw her hands over her eyes, shielding herself from shards and debris as it splintered apart. Finding his opening, Lucanis forcefully bent her over the table, pinning her arm to her back and holding her head against the wood. Rook groaned in pain as he leaned over her.

“Guess you have to protect that pretty face, don’t you?” Lucanis murmured in her ear, “What did you call it before, your second best asset?”

“Cheater.”

“I’m sharing a vessel with a spirit of determination, little de Riva,” He said, increasing the pressure on her back just enough to make her squirm. “He likes to win. I can’t just tell him no.” 

The kitchen doors suddenly swung open, and Taash froze in place, raising their eyebrows. Rook struggled against Lucanis’ hold, but he pressed a knee into the small of her back, keeping her firmly in place. 

“Whoa…” Taash held up their palms. “I’ll let you two wrap up… whatever freaky shit you’re doing in here. Just clean up after… my mom’s coming for dinner.”

“Of course, Taash.” Lucanis said politely, ignoring Rook as she writhed under his weight, shaking the table.

“Can you still cook or are you-”

“I’ll handle it.” He nodded, inclining his head for them to leave. “You have my word.” 

The second the doors shut behind Taash, Rook drove the heel of her boot into Lucanis’ knee and threw her elbow out, barely missing his chin. As he stumbled back, she flipped across the table, landing on the other side.

“Really ought to invest in a lock,” She said, bracing herself on the surface.

A smile played on Lucanis’ lips as he pulled himself to his feet. “Now that’s cheating…”

Rook Fade-stepped out of the way as he advanced on her, shoving him into the stairs. His eyes flashed with a glint of violet and he charged forward, Spite’s wings unfurling at his back. He threw her onto the table and leapt after her, shielding her skull from the impact by slipping his hand underneath. With a knee on each side of her hips, he hovered above her, blocking any potential escape with his other arm. Despite the lack of her head meeting wood, he’d still knocked the wind out of her, and she gasped, searching his face as Lucanis’ smile faded, along with Spite’s presence. Their chests rose and fell, labored breathing filling the silence as they locked eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Lucanis said, leaning back, “I got carried away-”

Rook seized the back of his neck with both hands and crushed her lips against his. Eyes wide open, he let out a sound of surprise before he relented and eased himself onto his elbows, his body pressed tightly against hers. He slotted one leg between hers, his beard scratching her cheek as he found a better angle, weaving his fingers through her hair. He might have been a bit out of practice, but he was intuitive, she’d give him that. 

His jaw clenched as he moaned her name into her mouth, shoulders tensing as her nails dug into his back. Lucanis broke the kiss, releasing her and pushing himself off the table.

She propped herself up on her elbows. “What’s wrong?”

He averted his gaze, dragging a hand over the lower half of his face. “Rook, I… can’t.”

“Why?” She demanded.

“I will only bring you pain. Can’t you see that? Everyone in my life has suffered because of me. Caterina is dead. Even Illario’s resentment has put him in danger, I would have killed him if-”

“Neither of those things are on you, Lucanis!” Rook shouted, sliding off the table. “Place the blame on your cousin, where it belongs!”

“I can’t! If I do, Spite will end him. He’s all I have left, Rook-”

“Nobody has to get hurt. You said you wanted to punish him? Take away everything? He still wants me. He made that much clear after we killed Zara. If you have the Crows, if you have me, he has nothing left.”

“Is that what you would let yourself be to me?” Lucanis’ face crumpled. “A pawn to make my cousin jealous? To discipline him, like a child having his toys taken away during a tantrum?”

“Fine, then I’ll talk to him! I might be able to convince him-”

He let out an impatient groan that set her body on edge.

“Illario is dangerous right now, Rook! He’s using blood magic. Do not go near him!”

“I’d rather have two angry Dellamortes than two dead ones!” she pleaded. “I’m trying to save you. Both of you.”

With a shuddering breath, he braced his arm on the mantle and pressed his forehead against it. 

“You should go, Rook.”

“Lucanis-” She reached for his sleeve and he pulled away, holding his hands in the air. 

“Fiammetta.” He shook his head as he backed away. “Just go. Please.”

She pursed her lips, restraining herself from saying something she might regret, and squeezed her eyes shut. With a huff of disbelief, she stormed from the kitchen, slamming the doors behind her and doubling over to compose herself. 

“Rook! Is everything alright?” Bellara asked, approaching from the stairs to Neve’s office. 

Good, she hadn’t overheard.

She took a shaky breath, glancing across the courtyard with a renewed sense of determination.

“I need to go to Treviso, Bellara. Would you like to come with me?”

“Um… sure. But wouldn’t Lucanis be a better-”

“No.” Rook motioned for her to follow. “Not for this job.”

Chapter Text

Fiammetta watched the party over the rim of her glass, tapping her nails on the side as she looked for a familiar face. It had been months since Viago had prohibited her from taking contracts, but he said nothing about her assisting on them. 

“I’m the one seducing our target, Fi. You didn’t have to out-dress me.” 

She turned and smiled, exchanging kisses on the cheek with Andarateia Cantori.

“I wasn’t trying to, but unfortunately, Viago would have asked questions if I came home to get clothes, and Caterina only keeps her deceased daughter-in-law’s dresses in the spare closet. The Dellamortes aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Lucanis’ mother?” Teia asked, appraising Fiamma’s gown. Just classy enough for a gala, but leaving little to the imagination. “Good taste.”

“So, who is our target?” Fiammetta asked, following her best friend through the crowd. 

“Over there.” Teia settled against a wall, inclining her head. “Alessandro Varro. He took a large sum of money from the king that was to be invested, but there has not been a return on it in several years. He’s avoided all correspondence and recently had quite the return on his own investments. The king suspects he’s been conned and isn’t pleased.”

“So that’s how you ended up with this contract? Viago’s daddy put it out?”

Teia winked. “He needed someone discreet.”

“I don’t need to hear anymore,” Fiamma said, cutting her off. She squinted, assessing their target from afar. He reminded her of a weasel. Greasy hair, beady eyes, and the kind of unkempt appearance that came with excessive wealth and little class to match. His skin was red and puffy from inflammation - probably a lethal mix of a poor diet and too much alcohol. If Teia was patient, her target would probably die of natural causes and save them both the trouble of having to be here tonight.

Just as she tore her eyes away, the man met her gaze. She feigned an embarrassed smile as he stared.

“Change of roles, Fi,” Teia said, leaning in close as she held her champagne to the side. “Looks like Alessandro’s already interested in you. I’ll handle his guards once you get him alone.” 

“What? No way. I light fires, mix poisons, and slit throats, but seduction is not my specialty. I’ll fumble this so badly we’ll both regret it.”

“You’ll do just fine.” Teia gave her a small nudge in Alessandro’s direction. She stumbled forward, catching her balance in a pair of heels she was not accustomed to, and shot a glare over her shoulder as her friend wiggled her fingers in an innocent wave and disappeared into the crowd. 

“I haven’t seen you at any of these parties before,” A voice purred in her ear as an arm snaked around her waist. Fiamma twisted her head, restraining herself from lashing out.

“Illario?”

“Viago will not be happy to hear you’re taking contracts against his wishes.”

She shoved him off. “Not my contract. I’m just helping.” 

“Who’s your target? I’ll handle them,” He said, kissing her hand. “That way, you can enjoy your evening back at the villa. Where you belong. These parties are no place for a woman like you, Fi. The men here are appalling.”

“Well, that explains how you got an invitation,” She said, yanking her hand away.  

Illario caught her by the wrist. “Let me take you home.”

“Let go of me,” Fiamma hissed. 

“Is this man bothering you?”

Alessandro Varro appeared beside her, looming over them. Two guards lingered at his back, eyes shifting back and forth. 

“No. Just a misunderstanding.” Illario released his hold on Fiamma with a scowl and gave her a deep bow. “My apologies. Enjoy your evening,” He said stiffly and stormed off. 

Fiamma looked back at Alessandro, resting her hand on his shoulder. “Do you make a habit of saving women?”

“Just beautiful ones. And you are…” he let out a low whistle.

Fiamma smoothed her thumb against the collar of his suit. “Your accent tells me you’re Antivan, but I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you from Treviso?”

He chuckled, dismissing his guards with a wave. “Just passing through on business.” 

“No time for pleasure?” She asked with a wink. 

Alessandro smiled, exposing a set of yellowing teeth, and extended his hand towards the stairs. 

“I could make time for you. Care for a tour? The host is a dear friend.”

He was taking her upstairs already? Too easy.

She curtsied and took his hand, letting him lead the way. As she ascended the staircase, she caught sight of Illario sulking against a pillar, drinking his wine. His dark eyes tracked their every movement, before he frowned and set his drink on a nearby server’s tray, vanishing into the sea of bodies.

“So, what do you do for a living?” Alessandro asked as she bunched her dress in her hands, lifting it over her ankles.

“Business. Contracts,” she said. It was the truth, after all.

“Of the legal sort?”

“It’s tedious. Let’s talk about something else,” She said, also not a lie. “What do you do?”

“I make powerful men a lot of money,” He said, helping her up the last step. She smoothed her dress at the hips, fingertips lingering over the imprint of her dagger for reassurance. 

“Anyone I know?”

“Likely, but my clients value their privacy,” He replied, the hallway becoming darker the further they ventured down it. Alessandro paused, pushing open a door to his left. “Ah, through here. This is the study, where he keeps all the good wine.”

Fiamma nodded gratefully, slipping inside and forcing herself not to recoil when his hand touched her back. As Alessandro busied himself perusing the wine collection, she settled down on a small settee by the door. High-quality art decorated the room’s walls, and a large, canopied bed adorned with velvet green sheets stood on the opposite side. Not a book in sight. Fiamma swallowed uneasily.

This was not a study for work, but one for pleasure. 

“Are you in town for long?” She crossed her legs so her weapons were easily accessible, ready to get this over with before it got messy. Teia’s target - now hers - was a full foot taller and double her weight. If he decided things were going to go his way, her options would become very, very limited. 

He pulled a bottle down off the top shelf, reading the dates, and put it back, continuing to assess their options. “I come and go frequently. The duration of this trip will only be for a few days, though.” Varro’s response was too smooth, calculated, as he settled on a bottle that appeared far less extravagant than the others. A bad sign. He had no intention of impressing her, only intoxicating her enough to take advantage. Fiamma’s gaze shifted around the room, taking in every detail as she tried to formulate an escape plan.

“Can we get back to the party?” She asked, rising from her seat. If she could lure him to the door, she could slit his throat before his hand reached the handle.

He frowned, looking up from where he was pouring their drinks. “Why the rush? I’m enjoying your company. Privately.” 

Crossing the room, he handed her a glass, swirling his own before taking a drink. As she took the wine, she realized she’d been too preoccupied looking for exits and vantage points to notice whether he had tampered with her drink. Viago would have chastised her mercilessly for such an oversight. But her cousin wasn’t here, was he?

“It’s expensive,” Varro pressed, a thin layer of sweat forming on his forehead. “Don’t let it go to waste. You won’t get a chance like this again.”

He was too eager. The wine was definitely tampered with. Carefully, she raised her glass to her lips, feeling the liquid slosh against her skin as she pursed them, careful not to swallow. With a swift motion, she set the wine aside and discreetly wiped her mouth with her thumb.

“Funny. I thought the rare wines would have tasted more exotic,” She said, sidestepping out of his reach and pretending to marvel at the art. Much to her disappointment, he followed closely behind, his hands finding her waist as he pressed against her, the outline of something small and sweaty against her back.

“Get on the bed.” His breath was hot against her ear, and she suppressed a gag. The only way this got worse was if he had a temper.

“I’m not that kind of girl.” Fiamma laughed nervously, trying to slip out of his grasp. His thick fingers wrapped tightly around her wrists, holding her in place. 

“You’re any kind of girl I want you to be. Get. On. The. Bed.”

Fuck this contract.

Fiamma threw her elbow out behind her, the impact stinging through her arm as it connected with his ear. She weaved under his ribs, muscles straining as he stumbled back. Wrenching off her shoes, she swiped at him with one heel, ripping the sleeve of his suit. She couldn’t reach for her weapons yet and risk him calling for help. He needed to believe he had the upper hand until she could slash his vocal chords.

“Insolent little bitch!”

He grabbed her by the hair and Fiamma let out a sharp cry as he thrust her head into the iron bedpost. Blood trickled from her brow, and she blinked hard, stars crowding her field of vision. 

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” He growled in her ear, thrusting her onto the bed. Fiammetta reached for her weapon, but his entire weight was on her before she could move, suffocating and pinning her in place. Alessandro ripped the bodice from her dress, exposing her breasts, and began tugging the fabric down. Desperate, she kicked her legs as the room came back to her, but everything was too disorienting. Could she risk crying for help? Or would she give up Teia’s entire operation? None of this mattered if she was dead.

She opened her mouth to scream before his sweaty hand clamped over it. Her left hand now free, she scratched his face, nails digging into his flesh and tearing three crimson lines down his cheek. Fiamma’s skull reverberated with pain as he cuffed her on the side of the head, and she sensed her consciousness slipping. If the first impact hadn’t concussed her, she feared this one had.

With one last attempt to free herself, she drove her knee into his core, hitting him somewhere in the stomach, but he didn’t budge. Rather, he went limp, his full weight crushing down on her. Something warm and wet dripped onto her bare chest, and she clawed at the headboard to free herself before he rolled off and hit the floor with a thud. Fiamma blinked, just barely able to make out Illario’s face through her blurry vision, and whimpered in relief. Furious, he hauled her against him and smoothed her hair back, his thumb tracing the contusion on her head. She winced, and he pulled away.

“I told you, this isn’t your kind of work.” He took off his coat, pulling it over her shoulders and buttoning the front. “Let’s see if I can get you out of here unseen. What a mess.” 

The door creaked open behind them and shut quickly, and Teia froze in horror.

“Fi! I’m so sorry-”

“I’ll get her out of here. Clean this up, will you?” Illario said, slipping his arms under Fiamma’s knees and back and lifting her off the bed. “It looks unprofessional, but that will work in our favor.”

He paced to the window, opening it with the heel of his boot, and ducked under the pane, carefully easing her down onto the roof. The evening breeze was a relief against her flushed skin. She took a step and hesitated, the terracotta shingles unsteady beneath her feet, and Illario let out a frustrated sigh, slinging her back over his shoulder.

“I have to do everything,” He grumbled. 

The world slipped into darkness as he carried her back to the villa, and the next time she fully woke, she was in bed wearing fresh clothes. Next to her, Illario lay on top of the covers, engrossed in a book.

“Tell me Viago doesn’t know,” Fiamma groaned, sitting up in bed slowly.

“Viago doesn’t know.” He set the book aside, rolling over and searching her face with concern. “Neither does Caterina. But if you want my discretion, promise you won’t take on another contract like that again. Charm is more than a pretty face, Fiammetta. I can see how you’d get confused, but there is some skill to it.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” She said, tucking her hair behind her ears. 

“You scared me back there.”

“I scared myself.” She bit her lip, turning towards him. “Thank you. I never thought of you as the savior type.”

He cupped her cheek in his hand. “I save people worth being saved.”

Fiamma shifted forward on her knees, pressing her lips to his in a chaste kiss. He was warm, comforting. So different from usual. Why couldn’t he always be this way?

Illario’s hand came to her chest, delicately pushing her back onto the pillows as he pulled away.

“Get some rest. You must be concussed to be making moves on me.”

A mischievous smirk tugged at her lips. “Am I?”

“I’d wait my entire life for you, Fiammetta,” He said, his expression remaining somber. “I know you’ll never feel as strongly as I do. But I appreciate you pretending, even if just for a night.”

Speechless, Fiamma watched as he rose from the bed and slipped out of the guest bedroom, the door closing softly behind him.

Rook woke in Viago’s worn leather chair, not even aware she’d drifted off until the front door slammed shut. She unfolded her legs from underneath her, warm and dry from the heat of the fire, and stood, brushing the wrinkles out of her red silk gown just as Teia rounded the corner.

“You know how much I hate going behind Viago’s back,” She said, placing her hands on her hips as Bellara lingered anxiously in the hall.

“He’ll forgive you. He always forgives you.” 

“Alright, Fi. I’m going to help you as your friend. Not as Seventh Talon. Got it?” Teia said, crouching and straightening the hem of Rook’s dress. “And also because House Dellamorte is going to go extinct if these boys don’t get their shit together.” 

“Got it.” Rook reassured her, ushering them into the kitchen and opening a case on the counter, revealing several glass cylinders of poisons and antidotes. 

“Viago will kill you for getting into his stash.”

“Then good thing this one is mine,” She said as she slipped on a thick pair of leather gloves and pulled out one labeled Pillow Talk. “I’ve learned a few things from my cousin.”

“What is that?” Bellara asked in wonder from behind them.

“It’s an influencer,” Teia sighed, realizing where Rook was going with this. “It makes people very comfortable around you. Comfortable enough to trust you with their darkest secrets.”

“Like truth serum?”

Teia shook her head. “Not quite. You still have to coax the information out of your target.”

“I need to talk to Illario,” Rook explained. “See what he’s up to and if I can talk him out of it.” She reached for a small jar of plum-colored ointment, extending it to Teia. “Care to do the honors?”

Teia snatched it from her hands, applying a generous amount to her fingertip and spreading it across Rook’s lips. 

“Viago’s barrier was clear when he did this for me.”

“He doesn’t wear lipstick. Why would he think to add pigment?” Rook said. “The shade should help make the green tint of the serum look like lipstick.”

“Impressive,” Teia said, leaning back and admiring her work. Rook pursed her lips together with a smile. 

“This is why we couldn’t tell Lucanis?” Bellara asked nervously. “Rook…” 

“If Lucanis knew, he’d charge in headfirst and get himself killed,” Rook said, tucking Pillow Talk inside her cloak and closing her case of vials. “There are only two members of house Dellamorte left. I’d like to keep them both alive.”

As they reached a rooftop near the villa, a heavy sense of sorrow overcame Rook at the sight of Caterina’s bedroom window. A single candle flickered on the sill. Perhaps Illario was paying tribute. He was capable of sentimentality from time to time.

She reached into her pocket and handed Teia a small piece of parchment. 

“There’s a passage underneath the villa. No one should know about it, not even Illario. You two search the west wing while I speak with him. I’ll try to keep an eye out for anything useful.”

“And if this goes south?” Teia asked.

“Then we handle it,” She said, and leapt over the ledge, her dress billowing in the wind behind her. Skirt tightly bunched in her hands, she scaled a trellis and took the cobblestone path towards the front doors. Two men, thankfully Crows, and not Venatori, were stationed at the villa doors.

“Get Illario Dellamorte,” She said, lowering the hood of her cloak. “It’s urgent.”

“He’s not accepting visitors,” One said, narrowing his eyes before his face slackened in recognition. “de Riva?”

Rook held out her arms. “In the flesh. Good to see you, Bortte.”

“Dellamorte says no one gets in,” The other Crow interjected, his voice firm.

“Let me talk to him,” Bortte said, giving Rook a wink and disappearing inside. She forced a polite smile at the unfamiliar guard and glanced around.

“So…”

He grunted and crossed his arms, saying nothing. They stood in awkward silence for several minutes before Bortte returned, holding the door open. 

“He’s waiting in the den.”

With a gracious nod, Rook stepped through the doors and inhaled slowly. Nothing had changed in her absence, but a chill permeated the house. Unfamiliar, in some way. She walked carefully towards the den, looking around for any signs of what Illario had been up to in recent months. 

“Feels empty without a woman’s touch, doesn’t it?” A voice echoed from the depths of the room. Rook rounded the corner, finding Illario with a glass of wine in hand, observing her from the couch. There was both longing and resentment in his eyes as they drifted over her. 

“Guess I underestimated Caterina’s impact on the place,” She said, taking a seat at the piano by the window and removing her gloves, fingers ghosting the dusty keys. 

Illario stood with a weary sigh, moving across the room to uncork a fresh bottle of wine from the shelf. 

“Why are you here, Fiammetta?” He asked, not looking up as he pulled out a second glass, filling them both halfway. 

“I want to know what it is you’ve gotten yourself into,” She said, “Blood magic? Venatori? Trying to have your cousin killed?”

Illario set the bottle down and passed her wine to her as he leaned against the piano. “Lucanis is an abomination. He’s a danger to everyone, including himself.”

“Is that what you told yourself to justify turning the Crows against him?” Rook rose to her feet and stared out the window. She didn’t like him leaning over her. 

“It’s the truth, Fiamma. You know it, I know it, and deep down, my cousin knows it.”

She scoffed. “You’re all he has, Illario. How could you betray him like this?”

“Betray him?” Illario threw his hands in the air. “I have been by his side my entire life! Lucanis is like a brother to me.”

“Yeah?” Rook asked, watching the crimson liquid swirl against the edges of the glass in her hand. “Then tell me why you set him up on that boat.”

Illario huffed and took a drink. “That’s a lofty accusation, Fiammetta.”

She raised her wine to her mouth and hesitated, lowering it quickly. Illario met her at the window, leaning his shoulder against it as his eyes swept across her face. 

“You haven’t touched your drink.” He mused, holding her gaze as he plucked it from her grasp, taking a sip to prove it wasn’t poisoned. “You de Rivas don’t trust anyone, do you? Unless you have something to hide.”

She rolled her eyes irritably. “I’m being professional. I’m not pregnant.” 

“Wasn’t what I was asking,” Illario mumbled, setting the glass aside and offering his hand. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

Rook reluctantly placed her hand in his, allowing him to lead her to the staircase. Her free hand gripped the railing tightly, in case she needed to throw herself over it, acutely aware that this could be a trap. Stepping between the Dellamorte cousins like this was likely to only end with her hurt, but she couldn’t stand by and watch them kill one another, either.

The walk to his room was eerily silent, save for a soft scraping behind her, like a coin rolling against wood. Rook turned, brushing aside the skirt of her gown to ensure she hadn’t dropped a piece of gold. Worry overtook her as she realized Bellara might not be as light-footed as she’d hoped. To her relief, Illario didn’t seem concerned.

“My grandmother got a cat when you left, for the mice,” He explained, pulling her along. “It’s an alright assassin, never seen, rarely heard.”

He opened the door to his room, ushering her inside by the small of her back. From his desk, he pulled a small diary, passing it to her.

“You forgot this when you left,” he said, one hand on her waist as he handed it to her. Rook accepted it, turning the leather cover over in her hands.

“Did you read it?”

“I’m a Crow, Fiamma. Of course I read it.” He said with a smirk. “Pretty disappointing, though. Nothing in there I didn’t already know.” 

“I don’t put my dark secrets in writing,” She said, tucking it into her cloak. “Do you?”

“I prefer to keep mine close,” He said, his thumb coming up to brush her bottom lip. She recoiled slightly with a sharp intake of air. 

“My apologies,” He said, his hand falling to his side. “Wishful thinking-”

Rook pressed her lips to his, cutting him off. Unlike Lucanis, he didn’t hesitate to kiss her back, his hands roaming her figure as he pressed her against the door until it shut. Illario moaned softly as she caught his lower lip between her teeth, and she shoved him off, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. He blinked in surprise, touching his fingers to his lips. 

“Did you know Manius Casini was innocent when you had me kill him, Illario?” She demanded.

He glanced down at his hand, rubbing his fingertips together before dropping it at his side.

“We have different definitions of innocence, Fiammetta.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes. “You made me do something unforgivable.”

“We’re Crows. We make a living doing unforgivable things.”

“Maybe you,” She said through gritted teeth, swiping a tear from her cheek. “But not me.”

“Of course, Fi! I forgot. You’re the morally superior one,” He sneered.

“Fuck you.”

“Manius led the Antaam right to your father’s doorstep. He ran like a coward, sentencing your father to death.”

Rook gaped. “So he deserved to die?”

Illario smashed his fist into the center of his desk. Papers flew into the air, and the wood splintered under his knuckles. 

“His recklessness could have gotten you killed!”

Rook stared silently for a moment, watching him collect himself.

“Did you know about my mother, too, then?” She asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

Illario drug both hands down his face with a groan. “Know what?”

“You really don’t know?” 

“Know what, Fiammetta?” He asked impatiently.

“About the lyrium!” she shouted, before lowering her voice just above a whisper. “She was addicted to lyrium.”

His mouth parted slightly. “No… I didn’t. I swear.”

“You’re telling the truth,” Rook breathed, her eyes flicking to his lips.

“Of course I’m telling the truth! What the fuck, Fi?”

“Viago didn’t tell you. Because he knew…”

“That I wouldn’t keep something like that from you?” Illario asked. “No. I wouldn’t.”

Rook’s jaw clenched. “But you’d conceal the truth about my father’s murderer?”

“Casini may not have slit his throat, but his indiscretion killed your father. He deserved what he got.”

“Did he? I’m glad it’s not keeping you awake at night,” She spat. “Lucky for me, I’ve been sending money to his family for over ten years! Needlessly doubling the Crows’ contributions after you dumped his body in the canals!” 

“That was your choice,” He said, “Just like killing him. I put the knife in your hand, but you’re the one who made the kill. I never forced you. Don’t you dare imply that I did.” 

“What a splendid gift, idea, Illario. Maybe next year you can figure out where my father’s head ended up and give that to me in a box.”

He swallowed. “Don’t speak like that.”

“Why not? You have such a penchant for morbid gifts.”

“And you don’t appreciate them?” His eyes flicked to her thigh. “I bet if I lifted your dress, I’d find you wearing that dagger right now, no? You can’t be that ashamed of what you did if you’d use that same blade to kill your other targets.”

“Stop it!” She shrieked, slamming a fist into his chest.

“You stop!” He said, clutching her shoulders and pushing her into the wall. She winced, trembling as Illario held out his hand, examining the green tint on his fingertips in the light.

“Oh Fiammetta, Pillow Talk?” His hand came around her throat, and she turned her head as his face moved closer. “You forget, Viago taught us both his tricks.”

From his pocket, he produced a vial and flipped the lid off with his thumb, pulling her against him. She struggled in his grasp, but he was stronger, the inside of his elbow tightening around her neck until she couldn’t breathe. As she gasped for air, he forced the liquid in, slapping a hand over her mouth and pinching her nose, forcing her to swallow 

Rook coughed as he withdrew his hand, clutching at her throat. “What did you do to me?”

“Doesn’t feel so nice, does it?” He asked miserably. “You didn’t need to do all that to get the truth from me, Fi. I would have told you anything.”

Rook’s legs felt weak, and she clung to the bedpost to keep herself upright. Whatever it was, it was working fast. She ran through her mental inventory of poisons. Afternoon Respite. One of Viago’s favorites. A paralytic toxin that weakened the muscles and eased one into a state of reduced consciousness. Good for innocent bystanders, to keep them unaware but out of danger. Short lasting, and rarely lethal at a conservative dose, but given how quickly it was moving through her system, Rook suspected Illario hadn’t paid close enough attention during his lessons. 

“I wanted the truth. I didn’t take away your bodily autonomy or poison you to death.” She panted. “You overdosed me, Illario.”

His face fell. “You think I would hurt you? Take advantage of you? After everything we’ve been through? You know me better than that, Fiamma. I would never-”

He gathered her in his arms, laying her on the bed with his hand cradling the back of her head. As he arranged the pillows behind her, she felt an overwhelming sense of vertigo. 

“You’ll be just fine.” He smoothed her hair out of her face. “When this is all over… you’ll understand.”

“Don’t leave me here…” She protested, her hands wandering the sheets as she tried to push herself up. 

“This is between me and my cousin, Fiammetta.”

He crossed the room, wrenching open the door. With all of her strength, Rook threw herself towards the edge of the bed and onto her stomach, reaching for the nightstand to hold herself up.

“If you kill Lucanis, I will never forgive you!” she snarled. Illario cast his eyes to the floor, shaking his head in disappointment.

“What he’s become is too dangerous to the Crows. To the family. You may not forgive me now, but you will… eventually.”

While the room spun around her, she heard a lock turn, and swore under her breath. Fingertips slipping from the wooden surface, she scratched at anything for leverage. If she didn’t get out of this room before losing consciousness, she might never wake up again. 

The front door slammed downstairs, and she took a ragged breath, launching herself towards the nightstand again. It rocked in place, and a gas lamp toppled off and shattered on the floor. Rook lost her balance and slipped from the bed, landing in a heap of broken glass.

Hissing through her teeth, she drug herself across the floor, ignoring the sharp pieces embedding themselves in her skin, and reached for the door handle, pulling herself to her knees. She collapsed against the wall to catch her breath, reaching with a bloodied hand to the pin that kept her hair in place and yanking it free. Her dark hair cascaded down over her shoulders as she picked the lock, her fingers stiff and numb, as if they’d been stuck in a pile of snow for days. 

With a click, the lock shifted, and she pulled on the handle, falling into the door with her entire weight. It hit the outside wall with a slam as she landed on the carpet runner in the hallway, the fibers tearing small cuts in her cheek. She took a deep breath and used her elbows to propel herself toward the stairs. 

As she drew closer, her hand slipped on something hard, like a shard of glass, and she looked to her right to find a silver ring under her palm. Vision too blurry to assess it more closely, she slipped it onto her finger and continued down the hall. More than one pair of boots fell heavy on the stairs, and her heart sank with the realization that Illario likely had several guards - Venatori, with her luck - in the walls of the villa. Defeated, she collapsed face down with a sigh of surrender. Maybe if she conserved her strength, she’d survive this long enough to kick Illario’s ass later. 

“Shit! Fi! What happened?” Teia’s voice called out over the ringing in her ears. Rook felt herself being rolled over and tasted blood on her tongue.

“I told you this was a bad idea!” Bellara said, shaking her.

“Get Viago.” Rook rasped as her eyelids fluttered shut.

Chapter Text

Lucanis shut the doors of the kitchen behind him with a deep exhale. Although happy to let Taash take credit for his cooking, he had learned his lesson about sticking around. Confined to the pantry during the last meal, with no hope of escape, he endured their ceaseless bickering with their mother for hours. Already living with one incessant voice of outrage, he couldn’t bear a chorus of them. 

Cracking his neck and flexing his fingers at his sides, he scanned the empty courtyard for signs of Rook. Their earlier encounter still had him on edge. Even as he’d prepared dinner, the rhythmic knocking of his knife against the cutting board as he diced vegetables was the only thing marking the passage of time. He stared at the dining room table, unable to shake the memory of her hair in his hands, her body underneath him, nails digging into his sweater, tongue in his mouth…

He squeezed his left thumb, a bandage now wrapped around it to mark where his wandering thoughts had cost him a piece of flesh. Distracted, he hadn’t even noticed his blood amongst the tomato juice on the counter until it began to sting. 

Something about Rook completely unraveled him, making him a liability she couldn’t afford. Worse, Spite was fascinated by Lucanis’ desire for her, yearning clearly a favored emotion amongst spirits of determination. Anytime she was within arm’s reach, his ears rang with thoughts he’d once held privately, vocalized in Spite’s persistent timbre.  

Neve emerged from Bellara’s chambers, her prosthetic clicking against the stone as she ascended the steps and waved him over with a puzzled look.  

“Have you seen Bell?”

He shook his head and met her in the center of the courtyard. “Everything alright?” 

“It’s fine. It’s just-” She let out an exasperated sigh, retrieving a worn notebook from her pocket and flipping through the pages. “I needed to pick her brain about something, and she’s been gone for hours. It’s getting late… not like her to be away for so long. I stopped by Rook’s room and she wasn’t there either.”

“They’re probably working on something together. I wouldn’t worry about it, Neve,” He said, trying to disguise his unease at the mention of Rook’s name. 

The detective hummed to herself, scribbling in her notes and pocketing them. “Right, of course. It’s just-”

“Lucanis!”

The library doors burst open and Bellara fell through, doubling over to catch her breath.

“Bell?” Neve grasped her by the shoulders. “Slow down. What happened?”

“Can’t find Viago… Rook, Illario… I think she was poisoned? She won’t wake up-”

Spite stirred. “Rook. In danger?”

Lucanis straightened, his racing thoughts competing with Spite’s own concerned ramblings.

Bellara gasped to catch her breath. “With Teia. Under the villa. I told her it was a bad idea to talk to Illario on her own-”

Lucanis didn’t wait for her to finish, heaving open the library doors and sprinting towards the eluvian room.

“If anyone sees you in Treviso-” Neve’s warning trailed off, drowned out by the pounding in his ears as his boots hit the pavement.

“Keep looking for Viago!” He called over his shoulder. “If he’s not at the casino this time of night, he won’t be far!”

“Help Rook! Kill Illario!” 

“No! Damn it! I’ll deal with Illario later, Spite.”

Lucanis leapt off a rooftop into the alley below, folding the demon’s wings behind him. Before he could react, he was slammed against a brick wall, a silver blade gleaming against the base of his throat. He peered down at his attacker and disarmed them in a single, deliberate movement.

“Lucanis?” Teia asked, eyes widening as she wrenched her dagger from his hand. “Thank the Maker. Here, I’ve gotten Fi halfway, but I can’t carry her seven city blocks on my own. She wanted to talk down Illario, but you can imagine how it went…” 

Directed to where she had propped an unconscious Rook against a wall, Lucanis crouched and pressed two fingers to her neck. Although her pulse was steady, it was far too slow. Roused by his touch, Rook shifted with a pained moan before her head slumped onto her shoulder. He sighed, rising to his feet and brushing himself off.

“Bellara and Neve are looking for Viago. We need to get her to the apartment.”

“Let’s not waste time then,” Teia said, taking off down the alley to scout ahead. With no other options, Lucanis prayed to the Maker that Illario’s spies were preoccupied elsewhere and scooped Rook into his arms, pressing his chin against her head to keep it from lolling back. 

“Damn it, Fiammetta,” He whispered into her hair, “Why couldn’t you just listen to me?”

Draped across her white sheets, Lucanis assessed Rook’s face in the low light, noting several bruises and scrapes on her cheek. Blood and purple lipstick stained her mouth and chin, and he tentatively reached out, tracing a thumb over her bottom lip. An oily substance adhered to his skin, and he hesitated, throat bobbing as he inspected the faint emerald gleam on his fingertips.

“Try not to be upset with her,” Teia said, steering him aside as he wiped his hands clean on his trousers. She dabbed Rook’s face using a damp cloth and scrubbed the remaining pigment from her lips. “I know Fi’s methods are questionable, but she did it for you.”

“She did it for Illario,” Lucanis said bitterly, leaning against the wall. He folded his arms, watching as she set the rag aside, turning over Rook’s palms and picking out fragments of glass. 

“She did it for you,” Teia reiterated firmly, “Fi doesn’t want Illario dead, but even more, she doesn’t want to see you hurt.” 

“Did she tell you that?” Lucanis asked doubtfully.

“She didn’t have to say a thing.” Teia wiped the dried blood from Rook’s hands, searching them one last time before resting them on the pristine sheets. “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, but she doesn’t put herself on the line for people like this. And I promise you, she wouldn’t do it for Illario.”

They each exchanged a glance at the sound of the footsteps in the hall, and Lucanis unsheathed the dagger at his chest. In a defensive crouch, he crept towards the bedroom door. Concerned, muffled voices filtered through the walls just before Viago swung the door open and shoved past him. 

“Save me the hero act, Dellamorte,” He sneered, shooing Teia out of his path as he crouched beside the bed to check Rook’s vitals. Neve and Bellara appeared in the doorway, looking on anxiously. Muttering to himself, Viago threw a case on the mattress, fingertips drifting over dozens of glass cylinders as he searched for the right one. 

“You know, I expected this from my cousin, but not from you, Teia,” He snarled over his shoulder, retrieving a flask of antitoxin, uncorking it, and tipping it into Rook’s mouth. She coughed and sputtered in her sleep as it went down before settling back against the pillows. 

“Vi,” Teia protested, “she would have done it with or without me-”

Viago discarded the empty vial inside his poisons case and stood to face her. 

“But you could have come to me,” He said in a low voice, full of fury and betrayal.

“Can anyone tell me what’s happening?” Neve asked, clearly losing patience with more Crow drama. “Is Rook going to live?”

“My cousin will be fine.” Viago worked his jaw, tearing his gaze away from Teia. “Let me know when she wakes. I have words for her. Several, in fact.”

Bellara flinched and pressed herself against the doorframe as Viago stormed past her into the hall. Lucanis sighed, rolling his shoulders and giving Teia a sympathetic smile. 

“You should go after him, Andarateia. We’ve got it from here.” 

She nodded, sparing one last guilty look at her unconscious friend. 

“Thanks,” she said, squeezing Lucanis on the shoulder before hurrying after Viago. 

“You go too, Bell,” Neve said, inclining her head towards the den. “Get some rest.”

“But-”

“Neve’s right,” Lucanis interjected. “Besides, you don’t want to be here when Rook wakes and Viago comes back in here.” 

Reluctantly, Bellara nodded and vanished down the hall. As Neve sat on the edge of Rook’s mattress, Lucanis closed the door and leaned over the footboard.

“My idiot cousin nearly killed her,” He muttered, watching Rook with a tortured expression.

“Can’t say I like the circumstances, but maybe the forced nap is a good thing for her,” Neve said, examining Rook’s injured hands, “She’s going to be pissed when she wakes up. Maybe Emmrich can do something about these…”

An iridescent glimmer caught Lucanis’ attention, and he frowned, hand dragging across the bedpost as he shifted closer. 

“This was my grandmother’s…” He slipped an opal ring from Rook’s finger, inspecting it more closely over a lit candle. “Caterina never took this off.”

“Pretty. Did your cousin give it to her as some kind of token?”

Lucanis closed his fist around the ring, carefully sliding it into his pocket.

“That’s what I would like to find out.”

To her relief, Rook woke in her own room and not Illario’s. From her place near the window, Neve smirked and silently handed her a cup of tea from the bedside table. 

“Feeling better? You scared Bell half to death.”

“Marginally.”

She accepted the mug with shaking hands and raised it to her lips. The tea was lukewarm and oversteeped, but she savored it anyway. 

“Your cousin and friend are fighting in the den,” Neve said. “Hopefully that buys you some time to gather yourself.”

“Of course they are,” Rook mumbled, setting the tea back on the nightstand. Shards of glass glimmered against the wood grain and she examined the swathes of minor cuts they’d left behind on her palms. 

“Pick up any other souvenirs while you were visiting my family’s home?” A dangerous voice inquired from across the room. Her eyes flicked to where Lucanis was posted, arms and legs crossed as he glowered at her. 

“You told him?” She asked Neve. 

“Who do you think carried you back from the villa?” She replied with a shrug, “He’s the only reason we got you to Viago in time.”

Rook glanced at Lucanis, filled with remorse. He dipped his chin and averted his gaze, jaw clenched tightly. The tension in the room became suffocating as he pushed off the wall, walking towards her with calculated steps. Shoving a hand in his pocket, he produced a small ring and deposited it onto the nightstand. It scratched across the wood as he slid it toward her with two fingers.

“Explain.”

She reached out slowly, still feeling weak, and turned the opal over between her fingertips.

“I heard something when Illario was taking me to his room,” she recalled, trying to ignore Lucanis’ visible scowl. “He blamed a cat, but your grandmother was never an animal person. When I was escaping, I found this on the ground. I didn’t have a chance to see it clearly then…” 

Her mouth fell open in recognition.

“She’s still alive,” Rook breathed, “She had to have slipped this under the door as a message.”

“As hopeful as I am that you’re right, why not just call for help?” Neve asked. 

“Reasonable caution. My cousin is messy, impulsive when he panics,” Lucanis explained, taking the ring from between Rook’s fingertips and pocketing it. “He could still kill her if we move against him.”

“As long as he thinks we don’t know, Caterina is safe,” Rook said, “He has no reason to suspect any of us would return to the villa.

“So we plan a rescue,” Neve suggested, “The sooner we get her out of there, the better.”

“We have to deal with Illario first,” Rook warned. “Too much pressure, and he’ll do something rash.”

Distraught, Lucanis sat down on the corner of the bed, burying his face in his hands. “What if I go after him and get Caterina killed?” 

Rook bit her lip, watching his breathing become ragged. “Neve, could you… give us a moment?”

“Take all the time you need.”

As the door shut behind her, Rook crawled closer, reaching out tentatively to touch his shoulder. 

“Talk to me,” She begged, tugging at his sleeve. The muscles in his neck tensed as he stiffened under her fingertips.

“Rook, I…”

Suddenly, he swiveled towards her, a violet gleam in his irises. Afraid to move, she swallowed as Spite desperately seized her by the shoulders.

“Help us. He listens. He always listens to you!”

A bright flash of light enveloped the room, and Rook blinked several times as her eyes adjusted to the dark ruins surrounding them. A thick fog hung over the landscape, but there was something familiar about it. Schools of fish swam through clouds of bubbles that rose against an invisible barrier, bearing some resemblance to the mediation chamber.

“Is this the Fade?” She asked, taking a tentative step after Spite, who waited impatiently at the end of a sandy downhill path. 

“Lucanis is here. Always! Behind locked doors. I can’t break through.”

“A prison?” She mused, “It looks exactly like the Ossuary.”

“Yes! Locks everywhere! I can’t touch them!”

“Take me to him,” Rook demanded. Spite beckoned her on, eyes shifting across the landscape warily. Rare to see a demon so anxious. 

“Rook opens doors. Not close them. Rook can’t be here!”

“I… don’t know what that means…” she said under her breath, moving toward a figure in the distance. As she drew closer, she found Caterina Dellamorte leaning on her cane, grey hair swept neatly in a bun, as it always was. 

“Tenderness and terror. Rage and relief. Old, stale fear of disappointment.” Spite grumbled beside her. 

“Oh Fiammetta, you were supposed to bring me back my Lucanis!” Caterina cried, shaking her head. “Not this abomination!”

Rook gave Spite a sideways glance. “Is this a spirit playing tricks?”

“No! They wouldn’t dare! Lucanis belongs to me! She is an idea!”

She grunted in acknowledgement. If Caterina was lingering in Lucanis’ mind like this, she had to be attached to something heavy. This was a prison of his own shame.

“Caterina, Lucanis is trapped here because he believes he’s let you down. But we both know he’s not to blame. This was done to him. There was no choice in this. No failure on his part.”

The old woman’s face crumpled as her memory faded away into fragments of light.

“My poor boy!” she wailed, and disappeared into nothingness.

“Yes!” Spite exclaimed, “Good. Come. There are more.”

Uncertain of how time passed in this realm, Rook followed Spite through the prison for what felt like hours, convincing the figures in his head that he was in control of himself, capable, worthy. Harding, Davrin, Neve - they all bore their own voices, but spoke with Lucanis’ self doubt. It wasn’t until she came face to face with a mirror image of herself that she took pause. Her reflection peered at her curiously, but said nothing. 

“Fascination and desire. Yearning and avoidance. Something familiar and foreign at the same time. With a little guilt.”

“Why am I here?” She asked, reaching out towards the ghostlike figure. Her fingertips met nothingness, distorting her likeness, but it did not react.

“People come in three kinds. Family. Enemies. Contracts…” Spite rambled, moving closer.

“I hope that’s just you talking…” She inhaled slowly, trying to calm her nerves before addressing her visage. “Let us pass.”

The phantom-like version of herself didn’t answer. Rook scoffed, pacing around the room and gathering parchment from nearby tables, reading the scrawled thoughts and insecurities written upon them in Lucanis’ hand.

I didn’t want you to see that. Again… (I’m not this. I cannot be this.)

Everyone in my life has suffered because of me. I will only bring you pain. Can’t you see that? (Rook… I can’t.)

I’m sorry for getting you in trouble, Fiammetta. (I never should have brought you into my mess.)

These were about her… had Lucanis been the one to write them? Is this truly what he thought?

“You really think you can help him?” Viago asked with condemnation from behind. She whipped around, scowling as he circled her. 

“He will ruin you, cousin. I have tried to protect you from this abomination for too long. The two of you will never have my blessing.”

“Do you exist in everyone’s nightmares, Viago, or just Lucanis and I’s?”

“Kissing two Dellamortes in one day, Fiammetta? Which did you prefer?”

“Strange way to tell me you’re jealous, Lucanis,” She sneered at Viago’s image. “Quit hiding behind my cousin’s form. Although your impression of him is… spot on.”

“He’s a coward. You said it yourself,” Rook’s reflection taunted, breaking her silence. “We said it.”

“And I took it back! I’m not leaving Lucanis in here alone. Get out, both of you!”

“Your funeral,” Viago said, sweeping the vision of her aside, and disappearing. Rook threw Lucanis’ notes aside, letting them drift to the ground as she pushed through the rubble into a thick cloud of fog.

“Somehow, I knew you’d be here,” She said in greeting to the memory of Illario standing before her.

Spite sniffed, leaning in close. “Sharp. Jagged edges. Hurt with every breath. Grief and relief. Hope and anger. Mixed.”

“Fiammetta, you’re too good to be wasting your time in a place like this. Forget about my cousin.”

Rook ignored him, picking up more of Lucanis’ memos of self-loathing from around the chamber.

She came after me. She came after Caterina. She will come after you too… (Cousin, what about you?)

But we’re more like brothers. Caterina took us both in. (We’re brothers…)

Death is my calling. Just as yours is to become First Talon. (I don’t want it, Illario.) 

“I can give you everything,” Illario said, following her around the room. “I can protect you from him. All I’ve tried to do is protect you, Fi.”

“I can handle myself.”

Rook crumpled Lucanis’ memos in her fist, igniting them in flame and letting the ashes drift in the wind. Illario glared disapprovingly.

“You know what happened last time the Crows fought a war of succession, Fiammetta! The Dellamortes lost everything, except the seat of First Talon. This time, we fight ourselves. What will be left then? Ashes?” 

“He. Put us here!” Spite roared.

“Your father would have never wanted this for you, Fiammetta-”

“I don’t give a damn what my father wanted!” She shouted, pushing through Illario’s image. It evaporated around her.

“I’ve had enough, Lucanis! Where are you?”

She stormed through the halls, ignoring echoes of Illario’s voice until they reached a vast, empty chamber. Lucanis stood in the center, not waiting, not searching for a way out, just… there. Defeated by his own mind. Startled as she came into view, he took a step back, eyes wide. 

“Rook?” He asked in disbelief, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m getting you out. You can’t stay here forever.”

“There’s nowhere to go…” His face fell. “It’s better I stay here than risk losing you. Can’t you see that, Fiammetta?”

“You see? He breaks our agreement!” Spite stepped between them, furious. “His mind is still here. So he wants to stay here. So he keeps. Me here!”

“Mierda! Why would I want to stay?” Lucanis gestured around the Ossuary. “Even in my head, this place is a nightmare.” 

Rook stepped around Spite, her hand coming to cup the side of Lucanis’ face. “But it’s a nightmare you’ve already defeated. What’s waiting for you out there? That’s new. That’s risk,” She said, her thumb caressing his cheek. “You can survive this, Lucanis. You won’t hurt me. I know you.”

“No!” Lucanis growled. “Damnit, Fiammetta! This is not…”

“Make him leave!”

Rook threw her head back and groaned.

“Find a way to coexist! You two can’t live this way forever. Make a contract, an alliance, I don’t care. Figure it out.”

Lucanis gave her a helpless look before stepping forward and confronting Spite.

“My grandmother is alive. We free her. Together.” He proposed, “And we protect Rook, whatever the cost.”

A wide smile spread across Spite’s face.

“Together. We will fight.”

Lucanis merged with Spite’s form, the demon disappearing in a flurry of violet. In a blinding flash, Rook’s bedroom materialized around them, unchanged. Disoriented, she blinked rapidly, her gaze meeting Lucanis’ as he studied her face in the candlelight. Curiosity and wonder were etched on his features, as if he’d never seen her before. 

Reality suddenly set in, and his expression wavered. He recoiled, muffling a cough in his fist as his eyes wandered over the wound on her temple. Davrin’s stitching from the week before. 

“You haven’t taken those out yet?” He asked, clearing his throat and rising from the bed. Glass bottles and trinkets rolled around in the wooden drawers as he rummaged through her vanity for a sewing kit. Typical Lucanis, always finding work to do rather than facing his feelings.

“I can do it myself-” Rook propped herself up, wincing as her palms touched the sheets. She pulled her hand away, frowning at the crimson stain left in its wake. 

“I’ll do it,” He insisted, the mattress dipping under his weight as he knelt over her. This close, she could feel the warmth radiating from him, smell the leather of his jacket and the spices lingering on his skin from so much time over a stove. She held her breath, focusing on the intricate fibers of his sweater, the crow-shaped buttons on his collar, anything to distract her from the way his body hovered over her own.

“You should have had me do this in the first place,” He murmured as he expertly tucked a needle under the thread and clipped it with a small pair of scissors. “Our Warden friend isn’t known for having a delicate touch. I can sew, at the very least.

“You were unconscious,” She said as he pulled the final stitch free. “You’ve got quite the jealous streak, Dellamorte.”

Needle pursed between his lips, Lucanis leaned back and inspected his handiwork. Satisfied, he tucked his tools away in the sewing kit and set it aside on the sheets.

“Just recalling a conversation where you had bragged about not having a single scar on your face.” 

Tentatively, he reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear, his thumb ghosting over the friction burn on her cheek, a scabbed reminder of the runner she’d dragged herself across to escape the villa.

“This is twice now that my cousin’s actions have harmed you.”

“Physically,” Rook added with a smirk.

Lucanis reached for her palms, examining where the glass had left behind several deep cuts. “You won’t be able to wield a blade for at least a week.”

“They’ll heal,” Rook said, pulling her hands back. “It’s my fault, anyway. I should have listened to you.”

“All that just to kiss my cousin.” A faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he precariously arranged her pillows behind her. “Was I that bad, Rook?”

“N-No! Lucanis-”

Flustered, her cheeks burned bright red as he leaned forward, sweeping his lips across her forehead and pressing a firm kiss to its center. As he retreated from her bedside, even he appeared surprised by the gesture.

“Rest,” He said, nodding towards the den. “I’ll go debrief the others. Spare you one of Viago’s big speeches.”

Guilt gnawed at her as she watched him stand to leave. Maybe he could forgive her, shake this evening’s events off and make light of them as if her actions hadn’t hurt him, but she couldn’t. There was nothing she wanted more than to erase it all. As if sensing her ruminating, Lucanis rested a hand on the doorframe, casting a glance backward.

“Your sacrifices tonight didn’t go unnoticed. What you did for me…” He hung his head, staring at the floor. “If there’s one person I trust my thoughts to, it’s you, Fiammetta.”

Lucanis slipped into the hall and Rook bit her lip, rolling over in bed and stifling a sob. She allowed only a few tears to stain her pillowcase, knowing the time he'd buy her would be brief. With a sniff, she wiped her eyes and stared at the wall, waiting for the weight of Viago’s disappointment, and drowning in her own shame.

Chapter Text

As Fiamma sorted through Caterina’s mail with gloved hands, her fingertips hesitated over an envelope bearing no Crow letterhead or seal. Unfamiliar penmanship scrawled her name in dark ink, and while Viago would immediately suspect an attempted poisoning, she found herself slipping off her gloves, brow furrowing as she deposited the rest of the mail on the kitchen counter.

No one outside of the Crows should have any knowledge of her residence at the villa, yet someone had known to send correspondence here. They’d also known that if her mail went to Viago’s, he’d snoop. All the mail sent to the villa passed through Fiamma first. The sender intended for her to get her hands on it without intervention.

Lucanis had been off for some time. Perhaps he wanted a message to get to his grandmother discreetly? Or perhaps it was a trap laid by her cousin, testing how she was exercising caution these days. With a frown, she slipped a knife from her waistband and sliced underneath the wax seal, anyway. 

Hey kid,

You might not remember us little people after single-handedly taking down 20 Antaam, but you left an impression on me I can’t seem to shake. I’m working on looking for an old friend who’s gotten themselves into some pretty deep shit. I could use someone with your skill set and grit to help me find him and, maybe, beat some sense into him. If you’re up for the job, and things aren’t too cushy where you’re at, you can find me every evening for the next ten-day at the Lamplighter in Minrathous. Look for the guy with a loud mouth and a chessboard.

-Varric 

Varric. One of the prisoners she freed the night she ruined an entire Crow operation - the very misstep that landed her here at Villa Dellamorte. His proposition wasn’t a new one - he’d made the same offer the night she rescued him, but Viago hauled her off before she could even consider it. Undoubtedly, Varric had powerful allies and discreet surveillance on her. She was unnerved that she hadn’t noticed. Though she found herself somewhat impressed. Intrigued, even.

Fiamma folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket, setting a kettle on the stove as she continued tending to her evening duties. While the water for Caterina’s evening tea boiled, she contemplated Varric’s offer. Viago had sidelined her for three full moons now, with no promise of letting her return home, or to her own contracts anytime soon. In that period, Illario had become more insufferable, more forward, and more tormenting. After Lucanis departed for a prolonged contract last week, Illario had formed a habit of returning home drunk every night, melancholy and distraught, howling belligerently outside her door to be let in. If the villa weren’t so large, and Fiamma’s chambers weren’t in the opposite wing, Caterina would have caned him for making so much noise. It seemed his luck was in his grandmother’s declining hearing. 

She shook her head, preparing a cup of tea and arranging it on a bed tray alongside the rest of Caterina’s mail. Carrying it up the stairs, she wound through long hallways and several bare rooms. Cloth draped so much of the villa’s furniture to protect it from dust that she often felt surrounded by ghosts. In many ways, she was. Caterina had watched her entire family die, save her two remaining grandchildren. What joy was left inside these walls? Why decorate a space better left vacant, much like the unmarked graves near the rose garden? 

The First Talon was in a rocking chair before the fire when Fiamma knocked on her bedroom door. Caterina never could quite sit still. Even at rest, she was restless. Normal people rocked their grandbabies to sleep, but she raised hers to be killers. Good ones at that. The back and forth of her chair was meant to soothe her own worry. 

“Lots of mail today.” Fiamma said, setting the tray on a desk near the balcony. The old woman glanced at her, the glimmer of hope in her eyes betraying her mask of indifference. 

“Anything from Lucanis?”

“Are you expecting word from him? I could send-”

“I’ll handle it.” Caterina waved, cutting her off. “Leave me.”

Typically, the two would exchange a few teasing comments or Caterina would gloat about Lucanis’ most recent accomplishment (or how Illario had most recently vexed her), but Fiamma knew better than to pry. Caterina was prone to sour moods, and where she came from, dismissal was just as good as praise most of the time. After all, to be noticed often meant death in her line of work.

With a polite dip of her chin, she backed out of the room and closed the door. Absentmindedly, her hand returned to her pocket, brushing against the edge of the folded parchment there. The click of her boots echoed against the marble as she walked down the dimly lit corridor to her room. It would be unconscionable to leave Caterina now. Once Lucanis’ contract in Minrathous was finished, she’d take her leave in the night. But surely he’d return soon. What harm was there in leaving her with Illario for a few days? A lead assassin was more than capable of fending for herself…

She could barely count the steps left to her door when she heard something behind her, turning and preparing for an ambush. A small gasp escaped her as her back hit the wall, Illario’s face coming only a breath from her own. So drunk she could smell the alcohol on his skin, she turned her head to the side and wrinkled her nose. 

“Fiammetta…don’t tell me you’re avoiding me?” Illario slurred, clumsily dragging a hand down her cheek. 

“Go to bed.” She braced her palms on his chest to create distance between them. 

“Not without you.” He took her by the wrists and pressed his mouth sloppily against the corner of her own.  

“You pig!” She shoved him off, spitting and wiping her lips with her sleeve. 

“How long will we do this dance, Fi?” Illario asked in a sultry voice. 

“As long as it takes for you to get it through your head that the kiss before was a thank you, not an oath of my devotion.”

Illario narrowed his eyes. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

“Is it so hard to fathom that I just don’t want you?” 

“No, no, come on. Who is it? You and Teia have some secrets that I should know about?” He leaned in closer. “What about my cousin? He’s sweet on you, I can tell.”

“Listen to yourself.” Fiamma sneered. “You just can’t believe I would say no to you unless I was saying yes to someone else.”

Illario stumbled into her, pulling her closer. “Lucanis is inexperienced.” He whispered against the shell of her ear, “You want me, someone who can show you the ropes-” 

Fiamma instinctively reeled back and decked him square in the jaw, her knuckles grazing his bottom teeth. With a hiss of pain, she recoiled, shaking the impact from her fist as he held his chin, opening his mouth wide to check the joint. 

“Maybe I deserved that one.” He mumbled, wiping at his bloodied lip. 

Before the exchange could carry on another moment, Fiamma wrenched the doors of her bedroom open and slammed them shut behind her, turning the lock and sliding her sword through the handles for extra security. 

“I didn’t stand a chance, did I?” Illario asked through the door as his body audibly slumped against it. 

Ignoring him, she pulled a bag from under the bed. When she first arrived, Fiamma never fully unpacked. Her own way of keeping one foot out the door, as De Rivas always did. She swept the room, gathering her remaining belongings and throwing them inside. For good measure, she snatched a couple of offerings from the guest wardrobe. Caterina wouldn’t miss them. Though she might miss her . That wasn’t Fiamma’s problem anymore, though.  

“I’ve done terrible things, Fiammetta…” Illario’s muffled voice cried. “But I had to…”

With a heavy sigh, Fiamma hoisted her pack onto her shoulder, retrieved her sword from the door, and opened her bedroom window. No longer willing to entertain another night of self-pitying theatrics, she launched herself over the ledge, scaling a trellis to the gardens and sneaking through the hidden passage across the courtyard. 

By morning, she’d secured a spot on a ship to Minrathous, to search for a man with a loud mouth and a chessboard. With a brief pang of guilt, she wondered who would bring Caterina her morning coffee. 

Rook found Viago poised over the kitchen counter, precariously refilling his toxin vials. Framed by the glass balcony doors, the setting sun glowed over the city skyline behind him, turning the den a faint orange. Her cousin glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, decanting a clear liquid into an empty container. 

“Your friends tired of hovering by your bedside and returned home.”

Rook took a seat, watching him work. “Teia too?”

“She had work to do at the casino. She left once I assured her you’d live.”

Neither of them spoke for several minutes as Viago corked a glass cylinder and nestled it inside his case with care. He snapped it shut and braced his palms on the counter, staring at the stone surface.

“Go back to your Lighthouse. I’ll keep an eye on Illario and update you when I know more. Once you go through that eluvian of yours, I’m facing it towards the wall.” 

“What if I need you?”

“Lucanis seems more than eager to make you his problem. Let him carry the burden for a little while.”

Rook buried her reaction to his disappointment deep within herself. “What makes you say that?”

“Because he was the last to leave and keeps reappearing through that damned mirror every hour to check in.” Viago stood up straight and took off towards his room without sparing her a second look. 

“Whatever is going on between the two of you, keep it out of my house.”

AMBER. AND HONEY! ROOK. CLOSE .  

Lucanis glanced up just before she opened the kitchen doors. Relief and another potent emotion, something akin to the rush just before an assassination, coursed through his veins. 

“Rook! You’re back.” He breathed, lifting the pasta cooking on the stovetop off the flame and setting it aside to cool. “How are you feeling?”

“Well rested.” She crossed the room as he wiped his hands on his apron, discarding it on a nearby chair. As she joined him near the stove, his eyes met hers, and he forced a smile, feeling a bit dazed. He turned around quickly, twirling a forkful of pasta in the pan and offering her a bite. 

“Come here, try something for me.” 

One brow arched, she held his gaze, lips dragging down the metal prongs as she allowed him to feed her a mouthful. Chewing thoughtfully, she threw her head back with a moan. Lucanis watched her features attentively, assessing what the dish might need based on her reaction.  

OTHER WAYS TO MAKE HER MOAN, LUCANIS. BETTER WAYS.  

He shoveled a forkful of hot pasta into his own mouth, as if he could silence Spite by burning his own tongue. 

“I’m trying something new.” The noodles scalded his throat as he swallowed them whole. “The trick is in the pasta water…” He returned his attention to dinner, dividing it amongst an assortment of plates on the counter. 

“You’re in a surprisingly cheerful mood today.” Rook snuck a fork from the counter and began eating directly out of the pan. 

“I’m cautiously optimistic about Caterina, and I wanted to do something nice for you, show my appreciation for all your help…” He snatched the fork from her grasp. “Save your appetite. There’s a tort in the oven, too.” 

Rook smiled, and the warmth of her brown irises brought out by the light of the fireplace. “Did you do all this for me, Lucanis?”

“There’s plenty to share.” Tension grew in his chest, a sensation of static rising in his throat. “But…I did make it with you in mind.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Yes, I did,” He said matter-of-factly, shoving his hands in his pockets and averting his eyes. “I still haven’t found a way to apologize for everything, and…”

“I’m the one who owes you an apology, Lucanis.” She said, reaching for his wrists. “I should have listened to you. Should have told you my plans, never should have…”

ROOK. TOUCHING. US. DO IT BACK!  

Lucanis let her tug him closer, blinking in surprise as she flung her arms around his neck. One hand fell to her waist, while the other found her hip.

“You and me? We’re good, Rook.”He said, tearing his attention away from her and returning to the stove, wordlessly plating their meal as Rook set the table. She brushed past him; filling a cup of coffee for each of them before settling into her seat. It was wonderfully domestic, and he welcomed the distraction from the trouble that waited for them in Treviso. It would be hard to trust anyone again, but after his moment with Rook yesterday, he’d unveiled a trust in her he’d never allowed himself to have in anyone.  

The others soon arrived, Bellara and Neve bringing news of kidnapped Dalish, taken by Venatori, for a ritual sacrifice. A pang of disappointment hit Lucanis as he realized their brief respite from the terror of the gods would soon be over…and the tort he’d labored over all afternoon would likely go untouched. 

“The gods will want more power,” Bellara said, picking at her food. “They won’t waste any time getting it.”

A phantom scratch came from behind Lucanis’ eyeballs at the mention of blood magic. 

“Then we strike while they’re weak.” He lowered his fork, looking up from his half-finished plate and holding Rook’s gaze. She set her mouth in a line with a firm nod. 

“He’s right.” She said, pushing up from her seat. The others followed suit, departing in the direction of the eluvian.

“Sorry about your dinner plans.” Rook murmured as Lucanis fell in step beside her.

“I can make you dinner any time,” he said with a grin. “Never apologize for ending a meal early to kill Venatori.”

“After what they did to you and Spite, to Neve and the Shadow Dragons, to Minrathous…” Rook reached down and squeezed his hand. “I intend to cleanse Tevinter of every single one.”

WANT TO WATCH ROOK KILL . AND THEN-

Lucanis’ skin heated as she let go of his hand, forging ahead to give directives. He kept a careful distance as Spite ranted and raved in his mind about all the things he could do to Rook, some things he wasn’t even certain he knew how to do…

Safer to venture into such a large gathering of Venatori in small groups, Neve, Lucanis, and Rook opted to move in the open, disguised, while the others went through the trees with the Veil Jumpers. 

“This robe stinks of Venatori. It makes my eyeballs itch.” 

Lucanis stood with his arms crossed as he waited for Neve to reach the opposite end of the zip line. White fog seeped up from the deep canyon before them, concealing several roaring waterfalls in the distance. Rook bit her lip as she examined the large gap between them and the opposite bank. 

“If you’re not too uncomfortable…I could use a favor.” 

Lucanis raised an eyebrow as she held up her palms. The injuries she sustained from her escape from the villa were still red and inflamed as she tugged a pair of thick gloves over them with a grimace. 

Lucanis smirked and offered her his back. “Need a lift?”

“You sure you can carry both of us?” She asked with some uncertainty, “I can catch up with the others if…”

Lucanis scoffed. “I can handle you.” 

“Rescued twice in less than a fortnight. I’m a lucky girl.” Rook’s arms encircled his middle, and she rested her chin on his shoulder, hiking her legs up around his waist. “Are you sure about this?”

He stiffened, tightening his grip on the handles. “I’ll keep my reservations to myself until we reach the other side.”

Lucanis kicked off the ground, and they soared over the canyon, Rook’s stomach plummeting as she looked at the drop below. With her arms locked tightly around Lucanis’ chest, she feared he’d suffocate and pass out, sending them both to their deaths amongst the jagged rocks below. Eyes squeezed shut, she became attuned to the scent of his shaving oil lingering on his neck as she buried her face there. The telltale jolt of them hitting the end of the zipline ripped every thought from her mind and she released a held breath, letting her shaking legs detach themselves from around Lucanis. As her boots hit solid ground, she swallowed hard to avoid retching.

“Took you long enough,” Neve said, inclining her head towards the Venatori camp. “Come on.” 

They weaved through a sea of Red Cloaks and excited chatter. Rook caught the sound of her own name a few times, resisting the urge to turn her head towards it. 

“You’re popular.” Neve murmured. 

“Not comforting.” Rook replied. From her peripheral, she watched Lucanis scan the crowd, hands flexing at his sides. 

“They’re going to bleed a Dalish deer!” A nearby Venatori squealed. 

Rook’s throat tightened as she recalled the disposition of the gentle creature she’d encountered with Assan and Davrin. “They’re going after Halla?”

She turned to a platform where the creature was drug forward on a rope, weak and struggling to resist. Could it be the same one from before? 

Lucanis reached out and caught her around the waist as she jolted forward, bringing his lips to her ear. 

“We can’t do anything that will draw attention, Rook.” He warned in a low voice. Tears stung her eyes as she realized he was right. Lucanis discreetly reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. 

“You don’t have to watch this,” Neve said as the Halla bleated in terror, but Rook couldn’t tear her gaze away, no matter how badly she wanted to. She squeezed Lucanis’ hand, fingernails digging into his skin unintentionally. When she noticed and tried to relax her grip, his only tightened. Face set in a facade of indifference, fury simmered beneath his features. 

“They will pay, one way or another.” 

The Halla exploded into a mess of blood and carrion and she stifled a gasp, turning into Lucanis’ shoulder. She’d seen all she needed to, and not a second more. 

“Are you alright?” Lucanis asked softly. 

“This whole place makes my skin crawl.” She said through gritted teeth, releasing his hand with some difficulty and storming through the Venatori camp.

“The Dalish prisoners…they escaped safely?”

Covered in blood and dirt after the events at the Venatori camp, Rook stood across Solas in their usual meeting spot, each on one side of an enormous expanse in the Fade. His prison.

“For now.”

They’d barely been successful. Elgar’nan had shown up with an unexpected archdemon, and soon detected their presence, bringing to light his alliances with both the Venatori and the Antaam. If not for Solas’ intervention, they, nor the Dalish, would have made it out alive.

“Whatever my frustration with them, it feels good to have helped my people again. Thank you for allowing me to. The chance to infuriate Elgar’nan was a reminder of simpler times.” Solas spoke more warmly than she was used to. It felt like a change she shouldn’t trust. 

“We share a set of similar goals, but our endgame is not the same.” Rook said, folding her arms over her chest, “And I still haven’t forgiven you for hurting Varric.”

“Varric…” Solas echoed, regret weighing on his features. “How is he?”

“Out of commission, for now. His recovery is slow, thanks to you, but his condition seems to be….improving.” Rook said, worry gnawing at her gut. 

“And you? I can’t help but notice you bear some injuries of your own.” Solas nodded at the contusion on her temple and where her wounds had reopened on her palms. She’d had no choice but to draw her weapons and fight, undoubtedly prolonging her healing time. 

“I’ll be fine.” She muttered, pulling her gloves from out of her pockets and slipping them on, careful to keep a straight face. Solas wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing her suffer today. 

“You lead your allies well, Rook. When we first met, I saw you only as a foolish child who disrupted my plans. You were…an irritant.” He said, crossing his arms behind his back. “I expected you to be nothing more than a tool, but you’ve proven me wrong at every turn. Perhaps Varric was not misguided, placing his faith in you.”

“You’d do well not to underestimate me.” Rook said, “Most come to regret it…given they survive long enough.” 

“Spoken like someone who kills for a living.”

“Let’s not pretend my death toll is anywhere close to yours.” Rook growled. 

Solas hummed in acknowledgement, uncrossing his arms and beginning to pace. 

“Your team trusts you, and you listen to them. It is impressive…and enviable. You work together with a camaraderie that took me centuries to build in my rebellion.”

“I care about them. I don’t use them as…how did you put it… tools?”

“I caution you not to allow feelings to distract you from your goal. What little time you have left, you should make certain you, and the team that trusts you, are ready for whatever comes. This might be your last chance. Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are preparing their ritual to pierce the Veil during the next eclipse, as Elgar’nan’s power is tied to light and darkness.”

“My allies will be ready.” Rook said, walking through dust and rubble towards the other end of the Fade’s nothingness. Anything to be further from Solas. 

“Are you?” He called after her. “I know that you will do everything in your power not to fail them , but what are you doing to ensure you will not fail yourself ? I have gleaned insight into some of your baggage, the complicated feelings you carry for fellow Crows, including the one on your own team. Have you grappled with your own shame? The regrets that haunt you in your sleep?”

“The Lighthouse is a shrine to your regret, Solas.” Rook said over her shoulder as the world around them faded to white. “Keep your words of wisdom and try heeding them yourself.”

Chapter Text

The days following the rescue of the Dalish passed without incident, but Neve managed to keep Rook occupied. After an agonizing and unnecessary Threads meeting (that Damas called just to flirt with Rook), she and Neve returned to the Lighthouse after a quick dinner at the docks.

“Someone’s on Damas’ good side,” Neve teased. “I suppose your little tryst last year did us some good.”

Just as Rook began a cutting remark, they ascended the stairs to find a small group of friends waiting for them. Talking amongst themselves, their companions sat around the table, joined by one of the Mourn Watchers, Myrna. Coffee in hand, Lucanis leaned against Emmrich’s chair. His agitated expression suggested he’d overheard Neve’s mention of Damas.

“We have her, Rook!” Emmrich shot to his feet, excitedly clenching his fists. “We know exactly what she’s planning!”

Manfred echoed the necromancer with a delighted hiss, and Rook glanced at the others expectantly for clarification. 

“Is this about your old friend? Johanna?” Neve asked as she took a seat beside Harding on the couch, “Did you find out anything about that artifact she’s been wielding, then?”

“She carries a gloaming lantern.”

“Shit!”

Rook jumped at the sound of Vorgoth’s voice as the phantom-like figure appeared behind her, and Lucanis tensed, instinctively reaching for the sword at his hip. The two had shared some discomfort around Emmrich’s collection of spirits and Fade-touched acquaintances, as spirit magic wasn’t common amongst Crows. Lucanis was guilty of being more vocal about his discomfort, while Rook tried desperately to conceal hers behind a mask of polite deference.

“The lanterns were fashioned by unscrupulous necromancers of the past. They steal and concentrate life.” Myrna explained as Vorgoth took his place at her side. “Hezenkoss intends to hold a soiree at Blackthorne Manor, likely to lure such a pool for her to draw from.”

“Johanna could leech life from hundreds at a time. An endless source of power!” Emmrich lamented. “We must do something . Everyone here has already agreed to assist me in infiltrating Johanna’s lair while she’s distracted. Once we’ve destroyed her lantern, all will be well.”

“What can I do?” Rook asked.

“I could use your and Lucanis’ unique set of skills to glean whatever information you can from the other attendees.” He said and laid a hand on Manfred’s shoulder. “I’m afraid my companion is not quite ready to attend a soiree all on his own.”

“He wants us to attend the party,” Lucanis said, brushing past her on his way to the courtyard. He leaned over, his breath ghosting over Rook’s ear, “Wear something nice.”

A chill ran up her spine, the air only becoming colder as Vorgath and Myrna strode past, taking their leave.

“Happy hunting.”

“No, Manfred, you pinch and pull… ow!”

Rook held the silk dress together where the skeleton had been trying to zip it up. He sulked, clicking the tips of his boned fingers together in exasperation. 

“You’re right, your hands are too smooth. It’s okay, we can try again, you just-”

“Having trouble?” Lucanis asked, peering through the crack in the doorway. He pushed his way inside, dressed in a black-on-black suit, a dark green greatcoat pulled over his shoulders. Perched atop a neatly knotted grey cravat, his usual Crow-embellished buttons gleamed subtly in the light as they held the chain across his collar in place.

Typical that a Dellamorte would have her feeling underdressed in an evening gown.

“Manfred is struggling with the zipper… through no fault of his own!” She reassured the skeleton, “I think skin is key for traction.”

“Curiosity dressed Rook nicely.” Spite interjected, causing Lucanis’ face to flush. He cleared his throat, giving Manfred an appreciative nod. 

“I can take things from here.” He offered as he regained control. Manfred’s teeth chattered excitedly as stooped and eagerly gathered several discarded gowns from the floor, piling them in his arms until they towered over his skull. He fled from the room, disappearing down the hall.

“Little thief.” Rook muttered as Lucanis stepped behind her, sweeping her hair over her shoulders. “I’m sure I’ll find him playing dress-up later.”

“Well, I don’t think he’ll be moonlighting as a tailor anytime soon.”

Lucanis slipped one hand to the base of her spine, pulling the dress’ fabric taut and zipping it slowly. One thumb slid up the stretch of her spine, protecting her skin from becoming pinched in the metal again. Goosebumps broke out in the wake of his touch, and Rook stepped out of his reach as soon as he was finished.

“Thank you.” Rook gathered her hair in her hands, letting it cascade down her back again.

“Don’t mention it.”

Lucanis wandered the room, inspecting her keepsakes and trinkets, before picking up her knives on the dresser and passing them to her. She affixed one to the strap on her thigh and tucked the other inside her boot. She wasn’t risking getting caught in battle wearing heels ever again, and the length of the dress concealed them well.

“It’s been some time since I’ve seen you in formalwear,” Lucanis said, offering her his arm.

“Likewise.” She hooked her elbow in Lucanis’, matching her steps to his as he led her down the staircase. “I think I’m looking forward to a rare occasion of anonymity.”

Lucanis hummed in agreement, taking a sharp turn towards the eluvian room as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

“So you and Neve met with the Threads again today?”

“What, feeling left out?” Rook sneered. “I thought you didn’t want to come if there wasn’t killing?”

“Better to be consistent. Let them know I’m still here.” 

“I don’t need you to protect me.” 

“You don’t. But take me next time, anyway.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Perhaps I’ll find an opportunity to dirty my blade.” 

“Something tells me you’d like to use it on Damas.”

He shrugged. “Spite doesn’t like the way he looks at you.” 

Rook stopped before the eluvian, placing her hands on her hips. “Is that true, Spite ?”

“ Lucanis -”

He coughed forcefully, suppressing the demon’s response.

“Fine. I don’t like it either.” Lucanis growled, ushering her into the eluvian. 

Blackthorne Manor loomed ominously before them on the horizon as they surfaced outside the eluvian at the edge of the woods. Chatter and music emanated from within, reaching their ears even from a distance. The evening air nipped at Rook’s skin, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself for warmth, carefully stepping over the dirt-covered cobblestone path. Each uneven stone was a challenge to not muddy her gown.

“How exactly does Damas look at me?” She asked as Lucanis led her inside.

He tensed, a puff of hot air leaving his nostrils in the chill.

“Like he’s undressing you with his eyes.” 

“Men are vile. That’s just how it is. You and Spite can’t possibly pluck the eyes from every ill-intentioned gentleman who stares at me too long.”

“We could try.”

As they entered the manor, they found the grand hall alive with lively conversation and posturing, voices reverberating off the walls. The ballroom was bathed in green light, as so many Mourn Watcher spaces and dwellings were. The marbled floors reminded her of the Dellamorte Operahouse as she stepped over their gold embellishments. From her periphery, Rook could see their companions observing from a nearby balcony.

"I've never been to a party with so many mages without being hired to kill one of them," Lucanis murmured.

"Try to place nice, for now," Rook said, catching on to a nearby conversation between two mages and tugging Lucanis aside toward a pillar to eavesdrop. “Emmrich wants us to determine where Johanna’s workshop is, first.”

“A shrine in the manor? You’re kidding."

“Not in the slightest. As an expert, I could read the spectral tome that reveals it, if our host ever let us into the library.” The other man griped. There was a soft hiss behind them and Rook discovered Manfred waiting with an empty serving platter behind her.

“Manfred, I need a spectral tome from the library.” She asked in a hushed tone, “Could you send the others to look for it?”

The skeleton nodded and scurried away into the masses.

“And now we wait,” Rook said, eyeing the bar and cursing her vow of sobriety. Feeling Lucanis’ eyes on her, she turned to him, her voice laced with irritation. “What?”

Lucanis, undeterred, offered his hand with a gentle smile. “Care for a dance?”

“I suppose neither of our cousins are here to object.”

Rook accepted the dance, allowing him to escort her to the center of the room. To her surprise, he placed his free hand on her hip, drawing her into a slow, Antivan waltz.

“I apologize if I was critical earlier. It was not my intention…” Lucanis said, guiding her through each step with admirable grace. “I just… struggle to understand your history.”

“I suppose I didn’t realize you took such an issue with my sexual track record,” Rook mused.

Lucanis swallowed. “That’s your business.”

“You seem quite eager to make it your business,” she said, doing her best to keep in sync with his movements.

“Wouldn’t you enjoy it more if it was… someone you cared for? Not some slimy Thread lying about his identity?”

“To answer that question, I’d have to sleep with someone I cared about first,” Rook replied as he gave her a brief twirl, pulling her tightly against him. “Why don’t you list off some of your ex-partners? I wouldn’t mind scrutinizing you for every regrettable evening of intimacy you’ve had.”

“There aren’t many to speak of,” Lucanis mumbled. “You can do with your body what you please, I just… think you deserve better.”

“Sweet of you, but I haven’t had time for intimacy in months. If I find myself hot and bothered, I can promise you Damas won’t be my first stop,” She said as he dipped her towards the floor, one hand supporting her back while the other remained at her waist. “Any other romantic advice?”

Lucanis smirked. “Only to kiss the right Dellamorte next time.”

Rook’s pulse quickened as she clung to his greatcoat. Slowly, Lucanis eased her up, his expression suggesting his own forwardness equally surprised him. There was a raggedness to his breathing, and he reached out tentatively to comb a hand through her hair. When she remained still, he let the strands slip through his fingertips until he was cradling the back of her neck.

A soft rattling of bones behind them broke the moment, and Rook turned to find Manfred offering her a thick tome on his serving platter. She straightened, smoothing the front of her gown with a thin-lipped smile.

“Excellent work, Manfred.”

She held the volume, sliding a thumb along its dusty spine before turning to Lucanis, who was struggling to hide his disappointment. 

“Would you like to take the lead on this, or should I?”

“By all means,” He said and gestured in front of them. Rook slipped her arm back in his, approaching the two mages from before, still engrossed in conversation.

“Excuse me, my husband and I are dear friends of the host. We’re looking for an expert to decipher this spectral tome, and someone pointed you out from across the room!” She flashed a dazzling smile that made up for her lack of natural charm. Beauty could mask even the worst charisma, Teia had always said.

The Mortalitasi Mage grinned smugly, eyes fixed upon the tome with intense desire, and extended both hands expectantly. “I’d be happy to look it over for you.” 

The spectral tome growled as Rook handed it over, and she fought to remain unbothered. If they were to appear as if they belonged here, they couldn’t risk reacting to phenomena common amongst those present.

“Shh, there now,” The mage reprimanded the tome like one would a child, “I just want to know one thing…”

He thumbed through the pages before slapping the book with one hand. 

“Ah!” He pointed a passage out to his companion, “There is an ancestral shrine! In the northwest wing!”

“Fascinating…” Rook glanced up at the balcony, where an eavesdropping Bellara gave a thumbs up before disappearing from sight.

Lucanis leaned forward, cutting into the conversation. “Any other useful information?” 

The mage hugged the tome closer. “I may need time to research it. I could return it then, if you’d like?”

“Sure. Thank you,” Lucanis said pleasantly, offering a brief bow before pulling Rook aside. “Excuse us. Enjoy your evening.”

“Johanna probably has a key...” Rook whispered as Lucanis drew her into another dance.

“Any sign of her?” He asked, standing straighter to peer over the crowd. 

“Nothing yet...” She ducked under his arm as he circled her. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to dance. Or dance well, for that matter.” 

“Killing is a dance too, no?” He asked. “Caterina insisted my parents put me in ballroom lessons the moment I could walk. It was the one part of Crow training my mother consented to at such a young age. She tried to shield me from the rest for as long as she could.”

“But your mother was a skilled assassin, was she not?”

“Doesn’t mean she agreed with the Crows’ methods. She married into the Dellamortes, and Caterina adored her, but she didn’t put on any airs, and wasn’t concerned with being agreeable to appease my grandmother.”

“It sounds like she was a lovely woman, for all I’ve heard of her.”

“Caterina said I take after her,” Lucanis said wistfully. “I take some comfort in that.”

“Do you remember much of your parents?”

“I was so young when they passed, and many of my memories are clouded from my time in the Ossuary. I distanced myself from so much to survive...” Lucanis’ words trailed off. “What about you?”

“I try to remember good things about my mother. That’s how I’d like to keep her memory. As for my father…” Rook hesitated, and Lucanis nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“I loved my father. But a part of him died with my mother. The part that was gentle, understanding - you saw a glimpse of it the day Caterina brought you over to retrieve her ring. The man I knew withered away, increasingly overcome by his own paranoia, likely after making an enemy of the Antaam.”

“Is that when he left the Crows?” 

Rook nodded. No longer in the mood to dance, she slowed her steps, dropping Lucanis’ hand.

“He trained me to fight, to survive, but never wanted me to become an assassin. All of us Crows had trying childhoods but… my father’s methods were cruel and unusual. Viago and my aunt tried to intervene, but my father only drove them away, isolating us, refusing assistance no matter how poor or hungry we got, saying their money was tainted by the king’s hand. After a lifetime of taunting from other children for being the king’s bastard, that hurt Viago more than anything. In the absence of his own father, he looked up to mine, only to face rejection from him as well.”

Lucanis’ eyes widened. “I had no idea…”

“I grieved my father when he died, and he did not deserve the brutal execution the Antaam gave him. But in so many ways, moving in with Viago was liberation. He took care of me. And later, Varric taught me to take care of myself. Taught me to endure, to laugh, to strive for a better world. Qualities that made me a poor Crow made me a strong leader. I was born Fiammetta de Riva, and that will never change, but Rook is the name I made for myself. In spite of my father. I don’t want his legacy. And I do not want to remember those years alone with him.”

As he listened, a look of compassion, not pity, softened Lucanis’ features. Rook fell silent, a blush creeping up her neck as she questioned her impulsive honesty.

“I’m sorry, you didn’t ask for my life story-”

“I appreciate you telling it. That legacy shadowed you for a lifetime. Letting it go in pursuit of who you truly are?” Lucanis reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It suits you.”

Rook’s lips parted slightly, and her chest ached as she met his gaze. Everyone on her team accepted her wholeheartedly, but Lucanis knew who she was before , and still was willing to let that version go and appreciate who she was now...  

While struggling to find the right words, Rook spotted Johanna out of the corner of her eye, storming through the ballroom.

“Kiss me,” She said, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

His brow furrowed. “What-”

Without hesitation, she pulled him in and pressed her mouth to his ardently, backing him into a pillar. He tasted like dark, bitter coffee as she deepened the kiss, tangling her hands in his hair. Even using the moment as an opportunity, something passed between them she knew she couldn’t take back. This wasn’t about seeing what made the Demon of Vyrantium tick, or trying to soothe her ache for physical contact with an old crush. This was driven by a longing to let Lucanis Dellamorte see parts of her she’d never dared to show anyone else…

As Johanna passed them, Rook dismissed her thoughts and focused on the task at hand. She positioned herself to intercept Johanna, their shoulders colliding and sending Johanna reeling backward. Frantically, she broke the kiss, turning around and feigning panic.

“I am so, so sorry!” she cried, adjusting Johanna’s attire and subtly checking for any outlines of keys.

“You should carry yourself with more decorum at a gathering such as this!” Johanna snarled, shoving her off. Rook’s eyes flitted to Lucanis, who discreetly slipped a hand into Johanna’s coat and retrieved a keyring, inconspicuously dropping it into his pocket.

“My apologies. My wife has had a bit too much to drink tonight.” Lucanis stepped forward from behind Johanna, wrapping his arm around Rook’s shoulders and guiding her aside. “Excuse us, madame.”

As an oblivious Johanna stalked off, Lucanis steered Rook to a nearby wall, concealing them in shadow.

“You got lucky,” she said with a grin, waving Manfred over.

“You never fail to impress, Rook,” He said, retrieving the keyring from his pocket and dangling it between them.

As Manfred hobbled through the crowd with his serving tray, Rook took an empty tankard from a nearby table, plopping the keys inside.

“Get these to the others.” She directed, setting the tankard down on the platter. The skeleton hissed in understanding and ambled towards a nearby corridor, searching for Emmrich. Rook beckoned Lucanis to follow her in the opposite direction to the balcony stairwell.

“So… did I kiss the right Dellamorte this time?” She asked under lowered lashes, hoisting herself up on the railing.

Something burned in his eyes. Yearning. His , not Spite’s. Encouraged, she pressed him further, tugging at his coat and drawing him in by wrapping one leg behind his calves. The movement of her gown exposed the gleaming weapon at her thigh, and Lucanis paled at the sight, bracing one palm on the wall above her head.

“Rook…” He nuzzled his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. Their rhythmic panting was audible over the music and chatter as he grasped her waist with both hands, thumbs digging in just below her ribs. 

“Are you going to answer my question?” She leaned forward and nipped at his earlobe. “Or were you in over your head earlier with that line?”

“I don’t decide what is right for you, Rook…” he rasped, “No matter how much I…” 

She pulled back, staring in disbelief. 

“You think there’s a choice involved.” She breathed. “Between you and Illario? Lucanis… if I didn’t- I wouldn’t toy with your-”

Faint tremors shook the walls, the ground rumbling beneath their feet as the crystals in the chandeliers overhead clinked together. A cloud of dust and debris billowed as a colossal skeletal figure crashed through the marble ballroom floor, prompting widespread panic. Its eyes glowed a bejeweled green, and Johanna sat perched atop its head, her voice booming throughout the room. 

“How good to see you, friends! Scoffing colleagues, interfering Templars, inept rivals - you all have a place in my heart! And tonight you will fuel my inception at the cost of your miserable lives!” 

Harding appeared from around the corner, followed closely by their other companions, and pushed Rook and Lucanis up the stairs just as the room was enveloped in emerald light, the essence of every living creature below being drained from them.

“Go, go!”

“What did you do?” Rook hissed at Emmrich as they watch the ritual below unfold.

“Got a little too cocky,” Davrin grumbled.  

“You can’t free the spirits in that lantern?” Neve asked Emmrich, shielding her eyes from the light.

“It might kill me and not even work!” He protested, “No living thing can approach it, and-”

Manfred suddenly raised his head, rising from his crouch and rushing towards the ledge. 

“I go!”

“No!” Emmrich cried, “Come back!” 

They watched in horror as the skeleton shed its backpack, leaping off the balcony and climbing the ribcage of Johanna’s monstrosity. Manfred tore at the lantern in the giant skeleton’s chest until he dislodged it, flying free with it grasped in his bony hands. The ritual came to a stop, the hostages below freed from Johanna’s control as the spirit of curiosity landed on its back, holding up the lantern triumphantly as it swung in the air. 

“Ugh! You miserable little-” Johanna swore and directed her skeletal thrall forward. With booming steps, it stomped closer to Manfred, and with a forceful thrust, he hurled the enchanted lantern towards Emmrich. The larger skeleton brought its foot down with a deafening boom, crushing their companion underneath.

“Manfred!” Emmrich whimpered as the lantern rocked on its side against the marble floor. Rook rushed forward to retrieve it, thrusting it into the necromancer’s hands.

“Don’t let his sacrifice be in vain.”

With a mournful gaze, Emmrich raised it overhead, focusing on Johanna.

“By the spirits bound here…”

“Spite, leave it,” Lucanis said under his breath, straining to keep the demon at bay. 

“What’s wrong?” Rook asked, kneeling beside him and resting a hand on his back as Emmrich continued the ritual. Lucanis’ eyes flashed with Spite’s presence. 

“I want -”

“No.” Lucanis commanded Spite through gritted teeth as a pair of purple wings unfurled at his back. Rook’s grip on his shoulder tightened, a silent plea to the demon not to interfere, and Lucanis slouched back against the railing, brow slick with sweat.

Before them, Johanna and her skeleton toppled to the ground as she cried out, first in rage, then in a strangled, cut off shriek of terror as her body landed on the marble with a heavy thud. As the dust settled and the soiree attendees regained their footing, Emmrich raced down the stairwell and across the ballroom to Manfred’s side, stifling a sob. Everyone followed solemnly, Rook lacing her fingers through Lucanis’ as she sensed Spite slipping through again.

“Bring…Curiosity back!”

She squeezed tightly, willing the demon to calm itself. “Spite… please. Not now.”

“It’s alright. Spirits are often confused by death, especially amongst their own.” Emmrich said, cradling Manfred’s limp form in his hands as he looked up at them. “His body could only take so much. I underestimated him…”

“I didn’t realize Spite was so attached to Manfred…” Bellara said sorrowfully. “Can you bring him back?”

“Spite may be grappling with some of his own fears at the moment. Best to get he and Lucanis home.” Emmrich suggested. “As for Manfred… I will ask.”

He wiped a stray tear and gathered his fallen companion, rising to his feet. “I must go to the Necropolis. I can… I will… fix this.”

Rook accompanied Bellara and Emmrich to the Necropolis while the others returned to the Lighthouse. It turned out Manfred could be brought back, but only if Emmrich was willing to give up lichdom — eternal life, to achieve the best interests of spirits and the dead.

Almost certain the necromancer would be hesitant to give up a lifelong dream well within his reach, Rook was surprised to find how willing Emmrich was to sacrifice everything for his companion. It would take a few days to gather the necessary elements to perform the revival rites, but the three returned home with hope, rather than despair. 

As the others departed for their chambers, Rook returned to her own, finding her bed already occupied. On his back, Lucanis dozed with one hand on his chest, the other extended overhead, hanging over the edge.

“Rook?”

Spite sat up, assessing her through Lucanis’ eyes over the back of the chaise.

“Whose idea was this?” she asked, taking off her cloak and hanging it up in the wardrobe.

“Lucanis said to stay in the kitchen. But I wait until he sleeps. Bring him here. To wait for Rook.”

“Better than leaving through the eluvian.” She sighed, “What had you so shaken back at the manor, Spite?”

The demon remained silent, and she knew well enough to leave the matter alone.

“Do you know how zippers work, Spite?” She asked, changing the subject.

He rose, footsteps echoing through her chambers as she offered her back to him. Lucanis’ fingertips were cold as they skimmed against her bare shoulders, Spite tracing mesmerized circles on her skin. With a curious tug, he studied the zipper of her dress, bringing it down just a few notches before tilting his head to the side and sliding it down the rest of the way. With a hand behind her, holding the gown together, Rook shooed him aside. The demon’s gaze lingered, but it carried for more fascination than desire.

“What do you like about me so much, Spite?” Rook asked suddenly, realizing the potential danger in her question only after she had asked it. The spirit blinked, as if the answer should be obvious.

“No fear. Not of Spite. And makes Lucanis feel…”

He paced, gazing at the arched windows, struggling to articulate Lucanis’ unspoken feelings with such a limited mortal vocabulary. Taking advantage of his lapse in attention, Rook slipped off her dress and hurriedly changed into a white silk chemise.

“Determined!” Spite finished eagerly. “ Lucanis determined to protect. To understand. To impress.”

In a flash of violet, his wings unfolded behind him, and Spite took to the air, landing with a quiet thud before her again.

“To be near. To touch. .” He extended a hand, Lucanis’ thumb trailing down her cheek. “To be gentle…”

With a sudden jerk, Spite’s presence faded from his eyes, and Lucanis’ face slackened. Worry lined his features as he recoiled in confusion.

“Rook? What happened?”

“Spite came to visit. We talked. That’s all,” She reassured him, “He’s surprisingly a perfect gentleman.”

“Mierda.” Lucanis dragged a hand down his face. “My apologies. I can’t believe he’d intrude on you like this.”

“I don’t mind. I would have been up for hours trying to get that dress off if he hadn’t helped me out.”

Lucanis glanced down at the thin chemise just barely covering her breasts, and worked his jaw, averting his gaze.

“You should rest. It’s been a long day.”

“What about you?”

“I need coffee,” He said, pulling open her door.

“In the middle of the night?”

“Especially in the middle of the night,” He replied with a tired smile, stepping into the hall, “Sleep well, Rook.”

Chapter Text

“So my cousin makes you sleep in a closet?”

“I chose the pantry.”

Viago sat at the kitchen table in the Lighthouse, watching Lucanis pour himself a fourth cup of coffee that morning. He and Teia had wandered through the eluvian with news of Illario, and after last night, Lucanis had suggested Teia be the one to wake Rook up.

“Hm.” Viago drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully. “I suppose it has good choke points.” 

As he leaned against the mantle, Lucanis glimpsed his reflection in a pot hanging by the stove. Deep circles were carved under his eyes, evidence of his paranoia of Spite sleepwalking them into Rook’s chambers again. 

A few more beats of uncomfortable silence passed before Viago spoke again.

“You know, Teia and I broke up over that shit Rook pulled last week.”

“Just over Rook?” Lucanis raised his eyebrows skeptically, his voice echoing inside his mug. 

“I need to work on my tone, apparently.”

Lucanis swallowed and nodded, failing to suppress a grin. “How long this time?”

“Ten minutes.”

“A record,” Rook sneered, following Teia into the kitchen. She perched atop the table, her legs dangling over the side. “You have news for me?”

“Illario is making his move,” Viago said, sliding an envelope across the table to her. “An invitation. To celebrate our new First Talon and discuss the situation in Treviso. It came across my desk this morning. He’s hosting nearly every Crow House at Caterina’s villa.” 

“Cousin, you look so melancholy. I thought you loved parties.” Rook ignored Viago’s scowl as she drank from his untouched cup of coffee and turned to Lucanis. “Are we crashing?”

“This is our best shot at getting Caterina out. Then, we stop Illario.”

“All the Crows in one place.” Rook said. “I’m sure an abomination and the embarrassment of the de Riva household will be more than welcome.”

“Your poor decisions would have been easily forgiven had you not deserted Treviso entirely,” Viago interjected. 

Rook froze, slowly turning to face him. 

“Excuse me?” Her voice pitched higher as she slapped the invite down onto the table in front of him. “I’m fulfilling a contract fighting elven gods . I chased a dragon out of our city. Give me a fucking break.” 

Viago stared, unflinching. “You abandoned your family to take a contract I didn’t approve.”

“Vi…” Teia warned.

“I abandoned no one!” Rook snarled.

Lucanis shifted, feeling Spite bristle in reaction to her anger.

“Where were the Crows when my father lost his mind? When he drowned me every day as some part of his sick training regiment? When he beat you senseless for trying to protect me? When I was starving, because he poisoned what little meals we could afford to build my immunity, until I was petrified at the thought of eating breakfast? ”

Viago remained silent, his fury simmering beneath the surface. Teia bit her lip and Lucanis set his coffee on top of the mantle, both moving closer in case they needed to arbitrate. 

“And then, when I made a well-intentioned mistake, my own cousin makes a mockery of me by having me serve as the First Talon’s glorified housekeeper, all because he decided I needed to be made an example of!”

As Rook held Viago’s glare, Lucanis reached for her shoulder, pulling her several steps back. 

“The Crows abandoned me.” She said, shoving him off. “I just had the sense to go where I was welcome.”

Viago shot to his feet, gesturing around the room. “Is this where you’re welcome , Fiammetta? Jeopardizing your life in a conflict you should have no part in? Parading yourself around a leader while-”

“How dare-” Spite began in his mind.

“Viago!” Lucanis snapped before Spite could break through. “This is not the time or place.”

“He’s right,” Teia said, pulling Viago by the arm towards the courtyard. “Clearly the de Rivas have some things to work out, but right now, saving Caterina and stopping Illario is priority.”

Viago worked his jaw as his eyes flitted between Lucanis and Rook. 

“He does not. Like you. Near Rook. Does not like us.”

“The meeting begins at dusk. In the Opera House. We’ll hold Illario’s plans off as long as we can until you arrive.” Viago tore his gaze away and stormed out of the kitchen, Teia casting an apologetic glance over her shoulder as she hurried after him.

 As the doors swung shut behind them, Lucanis grasped Rook’s wrist and drew her towards him. “He’s worried about you. Don’t take his words to heart.”

“Too little, too late,” She said, wrenching her arm away. “Just get me out of here so I can kill someone who deserves it.”

“Yessss. Give Rook - give us something to kill.”

Lucanis pursed his lips, exhaling through his nose as he glanced in the direction of the courtyard. 

“I’ll talk to Davrin. The others have too much going on right now. You should take some time for yourself. I’ll come get you when we’re ready.” 

Out of respect, Lucanis pretended not to notice the tears pooling in Rook’s waterline. He walked to the courtyard, giving her a moment of privacy, despite how badly he wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her. 

He was going to throttle her cousin later.

“So, where are we headed?” Davrin asked as Rook pulled her blade from the heart of a Venatori mage.

“The Opera House. It’s…” Lucanis stopped in his tracks and scanned the rooftops on the horizon. “You know it’s across the grounds. In the guesthouse.”  

“Opera House?” Davrin echoed. 

“Caterina hosts galas there, Crow business. Those kinds of things.” Lucanis leapt down onto a balcony, motioning for them to follow. 

“No opera?” 

“Rarely,” Rook interjected. “It’s a bit of an inside joke.”

“How?” 

“It’s ah… where we make people sing. If you catch my drift.” 

“Uh…” Davrin offered her a hand as she hopped across a gap between roofs.

“They interrogate people. Torture them.” Rook ignored his hand, landing safely on the rooftop beside him. Chivalry wasn’t dead amongst Crows, but underestimating a lady certainly was. Out of her periphery, she caught Lucanis observing with amusement as the Warden awkwardly wiped his palm on his armor and muttered something to himself. 

“There.” Lucanis pointed out a tower with a stained glass window. “That will get us where we need to be.” 

“Estate’s pretty big already. Does it really need a second house?” Davrin asked. 

“It’s for guests,” Lucanis replied, as if the answer should be obvious. “You don’t think we’d just let them stay in our rooms? Risk them cutting our throats?”

“I had my own room in the main house.” Rook bragged, catching up to Lucanis on the next rooftop as they neared the villa. 

Lucanis smirked. “You were… special.”

Rook’s mood had lightened after a few hours of uninterrupted rest, but she was certain the second she was in the same room as her cousin and Illario, her fury would return. For the time being, she chose not to be bothered by Viago’s earlier comments. 

With a polite touch to the small of Rook’s back, Lucanis ushered her ahead onto a fallen beam between platforms. 

“After you.”

She nodded graciously, holding her arms out and stepping carefully across. 

“I get it. He can be a gentleman because he knows all your bird customs,” Davrin grumbled, balancing precariously on the walkway behind them. “Remind me why we couldn’t just go through the front door?”

“Rook already tried that. It didn’t end well for her,” Lucanis said, earning himself a jab to the ribs as she passed him. “Besides, there’s no way my cousin would let me in-”

“- He fears us. Good. He should.”

Rook slipped inside a broken window, descending over stacked crates and barrels to the landing below. As they arrived at a gate, Lucanis pried some freshly placed boards off the secret passage to the villa.

“I had to come back and conceal the escape route again after you tried to die here,” He said as Rook shot him a questioning look. “I thought I was the only one who knew about it. I found it playing as a boy.” 

“I found it sneaking out of the villa during my stay. Illario doesn’t know it’s here,” She effortlessly slipped through the narrow passage and Lucanis followed her, Davrin grunting as he squeezed himself inside.

They crept through the cavernous tunnels until they reached the underbelly of the house in silence. Rook pressed an ear to a pair of wooden doors, listening carefully to a conversation on the other side. 

“They mentioned an old woman.” She relayed, closing her eyes to better make out their voices. 

Lucanis scowled. “Caterina.”

“Must be a difficult prisoner,” Davrin mused. 

“She’s difficult in any scenario,” Rook mumbled, earning herself a glare from Lucanis. He cracked open the door before motioning them on. In a blur of violet, he advanced ahead, running his blade through two Venatori standing guard in the hall.

“Ugh. Illario let them in here?” He wrinkled his nose, wiping his sword on their clothes as they choked on their own blood, “I’m going to have to have the entire place cleaned.”

His footsteps were silent against the intricate marble flooring as Lucanis led them through the villa. White sheets covered the furniture and sculptures, just as they had over a year ago, albeit dustier. 

“This is your home?” Davrin asked, looking around from floor to ceiling. “No wonder your cousin wanted to inherit.” 

“I lived here until I was eighteen. Caterina made us get our own homes after that. But she still kept rooms for us. Ilario abused that privilege. Insufferably.” 

Spite inhaled deeply. “ Home? Smells like dust and linseed oil.”  

“Don’t say that when Catrina is in earshot.” Lucanis chastised him.

“So, Rook, what was so bad about that cushy assistant job?” Davrin asked. 

“Illario.” 

“Traitor!”

Lucanis motioned them towards the den. “Caterina’s room is up here.”

Slowly and soundlessly, the three ascended the stairs. At the top, Rook pressed her back to the wall, peeking around the edge. Two Venatori were stationed outside Caterina’s door, bored and yawning. With an outstretched hand, she delivered a swift electric shock to one, stunning the guard beside them in time for Lucanis to cut their throat, discarding the body into the corner. Davrin nodded, his mouth forming a line as he watched them work. 

“The door is barred from the inside,” Rook said, tugging on the handles. 

“I’ll go first,” Lucanis said, pulling her aside. “If my grandmother is in there, better she strikes me with that cane than you. I’m at least used to it.”

He leaned back and delivered a swift kick to the doors. They swung open, revealing Caterina’s room precisely as Rook remembered it, save for the mess of broken furniture that had been served as a barricade. As Lucanis stepped inside, his hopeful expression dimmed, finding it empty, but out of the corner of her eye, Rook caught a flash of amethyst just above his head. Before she could open her mouth to warn him, he caught the First Talon’s cane before it made contact with the crown of his head. Lowering her weapon, his face fell, as if he’d seen a ghost. 

“Caterina?” He breathed.

“Lucanis! My poor boy,” She lamented, kissing both of his cheeks affectionately. In shock, he returned the gesture vacantly, going through the motions before shoving a hand in his pocket. 

“I believe you dropped this,” He said, handing Caterina the opal ring she had slipped under the door to signal Rook of her presence. The two exchanged a somber look before she slid it onto her middle finger, kissing Lucanis’ cheek again before her eyes fell upon Rook. 

“Fiammetta. You kept your word and returned my grandson to me.”

“You can thank me later. Right now, we should get you to safety before we stop Illario.”

“Do not speak about me as if I cannot fend for myself! Have I not survived these Venatori on my own?” Caterina snapped. “There’s no time for heroic nonsense. I will come with you.”

“Illario is reckless, Caterina. Don’t make Lucanis lose you all over again,” Rook pleaded. 

The old woman squinted, assessing both Lucanis and Rook before giving a resigned grunt.

“Go,” she grumbled, appraising Davrin as she pushed past him out the door. “I’ll meet you in the Opera House.” 

Lucanis flashed Rook a faint smile.

“Welcome back to House Dellamorte, de Riva.”

She took his hand in hers, running a thumb across his knuckles. “It’s good to be back.”

He clasped his free hand over hers affectionately, searching her face intently.

“When this is over I-”

From the hall, Assan rushed in, inspecting every corner of the room. Lucanis’ smile faltered as Davrin entered behind the griffin, clearing his throat.

“I thought we were in a hurry.”

“We are,” Rook said, dropping Lucanis’ hand. “Come on, we can scale the window to the gardens.”

Rook bristled as they stepped inside the Opera House. It was ominous, as it had been the night she’d been misled to kill an innocent man. Since then, she had been to Crow gatherings in the space, but never under such grim circumstances or with the knowledge she now possessed about Illario’s motives.

Chatter and whispers traveled through the stairwells from above. Nearly every Crow in Treviso must be present tonight. If things didn’t go their way, it was certain death for her and Lucanis.

“Caterina’s death was a tragedy.” Illario’s voice echoed through the building as Rook and Lucanis dispatched two Venatori in the Opera’s anteroom. “But to get Lucanis back from the dead, only to lose him to a demon? For me? That is a deep personal loss.”

At her side, peering through a crack in the door, a low rumble escaped from Lucanis’ throat as he gritted his teeth. 

“Keep your head…” Davrin urged. 

“And so I take the mantle of First Talon with a heavy heart.” Illario continued, “But the Crows will rise from the ashes-”

Lucanis rose to his feet. “I’ve had enough of this.”

“Do you even have a plan?” Rook hissed.

“Knives are involved,” He replied as she followed him. 

“-with our new Venatori allies, we will reclaim Antiva-”

“Over my dead body!”

Illario turned, his eyes narrowing the sight of his cousin kicking open the main doors. Behind him, Viago and Teia exchanged a glance as two other Talons unsheathed their blades. 

Cutting his fingertips on the Crow brooch upon his breast pocket, Illario drew a red haze of power between his palms, making Rook’s stomach roil with dread. 

“That could be arranged.”

Several Venatori stepped from the shadows, and the remaining Talons drew their swords. Rook quickly worked to assess who would side with them as she cut through a Venatori on her right. Teia and Viago were a given, and Bolivar, Sixth Talon, usually sided with the Dellamortes, but tonight, it was impossible to tell: Which Dellamorte did he consider the true heir? Could any of the Crows in this room trust a Dellamorte after this?

“Yield!” Illario commanded, summoning his reserves of blood magic. 

“You can’t… overpower… us both! ” Lucanis gritted out, Spite’s wings unfurling behind him. The crowd gasped collectively, and Illario’s smug expression wavered.

“Now you fall.” Spite and Lucanis snarled in unison. 

“You should have stayed dead, cousin! All of this is on your head!” Illario roared as he unsheathed his blades, one clashing with Lucanis in an instant. 

“You started this, cousin,” Lucanis said with a cloying sweetness. “I’m ending it.”

A Venatori blade nearly hooked Lucanis from behind, and he turned to engage them. Rook pointed Davrin towards the rest of the incoming Venatori as she stepped between the Dellamorte cousins, not allowing Illario to get the upper hand. His face slackened as she swiped at his middle with the dagger he’d gifted her so many years ago. 

“Keeping your grandmother locked in her room?” Rook demanded, dodging his half-hearted attempt at cutting her. “What is wrong with you?”

“It was for her own good.” He seized her by the wrist as her free hand attempted to drive a dagger into his ribs. “I would have never harmed her.”

“Damn it, Fiammetta!” Viago barked from across the room. “Do not let him get the upper hand!”

Rook ignored her cousin, freeing herself from Illario’s grasp with a flick of her wrist, just as her father had taught her. 

“Was poisoning me for my own good? Did you know I would have died without Viago’s intervention?”

“I never wanted to hurt you-”

“Or how about your alliance with Elgar’nan?” As she threw her blade at his face, Illario dodged, turning to watch it lodge itself in the wallpaper and rip a line through the ivory embellishments. “You know he wants me dead, right?” 

“Fi-”

She silenced him with a slap to the face. Illario’s hand came to his cheek, pressed against the red flushed skin there as he returned his gaze to her slowly, a lethal look in his eyes.

“You were one of my oldest friends,” She snarled, “I trusted you above so many others. And you lied to me. Betrayed me. And Lucanis! Your own blood . Your ambitions really know no bounds.”

Illario threw her against the wall, knocking the wind from her.

“What I did, I did for the Crows!” 

He pinned one hand above her head, the dagger in his other hand hovering over her neck. 

“You did it for yourself!” Rook shrieked. 

Just above Illario’s shoulder, she watched as Lucanis dispatched three Venatori, desperately trying to reach her. Illario followed her gaze and, with a cry of frustration, thrust Rook ahead of him, blade pressed to her throat. 

“Stop!” He shouted, wrapping an arm across her torso and walking her to the center of the room, using her as a shield.

Lucanis threw aside the final mage he’d been fighting just as Viago leapt from the Opera stage. The two met them under the grand chandelier, weapons drawn, while Davrin checked over his shoulder as he and Assan continued pushing back the remaining Venatori.

“You don’t want to make an enemy of me, Illario.” Viago advised, circling them. “Let my cousin go. Don’t do something you can’t take back.” 

“You decide what happens next!” Illario warned, his blade digging further into Rook’s skin. 

“You think you’re in too deep, Illario,” Rook murmured as she felt a single bead of blood run down her neck. “But you can still fix this.”

“Stop talking, Fiammetta,” He hissed, but his hold relaxed, giving her room to breathe. 

“What’s your endgame here? Because Lucanis doesn’t want to kill you, but Spite will . This little standoff only lasts as long as I’m alive. Harm me, and it’s all over for you.”

“Maybe that’s your problem, Fi. You’re on a first name basis with my cousin’s demon .”

“I tried playing nice.”

Rook slipped one hand through the crook of his elbow and wrapped her fingers around his knife. An electric current danced up to the hilt, causing Illario to flinch, and his grip on her to falter. Blood stained her palm as he recoiled, inadvertently slicing open the skin where she held his blade. Illario shoved her forward to break the static that surrounded them, and Rook tumbled to the floor, leaving a trail of crimson handprints as she scrambled backwards. Viago bent and pulled her up, fingertips digging into her shoulders as he restrained her, keeping her from intervening.

Lucanis approached his cousin, pointing the tip of his sword at his heart.

“I’ll kill you for that.” He growled.

Illario scowled, clutching his chest as he fought to steady his pulse, falling to his knees. 

“So I’ve heard,” He said through clenched teeth, “What are you waiting for, cousin? Finish what you start.” 

Spite’s wings disappeared behind Lucanis as he sheathed his weapon with a look of contempt. He gestured to the Crows leaning over the balcony with bated breath, the Talons standing with disappointed expressions behind him. 

“I already did. What am I ever going to do that is worse than this? On your knees? In front of every house?”

Illario stared at the crowd, jeering and booing from above. Hope and malice faded from his features, replaced by the sting of humiliation. 

“Get up, Illario,” Caterina commanded, her cane echoing on the floor with a resounding knock between each step as she entered the room.

“Caterina!” Teia cried, “Thank the Maker!”

Viago released his hold on Rook, yanking Illario to his feet as the First Talon stood over her grandson, disgusted. Both hands poised atop her cane, the bejeweled eyes of the carved Crow head beneath her fingertips stared directly at Lucanis. 

“No one from House Dellamorte kneels.”

Rook felt a pang of empathy for her old friend. He looked like a boy again, scolded for playing in the gardens too roughly. Proven inferior to his cousin, once again. 

“He’s your family.” Rook moved to Lucanis’ side, resting a hand on his arm. “You said he was all you had, besides Caterina…”

“That was before you.”

Lucanis drug a hand over his face and sighed.

“But you’re right. He’s family.”

Illario scoffed. “You think you can show me mercy? That’s not up to you, is it? Caterina is still First Talon.”

“Enough, Illario! Lucanis is the new First Talon,” Caterina announced over a roar of cheering from above. “His decision stands.”

Both of the Dellamorte cousins’ faces fell in unison. Whether or not Caterina intended for it to be, Illario’s loss was a punishment for each of them. What one desired most in the world, the other desperately had tried to run from. 

Lucanis schooled his expression into something focused, commandeering, void of the remorse and aching etched there moments ago.  

“Viago. Keep him out of trouble,” He directed.

“I’m no miracle worker,” The Fifth Talon said, tugging Illario aside, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

Illario leaned towards his cousin as he was escorted from the premises.

“Lucanis…” he taunted, holding out each syllable.

“Don’t.” Lucanis voice was hard and clipped. “Not now.” 

Caterina walked slowly to a nearby table, picking up a goblet of wine and passing it to her grandson. Reluctantly, he stared at it in his hand, panic flickering across his face as he lifted his head to meet Rook’s stare. Before she could react, a glass of wine was shoved into her own hands, and Teia began making a toast. Rook’s ears rang as she watched Lucanis swirl his drink, lost in his thoughts.

“To Lucanis!” Davrin called out with a proud smile. Well-intentioned as their friend was, something about the way everyone raised their glasses, the way Lucanis brought his wine to his lips like a death sentence, made her want to choke. She mimicked a drink, and discarded her goblet, watching from the perimeter of the room as Lucanis was congratulated by each Talon, save Viago, who was likely giving Illario a beating somewhere between here and the casino. 

Davrin joined her on the wall, wine in hand and Assan at his heels. 

“I thought you’d be happier for him.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Does this make you Queen of the Crows or something?”

“This isn’t what he wants,” Rook whispered, voice catching in her throat as she watched Lucanis smile and nod in a sea of congratulations.

All those years of Crow training, just to feign happiness.

“In that case, try not to be offended if I don’t stick around to celebrate. Those Venatori landed a few good blows on me and I’m ready for a hot salt bath.”

Rook nodded and gave an appreciative, thin-lipped smile as her friend disappeared. In silence, she observed the party from afar until she was interrupted by a scraping sound against the marble floor beside her. 

“Dellamortes, get all the praise,” Caterina muttered, tapping Rook’s shin with her cane. “Come. Walk with me.”

Suggestions were never optional with Caterina, and knowing better than to decline, Rook uneasily followed her out the patio doors to the gardens. 

They strolled past the rose bushes and sat on a stone bench under a willow that was not native to this area of Treviso, but that Caterina had insisted to have imported decades ago. Rook had to admit it was thriving here. 

“Do you recognize this opal?” Caterina asked, slipping off her ring. Rook took it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger, letting its iridescence catch in the moonlight.

“It’s the same gem Lucanis stole and gifted to me when we were children.” She smiled softly, her breath rising in the fog as she spoke. “I still remember the look on my father’s face when you came to our door.”

Rook passed the ring back to Caterina, and she held up her hand to decline, shaking her head.

“Keep it. I’ve outgrown it,” She said firmly. “Consider it a token of my appreciation for saving both my grandsons, and myself.”

“Caterina! I can’t possibly accept this.”

“You would insult your First Talon by declining a gesture of her gratitude?”

“To be fair, you just gave that title to Lucanis.” Rook knew she was in dangerous territory, but felt bold enough to test the waters. Riling Caterina was a risk, but one with an amusing payoff.

“Precisely. I gave him a title. He knows I won’t retire until long after he buries me.” 

Rook carefully slipped the opal over the ring finger on her right hand. So strange how it found its way back to her, given the circumstances.

“Maybe I was too soft on Illario. I stoked the fires of his resentment by favoring Lucanis to take my place. But I knew Illario would never be cut out for Talon. He was prone to fits when he didn’t get his way and spent too much time fretting about what was fair or unfair. In the Crows, there is no such thing as fair .”

Caterina lifted her head towards the stars and frowned, as if they shared her disapproval.

“From a young age, Lucanis always saw the world for what it was. He would cry for dead birds in the garden, and then wipe his tears and bury them under this willow tree, because he knew it needed to be done. He has an impeccable talent for leaving no job unfinished, even when no one is watching. His internal compass is strong, where Illario’s is easily led astray.”

Rook remained silent. It was rare that Caterina was talkative, and rarer that she showed even a glimmer of regret.

“I was hard on Lucanis, focused my lessons on him because I needed him to have what it took to survive. Being First Talon doesn’t just make you a target, it makes the people you love targets. Lucanis showed exceptional talent and caught the attention of the other Crows even as a boy. Whether or not he wanted my title, I needed to ensure he’d survive long enough to turn it down.”

Uncertain Caterina would let her live to regret it, Rook spoke anyway. 

“You hardly gave Lucanis an opportunity to say no, announcing his change in rank before every Crow in Treviso.”

Surprisingly, Caterina’s cane remained firmly planted on the garden cobblestones.

“Sometimes we are burdened with things not because we desire them, but because we are the best person for the job. Lucanis will make a good First Talon precisely because he does not want it.”

“You knew?”

“I knew. Illario was talented in charming people, but being skilled in manipulating others put him at risk of being manipulated himself. My grandson could change his colors to suit whatever person or situation he needed them to, because his own identity was so unstable. Lucanis is who he is. He’s a lethal assassin, and an excellent Crow, but he cannot resist doing what he believes is right.” 

Rook blinked, certain she’d been poisoned when Illario’s blade nicked her throat, and that she was hallucinating this entire exchange. 

“I will not insult you by telling you your parents would be proud of you, Fiammetta. I think you already know that. And we both know it’s not their approval you desire.” Caterina continued, “You are like Lucanis in many ways. You did what you felt was right, and when you made a bad call, you accepted your punishment with your head held high. You never complained. You paid your debts, and you moved on. You accepted the role of leader against gods, because it needed to be done. Your cousin believed you were neglecting your responsibilities, abandoning your family, but wherever your battles lead you, you will always embody the spirit of a Crow.”

She rose to her feet and nodded towards the manor. 

“Come. My grandson is spying. I think he’s worried I’ve brought you out here to kill you.” 

Rook glanced towards the Opera House, where Lucanis was brooding against a foggy window pane, hands buried into his pockets.

“The guest room is as you left it. Several of the gowns in the closet belonged to my daughter-in-law. She was about your size. We might be assassins, but there’s no reason to be covered in blood at a party.” She said with a wink. “Rest assured, she fitted all her clothing to be suitable for an ambush. You’ll be at no disadvantage.”

Rook assessed the opera house floor as she descended the staircase, dressed in a sleeveless black gown that took her nearly half an hour to lace herself into. Caterina wasn’t joking - the dress fit her like a second skin, and she could kill someone in this ensemble just as easily as she could in her leathers. The trouble would lie in getting it off . Wearing heels, against her better judgement, Rook decided to allow herself the enjoyment of one last Dellamorte soiree.

A dense crowd surrounded Caterina, Teia close to her side. Even though former First Talon had opted for the party to continue despite the disgrace her grandson had made of himself, everyone present was on edge. Repairing the distrust between Houses would take time, but at least the First, Fifth and Seventh Talons still had faith in one another. And, at the end of the day, Crows never really trusted one another.

“There you are.” 

At the sound of a familiar voice, Rook’s footstep faltered on the final stair, and she caught herself on the guardrail as a hand slipped around her waist.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Chapter Text

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Lucanis’ hands found her waist just as she stumbled on the final stair at the sound of his voice. Rook blinked in surprise, holding onto his shoulders for balance. 

“It’s these marble floors you Dellamortes love so much.” She grumbled, adjusting her gown around her ankles. 

“Wood creaks too much underfoot, not to mention the way it stains…” he trailed off and arched a brow as he studied her attire. 

“You changed clothes.”

“You haven’t,” She said, observing the dried blood on his perfectly tailored cape. “Are you okay, Lucanis? It seems a little soon to be celebrating something that came at the heel of your cousin’s betrayal. I’m still surprised you spared him. Or that Spite let you.”

“That wasn’t mercy. Illario will never live this down. There’s nowhere he could go to outrun being the traitor Crow, brought down in front of everyone.” He shook his head. “I am fine. I will deal with my cousin later.”

As he spoke, Rook caught sight of several lingering glares from around the room. It was common to be leered at by fellow Crows, but she’d become accustomed to a very particular stare for most of her life. Whether they loathed her or envied her, the faces were all the same: narrowed eyes, hardened scowls, folded arms. 

“Are we Crows or Vultures?” She muttered, “If looks could kill, I’d be dead a hundred times over.”

“Don’t worry about the stares.” Lucanis nodded at a few unfamiliar faces in the crowd. “Nobody would dare make a move after you brought Illario to his knees like that.”

“Some whispers can be as deadly as a thousand cuts,” Rook said, moving to the edge of the room where she wouldn’t have to watch her back. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

Lucanis followed, frowning. “Have I offended you?”

“No, I’m sorry.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I shouldn’t take this out on you. It just… gets to me sometimes. You’re a Dellamorte. You get jealous looks, but they come with respect. If another man cut you down, he’d say you were an honorable opponent.”

“The de Riva House is just as honorable-”

“Do you know how it was, for Viago and I? The things people said about our mothers? Two women from poor households chasing notable de Riva men around, trapping them with babies? At least my father married my mother. Viago’s mother did not have it so well. The comments made about him in passing alone… to him…”

“I have always had a tainted reputation. When I was young, when my parents had repaired their social standing, people were good. But then my mother died, and my father left the Crows… by the time I returned to the public eye, I was under Viago’s wing. He demanded respect, and I had it by proxy. But when I blew that operation, and then abandoned Treviso, I looked like a deserter. Just like my father.” 

“You took a contract. You are no deserter.”

“I moved against a member of House Dellamorte in his own home tonight.”

“On my behalf-”

“Yes. And I have the ear of the new First Talon I helped rise to power. ” Rook said, angling her head towards a group of sneering young women on their left. “To them, I’m an opportunist.” 

“I think the gossip may be about me.” Lucanis grinned and leaned in close. “See the one in the middle? I declined an invitation to her bed just before you came down that staircase.

Rook admonished herself for the prick of jealousy stinging her skin. Lucanis Dellamorte did not belong to her. And as First Talon, it was unsurprising that every eligible Crow in the room would want to be on his arm.  

“Do you get those kinds of invitations often?” She asked, attempting to sound impassive. 

“Only when I bother to show my face in public. I’ve never been interested,” He replied casually, “You can’t tell me it’s not the same for you?”

“I think Viago’s scowling keeps most potential suitors away…”

“Perhaps it’s a good thing your cousin is so busy keeping my cousin in line, then?”

Lucanis nodded toward the doors, smiling.

“Shall we make a discreet exit?”

“This will surely fix my reputation problem,” Rook muttered. “Are you sure you should leave? They’re celebrating you.”

“I have other plans for celebrating this evening.” He said as he escorted her to the gardens. “Come. Escape prying eyes and get some air with me.”

While he held open an ornate side door for her to step through, he made certain they weren’t being followed before ducking out after her.

“So. First Talon. Does that mean you’ll be leaving us?” Rook asked, wandering towards an easement overlooking the water. 

“No. We have a contract.” Lucanis joined her, bracing his palms on the railing. “Besides. She may have stepped down, but there’s no stopping Caterina from giving all the orders.”

“Right.” she pursed her lips and lowered her gaze. “I could be crossing a line here, but… you never wanted to be First Talon, did you? Why don’t you tell Caterina no?”

“You are crossing a line, but I’d never consider you a trespasser. My secrets are your secrets.” 

“Are you going to answer my question, then?”

He glanced at the Opera House out of the corner of his eye.

“Later. This is a dangerous conversation to be had in Caterina’s garden.”

Rook nodded, watching the gondolas in the distance rock atop the current underneath. Lucanis eased himself onto his elbows, stretching his legs long behind him as the wind tousled his hair.

“So, what were you and my grandmother discussing?” He asked, staring at his hands. 

“We just sat in silence and watched you brood from the window.”

“Mierda. Must I suffer both of you?”

“Why suffer me at all? You’ve just been promoted far over my head.”

Lucanis scoffed. “I think you forget I’m the one in your service.”

“Right. Until your contract is over.” Rook huffed, her breath rising in the cold.

“You’ll have me for as long as I can put off the Crows.” Lucanis pushed himself up straight, removing his cloak and draping it over her shoulders. “Perhaps I could convince you to return here with me when I can’t put them off any longer.” 

Rook drew the cloak tighter around herself, suppressing a shiver. 

“I’m not sure… I left with Varric to hunt the Dread Wolf. When it’s all over, I’m not sure what-”

Lucanis reached for her chin, delicately tilting it towards him. 

“You don’t have to explain yourself. Regardless of your answer, I don’t need it today.” 

He released her and stepped back with a wink. 

“Just think about it, mm?”

Rook forced a smile as he offered his hand, allowing him to lead her toward the main villa. She dropped her cheek to his shoulder as they moved through the gardens, the grass brushing the hem of her dress.

“Why are we going back to the house?” she demanded in front of the kitchen doors. ”Do you think I changed clothes just for fun?” 

Lucanis snaked a hand into his pocket to retrieve a key. 

“I assure you, you made your impression on that room. You don’t need to torment yourself with that crowd any longer.”

“Do you know how long it took to get into this dress?”

He considered her for a moment, eyes sweeping up and down her figure. In a slight stoop, his lips brushed against the shell of her ear. 

“If you want help taking it off, you only have to ask.” 

A chill ran down her spine, and she found herself unable to come up with a disarming retort. She was usually the one unnerving him . 

“Fiammetta, would you… ” 

He turned the key in the lock, holding the door open for her, 

“…like to join me in my room?” 

Lucanis’ apprehension was palpable, but he pulled enough confidence from within himself to charm her with the flirtatious mask he’d been trying on. It could have been the rapport growing between them, or shared trauma, or Illario becoming a thorn in both their sides, or even leftover adrenaline from earlier in the evening… whatever lingered between them, she was tired of wondering how far it could go. Tonight, she fully intended to find out. 

“Yes.” 

She stepped through the threshold into the villa. The moment she was inside, his hand settled on the small of her back, touch firm even through the thick fabric of his cloak. It felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her as he guided her through the foyer and up the stairs. Rook must have walked this path a thousand times, but now, everything appeared new, hazy. Like she was seeing things for the first time, through fresh eyes. 

A few of the household staff were scrubbing the floors where they’d disposed of the Venatori earlier. As she averted her gaze, flustered, Lucanis quickly pulled her down a secluded hallway to his chambers, shutting and locking the door behind them. 

Not one for flair, Lucanis’ room was plain, unlike Caterina’s. It mirrored his grandmother’s only in layout: a fireplace on the far wall next to the door leading to a private bath, a desk beneath one window, and a wardrobe stationed across from it. A king sized bed with a large canopy occupied the east wall, the sheen of the dark sheets catching in the moonlight that filtered in through the curtains. 

“Just as I left it,” He said, leaving her in the doorway and crouching before the fireplace, arranging wood in the hearth. 

Rook explored the perimeter as he retrieved something from his pocket to use as kindling. His desk was neatly arranged, stacked correspondence well over a year old on one side, while blank pages and ink sat at the ready on the other. Lucanis hadn’t returned to this place since before the Venatori had taken him, yet he acted as if he’d never been away. 

“Is it strange, being back here?”

He huffed bitterly, striking a match on the mantle and bringing it to an edge of a piece of parchment. “The Ossuary was stranger.” 

“This might be the only room in this house I’ve never visited,” Rook mused, running a hand over the duvet. Orlesian silk. Of course. Nicer than the guest suite. 

Lucanis waited for the flaming paper to catch the oak logs before rising from his crouch and crossing the room. 

“You’re always welcome here,” He said in a voice that carried the heaviness of longing and a faint tremor of nervousness. His hands glided along the cape he’d lent her, silently asking permission to remove it. Rook dipped her chin, and he took it off and hung it up in the wardrobe. He lingered there, staring at the ground as he unbuttoned his vest.

“I’d enjoy your company this evening. In whatever capacity you’d find most appealing,” He said, slowly loosening his cravat. “But if this is too much for you, I will happily escort you to the guest room…”

He undressed down to his trousers and undershirt, unlacing his boots and setting them beside the wardrobe. Eyes locked on him as he turned towards her, Rook removed her heels, tossing them aside. They clattered against the hardwood floor, the only sound other than the crackle of the fire. 

From his breast pocket, Lucanis retrieved a small butterfly knife and, with a swift flick of his wrist, freed the blade. 

“Would you like some help with that dress?”

”No cutting!” She threw out a hand in protest. “This is on loan.” 

His nose twitched with amusement, soft adoration gleaming in his eyes. 

“No cutting,” He echoed, setting the knife on the windowsill and stepping behind her. His fingers brushed hers, shooing them away as he untied the gown’s back. Rook stood, unmoving, as he worked. 

“It’s been a long time for me, Lucanis. Since I-“

“I’m not worried about that.” He tugged the corset’s final ribbon loose. “Would you like a change of clothes? I can try to find you something more comfortable.”

The dress relaxed around Rook’s waist, and she spared a look over her shoulder, meeting Lucanis’ eyes as she let the gown pool at her feet. She’d chosen to forgo a bustier underneath, and stood before him only in her underwear, leaving little to the imagination. 

It seemed to work in her favor. 

“This is fine.” She said, stepping forward to loosen the top button of his shirt. 

Lucanis’ cheeks bore a slight hint of red as he averted his gaze. 

“I don’t do this, Rook,” He said hoarsely. 

Her fingers paused on the second clasp. “Do what?”

“I don’t get close. I don’t allow myself to feel …” 

She rocked forward on her toes, tugging him down by his collar and kissing him chastly. The tension in Lucanis’ shoulders disappeared, and he reached to cup her cheek in his palm as he pulled away. His head tilted to the side as he stared at her, looking like a man in complete agony. 

He looked like a man in love.

“You are so beautiful.” His thumb traced the structure of her face with wonder. “People stare too often and do not speak it enough.”

Crooking his index finger under her chin, he brought her lips to ghost against his. 

“I think about you all the time, Fiammetta. To be with you in this way… it is a privilege.” 

He kissed her ardently, letting his hand slide to her jaw, thumb caressing her cheek. She gave in, hands roaming the back of his shirt, clutching in the fabric there as he held her by her elbows, guiding her gently backwards. The bed creaked beneath their shared weight as he climbed on top of her, and Rook blindly fumbled with the buttons of his shirt again. Lucanis’ fingers met hers to assist, deftly pulling apart each clasp and sliding it off behind him. Without breaking the kiss, he crawled forward, pressing her deeper into the mattress. 

“If this is moving too fast-”

She shook her head, hair splayed around her on the sheets. “Maker, no, no. I just-”

“Perhaps I don’t have the resume of your previous lovers, but I promise-”

Rook touched a finger to his lips, cutting him off. 

“I’m not worried about that.” She said, echoing his words from earlier. 

He claimed her mouth with his own in a kiss messier, hungrier than the last. No longer filled with doubt or hesitation, he was exploring freely. Starved to touch her, and to be touched in return. 

Rook’s hands moved lower, palming at the seam where his arousal throbbed against his trousers, and Lucanis groaned. 

“Slow down, Rook.” He chuckled, sliding to the floor and staring up at her reverently. “I want to take my time with you.”

This was the second occasion she’d brought a Dellamorte to their knees tonight. 

Slowly, he reached up the length of her legs before grasping her thighs, spreading them apart and tugging her closer, pressing a soft kiss over the front of her panties. One finger hooked under the hem, and he pulled them aside, running his thumb down her center. He hummed pleasantly at the slickness he found there.

“May I?” He asked under lowered eyelids. Speechless, she could only nod eagerly. 

With a smirk, he tugged her underwear down and abandoned them on the floor behind him. With a ragged breath, he dove between her thighs, dragging his tongue flat against her and drawing an exploratory, teasing line upward in one deliberate sweep.

Rook bucked her hips, whining desperately for contact, and he shifted his weight back with a wicked grin.

“Fiammetta… patience… ” he grasped her roughly under the ribcage and pushed her against the pillows as he joined her on the bed. “I want this to be good for you.”

Settled on his stomach, he spread her before him once again, hands sliding down to secure her in place. His tongue briefly dipped inside of her, drawing up towards her clit and working it in circles with his tongue. Soft grunts and moans from Lucanis reverberated through her as his fingers dug into her thighs. Rook held her breath, hands searching to weave through his long, dark locks as she squeezed her eyes shut. He groaned with approval as she tugged his hair at the roots, and she glanced down to find his gaze fixed on her face as his mouth worked against her, assessing her pleasure. Worshipping her. Something about the sight made her even more frantic to touch him, to be touched by him. 

He withdrew, staring at her naked form appreciatively before planting a kiss on each inner thigh. Curiosity, he inserted his middle finger inside of her, mouth slightly parted in a taunting half smirk as she writhed in response, spewing nonsense phrases between moans, begging for him to use his mouth on her again.

“That’s it…” he murmured, inserting a second finger more boldly, obliging the demand of her hips and drawing his tongue to the most sensitive part of her clit, lingering there until he provoked a telltale whimper that encouraged him to keep his focus upon that particular spot. 

Rook yanked a pillow from beside her, biting into the silk to muffle her urge to scream his name. The staff in the hall would already be spreading rumors by morning, she wasn’t adding grease to the fire. If Viago caught wind that they’d snuck off together, he’d kill them both. Maybe even personally. 

Lucanis tracked her every movement from below, his free hand abandoning her thigh to squeeze the curve of her waist, dragging down over her stomach, fingers digging into the soft flesh there as Rook’s belly coiled tightly with a telltale burn. 

She sank into the sensation, chasing her orgasm over the edge until a cry caught in her throat, reduced to a muffled squeak of pleasure as she turned her head, burying her face in the pillow again. Lucanis remained between her legs, continuing at his set pace until her sex spasmed and pulsated with overstimulation. 

He swept his thumb across his lips, sitting on his heels.

“Do you always have such trouble keeping still, or am I special?” 

Rook pulled a pillow from behind her and threw it at his face. Lucanis deflected it and crawled over her, kissing her softly. She could taste herself on his tongue as the outline in his trousers throbbed against her thigh.

“You’re very good at that,” She panted.

“I’ve found in my line of work that enthusiasm is key to doing anything well.” He said smugly, “Also, Bellara has been loaning me some very intriguing novellas.” 

“Oh? Have you been studying them?”

“I know I said you were welcome to my secrets, but allow me to keep just a few, mm?”

He glanced across the room and rolled off the bed, unbuttoning his trousers hesitantly. Concerned by his distant stare, Rook took a pillow and hugged it to her chest, suddenly feeling overexposed. 

“Is something the matter?”

Lucanis swallowed, avoiding her gaze.

“So much of my life has been work, killing… I have not had time for entanglements or intimacy. Now that I’ve found it with you, I…” 

He drug a hand down his face, keeping a palm over his mouth as he let out an exasperated stream of air through his nose. 

“Mierda, look at you!” He tore his hand away, gesturing at her naked form. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“What you just did was a pretty good start.” 

Lucanis held her gaze for several beats of silence, unphased by her words, before releasing his hold on the waistband of his trousers, letting them fall to his thighs, all his intent there for her to see, hard and wanting. With a hungry kiss, she felt him brush against her thigh as he crawled over her. He reached down, pumping himself, the slickness gathered between her legs seeping onto his fingers.  

“Rook...” He let his head drop back as he entered her slowly.

Her breath hitched, nails digging into his shoulder blades as she adjusted to the size of him. She arched her back and rolled her hips against his, and Lucanis sucked in a sharp inhale through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Maker, Fiammetta! If you do that, I don’t know how long I can-”

The Demon of Vyrantium was begging. Whining her name. This might prove to be her most successful night as a Crow, yet. 

A strangled noise of pleasure escaped him as she kissed down the length of his clavicle. He thrust at a slow, controlled pace, arms trembling next to her. One hand sliding between their bodies, Rook drug her fingertips across his stomach, smirking as his abdomen twitched in response.

Lucanis gasped, pressing his forehead to her shoulder and choking out a litany of Antivan curses as he watched himself move against her. His thrusts became more disjointed, and how he maintained such an adoring demeanor while fucking her like this was a mystery. 

Rook moaned as he drove himself into her with more force. She leaned forward and nipped at his collarbone, keeping her mouth there and sucking hard enough to leave a bruise to admire the following morning. Lucanis’ knuckles turned white as his hands fisted in the sheets on either side of her.

With a desperate groan, he spilled himself inside of her, collapsing onto his elbows and weaving his fingers through her hair. He kept his lips pressed to hers through his orgasm, until he stilled, resting his forehead on her shoulder as he caught his breath. 

“Mierda,” He panted, pressing his face into the crook of her neck and shuddering with a low, contented chuckle. “You truly will be the death of me.”

“You think Spite could permit you a good night’s sleep after that?” 

“He seems amenable to the idea,” He purred in her ear, his lips leaving a trail of goosebumps where they brushed her skin. “if you’re staying.” 

He carefully pulled out and collapsed at her side, their bodies sweaty and spent. Tracing his fingertips over the curve of her hip, his eyes seemed to quiver as he searched her face. 

“I believe I might fear this night slipping through my grasp more than a knife to the back.”

The brown of his irises warmed in the firelight, a comfort she longed to get lost in. Something gnawed at the base of her throat, leaving her insides hollow, and she shuddered.

“I’m scared.” she rasped suddenly.

Lucanis’ hold on her loosened. “Of me?”

“Of everything.” She whispered, “But… not you. Not like you think.”

The mattress dipped under his weight as he moved closer, snaking one arm under her waist and the other over her middle. He pulled her against his chest, burying his face in her neck. 

“Burn my contract. I’ll kill anyone you ask me to - god or man - if it keeps you safe.”

Chapter Text

Lucanis stirred at dawn, the embers of the fireplace long turned to ashes. Nestled in the crook of his arm, Rook shifted and groaned softly, her dark hair splayed across her face. He reached around, brushing a lock from over the bridge of her nose behind her ear, and carefully slipped out of bed.

“Something wrong? With Rook?”

Spite’s voice was far more quiet than usual. Lucanis wasn’t sure if it came instinctively to the demon, or if he was so concerned about Rook that he’d resorted to hushed whispers as his phantom-like form hovered over her as she slept.

“She’s just dreaming, Spite. Leave her be.” 

He pulled the curtain aside and glanced out at the sun rising over the gardens. Caterina would be awake soon, if she wasn’t already. Better he find her in the kitchen than for her to come knocking on his door. 

He bathed and dressed, scribbling a few words on a piece of parchment from his desk. Carefully, he pressed his lips to Rook’s temple and left the note on his side of the sheets. She grumbled something and swiped weakly at him before rolling over. He grinned, watching her resume her deep slumber before slipping into the hall.

“Caterina. Then return here!”

“That’s the plan.” He said to Spite under his breath.

Lucanis had never woken with a woman next to him before, let alone someone he felt so strongly about. He’d imagined it so differently. In another life, he would make breakfast, coffee, remain in bed until the afternoon and listen to her talk…

Mierda . He already hated this Talon business. After the Wigmaker job, he and his cousin had toasted to Illario’s future as First. Lucanis wanted none of the notoriety, the demands, the politics of it all. Had Ilario been patient and trusted him, things might have turned out differently…

And now nobody had what they wanted. Not really. Even with Rook in his bed, Lucanis had doubts about what it meant for them. Had they moved too quickly?

At the dining room table, Caterina was already situated with her breakfast, reading through a heap of correspondence. Evidently Illario had not delivered her mail while he had her locked away.

“Well, what was so urgent that you had to abandon your own celebration?” She didn’t bother to look at him as she scrawled something down.

Lucanis tensed and poured himself a cup of coffee, avoiding her eyes. He felt like a child again, as if her cane would come down across his shoulders at any moment. 

“I apologize. Rook and I were called away by an urgent matter-”

“Save it. I was young once.” Caterina snipped, cutting into her grapefruit with a spoon. “I know exactly what urgent matter you needed to address under my roof.”

Across the room, Lucanis caught one of the staff staring and shot her a disapproving glare until she blushed and hurried into the hall.

“Just don’t get that girl pregnant. Weddings and pregnancies are opportune times for enemies to present themselves.”

“Rook is not-!”

“Caterina,” Lucanis squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his nose, praying to the Maker this did not turn into another nosebleed before he had the chance to explain Spite to his grandmother, “if we could talk about anything else…”

“Fine. We will talk about this.” She pushed her plate across the table. “I watched Fiammetta fight last night. Dante failed that girl. We train our children the way we do for a reason! But he abandoned Crow tradition the second he kicked the hornet’s nest that was the Antaam’s wrath!”

Waving her spoon in the air, she continued ranting.

“Dante never taught her to stay out of trouble, because he assumed trouble would always find her. Typical fathers, underestimating their daughters!” Caterina scoffed. “Fiammetta didn’t learn the instincts you and Illario did. Viago’s influence is the only reason she learned our ways fast enough to become a Crow.”

“Yet even with all Illario’s training, Fiamma still brought him to his knees.” Lucanis said in a warning voice. “You give her too little credit.”

“ You brought him to his knees. Had he not had such a soft spot for her, she’d be dead. And every House watching that display last night knows it. Illario took a hostage when he could have easily taken a life. The Crows saw her exploit his weakness, not demonstrate her strength!”

“We! Brought him! To his knees!”  

Frustration and confusion warred in Lucanis’ eyes.

“Do you not care for her, Caterina, is that it? Did you try to chase her off during your private chat last night?” 

“If that were the case, I would not have wasted my time.”

“Then what is this about ?”

“Do you really think it was Viago ’s idea to send her here as punishment?” Caterina sneered. “Fiammetta has potential. I had every intention of molding her into a better Crow during our time together, but she is beyond my reach now. You, however, can still help her.”

“You are not so charitable, Caterina. What do you get out of this?”

“You have always been such a romantic, Lucanis. Better you end up with someone like her, than someone who would take advantage of your position. House de Riva would be a strong, worthy, connection-”

“Enough.” 

Lucanis knew better than to raise his voice at his grandmother, but as he set his coffee mug down on the countertop, it took exceptional effort to remain composed.

“Let me make myself clear. I will take up the mantle of First Talon, and one day when you are gone, I will lead the Crows. Whatever is left of the Dellamorte name’s honor will be preserved by me. This House will endure.”

His fingers pressed hard against the ancient oak table as he leaned his weight over it.

“But if I end up with Fiammetta de Riva, it will be because it was not just my choice, but hers . Not the result of another plan you orchestrated. Not the future you decided for me.”

“I am not a matchmaker,” Caterina snapped, “I’d prefer you to remain alone than endure the loss, the paranoia , that comes with First Talon! If I could spare you that fate, I would, but I fought too hard, lost too much, to relinquish our title to another House. But if you insist on falling in love, do not choose someone that would die so easily.” 

Lucanis found both himself and Spite without words. Caterina was not a vulnerable person, but this was as close as he’d ever gotten to hearing some semblance of mourning from her. 

“You do not reach my age without becoming well acquainted with death. I have watched generations of Crows from birth to death, the rise and fall of Houses scratched from history books. I have killed people I once considered friends and lovers. That garden is fertilized by the bodies of my family, my children . I am wise enough to avoid arrogance, so believe me when I say that no Crow knows death better than me .”

Emotion did not betray her features as she spoke with unwavering conviction. Caterina looked down, stirring a dash of milk into her espresso. The porcelain cup, expertly crafted from bone ash, produced a delicate sound that contrasted his grandmother’s harsh tone.

“Never let your guard down around what you love, and always expect that you will lose it, anyway.”

Following one of the deepest sleeps she’d had in quite some time, Rook reached across the mattress for Lucanis, her fingers brushing only the cool, smooth silk sheets. She squinted at the sunlight peeking through the curtains, catching the dust motes dancing in the air. A part of her questioned if it had all been a dream until she found a neatly folded note where Lucanis had slept.

In the unfortunate event you wake before I return, make yourself at home. - L

A slow smile spread across her face as she laid on her stomach, clutching his message tightly in both hands and rolling onto her back to stare at the bed canopy.

Lucanis Dellamorte invited her to his bed. How deep this went, she didn’t have the slightest idea, but just this once, she got something she wanted. Whatever happened next, no one could take last night from her. 

The marble floor was icy beneath her bare feet as she padded to the bathroom. No expense had been spared on the deep, clawfoot tub, or the floor to ceiling length mirror by the sink. Rook examined her disheveled hair, the raised welts and purple bruises blooming on her skin, before turning the tub faucet. The tap instantly delivered scalding hot water, and she winced as it burned her fingertips. Even Viago didn’t enjoy such luxuries. Caterina must have paid a fortune for these kinds of enchantments.

She bathed slowly, taking the time to sample Lucanis’ extensive collection of bath oils and salts from across Tevinter, just long enough to hear the door open in the bedroom. Rook stood and snatched a towel, wrapping it around herself just as Lucanis peeked inside the bathroom. 

“I brought you coffee. And these.” He set a folded stack of clothes on the counter. “They’re clean. You left them behind in the guestroom. Your boots are by the door and the staff are laundering your dirty clothes.”

She cocked her head at his distant tone, frowning as he ducked out the door. Wet footprints and puddles glistened in her wake as she crossed the bathroom floor, catching Lucanis by the wrist. He stiffened at the unexpected contact, and she pulled in him forcefully, jolting with surprise as her lips pressed against his. At last, he relented, one arm instinctively snaking around her waist as he melted into the kiss.

“You’re so reserved this morning,” She mumbled against his lips, “what happened?”

“Caterina.” He muttered, pulling away. As he retreated from the room, Rook let her towel drop to the floor and slipped on the clothes he’d brought her. The leather drug against her damp skin, fitting loosely on her torso. Leading in Varric’s absence had taken its toll on her body, and her old clothes highlighted her health’s decline. She felt a slight pang as she mourned her old self.

“Is your grandmother cross with you for leaving early?” Rook asked, flipping her damp hair out of her shirt and combing her fingers through it. As she stepped back into the bedroom, she found Lucanis on the edge of the mattress, attention fixed on her silk gown from the previous evening. Was he having regrets? 

“No, she’s…” He drug a hand down his face, a weary sigh escaping his lips. “Just more eager for me to take her role than I had expected.”

“Can’t say she hasn’t earned her retirement,” Rook said, joining him, “but it’ll have to wait until these gods are dealt with.” 

Lucanis shook his head. “I won’t abandon our contract, Rook. I gave you my word.”

“I thought you wanted me to burn your contract?”

“I meant it.” Lucanis remained on edge, but his expression softened. “But you’d still have my word.” 

Rook’s heart thudded in her chest, an ache in her stomach intensifying as she watched him, brows furrowed in deep thought, beside her.

“Did we… make a mistake?” Her voice wavered slightly, and she regretted her words as soon as she spoke them. She wasn’t certain she wanted an answer.

Lucanis’ eyes widened.

“No, of course not! Last night was…” His voice faltered, and his palm slid over her leg, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake before coming to rest on her knee. “It meant a lot to me, Rook.”

Her eyes darted away uncomfortably.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, I just would hate for you to-”

Lucanis interrupted her words, his hand sliding behind her head, pulling her closer until their lips met in a fervent kiss. The initiation flooded her with relief, and as he released her, his hand lingered on the back of her neck.

“Whatever this is?” He whispered with a smile, “I’ll take it.” He stood up, his movements accompanied by the creaking of the bedsprings, and brushed the wrinkles from his perfectly tailored trousers. “Viago is going to have questions, you know. We didn’t return through the eluvian with Davrin.” 

“This is hardly Viago’s business-“

“Since when has Viago minded his own business, Fiammetta?” Lucanis tilted his head with a grin. “Certainly not when it comes to you.” 

“Let me handle that.”

She stood up with a wink, retrieving her weapons from where Lucanis had set them on the coffee table and sheathing them at her waist.

“I’ll see you back at the Lighthouse?” She asked, a mischievous grin playing on her lips as she tugged on her boots.

Lucanis forced a flat smile and nodded. 

“I look forward to it.” 

His gaze followed her to the door. Whatever had been troubling him still lingered there, but she didn’t dare ask about it.

“Rook?” He called after her. She glanced over her shoulder as her fingertips hesitated on the handle. 

“Watch your back today. After what happened with Illario…”

“I prefer when you watch it,” There was a playful challenge in her tone as her eyes glittered in the sunlight, “but I fare just fine on my own.”

“Shouldn’t you be babysitting?” Rook asked as she strode into the Cantori Diamond. Viago was alone at his desk, shuffling through a few papers. 

“It’s Teia’s turn,” He said without looking up. 

“You have a lot of trust in Illario.”

“I have a lot of trust in her.” 

Viago set his pen down, massaging his temples with his thumb and forefinger.

“We had a… productive talk. After I had him personally move your giant mirror back here. I don’t think he could so much as climb a staircase if he tried, between the swollen muscles and bruised ego.”

Rook considered a scathing remark, but something in her cousin’s face softened her. 

“I’m sorry, about yesterday. You caught me at a bad time.” 

“No, I…” Viago exhaled and dragged a gloved hand across his face. “Perhaps Teia is right. I am… hard on you.”

“You taught me… everything. It’s kept me alive. I could stand to be more appreciative.”

Viago’s brows knitted as if he doubted the intentions of her gratitude.

“Maybe my methods are no improvement over your father’s, but… I have high expectations of you because I know you are capable of rising to the occasion.”

Her cousin averted his gaze, clearly uncomfortable with his admission. Rook blinked in surprise, sparing him a verbal jab and glancing across the room.

“That being said, your fighting yesterday evening was sloppy.”

Ah, there it was. 

“Never miss an opportunity for criticism, do you, cousin?”

“You still lack the important teachings. Discernment, knowing your enemy, how to avoid a fight in the first place…” Viago’s lip curled, “But I blame your father, not you.”

“This I have to hear.”

“Then stop interrupting me and listen, Fiammetta!” Viago snarled. “ He didn’t care if you fought well, so long as you survived long enough for him to swoop in and save you. You shouldn’t need anyone to save you. I won’t always be around to, and you can’t hide behind Lucanis’ rank-”

“Excuse me? What does Lucanis have to do with any of this?”

“Is that not a Dellamorte heirloom on your finger? You did not join your friend to take the eluvian back to the Lighthouse after the party. Do you think I was born yesterday?”

Fuck. Nothing got past Viago.

“Caterina gave me this ring.” Rook insisted.

Viago shook his head and laughed bitterly.

“Cousin, you have no idea what you’ve accepted. Gifts from Caterina Dellamorte do not come without strings.”

“What could she possibly want from me?”

“Grandchildren. Legacy. Rebuilding the Dellamorte line.” He suggested, clearly displeased to be the one pointing it out. “You are the only woman Lucanis has ever shown a public interest in. Don’t think you are immune to her schemes, Fiamma.”

Rook examined Caterina’s ring with discomfort. Had it not been so sentimental, she’d have ripped it from her hand and thrown it in the canals by now. Maybe she could pawn it in the casino downstairs.

“I’m not the marriage and family type.” 

“No Crow thinks they are until…”

Viago swallowed uncomfortably, rearranging the papers in front of him. 

“I’m asking Teia to marry me.” He announced, clearing his throat. “When this is all over.”

Rook carefully schooled her expression of shock, not wishing to draw attention to them.

“Did you get her pregnant?”

“What? No! Do you take us for fools?”

“But why? The back-and-forth between you two is so fun to watch. Why ruin a good thing with marriage ?” 

Viago scowled, leaning forward and bracing his palms on his desk.

“I want every Crow to know that to cross her is to cross me . None of the fools in Antiva would give what I’d give for her. Would sacrifice themselves, everything to ensure-” He cut himself off and hung his head. “I think of little else. It torments me. It has since the moment she asked for my help becoming Talon.”

“You’re in love.” Rook breathed. “I didn’t think it was possible for that poisonous heart to let anyone in.”

Viago pointed at her threateningly. “Say anything about this, and I’ll kill you myself.”

Rook strode across the dark courtyard to the kitchen, where she could hear the timbre of Davrin and Lucanis’ voices through the door. She pushed her way inside, finding both of them slouched in chairs before the fire, Lucanis drinking wine from a coffee mug as Davrin waved a tankard around mid-story.

“-You try fighting a hill with a sword sometime!” 

Lucanis leaned forward in his seat. “How did you kill it?”

“Lamp oil. Everything stank of burnt tentacles for miles after!”

“If the two of you were going to open a bottle, you might have told me first.” Rook said. 

“It’s not a good bottle.” Davrin slurred.

“Rook!” Lucanis’ face slackened as he noticed her arrival, setting his cup aside. “You’re back. How was Viago?”

“Worried, underneath all the thinly veiled irritation. Nothing new.” She sat on the arm of Lucanis’ chair and he blushed, glancing over his shoulder at the pantry.

“Is anyone else hungry?” He asked. “Maybe I should cook something…”

Davrin glanced between them and snorted quietly to himself. 

“You know, I was just thinking about getting some sleep. Enjoy your evening.” He said suddenly, rising to his feet and striding toward the courtyard. “Assan! Bed.”

The griffin raised his head from where he had been napping by the fire, and reluctantly stood and shook himself awake, padding out after Davrin.

As the heavy doors closed with a soft thud behind them, Rook eased herself onto Lucanis’ lap. He straightened in his seat and he caught her in his arms, his body warm against hers.

“You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?” She asked with a smirk. 

“Only enough to make Davrin feel safe spilling all his secrets.” 

She leaned back, legs dangling over the arm of the chair as she draped herself across him. “What did you learn?”

“It turns out he has a sense of humor, under all the brooding.” He bent and kissed her affectionately. “Did you learn anything today?”

“I’d tell you, but Viago would kill me. So instead, I’ll confess that I think your grandmother is up to something.” Rook offered her hand to display Caterina’s ring on her ring finger. “She insisted I take this when we were speaking in the garden, but it feels wrong.” 

Lucanis reached out, his thumb gently grazing the surface of the opal.

“How did I miss that?” He wondered aloud, voice just barely above a whisper.

“Dark rooms. Distractions.”

He hummed in agreement, his eyes distant.

“She gave that ring to my mother once. It was the mark of her favor. House Velardo killed my parents and sent it back to Caterina to demand she surrender the seat of First Talon.”

“Maker, Lucanis! It should stay with you , not-”

“Caterina’s gratitude is always symbolic.” He said, “She’d never put it in words, but if not for you, I would be dead, and that seat she lost everything for would have been stolen by my cousin, who could not possibly appreciate her sacrifices to uphold our House’s place in the Crows.”

“How long will your line fight to keep First Talon before you realize it is a curse?” Rook exclaimed as she fumbled with the band on her finger. “I don’t want whatever strings are attached to this-”

Lucanis stopped her, holding her hand and deftly securing the ring in place.

“No strings. You owe nothing to anyone .” He reassured her. “Not my grandmother. Not me.”

Uneasiness washed over Rook, and she shifted uncomfortably. Lucanis, sensing her discomfort, kissed the pulse point of her wrist, his lips soft against her skin.

“Keep it, please,” he pleaded. “It suits you. Even as a child, I knew it was meant for you.”

Rook threw her head back and groaned. “ Enough .” 

“I stole it from Caterina the morning of the funeral to present to the Flame as a gift. I looked up to him, you know. Several of us young Crows did. It was fitting - a fire opal for the Flame after he lost his wife, the Gem…” 

With a tender touch, Lucanis traced a thumb along her cheekbone. 

“But I saw you alone, and… you were the first kindred spirit I’d encountered since my parents’ deaths.”

“Yeah? How are kindred spirits working out for you now? Would Spite like to weigh in on that topic?”

Lucanis narrowed his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

His hands found her waist, lifting her from his lap and inclining his head toward the kitchen doors. 

“Come, I’ll walk you to your chambers.”

“Are you kicking me out?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of spirited defiance.

Lucanis smiled and leaned in close, lips brushing along her jawline.

“It’s clear you are unwilling to listen to my words ,” he murmured, “so I’ll have to find other ways of holding your attention until you take me seriously.”

Rook’s breath caught in her throat as desire swelled in her chest.

“I didn’t think you-” she began just as his fingertips danced down her spine.

“Go on, tell me what kind of man I am,” he challenged as he escorted her to the door. “I’d love to surprise you.”

Chapter Text

Face pressed to the exterior of the Lighthouse, Rook panted as Lucanis pinned her there, his knee digging into her back. They’d been sparring on the upper deck for hours, and as morning light spilled across the courtyard, she craved breakfast above all else. 

“I yield,” She said between breaths, watching him from the corner of her eye. 

“There’s no yielding against Venatori or Antaam. Only death.”

“Good thing you’re not a blood mage or Qunari,” She purred. 

Lucanis leaned in closer, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. 

“But I am death,” he whispered. 

Her stomach sank as her extremities suddenly became weak. Lucanis took notice, tightening his grip on her arms.

“Come on, Rook,” the playful taunt in his voice was now gone as his fingers dug into her skin, “Get yourself out of it.”

“You sound like Viago.”

“I doubt he would go this easy on you.”

She kicked back at his shin but lost her footing, cheek scraping down the stone wall. Cursing under his breath, Lucanis hoisted her up and pulled her against him. His calm demeanor thinly veiled his disappointment as he wiped the blood from her cheek. 

“Mierda. Don’t tell me you can’t do this, Rook.” He tilted his head to the side. “How am I supposed to keep you alive?”

“Let me worry about that.” She combed her fingers through her tangled hair. “You fussing over me like this isn’t doing either of us any favors.”

Lucanis released a heavy sigh and stepped back, pacing near the railing. The new First Talon had been insistent on training with her for the last three days, claiming she needed an equal to measure herself against. She hadn’t objected, and he hadn’t gone easy on her. The tenderness Lucanis showed her in the bedroom did not extend to their sessions. Viago was tough, but the Demon of Vyrantium was relentless, accepting nothing short of perfection. Something about Rook had him on edge, and she had a feeling it ventured far beyond sexual tension. 

Last night, the intensity of training followed them to bed. Lucanis wore his frustration like a cloak. He’d been uncharacteristically rough with her, to her delight, driving into her from behind while her knees were sunk in the couch cushions. Long hair tangled in one fist, he had buried his face in her neck, tender but possessive, mumbling sweet nothings. After, his cheeks flushed as he smiled at her, the frustration in his eyes replaced with adoration, she felt as if she were spending time with two different people. Three, if Spite counted. 

Lucanis harbored no secrets from her, recounting his experiences in the Ossuary in agonizing detail, the torturous childhood he forgave Caterina for, what it was like to share a body with Spite, even going so far to try to explain Spite’s feelings about their relationship. 

“He doesn’t experience sexual attraction the way we do.” Lucanis had told her, “He’s excited by my emotions and reactions to you, rather than your body or physical sensations. I’m not even sure he understands physical sensations. Anything tied to determination though - yearning, eagerness to please you, protecting you…”

“So he likes acts of service?” 

Lucanis smirked and kissed down the expanse of her torso, staring up at her once he reached her navel.  

“Not as much as I do.” 

This morning, she’d awakened to a cup of coffee on her nightstand, Spite restlessly pacing before the window of her chambers. Was it the demon setting Lucanis on edge, or something to do with his new role as First Talon? Perhaps he was still haunted by missing Ghilan’nain at Weisshaupt. Or, he questioned Rook’s ability to hold her own in a fight after Illario had nearly bested her so publicly. 

Their companions had taken notice of their closeness over the past few days, but knew better than to comment on the dynamic brewing between them. Everyone was still recovering after Harding’s rage had manifested itself into a deadly shadow, fueled by the Titans’ wrath towards the elven gods. Had Taash not been there to calm her and intervene, it was likely their friend would have brought down an entire mountain upon them all.

Lucanis leaned out over the balcony, fingers flexing on the railing contemplatively. He grunted in greeting as Rook stepped behind him, encircling her arms around his middle.

“We’ll have to stop here.” She said, standing on her toes to rest her chin on his shoulder. “I’m due to meet with the Inquisitor in Dock Town.”

Lucanis responded with a hum that bordered on a growl, a steady stream of air escaping his nostrils as he turned and let his hands settle low on her waist, a frown pulling at his mouth as he looked her over.

“Your form still needs work.”

“Does it now?” Rook asked, toying with the collar of his jacket. Lucanis held her gaze, unfazed.

“You’re too focused on your dodges to even strike. You’ve got a bad habit of dropping your hip, and your attempts at being unpredictable make you too predictable.”

She smirked. “Do I sense concern?”

“I’m doing my job,” He said, hands squeezing her hips through her clothes for emphasis.

“As part of this team? Or as my First Talon?” she asked irritably.

“As someone with a vested interested in keeping you alive . We’ve gone over this Fiammetta. Caterina chose me. I don’t have a choice.” Lucanis answered firmly. His rise to power amongst the Crows had been a sore spot between them, Rook pushing him several times to admit it wasn’t what he really wanted. 

“And you always do what your grandmother wants? You’ve never considered telling her no?”

Lucanis dropped his hands and leaned on the railing again, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s not about what Caterina wants, it’s about what duty demands.”

“Where was duty when you were trapped in the Ossuary? I saved you, not the Crows.”

His shoulders tensed, lips thinning into a hard line. “You don’t understand, Rook.”

“No. I suppose I don’t.” She snatched her daggers from the ground and sheathed them at her waist. “I should go. I’m running late.”

“Right.” Lucanis let his head fall back, staring at the sky as he took a slow breath. “Of course.” 

As Rook walked away, Lucanis reached out to stop her before his hand closed into a tight fist and fell to his side.

“Be careful.” He mumbled as she descended towards the courtyard. “We can talk when you get back.”

She didn’t bother to reply.

Rook strolled silently through Dock Town, keeping her eyes to the ground as she passed the decaying corpses still hanging overhead. She shuddered with a pang of guilt for choosing to go to Treviso first, but for all her complaints of home, she couldn’t help but feel a whisper of relief that this hadn’t happened to the Crows. That relief only brought on another wave of shame.

The Cobbled Swan was empty when she walked inside, fireplaces burning bright as she spotted the Inquisitor alone at a table near the window on her left. These meetings couldn’t be good for business. 

“It isn’t just Inquisitor , is it? You were someone before that?” Rook asked, taking a seat across from the woman. Her gaze was distant as she turned her attention from the window she’d been staring out of. She was the kind of beautiful that had endured enough hardship that she wore it proudly on her features. Her hair was swept back over one shoulder, revealing a scar down the length of her face, cutting into the border of her upper lip. 

“Of course I was, Fiammetta.” She answered, “But you understand better than anyone why I’d prefer to keep my current title.”

Rook nodded in quiet understanding, trailing a finger along the gold etched rim of the empty plate in front of her. The table was set for dinner, but there wasn’t a crumb of food in sight. Or wine, to her disappointment.

“Morrigan is holding a perimeter.” The Inquisitor adjusted in her chair and leaned forward as three large candles flickered between them. “Tell me what Solas did at Elgar’nan’s ritual.” 

Rook’s forehead creased. “Sounds like you already know.” 

“I need to hear it from you,” she said, a faint hint of desperation in her tone.

“Elgar’nan raised his Archdemon. Solas got us out of there. Because of him…” Rook cleared her throat. “Because of your friend, we saved a lot of people.”

“You sound… untrusting.”

“I’m a Crow. Distrust comes instinctually. But I am grateful. We couldn’t have done it without him.”

“He’s always thinking about how it ends.” The Inquisitor said with a bitter snort. “How many of his names do you know? God of Lies? Dread Wolf? Fen’Harel? They’re titles he earned from enemies, followers, and fractured history.”

“And which are you? Fractured history? What do you call him?”

“I once called him friend. And… I thought maybe I’d call him something more. For a time, I would have followed him anywhere he asked me to. But… now I am relieved things ended as they did.”

“You were lovers?”

“Not quite. He let me fall in love with him and then told me we couldn’t. Then, he told me not to follow, and left just enough clues to find him.”

“Hold on, you think he wanted to be stopped?”

“I think his name means ‘pride,’ and he just couldn’t stop himself. Or maybe I’m the prideful one, and can’t face my folly: that I loved someone who made grave mistakes.”

“Do you love him still?”

“I care for him, but while he went off to destroy the world, leaving me to clean up his mess, my heart was pulled in a… different direction.”

“Cullen. Harding mentioned it. He pined for you that whole time. Would you give it all up to follow Solas into that Fade prison?”

“Never. I loved Solas for his mind, for his dreams of a better world, for our shared ambitions. What I loved of himwas merely a reflection of myself. But I love Cullen because he is… Cullen.” Her eyes traveled over Rook’s shoulder, distant, determined. “But perhaps, after we save the world, Solas will listen to an old friend one last time. He owes me that.”

“And Cullen is enough? He really makes you happy?”

“He is not some consolation prize. Sometimes a greater love is revealed to us by the loss of an inferior one.” She glanced back out the window, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. “But enough about me. Tell me about you and Lucanis.”

Rook blinked.

“What? Who- how did you-”

“Morrigan has eyes everywhere.”

“Of course she does. Perhaps she could consider becoming a Crow.”

“She might, but she’d take it far too literally.”

Rook hummed in acknowledgement.

“It’s… complicated. We’ve known one another since childhood. He’s very important to me, but…”

“You’re not sure you outrank his dedication to the role of First Talon?” The Inquisitor asked. “I don’t blame you. He’s been groomed his whole life for that role, has he not? And with Caterina prodding the two of you closer and closer together-”

“What?” Rook threw her head back and laughed. “No, no. Caterina played no role in Lucanis and I. It just… happened. She’d never encourage her grandsons to waste their time on courtship.”

“Oh. My apologies. Morrigan’s gossip has been known to be… ambitious.”

Rook’s brow furrowed. “Out of curiosity, just what was this gossip?”

The Inquisitor hesitated. “Morrigan’s informant is one of the staff in the First Talon’s villa. There was… talk of a heated exchange between her and her grandson over you.”

“Over what exactly?” Rook demanded. 

“Something about joining Houses de Riva and Dellamorte?” she bit her lip and winced. “I believe the word matchmaker was used.”

Lucanis stared at the pantry ceiling, one arm tucked under his head. He’d lost some time to Spite earlier, but was reassured by the demon it was only to visit with Curiosity. Emmrich had later informed him that the spirit was interested in magic. Mierda. 

“Lucanis!”

Just as Rook’s muffled voice echoed from behind the door, it slammed open, colliding with the wall and shaking the shelves lining the room. Ceramics and coffee mugs rattled against one another with a dainty and high pitched clinking sound, trembling in the presence of Rook’s fury. 

“Smells like lightning and smoke-”

She flew into the room, eyes glossy, cheeks bright red. There was an aura of static surrounding her, as if it danced upon her skin. 

“Rook?” Lucanis asked, face pinched with concern as he tried to assess what had her so furious. 

“You Dellamortes think you can have everything, don’t you? Well, you can’t have me , Lucanis. Not like that.” 

He knitted his brows together, standing and holding his palms in front of himself and taking slow steps in her direction. 

“Why don’t you take a deep breath and start at the beginning?”

She wrenched the opal ring off of her middle finger, as if it were burning her, and thrust it towards him with such force he was certain for a moment she was going to punch him in the chest. 

“I knew it came with strings,” she snarled.

Lucanis stared, his mother’s ring cradled precariously between his thumb and forefinger. He enclosed it in his fist and shoved both hands into his pockets before leaning against the wall. It didn’t matter what Rook had heard or how much truth there was to it. It was more than clear she’d caught wind of Caterina’s intentions, and even if he’d had no part in his grandmother’s scheming, he owed her an explanation.  

“Close the door and sit,” He spoke it like an invitation, rather than a demand. Rook crossed her arms and widened her stance.

“Are you asking? Or is that an order, First Talon?”

He sighed through his nose, brushing past her just in time to give Taash and Bellara a disapproving look from where they were eavesdropping outside. The two scattered in the direction of the courtyard as he slammed the door and returned his hands to his pockets. 

“I told you there were no strings, and I meant it. Whatever Caterina had been planning, I told her to leave you out of it, that anything between you and me had nothing to do with - and would not be influenced by - her wishes.” 

“There’s a mole in your grandmother’s house.” Rook said coldly, “They told the Inquisitor’s friend about the conversation between you and Caterina the morning after we slept together at the villa.” 

“I’ll handle that later,” Lucanis said darkly. “Right now, I’m more concerned that you think I would agree to use you as a political pawn.”

Rook narrowed her eyes. “You really had no idea?”

“You know Caterina. Nobody knows her cards until she plays them.” He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, gesturing for her to join him. “I’m as displeased about this as you are.”

She sat, demeanor softening but remaining closed off. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? That’s what’s been bothering you, isn’t it?”

He raked a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping.

“I thought I had handled it. I told Caterina to stay out of things. I didn’t want you to think that this…” he gestured between them, his brown eyes searching her face.

“Did you actually believe…?” Lucanis cut himself off, filled with an odd sensation of dread he didn’t want to linger in. He looked away instead, fingers tapping against his thigh as his throat tightened. “My feelings aren’t casual, Rook. I wouldn’t… use you.” 

“Yet I can’t help but feel I haven’t gotten the real you since the night...” Her voice trailed off, replaced by uncertainty, “Is there something about me-”

Lucanis bristled, shifting his weight onto the hip closest to her and reaching for her hand. 

“I wouldn’t change a thing about you, Rook.”

“Just the way I fight.” She said bitterly. 

He blinked, his brows furrowing. “What?”

“You’ve been training me the way Viago did after my father died. You’re desperate. I know I let Illario get too close in that fight. Enough that Caterina probably had something to say about it. She got in your head, didn’t she?”

“Rook…” he started, the muscles in his jaw twitching. She was as perceptive as ever. Caterina had underestimated her, and he had, too. A mistake he didn’t intend to make again.

Rook wasn’t sloppy. She’d set a trap for his cousin. She threw herself in the line of fire for him , because she knew Illario wouldn’t hurt her, which meant she…

“You want that life for yourself, Lucanis? Like Caterina? Forever looking over your shoulder? You don’t have to do this. Viago could take it. We could leave. When this is all over, we can-”

“You know what happens to deserters, Fiammetta.”

Rook chewed her lip and shook her head. “Caterina wouldn’t kill her own grandson.”

“But she would kill you. I won’t risk it.”

She swallowed. “Do you remember the stories? Zevran Arainai escaped-”

“And he’s sentenced to death on sight in Antiva!” Lucanis said, voice rising. “I don’t think you understand…”

“You’re right. Because I didn’t grow up in a villa destined to be a leader. I grew up in the dirt .”

“That is not-”

“The only thing about me that is good enough for your grandmother is my house name.” She said, rising to her feet. “If you’re First Talon long enough, I think you’ll come to feel the same.”

Lucanis flinched at her words, jaw slackening in disbelief. 

“ What are you doing?!”

Spite raged inside of his mind, and his nose pricked, a drop of blood falling to the floor below. He stumbled backwards, cursing as his hand flew to his face, crimson smearing over his palm. Eyes squeezed shut, he sensed Spite edging towards control.

“Rook…”

Blood trailed down over his lips and Lucanis tasted copper as Spite clawed at every thought, at his limbs. Bracing one hand on the wall, he pinched his nostrils shut. Rook watched him with an agonized expression, lingering in the doorway with glistening eyes. 

“Spite, stop…” she croaked, hastily swiping a tear from her cheek as she took a hesitant step closer. 

The demon retreated, and Lucanis sniffed, wiping his face with the back of his wrist. 

“I’d never ask you to change.” He said, desperately holding her gaze as the stream of blood slowed from his nose, “There will never be anyone else. Not for me.”

“Lucanis… I can’t.” She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself.

“We can stop training. I’ll talk to Caterina-”

“No. You were right, before. This isn’t a good idea. Forget I said anything. I’m sorry-”

Rook grasped the doorframe and pulled herself from the room, as if it took all of her strength to remove herself from his presence.

Her quick and mismatched footsteps were underscored by stifled, high-pitched sobs as she pushed herself through the kitchen into the courtyard. Even the doors creaked in protest as she left. 

When Spite came back for control again, Lucanis didn’t have any fight left in him.

Chapter Text

Citizens ambled through the busy Cantori Diamond, occasionally brushing against the shoulders of Rook’s coat as she weaved through the crowd on her way to Viago’s office. Scowls and shouting came from betting tables, while in the darker corners of the casino, men inconspicuously received handjobs or head. Behind her, a drunk was thrown out by the collar of his shirts.

What a lovely place to conduct business.  

Reaching the security staff in front of the stairs, she nodded with impatient acknowledgment. With a grunt, two men stepped aside and let her pass before resuming their post. 

Lucanis had disappeared after their talk in the kitchen, save for a brief interaction where Spite found her in the courtyard, feet dangling over the edge into oblivion. She hadn’t needed to recognize the familiar gait behind her. 

“Hello, Spite.” 

“You. Have a prison. Like Lucanis.” He had said. “Shame. Loneliness. Resentment. Crows. Hurt you.”

“They hurt Lucanis, too. ” 

Spite went silent then, eyes shifting back and forth as he stared into the nothingness below, searching for a way to articulate his thoughts. 

“He is afraid. Of losing. Rook.”

“I belong to no one.”

“Lucanis. Is not. Prison!”

Frustrated, the demon began to pace. It couldn’t be easy, Rook thought to herself, for a spirit to possess so much knowledge, but have such difficulty communicating through its host. Was he searching through Lucanis’ thoughts like one would a stack of files? Was every motive shared, or could there be secrets kept between the two? 

“Lucanis let you in. To his prison . Now you let him in!”

After the outburst, she quickly excused herself from the encounter and went to bed, eager to think about anything else. To her relief, Spite had not followed. Three days had since passed, and when Bellara hadn’t noticed even one stray coffee mug during that time, Rook had a sinking feeling something was terribly wrong. 

“Fi!”

As Rook reached the top of the stairs, Teia jumped down from where she’d been sitting on Viago’s desk, pulling her friend into a tight embrace. Over her shoulder, Rook scanned the room, noticing to her dismay that Lucanis wasn’t present, but his cousin was. Legs crossed on a nearby couch, Illario cocked his head with interest as their eyes met. 

“When are you coming home?” Teia asked, pulling back and gripping Rook by the front of her coat. “You can’t just abandon me here with these two again!” 

“Eventually…” Rook glared at Illario until he shamefully redirected his attention to stare at the opposite wall. Carefully, she pried Teia off of her and glanced around the room. “Has Lucanis been by?”

“A contract came in two days ago requesting him specifically.” Viago said, flipping through a newspaper on his desk. “The money was too good to turn down, and he had the time. Apparently, you don’t keep him busy enough.”

“What kind of contract?” Rook asked warily, “Hopefully not one your new assistant is involved in?”

“You think I set him up?” Illario called from his seat, smiling and feigning disbelief as he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Enough,” Teia chastised, stepping between them and putting a hand on each of their shoulders. “Illario is being rehabilitated. Don’t provoke him.”

“I didn’t know you took in strays,” Rook said innocently, returning Illario’s scowl with a mocking smile. “Tell me about Lucanis’ contract.”

“I wasn’t privy to details,” Viago said irritably. “Enzo Cortez requested a meeting.” 

“If it’s so easy, why hasn’t Lucanis completed it yet?”

“Vi, after what happened at the summit with Emil, you don’t think a request for an audience with the First Talon is a reason for concern?” Teia asked. 

Her cousin paused, placing a finger on the news page to hold his place. 

“Enzo doesn’t share his grandfather’s ambitions, and he’s half the assassin Lucanis is. Unless you think his passenger could cause issues.”

“It’s not Spite I worry about,” Rook said, glancing at Illario. “Does the Cortez family ever dabble in blood magic?”

He examined the tip of his glove disinterestedly. “They prefer being mixed up in Antaam business.”

“You failed to mention that,” Viago growled, shaking his head and taking his cloak from where it was draped over a nearby chair. “Forget professionalism. I’d like to check in on this contract .” 

“Wait up,” Teia said, grabbing her knives from the desk. 

“You coming?” Rook asked Illario.

“Is that an invitation?”

“It’s an order.” Viago said, thumping the back of his skull and falling in step beside Teia.

“For someone who claims to have cut ties with the lowlives of this city, you knew exactly where to go,” Rook muttered as Illario led them through Treviso’s warehouse district.

“It’s in the contract, Fiammetta. Unless you’ve forgotten how to read. Is that why you had to change your name to Rook? Fewer letters?”

“Enough. Both of you.” Viago shoved between them and cracked open a metal door. It creaked loudly before falling off the hinges onto the stone floor, sending a resounding slam throughout the rest of the warehouse.

“Announcing your arrival? I like your style,” Teia said, stepping over the rubble and checking the perimeter of the room.

“It’s too quiet here.” The Fifth Talon unsheathed his daggers. “This was supposed to be an easy job.”

As they rounded a corner, they were greeted by several bodies. Rook nudged one with her foot, noting that despite being in full rigor, the corpse hadn’t been cold for more than a day. So, Lucanis had passed through here… but where had he gone after? 

“Over here.” Illario hissed, peeking through a crack in another door. Rook joined him, stepping out onto another rooftop and watching her breath in the cold night air as she surveyed the horizon. She followed Illario’s outstretched finger to a beam connecting two unstable platforms and suppressed a groan of annoyance. Lucanis was never one to take the conventional way in. Which was what made it even more surprising he could be caught at all. Why was this the job he fell short on? 

One by one, the four Crows held out their arms for balance and crossed the beam, hopping off and descending a trellis to the streets below. A large manor towered over them, illuminated from within. 

“This was Emil’s former residence.” Viago noted, dragging a gloved finger over the house number. “Perhaps the warehouses were used by the Antaam.”

“Let’s not bother knocking,” Rook said, pressing her ear to the door and ensuring there was no one on the other side before picking the lock. With a soft click, the knob shifted, and she turned it and slipped inside. 

The Cortez villa held the same strange eloquence that its members carried in their personalities, beneath its state of decline. Lit candles lined the halls, where hand-painted wallpaper peeled from the water-stained ceiling. The wooden floors were scuffed and cracked, and the house smelled as if its condition had been deteriorating for some time. 

Silently, Viago motioned for them to follow down a vacant corridor to the right. Daggers drawn, he descended a set of stairs that creaked softly underfoot, no matter how expertly each of the Crows stepped. A damp, sour smell permeated the air and when Rook pulled her hand from the railing, she noticed a smudge of something green and moldy on her gloves. With a grimace, she wiped it on Illario’s jacket, earning her a dirty look.

Water dripped from the support beams above their heads into puddles strewn across the floor, causing the foundation of the home to rot. Rainwater and canal overflow had been seeping through so long she wasn’t sure how the house was still standing at all. 

Suddenly, Viago stopped in his tracks, staring at something against the wall.  

A support beam on the ceiling had given way at some point, collapsing in a corner. Wrists chained to it, Lucanis’ unconscious form was prone on the floor. As Rook tried to dart forward, Viago caught her by the arm and shook his head.

“It could be a trap.”

“Then you deal with it.” Rook said, tearing herself from her cousin’s grasp and rushing to Lucanis’ side. 

On her knees beside him, she pressed her ear to his chest, feeling its ragged rise and fall and the crackling sound accompanying his every breath. Rook cupped his face in her hands and examined his injuries. He had a black eye and a gash along his cheek that she reached for apprehensively. Lucanis roused at her touch, his eyelids fluttering open, widening in recognition. 

“You…shouldn’t be here,” He rasped. 

“I thought you were untouchable,” She said, blinking back tears as she ran a thumb over his bloodied bottom lip. Her hands moved over his torso where his shirt was splayed open, revealing a bruised and lacerated chest in the dim light.

“Got sloppy.” He winced, staring over her shoulder at the stairs to where the others stood. “Enzo Cortez’s men are upstairs. And Antaam.” 

Rook looked back at Teia and Viago, who nodded and retreated to the second floor, dragging Illario along with them. 

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Rook said, propping him up and fumbling with the chains binding his wrists. His chin dipped as he lost consciousness, Spite surfacing under a veil of violet. Slowly, the demon lifted his head, his presence visible in Lucanis’ irises as he assessed her impatiently. 

“Body. Too weak to fight.” 

The demon sounded like a caged animal. It only made sense, after all. A powerful spirit was only physically as strong as its host, and Lucanis had suffered far too many blows and lost too much blood to even stand on his own.

“I don’t need him to fight,” Rook said, her voice cracking as she carefully melted a rusting link in the chain with her fingertips. “I need him to live.”

Upstairs, she heard scuffling against the floorboards and cries of surprise that turned to silence just before a fight broke out. The link finally snapped, hot metal singing her index finger before she flinched and threw the chains across the room. They scratched against the baseboards as she cursed and squeezed her fist tightly. She pulled Lucanis’ arm around her shoulders and struggled to her feet, staggering under his weight until she was able to brace him against the doorframe, smoothing his hair from his face. His skin was clammy underneath her palm.  

“You’re supposed to run away from danger.” Lucanis turned to spit blood onto the floor. “Not towards it.”

“I thought you knew me better than that.”

He huffed weakly, barely mustering the energy to open his good eye to look at her. ”You’re right. You never do what you’re told.” He tried to push her away, but failed, letting out a sharp breath and clutching at his broken ribs. “Most Crows die from mistakes like this.”

“Not you. Not today,” She said, maneuvering him towards the stairs. “We still have a contract.”

“Is that… all… we have?” he asked, his words punctuated by gasps of pain.

“Lucanis…” she warned, leaning on the wall with his weight against her while she caught her breath. “Don’t do this here.” 

He winced again, bracing a hand on the eroding bricks as he reached for her face with a bloodied palm. 

“I’m… sorry.” He pulled back as he examined his filthy hands. “I should have told you… about Caterina…”

The sound of perfectly cobbled boots echoed down the steps and their heads snapped towards Illario, smirking down at them as he leaned against the railing. 

“Cousin, you’re still making Fi do all the work? Is this how you plan to lead as First Talon?”

Lucanis groaned, his body trembling with the effort to remain upright. “What is he doing here?”

“Helping, believe it or not.” Rook murmured. 

“You used to be strong, cousin. Look at you now. Relying on Fiamma to carry you out of here like a damsel in distress.” Illario crossed the room and wrapped his cousin’s arm around his shoulders. Lucanis tried to resist, but Illario delivered a sharp jab of his elbow to his ribs and the older Dellamorte coughed, relenting. 

“I’ll take him to the Villa and call for a healer.” Illario said, eyes sweeping over Rook’s body. “Meet you there.”

“You expect me to trust you? ” 

“Looks like you’re lacking alternatives.” Illario’s smirk faded as Spite’s presence flickered in and out of Lucanis’ expression, displeased by his rescuer. With an irritated sigh, he waved one hand towards the chairs. “Go, I’m not stupid enough to choose the losing side twice.”

Rook clenched her jaw. “If he doesn’t survive this, I’ll ensure Caterina doesn’t have a single heir.” 

Illario smirked. “Careful, Fiammetta. Don’t reveal all your cards just yet.” 

Rook gave him one last stern look before tearing her gaze away and venturing deeper into the house in search of Viago and Teia. It wasn’t difficult to follow the trail of blood.

When she reached the two of them, Emil Cortez’s eldest grandson sat calmly in a chair behind his desk as Viago leaned over it with a menacing snarl. 

“Your House’s reputation was already in the dirt, you just ensured it would be buried.” Viago said through gritted teeth. Teia stood behind him, arms folded as her eyes flicked towards Rook with concern when she passed through the door. 

“I care neither for House nor reputation.” House Cortez’s heir countered, “Only justice.”

“This is your idea of justice? Luring, imprisoning, and torturing your First Talon?” Viago spat. “You and your grandfather were fools for even looking in the Antaam’s direction.”

“How are you enjoying your gift from the summit?” Enzo nodded towards Viago’s sleeve, where his grandfather’s Death Adder had infamously bitten him a few summers ago. 

“Cousin, accompany Illario while he takes Lucanis back to the villa.” Rook said suddenly, a warning in her voice as her eyes lingered on House Cortez’s heir. “I will handle this.”

“This is Crow business.” Viago snapped, “You do not outrank me, and you’re in no position to give orders.”

“Vi. Let her.” Teia said, reaching for his bicep. “If you’re the one to end an entire House line, you’ll be accused of conspiracy by the other Talons.”

He flinched, but removed his hands from the desk, rocking back on his heels. Viago was almost as wary of politics as he was of poison.

“So I should let my kin do it instead? How would anyone even know if it was me?” 

“Fi is already acting outside of Crow custom. It’s revenge, or insurance, for Lucanis, whatever way you want to see it. She gains nothing, politically. As Talons, however, you and I could be accused of setting up a coup.”

The two exchanged a long look before he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. 

“Formalities.” he said, glaring at Rook from the corner of his eye as he left the room, the heels of his bloodied dress shoes clicking against the hardwood. “Do what you must.”

“You made a grave error tonight, Cortez,” Rook said, pulling her dagger from her belt and letting the golden hilt catch in the light. Crow Killer, perhaps that would be a fitting name for it. She’d have to write the title down before Viago used it to name one of his poisons. 

“I do not fear death,” Enzo said, sitting up straighter and crossing his legs. She watched him, anticipating a sudden movement or trap, but there was an air of acceptance around him, rather than smugness. 

“Will you humor me then?”

“Sure. I always liked your father, Little Flame. He knew how to work outside the constraints of politics to get things done.” 

She ignored what he surely meant as a compliment and traced the blade of her dagger with one finger.

“Just two questions. Why? And how?”

“To carry out my grandfather’s legacy, of course.” 

“And what legacy is that?”

Cortez snorted. “Amongst the Antaam, you will find a man named the Butcher. I think he would like you. And I think you would find his love for Treviso transcends any Crow’s.”

“No Antaam gets to claim love for my city.”

“A small-minded approach, but I can’t fault you for it.” Cortez replied. “Tell Lucanis I send my regards, and that this was nothing personal. My grandfather always adored Caterina. If they would have just let Illario become heir, this could have all been so much simpler.” 

Rook exchanged a glance with Teia. 

“As for how…” Enzo continued, “The Demon of Vyrantium is notoriously good at what he does. But now he has weaknesses.” 

“Spite.” Rook said instinctively. 

Enzo shook his head and grinned. 

“No, no. The spirit is an asset . But you … ” his voice suddenly took on a note of saccharine sweetness. “All I had to do was mention your name . He hesitated - just for one second - and that was all I needed to incapacitate him. No blood magic, no traps. Just… you .”

Rook froze, unable to keep her expression from falling. 

“Every House witnessed it at that shit show of a meeting that Illario called. Love is weakness, my dear. A man with a target on his back knows it better than anyone.” 

In one swift movement, Rook slid her knife into Enzo’s throat, holding it there as he sputtered and smiled, blood staining his teeth as his face slackened and paled. She tore the blade out of his neck, half decapitating him and sending long streaks of blood in every direction. Maroon splattered against the walls and painted her face. 

“A waste of such a nice jacket,” Teia lamented, rubbing her sleeve between her thumb and forefinger where blood splatter had reached it. Rook swept the back of her hand over her face, and it came back wet and dripping in what remained of the Cortez line. Her kills were always messier when she was angry. 

“You get it all out of your system?” Teia asked. 

“Yeah.” Rook said, wiping both sides of her blade on Enzo’s jacket and sheathing it at her waist. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

Lucanis lost consciousness somewhere around Heart and Central, and woke, to his surprise, in his room at Caterina’s villa. With a grunt, he pushed himself into a seated position, staring down at his chest. Without his shirt, he could see the faint scars left behind where someone had magically repaired a gash in his abdomen. His ribs no longer felt like shattered glass, and he suspected that if he checked his reflection, he’d find only traces of the black eye he’d sustained from where his Antaam captors had struck him in the face with the chains they used to bind him.

Torture was nothing new, but Lucanis hadn’t expected to survive his injuries. The Venatori kept him captive because he was useful to them alive. To House Cortez, his death would have been a strategic, political gold mine.

“They. Threatened. Rook!” Spite said, referencing Enzo’s casual comment that the Antaam were looking for her. It had been enough to distract Lucanis, for his insides to clench with terror and his body to instinctively freeze. It nearly cost him his life.

Lucanis shuddered and ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the last remnants of his disorientation, before crawling out of bed. In the bathroom, he scrubbed a layer of dirt and blood from his skin, carefully working a brush under his fingernails as well, before he dressed in a pair of clean trousers and a button-down shirt. Shrugging on his cloak, he retrieved his weapons from the nightstand, strapped them to his belt, and ventured downstairs.

In the den, he found his cousin staring with a bored expression at the fire, one leg casually crossed over the other, left cheek resting on his fist. He didn’t acknowledge Lucanis when he entered the room, but from the way his body tensed, it was clear he’d sensed his arrival.

“Caterina’s letting you back inside her house already?” 

“She couldn’t just turn me away. I had her favorite grandson in tow.” 

Lucanis took a seat in the chair across from him, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward.

“Where is she?”

“Caterina? In the kitchen with Viago and Teia.” Illario stood up and crossed the room, clasping his hands behind his back as he stared through the window at the moonlit gardens outside. He spared a glance over his shoulder and grinned. “But you’re not asking about our grandmother, are you?” 

Lucanis’s answer came in the form of a withering glare.

Illario shrugged and returned his attention to the window. “She stormed in about an hour ago announcing she’d ended the entire Cortez line with one slip of her blade and gave Caterina a look I’m surprised didn’t earn her a throat slitting on sight. After she checked your condition, she left without another word.”

Lucanis braced his hands on his chair arms, but Illario was faster, shoving him back into the cushions before he could leave. Invisible bruises on his chest ached in protest as he coughed, glaring at his cousin. 

“Don’t leave just yet. We haven’t had a chance to catch up. Why don’t you tell me how I couldn’t best you, but Emil Cortez’s idiot grandson could?”

“Still plotting your revenge?” 

“I’m past that,” Illario said, releasing his hold on his cousin and adjusting his sleeves. “Time away from bad influences has really made me rethink my choices.”

The sound of Caterina’s cane thumping against the floor cut their verbal jabs short, and Lucanis slumped in his chair as Illario stepped away.

“An embarrassment to our House.” Caterina pounded her cane against the floor for emphasis. “This is the reputation you want as First Talon? That you can be captured and held hostage-“

Lucanis held up a hand to cut her off.

“If I recall, someone in this room held you hostage for weeks, and none of the Crows batted an eye about your reputation.”

Caterina’s mouth fell open, and she raised her cane menacingly. “Ungrateful-”

“Don’t fall for the act, Lucanis.” Teia said, appearing in the doorway with Viago. “She was beside herself with worry before the healer got here.”

Lucanis stood and gestured down at himself. 

“Well, I’m healed. So I’ll be on my way.” He said, walking towards the door. 

“We are not done here!”

“I think we are.” Lucanis said, passing his grandmother without so much as a second glance. 

“That demon inside of you makes you reckless! Your actions are not befitting of a First Talon!”

“Feel free to take it back,” Lucanis said casually, pulling the front door open. “But I thought you liked it when they called me a demon.”

The door slammed shut behind him, and Lucanis closed his eyes as the cool night air hit his face, feeling Spite’s presence flare up in excitement at the prospect of finally being able to leave the cramped villa.

He made it about one city block before Viago’s voice carried through the open air, calling out his name. Lucanis turned into an alley and waited for his fellow Talon to catch up.

“If you give up your seat, who is going to pardon Fiammetta for killing a Talon?”

Lucanis scrubbed a hand over his face. “It was a personal matter. Caterina wouldn’t pursue it.”

Viago stepped closer, pressing a finger into the center of Lucanis’ chest.

“I’m not willing to put my cousin’s life in your grandmother’s hands. And if you… care for her, you wouldn’t be either.” He snarled. “Fiammetta can defend herself against a rogue assassin or two. But if someone pointed every Crow in her direction? You, me, Teia - we couldn’t possibly stop them all. Hold your seat. At least until we know what the future holds for the Crows.” 

Lucanis narrowed his eyes, gaze dropping to Viago’s finger. When he raised his head, his voice was low and measured.

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m giving you advice.” Viago lifted his hands in the air and took a step back before adjusting his gloves. “The second you put Fiammetta’s life in danger, I won’t waste my time with threats. I’ll take action.”

Footsteps in the meditation room woke Rook from her sleep on the couch, and her dagger slipped from her fingertips where her hand had been hanging over the side. Disoriented, she jolted forward, leaning over and scrambling for it as it clanged against the floor.  

In the darkness, Lucanis moved slowly, with his hands up in a placating manner. 

“Just me.” He said, eyes drifting from her blade to her face.

Rook blinked away her disorientation and set the knife down, resting a palm on her forehead and catching her breath. For a moment, Lucanis stood above her, hesitating, before he joined her on the sofa, angling himself so he wasn’t directly facing her.

“You were dragged into my mess again.”

“I sought it out this time, actually.” 

A beat of silence passed between them before Lucanis spoke again. 

“Rook. I owe you. For my life, my freedom. Again.”

He reached out to touch her, but redirected the movement and rested his palms on the couch cushions, staring at the floor.

“You deserved better. Still deserve better. From the Crows, from me. Things will change, or I will leave Treviso with you. I give you my word.”

Rook folded her legs underneath her and leaned forward as she blinked in disbelief, wondering if this was a dream.

“Hold on-”

He turned, his hand instinctually gravitating towards her leg. Behind his eyes, the spirit of determination’s presence hummed with impatience, desperate to touch her as his fingertips brushed her thigh.

“I’ll follow you anywhere, Rook. As whatever you want me to be.”

She touched her thumb to the cut on his bottom lip before letting her hand fall away. 

“Have you ever just done something you wanted? For your own sake?”

Lucanis leaned back against the couch, toying with a loose thread on the frayed hem of her nightgown before raising his head to meet her gaze.

“A couple of times,” he said with a coy smile, “in recent memory.”

She watched him for a long moment before shifting her position, crawling over him and straddling his hips. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she leaned forward and rested her head in the crook of his neck. Lucanis stiffened in surprise before letting his hands drift to her waist, fingertips lightly trailing across the silk back of her nightgown and digging into the fabric as he buried his face in her hair. He let out a slow, warm stream of air through his nose and lingered there, cherishing the moment. 

“I don’t want First Talon. I never have. But I want you. To be by your side. I am in your debt.”

Rook nuzzled the place between his neck and shoulder, shaking her head. “There’s no debt-“ she protested, her words muffled against his jacket.

Lucanis lifted a hand, wrapping a dark lock of her hair around his fingers and toying with it.

“You’re going to argue with me now that you got what you wanted?“ he chuckled, tilting his head to the side to give her better access. “Just give me time to figure out how to tell Caterina, mm?” 

“You want to follow me all over Thedas?” She asked, nipping at him gently. The stubble on his neck was rough against her lips, his facial hair soft where it rested just above her cheek. “And here I thought we were just good friends.”

“Mmm.” Lucanis responded, his hands slipping lower to tug her forward so that her hips were pressed flush against his. “I’m not sure friends is going to cut it, mia amata. ”

Rook bent down to kiss him, feeling him suppress a flinch as her mouth grazed a cut in his lower lip. She pulled away and brushed a thumb along his cheekbone instead.

“Sleep here?”

Lucanis raised his brows, his gaze drifting down and lingering on the swell of her breasts in her nightgown. “With you? Like this?”

“Did you have something else in mind?”

His eyes followed the curves and planes of her body, the silk of her nightgown sliding softly under his touch. Hands on her thighs, he inched the fabric of her gown higher.

“A very prolonged gesture of appreciation.”

Chapter Text

“The Butcher? ”

Viago reclined in his chair behind his desk, narrowing his eyes. Beside Rook with his arms folded, Lucanis uncomfortably shifted his weight as the two cousins exchanged verbal jabs. It was early, yet the casino downstairs was uncharacteristically busy, cigar smoke heavy in the air as it drifted up from below. In the quiet Crow quarters, a few lingering figures paced the perimeter, poorly concealing their eavesdropping.

“Is your hearing going bad already, Vi? Do I need to repeat myself?” 

“No. I just think you’re fucking with me, Fi.” 

“Just find him.” Rook snapped impatiently. Lucanis’ hand carefully slipped behind her, his fingertips ghosting against the small of her back. With a shiver, she took a deep breath, steadying herself. Out of the corner of his eye, Viago caught the movement and frowned. 

“Don’t bring that in here.” He said, not looking up from a stack of papers as he waved to dismiss them. “Go save the world or something. I’ll find your Butcher and send for you when I know more.”

Lucanis failed to suppress a grin, nodding towards the exit. Rook followed him across the balcony to the eluvian, reaching for his wrist before he stepped inside. 

“I like this… not keeping secrets.” 

“If my enemies know what you are to me, there’s no sense in hiding it from your family.” 

“You may want to reevaluate your definition of an enemy. I’m surprised Viago hasn’t poisoned you yet.”

“I’m not so easily killed.” Lucanis said with a smirk, backing her into a trellis near the eluvian and bracing one hand over her head. With his index finger, he traced a line from the base of her throat to the underside of her jaw, lifting her chin so that her lips were just inches from his own. 

“Could I persuade you to spend the morning in the markets with me?” 

Rook sighed, leaning into the cool stone wall behind her and shaking her head. 

“We’re supposed to meet Neve in Dock Town, remember?” 

Lucanis hummed in acknowledgement and pushed himself away from the wall, taking a step back. 

“I suppose killing blood mages could be equally satisfying.” He mused. 

“There will be plenty of time for the markets when this is all over.” Rook reassured him, reaching for his hand. She threaded her fingers through his, and Lucanis watched, mesmerized by the gesture. Mierda . Had he never held someone’s hand before? 

He reached up to take her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“There’s much more I’d like to do with you when this is all done, beyond simply walking the markets together.”

Rook arched an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“Breakfast in bed. A real bed.”

Bellara, Rook, Neve and Lucanis strolled along the lower docks until they reached what appeared to be a memorial site. Overhead, enchanted globes glowed, suspended in the air, their shimmering light illuminating the weather worn letters stuck to a nearby wall.

“Spite is restless.” Lucanis growled. “What is this place?”

“The Minrathous Wall of Light.” Neve answered.

Bellara marveled at the display, her lips slightly parted with wonder. “These lights, they’re to remember the dead?”

“Unless the family lacks mages to keep them lit. Or the money, for one. Then you’re left in the dark.” Neve said bitterly, “Tevinter subtlety.”

Rook frowned, approaching a dimming light and placing her hand over it. Though lacking discipline in spirit magic, she centered her focus and drew what she could, coaxing it back to life. With a flicker, several nearby extinguished lights did that same.

Neve let out a soft hum of appreciation. “Thoughtful of you.”

“Grief is already hard enough. It doesn’t need to be punctuated by feelings of inadequacy.”

“You sound bitter.” Neve observed, raising an eyebrow. “Speaking from experience?”

“Something like that,” Rook mumbled.

The four wandered for a moment as Neve led them to another unlit globe, stopping before it with a heavy sigh.

“This was Brom’s. Rana’s old partner.” She shook her head. “His light was out when I got here. I should have been back sooner.”

“Don’t do that to yourself.” Rook said, “You can’t change what’s already happened.”

Neve grunted and peered out at the water. Determination flashed in her eyes as her mouth formed a line.

“I’m stopping Aelia.”

“Looks like we had the same idea.” A voice said from behind them.

The four turned in unison to find Rana, an Imperial Templar and longtime acquaintance of Neve’s.

“He read serials between assignments.” She squatted down beside her late lover’s light, touching it gently. “Romance.”

“I know a few people like that,” Rook said affectionately, glancing between Lucanis and Bellara.

Rana huffed with amusement. “The last one ended on a cliffhanger. He was sure he knew the ending… I never checked if he was right.”

“Maybe I could help you find the final chapters?” Bellara offered. “I read a lot of… that genre.”

Rana gave her a weak smile and shook her head. “I’m not sure I want to.”

“Pretending it ends well?” Neve asked. “We can give him that.”

“You’re not the only one chasing Aelia.” Rana said, rising to her feet and brushing off her cloak. “I’ve tracked some of her followers. They aren’t quick to talk. Most said I’d be saved soon. But… I did get the name of a place. Sanctum Lusacan.”

“That sounds like Elgar’nan…” Bellara whispered.

“Ominous.” Rook muttered.

“It’s an old, lost Tevinter temple.” Rana explained. “If there’s a record of its location, I can’t find it.”

Neve stepped closer to Brom’s memorial and extended her hand. The light came alive again, gleaming in the sun as if it had never been gone.

“Leave it to me.”

After their run-in with Rana, Neve dispatched Lucanis, Rook and Bellara to wait for her at the Cobbled Swan while she consulted her Dock Town connections. The bar was experiencing a mid-afternoon lull. Quiet, save for the faint murmur of a few conversations across the room and dishes clinking together as the barkeep washed them in a bin by the door. Rook, resting her cheek on her palm, stared vacantly at nothing in particular as Bellara chattered excitedly to Lucanis about the next book series she’d hoped to pass on to him. Rook wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him so utterly captivated, his usual chilly aura replaced by complete enthusiasm.

She grinned to herself, watching the light through the window catch his brown eyes. Romance novels. The Demon of Vyrantium’s guilty pleasure.

Lucanis caught her staring and frowned, silently appraising her just as the tavern door swung open, Neve’s silhouette finally appearing against the setting sun. She strode through the room confidently, taking her place beside Bellara. 

“I take it you found answers?” Rook asked, leaning back in her seat.

“The Minrathous catacombs hold an underground temple to the God of Night. That’s where the sanctum is located.” Neve raised her hand to request a drink. “The Threads are putting up a fight against Aelia’s followers, but they can’t last forever. She’s a powerful blood mage now and if I let her finish the ritual… no more chances.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Lucanis asked, accepting his third top off of coffee from the waitress as she handed Neve her usual drink.

A familiar figure, shoulder slumped and head down, slouched into the next booth, his back to Bellara and Neve. He took a long drink of his ale before setting it down on the table with a loud thud. Elek, Damas’ second in command.

“Some news between friends.” He said, tracing his fingertip along the rim of his cup solemnly. “The Venatori got Damas. The boss is dead.”

First in command, then, Rook thought to herself.

Eyes downcast, Neve stared at the tabletop. “My condolences.”

“A tragic loss.” Lucanis muttered into his mug as he sipped his coffee. 

Rook elbowed him in the ribs with a disapproving frown before pressing Elek further. “Who’s running the Threads now?”

“They’ll follow last orders for a bit. Then someone grabs control, or we fall apart. Time’s running out.”

“Elek… the Threads used some of the catacombs for smuggling.” Neve said carefully, “Can I call in a favor?”

“Consider it done.”

“The people Aelia took for the ritual… how can we be sure they’re alive?” Lucanis asked.

“If she needs blood for the ritual, she’ll want it fresh.” Neve said, “She needs them alive.”

Rana emerged from the sidelines, the squeak of her chair announcing her arrival as she pulled it up to the table beside Neve. “And if you’re wrong?”

Neve nodded in acknowledgement, holding her gaze. “Then we give people the closure they deserve.”

“Can we get into the Sanctum unnoticed?” Lucanis asked.

“If we can get into the catacombs…” Neve began, glancing over her shoulder at Elek.

“I’ll send a man to the market to get you inside.” He replied gruffly, sliding out of his booth and dropping a coin on the table, “Just make the cult bleed.”

“The God of Night, keeping people in the dark. Isn’t that perfect?” Neve said furiously as she led them through the catacombs. “I can feel the blood magic. Aelia’s getting stronger.”

“My eyes haven’t itched like this since the bathhouse.” Lucanis said, his sword drawn in front of him.

“Was it wise for you to come?” Rook asked, keeping both hands pressed to the wall, using it to guide herself down the passage. 

“I won’t let the Venatori win.” 

“Neve?” Bellara’s voice echoed from a platform above. “You’ll want to see this.” 

As Rook followed Lucanis up the ladder, the putrid stench of carrion hit her. Burying her face in her sleeve, she squinted through watering eyes to take in her surroundings. The floors were slick with blood, creating a pool that splashed under each step.

“A warm up for the ritual.” Neve said grimly. 

“Demons!” Bellara shouted, pointing to their left. 

Neve swiftly drew her staff. “All the blood magic attracts them.”

“Spite feels it too.” Lucanis said, cutting through a wraith. 

Lightning crackled at Rook’s fingertips, and she touched the ground, sending a current of static through the puddles of blood and eliminating a small hoard of demons. Wiping her bloodied hands on her hips, she continued on through the corridors, sensing Lucanis’ body heat as he fell in step behind her, leaning in close.

“Nice work.” He murmured. She shivered, but didn’t respond. 

The sight that greeted them around the corner was even more haunting. Captives bathed in candlelight, imprisoned in crimson enclaves within the walls, cried out for help. Some Neve recognized, the ones she didn’t, still seemed to recognize her.

“What is this?” Rook breathed as Lucanis’ arm wrapped possessively around her middle. 

“Aelia’s prisoners.” Neve said, her voice heavy with guilt. “Victims, if we don’t move fast enough. Stay alert and don’t drop your guard.” 

“Not for a moment.” Lucanis said, hauling Rook against him and leading her past. “Come on.” 

As they moved into the next room, dread seeped beneath Rook’s skin. She’d never observed much blood magic before meeting Varric, and it still felt unnatural. Maybe it wasn’t something one was meant to grow accustomed to. 

In the room’s center, Aelia wielded ribbons of blood magic, surrounding her like protective veins, exuding palpable power.

“Do you feel that, Neve Gallus?” Aelia’s voice cut through the air, “The old magic? Our legacy? It returns.”

“You aren’t the future, Aelia. You’re a murderer!”

“I am Minrathous! Its dark truth and bright power. The city won’t miss you. Dock Town won’t.” 

Aelia launched a stream of blood magic towards them, which Neve defended against with a beam of ice. Straining, she pushed back Aelia’s attack. 

“I will give Dock Town protection! Is that not what you want, Detective?”

“You won’t!” Neve shouted, her magic surging before it splintered Aelia’s. A shockwave rippled through the room, sending small rocks tumbling down the catacomb walls. “But I will!”

Venatori descended from above as Aelia’s enraged screams echoed through the room.

“Don’t play nice,” Rook murmured, drawing her blades. 

Lucanis smirked. “I never do.” 

They cut through the Venatori on the sidelines while Neve and Aelia’s power struggle took the center of the room by storm. Bellara flung support from above, keeping her eyes out for surprises. Waves of Venatori kept coming for what seemed like ages, before Rook found herself surrounded on all sides.

Diving underneath a Venatori’s staff, she slid through his legs and yanked on his ankle. The mage fell to the floor, gasping as the wind was knocked from his lungs. Panicked, he reached for his weapon just in time for Lucanis’ sword to pierce clean through his hand, pinning it to the ground.

“Ah, ah, ah.”

He stepped forward and picked up the staff, holding it in the air to examine it. 

“Is this what you were looking for?”

Lucanis plunged the bottom of the staff into the Venatori’s eye with such force that it came out the back of their head. Not even a moment to scream. The mage was dead before they could do much as flinch. 

“Are you done playing on the floor?” Lucanis asked, extending a hand to help Rook up. She grasped it and he yanked her to her feet, staring down at her blood drenched clothes. 

“Not my best work.” She said with a shrug.

“I’ve seen worse.” He said, pulling his sword from the dead Venatori’s hand and grabbing the nearest mage behind him. He slit their throat and discarded the body carelessly.

“That’s two. Try to keep up.”

A slow grin stretched across Rook’s face as she reached to the side, sending veins of chain lightning arcing through a group of at least seven Venatori. They fell to the ground in unison, unmoving. 

“What was that?” She asked, cocking her head to the side. 

“That’s cheating.”

A massive explosion from Aelia’s direction cut their exchange short, and Rook redirected her attention, finding her on hands and knees at Neve’s feet. 

“Dock Town is under my protection,” Neve said, looking down with disgust before calling out to the shadows. “Care to finish this?”

Elek suddenly emerged, flanked by Rana. Panicked, Aelia grabbed a dagger from her belt, rushing at Neve with it, but the Thread intercepted, yanking her hand behind her back and restraining her as it clattered to the floor.

“Is this where you finish it?” Aelia spat. 

“Rumor is the Threads protect their streets.” Neve responded, turning her back, “You should think about that.” 

Elek held Aelia in place as Rana drove a sword through her. Rook, Lucanis and Bellara followed their friend from the catacombs, not daring to speak a word, giving the detective a chance to savor her victory.

“So, Aelia is dead.”

Lucanis sauntered into Rook’s chambers, freshly bathed, his hair towel-dried and still slightly damp. She sat up from her place on the couch, resting her chin on the back to look at him. 

“One more pest expelled from Minrathous. Neve can finally be at peace. For now,” she said as Lucanis picked up a letter from Viago on her desk, eyes scanning the page. 

“And another from Treviso soon to follow.” He mused, setting the parchment back down. “It seems Viago found our Butcher. How did he get word to you so quickly?” 

“Harding said he just throws letters through the Eluvian. She brings them here when she finds them.” 

Lucanis snorted. “Such flair.” 

He joined her on the couch, pulling her into his arms. With a sigh, Rook sprawled across his lap, resting her head on his knee while he smoothed his fingertips through her hair. His familiar scent of clove oil and bergamot brushed against her senses as she relaxed into his touch.

“What kind of answers are you hoping to find when you meet with the Antaam?”

Rook stiffened. Why did he have to ruin the moment?

“What do you mean?” 

“Come on, Fiammetta. We both know this is about more than protecting Treviso. The Antaam are personal for you.” 

She swallowed, contemplating whether she wanted to answer. 

You have a prison. Like Lucanis. Let him in.

The memory of Spite’s words echoed in her mind, and she let out a shaky breath. 

“I already killed the wrong person to avenge my father’s murder. This time, I’d like to find the right one.” 

Lucanis’ hand fisted gently in her hair, tugging at the roots in such a way that she had to suppress a groan of pleasure. 

“Be careful, Rook.”

“Are you going to try to stop me?”

“Of course not. I’ll be right there, watching your back.” 

“Then what are you so worried about?”

He sighed. “Revenge isn’t as satisfying as you’d think. There’s still an… emptiness, after what the Venatori did to me in the Ossuary. Not even killing Zara brought me relief.” 

“Has anything brought you relief?”

“You.” He said, pulling his hand from her hair and smoothing it out with his fingertips. “You pulled me from that prison. Twice. And you give me moments like this.” 

Lucanis bent down and pressed his lips to her temple. “You should get some rest.”

“So should you.” 

She watched the rise and fall of Lucanis’ chest as he let out a long, satisfied exhale.

“Just let me enjoy this moment a little while longer, while it’s still within reach.”

Chapter Text

“Fight back, Fiammetta!”

Dunked beneath the surface of the Treviso canals, she thrashed desperately, hands scrabbling uselessly above her head as she reached for anything to pull herself free. Perhaps if she caught the edge of a gondola, she could catch her breath, get far enough away to swim downstream. She could hoist herself onto the other side of the street and run for miles. If she reached Teia’s, the Cantoris would wrap her in a warm towel and feed her a warm meal. But what business did she have taking food from their plates? They lived in the dirt too, after all.

Relief came as her head finally bobbed into the air again, her father’s disappointed frown immediately visible as he hauled her up by her hair.

“Have you forgotten how to swim?”

“I… can.” She panted, dizzy and seeing stars. Her stomach ached from the canal water she had swallowed. “Just not when you hold me under. You’re too strong!”

“You think the Antaam will go easy on you?” Dante de Riva demanded, thrusting her back under before she could catch a breath in time. She considered going limp, letting herself drown. Twelve years was a long life for a Crow, after all.

She heard muffled shouting from the surface, a flicker of hope igniting within her. With renewed determination, she splayed her hands wide and opened her eyes underwater, watching sparks dance along her fingertips as she wrapped them around her father’s arm. He released her involuntarily, and she threw herself towards the side of the canal wall, clawing at the edge and gasping for breath. Someone pulled her onto the street and flipped her sopping wet hair back from her eyes.

“Are you okay, Fiammetta?” Viago asked, scrutinizing her features. She shook her head, but didn’t dare let a single tear fall. Her cousin’s skinny arms came around her protectively as he glared back at her father.

“You nearly killed her!”

“She is more than capable if you would stop treating her like she needs rescuing!” Her father barked back. “Are you always going to be there to protect her when she doesn’t know how to defend herself?”

Aunt Viamma came flying across the bridge from the direction of the apartment. It was then that Fiammetta felt the eyes of their neighbors on her. People pretending to hang their laundry, or smoke on their balconies, watched with bated breath. People usually had to go to the theatre to find this kind of entertainment.

“What part of Crow training do you call this, Dante?” Her aunt demanded, pointing to where Fiamma cowered in her cousin’s arms. “She doesn’t have to experience death to know how to evade it!”

“She will never be a Crow.” Her father growled, “But she will learn to survive. Just because you want your son to make his father proud enough to look in your direction again-”

“Sling old insults all you want, Dante. I won’t let your paranoia kill my niece. Gemma is probably rolling in her grave at what you’ve subjected her daughter to.”

“Don’t you dare -”

“I will speak my sister’s name whenever I please!” Viamma shrieked over her shoulder, kneeling in front of Fiamma and looking her over.

“You’re going to come live with Viago and me. Your father is sick, Fiammetta. This isn’t normal! I refuse to watch while he continues to-”

A shadow fell over them as Dante hovered threateningly. Towering over most of the men in Treviso, her father’s demeanor alone could send his enemies running.

“Stay away from them!”

Viago drew his blade, slicing it through the air as a warning. It caught the skin of Dante’s wrist, leaving a small cut behind. Her cousin blinked in surprise, as if he hadn’t anticipated his own bravery, before the back of her father’s hand struck his face, throwing him onto his back. Dante stared, equally surprised by his own actions.

“Viago, I-”

“How dare you lay a hand on my son!” Viama cried. She slapped Dante across the face, but he didn’t react. Instead, he stared at his nephew, stunned and remorseful.

“Viamma… it was instinct.”

“Come, Fiammetta.” Her aunt instructed, extending her free hand as she pulled Viago along with the other. But Fiamma looked at her father, all alone, and froze. How could a man, whose humming filled the kitchen as he cooked dinner at night, who stole her roses from the market, who used to carry her on his back, tuck her into bed, and read her to sleep, ever mean to hurt anyone?

“I can’t.” She squeaked.

Dante de Riva’s face crumpled as his daughter stepped forward and took his hand.

“It was an accident.”

“It’s never an accident, Fiammetta.” Viamma replied as she led her son away. Viago clutched his bruised cheek, his eyes pleading with Fiammetta to follow, but she remained rooted beside her father, feeling the weight of dozens of judging eyes and the shame of their scrutiny as she squeezed his hand, leading him back to their small apartment.

When Lucanis returned from the kitchen, Rook was no longer asleep on the couch where he’d reluctantly left her. Five minutes, he’d told Spite, five minutes to cross the courtyard, make her coffee, and return. He’d planned to wake her up gently, spend the morning enjoying one another’s company. He could even try that position from the most recent book Bellara had lent him…

To his disappointment, Rook was fully dressed and lacing her boots when he arrived, looking troubled and in no mood for enjoying anything at all.

“Oh. You’re up.” He said, trying not to sound defeated as he stood in the doorway with two steaming mugs of coffee.

“Sorry, did I wake you this morning?” Rook asked, rising to her feet and taking a cup from him. She cradled it in her hands, staring down into it with a distant expression.

“Not at all. You were fast asleep when I left.” Lucanis replied with a frown. Something was bothering her, but he knew asking too many questions would scare her off. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course.” She said, sipping her coffee and setting it aside. “I just… need to see Viago.”

“About the Butcher?”

“Yes… the Butcher.” She said quickly, “I’m going to see if Taash wants to come along. They know Antaam, and have been pushing to do more… ‘Crow Stuff’ lately.”

“Someone has been. In Rook’s head!” 

Lucanis watched her go before he responded out loud.

“What do you mean, Spite?”

“Lies! Trickery! Deceit!.” The demon snarled. “Clawing through her memories. While she sleeps!”

“Solas? He’s in her dreams?”

“Nightmares. Asleep. And waking!”

“You’re being cryptic. Speak clearly.”

“All is not. What it seems! But only to Rook. ”

The top floor of the casino was more crowded than usual as Rook stepped into Viago’s makeshift office. Two people, a teenage boy, and an older bald individual who looked vaguely familiar, were arguing with her cousin when she entered, and Rook paused in the doorway, feeling Lucanis’ hand come to rest on her lower spine as he surveyed the room. Teia was beside Viago, clearly agitated, while Illario lounged on a couch behind them, watching the exchange with an amused expression.

“I can’t believe you’re defending him!” the boy exclaimed.

“I am not defending anyone, Jacobus.” Viago said impatiently.

“My cousin died because the Governor didn’t stop the Antaam from-”

“Jacobus!” Teia snapped.

“No! I’m not going to stand around and listen to this,” He said and stormed off.

“Well, now that that unpleasantness is dealt with, it’s time I share my piece.” The Governor said, “I told you Crows to stay out of this. If we had a stronger civil government instead of a bunch of circus criminals, the Antaam wouldn’t have a foothold in the first place!”

“Governor Ivenci.” Lucanis said in a charming voice, stepping around Rook to join the conversation.

“Lucanis Dellamorte, back from the dead. Am I to refer to you as your majesty now, or will First Talon suffice?” Ivenci sneered.

“There’s no need for formalities. We’re all friends here.” Lucanis’ voice was heavy with dangerous charm. Ivenci’s gaze fell upon Rook, and something in his expression shifted. They regarded her with interest and spoke in a slightly more respectable tone than they had with the others.

“And Fiammetta de Riva, all grown up. I heard you deserted the Crows. Did I misjudge in thinking you’d be more sensible than your cousin?”

“Treviso is still my home.” Rook said, “And Viago is my family.”

“Your father would be disappointed to see you here, still playing vigilante and flirting with death.” Ivenci said, eyes darting to Lucanis.

“What would you know about my father?”

“I suppose you were quite young the last time we met. I hired your mother for protection on many occasions before her untimely death. My belated condolences, what a tragic end for both of your parents.”

“While I appreciate your kind words, I’m here to deal with other matters.” Rook said coolly, turning to address Viago, “I got your message.”

“We have a contact who offers access to the Butcher and privileged information on the gods. It turns out your Butcher goes by a name I’ve been tracking for some time… Daathrata. A leader amongst the Antaam with a more traditional discipline. His numbers keep growing, but he is… odd.”

“How so?”

“He gives daily speeches about how the occupation is somehow merciful.” Teia explained. “And the way he talks it’s… familiar? It’s like he thinks he belongs here. And I won’t have it.”

Rook glanced at Viago. “Can’t call daddy in on this one?”

“The king would say to call on us. The price for being patriots.”

“The gods care about taking Treviso?”

“The Butcher wants Treviso. The gods may just want the Antaam.”

“But Antaam distrust magic and outright fear demons. They should be enemies.”

“Power can turn anyone against their own interests.” Viago suggested. “Their own people.”

“Not even your First Talon is immune to your infighting ,” Ivenci jeered. 

From his seat, Illario scowled and uncrossed his legs, leaning forward. “Something you’d like to say, Governor?”

Viago cleared his throat and shot Illario a warning look before returning his attention to Rook.

“I’ve secured a meeting for you with our contact in the market.” He said, “You are to go alone, but I’d bring backup to wait nearby. Take Dellamorte.”

“Need my help again already?” Illario purred from the couch.

“The other Dellamorte.” Viago growled, nodding at Lucanis.

“This should be left to the leaders of this city to handle!” Ivenci protested.

“They asked specifically for Rook.” Viago said sternly, “It would be inadvisable to send anyone else.”

“Well then, I suppose it’s been a pleasure reacquainting with you, Fiammetta. If you come to your senses following your little meeting, find me.” Ivenci said, crossing their arms. “Perhaps we can work out an arrangement that would have made your parents proud. Do not forget that they did not wish to see you become a Crow .”

Rook bristled, but before she could reply, Lucanis wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Excuse us,” He said, holding the Governor’s gaze as he guided Rook from the casino.

“What’s their deal?” Taash asked from the doorway as they made their way downstairs.

“The politicians here long to control Treviso, but the Crows rule Antiva.”

“Antaam.” Taash said through clenched teeth as they reached the market. Two guards blocked the path to the cafe courtyard, one grunting and pointing only to Rook.

“Wait here.” Rook commanded, nodding at both of them before approaching the guards alone. Lucanis shifted forward, but stayed in place as Taash rested a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

The guards stepped aside, giving Rook a full view of an Antaam man hunched alone over a table entirely too small for him. As she moved closer, he rose to his feet with a smile she would almost consider… charming.

“Butcher.” She said, eyes wide with surprise. “You’re the informant?”

“And you are Rook. I’ve been waiting.” He waved to dismiss his guards and extended a hand towards the chair across from him, inviting her to sit.

“Please.”

Teia was right. He acted so… familiar.

She took her seat, palms braced firmly on the table. He chuckled, giving her a glimpse of unexpectedly perfect teeth.

“So tense, Fiammetta. I promise. I’ll signal if we are to fight.”

“You know who I am?”

“I know so much about you… who your mother was, who your father was. I know of your hate for the Crows, just as I know of your hate for the Antaam. You fault us for your father’s fate, but can you be so sure the Antaam are responsible? I would like to present you with the truth, and after you’ve heard me out… I will give you the information you’ve come for.”

“You won’t sway my opinion of the Antaam. Just tell me where the gods are holding their ritual.”

“I need to know where your alliances lie. You think I couldn’t just march on the Crows? Scattered Antaam flock to me. I have the numbers to raze your casino and every inch of this city. But I did not conquer Treviso to watch it fall into the hands of corrupt politicians.”

“Are you talking about Ivenci?”

“I am talking about a thousand Ivencis. Opportunists, looking for power. Betraying their city, holding it ransom while they worship their own purses!”

He slammed his fist down on the table, staring at his hand before raising his head to meet her eyes again.

“But you… you’re different.” He spoke more quietly now, with reverence. “Crows stay true to their roles. It means something when you die. And you’re no typical Crow. It is your own internal compass, not their teachings, that guide you. You’re as much a work of art as this city.”

“Careful, where I’m from, that’s called a compliment.”

He grinned. “Tell me, Rook. If I give you the information you’ve come for tonight, what will you do once you’ve defeated the gods? Will you return to this city? Care for it? And how? As a citizen? Or as mistress to the First Talon?” He shook his head with disappointment. “It would be such a waste for you to become like your parents, serving those they do not even respect.”

“It is the Antaam’s actions that orphaned me.”

“Is that what you think, Rook? What if I told you the lies that poison this city are embedded so deeply in your personal history that not even those closest to you could have predicted the truth? I’ll share a secret with you: it is not the Antaam that snuck lyrium into Treviso to tempt mages, but the politicians that sought to destabilize the strongest of the Antivan Crows. Your mother had nothing to do with the Antaam, but she did frequently find herself hired as personal protection for an upcoming politician’s family. I believe they are a governor now…”

“But my father was certain it was the Antaam- it is why he-”

“Another caught in a political web of lies. A fool, misguided by grief, looking for anywhere to point his finger. A tip given to him by his late wife’s client. In one move, they pitted the Crows and Antaam against one another, and killed two birds with one… gem? That’s what they called your mother, after all.”

Rook scowled. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because you are capable of thinking for yourself. Don’t tell me this story doesn’t match your reality more than the one that was fed to you. Your mother’s death was labeled a poisoning, making her a martyr, not an addict. Those who knew the truth, chose to keep it a secret. When he took his revenge, the Flame of Treviso was not sloppy. He did not leave survivors. The Antaam were the perfect scapegoat.”

“Who killed my father, if not the Antaam?” Rook demanded.

“I don’t know if it was Governor Ivenci themselves who placed that Crow where your father’s head once was, but I do know they sent Manius Casini to warn him the Antaam were coming. It made a good headline - Antaam killing the beloved Flame of Treviso. And the poor orphaned Little Flame, quickly forgotten, only to become another victim of Crow tradition.”

Rook clenched her fists under the table.

“Why tell me all of this?”

“Because I need your hate channeled in the right direction if I am to hand you my city.”

“If you truly love Treviso as you say, then tell me where the gods are holding their ritual.”

The Butcher smiled, a deep growl rumbling in his chest as he inhaled, exhaling a thunderous laugh.

“Mmm. The gods!” He said, holding his fists in the air. “They give strength.”

He lowered his voice to a whisper, leaning across the table so close Rook nearly flinched.

“But all they ask in return is everything. I can feel their corruption. I can hear their whispers. They’re calling for a ritual. If I give in, I’ll know what you need to know. But I will lose my jewel. My city!”

He smashed his hands on the table, breaking it in two, and rose to his feet, towering over her. One hand came to wrap around her throat, squeezing only hard enough to keep her in place.

“You live in a casino. Let us make a game of this. I will become what the gods want, welcome their whispers. Meet me and show me if the Crows deserve my city…”

A flash of violet flickered between them, and the Butcher struck it away as quickly as it appeared. Lucanis skidded to a crouch on all fours beside her, gritting his teeth as Spite’s wings flared behind him.

“Get your hands off of her.”

“Ahh, the Demon of Vyrantium. You Crows have such grand names for yourselves.” The Butcher tightened his grip around Rook’s throat.

“I admire you for stepping out of your father’s shadow. Trading the Little Flame for Rook. I prefer things short and sweet.”

He drug her to the railing, forcing her to her knees in front of the canal.

“I wonder…” He purred in her ear, “Can such a little bird swim?”

The Butcher didn’t give her a chance to reply. With a sudden, brutal shove, he thrust her over the edge. The weight of her boots felt like anchors, reducing her breaststrokes towards the surface to desperate thrashes as she sunk further into the depths. This time of night, there was no light strong enough to break through the murky water's surface, and the canals ran deeper this time of year from the rains. With little air in her lungs, she would soon drown.

‘Fight back, Fiammetta! Have you forgotten how to swim?’

Pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth, she forced her lips shut so she did not take in water as the current flipped her backwards. Reaching down, she fought to keep a clear head and tugged her boots off, carrying them in one hand as she kicked towards the surface. She stretched her arms wide, feeling for the side of the canal, only knowing up from down by the pull of the water.

‘You think the Antaam will go easy on you?’

Time suspended until she broke the surface, gasping for air. As she reached for the ledge, someone caught her by the wrist and pulled her out. Face cradled in his palms, Lucanis smoothed her hair back as she coughed and blinked rapidly to clear the water from her eyes.

“Are you alright?” He asked urgently. “It looked like you hit your head.”

Behind him, Taash finished off two Antaam guards, but the Butcher wasn’t in sight. She’d traveled far enough downstream that they were no longer on the cafe patio, but near the bridge. Caught in the canals much longer, and she might have met her end in the sewers.

“I’m fine.” She panted. “We have to find him.”

“Give yourself a minute to catch your breath first.” Lucanis said, pulling her against his chest.

“I can’t stop.” She whispered, water clinging to her lashes as she denied herself an opportunity to cry. “If I slow down for one second, I’ll-”

“I understand.” He said, rising from his crouch and pulling her to her feet. “Let’s finish this together.”

“For what it’s worth, that guy is totally into you.” Taash panted, jogging over to them. Lucanis’ head snapped in their direction.

“What?”

“He offered her a chair and tried to drown her. Trust me. It’s a Qunari thing.”

Lucanis scowled. “And now I have two reasons to kill him.”

“Which direction did he head in?” Rook demanded.

“Towards the Drowned District.”

“Drowned District?” Taash let out a bark of laughter. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Chapter Text

The streets of Treviso were indifferent to the Butcher’s madness. Citizens carried on in the market, in the canals, as if nothing had happened. Even as Rook and her companions left the cafe, the staff returned to set the tables, casually sweeping away the broken pieces of what the Butcher had destroyed in his rage. No one spared her a second glance as she tugged back on her soaked boots and wrung out her hair, but Lucanis earned a few nervous glances - no one had to recognize him to feel the danger that emanated from Spite’s presence. Before she’d gotten to know him, Harding had mentioned how eye contact with Lucanis made her feel like a prey animal. She purchased an arrow meant for his heart the next day, should he ever force her to use it. 

Taash kicked a rock down the street as they walked, shaking their head. 

“Is it always like this here? Your city is under occupation and a tyrant has gone mad, and they just… move on? Business as usual? Why doesn’t anyone fight back?”

“Because it’s supposed to be our job to fight back.” Rook explained. “Treviso is too dependent on the Crows to save them to even try to save itself.”

“But have the Crows not established themselves as the city’s protection?” Lucanis asked, “No one is lazy, they just expect us to do our piece.”

“Maybe that’s the problem. If only one group is in charge of serving the greater good, only that group gets to choose what the greater good is .” Rook said, “The Antaam took this city by force, but it’s not as if the Crows didn’t do the same decades ago. We just rule with some falsely perceived decorum. Rich assassins can’t possibly be savages, right? It’s not like we don’t indoctrinate orphans or kill innocent people if the price is high enough.”

“Still, the Crows are not the Antaam.” Lucanis reminded her. “It is not the goal to sow chaos.”

“Your Crows, First Talon.” Rook sneered, “Any innocent blood spilled in the Crows' name is on your hands now.”

Lucanis stopped as they crossed a bridge, something like betrayal flashing in his eyes. 

“You know I don’t want this Fiammetta! ” He hissed, gripping the railing until his knuckles turned white, “I am not your enemy.”

“Yeah, what the fuck, Rook?” Taash interjected, “Don’t start sympathizing with the Antaam just because that Butcher guy aired all your family’s dirty laundry.”

A prickle of defensiveness stung Rook’s, the second injury to her pride that evening. Sardonically, she threw her head back and laughed it off. 

“You wanted to know what it’s like to be a Crow, Taash?” She asked, holding her arms out and gesturing at the streets surrounding them. “This is it. Lies, secrets, political games. And loss. You’re just one dead parent away from being the perfect candidate.”

“Rook! ”

There was an authoritative tone in Lucanis' voice that made her flinch. Her cheeks flushed as a wave of shame fell over her. 

“I…” 

She blinked rapidly. If she cried here, it was all over. 

“I'm sorry, Taash. I’m… not myself.”

“No harm done.” They replied with a sympathetic look. “I know it’s probably not as cool as it sounds. But trust me… my mother fled with me to escape the Antaam. It hasn’t been all sunshine in our lives either. Every place has its tyrants. At least the Crows are trying to make things better.”

Lucanis' cold gaze fell upon Rook for a brief moment, before he averted his eyes and continued down the path. The disappointment that lingered on his features knocked the wind out of her. She wanted to reach for his hand, feel just enough warmth to sooth the cold, sinking feeling in her chest. Was this what it was like, to fear losing someone? How far could someone like Lucanis be pushed before he’d had enough?

“Come on.” Taash said gently, breaking the silence that had fallen over them, “Let’s make this guy pay.”

Rook trudged on through the streets, walking at a brisk pace, but avoiding drawing any attention by sprinting, no matter how badly she wanted to. As they rounded the corner to the Drowned District, she could see the Butcher fighting his own Antaam in the distance. He’d transformed into a Reaver, twice his original size, pulsating with power. The three crouched behind a stack of crates. 

“You think that guy’s going to be lucid enough to tell us where the gods are?” Taash asked skeptically. 

Rook drew her weapons. “We’re out of options. Let him take out the rest of his followers before we move in. Lucanis, can you drop in from the rooftops?”

He nodded, Spite’s wings spreading behind him, and disappeared from her side in a blur of violet. Something smashed into the crates behind them, and Rook and Taash both split in different directions across the docks.

“I see you! And I see the ritual!” The Butcher shouted, “Match me! Fight me! Win this city!”

Lucanis leapt from above, drawing his blade across the Butcher’s back. He swiped the Crow away like a fly, knocking him into a rotting wooden platform that crumbled underneath his weight. 

“This is the power the gods have offered the rest of the Antaam? The boon that drew them from the old ways?” The Butcher’s laugh was so loud it shook the ground underneath them, “Oh, Dragon King, you oafish fool!”

“At least we share that sentiment.” Taash muttered, pulling Lucanis free from the rubble by the collar of his coat as the Butcher set his sights on Rook again.

Lightning cracked through the sky overhead, and glanced up before widening her stance, pulling at her surroundings to gather static along the blades of her daggers. Rain began to pour from the clouds, obscuring the moon overhead and running through her hair, rinsing the mud and canal water from her clothes.

“The Little Flame is a spark! ” The Butcher laughed through his madness. “A storm mage!”

“My name. Is. Rook! ” She screamed.

“He’s goading you!” Lucanis warned from the sidelines as he watched for an opening, “Stay in control!”

“You have spent your entire life outrunning your father’s legacy.” The Butcher continued, “Show me you are more , Rook! Prove yourself worthy of my city!”

The air grew heavy as sparks weaved through the rain. Underfoot, the damp earth began to split, a low rumble echoing through the clouds above. Taash and Lucanis exchanged a look before retreating towards the docks.

“Where is the ritual?!” Rook demanded.

The Butcher threw his arms wide, laughing with delight as the downpour fell over him. 

“I see Tearstone Island. The ritual! Tearstone Island!”

“You’ve got what you need, Rook!” Lucanis shouted. “End this!”

She gritted her teeth and let out a scream that resonated so deep inside of her she feared her magic would fry her own insides. A vortex of thunder and lightning exploded at the center of the field, throwing her back, leaving nothing but scorched earth and carrion where the Butcher had been standing. The once wet soil smoked, static flickering across the surface of the surrounding water as her magic dissipated.

Rook doubled over to catch her breath, clutching one hand to her stomach. Her parents had hidden her abilities away, just as her father’s had, from the Circle. Crow mentorship was a poor substitute for a real magical education, and unfamiliar with the way she wielded the elements, her father had left her to test her own limits. This might have been the closest she’d ever come to discovering them. 

“The Butcher kept his word.” Lucanis said to no one in particular, sheathing his blades. Rook couldn’t ascertain whether he was impatient with her or simply weary from the fight, but when he hooked one arm through her elbow to keep her upright, she felt a glimmer of hope.

“Yes, truly the Butcher was a paragon of honor and virtue, and we are all devastated to see him go.” 

Rook raised her head toward the rooftops and scowled as Ivenci appeared, flanked by two Antaam guards.

“You gutless traitor!” She screamed, pulling free from Lucanis' reach. “You took everything from me!”

“Is that what the Butcher told you? Your mother was weak-willed, and your father was a mad fool. They brought their fates upon themselves. I took nothing. I did what was best for Treviso when your little den of assassins in the casino chose to do nothing.”

“You were working together! That’s how the Butcher knew your secrets, your lies! You sold Treviso out to the Antaam in the first place!”

“Yes, where your people would have preferred to provoke the Antaam to slaughter. The kind they carried out in every other Antivan city they crossed! I gave them the Crows, so they would not take the rest of the city.”

“And how are your business partners holding up their end of the bargain, Ivenci?” Lucanis asked, “You didn’t prevent a slaughter, you just postponed it.”

“Spare me, First Talon. The Antaam served a purpose, for a time. But the Butcher’s sentimentality made him too unpredictable. You’ve done me a favor. This city is mine. We need a real leader, and you know who else wants a leader? The Antaam. And if someone plays the role they want, they are accepting. They also understand that bringing order to Treviso requires the purging of disrupting elements that cause nothing but chaos.”

“There are other Antaam leaders rising through the ranks.” Rook said, “What will become of you when the Dragon King comes to claim Treviso for himself?”

“You should have been a politician, instead of a Crow, Rook. It’s too bad you didn’t inherit your mother’s skill for sleeping her way into power. I presume it was a matriarchal trait, given your aunt’s similar history. Isn’t Viago the king’s bastard?”

“Fuck you.” She spat as the world around her blurred in a haze of rain and rage.

“You have a location for your final, pointless confrontation. Isn’t that what you wanted? A chance to die a hero’s death? So go. Leave Treviso to those who deserve it. Take Dellamorte with you. One less Talon for me to rip clean from the Crows' grip on this city.”

“Pig!” Rook screamed as they disappeared from the rooftop. Lucanis and Taash held her in place as lightning struck the spot where Ivenci once stood. As she struggled to break free, Lucanis leaned down, his breath warm against her ear.

“They’ll pay for this, I promise.” He murmured, “But you have to let it go for now, Fiammetta.”

She struggled in his grip, shoving against him. “Ivenci can’t have gone far! Please!”

“And they’ve got every Antaam in the city with them.” Taash reminded her, “We can’t face them alone. We have to regroup.”

Ignoring her friends, Rook threw herself at the ledge, scrabbling for a foothold, only for Lucanis to impatiently yank her back and pin her against the stone. Taking her face in his hands, he forced her to look at him.

“Listen to Taash, Rook.” The disappointment in his face from earlier had disappeared, only concern and desperation remained. “You can’t fight in this state.”

Emotion makes you sloppy.

“I can’t lose anyone else.” She rasped as rain fell over her face, clutching his coat in both fists.

“And I can’t lose you. Nor can this team.” He said, nodding his head as he held her face tightly between his palms. “Think of your friends. They need you, Rook.”

Lucanis' fingertips wrapped around the back of her head, and he pulled her into his chest.

“Taash, go to the casino. Tell Viago and Teia what’s happened and that Rook and I will debrief them tomorrow. I’m taking her home.”

They nodded, clapping a reassuring hand between Rook’s shoulders before jogging off down the docks.

Lucanis stepped back and tipped Rook’s chin up. Rain ran down the bridge of his nose, dripping from his lashes and trickling over his lips. His hair stuck to his cheeks and forehead, drenched and matted. In a world of grey, the faint reflection of the streetlamps in his brown eyes were like a beacon.

“Come with me. There’s somewhere I’d like to take you.”

Numb, Rook allowed Lucanis to guide her through the winding streets and alleys of Treviso. She was too defeated - emotionally and physically - to question where they were headed as they passed the villa without a second glance. Puddles that had formed on the cobblestone streets sloshed under her boots, her waterlogged socks squishing and rubbing painfully against her heels.

Reaching a small row of houses, Lucanis motioned her under an awning and swiped his hand above the doorframe, retrieving a rusted key and turning it in the lock. It clicked and swung open, and he motioned for her to enter.

“What is this place?” Rook asked as she stepped inside, dropping the hood of her cloak. Lucanis locked the door and stepped around her to light an oil lamp on the wall, illuminating the modest dwelling.

“My apartment.” He said casually, taking her cloak off for her and nudging her towards a bedroom on the right. “One of them.”

Rook followed, curiously glancing over her shoulder at the kitchen. She had seen Viago’s ledgers, and was well aware of what Lucanis made from his contracts, and yet his apartment was far more humble than she could have ever imagined. Similar to her father’s apartment, it lacked the structural luxuries of the villa — no art on the walls, no marbled floors or countertops, not even a second level or balcony. Most of the furniture was modest, save for an iron framed bed resting against a window in the bedroom, the duvet and sheets likely exceeding the expense of the apartment itself.

Lucanis draped their cloaks over a chair in the corner and kicked off his boots by the door.

“Trying to be inconspicuous?” Rook asked, crouching and shivering as she removed her shoes and peeled her wet socks away from her ankles.

“More… sentimental.” Lucanis said, “This was my childhood home. I purchased it a few years ago. I needed a place that was… mine.”

She frowned as she rose to her feet. “You grew up here? I assumed your parents could have afforded a villa of their own.”

“My father was adamant about never accepting money from Caterina. It always came with strings.”

Rook hummed in agreement and dragged a finger along the dusty nightstand by the bed. An old newsheet was neatly folded beside three half-burned candles. Faded and curling at the corners, the date was from over a year ago.

“So this is where you always disappeared to,” she mused, waving her hand to ignite the candles on his bedside. Curiously, she lifted the lid of a lacquered box and examined a collection of items stored inside, plucking out a small pearlescent hair comb in the shape of a swan and examining it in the light. “Have you ever… brought anyone here?” 

“Just you.” Lucanis said, watching as she traced a fingertip over the edges of its wing. He carefully took it from her, turning it over in his hands.

“A wedding gift, from my father to my mother. She liked the look of pearls, but hated wearing them.” He explained, smoothing his thumb over the surface before handing it back to her, “I always imagined I’d give it to someone, someday.”

Gingerly, Rook cradled the heirloom between her palms and lowered it back into the box. “I never saw you as the marriage and family type.”

“That doesn’t rule out the possibility of falling in love.” He replied, taking a match from atop a small wood burning stove in the corner and crouching to rearrange the kindling inside. “I haven’t been able to return since the Venatori took me. I wanted to bring you here after a day in the market, make you dinner. But tonight felt… necessary.” 

Rook averted her eyes shamefully. “You didn’t have to share this with me. The things I said to you earlier…”

“-Do not change the way I feel about you.” 

Lucanis discarded the lit match inside the stove and strode across the room to her, taking her hands in his and smoothing the pad of his thumb over her knuckles.

“Keeping people at arm’s length because you can’t bear the thought of losing them is a lonely life, Rook.”

Her throat suddenly felt tight and she swallowed hard, pushing down the emotion that simmered there.

“And you would have experience with that?” 

“Too much.” He replied solemnly, “Though I’m trying to make up for lost time.”

His hand cupped the back of her neck, pulling her in as his lips hovered over hers. Lucanis paused, apprehensively testing her reaction, before Rook seized his face between her palms, kissing him as desperation flooded her. He smiled against her mouth and gripped her arms, pinning her to the doorframe. Dragging his lips down her neck, he drew a line up the expanse of her throat, stopping just under her jaw when she flinched. As if she’d just thrown a bucket of water on him, Lucanis reared back. 

“I’m fine-” Rook protested as he brushed her hair over her shoulders. It cascaded down her back, stray damp strands clinging to her neck and highlighting the fat ring of bruises where the Butcher had choked her.

Lucanis tore his gaze away and drug a hand over his face. “Rook…”

“Don’t,” she warned, “you wouldn’t fuss over anyone else like this.”

“You’re not ‘anyone else.’” He said, running his fingers over the bruises with a feather light touch. Rook sucked in a breath and winced, slapping his hand away. Concerns validated, Lucanis took her wrist, pulling her into the bathroom and sitting her down on the edge of a copper tub while he filled it from a tap. It appeared he’d taken notes from the villa and had some enchantments done.

He retrieved a small vial and emptied it into the water, testing the temperature and flicking his fingers into the bath once satisfied.

“Take your time.” He said, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as he departed. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

Rook watched him disappear behind the door and stared. How many lovers had observed her battered body as she bared herself to them after a contract? How many had become aroused before they used her as a vessel for pleasure? Lucanis was no stranger to her line of work, nothing about her injuries or scars should surprise him, and yet he couldn’t bear to let her neglect herself for even a moment. Even if she wanted to.

She could accept the horrors about her parents, the lies she’d lived, Ivenci’s insults, every truth revealed by the Butcher tonight. But it was Lucanis' compassion that was hardest for her to sit with as she removed her clothes and sunk into the warm water, never letting her chin so much as touch the surface.

Finding nothing in the kitchen pantry, Lucanis waited in bed for Rook, defeated. Their stomachs could wait for morning, though he’d have preferred to have given a better impression as a host. This wasn’t how he wanted to bring her home. But it was the only place that hadn’t yet been touched by this endless war with the gods, or the political nightmare the Crows had enacted upon her life. Their lives.

“Home?”

“The closest thing we have to one.” He murmured back to Spite.

“Home.” The demon echoed, seemingly satisfied.

The bathroom door creaked on its hinges and Lucanis lifted his head as Rook emerged, clutching a towel to herself.

“I… don’t have any dry clothes.”

She shivered as water dripped from her hair to the floor, forming puddles around her feet. Lucanis was no stranger to Rook’s bare form. So many times he’d seen her in the dim light of the Lighthouse’s meditation chamber, or the night at the villa. But never like this. Never so sullen, so beaten, so… tired. Void of any sign of determination or mischief behind her eyes.

“You can have some of mine.” Lucanis said, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress and glancing toward the dresser. Rook stopped him, straddling him on the bed with one knee on each side of his thigh.

“Not to sound ungrateful, but I’ll have to pass on anything that hasn’t been washed in over a year.” She said, shedding her towel on the floor behind them. A sheen of moisture glistened over her skin, flushed pink from the bath, contrasted against old scars and fading bruises dappling her torso. Lucanis' hands found her waist, steadying her in his lap.

“I feel like I just drank an entire bottle of wine.” She mumbled, hugging herself and resting her head on his collarbone. “What was in that bath oil?”

Lucanis chuckled, massaging the tension from her shoulder blade with one thumb.

“A mild analgesic mixed with healing tonic. If you’re feeling tired, it’s probably because you haven’t slept soundly in weeks.”

Rook groaned and went limp as the fascia around her muscles shifted under his touch. “This is nothing new. I’ve always had nightmares.”

“Solas' presence was… palpable, when you woke this morning. Spite had concerns.”

“Solas has been in my head since I interrupted the ritual. But I can’t change anything about it, not yet, anyway.”

“And in the meantime, he’s learning about what lies in your subconscious, plaguing you with your deepest fears. That doesn’t concern you?”

“Says the abomination.” Rook muttered, pulling back and narrowing her eyes. “Of course it concerns me. The elven god of trickery and lies is in my head. How do I know I’m not in the Fade right now? How do I know every choice I’ve made hasn’t been dictated by his will?”

Emotion swelled painfully in Lucanis’ chest as he tangled one hand in the back of her hair. He brought her mouth to his, easing her from his lap to the mattress. She tasted like the dried mint he kept stashed in his bathroom cabinet and smelled like his soap. Having her like this, in a place that only belonged to him, caused something possessive to stir at his core.

‘Spite.’ He warned the spirit mentally. ‘Not now.' 

“It’s real.” Lucanis whispered as Spite’s presence faded to the back of his mind, lying down beside Rook. “We’ll search for answers in the morning. Rest for now.”

“And when the nightmares start again?”

Lucanis reached forward to trace the slopes and curves of Rook’s face with his fingertips.

“This was my mother’s version of a lullaby, when I was a child.” He said as his touch drifted across the bridge of her nose and up her temple. “Although she was also a lovely singer."

Rook closed her eyes and hummed pleasantly. “You had trouble sleeping as a child, too?”

“I was afraid of the dark.”

The corners of Rook’s mouth lifted and she peeked at him with one eye.

“It’s hard to picture you being afraid of the dark.”

“Well, I’m not anymore.”

“How did you overcome it?”

“By becoming more terrifying than anything that could be lurking in the shadows.” He said with a lopsided smile. “What about you? What scares you?”

“I don’t care for Viago’s pet snakes, if I’m honest.”

Lucanis chuckled. “Snakes? That’s it?”

Rook hesitated.

“I don’t like an empty house at night. I can’t sleep when there’s no one around. I’ve never had a place of my own, because I’ve never wanted to. After my father died, I moved in with Viago. Then Teia and I had an apartment together until she became a Talon. That’s when she got expensive… and so did her tastes. When she outgrew our little hole in the wall, I told Viago I was broke. Not a complete lie but… not the whole truth.”

“Did you ever get lonely in the villa?” Lucanis asked, running the pad of his thumb over her lower lip.

“With Illario whining outside my locked door? How could I?”

Lucanis snorted. “And after?”

“Varric and I stayed a lot of strange places. Minrathous was the worst. But the inns were generally busy. Once, in Dock Town, I thought finding a random bedmate would make me feel more at ease… which was how Damas came about. That was worse than being alone.”

Lucanis laughed. “Maker rest his soul.”

“Maker, indeed.”

His movements stopped, his hand lingering just under her jaw, before he rolled onto his back. Snaking one arm under Rook’s waist, he pulled her closer and stared at the ceiling.

“Join me here, when… everything is over.” He suggested, glancing down at her from his peripheral, “I’ll even cook you dinner.”

Rook huffed and pressed her face into the crook of his neck, draping one leg over his waist.

“Caterina would never forgive me for domesticating her heir.”

“Let me worry about my grandmother.”

Lucanis listened to the rain and wind outside, watching the branches from the trees as they scratched at the window pane, silhouettes like crooked fingers reaching towards the sky. The very same vision that had his younger self cowering under the covers. Strange, how it was so beautiful to him now.

Chapter Text

Weary-eyed, Rook lifted her head, squinting to make out Lucanis’ figure by the hearth. Just barely illuminated in the soft lilac glow of predawn, he sat with one leg crossed over the other in his chair, brows pinched together in concentration. Over the crackle of the dying fire, his pen scratched against the page of his logbook. Outside, the rain had ceased, water dripping from the tree branches and dragging down the windowpane.

“Did you even sleep?” Rook asked, holding the sheets against her chest as she pushed herself into a seated position. Lucanis’ pen froze mid-stroke, and he glanced up in surprise, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I never sleep.”

Abandoning his worn leather notebook, he strolled across the room and joined her on the edge of the mattress. With her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he moved her head from side to side, examining her neck.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Rook said as he gingerly ran a knuckle over the column of her throat before withdrawing his touch.

“You look it.”

Curious, Rook smoothed her own hand over her skin, where the bruises and cuts from the evening before had now vanished. Impressed, she slinked closer to Lucanis, allowing the sheets to fall around her waist.

“I’d love to have the name of your tonic supplier.” She purred, bracing her palms on the bed and leaning in. With a smile, Lucanis ghosted his parted lips over hers, lingering just close enough for the anticipation to become agonizing.

“You should see what he charges first.”

“Why are you complaining? It’s not as if you can’t afford it.” Rook whispered, before she tugged at the collar of his shirt, collapsing back onto the mattress and bringing him down with her. Lucanis feigned incredulity, a hoarse laugh escaping his throat as he threw his head back, staring at the ceiling.

“You are not making it easy for me to be a gentleman, Fiammetta.” His hair fell around his face as he gazed back down at her, the ends brushing her cheek. She slipped one bare leg from under the sheets and wrapped it around his waist.

“What gave you the impression I wanted you to be?”

“Maker.” Lucanis growled, his restraint giving way as his hand skimmed up the back of her thigh. “You’re worse than Spite.”

“We have shared interests.” She said, tugging impatiently at the clasps holding his shirt together. He chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he cocked his head to the side. A dim violet presence flickered, disappearing before Rook could be certain if it had really been there at all. 

“Do you?”

Without warning, Lucanis called her bluff and flipped her onto her stomach, pinning her between his legs. Mouth slightly ajar, Rook turned her head to watch as he rose to his knees behind her, lifting one eyebrow and dropping his shirt on the floor.

“Did I misread your intentions?” He asked as his hands drifted to his trouser clasp, waiting for her response. She shook her head, and with a smirk, he slipped out of his pants and crawled over her. Rook inhaled sharply as Lucanis’ knees bracketed her body, his teeth scraping the side of her neck, following the trail of warmth his hand left down her side.

“Rook, Rook, Rook…” he hummed, gathering a fistful of her hair in one hand. “What am I going to do with you?”

His fingers slid between her legs, teasing the arousal that had gathered there. He murmured something incoherent against her skin with fervent reverence before he slipped inside of her with a low moan. Rook uttered a needy mewl and squeezed her eyes shut.

“You’re quiet. Have I lost you?”

She could hear the mischievous smile on his face as he spoke, setting an agonizing, measured pace before he hauled her against him, her back pressed to his chest as his lips skimmed her jawline.  

“It’s hard to speak like this, isn’t it?” His teeth grazed the shell of her ear before he pushed her on to her hands, gathering the wetness that escaped her toward her clit, drawing rough and perfect shapes with deft fingertips as he fucked her. Rook collapsed onto her elbows and moaned into the pillows, one fist curling in the sheets. 

Something between a laugh and a harsh groan of satisfaction rumbled in Lucanis’ throat as he reached forward and threaded his fingers through hers, wrapping her hand around an iron rung on the headboard.

“I know, I know,” he cooed as the frame thumped against the wall. Rook let out of a sob of pleasure, her hands sliding down the rungs in surrender. She clenched herself tight around his cock and Lucanis cursed, pulling out and prying her grip from the headboard. He rolled her onto her back, sliding a calloused hand between their stomachs.

“It kills me to tease you, Fiammetta…” he whispered against her lips as his fingers returned to her clit, “but you seem to enjoy it so much…”

“Lucanis -”

“She speaks,” he mumbled against her skin as he kissed the base of her throat. “Go on, Rook. Don’t just give me pretty sounds that leave me guessing.”

He inserted two fingers inside of her, curling them and assessing her reaction. 

“Fuck-" she managed with a guttural choke. Her cheeks burned a bright pink as her unfocused eyes stared into nothingness above them. 

“You’re close, aren’t you? Should I help you finish?”

Rook whined and dug her nails into his back, arching her hips towards him, desperate for more contact. Lucanis smirked and put his fingers, wet with her arousal, in her mouth as he kissed a trail down her abdomen. 

“Keep those warm for me.”

He dipped between her legs, spreading her thighs apart and dragging his tongue slowly up her center. Rook’s moan was muffled as he popped his fingers from between her lips, bringing them back inside of her. He worked her clit with his mouth, holding her gaze with heavily lidded eyes. 

Rook’s body went warm, and she felt the familiar shock of pleasure burn through every nerve. Her vision blurred, and she bucked her hips, grasping for his hair. Lucanis reached up and pressed his hand against her stomach, fingertips creating soft indents in her skin as he dragged them down her belly, pinning her to the sheets.

Once her legs were trembling and her hair was stuck to her forehead atop a sheen of sweat, Lucanis pulled his fingers free and pressed his lips to her inner thigh. He crept back over her and kissed her, allowing her to taste herself for a second time as he teased the wetness he’d left between her legs with the tip of his erection, just barely stretching her entrance enough to make her whimper. She tugged at his hips eagerly, her tongue seeking his, and he took it as eager permission, groaning into her mouth and pressing forward to sink back inside of her. 

“Is this too much?” He asked as Rook broke away from the kiss. She drew in a shaky breath, readjusting to the size of Lucanis while he held himself above her. With a shake of her head, she rocked her hips against him insistently. 

“I want to feel it when you-“

Lucanis cut her off with a rough kiss, finding a quicker, but more ragged, pace than before. 

“Maker, Rook.” He buried his face in her neck, pulling her body close. With a string of bitten off Antivan curses and words of veneration, he spilled himself inside of her with a strangled cry, muffled by his pillow case. 

Lucanis sagged, catching his weight on his elbows, taking a moment to catch his breath. When he pulled back to meet her gaze again, his features softened as he searched her face. 

“You okay?”

Rook wet her lips and nodded.

“You?” she breathed, unblinking.

“Never better.”

Lucanis slid off of her and collapsed onto the mattress with a contented sigh. Rolling on his hip, he traced her waist with his fingertips, eyes sparkling with amusement as she shivered. Her attention flicked towards the window, the sun’s rays peeking through the tree branches that tapped against the pane.  

“Escort me to the casino? Viago will be impatient to hear about Ivenci.”

“So soon?” Lucanis arched an eyebrow. “After all that?”

Rook kissed his cheek, winked, and rolled out of bed, padding to the fireplace and to retrieve her dry clothes. Lucanis draped the sheets over his lap and watched with a frown as she slipped into her leathers. 

“You’re in a hurry. Usually, you at least wait a few minutes before vaulting out of bed.” He rolled off the mattress and searched the floor for his clothes. “Is it so unbearable that I actually care for you, Fi?”

Guilt stirred in Rook’s chest as she watched him tug on his pants, fastening the buttons while he attempted to mask his disappointment.

“It’s not… unbearable.” She averted her gaze and retrieved her boots. “Just… inconvenient timing.”

Lucanis pulled his shirt over his shoulders and shook his head. He crossed the room and seized her face in his hands, kissing her intensely before letting his touch slide down to her chin. 

“What’s this about, mm? What have I done to make you so distant again?”

“Lucanis, it’s just - I can’t let Vi down. And besides, we’ve been away from the Lighthouse for too long, and the team-“

“Ah, your duty calls, but I’m supposed to walk away from mine as First Talon because you asked nicely.” 

“That’s not…” her chest tightened. It was. It was exactly what she’d asked of him. Demanded , even.  

Lucanis let his hands fall away and sat down in his chair, tugging his boots on.

“You can’t be with me if I remain First Talon, can you?” He pulled his laces tight with a swift motion, the threads audibly squeezing against the leather with a violent snap. “You couldn’t stomach it.”

“I could learn...” Rook protested. “If it was what you really wanted…”

“And if it was just what my duty demanded of me? If I can’t walk away from something my grandmother sacrificed everything for?”

“You don’t owe her-“

Lucanis stood and moved in front of her, hands reaching up to adjust the buckles on her chest piece, fingers finding the fastenings with ease. 

“Is my fight so different from the one you inherited from Varric?”

Rook froze.

“That’s different. Varric is…”

“I know.” Lucanis’ expression softened, and he ran his thumbs over her temples, smoothing her hair back. “I should not have taken things there. I apologize.”

He kissed her forehead and passed her coat to her, taking his logbook from the chair and pocketing it. Drawing his cloak over his shoulders, he nodded toward the door. 

“Come. Let’s find Viago.”

Chapter Text

​​Mornings in Treviso had a way of clinging to the colors of dusk, heavy with humidity and cooled by the northeastern breezes arriving from Rialto Bay. Fog rose over the canals like ghostly tendrils of smoke creeping around the gondolas. The vessels rocked above the current, creaking softly in protest.

Rook shivered and pulled her cloak closer as she strolled beside Lucanis towards the Cantori Diamond. His hollow gaze swept appreciatively over the landscape. The horrors of the Ossuary were behind him now, but still haunted his features, the rising sun marking the dark circles under his eyes. How many nights had they spent together, yet how many times had Rook actually seen him sleep?

“What were you writing about all night?” She asked suddenly, tugging at his pocket where the corner of his notebook peeked out.

“I lose time, so I try to keep a schedule, and take note when things vary. Also, Bellara chose an awful novel for book club. I had some thoughts about that.”

“Book club?” Rook pouted. “Why wasn’t I invited?”

“Bellara said you called romance novels lowbrow fiction."

“Aren’t they?”

Lucanis threw his head back and laughed, the crinkle of his eyes visible in the soft sunlight. He lifted his coat and draped an arm over her shoulders, drawing her in closer as they continued down the sidewalk.

“Romance novels are all Bellara reads.”

“Oh.” Rook’s cheeks flushed bright pink as she melted into the warmth of his side. “I didn’t mean any offense by it.”

“You shouldn’t trouble yourself with it. I think she just wanted to spare you.”

As they reached the market, Lucanis stopped at a fruit vendor’s stall, exchanging a handful of coins for a pair of oranges. Nodding in thanks, he slipped his dagger from his belt and scored the peels before passing one to Rook.

“But I am curious. What kinds of books are worthy of Fiammetta de Riva’s attention?”

“When you say it like that, I sound like a snob.” Rook muttered, digging her nail into the fruit’s skin and removing it in chunks. With a sigh, she discarded the fragments of her orange in a nearby compost pile and popped a slice in her mouth, the bittersweet tang of fruit juice burning her tongue as she considered his question. “I enjoy histories. Anthologies, collections of letters, especially ones not intended for publication. Whatever I could snoop in or smuggle from my father’s study.”

“And your reading habits haven’t changed since childhood?”

“Not particularly. You think Viago keeps steamy romances on the shelves in his apartment?”

Lucanis snorted, finishing his orange and wiping his hands clean with a handkerchief from his pocket. “I see your point.”

“I do partake in the occasional mystery. And Varric wrote a few books… sensational, but interesting. You should give them a chance. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind lending you a copy. He’d even sign it if you asked nicely.”

Lucanis’ brows furrowed, and he tilted his head to the side. Instead of speaking, however, he turned his attention to the casino entrance. Two Crows posted at the doors dipped their chins in greeting as he and Rook walked past. As Lucanis’ posture straightened, she shuddered at the thought of how much authority he now held. Never in her life had she imagined sharing a bed with a man whose influence could rival the King of Antiva’s.

The gambling tables were quiet this early in the morning — Crows conducting serious business, a few late-night gamblers taking inventory of their wins and losses, drunks stumbling to the exits — the usual. Rook slipped into a familiar corridor and climbed the spiral staircase to Viago’s office, not eager to make small talk with anyone who might recognize her.

“And where have you been all night?”

Even as an adult, Viago’s authoritative tone still made her shudder. Rook paused at the stairs, one hand wrapped tightly around the railing. As Lucanis caught up, she felt his chest ever-so-slightly press against her back.

“The Villa.” Rook lied quickly.

Viago gave an undignified sound of incredulity, his eyes narrowing in annoyance as he fully disengaged from his conversation with Heir and turned to face her.

“We checked the Villa.”

In the lounge behind him, Illario and Teia paused mid-argument, their heads snapping in Rook’s direction. Their meeting was now a walk of shame, and she found herself speechless as her cousin folded his arms over his chest, tapping one meticulously shined boot on the marbled floor. Heir excused herself, eyeing Lucanis warily before she disappeared downstairs.

“They looked for you everywhere, Rook.” Illario’s feigned concern barely concealed his wicked smile as he sauntered over, “The villa, Viago’s, the Drowned District… we began to assume the worst...”

Teia slapped Illario’s arm audibly, and he clutched his bicep with a grimace.

“He exaggerates.”

“Enough.” Viago’s blue eyes fixed themselves sharply on his cousin’s. “Did you handle your business? You can spare me nonessential details of your evening.”

“The Butcher is dead.” Rook said, staring at the ground. “But he was only the beginning. We underestimated Ivenci’s role in this.”

“The governor has spun lies spanning decades.” Lucanis cut in, squeezing Rook’s shoulder with one hand. “They’re responsible for running lyrium through the city, pitting us against one another, subtly orchestrating Crow executions and making them look like accidents…”

“Oh, Fi…” Teia’s eyes widened, “Your parents?”

Rook nodded. “We’ve been outplayed.”

“Ivenci was more cunning than I thought, but we can still make them pay,” Viago began, “I promise you, Fiammetta-”

“I’m not interested in watching you struggle to give your condolences, cousin.”

He bristled at her words, but had the sense to change the subject.

“Did you learn where the gods will be?”

“Somewhere called Tearstone Island.”

Teia reached for Rook’s hand, squeezing it between her own. “We’ll find Ivenci before you must face them. I’ll have my people start looking.”

“In the meantime…” Viago felt around in his pocket, producing a small letter. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

Rook scoffed. “Great timing, as always.”

Viago worked his jaw as he held her gaze, indicating his patience was near its limit.

“It’s not unrelated to your Ivenci problem. There are supplies in Rivain that were meant to return with some of our Crows. I suspect they were intercepted by the Antaam.” He explained, offering her the letter. “Illario is familiar with the details.”

“You want him to come with us?” Rook’s eyes drifted over his shoulder as Lucanis’ cousin smirked. “No, no. No .”

“I have business. I can’t waste all my time babysitting. Feed him to a dragon for all I care, but he’s going with you.”

Rook opened her mouth to protest, but Lucanis reached forward and snatched the letter from Viago’s hand before she could speak.

“We’ll handle it.” He growled.

His shoulder slammed into his cousin’s on the way out, so hard that it knocked him back a couple of steps. Rook glared at Viago before shoving past Illario to chase after Lucanis, lamenting what could have been a decent morning as Illario shouted for her to slow down.

“So, this is where you live? How unsettling.” Illario leaned over the edge of the platform in the eluvian room with a shudder. “And dreary. Not a window in sight.”

“Rook, could you excuse my cousin and I for a moment?” Lucanis asked. “I’d like to show him the view from the kitchen balcony…”

“Both of you cut it out.” Rook snapped as they entered the common room. “Illario, touch nothing and stay close.”

On the couch, Neve straightened at the sight of them, setting aside her book and blinking in disbelief.

“What’s he doing here?”

“He’ll be gone as soon as I get Taash.”

Rook left the two Dellamortes in uneasy silence together and climbed the stairs to Taash’s room, rapping her knuckles on the door twice before it swung it open.

“Oh. Hey.” Taash said, stifling a yawn. “You’re alive.”

“Was there ever any question about that?”

“You looked kind of rough last night. Everything good?”

“Things are… manageable.” Rook shifted her weight from foot to foot, desperate to avoid the subject. “Look, Viago asked me to follow up on some missing Crows and supplies in Rivain. Can you help?”

“Yeah. I can do that. I got word from my mother, anyway. She wants me to stop by.”

Rook lifted an eyebrow. “Have you talked to her since…”

“Nope.” Taash shrugged. “Not since I told her I was nonbinary. But her note says she wants to talk about that old Qunari tablet she found. Of course, that’s what she wants to talk about.”

“Maybe we could stop by and chat with her after?”

“Fine. Let’s grab Isabela on the way. The Lords will want to know what’s happening.”

“I should mention we’ll have some company.” Rook warned. Taash craned their neck to get a better view past the stairwell, where Lucanis and Illario were now occupying opposite sides of the room, pointedly ignoring each other. Neve had apparently evacuated the area altogether.

Rook wished she could do the same.

“Lucanis’ cousin?” Taash snorted. “Give Isabela five minutes and she’ll kick his ass into shape.”

Rook scoffed.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. You have yet to witness what Illario can accomplish in five minutes with a beautiful woman.”

Lucanis knew he’d regret allowing Illario to join them, but it seemed a necessary sacrifice to cease Rook and Viago’s endless bickering. Making the situation even more unbearable — as was Illario’s speciality — the younger Dellamorte’s dirty fighting only impressed Isabela as he cut through Antaam without breaking a sweat.

His cousin always did like to add a bit of flair to his kills. Lucanis thought of assassination as an art, a painting that required time and a delicate hand. For Illario, it was a dance — dynamic, melodramatic, and open for interpretation.

‘Show off ,’ Lucanis thought to himself as he pulled his blade from an Antaam warrior and wiped it clean.

As they trekked across the beaches, Illario and Isabela spoke in low tones, hanging back from the rest of the group. Occasionally they would giggle or whisper, and Spite would launch into a new homicidal tirade about Illario’s betrayal.

“You said he would suffer. But he does. Not. Suffer!”

“His ego has,” Lucanis thought back. “I assure you.”

“Not. Enough!”

Lucanis ignored the demon, observing Rook as she crouched to investigate a charred portion of the beach. Everything from that morning now felt like a distant memory, but this wasn’t new for them. Whatever affection she had to spare in the evenings was always spent come sunrise. They might have been lovers behind closed doors, but professionally, she kept him at arm’s length. Was she embarrassed, or just indifferent? Did she view him as a weakness, best kept at a distance to avoid exploitation? It’s what he would have done in her place, if the Ossuary hadn’t changed him. If she hadn’t changed him. Rook had been places no one had before — his bed, his home, his mind — and remained unphased by his fears, his shame. He yearned to have her closer, although it had already caused him to slip not once, but twice. What would it cost him if it happened again?

Taash elbowed Lucanis in the ribs, interrupting his thoughts.

“So… you and Rook are a thing?”

“Perhaps…” He replied warily, uncertain this was the distraction he wanted. “Why?”

“You should pop out the wings next time you’re with her-”

”Wings?” Spite’s fury towards Illario simmered, the demon’s interest now piqued by Taash’s suggestion. “Want to-”

“No.” Rook and Lucanis said in unison. She turned around and narrowed her eyes at Taash before standing and brushing sand from her leathers. Sweat was slicked across her forehead and she lifted her hair from her neck to cool herself, closing her eyes and leaning into the breeze coming off the water. When they opened again, her gaze swept over Lucanis and she froze, dropping her hair, as if showing even a shadow of skin in his presence was too much.

“And now you see why we’re so scantily clad around here.” Isabela said as she and Illario caught up. “Those tight leathers suit you, Rook, but you should give Rivaini fashion a chance in the heat.”

Spite rumbled with excitement at the prospect of a lesser-clothed Rook, fixating hungrily on her form.

“Was this morning not enough?” He inquired mentally.

”Never. Enough. Rook!”

Lucanis cleared his throat and turned towards the sea uncomfortably. Even if only audible to him, the spirit of determination’s words felt too loud.

Rook shielded her eyes from the sun and scanned the perimeter for missing supplies. “When I have time to go shopping, I’ll let you know, Isabela.”

“You see? This is why Rook and Lucanis are perfect for each other,” Illario sneered. “They love to spoil a good time.”

“And what do you call putting a hit on your own flesh and blood?” Isabela asked with a grin, “A party?”

“In Antiva?” Illario shrugged, “Thursday.”

In response to his cousin’s lack of remorse, Lucanis and Spite bristled at the same time. “When you lack the palle to kill them yourself…” Lucanis said in a low voice, his tone teetering between a warning and a threat, “some might call it cowardice.”

Illario scowled, but under his contempt, Lucanis swore he saw a hint of shame.

Wishful thinking, perhaps.

“There’s one of the Crows.” Rook said, cutting their bickering short. In the distance, metal bars glinted under the Rivaini sun, a woman caged within.

“Looks like she’s still alive.” Taash said as they drew closer. The woman lifted her head weakly and Lucanis quickly stooped to pick the lock of her enclosure.

“A relief, to find more than just a body for once.” He said, swinging the door open.

“The Antaam spared me so they could use me to keep supplies coming. I didn’t think anyone was coming to rescue me…”

“The Lords of Fortune wouldn’t abandon you.” Isabella said, unscrewing the lid of her canteen and holding it out in offering. “It’s the least we could do for the Crows.”

The woman took a long drink, nodding gratefully. “I certainly didn’t expect the First Talon,” she said, her weak smile fading as she caught sight of Illario. “Or you.”

“Natale...” Illario mumbled in greeting. Isabela’s face lit up with amusement, observing the exchange with a raised eyebrow.

“You two know each other?” Rook asked, her eyes shining with mischief.

They both ignored her question as Natale pushed herself to her feet, handing Isabela’s canteen back.

“I should get to Treviso with the supplies, give word of what’s happened here.”

Rook shoved Illario forward. “Take him. He knows a shortcut.”

Illario leaned in threateningly close to Rook, and Lucanis rolled his shoulders in an attempt to remain calm as Spite’s anger prickled. He cracked his neck, taking one step closer to Rook’s side.

“I help you kill hordes of Antaam,” Illario hissed, pointing to himself for emphasis. “and you still want to get rid of me?”

“I wouldn’t want to extend you past the duties of your contract. Viago hates when we work for free.” Rook answered with saccharine sweetness, “Besides, you’re bad for morale.”

“You know what? I’ll take my chances.” Natale said, slinging her pack over her shoulder, “Thanks for the rescue.”

Illario’s eyes briefly darted to Lucanis, and he stepped back cautiously. Despite his victory, Illario sulked as he joined Taash in the direction of Shathann’s home. A faint smile tugged at the corners of Lucanis’ mouth. Even if Rook wasn’t successful in sending off his cousin, she’d at least injured Illario’s ego.

“Oh, I know that look,” Isabela said, falling in step beside him.

Lucanis glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “What look?”

“Taash says you and Rook grew up together.” Isabela nodded in their direction. “How did she capture the interest of the Demon of Vyrantium before he became an actual abomination?”

Lucanis shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. And thanks to that idiot , I spent the last year in a Venatori prison.”

“Interesting.” Isabela’s eyes swept over him, assessing. “How does your passenger feel about her?”

Spite growled with delight, and Lucanis clenched his fists at his sides to keep the demon from slipping through.

“Strongly.”

Isabela’s bark of laughter earned them glances from the other three up ahead. Illario and Rook both narrowed their eyes suspiciously, and she dismissed their concern with a wave.

“My turn for questions.” Lucanis said. “I heard a missing Crow relocated to Rivain a few years back. I’m curious if you’ve crossed paths with him.”

“Crossed paths?” Isabela chuckled. “He rejected me twice . Can you believe it? Hopelessly in love. Monogamy can really be the killer of a good time.”

Lucanis grunted. “Any idea where I could find him?”

“Nice try, First Talon. I don’t make a habit of revealing the whereabouts of men who want to disappear.” Isabela replied, “Don’t tell me the Crows are still keeping tabs on Zevran Aranai?”

“Only as a hobby.”

“Hey!” Taash barked over their shoulder. “Keep up!”

Lucanis quickened his pace, grateful for the conversation to come to an end. As they approached Shathann’s open door, he instinctively reached for his sword.

“Something’s off.” He said, wrapping a hand around Rook’s arm. She regarded him with a half puzzled, half offended look as he pulled her to his side and positioned himself ahead of her.

”Smells. Like. Blood.”

“Mother?” Taash called as they stepped inside. “Tama?”

Lucanis glanced to his right and noticed a small crimson puddle on the ground. Taash’s gaze followed, and their eyes widened in response.

“Isabela…” they said, nervous apprehension creeping into their voice.

“It might not be hers-” Rook began.

“You think I don’t know what my mother’s blood smells like?” Taash snapped. “Cutter’s scent is here, too.”

“Cutter? The little fucker that wanted to fight a dragon?” Rook asked. “You think he’s taken your mother?”

Taash gritted their teeth. “I’m certain of it.”

“The tablet.” Isabela said quietly.

Illario squinted. “Can someone fill in the gaps for me?”

Rook ignored him, pressing Isabela further. “Why would he want the tablet?”

“It’s about Taash. About fire-breathers. Shathann was desperate to recover it. I’d bet in exchange for the tablet and Shathann, the Dragon King would turn Cutter into a fire-breather, like you, Taash.”

“That’s vashedan!” Taash shouted.

“You knew the tablet was about the adaari?” Rook demanded, moving closer to Isabela. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It wasn’t mine to tell. Shathann wanted to tell Taash herself.” she sighed, folding her arms and giving Taash a sympathetic nod. “Look, if the Dragon King is anywhere, it’s that tunnel to the north. Getting inside might be a challenge, but when you go in, the Lords will have all your backs. Cutter betrayed all of us.”

Their words echoed off the walls of the mountain and over the lava flowing below. Illario massaged his temples with his thumb and forefinger and winced as Taash spat on Cutter’s corpse.

“We’re not sneaking in after that…” He grumbled.

“Let’s get my mom and this stupid tablet out of this stupid volcano and never talk about it again.”

Ahead, Rook checked the strength of a beam spanning two platforms above the lava pit below, then stepped onto it, extending her arms to steady herself. On the other side, she leapt to a platform, clinging to the side and swinging her legs for leverage. Once on top, she doubled over to catch her breath as the heat and ash filled her lungs.

“You alright?” Lucanis asked, effortlessly catching up with the assistance of Spite’s wings. Perhaps she did want to fly with them.

“Fine.” She panted. “Just worried about Taash’s mom. And trying not to fall in that lava.”

“We could throw Illario in.” Lucanis suggested.

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t be devastated, thorn in your side as he might be.”

“It would be a waste of opportunities for you to humble him.” With a tight-lipped smile, Lucanis crouched beside her and tucked a sweat-soaked strand of hair behind her ear. “I should thank you for earlier.”

Part of Rook wanted to stay there, to lie down and let him carry her out of the tunnels as perpetual nausea from the heat gripped her stomach. Instead, she pulled Lucanis’ hand from her cheek and placed a kiss to the center of his palm before pushing herself up and continuing on after the others.

They scaled a series of ledges as they moved through what appeared to be an old Grey Warden stronghold. Finally, they reached a platform overlooking the Antaam assembled below. Taash’s mother was on her knees before the Dragon King, hands bound behind her back as he raved to his followers.

“Tama.” Taash breathed, scrambling forward.

“Taash, wait!” Rook wheezed, struggling to hoist herself over the platform. Lucanis gave her a boost before Spite’s wings flared behind him, and Isabella and Illario joined soon after, causing the chains holding the platform to shift under their shared weight, emitting a loud creak.

The Dragon King’s head snapped in their direction, and a barred cage suddenly descended from above, trapping all five of them inside. Taash yanked at the bars, desperately searching for escape.

“Evataash. Little Dragon.” He exhaled a long stream of fire into the air and bowed, gesturing at himself proudly. “I am Ataashok, the Dragon King. Unlike you, I embrace our birthright. You hide from it, Little Dragon. You belonged to the Antaam. You should have been ours. Instead, the priest stole you away.”

“Leave her out of this!” Taash screamed. “You wanted me? You got me.”

“Yes. The one you call Cutter said you would follow our bait.”

“Yeah, well, Cutter’s dead.”

“There! The rage! The passion that burns inside an adaari’s heart.” He pounded a fist against his chest. “Your mother could not quench it entirely.”

Taash scowled. “What. Do. You. Want? ”

“I want your fire, Little Dragon. I want your blood. My Antaam have grown strong with the blessings of Ghilan’nain. And with your lifeblood, Ghilan’nain can create an army of adaari for me. Our fire will burn this land pure! What does your mother say, ‘ shokra toh ebra?’ You struggle against yourself, Little Dragon. You do not deserve this.” The Dragon King lifted the tablet. “This contains a message from our ancestors. The full words can be revealed by a dragon’s fire. With this, we will prove we were meant to rule this world!”

“You are wrong, Ataashok.” Shathann interrupted, raising her head defiantly. Her eyes shone with pride as she shifted her gaze, speaking directly to Taash.

“‘Shokra toh ebra’ is not an order to struggle against what you are. It is a reminder that through struggle, you find what you are. Evataash has done this, where you have not, Ataashok. They are stronger than you will ever be.”

Rage ignited in the Dragon King’s face, and fear gripped Rook as she realized what was to come next.

“Rook,” Shathann’s eyes found hers with intent. “You will keep them safe.”

Rook knuckles turned white on the cage bars as the Dragon King brought the tablet down upon Shathann, bashing in the back of her skull. She was no stranger to brutal or messy killings, but violence against innocents was always jarring, no matter the circumstance. Rook released her hold on the iron bars as the tunnels began to shake violently, snapping a chain above them and sending the cage toppling into the lava below.

Choking on soot and the memory of her father’s mutilated corpse, Rook fell to all fours and dug her fingertips into the platform as she tried to steady herself. She couldn’t save her friend from her own fate. Another orphan, all so one tyrant could have a taste of power.

Taash let out a deafening, sorrowful wail as their mother’s body hit the stone below, and Lucanis reached for them as he shouted for everyone to move. The increasing heat burned Rook’s skin, and her ears rang with shock. Dazed, she stumbled down the path, the corners of her vision blurring and turning black.

“Illario!” Lucanis’ voice was strained with desperation as he shoved Taash along. Illario nodded hastily in understanding and hauled Rook to her feet, throwing her arm over his shoulders.

“Come on, Fi,” He grunted, guiding her towards the exit, “Can’t quit now. I haven’t even gotten to crash your wedding yet.”

In a rare turn of events, Illario regretted sticking around to spite Fiammetta and Lucanis. Why didn’t he just leave with Natale? She was insufferable, but at least she hadn’t drug him through a collapsing volcano.

The five managed to escape the tunnels unscathed, save Rook, who appeared to be suffering from some sort of heat-induced illness. She doubled over and vomited into the sand the moment Illario passed her off to Lucanis.

“It’s alright, Fiammetta.” His cousin murmured as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. “It’s over.”

Illario’s lip curled, and he averted his gaze, taking in his surroundings. Rivain was stunning, after all. Surely, the entire region wasn’t so volatile. And if Isabela was any indicator of the beauty of its inhabitants…

He glanced in her direction where she was speaking with the other Lords, sympathetically glancing over her shoulder at Taash every few moments. Alone by the shore, their recently orphaned companion sat before the waves, hugging their knees to their chest. It was a pitiful sight, and something gnawed at Illario’s chest uncomfortably. Throwing his head back with a groan, strolled through the sand to join them.

“My parents were murdered in front of me when I was a kid.” He said, idly staring out at the sea. “My brother and sister, too. I hid under my bed the whole time, assuming House Velardo’s men would come for me next, but they just… left. I was spared only because I was forgotten.”

Taash’s expression was somewhere between complete bewilderment and contempt as they sniffed and met Illario’s gaze.

“Why are you telling me this?”

”Everyone on this beach is an orphan. You’re grieving, so I won’t tell you it’s going to be okay, but at least you’re in good company.”

Taash turned over a pair of clipped horns in their hands, presumably cut from their mother before they fled the tunnels.

“Survivor’s guilt is a nasty thing.” Illario continued as he eased himself onto the sand with a grunt. “Sometimes I was jealous I didn’t make the cut. When my grandmother came to see the carnage, she grieved my family for an entire hour before she realized I wasn’t amongst the dead. When she saw I was the one who survived… I supposed she was relieved, but there’s a certain look when people wish you were someone else. I’ve grown accustomed to it.”

“Sounds shitty,” Taash said, “I always felt like my mother paid too much attention to me. And now I just wish I had more time.”

Illario pulled out his knife, toying with it in one hand absentmindedly before he drew a line in the sand with its tip.

“It’s our nature to take people for granted. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“‘Shokra to ebra.’” Taash turned their head and spat, “What kind of last words are those for the person you care about? We had this huge fight before she died and now we’ll never get to shout it out… to fix it.”

“Your mother sacrificed herself for you. What is there to fix? It seemed she understood exactly who you are, in the end.”

Taash hummed, dipping their chin.

“Think I can be a Crow, now that I’m an orphan like you guys?”

“So you’ve discovered our first rite of passage. Perhaps we should guard our secrets more closely. To your credit… the Crows have yet to recruit an adaari. But you’re a little tall. You may have to sew your own cape.”

He pushed himself to his feet and knocked loose sand from his boots on a nearby rock.

“Don’t tell anyone I was nice to you. I have a reputation to keep, mm?” He said with a wink. Taash snorted, and hugged their knees closer to their chest, keeping their gaze fixed on the tide as it rolled in, dragging bits of stone and leaves into the sea as bugs and fish struggled against the current.

“What did you say to them?” Rook demanded, lifting her head from her most recent bout of nausea as Illario strode back towards her and Lucanis.

“Something terrible, presumably. You were right. I’m bad for morale.” Illario said, “I’m going back to Treviso. Viago doesn’t pay me for overtime.”

“ Cousin .” Lucanis called after him as he walked away. Illario hesitated, glancing over his shoulder.

“Thank you.” 

Illario blinked in surprise, but any hope of a cunning retort was dashed as Rook doubled over again and retched. He frowned, eyes sweeping over her form. 

“You’re certain she’s not pregnant?”

Lucanis scowled at him as he smoothed Rook’s hair back.

“Enough, Illario-”

“I’m serious, Lucanis. I think Fi’s been poisoned.”

Chapter Text

In the Crows’ Nest atop the Cantori Diamond, Lucanis laid Rook out on a plush velvet couch and brushed her hair from her eyes, his mouth tight with worry. Rook’s ragged breathing hitched with each strained gasp, and her consciousness had ebbed and flowed throughout their trek back to Treviso. His arms ached with a dull, heavy throb from carrying her across the Rivain beaches, and his sweat-soaked shirt clung to his lower back.

“Taash-” Rook croaked softly, clawing at the sofa cushions for leverage as she tried to sit up.

“Does not need to lose another person they love today,” Lucanis said sternly, expending next to none of his strength to keep her in place as he gently restrained her. “Let Harding handle it. You can be there for them later.”

“And you’re certain she’s not pregnant?” Viago snarled as he followed Illario into the room. He set his bag on the table with a heavy thud and pried it open like one would an accordion, sifting through vials of poisons and antidotes with a frown. Rook opened her mouth to protest, but the words died in her throat as she immediately succumbed to another bout of illness.

“She insists she’s not,” Lucanis said, brow creased with worry.

Viago’s sharp green eyes narrowed. “And you can attest to that?”

Lucanis averted his gaze just as Teia rushed in, shoving between them to fuss over Rook.

“The more time you waste interrogating, the sicker she gets, Vi,” she scolded, administering a cold compress to her best friend’s burning forehead. “Oh Fi, what have you gotten yourself into now?”

With a grunt, Viago tugged at each of Rook’s eyelids with his thumb, assessing the broken capillaries in her sclera and hummed, considering his options before opening his bag and retrieving a small vial. Examining it in the light, he glanced between the solution and Rook, whose visage grew paler by the moment.

“Have you eaten today?”

“I had an orange. But Lucanis had one, too, and he’s fine-”

“Transdermal absorption…” Viago mused, pulling her collar aside and exposing an angry, red rash that spread across her neck. Lucanis blinked in surprise. That hadn’t been there this morning. 

Rook gasped, coughing into the crook of her elbow, a shudder wracking her body. “The Butcher threw me in the canals last night. Could that be-”

“The canals are clean.” Viago countered, exchanging one vial for another and examining it closely. “After the dragon attack, I’ve had people continuously posted to prevent any possible contamination.”

“Wait,” Lucanis interrupted, his eyes locking with Rook’s. “Last night, in the bath.”

Viago stiffened where he was crouched beside Rook and slowly turned his head towards Lucanis. If the Fifth Talon could figure out how to poison a look, Lucanis would certainly have been his first victim.

“I have no interest in hearing about-”

A groan escaped Rook as she pressed a sweaty palm to her forehead. “I used a healing tonic. Maybe it was expired, or-”

“How old?” Illario interjected, suddenly intrigued.

“Before the Ossuary.” Lucanis narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “What does it matter?”

“From the family healer?”

“Yes.” Rook stifled another cough. “Why, did you poison it?”

Illario scowled and closed his eyes slowly, taking a deep breath.

“Caterina discharged him a year ago when she got a stomach ache from a dry skin poultice.”

“Seems excessive.” Rook muttered, before succumbing to another coughing fit. 

Lucanis turned towards his cousin and tilted his head. “You think he was trying to poison her? He’s been loyal to House Dellamorte for generations.”

“Are you really surprised?”

Lucanis slumped onto the couch at Rook’s feet and rested his face in his hands.

“Fiammetta, I’m a fool. I’m so sorry…”

“You’re both fools.” Viago grumbled as he rummaged through his bag once more, this time confidently seizing a vial labeled Bitter Mercy and thrusted it towards Rook. “This is why you always-”

“-test before you ingest.” She finished his sentence and threw back the vial’s contents, her face twisting in a grimace at the bitter taste. With a weak smile, she handed it back, and Lucanis swore he saw amusement flicker in Viago’s eyes.

“You’d think Caterina would vet her people better.” Teia mused.

“Where is this healer now?” Viago asked, observing Rook as her cheeks reclaimed their color. “I’d like to chat with him.”

“You may run into some difficulties.” Illario replied. “My grandmother’s idea of severance doesn’t include a final paycheck.”

Rook raised an eyebrow. “So he’s…”

“At the bottom of the Amaranthine Ocean with an anvil tied to his ankle.”

“And you know this because you put him there?” Lucanis asked.

Illario shrugged. “You have a necromancer, no? Maybe he can put you in touch.”

Viago shook his head and turned his attention to Rook, taking the empty antidote vial from her fingertips.

“That won’t be necessary.” Viago’s gaze swept over the bile on the ground beside the sofa. “Fiammetta will be fine. Although the contents of her stomach suggest she’s starving. Don’t you cook, Dellamorte? Why isn’t my cousin eating?” 

“I’m not starving- ” Rook protested. 

“Truly? This would have been nothing but a sour stomach, had it not been so concentrated in your bloodstream. Of course, if you’d make yourself immune like I taught you…”

“I’m not drinking poison every day.”

“Just to be clear, Fi’s not pregnant. Do I have that right?” Illario asked, earning a glare from everyone in the room. Viago waved his hand towards the door, dismissing Lucanis and Illario with a look of disgust. 

“Get out and send someone to clean this up. I’d like to speak to Fiammetta alone.”

Eager to dissolve the tension in the room, Lucanis rose from his seat and swept his lips across Rook’s temple, one hand lingering on her cheek before he departed. Viago’s piercing eyes followed his every movement until Lucanis yanked Illario towards the stairs by the elbow, retreating into the first floor of the casino.

“Is Viago always like this?” He asked as they reached the foot of the stairs. His cousin looked relatively bored as he folded his arms, assessing the happenings on the casino floor around them.

“He was more bearable when you weren’t putting Fiammetta in life or death situations every other week. It doesn’t help that you’re fucking her.”

“It’s not like that. Don’t speak about her like-”

“I wasn’t insulting her.” Illario held up his palms in surrender. “Just making an observation. No one in either of our Houses needs an unplanned pregnancy right now.”

Lucanis scoffed. “And you’re so certain you haven’t further populated the Dellamorte line?”

“I’m careful with my personal business.” Illario snipped, “Caterina said she didn’t want to risk grieving another generation of grandchildren, and I’m happy to honor that wish.”

“You think I’m not careful?”

“Your inability to provide Viago a straight answer back there is proof.”

Lucanis scowled, averting his gaze to the marbled floor.

“You could upend and ruin her entire life, cousin. You know what children do to a Crow’s career? Women in particular? And to carry the First Talon’s child? The assassination attempts alone… ”

“You’ve made your point.” Lucanis snapped, “I trust Rook to handle this, but it was my mistake to not… discuss it further. I’ll bear the consequences in mind. What happens between the two of us is none of your concern.”

“And yet here I am, concerned.”

Lucanis glanced to the side and laughed bitterly.

“So you’ll send your own blood to their death, but Fiammetta is where you draw the line? Interesting.”

Illario pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not so simple, cousin.”

“Sure it is. You love her.”

“Not like you think.” Illario’s hand fell away, and he hung his head with a sigh. “Not the way you do.”

“I never said-”

“Please, cousin. It’s written all over your face. It has been for years. The furtive glances, lingering just where she might pass in hopes you might exchange even one word with her. Maybe you didn’t love her before, but mierda! The yearning! ” Illario threw his head back, voice echoing through the nearly empty halls. “It was her or no one for you, Lucanis. You’ve known it since we were children. Was it her grief that drew you to her? Or perhaps just fate? How would anyone else stand a chance with Fiammetta de Riva or Lucanis Dellamorte when both of them were too busy denying what everyone else could see all along?”

Illario swallowed, his chest rising and falling as he stared at his cousin with a suffocating intensity. “You think I would end your life over a woman? You take me for some lovesick fool, cousin?”

“Give me an answer, then. Help me make sense of this. Because I still cannot believe it. I refuse to believe it was so simple for you to let me walk onto that ship, knowing you’d never see me again.”

“It was anything but simple!” Illario snarled. “Zara was pulling the strings. In my head, my emotions… a lifetime of jealousy, being overlooked, underestimated, and rejected. I wanted one thing, and Caterina would have rather given it to you, who didn’t want it at all.”

“You wanted more than just First Talon, Illario. There’s always more.”

“Sure. There was a time I wanted Fi, okay? Do you know how lonely it was? My father was Caterina’s original heir, remember? All I wanted was to grow up to be like him. Instead, I watched his execution in my family home. Along with my mother, my siblings… you were spared that fate. At least they took your parents as bargaining chips. They made an example out of mine. And House Vellardo’s men forgot I even existed. Which is the only reason I’m still here.”

“Illario-“

“You weren’t there. The night Fi’s father was killed.”

“Viago and I went back-”

“But not when she saw it. It was terrible to witness her suffering, but I’ve never felt more seen. She struggled with her legacy too, after that. Just like I never solidified my place as heir, she never quite fit into the Crows. She had talent, magic, beauty… all things that gave her an advantage, and yet her skill was so unrefined. You and I both know if not for who her father was, or the magic she wields…” His voice trailed off and he sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of one hand.

“Without Viago, she would have never made it through Crow training. You knew her then, but I was her friend. I was there for her. I tried to give her the revenge I never had. Tried to make her whole and protect her in ways no one did for me. So yes, Lucanis, I loved her. But it went deeper than skirt chasing. It still does.”

Lucanis held his cousin’s gaze, seeing something genuine there for the first time since his return from the Ossuary.

“So why have me killed? Do you hate me so much?”

“I love you. More than anyone on this earth. It was my jealousy… it festered, grew as Zara nurtured it with words and blood magic. Gave me power I couldn’t imagine. I tried to reach the ship before it left the docks, to reach you… but I was too late. And so I grieved you, and I buried my shame. I convinced myself I’d spared you from a life you didn’t even want. The damage was done, I thought. There was nothing I could do to fix it. And Caterina sat stoic at your funeral, pretending she believed that blood magic-riddled corpse was yours. Knowing you were alive and leaving you in that prison! Her secrecy once again had driven a knife between us. If she’d told me you had survived, that you were taken, I could have saved you, made things right…”

Illario clasped his hands behind his back, pacing.

“And then you show up again, saved by Fi of all people, after she abandoned Treviso, Viago, Teia — me . I was so furious. All that wasted devotion to her, to you — all for nothing. Worse, I could see it in your eyes. You adored her. The glimmer of admiration that had been there before bloomed into something deeper. And she needed you. She leaned on you and trusted you in a way she’d never trusted me. Even with a demon in you. And I had lost too much to go back from there… and so I kept pushing until I lost everything.”

“So Zara… you loved her too?”

“No. But she was…a comfort.”

Lucanis made a sound of disgust as his lip curled.

“Look, I’ve denounced it. All of it. The Venatori, blood magic, my dreams of First Talon, my feelings for Fiammetta.” Illario took a desperate step closer. “I won’t betray you again, cousin. You have my word.”

“And what is your word worth, Illario?”

“It’s the only thing I have left.”

Lucanis swallowed. Even Spite was at a loss for words.

“How am I ever supposed to trust you again?”

Illario kicked at the ground, rubbing out a scuff on the floor with the sole of his boot.

“You can trust my shame. It runs deeper than my honor these days.”

Avoiding eye contact, his cousin passed him, leaving through the front doors of the Cantori Diamond without looking back.

“Alright, Vi, what’s so-”

“We’re engaged.” Teia thrust her hand forward, a glint of gold catching in the light of the crystal chandeliers above their heads. On her ring finger was a beautifully crafted band with a solitaire diamond likely worth at least six years of contracts. Good contracts.

“You sent Illario with us so you could propose? ” Rook’s lips parted, her jaw falling open as she looked between her cousin and his fiance. She pushed herself into a seated position and seized her friend’s hand to get a closer look. “ This was your business?”

“Chiton!” Teia hissed, slapping a palm over Rook’s mouth, “We wanted to tell you before announcing it to every Crow in the vicinity.”

“I’m allowed to have a modicum of a personal life, Fiammetta.” Viago growled, “The privilege isn’t exclusive to you and Dellamorte.”

Rook grinned under her hand and pulled it from her face, drawing her friend into a hug.

“You deserve to be happy.” She whispered into Teia’s hair. “Even if the man you love makes everyone else miserable.”

“Keep the news to yourself for now.” Viago warned as the two pulled apart.

“At least until I can get the engagement party invites out.” Teia said with a wink, pressing a crisp envelope into her hand.

Rook flopped back onto the couch and groaned. “Why am I always caught up in your drama? Just put the poison back in me. I hate these kinds of secrets.”

“You speak to me as if this isn’t the second time I’ve had to save you from a poisoning at the hands of a Dellamorte in recent history,” Viago sneered. “But if you want a poisoned invite, there’s a stack on my desk…”

“There’s the de Riva spirit! Never let an opportunity to poison someone pass you by.” Ignoring her cousin’s seething expression, Rook flashed Teia a playful smile. “If this is how you prepare for the engagement party, your wedding is going to be a bloodbath.”

“Counting on it.” Viago ran a hand through his hair and pressed a kiss to the top of Teia’s head before retreating behind his desk. With a sigh, Teia slipped the ring from her finger and back into her pocket and sighed.

“This is suicide, isn’t it?” She said, shaking her head. “I never saw Vi or myself as the marriage type. What was he thinking, proposing in the middle of a war with gods? During an occupation?”

“He’s not thinking. You’re the one thing that completely upends his ability to produce rational thought.” Rook reached for Teia’s hand and squeezed it between hers earnestly. “Why would he pass the opportunity to let everyone in Treviso know you two are bound for life?”

“Including any enemy looking for weaknesses.” Teia mumbled.

“Life’s too short to be alone.” Rook said with a smile. “Although why you’d want to waste it doing charity work with such a miserable-”

“Watch it.” Teia warned.

“Is that a threat or an order, Seventh Talon?”

“Consider it a suggestion. But I’m obligated to make it sound like a threat.”

Lucanis paced the casino floor, his steps silent against the marble as the staff scrubbed the bases of the pillars lining the halls, pretending to be busy while they stole glances in his direction. This wasn’t new. After the Wigmaker job, he and Illario had earned themselves plenty of renown. It was the expressions that were different now. Instead of wonder or admiration, there was a hint of fear in every gaze, questions of whether they could trust an abomination. Was he so much better than his cousin? Family betrayal wasn’t just common amongst the Antivan Crows, it was practically a rite of passage. Illario’s reputation would recover, given the right circumstances…

He felt a prickle of resentment, his heartbeat quickening as Spite stirred.

“The traitor still. Must. Pay!”

He ignored the demon, clenching his fists at his side and taking a sharp breath. This was not the place to risk losing control.

“Lucanis!” 

Lucanis turned toward the sound of Teia’s voice, a welcome balm that cut through Spite’s rage.

“She’s waiting for you.” She said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Take her home to get some rest, before Viago gets to her and they start bickering again.”

With a grateful nod, he hurried back to the stairs. As he reached the top, Rook was already sitting up, her nimble fingers working quickly to relace her sand-caked boots. A smear of brown mud graced the trim of the couch, a transgression that would surely send Viago into a fit of rage if Lucanis didn’t get her home soon.

“You’re awake.”

A slow smile spread across Rook’s lips as Lucanis crossed the room, the worn floorboards creaking softly under his shoes. Bending, he threaded his fingers through her hair and drew her closer. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief as he tenderly kissed her, and his throat constricted with emotion.

“I’ll admit, I was afraid I wouldn’t get to do that again for a moment.” He said hoarsely as he pulled away, “I’m so sorry, Fiammetta, I didn’t even think-”

“Enough.” She pushed him off and resumed lacing her boots. “All this worrying is giving me a headache.”

“Of course.” Lucanis averted his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against a nearby pillar. “I have to ask… there’s not a chance you could be…”

Rook cocked her head. “You honestly believe Viago would release me out into the world without teaching me to mix my own contraceptives? There’s a reason he reached for his collection of antidotes rather than sending for a healer. He just wanted to make you squirm.”

With a firm grip, Lucanis’s calloused hand took Rook’s and pulled her to her feet. She stumbled, her hands grasping at his cloak for support as she pressed her body against his.

“The games you de Rivas play exhaust me.” Lucanis’ voice was a low, playful rumble in her ear as gooseflesh formed on her skin underneath his palms. Rook reached up and trailed one finger down the length of his jaw, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“Careful… sweep me off my feet, and who will watch your back?”

“Not. Here!” Viago barked from the other side of the room, startling both of them enough that they each recoiled. Desperate to be free of Viago’s audience, Lucanis drug a hand over his face and nodded in the direction of the eluvian.

“Perhaps it’s time to go home, mm?”

With a grin, Rook interlaced her fingers with his.

“Goodnight, cousin!” She called out, voice dripping with honeyed sweetness as they passed over the walkway. Lucanis watched with amusement as the Fifth Talon threw up his middle finger before returning his attention to a document on his desk.

Rook ducked under the jagged edges of a broken window to the balcony and he followed, the cool evening wind a welcome relief from the scorched beaches of Rivain.

“So what was so pressing that he and Teia needed to speak with you alone?” Lucanis asked in a low voice once they were out of earshot.

Rook ghosted her fingertips over the surface of the eluvian, lingering thoughtfully.

“Nothing of concern. But if you have the chance, try to get your formal clothes pressed before next week.” She said, winking over her shoulder at him before she slipped inside the translucent surface. In the back of Lucanis’ mind, Spite growled in anticipation, urging for Lucanis to follow.

Chapter Text

Rook stared at her reflection, frowning as she smoothed her hands over the front of her dress. Bellara had wholeheartedly assured her the slit in the thigh was “totally okay for an engagement party”, and yet Davrin had done a triple take of her in the courtyard as she walked past to her chambers. Tugging the silt down uncomfortably, she groaned and returned to her wardrobe, sifting through her belongings for something that wouldn’t draw too much attention. As she searched, two hands snaked around her middle and lifted her off the floor and back in front of the mirror.

“You know better than to sneak up on an assassin like that,” Rook warned, admiring their reflection as he held her. They looked good together.

“I shouldn’t have been able to get that close,” Lucanis chastised softly in her ear. “At least you know someone’s watching you back.”

Rook shivered as his lips brushed her neck, their eyes meeting in the mirror’s reflection.

“You’re overthinking,” He murmured against her skin, “Keep the dress on.”

Letting her head fall back onto his shoulder, she stared at the vaulted ceiling of her chambers, tracing the paths of the ancient carvings there.

“Only if you promise to take it off of me later.”

Lucanis chuckled and spun her around, taking her right hand and smoothing his thumb over her knuckles.

“What’s on your mind?” Rook asked, watching his smile fade to a frown as his brows pinched together in thought.

“I was curious if you’d let me entrust something into your care again.”

“Lucanis-”

His hand dipped into his pocket, retrieving a small box that he pressed into the center of his palm.

“No Caterina, no strings,” He murmured, kissing her temple before retreating. “It suits you far better than me.”

Rook carefully lifted the lid, and inside the familiar opal ring refracted the light from the meditation chamber window, a spectrum of color dancing across its surface. Her mouth suddenly felt dry as she traced her fingertip over its edges. Lucanis tore his gaze from her hands and cleared his throat.

“I’ll see you at the casino,” he said, his voice distant, his nod curt. With a quick, cordial nod, he left the room in measured, silent strides. Conflicted, Rook stared after him as he rounded the corner, disappearing down the stairs.

What, other than Spite, would possess Lucanis drop something like this on her not even an hour before Teia and Viago’s engagement party was due to begin? And how could such a small family heirloom feel so heavy cradled between her hands?

Still undecided, Rook closed the lid on the box and set it on her dresser. Teia was expecting her to stop by before the party and help her prepare, and she’d need to break her abstinence from alcohol this evening with at least four glasses of champagne before she could make a decision. She threw her cloak over her shoulders and snatched the box again at the last moment, slipping it into her pocket before she left her chambers for the eluvian, holding her breath as she passed through the library, praying to the Maker Lucanis wasn’t watching from the shadows.

Lucanis hated Crow soirées. Typically, he could get away with remaining posted on the furthest wall, eavesdropping and sipping wine until the night finally came to an end. As First Talon, however, everyone wanted his time and attention: Houses with requests for alliances, women he’d never met offering a rendezvous in one of the casino guestrooms. Even he and Rook’s companions were relentless, each more out of place than the last, relying on him for conversation while they awkwardly idled amongst the Crows. Neve and Emmrich were the only ones who seemed able to adapt to her surroundings, and to Lucanis’ dismay, it appeared Davrin had been the lucky one to take his coveted people-watching spot on the wall.

“Have you considered my suggestion?”

Behind him, Emmrich waited with a cup of tea in hand, Manfred hissing in greeting. Where the necromancer had managed to find tea in the Cantori Diamond, Lucanis couldn’t begin to understand.

Relieved his companions weren’t dragging him into yet another business discussion, the tension evaporated from his shoulders, and he flashed a pleasant smile in greeting.

“Reading to Spite to bring us closer?” Lucanis asked with a chuckle, recalling he and Emmrich’s  conversation during dinner the previous week.

“Reading?” The demon echoed, agitated. “No! Curiosity has fire. Spite. Wants. Fire!”

“Might I suggest some classic tragedies?” Emmrich said eagerly, “Or perhaps you are in the mood for the old epic poems?”

A little surprised it had been a serious suggestion, Lucanis shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably, taking another drink.

“I think I’ll let Spite pick.”

“Tragedies!”

“Determination!” Manfred exclaimed in his unsettling, gravelly tenor. Still unaccustomed to the skeleton’s recent discovery of speech, Lucanis felt a faint chill trickle across his skin.

“And who is this?” 

Teia appeared at Lucanis’ side, squealing with delight as she pushed past to get a better look at Manfred. The skeleton chattered gleefully, grasping at the hem of her emerald gown in awe. Lucanis redirected his attention, searching for Rook against amongst the sea of bodies surrounding them. Missing nothing, the Seventh Talon smirked and nudged him in the ribs.

“Patience, my friend. She’s getting a drink. What’s got the two of you so worked up this evening? Fi was a nervous wreck when she got to my place.”

“These are quite unnerving times, truly.” Emmrich empathized, “Though I suppose we cannot rule out our companions’ budding romance…”

Lucanis frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but lost his capability for thought as a familiar, warm hand caught his own.

“Careful, Emmrich, you’re far too used to the soft-hearted, domestic version of our First Talon that you get at the Lighthouse.” Rook purred, sidling up to Lucanis, “Don’t forget, he was called a demon before he became an abomination.”

Emmrich and Teia laughed, turning into their own conversation as Lucanis directed his full attention to Rook. She wore the same gown she had been when they last spoke, heavy dark silk that draped over her form like liquid. His mouth went dry at the sight of the slit at her thigh, exposing the skin there in such a way that it took all of his self control not to reach out, the memory of her flesh beneath has hands almost too much to bear.

Rook squeezed his hand, pulling him back to the present. Between their interlaced fingers, he felt the familiar shape of the band that held his mother’s ring.

“I wasn’t sure you would wear it.” He swallowed hard as he pulled her hand into the light to examine it.

“Well, I was worried Caterina might accuse me of losing it if she caught me here without it, but Teia informed me your grandmother refused to even come at all. Something about ‘not bothering until the wedding, if they even made it that far.’”

Lucanis’ laughter came out more like a low hum.

“Smells like jasmine and rainfall.”

“You’re drinking.” He nodded towards her champagne, desperate to change the subject and redirect Spite as the demon’s attention roved over her low neckline.

Rook mimed a toast. “I can make an exception for true love.”

“I heard that.” Teia nodded a polite goodbye to Emmrich and prowled to Rook’s side, whispering something into her friend’s ear that left her flushed red as she walked away.

“Fiammetta,” Lucanis began, drawing her attention back to him. He tried to continue, but  found himself at a loss for words. Why was this suddenly so difficult?

She frowned, taking a step closer that only shattered his nerves further.

“Is everything alright?”

The way her features were illuminated in the light made his chest feel tight, and without another moment’s hesitation, he seized the back of her neck with one hand and dipped his head to kiss her fervently. Spike rumbled appreciatively as she returned the kiss, tongue slipping inquiringly between his lips.

“Lucanis Dellamorte.”

The voice called out to him formally over the chatter of the surrounding crowd, startling Rook enough that she broke the kiss and flinched. Lucanis’ fingertips drifted slowly down her cheek as he pulled back, turning slowly towards the interruption with a lethal gaze.

“Can I help you?”

Another Crow, standing a head taller than himself, stood a few steps away, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he straightened his posture. He exuded a prideful confidence that made Lucanis’ lip curl.

“Lucanis Dellamorte,” he repeated firmly, as if he’d rehearsed the line a thousand times before this moment, “I challenge you for the seat of First Talon.”

“Callisto Gegar? Is this a joke?” Rook stepped forward, appraising his opponent with a condescending smirk before taking a seat on an adjacent couch, “The last time I saw you, you were a sniveling Fledgling who could barely hold a dagger correctly.”

“Quiet, de Riva.”

Rook lifted an eyebrow, amused and seemingly unoffended, as she stretched her arm over the back of the couch, crossing one bare leg over the other in a show of indifference. Lucanis’ pulse quickened in both agitation at Callisto and arousal from Rook’s callousness. It wasn’t often he - or Spite - got to enjoy this side of her. Fingers flexing beside the hilt of his shortsword, Lucanis took a deliberate step between Rook and Callisto.

“Most people don’t bother announcing an ambush,” he said, examining his opponent. This would be over in seconds, a humiliation to House Gegar if he didn’t convince its most boorish member to stand down.

“What’s a party without a little bloodshed?” Callisto grinned, brandishing his weapon. “Since you insist on being so elusive these days and spending all of your time outside of Treviso, I unfortunately have to take the opportunity when and where it presents itself.”

Teia threw her head back and laughed. “You are brave.”

“One has to understand what’s at stake to be brave,” Rook said in a silken voice from her seat. “Our friend here is simply a fool .”

“I already told you to shut your mouth once, Little Flame .” Callisto snarled in response, “What, don’t want to play by the Crows’ rules, so you spread your legs for their leader to get your way? I admire your ambition. When Dellamorte and I are through, I’ll show you-”

Callisto’s words died with a choked gasp just as Lucanis drew his weapon. A cough, ragged and violent, sprayed dark, thick blood across the meticulously polished coffee table, staining the surface. Rook shifted to the side with a grimace, shielding her dress from the spray as Callisto continued to sputter thick clots of maroon from his lips. He crumpled to his knees, the tip of a familiar blade protruding from his chest, and Lucanis lifted his gaze to find his cousin pulling back his sword, wiping it clean on Callisto’s shoulder as he toppled to the side, still, unseeing. With his boot, the younger Dellamorte nudged the fresh corpse with amusement.

“Well, now it’s a party, isn’t it?”

Lucanis’ eyes narrowed, a jaw in his muscle visibly twitching. “I could have handled him.”

“Yes, but then we would have to listen to him drone on and on about how Fiammetta is a whore with bad judgement…” Illario rolled his eyes, flicking his wrist for emphasis as he stepped over the body on the floor.

Spite growled, and Lucanis clenched his hands at his sides as the demon reached for control.

“Which obviously isn’t true…” Illario continued with a wicked smile, sheathing his sword at his waist. “Maker, the two - make that three - of you are so touchy…”

“I need another drink.” Rook mumbled, rising from the couch and lifting the hem of her gown to avoid the blood pooling on the floor. She shoved past Illario with her empty champagne flute held high overhead and into the onlooking crowd that had gathered. The other Crows parted quickly, afraid to so much as brush against her for fear of retaliation.

“What’s her problem?” Illario asked, watching over his shoulder.

“You.” Lucanis said, already feeling the weight of Rook’s absence. Was this what he had to look forward to as First Talon? Publicity stunts cutting short his time with her before he could even get out the right words?

The familiar cadence of one boot falling on pavement, followed by a faint metal clink, approached as Neve circled the blood smeared floor with a curious expression.

“I saw the crowd gathering. Shame, I think I missed something interesting.” She turned to Lucanis with a smile. “Your work?”

“Mine.” Illario took Callisto by the legs and drug him from the space between the couch and coffee table. “I suppose I should take care of this. No good deed goes unpunished around here.”

He hauled the body over his shoulder and trudged downstairs. As he passed Neve, he gave her a charming smile and a flirtatious, “Detective.”

With a skeptical squint, she joined Lucanis, scanning the perimeter of the room.

“So, First Talon. As if you weren’t fancy already.”

His nostrils flared as he released a slow stream of air and took a sip of his wine. “I try.”

“And Illario…”

“He’s family. I can’t just give up on him.”

“Got me there, but I hope I’m wrong.” She nodded in greeting at Taash and Harding as they joined from the sidelines.

“We saw from the balcony, everything alright?”

Lucanis raised an eyebrow, unable to ignore that Harding’s ‘we’ seemed far more than casual, or that Taash’s hand had subtly fallen away from Harding’s back as they approached.

“These types of occurrences are common around here,” He said, “Notice how the crowd has already lost interest.”

“This would be a headline in the paper for weeks, where I’m from.” Harding mumbled.

Lucanis inclined his head curiously. “You’re from Denerim, no?”

“I’m from the countryside, near Redcliffe. Why?”

“Just making conversation. I’ve never been to Ferelden.”

“Really?” Neve crossed her arms. “I thought you traveled all over?”

Lucanis shrugged, peering over the rim of his chalice at the crowd, checking for Rook. Where was she?

“The Crows don’t take many contracts there. Not since the Fifth Blight.” Illario reappeared behind them, wiping his hands on his trousers.

“You got rid of that body quickly.” Taash observed. “Nice.”

“I paid a fledgling downstairs to handle it.” He waved his hand dismissively. “No reason to miss out on a party.”

Harding gave Illario a sideways look before returning her attention to Lucanis.

“I heard Teryn Loghain hired Crows in his fight over the throne.”

“And that’s why we don’t work there anymore.” Lucanis replied, “House Aranai embarrassed themselves so badly on that job, the Crows buried six different Eight Talons.”

“Some of them weren’t dead at the time,” Illario chimed in, “But they got it, eventually.”

“What became of House Aranai?” Neve asked, her interest piqued.

“It persists. But arguably without its strongest member.” Illario said, “Zevran Aranai came back to stir up some drama before disappearing altogether.”

“Caterina hunted him for years,” Lucanis went on, “but eventually called things off in favor of annihilating House Vellardo after they killed most of her family.”

“And because hunting Zevran Aranai was a waste of resources,” Illario continued, “He either evaded or killed every assassin sent after him. Eventually, no one wanted the contracts as they only brought embarrassment to their Houses.”

“You two seem to know a lot about this fugitive Crow.”

“He’s a legend.” Illario exchanged a sly grin with his cousin. “Lucanis and I used to play pretend in the canals.”

“One of us would be Aranai, and the other would be the Crow hunting him.” Lucanis explained.

“Who won the most?” Taash asked.

“Whoever was Aranai.”

“I believe that’s your fourth glass. Perhaps you’d like to make a donation to the wedding fund.”

Rook rolled her eyes from behind the rim of her champagne flute, downing the bubbly liquid in one swift gulp.

“You can afford it.” She said to her cousin, trading her empty glass for a full one as a server passed by with a fresh tray. 

“That tray is on its way to a very specific table,” Viago’s hand intercepted hers, taking the glass and returning it.

“You could have killed me!” Rook hissed.

He shrugged. “I was under the impression you weren’t drinking.” 

Rook scoffed, reaching for a bottle of wine from a nearby table. She worked off the cork, pouring herself a fresh glass to the brim.

“I’m celebrating.” She declared.

“She’s lying,” Teia slinked behind Viago, gliding a hand down the length of his arm. “Illario got under her skin after he killed Callisto Gegar.”

“The merchant’s son? Why?”

“Hard to say. It could be he wanted to protect Lucanis from a challenge for the seat of First Talon, or he was pissed that Castillo insulted Rook’s modesty.”

Anticipatory fury clouded Viago’s features.

“He implied what they always do,” Rook muttered before he asked questions. “Best we let the memory die with him, mm?” she asked, raising her glass. Viago scowled, but nodded. 

“So tell me, Fifth Talon, how many people have you poisoned this evening, and who remains on your list?” Teia purred in Viago’s ear. Rook averted her gaze, making a sound of discontent at their flirting.

“Two moles in our own House, and a couple of others as a favor to House de Acutis. And that table over there…” he angled his head towards where the server had dropped off the poisoned champagne, “A few sharp tongues from House Valisti. Nothing lethal, just something to induce a miserable evening.”

“It’s such a delight to see you enjoying yourself, cousin.” Rook muttered.

“Yes!” a voice boomed behind her, “I do hear congratulations are in order for the Fifth and Seventh Talons of the Antivan Crows!”

Rook’s blood ran cold as she slowly turned to find Ivenci behind her, flanked by two imposing Antaam guards. 

“You.”

She slammed her drink on a nearby table, shattering the glass stem, and stalked in their direction. 

“Fi, don’t.” Teia protested, reaching for her wrist. 

“Little Flame, a pleasure to make your acquaintance again. Is everything alright? You seem…tense.”

“I should kill you right here for what you’ve done.” She reached for the dagger at her waist, but Viago intervened, yanking her backward and positioning himself between her and the governor. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He shook her, his fingers digging into her skin painfully. “He wants you to make the first move, so he can be justified in having the Antaam slaughter every Crow in this room.”

“Listen to Viago.” Teia pulled Rook’s hand away from her weapons. “The governor will pay, but not here.”

Rook continued to glare at Ivenci, their smug smile only encouraging the fury that simmered in her bones. Behind them, she spotted Illario and Lucanis sifting through the crowd, the rest of her companions following closely behind. Even Davrin had retired from his place on the wall to join them. Ivenci smiled as the Antaam guards at their side shifted closer.

“And what an honor that the First Talon would finally grace us with his presence!” They clapped their hands together as Lucanis shoved aside an onlooker, sweat gleaming on his forehead as he joined Rook at her side, Illario close behind him. “I see you and your cousin have made up since he tried to usurp you as House Dellamorte’s heir.”

“Enough of this!” Viago barked, pushing Rook toward Lucanis and turning to face the governor. “What has compelled you to so foolishly set foot in the Cantori Diamond after exposing yourself as a traitor to Treviso?”

“I merely came to offer my warmest wishes.”

Rook charged forward as Lucanis restrained her. “Liar!”

“Fiammetta, are you unwell? You look pale. Perhaps just drunk, then?” The governor taunted, shifting their attention back to Viago. “You’d think she was an abomination, screeching like that, and I hear demonic possession is a new epidemic amongst your people.”

“Ignore them.” Lucanis said into her ear, gripping her harder. “You can’t make a move yet. Not here.” 

Ivenci and Viago’s voices faded into obscurity as Rook attempted to wrench herself from Lucanis’ grasp, the silk of her dress chafing uncomfortably against her skin.

“I won’t forgive you if they leave here alive.”

“You will, when the champagne has worn off.”

“I see I’m unwelcome.” Ivenci announced over their whispers, “Unsurprising, the Crows were never hospitable to begin with.”

“By all means, please take your leave.” Viago sneered, his words dripping with sarcasm.

“Congratulations on your pending nuptials, de Riva, provided you and your bride-to-be survive long enough to see your wedding day. Enjoy your hangover, Rook .”

A low chuckle vibrated from the governor as they departed, and Viago adjusted his gloves more tightly at the wrists with a sour expression.

“This is why I don’t throw parties.” He said under his breath, “Come with me, Lucanis. Let’s ensure our uninvited guest sees himself out.”

Rook flung off Lucanis’s hands, her eyes blazing. “Let me come with you! This is the best chance we have.”

“Wrong.” Her cousin said firmly, “Which is precisely why you’re waiting here. I will be the one to determine when we make our move.”

Illario gripped Rook’s bicep and dragged her aside. “Reasoning with her is useless. Find us when you’re finished.”

Lucanis caught him by the shoulder as he tried to pull Rook along.

“You’re insane if you think I’m leaving her with you.” 

“Sure, entrust her to one of your companions. It’s not like I don’t know every escape route in this casino, or have known Fi long enough to anticipate every way she might try to sneak off for her revenge?” Illario said dully, “Or you could leave her with Teia. That’s never ended in disaster.”

“I’m right here,” Rook snapped as Illario’s fingers clenched her arm more tightly.

Teia folded her arms. “As am I.”

Both Dellamorte cousins ignored them, exchanging a tense look. Finally, Lucanis relented. 

“Get her out of here,” he ordered. Illario nodded, wrestling Rook forward, her hands pinned behind her back.

“Teia, please.” Rook begged her best friend, her voice choked with despair.

“Sorry, Fi.” she said, looking on sympathetically. “He has a point.” 

Lucanis watched, guilt so heavy his shoulders sagged with it, as Rook fixed him with a glare before Illario propelled her through the assembled crowd forming around them. Humiliated, she kicked and thrashed in vain, the alcohol coursing through her blood undermining her efforts. Illario steered her effortlessly towards a hallway, thrusting her into the wall and leaning in close.

“Not such a great feeling, to be humiliated in front of every House, is it?”

Chapter Text

“Sit down.”

Illario thrust Rook towards the bed in one of the casino’s dimly lit guest rooms, her knees buckling as their backs hit the worn mattress. With a frustrated growl, she pushed herself up, only to be shoved down again. After two more tries, she remained seated, glaring at him as fury simmered in her gaze. He returned the look and folded his arms over his chest.

“Please.” She smoothed the anger coating her voice into something more desperate, her eyes pleading. “You brought me the man you believed responsible for my father’s death all those years ago. You knew how much I needed revenge, more than anyone. But you gave me the wrong man. And now the one truly responsible is within reach and you’d deny me retribution? He’s a threat to the Crows, to everyone we care for-”

“You are in no state to confront anyone, Fiammetta. You’re too emotional, you’ve had far too much to drink-”

“Since when did you become rational?” She sneered, wrapping her fingers around the carved ridges of the bedpost, and pulling herself to her feet. The tips of her fingernails dug through the wood’s finish as she carefully slid one foot forward, her heel scraping across the marbled floor with a screech. Her attempt to move with seductive grace was spoiled by the four glasses of champagne that swam in her blood, nagging at her joints and blurring the corns of her vision. Her former friend remained impassive, one eyebrow raised in skeptical amusement.

“Since you decided you have a death wish, apparently.”

“I’m as good as dead anyway, Illario. Not all of us will survive the gods.”

“You doubt yourself so much, and yet you fight anyway?”

“I trust my team. And I know I can make the sacrifices necessary-”

“So what? You’ve assembled an escort to your own suicide? Is that what this is, Fiammetta? All of this because you just can’t endure any longer?” He scoffed and let his hands fall at his sides, hitting his thighs with a dull slap. “And what of my cousin? You’ve let him believe he’ll have you in the end just so you can yank the rug out from under him?”

“You saw what happened when Cortez took him. I am a distraction. I nearly cost him-”

“And what will it cost him once he’s lost you? Grief is just as much a distraction as love. You should know, Fiammetta, you’ve thought of little else in your entire miserable life!”

“As if you don’t wallow in self pity yourself!”

“Spare me, Fi. It’s not the same. I don’t dwell on the past. But you… you live there.”

Rook opened her mouth, desperately searching for words to shout back. Verbal weapons to silence him, to shake him to his core, but she came up empty.

“He’s never loved anyone, Fiammetta,” Illario pleaded, “Not like you. Don’t do this to him.”

“As if you care-”

“Of course I care!” He charged forward and seized her shoulders, his face an inch from hers as his fingertips bruised her bare skin. “I thought I was doing him a favor. Zara twisted my mind until I truly felt only death could spare him from the fate of becoming First Talon. I was wrong, and it cost me my family. And Lucanis… it cost him everything . He will be an abomination for the rest of his life because I believed Zara’s lies. I betrayed him, my own blood.”

Illario began to tremble, and his grip loosened as his eyes fell to the floor. Shame was etched over every crease in his face, the hollow, dark rings under his eyes.

“Don’t make him suffer like that again,” he whispered, “Don’t lead my cousin on, only to throw yourself on the pyre and make him watch you burn. Spare Lucanis that fate, I beg you. Because I cannot take back the damage I have already done. He has somehow learned to trust despite my failure, but if you betray that trust… no one comes back from that.”

Rook blinked rapidly, her breath hitching as her eyes shimmered and burned. “Why tell me this?”

“I think you may be the only person left in Treviso who would believe me capable of remorse.” Illario released her and angled his head towards the window, unable to bear the weight of her gaze.

“For once in your life, Fiammetta, just do what Viago asks of you and be patient. Ivenci will fall, but politics never move quickly.” A bitter huff of air escaped Illario’s nose, and he shook his head, staring at one hand as he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Rich, coming from me, I know.”

Rook narrowed her eyes. “Am I to believe you’re done scheming your way into power? That blood magic won’t corrupt you the way it has every other mage that has dared to touch it? If we survive, what happens to you when this is all over?”

Illario turned and yanked the door open, stepping into the hall.

“You forget, Fiammetta, I am not a mage.” He said over his shoulder. “As for your second question… I don’t know. I hear Dairsmuid is nice this time of year.”

Slowly, he swung his head back towards the hall and departed.

Rook shuddered as the door slammed behind him, rattling in the frame. As his footsteps retreated and disappeared into the choir of voices chattering outside, she reached for the doorknob slowly, testing the lock. It turned easily, its polished silver gleaming in the dim light from the window, cool and smooth against the pads of her calloused fingers. Unlike when he locked her away in the villa, she was free to go if she chose, but she instead found herself more trapped than ever.

She released her hold on the door and took a step back, pacing the perimeter of the guest room before sitting back down on the bed. Hooking one thumb under the strap on her ankle, she slipped off her heels, letting the stilettos clatter onto the floor. With an exhausted sigh, she flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling, her silk dress heavy against her thighs. She could drown under the weight of it, she thought to herself, and it might be a comfort.

“You know what happens in those beds, don’t you?”

Rook lifted her head from the sheets to find Lucanis peeking through the cracked door, his eyes crinkling as he grinned at her. Weary, she pushed herself upright as he approached, her sleeping nerves tingling in protest. “How furious is Viago?”

Lucanis held out his hand, palm facing the ceiling. She placed hers delicately over it, and he pulled her to her feet in one swift motion. Rook stumbled into his arms, swaying there as he caught her.

“You gave him an excuse to make threats instead of small talk at a party. I can’t imagine a more fitting engagement gift.”

She huffed a bitter laugh through her nostrils before burying her face in the crook of Lucanis’ neck, pressing her lips just below his ear as she clung to his torso. The scent of leather and clove lingered on his skin, along with a trace of red wine.

“I nearly ruined everything back there.”

“No one blames you for that.” He smoothed a hand behind her head to cradle it against his chest, resting his chin on top of her head as his arms encircled her. “Ivenci knew exactly what they were doing, coming here. Your restraint was admirable. If my parents’ killers weren’t already dead, I’m not sure I could have stopped myself.”

The cashmere of his sweater was soft against her cheek, and Rook gripped the back of his greatcoat more tightly to stay upright. It took everything in her not to slip from his grasp and fall to the floor in a heap of sorrow.

“Ivenci will pay, Fiammetta.” Lucanis stroked her hair as he held her close. “I swear it.”

“I’m so tired.” She whimpered, so faint she wasn’t sure he’d hear her. Physical exhaustion gnawed at her bones, but it was her emotional fatigue that was taking the worst toll.

Seeming to understand, Lucanis kissed her forehead and crouched, retrieving her heels from the floor and delicately refastening the straps around Rook’s ankles.

“Say no more. I’ve been dying to escape this party since your arrival,” he said as he tucked a slip of leather through its buckle, “even your cousin and his bride-to-be left early, after he sent the governor running with their tail tucked between their legs.”

Rook slumped against the bedpost, clinging to it for balance as she watched him fasten her other shoe. “Viago’s going to have my head for making a scene.”

Lucanis grinned and shook his head. “They were eager to leave for… other reasons, I presume. I think Teia enjoys it when Viago yells… so long as it is not at her.”

Rook groaned in disgust, eliciting a chuckle from Lucanis as he stared up at her. Parting the slit of her dress with his thumb, he kissed a trail from the inside of her knee to her thigh as he rose to his feet.

“Let’s get you home,” he said, reaching out to entwine his fingers in hers tightly before pressing his lips to the back of her wrist. “This filthy guestroom is no place to lay your head at night.”

He opened the door and pulled her from the room, weaving through the crowd with purpose. A few attendees turned their heads curiously as she followed, her heels tapping the floor in quick succession as she put on the most sober face she could muster. Like teenagers, they snuck through the second floor of the party and across the skywalk to the balcony where the eluvian concealed. Finally, free of prying eyes, Lucanis spun on her, pinning Rook’s hand to the wall as the other came to her waist.

“It’s a shame, the time I wasted,” his mesmerized gaze followed his fingertips as they delicately traced the contour of her dress, “when I wanted you, when I was afraid to want you…”

Rook’s throat tightened. How could she possibly break the heart of someone who looked at her like that? Illario was right. It would be cruel for her life to be cut short, to leave him behind just as they each found a small sliver of happiness. If she could find a way to survive the gods, she had to take it. For Lucanis. And maybe for herself, too.

“We have right now,” she assured him, “and we’ll have more time when this is through. When Ivenci is dead, when the gods are defeated, when Treviso is free…”

She squeezed his hand tightly as it pressed hers to the stone next to her head and leaned forward to claim Lucanis’ mouth with her own. He returned the kiss hungrily, and she let herself become consumed by it, gasping for air in the brief moments their mouths came apart.

As he broke the kiss, Lucanis pressed his forehead to hers, gently rocking it back and forth.

“Tell me this night ends with me asleep in your arms, and I will kill anyone you ask,” he said, voice low as he reached to trace a thumb over her bottom lip. “Lie if you have to.”

“Why say anything?” Oblivious to her own inebriation, Rook confidently fisted her hands in the fabric of his coat and tugged him backwards towards the eluvian. “I could just show you.”

With a gasp, her playful demeanor vanished as her ankle faltered. In a dizzying free fall, they toppled backwards through the enchanted mirror’s surface together.

Time moved slowly as they fell through the Fade, and Spite’s wings spread wide behind them to slow their fall. One of Lucanis’ hands slid behind Rook’s head, shielding her skull from the impact as the eluvian spit them out on the Lighthouse floor.

Rook stared, chest rising and falling in time with Lucanis’, as he slowly reached out and braced one hand on the stone walkway floor. Wordlessly, he eased her head to the ground with care, rising to his feet with a low chuckle.

“Perhaps I should demonstrate a more enjoyable way to spend the evening in your arms.”

His calloused hands reached down to lift her into his arms, and Rook held back the urge to protest, instead allowing herself to melt into the wool of his coat. He felt familiar, solid. Comfortable, in a way she hardly deserved.

Neither of them spoke as he carried her up the rounded staircase, his footsteps echoing in the Lighthouse library. When they reached her room, Lucanis set her down beside the chaise, letting her slip from his arms until her stilettos touched the floor with a soft click cut through the silence of the meditation chamber. Rook blinked, a quiet question in her gaze, as Lucanis removed his coat and unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt. Without looking down, she worked her heel under the strap at her ankle, removing her ruined shoes and kicking them across the room to where they rolled to a stop beside the altar. Reaching for the clasp at her back, she unfastened her dress, letting it fall down the length of her body and pool around her feet.

Lucanis appraised her briefly before shrugging off his shirt and stepping out of his boots. His eyes flickered, and he took a tentative step forward, brushing a lock of hair from Rook’s face with a pained expression.

“Just sleep,” he said, his voice rougher than before. The words came like a plea, and Rook hesitated, her fingertips hovering over her bare abdomen, before she nodded. There was something dark buried in his demeanor, something she still couldn’t quite recognize. Exhaustion, yearning… fear.

She followed as he sat down, tethered to him by an invisible string. Lucanis reclined on the sofa, holding out an arm in invitation, and she drew a shaky breath before nestling into his embrace. Sex was easy, but this… this was something else entirely.

A shudder wracked her body as she rested her head on his chest, tightening her arms around his waist. Lazily, Lucanis tugged a fur pelt from the back of the chaise, drawing it up to the small of her back, his fingers thoughtfully drifting over her spine. His touch was delicate, reverent, as he traced a line over her skin that made her insides ache.

“It feels strange,” she whispered, staring at the dark figures swirling in the meditation chamber’s window, “Being like this, without-”

Lucanis’ hand stilled its movement across her back, warm as he rested it between her shoulder blades.

“I get the sense you believe one affectionate gesture necessitates another,” he said, letting his head fall back onto the armrest, “but I’m not keeping score, Fiammetta.”

His heart beat steadily underneath Rook’s ear and she shifted, pulling herself closer against him and letting his pulse ground her. Her throat burned, and she squeezed her eyes shut with a subdued sniffle.

“I wish I knew what you needed,” he murmured. “I’d give it.”

Eyelids growing heavy, Rook fought the pull of drunken exhaustion, her lips parting to speak, but her thoughts drifting just out of reach. Just as she seized her mind around it, the answer to his words was lost to sleep.

Chapter Text

Rook woke to blue-green light kaleidoscoping across the ceiling. Slow-moving shadows crept along the stone walls of the meditation chamber as she reached across the couch, finding nothing but an empty impression of the body that had laid beside her last night. She pushed herself up on one elbow, head pounding, throat dry. The memories returned in a slow, aching blur: the party, Ivenci, Illario’s shame, the sharp edge of humiliation… and Lucanis crouched before her, leading her through the crowd, falling with her through the Eluvian. The warmth of his arms as he carried her back. How he’d held her without expectation. 

Her heart fluttered, uncertain.

She slid her legs from the pelt he’d tucked around her and searched the wardrobe for clean leathers, tugging them on with sluggish hands. Her knuckles ached, every joint in her body tight as she tugged on her boots and slipped into the hall.

The corridor outside her door was dim, vacant. As she crossed the courtyard, she could smell coffee and the faint hint of roasted garlic. Judging by the silence, her companions were likely as slow to rise as she was this morning. With luck, someone else would have embarrassed themselves far worse than she did last night.

The kitchen door creaked softly as she pushed it open, peering inside. Lucanis bent over the counter, dark hair slicked back, still damp from the bath, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He carefully diced a red onion with deadly precision as the cast iron hissed on the stove. Though he didn’t raise his head when she entered, she noticed a subtle change in his posture.

“You’re awake.”

His casual tone didn’t hide the glance he snuck in her direction. A quick, careful assessment, perhaps a shadow of self-doubt. Rook crossed the room slowly, observing his work. 

“You’re cooking.”

“I’ve been known to,” he replied, sliding the onions into the pan. 

“I never asked. Where did you learn?”

“I used to help the kitchen staff in the villa when I was a boy.” He said, a nostalgic smile tugging at one of the corners of his mouth. “It gave me something to do between lessons with Caterina.” 

“Viago’s cooking barely passes as food, but he never eats anywhere outside of his apartment. Too paranoid about poisons. Is that why you wanted to learn?”

“I mostly just wanted to know how to make churros.”

Rook settled against the edge of the long table, arms braced behind her as she watched him stir the pan with a wooden spoon, adding a splash of cream from a bottle on the counter. 

“About last night...” She began. 

“Did you sleep well?” 

“I…” Rook’s brow furrowed as she realized she’d had a dreamless sleep. “Surprisingly, yes.” 

“Spite didn’t sense your Dread Wolf prying at your thoughts. I’m not sure if his absence is a good or bad thing.”

“Probably bad.” 

After a pause, he glanced at her again. “Hungry?”

“Famished,” she muttered.

Lucanis gave a soft, satisfied hum and wrapped a towel around the pan’s handle, removing it from the heat and leaving it to cool on the counter. He strolled casually towards her and Rook straightened, heart pounding in her chest as she slid off the table. Lucanis reached for her wrists, pulling her in and kissing down her neck slowly. Agonizingly.  

“You always leave before I wake,” she said, stifling a moan as his lips brushed the shell of her ear, “and yet you’re so testy when I won’t stick around.” 

He paused, pulling away with a guilty expression. “I have trouble staying still for too long.” 

“I think you’re still afraid to fall asleep.” 

Lucanis averted his gaze and stepped back, retrieving breakfast from the counter instead of acknowledging her observation. Eggs and ham in a white sauce. Not typical Antivan cuisine. 

“Did Illario give you any trouble last night?” He asked, setting it at the center of the table carefully. 

Wanting to be useful, Rook stretched to get plates from the top shelf of the cabinet. “Did he say he did?” 

“He told me where I could find you and stormed off. I assumed you verbally degraded him until his ego couldn’t take it anymore.” 

As she strained to reach the edges of the plates, Rook inadvertently pushed them backwards with her fingertips. They scraped against the wood and she cursed, lowering her heels before trying again. 

“You weren’t worried?” she asked in a tight voice.

Lucanis grinned, watching her struggle for another moment before reaching up behind her and sliding the plates within reach. 

“You can handle yourself.” 

“That she can.”

They both startled, their heads snapping to the door as Illario strolled through the kitchen and took a seat at the head of the table, kicking his feet up on the surface with a heavy thud. Lucanis and Rook tensed, exchanging a look. 

“Nevarran?” Illario asked his cousin with a smirk, nodding at the eggs. 

“Orlesian.” Lucanis corrected curtly. “Get your boots off the table before I feed them to the griffon.”

Illario grunted and pulled his legs down. Rook begrudgingly set a plate in front of him, narrowing her eyes.

“How’s the hangover, Fi?” He asked, helping himself to a ladleful of eggs. 

She iced him out as she sat two seats’ distance from him, just out of reach. Lucanis remained by the stove, assessing his cousin carefully.

“If it’s half as bad as mine, she’s in trouble.” 

Neve wandered in through the cracked door, looking more disheveled than Rook had seen her in some time. Illario’s gaze snapped in her direction as she poured herself a cup of coffee and perched on the countertop, glaring at him over the rim of her mug as she blew on the steam.

“Rough night, detective?” He asked, pushing his plate aside. Rook noticed his charming smile faltered a bit when Neve didn’t deign to respond. 

“Bringing you here once was not an open invitation to show up whenever you feel like it,” Lucanis interjected. “This is not your home.”

“Ah, no. But I come with good news.” Illario reached into his pocket and retrieved an envelope that he flicked onto the table. Rook snatched it, tearing it open as he returned his attention to his breakfast. 

Fiammetta,

My sources did some digging after the party. The governor plans to release stolen qamek around the city to “pacify violent seditionists.” This will undoubtedly spread to the rest of the Treviso as well. Teia and I will lead the Crows against Ivenci’s forces in the city, but you need to find and stop them while we do. We move tonight.  

One more thing - we have not seen Jacobus since he stormed off after confronting Ivenci before you met with the Butcher. Look out for him, would you? Teia has a soft spot for him and perhaps he reminds me of a certain vengeance-fueled fledgling I once knew. 

My apologies for sending Illario in my stead. The skeleton you keep in your Lighthouse is very unsettling.

-V

Rook passed the note to Lucanis, who frowned as he skimmed the page. Behind him, Neve hopped down from the counter, reading over his shoulder with all the subtlety of a nug in a potions shop. 

“They won’t do this to Treviso. Not my city,” Lucanis growled.

“We need to find where he’s keeping the qamek. Before nightfall. People could die. What is he thinking? If he poisons the mind of every Trevisan, what is left to rule?” 

“Blind, obedient sheep.” Neve paced toward the hearth with her mug cradled in her hands. “I couldn’t help but notice your cousin didn’t give a location.”

Illario kicked back his chair. “I can help with that.”

“You’re not coming.” Rook said. 

“Oh,” he feigned a pout, “you still don’t trust me?” 

She stared. “No.”

“Why not?”

“You have a talent for sticking knives in backs and getting on my nerves.”   

“Aw. I didn’t know you cared.” 

“I don’t.”

Neve snorted quietly into her empty mug.

“Think that’s funny, detective?”

“Enough. My cousin comes with us. Bickering amongst ourselves won’t save our city.”

A familiar expression haunted Lucanis’ face as he braced one hand on the mantle, staring into the hearth. He worked his jaw, closing his eyes slowly.

Spite was throwing a fit.

“He has a point,” Neve said. “I’ll come too. I owe you one for helping with Aelia.” 

Illario rose from the table and taunted Rook with a smile. “See you tonight.” 

“Not staying for breakfast?” Neve asked.  

“Perhaps tomorrow, if there’s room for me in your bed, detective.” 

“In your dreams.” 

“Careful, we are in the Fade after all.” 

Chapter Text

Jacobus wasn’t hard to find.

Crouched behind a low stone wall, joined by a couple of scrappy, wide-eyed boys around his age — none older than seventeen. His coat was torn, one cheek sporting an angry bruise, but his stance was proud.

“Viago has been worried sick for you!” Rook hissed, warily casting a glance at the Antaam gathering behind the wall.

“I don’t know if I’d use the word worried, but sure…” Illario muttered.

“We’re tired of doing nothing.” Jacobus pointed down a narrow passage toward the courtyard gate, where tendrils of green fog drifted over the lawn like smoke. “Ivenci’s got their qamek there, but they’ve locked the gates. We’ll break into the garrison to get them open for you.”

Rook exchanged a look with Lucanis, who gave her a subtle nod. With a sigh, she relented.

“Be careful. The Antaam-”

“We’ll stay hidden!” Jacobus called, already breaking into a run as his friends trailed after him, “Good luck!”

As they vanished, Rook closed her eyes, sending a silent prayer to the Maker she wouldn’t regret this.

“Your move, Fi,” Illario said, nodding at the Antaam ambling around the field, “Are we going in quiet or making a little noise?”

“You!”

Ivenci’s voice, amplified through some sort of magical means, boomed through the air before Rook could answer. She bristled, pulling her weapons from her belt.

“I suppose I should be flattered that the Crows sent three of their best.” The governor continued, “Tell me, do you plan to pull your teeth from one another’s throats long enough to snap at mine?”

“Keep a level head,” Lucanis murmured as the Antaam’s heads swung in their direction, breaking formation and brandishing axes and flame propellants.

“It won’t end well, Rook.” Ivenci warned, “Turn back now, and you don’t have to watch anyone else die. After all, I’m the only person capable of actually saving this city!”

“Move!”

Lucanis disappeared in a flash of violet as Spite launched him into the fray. Rook followed, flanked by Neve and Illario as she rushed to the center.

“Maraas nehraa issala!”

An Antaam guard raised a battle axe overhead, and as she reached up to block, he froze mid swing. Rook glanced to her right at Neve, who grinned and winked.

“I’ve got your back.”

Relief bloomed in Rook’s chest. After everything between them, the months of tension after she’d chosen Treviso over Minrathous, perhaps Neve finally sympathized with the impossible choice presented to them. Maybe Treviso’s occupation under the Antaam had earned Rook a shred of sympathy.

“Thanks, Gallus.”

She drove the sole of her boot into the frozen Antaam’s chest, ice cracking from the impact before they toppled back, splintering into a million shards. The back of her leather cloak flared with heat as another guard advanced, fire erupting from a torch. Rook stumbled into the closed gate, static crackling across her skin and down the twin daggers in her hands as she poised to strike.

“Face it, Rook!” Ivenci’s voice boomed from above, “You’re not equipped to- what? What do you mean there are Crows inside the garrison controls? Go stop them!”

“Nice work, kid,” Rook muttered as the chains suspending the gate behind her groaned and shifted. As a nearby Antaam charged her, she dodged to the right, electricity arcing through the metal lattice of the gate. Rainwater from the last storm sparked on the surface, and the guard froze where he stood, limbs rigid as Rook ducked under the rising gate. Her boots sloshed on the wet stone as the guard fell in a smoking heap behind her.

“I’ve missed watching you do that,” Illario said, appearing beside her, his blades slick with blood. He stepped carefully, admiring the lightning charged ground beneath his shoes.

“Venatori magic get too boring for you?” Neve quipped, arriving on Rook’s other side. Illario’s smile faltered, but he recovered as his eyes swept over Neve’s figure, lazy and sharp.

“Do all ice mages have such cold personalities?”

She shrugged. “Just Tevinter hospitality, I fear.”

Lucanis landed behind them, folding Spite’s wings as he briefly gave Rook a once-over.

“I finished the last of the Antaam I could see. The courtyard looked clear from above.”

“You call that clear?” Neve pointed at the green mist hanging low over the grass. Rook didn’t have to see—she could feel pressure building between her eyes, like a tension headache that crept through her skull and into every nerve. Her knees locked, and she shook her limbs awake, stalking towards barrels of gaatlok and crates forming a semi-circle in the courtyard’s center.

“Qamek.” Illario cursed as hulking figures moved in the haze, horns poking through the mist.

“Are those Antaam real?” Rook asked, her heart stuttering.

“Only one way to find out.” Neve’s grasp tightening on the staff clenched in her gloved hand.

“We can’t stay here long. Qamek is poison to the mind, and a slow death if we linger,” Lucanis warned as Rook covered her mouth with her sleeve.

“Forgive me if I prefer a quick death.” Illario lunged forward towards one figure, driving his blade through empty air. He stumbled back, blinking in surprise.

The four wandered through the fog, slashing and hurling magic at the phantom-like figures lurking on the periphery of their vision.

“The Butcher…” Ivenci began again over the amplifier, “was a strange and vicious brute. But he kept order! It was you who drove me to this, Rook. To use qamek on the city. And once the Crows and the rest of the rebels are in their graves, Treviso can finally know peace. Stability.”

“Not a chance,” Lucanis growled.

“Rook?” Neve coughed behind her, nervously searching the mist.

“Whatever you’re seeing isn’t real,” Rook reassured her, moving closer. She reached for her arm, but Neve tore herself away.

“Come on, detective, you’re sharper than this,” Illario added, “don’t let it get to you.”

With a swallow, Neve continued after them, her staff drawn and ready. Whatever it was she’d seen, Rook wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Toxic qamek sunk into her every pore as she searched for Ivenci. It wasn’t until something heavy met the back of her skull that she felt like time moved again.

Rook dropped to her knees, palms scraping against the slick stone as she struggled to her feet. Reaching behind her head, she expected to find an injury, but her hand came away clean.

Then she looked down.

Her leathers were gone, and all that remained was the childhood nightgown from the night of her father’s death, soaked in gore. Something matted her skin, sticky and dark. Lightning crackled at the edges of her vision, and she reached for the hilt of her dagger to find it already slick with blood. Thick splatters of maroon coated the blade’s surface, dripping onto the ground below.

“You killed me, Fiammetta de Riva.”

She spun.

Manius Casini stood before her, a gaping wound in his chest, uniform drenched and clinging to his corpse-like frame. Water dripped from his boots, and they squelched in the mud as she stepped closer, revealing the pallor of his skin and a pair of sunken, grey eyes.

“I told you the truth,” he said, voice flat. “And you killed me, anyway.”

“No…” she breathed, stumbling back.

“Rook?” Neve’s voice hung in the air like something from a dream, but she ignored it.

“Did you know my family had nothing to bury when your friend threw me in the canals?” Casini continued, “The fish started with my eyes…”

Hollow, red holes replaced his irises, skin jagged and gnawed as his flesh rotted before her. He reached for her with a skeletal hand, gripping tightly. His skin was surprisingly warm, and Rook screamed, thrusting her dagger into his thigh.

Casini shrieked, a ghostly cry that faded into something familiar. A woman’s voice.

The hallucination vanished.

Neve collapsed, clutching her bleeding leg, eyes wide with shock.

Chapter Text

“Neve…” Rook dropped her weapon and sunk down beside her, chest hollow with horror as she reached for her friend, “I’m so sorry…”

“I’m fine,” she gasped, teeth clenched. “Just— finish this, Rook. Worry about me later.”

Rook hadn’t even noticed Lucanis behind her, helping Neve to her feet, then passing her to Illario. Tears welled in Rook’s eyes as she watched the detective hobble aside, reluctantly letting Illario tend to her wound. Lucanis crouched in front of her, gently holding Rook’s face in his hands.

“You missed her artery. She’ll be fine.” He reassured her, “Now focus on me. The qamek is thick here, but you’re stronger.”

Before she could say anything, Ivenci’s voice returned. Closer, almost within reach.

“Guilty conscience, de Riva?” They asked, appearing as the haze of qamek dissipated. The relief from its effects was almost immediate.

Rook tore herself from Lucanis’ arms, lunging for her dagger in the grass.

“I killed an innocent man because of you!” Rook crawled closer and staggered to her feet, extending her blade out in the governor’s direction. Lucanis stepped behind her, standing so close behind her she could feel his body heat at her back. A comfort, if she were anywhere but here.

“I never made you do a thing,” Ivenci said, shrugging as they drew their staff nearer. “You, however, handled things the way you Crows always do. Knives. Theatrics. Collateral damage.”

“And your hands are so clean?” Rook shouted, “You would rather use your influence to eliminate the Crows than inspire any kind of meaningful change.”

“You really believe an outsider can shape what goes on inside your little cult?” The governor sneered, “Maybe I should have taken a page from your book, climbing into House Dellamorte’s bed to claw your way up the ladder? Your mother taught you so well.”

“Watch your tongue, governor, or you may soon find yourself without one,” Lucanis growled, yanking Rook behind him. “Your quarrel is with the Crows? Fine. As First Talon, your grievances lie with me.”

Ivenci scoffed. “Idle threats and posturing. It must be your equivalent to sending a bouquet of roses."

Flames burst from their staff, scorching the ground as Rook and Lucanis scattered.

"It’s too late for negotiating, Dellamorte!" They laughed, firing a series of explosions through the gaatlok barrels surrounding them. The ground shook underfoot, knocking back their companions and sending plumes of qamek into the sky. Rook steadied herself through her nausea and fell to one knee, setting her hands firm one the ground and pressing her palms into the earth. 

The governor wanted to burn it all to the ground? She was happy to oblige them.

A shockwave split the soil, carving around her companions until it reached Ivenci’s feet. The governor stumbled, and Lucanis flew to meet them, pinning them down and wrenching their staff free and throwing it aside. Ivenci screamed with rage, a tantrum that only ceased when Lucanis poised his sword at their throat. His eyes found Rook’s, and he released his hold, permitting her to decide their fate.

She charged forward and kicked Ivenci square in the ribs. They crumpled to their knees, clutching their abdomen with one hand as they drew in ragged, labored breaths. Buried to the wrist in rainwater, their other hand sunk deeper into the mud.

“I dotted every ‘i’. Weighed every measure. And you… Crows. You ruined everything.”

“Ruined?” Illario chucked, strolling to the governor’s mage staff on the ground and snapping it under his foot. “Fi took your measure.”

“And Teia, Viago… they’ve held this city together while you seized power at any cost.” Rook’s lip curled as she loomed over Ivenci. “Even a child took more responsibility as a Trevisan than you.”

The amethyst in the hilt of her dagger glinted under the moonlight as she stared at it, paying no attention to Ivenci’s groans while the heel of her boot ground into their hand, driving it deeper into the ground. They yelped as their bones began to crunch under her weight, but when they tried to wrench themselves free, Rook pointed the tip of her blade to their throat.

“You’ll die for what you did.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, but she kept her hand steady. “For the people you took from us. I lost my parents, my innocence, because of your sick need for power! How dare you claim love for this city. How many others lost their families to your best laid plans? How many dreams drowned in your ambition?”

“No!”

A shout in the distance stopped her, and Rook drew back to discover Jacobus sprinting across the lawn. He pumped his arms to reach her, halting just short of Rook with his palms out, a pleading expression on his face.

“By right…” he panted, catching his breath, “My cousin’s contract against the governor is mine!”

Rook hesitated as Jacobus moved closer.

“They should be tried publicly. Let them feel shame. It is the only punishment befitting someone like them. Please, Rook. Death is too good. What they did to my cousin, my only family… your family… there has to be a consequence worse than death. There must be.”

Rook nearly forgot how to breathe. Jacobus was like her. He’d suffered the same and yet… he was all alone. Her cousin — the one who shielded her for so many years from the cruelty of the Crows, the cruelty of her own father — was alive and well at the casino, with her best friend. And Jacobus’ was dead by the Antaam’s hand, on Ivenci’s orders. He did not have the loyalty of Neve Gallus. Illario Dellamorte was not at his back seeking redemption. There was no Lucanis Dellamorte to tend to his wounds and patiently wade through his distrust. There were no companions waiting for him at the Lighthouse.

Only grief.

The same grief that had forced her to watch life from the sidelines. Things happened to her. Not for her.

There was hope for Jacobus. He had the opportunity to believe in a world he could actually change. If the Crows were to be different, must the price of retribution always be paid in blood? Or was there a better way?

Behind her, Lucanis spoke, quiet and certain. “It’s your call, Rook. I’ll support your decision, whatever you choose.”

She bit her lip. Her whole life, she’d considered what this moment might feel like. How cutting the governor’s head from their body might finally free her from the nightmares, like cutting the roots from a blighted tree.

Even so, she ceded to Jacobus, stepping aside and bowing her head.

“By House de Riva’s rules, Jacobus can claim the contract.” She said quietly.

“What?” Ivenci barked. “You can’t let that brat decide what happens to me!”

Illario’s smug expression fell.

“Fiammetta, think about this!” He hissed.

“I’ve thought of little else my entire miserable life.” She echoed his words from the previous evening pointedly, before shifting her attention back to Ivenci. “The governor’s fate is up to Jacobus.”

“You can’t do this!” Ivenci protested.

“A Crow always finishes their contract.” She slid her blade back into its sheath and nodded at Jacobus. “I’ve freed Treviso from your treachery. The rest is up to him.”

Jacobus stepped forward, eyes burning with rage. “And I say you deserve to live! To be paraded before the public, on trial. Everyone will know who hurt Treviso, and you’ll suffer for every minute!”

“Kid has guts.” Propped against a crumbling statue, Neve mustered a grin. Out of the corner of his eye, Illario watched her and grunted, before stepping forward and bracing his foot in the center of the governor’s back.

“Looks like your contract is due, governor.”

He kicked Ivenci flat into the mud before Jacobus and his friends hauled them off. As they disappeared through the gates, Rook fought the urge to fall to her knees and weep as she watched her only chance at revenge slip away.

The city lights became more clear as the remaining qamek cleared, and Rook forced herself to stand steady, arms wrapped around herself like armor. She retreated to the edge of the lawn, looking over Treviso alone. 

It would be a beautiful view if it didn’t hurt so much.

Behind her, Illario glanced at Lucanis. A wordless exchange passed between them before his eyes flicked to Neve.

Blood soaked through the fabric of her trousers, dark and fast, as her injured leg trembled beneath her. The prosthetic on her opposite leg barely steadied her as she leaned on the ruined statue, hissing as her knee buckled under her shifting weight.

“The only leg you’ve got left to stand on isn’t looking too good, detective.” Illario drawled, hoisting her up with maddening ease. Neve shot him a look like she wanted to stab him with her boot knife. If only she could reach it. Overtaken by another bout of pain, she relented.

“Don’t mistake me for a damsel in distress,” she gritted out. “If you try and stab me in the back, you’ll be sorry for it.”

“I would never,” He said, crossing one finger over his chest with a wicked grin, “Unless hired to, of course.”

“How comforting,” Neve grumbled. Illario ignored her, turning his attention to Lucanis. 

“I’ll get your friend back to the Lighthouse. You can deal with whatever crisis Fi is about to have.”

Reluctantly, Neve allowed herself to be guided along the path, glancing over her shoulder one last time.

“Take care of Rook, Lucanis. She won’t ask you to.”

He nodded, his eyes on Illario, hard and unblinking. A warning. His cousin dipped his chin and carried on towards the garden gates, Neve muttering curses that echoed off the stone garden walls with every step.

Slow and deliberate, Lucanis strode toward Rook.

“You did the right thing,” he said from behind her, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“The right thing?” She scoffed and slapped away a tear from the corner of her eye. “By what measure, First Talon?”

Lucanis didn’t answer immediately. The wind stirred the hem of his coat as he joined her at the railing.

“As someone who cares about you.”

Rook sniffed and began to pace. Numb, lost, exhausted, but somehow unable to keep still. Lucanis removed his hands from his pockets and stepped into her path, reaching out to steady her by the shoulders.

“I can’t kill this pain for you. I’m sorry. I’d give anything if I could. But I’ll be here, however you need me. For as long as you need me.”

She let out a hollow sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “All I’ve had is vengeance. If I stop now, what’s even left?”

“You want to know what that future looks like?” Lucanis asked grimly. “Look no further than my grandmother, Rook.”

“Do you think it brought her any peace? When she eliminated every member of House Velardo to avenge your family?”

Lucanis stilled. His eyes flicked to hers, searching, guarded.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he began carefully, “and no matter how many similarities you may find between the two of you, make no mistake, you would never punish innocents for the crimes of their kin.”

“Didn’t you want to see House Velardo suffer for what they did to your parents?” She asked, her thumb grazing the surface of Lucanis’ mother’s ring on her right hand as she clenched her fist.

“How can I hate an entire house? How can I hate an infant for the crimes of its father?”

Rook paled. “She wouldn’t.”

“She already did. One of my aunts was six months pregnant when they cut the fetus from her and left them both for dead.” Lucanis tugged the gloves from his hands and pocketed them. “Unfortunately, Caterina believes in an eye for an eye.”

“Tell me she didn’t make you-”

“No. House Velardo was eliminated long before Illario or I could even call ourselves fledglings.” His gaze drifted towards the horizon, a heaviness lingering there, as if he bore the weight of the atrocities his grandmother had committed. And why wouldn’t he? It was Caterina’s ruthlessness that had earned her the title of First Talon. The title she passed on to him.

“I used to wonder how she could bear the pain after everyone she lost…”

“Do not pity her. She’d slit your throat for less.”

“Perhaps it would be a mercy.”

“It would be nothing short of tragic.” Lucanis worked his jaw, eyes cooly sweeping over her. “I’m not going to stand here and listen to you talk like your life is already over. You are not a weapon to be abandoned once the job is done. You will not die while I live to have any say in it, Fiammetta.”

She stopped breathing, but Lucanis moved closer, keeping her from looking away. Thunder rumbled low in the distance, lightning flashing through the clouds as they rolled in overhead.

“What did Illario say-”

Lucanis let out a humorless laugh, his head falling back towards the sky.

“Come on, Rook. Give me more credit than that. You think I can’t sense that you’ve been setting yourself up as a martyr this whole time?”

With a controlled exhale, he brushed the knuckle of his forefinger up the column of her throat.

“These doubts that plague you are the fault of those who let you down. Your father, the Crows…” Lucanis pressed his forehead to hers, his brown irises shining, “You don’t lead a team this far, you don’t liberate Treviso from people like Ivenci, through sheer luck. You’re a leader, Rook. Don’t let your pain define you.”

She shook her head, eyes rimmed red. “I don’t know who I am without it.”

“I do.” Lucanis’ voice was steady, quiet. “I see you, Fiammetta. I’m here.”

The thread that held her up, drawn too tight, finally snapped at his words. She pressed the heel of her hand to her mouth, muffling a raw, choking sob. Lucanis pulled her into his coat and she fisted her hands around its edges, burying her face in his sweater as her body shuddered.

Her sobs finally subsided as the gentle patter of rain tapped against the leaves at their feet. Lucanis didn’t move, keeping his arms around her, steady and patient, like he’d wait for hours if it was what she needed. When her breathing finally slowed, her grip on him loosened, and her body sagged with exhaustion.

“You need rest,” he murmured, his hold tight even when she tried to pull back and compose herself.

“I’m fine,” she rasped, but the lie sunk, heavy with shame, in her throat.

Lucanis leaned back just enough to look at her. “Now is not the time to be stubborn, Fiammetta. You’re spent. Give yourself some reprieve. A warm bath, a real bed…”

“If the gods make their move, if anything happens, if someone needs us-”

“The villa, then,” Lucanis proposed, “I promise to keep my grandmother’s scheming — and her cane — far away, mm?”

Rook hesitated. The villa hadn’t been a prison, not really, but it hadn’t been home either. She’d been tucked away, exiled, under the guise of hospitality. But the birds still sang there in the mornings. The roses under the willow tree bloomed in the warm seasons. And the beds — Maker, the silk sheets alone could make her forget all of this, if only for a night.

“Quickly, then. Before I change my mind.”

Lucanis nodded once, taking her by the hand and remaining silent as they walked back into the city. Villa Dellamorte’s roof crested the horizon ahead, the glow of its lanterns served as a beacon in the fog. Rainfall speckled the stone streets, the sky urging them on as the wind picked up. By the time they passed through the gates, and Lucanis held the front door open for her, the downpour had caught up at last. Unease tightened in Rook’s chest as she stepped inside, static prickling her skin before a single bolt of lightning split the sky in the distance. Lucanis let the door slam shut behind them, just before the crack of thunder echoed through the villa.

Chapter Text

Bloody and drenched, Lucanis guided Rook through the front hall. Any hope of slipping into his room unnoticed was dashed the moment he heard the sharp tap of a cane echo from the den.

Nothing happened in Caterina Dellamorte’s home without her knowing about it.

She rounded the corner, unsurprised and yet intrigued as she took them in. It was, after all, perfectly normal for her grandson to show up bloodied and bruised in the middle of the night. It was, however, less common for him to show up with company. Unheard of, even. 

“The governor?” She asked, squinting as blood, diluted by the rain, dripped from Fiammetta’s hair onto the white marble at their feet. 

“Taken care of,” Lucanis answered.

“Dead?” 

“Taken care of,” He repeated, voice edged with warning. 

Caterina glared, his response not the one she was interested in, before returning her attention to Rook. 

“Are you satisfied?”

“It’s not worth discussing.”

“Nonsense,” Caterina said sharply. “If it wasn’t worth discussing, I would not have heard about it.” 

“The governor’s fate, by right, belongs to Jacobus,” Rook muttered, “House de Riva’s rules demand it.”

Caterina hummed in acknowledgement, and Lucanis struggled to decipher the emotion that flickered in her eyes as they remained fixed on Rook.

“How does it feel?”

“That’s enough,” Lucanis announced, attempting to sweep Rook aside. Her feet remained planted firmly in place, and he tilted his head, surprised by her resistance. 

“Like I’m dying,” She said, her voice a hollow rasp.

Lucanis flinched. His grandmother pursed her lips and nodded once. Her wrinkled hand, adorned with gold and ruby-crested rings, reached for Rook’s face. He readied himself to intervene, but rather than slapping her, Caterina wiped the smudged makeup from beneath Rook’s eye. 

“Then you’ve done it right, Fiammetta,” she said, rubbing her fingertips together until the black smear disappeared, like it was nothing at all. “Rest. You’ve earned it.”

Lucanis could have sworn he heard a note of sympathy in his grandmother’s tone. Never had he seen Caterina display an ounce of tenderness like this. Not since his mother. Perhaps he and Teia had received fleeting scraps of it as children, but it was always accompanied by a guarded indifference. Something about the way his she regarded Rook now, though… It would be easy to mistake for empathy. 

Unwilling to linger, Lucanis placed his hand on Rook’s back, feeling the subtle curve of her spine, and guiding her towards the stairs.

“Lucanis, a word,” Caterina requested, just as he’d thought they were free. Rook paused a few steps up, and Lucanis’ hand fell away from her, his brow pinching.

“Caterina, it’s been a long night. Please-”

“Fiammetta knows the way. I’ll only keep you a moment.”

Rook reached for his hand and squeezed, smiling in a fragile attempt to reassure him. I’m okay, really, it said. A lie. 

Lucanis frowned, but nodded for her to continue, one hand resting on the bannister as Rook ascended the stairs alone. 

“I was not certain I would see you here again after our last conversation, let alone that you’d bring Fiammetta with you.”

“She needs somewhere-”

“I never said she was not welcome,” Caterina said, “Even if I have killed for looks half as sour as the one she gave me last time, she was here.” 

“So, is that what you want to do? Threaten her when I’ve brought her here for safety? Prove to me just how easily you can harm her when my guard is down?”

“You are seeing daggers where I hold an olive branch,” Caterina replied, “but perhaps you got that from me, so I will make my point. Shall I look for a new heir, or will you still accept the role of First Talon?”

“If you recall, there was an entire opera house of Crows present when you announced it.”

“Spare me the petulance, boy!” Caterina hit the back of his knee with her cane and Lucanis flinched, more from habit than pain. “I would expect the angst from your cousin, but not from you!”

“Nothing has changed,” he gritted out, trying to ignore the sting. “I accepted it then, and I accept it now.”

“And does Fiammetta accept it?”

“Does it matter?”

“The way you look at her? It matters.”

Lucanis closed his eyes, calming himself. 

“She accepts it. That does not mean she likes it.”

“I would be more concerned if she did.” 

With a weary sigh, Lucanis pulled himself upstairs by the banister, the meticulously polished wood slick beneath his calloused hands. He didn’t have any patience left for this tonight. All he wanted was to get Rook to bed. There was no reason for her to be alone.

“And Lucanis!” His grandmother called after him.

He paused on the landing and threw his head back, staring at the carved ceiling to keep himself from losing his mind. 

“Yes, Caterina?”

“Find that poor girl some fresh clothes. If I see her come downstairs in those bloodied leathers tomorrow morning, I’ll break your kneecaps.”

“Upstairs. Emmrich can heal it. If you wake Bell, she’ll only panic.” 

“You want the necromancer to fix your leg?”

“Are you here to help, or just trying to avoid explaining to Rook and Lucanis why I bled out on the floor?”

Illario grumbled and picked Neve up, trudging up the Lighthouse stairs. He could feel her tense in his arms, displeased by her own helplessness. 

She pointed him towards Emmrich’s door, and Illario rapped his knuckles on it as he adjusted his hold. Neve’s blood had dried all over his favorite cloak, but her bleeding had at least slowed. She’d live. For now.

Not that he cared. 

The door swung open and Emmrich’s mouth fell open in shock. Behind him, a skeletal assistant peeked around the bannister at them like a curious child. 

“Neve?” Emmrich breathed. “What’s happened?”

“Political injury,” She said, elbowing Illario in the ribs. He coughed and set her inside, where Emmrich took over, easing her into a seat by the fire. He bent at the waist, examining her wound with a frown. His skeleton pet — Manfred, if Illario recalled correctly — did not remove its gaze from Illario, and he made a face, obscenely gesturing. It hissed, clambering back upstairs as Neve squinted in disapproval.

Illario rolled his eyes and slammed the door behind him, freezing halfway across the room. The air shifted. Metallic and rotten. Familiar. Panic stirred in his chest, stealing the air from his lungs. There — beneath the magic of the Fade — the faint traces of blood magic. Zara. Or the ghost of her, clinging like stale perfume to Emmrich’s chambers. 

“Zara’s been here.” He jerked his head to the necromancer for an explanation.

The witch was supposed to be dead. 

“Your… friend’s corpse has been taken care of. With funeral rites, despite the atrocities she committed.” Emmrich assured him, “Lucanis had brought her here, after your… confrontation. To get answers.” 

“Ah.” Illario’s muscles relaxed, and he glanced at a bloodied slab near the wall, a shudder passing through him. 

“You seem more on edge than in mourning,” Neve observed. 

“She’s better off dead.” 

“Was she not your lover?” Emmrich asked, puzzled. “She referred to you as amatus .”

He shrugged, pacing to a nearby bookshelf and perusing the titles. 

“Not the word I’d use.”

Emmrich rose and bowed, ever the gentleman, as he returned his attention to Neve.

“I can heal this. I just need to grab a few things from upstairs. Excuse me.”  

He gave Illario a wide berth as he walked to the stairs, holding onto the railing as he climbed. Manfred scuttled close behind, chattering nervously.

Even the dead gossiped when it came to him, it seemed. 

Illario turned to Neve, raising an eyebrow as she struggled with her torn and bloody trousers in the chair. With a flick of his wrist, he withdrew one of the daggers at his belt and crossed the room.

“I’ve still got two good arms left, if you’re looking to stab me, too.” she said without looking up.

“You want my help or not?” 

“Want isn’t the word…” she said with a resigned sigh, “but I won’t say no.” 

Illario crouched, tearing into the fabric halfway down her thighs, cutting it away until both of her legs were free, and flinging the scraps into the burning fire behind them. The stab wound from Rook’s blade gaped, but it was a clean cut, a testament to how well she kept her blades sharp. It would heal.

Neve’s other leg stopped just below the knee, a prosthetic bearing a serpent fixed into place. It gleamed dully in the firelight, and he admired the craftsmanship curiously.

Neve sighed, resting her elbow on the chair arm and laying her cheek on her hand. “I just bought these trousers last year.” 

“Looks like Fi owes you a new pair.” Illario gestured towards her prosthetic. “Need this removed?”

“I’d do it myself, but bending seems to strain my other leg.” She grumbled, “You know how?” 

“I’m good with...” 

“I get it,” Neve replied curtly. 

“So…” Illario drew out the word, waiting for permission.

Neve gave a single nod, averting her gaze and he balanced her thigh in his hand, pulling her calf closer to examine the appliance more closely. 

“Why Zara?” Neve asked, watching curiously as he worked loose one of the worn leather straps that crisscrossed around her calf. “And why have your own cousin killed?”

Illario’s hands stilled, and he cleared his throat. Of course. This again. 

“My mind… was led astray. Elgar’nan, Zara… I can’t describe it.”

“Elgar’nan’s been in my head, briefly, when we saved the Dalish.” Neve said, “It’s not a good feeling… but the draw… I felt it.” 

Illario didn’t respond, his focus unwavering as he continued his work.

“It’s laced here.” His thumb brushed the edge of the metal frame near her knee. “And buckled?”

“Three buckles. The middle one sticks.”

“Of course it does,” he muttered. “The metalwork here is familiar. Dwarven crafted?”

“And expensive,” she warned, a hint of wry amusement in her voice.

He grunted as he worked the brass buckles nestled against the side of her calf free. 

“I’m not blameless,” he continued, his voice tight. “My own jealousy drove me mad, but… I’d change everything if I could. And if I’d known what she’d been doing to my cousin, what she’d turned him into…”

A soft metallic clink followed as he loosened the final strap.

“You still seem wary of Spite,” Neve mused, “even though he allowed Lucanis to leave you alive.” 

Illario rested his forearms on his thighs as he looked up at her, cocking his head to the side. 

“Do you make a habit of trusting demons, Neve Gallus?”

“He and Lucanis seem to have come to an understanding. But you can never really trust a demon.” 

“Rook… bonds with it.” His lip curled. “Like they’re friends .”

“Maybe she and Spite have good reason to get along?”

“Enough.” Illario made a sound of disgust. “I already know too much.” 

“What I’m saying…” Neve began impatiently, “is a spirit of determination and a woman who has spent her entire life chasing after revenge might have some common ground. If Lucanis’ desire for revenge drew him and Spite closer in the Ossuary, Rook’s pull must be very powerful.”

“You think she’s in danger?”

Neve laughed, bright and melodic. Illario couldn’t help but feel at ease.

“Quite the opposite. Between Lucanis and Spite? Rook is probably the most well-defended woman in Thedas.”

Illario rolled his shoulders and reached out, bracing her calf with one hand, and with the other, easing the prosthetic down and setting it aside on the other chair. Bare skin now exposed, he could see clearly the faded scars just below her knee.  

“All done,” he said, rising to his feet. 

“You don’t find it unnerving.” Neve said, Illario couldn’t tell if it was an observation or a question. 

“Your beauty?” He quipped, “Only slightly.” 

Illario smirked at her unamused expression, toying with the hilt of a sword in his belt.

“You might be the most unnerving woman I’ve met, Neve Gallus.”

She scoffed bitterly, shifting her gaze towards the fire. “Well, at least you’re honest.” 

“Take it as a compliment. Powerful, intelligent, cunning — if your friends are to be believed…”

He leaned against the hearth, crossing his arms as his eyes roved over her body, pausing on her leg. 

“That’s a clean, cruel cut, not an accident. Someone did that to you. I’d guess for getting in their way. What you are willing to do for your city, your people. What you’d sacrificed…” He shook his head. “Conviction like that can raze an entire army. I’d hate to be your enemy.” 

“What makes you think you’re not my enemy?” 

He considered his response, but was interrupted by Manfred shrieking in displeasure as he descended the stairs behind Emmrich. The skeleton’s rattling arms nearly lost their hold on the potions and medical supplies cradled in them. Acutely aware he’d more than overstayed his welcome, Illario held up his hands in surrender and headed for the door.

“Because you believe in redemption, Neve Gallus,” he said over his shoulder as he turned the handle, “how else would you end up in charge of a crime syndicate?”

“I did it for Dock Town,” Neve snapped. 

Illario chuckled. “You don’t have to explain yourself. It’s not like you need to impress me or anything, detective.” 

She blinked, and Illario knew he’d gotten under her skin. Before she turned him to a block of ice, he winked and slipped out the door. 

Perhaps Tevinter hospitality was not so frigid after all. 

Chapter Text

“I just don’t see why this matters, Caterina.”

“You think being First Talon is all killing and bureaucracy? I will not have poor taste ruining this House’s legacy.”

Rook lingered just outside the dining room, listening as Lucanis and Caterina argued at the table. She’d woken alone — typical of Lucanis — but hadn’t expected to be roused by their shouting echoing across the villa.

Slipping a robe over her nightgown, she’d crept downstairs, drawn by voices and a gnawing sense that the argument might somehow involve her. Her steps were silent, every creak in the floorboard expertly avoided. But nothing could protect her from the one element she hadn’t accounted for.

Spite . 

There was a flicker of violet in Lucanis’ eyes before he turned towards her, clearly alerted by the demon. Rook stifled a gasp and stepped back as he rose from his seat, attempting to hide herself from view.

He had smelled her. The lech.

“Rook?” Lucanis called out, peering around the door frame. She stepped forward, through the threshold, smiling sheepishly and tugging at the hem of her nightgown. Her cheeks heated as Caterina’s sharp gaze appraised her bare legs and feet. When she lived here, she would not have dared wander into a room with the First Talon like this…

“I hope I’m not interrupting. Excuse me, I still need to change-”

“Nonsense, Fiammetta, this is your home. Dress how you please.” Caterina shook her head and waved her in. “Now get over here.”  

Her eyes flitted to Lucanis, who nodded reassuringly. Rook stepped closer to the table, furrowing her brow. She had expected to find a contract or private family business, but instead, on its surface were fabric swatches of varying colors and textures, laid in neat, precise rows. 

“What is this?”

Caterina tapped a long fingernail on the table intently. “Which one would you pick?” 

“Por la sangre del Hacedor,” Lucanis groaned.

Rook assessed each sample. There were dozens - different shades of lace, velvet in deep purples and blues, grey chiffon, Orlesian red silk…

“What is this for?”

“Caterina wants to redecorate the main dining room.”

“The curtains are falling apart!” His grandmother protested.

“There are other dining rooms?”

Caterina’s confused expression was painfully genuine.

“Why would we only have one dining room?”

“Of course…” Rook muttered. “My mistake, I must have forgotten the others…”

“Choose, Fiammetta!” Caterina snapped. “If my grandson refuses to take part in the upkeep and repair of the villa, I will need you to remind him the importance of a well-kept home.”

“I make a mistake, you and Teia will have me killed!”

Desperate for the exchange, Rook set her fingertip on a velvet swatch in the center, a deep burgundy, darker than blood.

“This one. The fabric keeps the cold out, and prying eyes from peeking in. The color would go well with the wood.”

Caterina clapped her hands together. “Oh Fiammetta, you were always so good at these things before you left me…”

“Now that’s settled…” Lucanis murmured, gesturing towards the kitchen. “Rook, a moment?”

“What is so important that you had to interrupt your grandmother’s very important and not at all trivial remodeling decisions?” Rook murmured as they reached the end of the hall, away from Caterina’s hawk-like gaze.

“I wanted to know how you slept,” He mumbled, bracing one hand above her head and backing her against the wall. Rook grinned, reaching out to run her thumb over his bottom lip. Inside Lucanis’ mind, Spite purred appreciatively at the gesture, like a cat scratched between the ears. 

“Like the dead. I missed you when I woke.”

“My apologies. I sought out Caterina this morning to spare you.”

“I appreciate that.”

He smiled, bending to kiss her tenderly. His fingertips delicately combed through her hair, enjoying the softness of it. He craved these moments — the illusion that all they were up against didn’t exist, if only for a moment. 

“Nonna!”

A shout from the foyer startled them both, and Lucanis broke the kiss, turning his head towards the hall. 

“Teia is here?” Rook asked, confused. 

“And Viago. Caterina invited them. She’s insisting on a family breakfast.”

“Family?”

“We aren’t?” Lucanis asked, a hint of disappointment in his expression.

“I mean… we’re not blood-”

“You know how Teia feels about Caterina.”

“She’s the mother Teia never had…”

“And Viago and I grew up together, trained together…”

“I’ve never known him to take his meals anywhere but home-”

“And then there’s you and I…”

Rook blinked. “What about us?”

Lucanis’ brow furrowed, and he released her, taking a step back. “Is this not… are we not-”

Rook stared at him, frozen as one of the staff pushed between them with a tray of food.

“Fi, get in here! I have an orphan who wants to form his own house because of you!” Viago shouted from the dining room, a levity in his tone Lucanis wasn’t used to hearing. He glanced over his shoulder. Poor timing. He shouldn’t have said a word. 

“My mistake,” he cleared his throat to break the uncomfortable silence and turned to leave.

“I wasn’t saying no,” Rook blurted, catching him by the wrist. “just that I… don’t know.”

He stared at her hand, pulse quickening as he lifted his gaze to meet hers.

“You’re wearing my mother’s ring, Fiammetta.” He said, “Are my intentions unclear?”

“You said no strings…”

“Feelings are not strings. You aren’t a hostage, but I would hope…” he let the sentence die as he studied her face. She was panicking. Had he pushed her too fast? With everything that happened last night, was this too much?

Lucanis chose his next words carefully. 

“The more I care for you, Fiammetta, the more you appear to take it as a threat.” 

“Caring nearly got you killed by House Cortez.”

“Is that what this is about, Rook, really?”

“Fi!” Teia called out. “Don’t make me come in there!”

Lucanis pressed his lips together in a tight line. “We’ll talk later. I promise.” 

“We’re talking now.” Rook narrowed her eyes. “I want to hear how you think my concern is so unnecessary even though I was the one dragging you across the floor, near death-”

“Mierda! You are so stubborn!” 

Rook blinked, silenced by his outburst. A wave of guilt washing over him, Lucanis drug a hand over his face to collect himself, exhaling furiously through his nose. 

“I am in love with you, Fiammetta de Riva,” he said, reaching for her hand, “You cannot tell me this comes as a surprise.”

“No,” her eyes shone as she backed away, terror and pain on her face, “don’t-”

Lucanis wasn’t sure what he’d expected as he followed her across the kitchen. It wouldn’t have been gentleman-like to expect anything. But he’d at least hoped to learn what had her so petrified, to comfort her, reassure her…

What he had not anticipated was for Rook to slap him. 

The force of it turned his head sideways and made his ears ring. Few things shocked Lucanis Dellamorte, but his eyes went wide as they stared into Rook’s. Her hand flew to her mouth, staring in mortified silence for so long, Lucanis lost track of time. Disoriented, she finally backed away to the hall, one hand brushing the wall as she sought to steady herself, and vanished without another word.   

Lucanis stared after her in disbelief and slouched against the wall, letting his head fall back as he cupped his stinging cheek. 

“She’s playing with you.” Spite said in a sing-song voice as Lucanis caught his breath. “She’s fun.”

His chest rose and fell, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he composed himself. 

“I don’t think this is a game, Spite.”

“So you just sat across from the poor guy like nothing happened? While your cousin and everyone established an entire new house for this Jacobus kid and all the orphans - you nodded along, and then bolted?”

“What else could I do?”

“Oh Rook, that’s cruel. You ran away from a man who told you he loved you!”

“I hit him first.”

“Is that a Crow thing?”

“Well, no-”

“Isn’t it the other Dellamorte you’ve been wanting to hit?” 

“For fuck’s sake, Varric! This isn’t funny!” 

Varric grinned. “You panicked.”

“It wasn’t that simple.”

“It is that simple, Rook. What’s got you so scared?”

Her heart stammered in her chest, and she snatched Varric’s journal off the nightstand to avoid answering. She flipped through the pages for something to do, pausing at his last entry, dated two days before they interrupted Solas’ ritual. 

“Why don’t you write anymore?”

“Not much to write about when I’m stuck in bed all day,” Varric grunted, sitting up straighter and adjusting his pillows behind him. He watched Rook as she read a few entries, frowning as he assessed her. 

“You’ve got to bury everyone eventually, Rook. Would you really prefer avoiding your feelings? Even when they’re plain and clear to everyone else? Including your enemies!”

“I don’t know.”

“Horseshit. You either know or you’re lying.” 

Rook slammed the journal shut and turned it over in her shaking hands. 

“Tell him, kid. Someday he won’t  be around to tell. Or worse… you won’t. And he’ll always wonder.” 

Rook chewed her lip, setting the book aside, blinking away the tears that welled in her eyes. 

“Take it from me. You only can guarantee the moments that are behind you or right in front of you. Everything else is shaky. You love someone? You tell them. People can be gone in an instant. You don’t always get to say goodbye. You’re afraid of burying him? Try living with the shame that he took all this uncertainty to the grave.”

“Fuck. Varric-”

“Go get ‘em, kid,” Varric said with a wink. 

She threw herself from the infirmary, taking the stairs two at a time as she rushed toward the courtyard. At the landing, she rounded the bannister, skidding to a halt as the front doors swung open. 

Neve stepped inside, bruises healed and neatly put together, lifting her eyebrows in surprise. 

“Rook.” She scrutinized her closely as she caught her breath. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I meant to check in on you-” she began, but Neve dismissed her with a wave. 

“Spare me the guilt. Emmrich sorted me out.” She smoothed her palms over her outfit proudly, “Although I should thank you for the clothes. The fit’s nearly perfect. I’ve always favored my tailor in Dock Town, but…”

Rook blinked, finally taking notice of her new trousers. There was a certain familiarity to them. Fine wool, close-cut seams, leather embellishments. Expensive, if the meticulous sticking were any indicator.

Fiammetta de Riva knew Antivan luxury when she saw it. 

“I’d love to take credit, Neve, but I only got back half an hour ago.”

“You didn’t send them?” 

“Those…” Rook said, reaching out to pinch the soft fabric between her thumb and forefinger, “came from the Dellamorte family tailor.” 

Neve’s face fell, twisting into a scowl. 

“I liked them better when I thought they came from you.” 

“Illario’s taste suits you.” Rook said, admiring her figure, “he got the measurements right and everything.”

“He was surprisingly… attentive last night.” 

“Careful, Neve. It almost sounds like the two of you are getting along.”

“I’m saying he’s not the ass I thought he was.” She crossed her arms. “Still might be. But the jury’s out.”

“He’s always been a sucker for a damsel in distress.”

Neve glared. “I don’t need saving.”

“Of course not. But it’s nice to let someone else do the heavy lifting from time to time.”

Neve titled her head to the side impatiently, failing to conceal the smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth. 

“Enough about my evening. I just saw Lucanis in the kitchen, brooding over a mug of coffee. Trouble in paradise?”

“That’s my fault. I’ll talk to him,”

She stepped to the side, but Neve caught her by the elbow. 

“You haven’t forgotten your meeting at the Cobbled Swan, have you?”

Rook frowned. “I…”

“Dock Town. You and Harding. Morrigan?” Neve prompted. “That woman waits for no one. If you don’t hear her out now, we may lose our chance.” 

Rook threw her head back and cursed. She was right. Morrigan, the Inquisitor - both had been painfully elusive, despite how desperately she sought out their guidance. A few cryptic missives here and there, but according to Harding’s debrief last week, whatever Morrigan had to say now was too important to postpone. 

Even if the damned witch wouldn’t reveal exactly what it was. 

“Tell Lucanis I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Neve dipped her chin. “Of course.”

“Thanks.” 

Rook hesitated long enough for the dull ache in her chest to throb, almost painfully, as she considered how much time she had. The kitchen was only a few strides across the courtyard. 

But time. There was never enough time. 

Reluctantly, she descended the stairs toward the Eluvian chamber, each step slower than the last. As she crossed the walkway, she couldn’t help but feel like she was walking the plank on a sinking ship.

Chapter Text

Rook stepped inside the Cobbled Swan, cautiously assessing the room. The bar was dim, the final remnants of the setting sun threading through the window slats overlooking the harbor below. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, a small wave from the corner caught her attention. She offered a guilty smile as penance before sliding into the secluded booth where Harding was waiting. 

“You’re late.” 

“Sorry,” Rook mumbled, shrugging off her cloak and tossing it beside her. “Long night.”

“I heard.” Harding’s tone softened as she set aside the half-empty beer she’d been nursing. “You good?”

“Don’t make me answer that question.” 

Harding grinned sympathetically and nodded towards the bar in a silent offer. Rook followed her gaze, considering the idea, but decided against it, slouching in her seat and shaking her head to decline. After the way she’d humiliated herself at Viago and Teia’s engagement, the last thing she needed was a drink. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Harding began, reaching for her beer again, “I had Neve tell you to be here an hour early. Technically, that makes you on time.”

“What a relief…” Rook deadpanned, tipping her head back against the back cushion of her seat. 

The two fell into a comfortable silence, and Harding let her rest, continuing to nurse her drink, keeping one eye on the door. 

“Commander?” 

Harding’s voice cut through the haze of sleep Rook hadn’t even realized she’d fallen into. She jerked upright, one hand braced on the booth beside her. Morrigan approached, eyes glinting with amusement, accompanied by an imposing blonde man Rook had never seen before. 

Caught off guard and backed into a corner. Viago might have taken her head for that. 

The man gave Harding a tired smile, exposing the wrinkles and worry lines around his eyes and mouth. “I’ve told you. Cullen is fine.”

Rook studied the pair curiously, relaxing into a more casual demeanor but keeping her hand under the table, close to her weapon. Cullen Rutherford, former Templar, the Inquisitor’s husband, was in Minrathous? Nothing she’d learned gave her the impression he ever left Ferelden, if he could help it. And to his credit, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Her stomach twisted. What did he think of the Inquisitor’s plan to save her ex-lover? 

And what would Solas make of it? 

“Well met,” Morrigan greeted them in her gentle, cunning tenor as Harding made space for her. Cullen and Rook exchanged an uncomfortable look, and he reached for a chair from the bar, clearly not eager to be in close quarters. 

“What are you doing here?” Harding pressed Cullen as he situated himself at the side of the table. “Where is the Inquisitor?”

“Duty called her to the South, and I to the North.” His armor clinked against the wood as he sat down with a grunt. “She sent me in her stead, to assist Morrigan until she has a moment of reprieve.”

There were dark circles under his eyes, nearly as severe as Lucanis’. Rook assessed his appearance more closely until interrupted by a waitress dropping off a few glasses of wine. She pushed hers aside, ignoring her desire to throw it back in one go. 

“I would think there are more pressing questions at the moment.” Morrigan said impatiently, “Questions about Solas, perhaps?”

“Right.” Rook rapidly blinked several times to draw herself back to the present. “You two knew him.” 

“Not remotely as well as Mythal.” Morrigan corrected her. 

“… Mythal?”

Solas’ goddess, ex, or friend… whatever it was, it was complicated. His worst betrayal, and deepest regret. They’d uncovered the ancient goddess’ involvement with Solas over the past several months, the atrocities he committed, allies and innocents sacrificed for what he believed was the greater good. The more Rook learned of the Dread Wolf, the less she trusted him. But she also understood him… and a part of her sympathized. 

“The two gods have always been linked, have they not?” Morrigan asked, tracing a fingertip around the rim of her wineglass, “First, when Mythal bade her companion spirit to abandon the Fade and take on a mortal form. Then, when Solas spilled Mythal’s mortal blood so that he might absorb her power as his own.”

“How do you know the details of Solas’ past?” Rook asked, “I don’t recall you lurking in the shadows when we uncovered his memories in the Crossroads.”

Morrigan’s laugh was light, but there was something cruel, unsettling that hid underneath. 

“Think about it, Rook. Consider, when Mythal stood against the gods’ manipulations of the Blight, she was betrayed and struck down. Yet she survived and returned ages later to aid the Inquisition in its hour of need. How?”

Rook did not answer. Rather, her gaze slid back to Cullen as she waited for Morrigan to continue. He sat quietly beside the mage as he assessed the patrons of the Cobbled Swan. He seemed on edge. Was he concerned for the Inquisitor, or worried she might give up everything, including him, to save Solas? How could he stand being apart from her, watching from the margins as she chased the Dread Wolf’s redemption? 

Morrigan continued impatiently, noticing Rook’s distraction. “It’s because I was there, in a sense. As Mythal was there, once a spirit, now a whisper in my blood.”

Rook’s mouth went dry. This was the revered goddess, sitting before her, smirking over a wineglass? And she expected Rook to trust her?

Rook leaned over the table, lowering her voice. “You’re Mythal?”

“Not all of her, of course.” Morrigan sipped her wine. “Just enough to make things complicated.”

“Morrigan,” Harding breathed, “if some part of you is Mythal, we need your help fighting the gods.”

“And here I am, if you might notice. But there’s a matter I must make clear…”

Magic pulled at the edges of her mind. Familiar to the way when Elgar’nan spoke to them while they saved the Dalish, Rook’s gut instinct was to resist, but Harding gave her a reassuring nod, and she took a breath, allowing Morrigan to show her. She sensed the echoes of Mythal, her presence, but it was distinct from Morrigan’s own being. 

“I once feared Mythal would consume me were I to carry her, but t’was not so. I remain free willed and mortal. What I now possess is but a spark of the goddess, shadowed memories through which to sift through for meaning.”

“Unlike an abomination,” Cullen mumbled beside her. Rook tensed. Harding had once mentioned the commander’s history with mages and demons. 

“What kind of spirit was Mythal before she became an elf?” She asked suddenly, “Spite was once Determination, and I know ‘Solas’ is elven for pride.”

Morrigan grinned knowingly. “Your mind can’t help but consider the spirit of determination dwelling inside of your lover, no?”

Cullen lifted his head for the first time during the conversation, and Rook’s stomach clenched. Apparently, the Inquisitor had the sense to leave Lucanis’ possession out of their conversations. 

“The emotion that inspired her might best be described as Benevolence… a guiding hand, inclined to kindness.” Morrigan explained, “When spirits are twisted against their purpose, a more violence aspect can arise. Mythal’s Benevolence gave way to Retribution. Just like your spirit of determination, when forced into a vessel void of magic, became Spite.” 

“Forced?” Cullen inquired.

“Forced,” Rook repeated coolly, holding his gaze for a beat. “Lucanis and Spite are victims of blood magic, not practitioners.”

“And you’re certain of this? That he has not simply hidden himself from the Circle-”

“As a mage myself, raised within the Crows alongside him, I can assure you, Commander, we would know. Our mages are trained within, if we can help it.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Yes, well, these are unprecedented times.” Rook said sharply. The commander tilted his head, studying her curiously, but said nothing. 

“Lucanis Dellamorte is not like the abominations you crossed paths with before, Commander. Do not be so quick to condemn him,” Morrigan warned gently. 

“Could Spite help us with Mythal?” Harding interjected, “Their natures can’t be that different.” 

“Similar, but not same. Spite stems from a grudge, a burning desire for revenge. It is a personal matter. Retribution seeks to right a wrong, a matter of justice. Both are discerning, however. Determination may set its sights on many objects of its desire, and Benevolence limits itself to who she finds deserving.” 

A few more patrons wandered inside the bar as the sun set in the large bay windows over the harbor. As they chattered and ordered drinks, Morrigan eyed them warily. 

“I will not bore you with the details.” She slid a small notebook across the table. “They are there, far less relevant than what I am about to say to you now: when Mythal was struck down by the gods, it was with her own lyrium dagger. The very same you now carry. Solas recovered it from Elgar’nan, and from it, extracted a fragment of Mythal that lay hidden in its depths.”

Underneath the table, Rook’s fingertips instinctively brushed against the lyrium dagger, humming with power at her thigh. 

“There is something that may be of use to you in the Crossroads,” she continued. “I will open the way for you. Another fragment of Mythal resides there. Speak to her, survive the encounter, and what she may present to you will aid in the fight that is to come.” 

Rook’s thumbed through a few pages of the leather bound book before tucking it into her cloak, tilting her head as she examined Morrigan more closely. Could she trust a spirit, split into so many fragments? Was Mythal like Spite? Would she listen to reason? Compromise?

Morrigan nodded at Cullen and slipped out of the booth. 

“We have business elsewhere, but the Inquisitor or myself will send word when there is time to meet again. Soon, you will need to make your move against the gods.”

Harding hurried after Morrigan as she left through the front doors, peppering her with last-minute questions. Cullen stood too quickly, but lingered, returning the chair he’d pulled up to its original position. It scraped loudly on the floor, briefly turning the heads of a few patrons. 

“Good luck.” His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword as he turned to Rook, but she sensed it was out of habit rather than threat. “I pray you have all you need for what lies ahead. 

“Thank you, Commander,” Rook said curtly.

“I meant no offense. My involvement with mages and abominations perhaps paints me with a prejudice I still struggle to shake.”

“Is your own wife not a mage herself, Commander?”

“That she is,” he said, his gaze distant, “and so much more.”

“She seems set on saving Solas from himself. Do you believe he can be saved?”

“I don’t know. What matters is that she believes it. It’s her instincts I trust, more than my own.”

“Even if it costs you, in the end?”

“Yes, Rook,” he said, meeting her gaze, “I remain at her side until she no longer has use of me. No matter what it costs.”

“The two of you really are quite the love story, aren’t you?”

He chuckled, scuffing his boots against the ground, eyes fixed on the sun setting over the sea through the window across the bar. 

“Templars take lyrium, you know. I was addicted for a time. I overcame it with great difficulty, but there were pressures within the Inquisition for me to take it up again. To make that sacrifice so that we might be stronger in the fight to come. Lavellan never asked that of me. She was patient when I struggled not only with my will, but myself.”

Rook’s heart stuttered at the mention of lyrium. Had her father had the same patience with her mother’s addiction? Or had he treated her with the same desperate cruelty that Rook endured in her childhood? Would Gemma de Riva have survived if her husband found even an ounce of compassion within himself? In Rook’s home, love always came with a knife. 

“She was my dearest friend,” Cullen went on, “even when she loved someone else, I would have waited an eternity for her.”

He cleared his throat, glancing at the door. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I should get going.” 

“Of course.” Rook bowed her head as he walked past, eager for escape. Harding returned to her side as he disappeared from sight, cheeks bright red. 

“Sorry about the abomination stuff. He had a rough time at the Circle in Ferelden.”

“I remember the stories. You said the mages there tortured him?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps he and Lucanis have more in common than he could even imagine,” Rook mumbled.

Harding crossed her arms, squinting. “Everything okay with you, Rook?

“I need to go for a walk. Clear my head. Meet you back at the Lighthouse?”

“Got it.”

She departed, and Rook exhaled heavily, sparing a glance at the bar. Exercising her better judgment, she left out the side door and walked through the city, sober and alone, as the stars swallowed the sky.

She wound through the streets, back to the Shadow Dragons’ safe house, where the Eluvian was housed. As she ducked inside, a familiar sense of unease enveloped her. Attuning herself to her surroundings, she slipped behind a shelf and held her breath. Her instincts were the first thing her father ever taught her to pay attention to. 

And right now she was certain she was being followed. 

Her blades slipped free from her belt too slow, a dark blur flying past her. Pots shattered, falling off the shelves above their heads, and Rook ducked, heart pounding. Already pivoting, she froze as her pursuer’s outline emerged from the shadows. 

Lucanis. Silent. Still. Watching.

Spite’s presence clung to him like smoke, fading away as he cocked his head to the side and strolled closer. His boots had been silent as he’d followed her, but now they echoed softly against the walls, ceramic shards crunching under his soles. 

“I heard you were looking for me.” 

His movements were casual, but whatever sense she had inside of her screamed, like prey being hunted. His demeanor lacked its usual playfulness or amusement when he greeted her.

“How did you-” Rook began, but Lucanis took her hands and forced her weapons back into their sheathes. Leaning forward, he bracketed her between both of his arms, slowly steering her against the wall with a thud. The air escaped her lungs as her back hit the brick, and she let out a soft gasp. 

“You and I…” he paused, the whites of his eyes barely catching the light from outside as his gaze flicked to her lips and back again, “… are going to have a talk.”

Chapter Text

It was an agonizing half hour-long of silence from the Dock Town eluvian to the streets of Treviso. Lucanis said nothing of where he was leading Rook, but as Villa Dellamorte loomed in the distance, she wondered what could possibly possess him to want to return there. Afraid of his answer, she didn’t dare ask. Lucanis’ expression was unreadable, which felt more dangerous than when he was angry. Even Spite’s company would be more pleasant… or forgiving.

This time of night, the streets were empty. Not unusual, but the quiet that had descended over her city took her by surprise. No more war cries or chanting in the distance, no billows of smoke clouding the night air from the Antaam’s encampment fires. Only the modest, faint streams of grey from family chimneys drifted into the air, a nostalgic scent of burning wood that stirred memories of hot chocolate with Viago and Teia during All Souls Day. Rook could still remember the day Viago stopped testing his cup for poison — but only when Teia was the one to bring it to him.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Lucanis watching. The edges of his cloak stirred in the breeze as he nodded in the direction of the tunnels underneath the villa. Somewhere without witnesses—perhaps not the best omen. Still, she steadied herself with one hand on the narrow entrance and squeezed between the damp stone pillars. Lucanis followed close enough that she could feel his warmth, the steady and even rhythm of his breathing amplified by their close confines.

There was a steady rhythm in the echoes of water dripping from above as Rook’s boots sloshed through the puddles gathered in the cellars, sending ripples to where water pooled deep near the stairs. She lifted the hem of her cloak to keep it dry, cursing herself for not wearing Crow leathers. Not as if she had time to change her mind. 

The ground floor of the villa was dark, every candle snuffed, and she relied on the moonlight filtering in from the thinly veiled windows to guide her as Lucanis cut ahead, leaving wet footprints in his wake. He opened the back doors leading to the garden with deliberate care, holding them for Rook to step through. The gesture seemed out of place amidst their tension. If he took such care not to wake his grandmother, it was the villa’s privacy he wanted. 

Rook did not wait for him as she walked toward the willow tree, shrugging off her cloak. She laid it over the table where she’d taken her breakfast with Caterina so many mornings, having little desire to see it covered in dirt… or blood. 

In the bushes nearby, roses of varied color bloomed proudly. She bent to cup one in her hand, fingertips tracing the torn edges where it had been battered by the wind and rains. Its petals remained soft, a testament to its resilience. Curious how anything so delicate, so pure, could survive in a place like this, flourishing beside the graves of their caretaker’s dead children. Caterina’s miserable, twisted trophy collection of the offspring she was cursed to outlive. 

“My grandmother loathes the white ones.”

Rook startled at the sound of Lucanis’ voice, jerking her hand back quickly. A stray thorn sliced the knuckle of her thumb and she cursed, cradling the bleeding digit in her opposite hand and squeezing crimson out of the tiny wound. Lucanis moved closer, taking her wrist and turning her palm face up, frowning and using the cuff of his sleeve to stanch the bleeding.

“Why?” Rook pulled back and wiped her hand on her trousers. Her father had always warned her it was bad form to let someone tend to her injuries when she did not know their intentions. 

Lucanis turned and plucked the offending rose from the bush, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, as if to interrogate it for the crime of cutting her. He held it between them and folded back the browned edges of one petal.

“The darker colors hide their imperfections better. Sometimes I find her out here furiously ripping blemished roses out and flinging them into the sea.”

“Why plant the white ones at all, then?”

He twirled the flower in his hand thoughtfully, its petals fanning as it spun. “Because if there were not white roses to hate, she would have to direct her discontent towards the red ones. It is not easy for her to admit to loving something, only to acknowledge that she despises it less than something else.”

He set the rose atop Rook’s cloak and removed his own, draping it over her shoulders. Her eyes shone as she looked up at him.

“Is that why you brought me here? You think I’m like her?”

He chuckled, low and dark, tracing her jaw with his knuckles. “Caterina resents the idea of love. You are only afraid of it.”

Rook shivered underneath his touch and drew his cloak closer. “Doesn’t fear always turn to resentment?”

“One has to be familiar with something to resent it. To suffer for so long that it sickens them.”

“And you believe your grandmother has spent so much time loving people she cannot bear it anymore?”

“The opposite. I think she has spent too long with the absence of those she once loved.”

Rook stalked off to the garden’s edge that overlooked Rialto Bay. Lucanis followed, keeping in step with her with infuriating ease. 

“When you said you wanted to talk, I did not realize you yearned to draw analogies between myself and your grandmother.”

“I told you once already, Rook. You are not like her.” Annoyance crept into his voice as he leaned out over the water, shaking his head. He finally expelled a bitter huff from his nostrils, turning towards her with a thin-lipped, derisive smile.

“You’re angry with me? I tell you how I feel, and you strike me in my home, then go on and pretend like nothing happened, and you’re angry?”

Rook’s grip on the rough stone fence tightened before she whipped towards him.

“You said you loved me,” she hissed, her words accusatory.

“Ah, so I threatened you. I understand now why my words would invoke such violence. You were acting in self defense.”

Rook threw her head back and let out a caustic laugh.

“Maybe I was! We’re Crows, Lucanis. Love is a death sentence.” Rook pointed to the aging willow behind her, its branches heavy with the grief that fed it. “Are your kin not buried across this lawn? Why don’t you ask your parents how things turned out for them?”

Lucanis’ jaw twitched, a muscle jumping beneath his skin. Rook swallowed, mouth suddenly dry as she realized she’d crossed a line.

“I’m sorry, I-”

Her guard was down, and she realized too late that he knew it, too. Lucanis was a violet blur as he grabbed her, pinning both hands behind her back and driving her face first against the wall of the villa.

“Our turn to speak.”

Rook froze at the sound of his and Spite’s combined voices in her ear, a cold chill prickling her skin. Every shred of her stubborn personality fell away as they demanded her attention, and so she obediently kept her mouth shut, not daring to utter another word.

“Good girl,” Lucanis cooed, Spite’s presence receding. He kept her firmly in place, dipping his head to bury his face in her neck. Rook shuddered as the tip of his nose parted her hair, his lips trailing under her jaw. His teeth found her neck, but he only nipped at her skin, kissing the spot like an apology before the dangerous rumble of his voice returned in her ear. 

“You like to play games with my heart, Fiammetta de Riva?”

“N-No! Listen to me-” she choked out, craning her neck and pressing her cheek against the wall, desperate for leverage. Ridges from the uneven brick dug deeper into her skin as she struggled futilely. This was why Viago and her father always emphasized the importance of staying out of reach. Although agile and cunning, she lacked physical strength by comparison. Never in her life would she allow herself to be compromised like this, but her trust in Lucanis was unbreakable. He, nor Spite, would ever harm her. Regardless of any harm she could commit against him.

More than anything in her life, she was certain of that.

“Maker, how I wish I could have seen you execute a contract. I can only imagine all the ways you know how to make a man suffer.” She sensed one of his hands slithering along her ribcage, his two fingers briefly tugging at the neckline of her leathers. A guttered gasp escaped her, and he smiled against her ear. “And then to stare at me across that table, as if nothing had happened at all, you might as well have…”

He snatched a dagger from her own belt and brought it loosely against the base of her throat. The amethyst embedded near the hilt glinted at her, mocking her. One Dellamorte gifted it to her. It seemed fitting another should take it away. The tip was sharp, but Lucanis held it carefully. There was as much skill in preventing bloodshed as there was in dealing death, and he had evidently mastered both. 

“Where will you start with your knife, Fiammetta…” he began, an edge creeping back into his voice, “when you gut us?”

He drew the blade away from her chest and pressed it into the palm of her left hand. Releasing her, he walked backwards as she spun, her arms numb and tingling from restraint. She stared, breath ragged.

“You want to fight?” She asked incredulously. 

“I don’t want to fight. You do, Fiammetta. So Spite and I are giving you what you want.”

Rook let out a frustrated scream and stalked towards him, flinging aside the blade clutched in her fist, as if it burned her skin. It rolled soundlessly across the ground, disappearing in the high grass. Rook didn’t hesitate, striking out with the heel of her boot towards Lucanis’ abdomen. He smirked and caught her around the ankle.

Just like she wanted.

She spun, falling onto her hands and using her free leg to kick at his shin. Lucanis stumbled backwards against the waist-high wall, retaining his balance as she ripped her foot free and swung a roundhouse at his head. He ducked just in time and used her momentum to his advantage. With a firm grip around her thigh, he brought her back against him, grappling her as she twisted and kicked for freedom.

“Few people surprise me, Rook,” he steered her against the railing, leaning her backwards over the ocean below, “but you…”

The stone was firm against her back, and the wind whipped through her hair as Lucanis used his weight to hold her in place. Below them, the sea crashed against the docks, moonlight fragmented on the waves as they rolled past docked gondolas, meeting the shores of the bay. She waited for Lucanis to relax his grip as he watched her take it in, then struck when his guard was down. 

With a forceful shove, she threw her weight into his chest and his eyes widened as she drove him backwards. Lucanis stumbled, and the heels of his boots scraped against the ground as he caught himself. A laugh, half Lucanis, half Spite, bubbled up his throat - his demon’s excitement at the challenge - but Rook didn’t give him an opening. She charged, one fist angled for his jaw. Her certainty faltered the closer she came, and Lucanis stopped her with the palm of his hand mid swing, his fingers closing around her fist. 

“I did not know what to think this morning, after you struck me. I went over and over what happened. What had I gotten wrong? Other than my timing, perhaps.” 

Rook glared, unblinking. “Let go.”

“At first I was furious. Dejected. Embarrassed…” 

He stared at their hands, forcing her fist open with his fingertips and flattening his palm against hers.  

“I’m good at reading people, Fiammetta.” He tilted his head and curiously entwined his hand with hers. “Even when they do not want to be read. And I saw it, through your facade across the table from me. In the way your shoulders tensed, how you couldn’t look me in the eye…”

He took one more step towards her, closing the small distance between them. 

“Don’t-” she warned, her voice quivering. 

Lucanis’ tone became gentle. “You’re scared, Rook.”

“No-” she tried to pull her hand free as his grip tightened. 

“You’re scared, because-”

“Shut up!”

Static bloomed in the center of her fist and Lucanis hissed through his teeth, muscles locking and body curling before he fell against the railing, subduing a cry of pain. He caught himself around the middle with one arm, knuckles turning white as he gripped a rung to keep himself upright. Rook gasped and drew back her magic, yanking her hand away.  

“Lucanis!” She fell to her knees beside him, frantically pressed two fingers to his neck. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I-“ 

She’d killed men this way before. Made their hearts stop in their chests. Watched them drop dead in seconds. But never by accident. So rarely did her magic get away from her like this…

His jaw clenched, and he drew in a sharp breath through his nose when she touched him, stiffening at the sudden contact, but he made no move to push her away. His chest rose and fell shakily, and he reached for his neck, catching her hand in his and squeezing weakly.

“That’s the third time you’ve caught me off guard today,” he said in a strained voice as he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I must be getting sloppy.”

“I don’t lose control like that. I could never live with myself if I…” Rook bit her lip and looked over her shoulder at the gardens, blinking back tears. 

“It breaks my heart to see you like this.” Lucanis reached for her chin, gently guiding her eyes back to him. “Talk to me, Fiammetta.” 

“I can’t bury you, too.” She rasped as his thumb caught a tear clinging to her lashes.

“I’m not an easy man to kill, Fiammetta,” he braced himself with both hands and pushed to his feet with a grunt, extending a hand to her, “and I have no intention of allowing any harm to come to you.” 

She hesitated for only a moment before clasping his forearm and allowing him to tug her up with him. She shivered, pressing the palms of her hands against his chest, fingers digging into his shirt as she watched him from under her lashes. 

“My words at the villa were never meant to take you by surprise,” he murmured, eyes following his hand as he brushed her hair over her shoulder thoughtfully. “I thought you knew. I had hoped…”

His hand lingered on the side of her neck, the pad of his thumb skimming along her jaw until his palm cradled her cheek. Rook leaned into his touch with her eyes half closed. Lucanis traced the shell of her ear, eyes falling to her parted lips. There was an agony in his gaze that gutted Rook. She had everything to soothe his pain, and yet she couldn’t find the words. 

Lucanis leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. This close, she could smell the amber in the oils he used to shave, the leather of his jacket, the jasmine he laundered his clothes with. A searing ache bloomed in her throat, and every nerve in her body was raw as she let several agonizing moments pass. When Rook remained still, Lucanis’ nose skimmed her cheek, brushing his lips over the corner of her mouth. She whimpered and impatiently gripped the back of his neck with both hands, pressing her mouth to his with a fervor that surprised them both.

Lucanis stiffened, his hand on her cheek tangling in her hair, as he surrendered to the kiss. Without the right words, she only hoped he could sense her heart racing as her body hungered for his touch. He groaned softly, hands roaming her frame with a frantic urgency that she longed to feel underneath her clothes. But as he fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, a strangled curse broke their kiss, and he stopped himself.

“Fiammetta,” his body slumped with the effort to control his breathing as he rested his cheek on her shoulder. With a featherlight touch, he watched his fingertips own graze her exposed collarbone with captivated interest. When she shivered in response, he buried his face against her throat and skimmed his lips over her hammering pulse.

“Forgive me,” he mumbled as he pulled back, flexing his hands at his sides.

Rook cleared her throat uncomfortably, glancing to the side. Gold gleamed in the grass beside them, and Lucanis followed her gaze, stooping to retrieve Rook’s dagger. He turned it over in one hand, admiring the craftsmanship, before holding it out to her handle-first. 

“You dropped this.”

She swallowed, the familiar weight cool against her warm skin as she sheathed it. Lucanis watched her, a wistful look on his face, before he pursed his lips and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Can I make you dinner?” He asked suddenly. 

Rook looked up and blinked at him. She lifted her head to the sky above, the moon hanging in the center over their heads. “It’s a little late for dinner.”

Lucanis smiled. “I’ve watched you skip every meal today. Surely you’re not worried about timing.”

“Maybe I’d prefer not to wake Caterina in the middle of the night.”

“I had her go to one of the safe houses in Seleny until the gods are dealt with.”

Rook scoffed and removed his coat from her shoulders, thrusting it into his hands before retrieving her own.

“So coming in through the hidden passage was just…”

“I wanted to make you squirm after this morning.” Lucanis reached over her shoulder and took the rose that rested atop her cloak, tucking it into his pocket. “Only enough to get even.” 

Rook took a step forward and loosed her recovered dagger from her belt, turning to aim near his head. It slipped easily through her fingers, and Lucanis dodged effortlessly, watching the blade whistle past his cheek and fly across the lawn behind him with a raised eyebrow. It sailed over the ledge, disappearing into the bay, the splash barely inaudible underneath the waves lapping against the dock.

Lucanis grinned back at her, not bothering to conceal his amusement. 

“I can replace that for you.”

Rook snatched her cloak and sauntered toward the villa as she flung back, “I’ll send you the bill.”

Chapter Text

Fresh from the bath, Rook descended the stairs to the kitchen in a button-down she’d snuck from Lucanis’ dresser. It hung off her shoulders, clinging to the swell of her breast and curves of her hips, settling just short of her mid thigh. 

“You’re wearing my shirt. I was worried my clothes were beneath you.”

Lucanis stole a glance at her from his place over the stove, mouth twitching as she rounded the corner. 

Careful not to slip on the freshly waxed marble floors as she padded past him, Rook dragged a fingernail across his lower back. “This one isn’t so bad.”

Unphased, Lucanis chuckled and rolled his sleeves to the elbow. His cloak and vest were already removed, hanging from the coat rack by the door to the gardens. Half a bottle of wine rested on the counter, while the rest simmered in a pan over the flames, bubbling around a tender cut of beef.

Rook hoisted herself onto the counter, letting her legs sway beneath her. “Half a bottle of wine gone so soon?”

Lucanis removed the pan from the fire, setting it aside, and wiped his hand on a towel.

“It pairs well with the rosemary, and the mushrooms absorb the bite,” he reached up to retrieve a pair of glasses from an overhead shelf and filled them carefully. “Don’t worry. I saved enough for us.” 

Rook’s eyes swept past him to the window, where the winds picked up, whipping up leaves from the bushes and scattering them against the sill. Lucanis returned the empty bottle to the counter, the soft scrape of it catching her attention. She looked up as he slotted himself between her legs, wine in hand, and pressed a glass into her hand. 

“I used to visit a vineyard south of here, but recently caught word that it had burnt to the ground. Caterina ensured the families were taken care of, and when we presumed her dead, I was doing the same. They had sent a few surviving bottles in appreciation.”

Rook lifted it to her lips, watching him over the rim as she took in the notes. The liquid stung her senses, her eyes watering slightly as she tipped it back, letting it flood her mouth. It was warm, earthy, full of spice and, without a doubt, Antivan. Lucanis studied her intently as he drank, gaze catching on her waist as the wine’s heat lingered in the back of her throat. 

“I like it.” She angled her hips forward, body sliding against his as she descended from the counter. “Too bad we can’t buy a case.”

Flustered, Lucanis took a step back and pushed a hand through his hair. He turned back to the stove, dividing their dinner on to separate plates. 

“I’ll fund the replanting of the entire vineyard if it makes you happy.”

Rook idled close enough to drive him mad, tugging at his shirt, untucking and ruffling it. Lucanis looked over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes playfully, nodding toward the dining room to encourage her on. Wine glass held high, Rook exited the kitchen and took a seat beside the head of the table. As Lucanis set her dinner in front of her, she ran a finger along a napkin. Silk. Of course. 

“For you,” he murmured, kissing her bare shoulder where the shirt had fallen open and taking his seat across from her. A candle at the table’s center slowly spilled wax down its length, illuminating how meticulously he’d laid everything out. She hadn’t taken long in the bath. He must have worked quickly. 

“Have you fantasized about this, Lucanis Dellamorte? Seducing me with dinner in your big, fancy house?” 

“While you drink my favorite wine, with my clothes hanging off of you like that? Often.” He picked up his fork and knife, making a cut into his food. “Although I’d always imagined you’d have the decency to wear something underneath so I could have the pleasure of removing it later.” 

Rook stilled in surprise, and he snuck a look at her with a wry smile as he chewed. Raising both eyebrows, he nodded to her plate.

“We can flirt later. You deserve an uninterrupted meal, for once.”

Food had always come as a second thought for Rook. Her meals were so inconsistent during childhood it was best to not think about eating at all. But Lucanis wouldn’t have gone to the trouble to orchestrate a meal if it wasn’t important to him. So she picked up her fork as he watched her, poorly concealing his eagerness, and began to eat. 

Rook held his gaze as she chewed thoughtfully, and he set his silverware down, reaching across the table to brush a thumb over the corner of her mouth. She smirked as he leaned back and returned his attention to his own plate.

“How long have you been planning this?” She asked, picking up her wine. It sloshed against the sides of its glass as she swirled it in one hand.

“I went to the market after you left the villa and spent the morning prepping. I’d hoped you’d come around.”

“You put a lot of faith in me.” 

“I find you to be more worthwhile of my faith than the Maker.” 

“Careful, Lucanis, the Chantry frowns upon blasphemy.” 

Lucanis blotted his mouth with his napkin and laid it back across his lap. “I don’t answer to the Chantry.” 

“Right. You don’t answer to anyone anymore, First Talon.”  

“That’s not true.” He said quietly, meeting her gaze, “I answer to you.” 

Rook blinked and quickly returned her attention to her food, finishing their meal in silence. Lucanis’ words had stolen the rest of her appetite, but she pushed through anyway. Only the sounds of fine silver scraping against Caterina’s bone china accompanied the remainder of their meal. When she was finally finished and her wineglass was empty, Rook folded her napkin and nudged her plate forward, rising from her seat.

Lucanis regarded her carefully as she circled the table towards him, dragging one finger across the surface. When she reached him, he pushed out his chair, pulled his napkin from his lap and dropped atop his plate. Rook straddled his lap, holding his face between her hands.

“Thank you for dinner,” she murmured, threading her fingers in his hair and combing it back thoughtfully. “Are you going to make me do the dishes?”

Lucanis closed his eyes and hummed pleasantly. “I’ll let the staff take care of them later. The perks of being First Talon.”

“Are there other perks?” Rook asked, her skin heating as one of his hands moved up her thigh. He opened his eyes and carefully enclosed his other hand around her throat. 

“Yes.” 

He pulled her mouth to his, controlling the intensity with his thumb under her jaw. Rook slung her arms around his neck and his calloused palms each gripped one thigh. With an impatient groan, he broke the kiss and lifted her as he stood, pivoting and pressing her to the nearest wall.

Artwork rattled in the frames on either side of them, and Rook tightened her legs around his waist as she began to slip. Lucanis pinned her with his weight, keeping his focus on the shirt now hanging off of her by what felt like a single thread. There was tension in his shoulders, a slight tremor in his hands as he struggled with the buttons, far more than an assassin of his caliber should.

“You’re on edge,” Their hands collided as she assisted, kissing down his jaw, “What’s troubling you?”

“You. I think of little else.”

Clumsy and flushed, Lucanis sighed through his nose, eyes searching her features for something. Finally appearing satisfied, his mouth was on hers again — hungry, needy— as he pushed her harder into the wall.

“I only planned as far as dinner,” he panted against the base of her throat, “you decide where the evening goes from here.”

Rook reached between them, his belt buckle clinking as she deftly worked it loose and plunged one hand between his trousers and his skin. He inhaled sharply as her thumb grazed the wet tip of his cock, freezing only for a moment before dragging his mouth over her neck, teeth scraping her skin.

“This,” he gasped between kisses, “this isn’t just… fuck! Rook—”

With a growl, he tore her from the wall, kicking aside a chair from the dining table and laying her across its empty half, shielding the back of her head with one hand. His lips found one of her breasts, teeth firm against her flesh as he took a mouthful, tongue lashing over its peak as he unbuttoned her shirt the rest of the way. One hand came to support it, thumb cradling it from below as his fingertips drug along her rib cage. Touch trailing from her breasts to her waist, his palm splayed against her stomach as it slid down her torso, stopping at the crest of her hip. 

“If I told you I loved you right now, Fiammetta, should I expect to be slapped again?” He whispered against her skin. 

“Anything to get you off,” she bit out, squeezing her eyes shut to fight the overstimulation of pleasure, forcing herself to relax into every place his touch lingered on her body. 

“Anything?”

Lucanis swung her legs over the side of the table and dragged her across the surface, her sweat-slick bare skin squeaking in protest against the wood. Her hair skimmed the backs of Lucanis’ knees as he slung her over one shoulder, blew out the candle with one buff, and carried her from the dining room and up the stairs. Blood rushed to her head as she swayed, laughing and clawing for his opposite shoulder to drape herself across his back. Lucanis tipped his head to the side, watching from the corner of his eye with a grin as he nudged his bedroom door open.

The fireplace in the corner still burned as brightly as it had when she’d left, his desk still meticulously organized, stacks of unopened letters remaining untouched for weeks. Perhaps Lucanis had been so eager to take this contract with her because killing gods was somehow more leisurely than the agenda his grandmother typically had arranged for him. 

The mattress dipped under her weight as he deposited her onto the bed, standing over her as he loosened his collar and unrolled his sleeves.

“Lose the shirt,” he said, discarding his own. Rook shrugged hers off obediently and fumbled for his trousers again. Lucanis smiled, crawling over her, and he shoved his hand between them, dragging her hand aside and impatiently unfastening them himself, letting them slip from his hips to the floor. Rook gasped as he guided her wrists over her head and shoved her up against the pillows.

“Let someone else take care of you for once, Rook,” he murmured, one hand slipping between their sweat slick bodies as he lined himself up with her, teasing her entrance. She whimpered, and his eyes swept over her face as she adjusted to the size of him.

“Stay with me,” he cooed, “I’ve got you.”

Between her legs, he circled her clit with one achingly dexterous finger, staring down to watch with a curious smile. Rook forgot to breathe as he rolled his hips back into rhythm. 

Finally, he dropped his forehead to hers, breath hot and broken as he ground his hips, sinking deeper. With a soft thud, Rook dropped her head against the headboard and clawed at his back, nails dragging down his shoulder blades so hard she swore she might have drawn blood. 

Spite’s low rumble of approval was just barely audible as Lucanis grasped her jaw and squeezed. 

“You know better than that.” 

Rook tilted her head. “Do I?” 

His responding thrust was so hard she nearly saw stars. 

She writhed desperately underneath him, her breaths coming in rapid, whiny gasps. Lucanis shushed her, kissing her again, moaning into her mouth to subdue his own pleasure as he moved inside of her. 

Every nerve in her body came alive, and her heart seemed to stutter in her chest as she lost track of time. She turned her head to the side, clenching her jaw shut as she resisted the urge to scream. Then again, if the staff had been dismissed for the evening, would it even matter?

Lucanis reached for her cheek, guiding her gaze back to his. 

“Don’t look away,” he purred, keeping his pace, “Spite likes to watch this part.” 

At the mention of their demonic voyeur, Rook cried out, arching off the bed. Lucanis’ hand kept steady pressure on her clit as he muffled her screams with a kiss. Rook’s orgasm sparked through her, and Lucanis moaned low, the sound of it raw and unguarded as his hips stuttered, then froze as he spilled himself inside of her.

He wove a hand through her hair, grazing his mouth over her hair, her jaw, her temple, as if to check if she were still intact. Sweat mingled between their bellies as he pulled back with a look of surprised smugness, looming over her. His eyes pinned her in place before he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“You don’t seem anxious to leave,” he murmured, sliding down the length of her until he was kneeling at the foot of the bed. “Did you get everything you needed?”  

Dazed, Rook hummed and reached for a pillow behind her, folding it against her chest. As she rolled onto her stomach, Lucanis slipped between the silk sheets next to her, draping them over his lower half as he sprawled onto his side. 

“You’ll stay then?” 

She nodded, and his fingertips found her spine, lazily exploring its ridges before he became distracted by a scar on her back he hadn’t seen before. Intrigued, he leaned forward and traced it with a reverent touch.

“I should kill the person who gave this to you, if they’re not already dead.” 

“A twelfth birthday gift from my father,” Rook said, turning her head on the pillow to look at him. “A test, to see if I would falter in a fight. Unlike you, I didn’t have someone my own age to practice with. Viago refused to lay a hand on me as a child.”

Concern creased Lucanis’ forehead, his hand stilling. “Rook-”

“Don’t let it ruin this,” she said, not unkindly, lashes fluttering as her eyes fell to the sheets, “he took enough from me.” 

Lucanis frowned, but didn’t say another word. Instead, he drew one of her hands from beneath the pillow, kissing her wounded knuckle before spreading his palm against hers, splaying their fingertips wide and intertwining them. Rook watched with a dazed expression, allowing herself the opportunity to enjoy the moment. 

“Lucanis?” She asked suddenly, her gaze shifting to his as she pulled back.

He bent his head, offering an uncertain, nervous smile. “What is it?”

“I…”

Her voice trailed off, and she rolled over, staring at the nightstand. Outstretching a hand, she traced the gold-painted spine of a thick, leather-bound volume on his nightstand.

“Read to me? I like the sound of your voice.”

Lucanis chuckled and reached over her. With a grunt, he retrieved the book she’d been admiring and settled back against the pillows. He drew her closer, draping one arm around her, and she rested her head against his shoulder. 

“This was my mother’s,” he said, folding back the cover, “she said someone gifted it to her in Orlais, but that it exists in different translations and interpretations throughout Thedas.”

The pages fluttered open, and he thumbed to the first chapter, brushing his fingertips over the words. His free hand absentmindedly reached beneath the covers, drawing circles on Rook’s hip. 

“Seventy Winter Nights,” she read out loud, “Is this one of your romance novels?”

“Most consider it a classic.”

“No classic I’ve ever heard of.”

“In its defense, you did mention you were not particularly well read.”

Rook narrowed her eyes, digging her thumbnail into Lucanis’ ribs. He winced, suppressing a smile as he bent to kiss her, catching her lower lip between his teeth and admonishing her with a playful bite. 

“It’s many stories within a very long one,” he explained, giving her a quick peck and pulling away. “It tells of an assassin sent by a rival court to kill the king’s daughter in retaliation for an act of war.”

“Daughters always pay for the sins of their fathers,” Rook mused. 

Lucanis solemnly hummed in agreement, remaining silent for several beats. 

“What happens next,” she asked, suddenly eager to avoid the topic further, “in the story?”

“As the princess puts her younger sister to bed, the assassin waits outside her door, but becomes entranced by a story she tells. When her sister falls asleep, she leaves it unfinished. He follows her to bed and demands she tell him the ending, under the condition that he will spare her life until the end. She agrees, but quickly begins a second story as soon as it ends. The assassin listens until sunrise, and the next night, returns so that she might finish it.”

Rook wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, intrigued, and snuggled closer. “I’m listening.”

“The assassin returns every night for weeks, and every night she begins a new story and leaves it unfinished so that he must spare her again and again. In the end, he falls hopelessly in love with her, and instead of killing her, they run away together.”

“So it is a romance.”

“Would you like me to read it to you, or do you prefer critiquing my tastes?” 

Rook entwined her legs in his, pulling herself closer. “Just until I fall asleep. You can pick up where you leave off tomorrow.” 

Lucanis chuckled and kissed the crown of her head, resting his chin there and setting his eyes to the first line of the book. 

“Winter was good for killing, for when blood ran cold, it did not spill so much. But if an assassin’s heart were to become warm, could his blade strike true? Would his resolve falter, if the face of his victim brought him to his knees…”

Chapter Text

“Dellamorte. It’s late.”

Viago held open a heavy, iron-plated door but did not invite him in. A visit from a fellow assassin at such a late hour was rarely a pleasant occasion. Since Lucanis had met him, he’d never known Viago de Riva to be caught without a pair of black gloves and a watchful gaze upon receiving company, and tonight was no exception. Behind him, the fire roared in the hearth, the dinner table set for two. It appeared the meal had recently concluded, which meant Lucanis’ timing had been good. He straightened, fingertips digging into the small parcel in his right hand as Viago’s younger cousin, Fiammetta, emerged from the shadows near the wall.

“Oh, thank the Maker,” she breathed, waving him inside.

“Fiammetta.” He forced a smile as he sidestepped past Viago, who remained rooted in place. “Nice to see you, too.” 

“Don’t get so excited,” Viago growled, locking the door behind him. “She's just relieved you aren’t Teia.”

Lucanis looked to Fiammetta and frowned. “I thought you two were close.”

“Teia tries to throw her a birthday party every year.” Viago explained.

“You don’t… celebrate?” 

“I’m not keen on surprises, and birthdays seem to be full of them.”

“Ah.” Lucanis forced a smile to conceal his nerves. Looking at her more closely, he could see she was wearing traditional Crow training leathers. Dressed more for a contract than a night out. 

“Don’t bother removing your cloak, Dellamorte. You’re not staying.” Viago picked up the dirty dishes from the table and carried them to the kitchen, adding out over his shoulder impatiently, “And neither is Fi!”

“You’re leaving?” Lucanis asked as she retrieved her boots from behind him and tugged them on.

“Vi has a date.” she whispered. “Can you believe it?” 

“Who?”

“Art gallery owner,” she mouthed, tying her laces tight and reaching for her cloak on the rack behind him. Lucanis shifted his weight from foot to foot as Viago reemerged from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. His eyes fell to the box in Lucanis’ hands, and he regarded him warily.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here, Dellamorte?”

Lucanis cleared his throat, opening his mouth to speak. Registering his hesitancy, Fiammetta rolled her eyes and unlocked the door.

“Crow business above my rank. Got it. Be seeing you, Lucanis,” she said, winking at him before slipping into the night. The door fell shut behind her, rattling a few of Viago’s art pieces on the walls. He blinked, staring at the spot where she’d been.

“Maker, Dellamorte, out with it.” Viago folded his arms, tapping one foot impatiently, “I’ve known you for nearly a decade and I’ve never seen you in such a state.”

Lucanis sighed, extending the box to him. “I didn’t know she hated her birthday.” 

Viago raised an eyebrow and tipped the lid back, peering inside. An exquisitely crafted dagger was nestled inside, its golden, amethyst crested hilt gleaming back at him. His eyes flicked up suspiciously.

“Is it a threat?”

“... what?”

He snapped the box shut, peering over it with narrowed eyes. “You got her a dagger.”

“It seemed… appropriate.”

“Mierda, Dellamorte. Why would you gift a woman a knife on her birthday?”

“It’s a good knife.”

Viago pressed the box back into Lucanis’ hands. “You will be met with nothing but hostility if you utter the words happy birthday in my cousin’s presence.”

“Why do I get the sense you’re cross with me?” Lucanis attempted to tuck the package into the inner pocket of his cloak. It did not fit, and he was stuck holding it, standing awkwardly in the de Rivas’ den. 

“I don’t know your intentions with Fiammetta, and frankly, I do not wish to,” he sighed through his nose, shaking his head, “Dante is dead. She has no brothers. I’m the only one between her and the intentions of any man that comes calling. It’s not personal, Lucanis. She’s my family.”

Viago clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing a little too hard for it to be a pleasant gesture. 

“As your friend, I will tell you this: Fi is capricious, arrogant, and easily wounded, though she would never show it. I know you, Lucanis. She would eat you alive.”

Lucanis pursed his lips, reaching for the door handle.

“Thank you for the advice. I’ll bear it in mind.”

Viago flashed a thin-lipped smile that was almost friendly. “Perhaps try something else, at solstice, if you insist. A conversation would be a good start.”

Eager to escort Lucanis out, he held open the door. On the front step, Illario stood with his fist outstretched, prepared to knock.

“No.” Viago grabbed Lucanis by the collar and thrust him onto the porch. “When I open this door again, the two of you best be out of my sight or I’ll ensure you choke on your own vomit at the next summit!” 

“What are you doing here?” Lucanis asked through gritted teeth as the door slammed shut behind him.

“Looking for Fi. Was she here?”

“I did not see her.” Lucanis lied. 

Illario narrowed his eyes. “What were you doing?”

“Talking… with Viago.” 

“Why the long face?” his gaze drifted to Fiammetta’s gift in Lucanis’ hands. “What’s that?” 

“It’s nothing-”

He snatched the parcel, lifting the lid, and let out a delighted bark of laughter. 

“Oh cousin, you know Viago is far too particular to be given something like this. The grip is delicate — better suited for a woman’s hands.”

“It-”

“I should have seen this coming,” Illario continued, ignoring his protests, “you were always lingering outside de Riva’s front door when we were kids, waiting for Vi to come out.”

Lucanis dropped his head back and groaned. What had he done to deserve to be humiliated twice in one evening? 

“You know very little,” he muttered, “and it would be best if you kept your observations to yourself.”

Illario held up his hands, a placating gesture, the glimmer of his rings catching in the streetlamps.

“Alright, alright. I’ll keep this a secret for you. Who knows, maybe de Riva will come around.”

Lucanis sighed. Correcting Illario would only make matters worse. He suspected they were both here to speak to the same person, and it was likely she wasn’t interested in either of them.

“Viago said Fiammetta doesn’t wish to celebrate. Perhaps you should go home.” 

“She enjoys my company.” Illario grinned, peering into the velvet-lined box at the dagger again. “Hey, do you have any plans for this now that Vi’s rejected you?”

“What could you possibly want with it, Illario?” Lucanis asked, voice tight with annoyance. “If it’s for small hands, as you say, you’re likely to lose it in your grip.”

“I’d just hate to see your efforts go to waste. You even bothered to put it in a box.” 

Lucanis huffed, his patience wearing thin. There was no sense in telling Illario no. He’d only end up stealing it later, likely breaking something more valuable in the process. 

“Keep it, cousin.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned back toward his apartment. “I’m going home.”

Lucanis stirred to movement in the bed, lifting his head in time to watch Rook scrambling for her clothes from the day before. 

“Get up, get up!” She hissed, “Spite’s been trying to wake you. Illario is downstairs, and I’d rather disappear before he-”

The bedroom door opened just as she was halfway through, pulling on her leathers. Illario strolled inside, freshly shined boots clicking obnoxiously on the floor to announce his arrival. Behind him, Neve idled with an unreadable expression.

“Fi,” Amused, his eyes roved her form, “You’re looking… flushed.”

She glared and fumbled with her zipper as she tried to conceal herself behind the bedpost. Neve cupped a hand over her face, turning her back as Lucanis wrapped the bedsheets around his waist and slid out of bed to retrieve his clothes. Illario’s eyes slid to him as smirked.

“Busy morning?”

“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t get in without a Crow. Illario was the only one at the casino.” Neve nodded in Lucanis’ direction with closed eyes. “Is he decent yet, Rook? I don’t enjoy making conversation with my back turned.”

“Depends how you define decent,” Illario sneered. 

“You can look,” Rook said, glaring at Illario as Lucanis tugged on a sweater and fastened his belt. Neve sighed, resting on the doorframe and pressing her cheek to the wood. Up close, the dark circles under her eyes were stark against her features. For once, Lucanis seemed better rested than his companions.

“I could use some backup with the Threads,” she said wearily, “It’s my first meeting as… leader.”

The thud of Rook’s boots hitting the polished floor echoed as she sat down on the couch.

“I hope you came for my input and not Illario’s,” she said, lacing them with care. Lucanis’ cousin scowled, but his retort was cut short by Neve the moment he opened his mouth. 

“Damas liked you. It gives you a little sway with Elek, since. I’d hoped it might extend to me if you came along.”

“Neve, I don’t think you need any help getting Elek to like you.” 

The detective blinked. “You think he-”

Illario took a smooth step forward, clearing his throat.

“I’m far more charming than Fi,” he suggested. “I have some experience working with criminals. I can be very… persuasive.”

Lucanis arched an eyebrow skeptically, but said nothing. It was not like Illario to offer his assistance without an ulterior motive. Typically one that served him, and him alone.

“They’re not criminals,” Neve snapped, “Not while they work for me.”

“Best Neve and I handle this,” Rook said, checking her belt instinctively. Her hand ghosted over where the dagger she’d abandoned last night had been and she paused.

“Forgetting something?”

“No.” Rook said firmly, attempting to shove past him. He held out an arm, blocking her path.

“Is she always in such a hurry to get away from you, cousin?” Illario asked over his shoulder.

He reached into his coat, producing her missing dagger. Rook hesitated, staring at the blade as if it might possess itself and cut her. 

“The groundskeeper caught me downstairs, said he found it while polishing the gondolas this morning. You must have dropped it.” 

Rook’s jaw clenched, her eyes locking with Illario’s as a silent conversation passed between the two of them.

“I’ve outgrown it,” she finally said, tearing her gaze away and motioning for Neve to follow. Lucanis leaned against the bedpost, watching as she disappeared from sight down the hall.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said to Illario, eyes still fixed on the last spot he’d seen Rook.

“I’d hoped the new First Talon might have a change of heart.” Illario extended the abandoned dagger towards Lucanis as if it were a peace offering. “Give this back to Fi when you see her. She shouldn’t be without a full set of weapons.”

“She doesn’t want it. Perhaps you’d like it for yourself. I recall you once convinced me to give it to you. I did not anticipate that you would regift it the same evening.”

Illario turned the blade in his hands. His frown deepened as as he was lost in his thoughts. Rare, for his cousin to be silent at all. Lucanis paced to the windowsill and pulled back the curtains, worried if he looked in his cousin’s direction another moment, he would not be able to stop himself from taking the dagger and stabbing him with it. Below, the gardener pruned the willow tree, oblivious to the bodies buried underneath.

“We were kids, Lucanis,” Illario finally said, twirling between two fingers before sheathing it in his belt. “You’re still upset Viago spurned you?”

“Did you ever stop to think why I would bring Viago a gift on Fiammetta’s birthday, Illario? Are you truly that dense, or just self absorbed?”

Illario blinked in surprise, before he flung his head back with a bark of cruel laughter.

“All this time, cousin, truly? The candle you have held for her must have a very long wick.”

“Perhaps.”

“You know Fi was my best friend before she was sharing your bed.”

“Be her friend, then!” Lucanis snarled, turning from the window. “She could use one. I’m not the reason the two of you aren’t speaking.”

“No, I made that happen all by myself, didn’t I?”

He roamed Lucanis’ bedroom as if it were his own, tipping over a vial of ink on the desk. The dark liquid spilled across the desk, staining the wood below.

“Do you enjoy taking what I set my sights on? Is that it?”

“I didn’t take her,” Lucanis corrected him with a dangerous tone, “and I never wanted First Talon.”

“And yet you have both. Fate, I suppose.”

“Was it fate when you sold me out to the Venatori?”

Illario stilled. 

“I apologized for that.”

“It will take more than an apology to make things right between us.”

“Have I not pledged myself to your cause? Have I not defied the gods for you?” Illario threw his hands up, pacing before the couch. “You think I was in my right mind when I betrayed you? Believe what you want, Lucanis, if it helps you sleep at night.”

“That’s the problem, Illario. I rarely sleep. Not since the Ossuary.”

“I’m sure Fi would love to help you with that.”

Lucanis gritted his teeth and pointed a finger towards the door. 

“Get out.”

Illario mocked a bow. “As you command, First Talon.”

Lucanis sunk into the couch and braced his elbow on his knees, staring at the floor as his cousin slammed the door behind him. His chest heaved as he tried to control his breath.

“Kill him. Now?”

“It would only prove his point.” Lucanis said out loud.

“You still. Do not want. To Kill him.” Spite snarled. “Why!”

“He’s family. You don’t know him like I do, Spite.”

“I have seen your memories! I know. You! Better than you!”

Lucanis’ blood ran cold, and he shuddered, pushing away from the couch and running his hand through his hair. For as long as they coexisted in the same body, Spite would always pose a threat to those he loved. Perhaps he’d gotten too complacent with his inner demon.

“Rook is not the only person in my life worth protecting.”

“But she is. Most important. Illario could hurt. Rook. Again!”

“He didn’t hurt Rook, Spite. Not on purpose. He hurt me.”

“Hurting Lucanis. Hurts. Rook.”

Lucanis lifted his head, staring at the ashes in the hearth. “How?”

The demon struggled to come up with a response. Human emotions made little sense to Spite, but he seemed to follow the threads between them. Connect them logically, learn to differentiate. But whatever was between Lucanis and Rook, he hadn’t witnessed before. There was no point of reference in Lucanis’ mind for his feelings for Rook. Only that they had been there for a very, very long time.

But devotion. That was there, too. And a spirit of determination understood that sentiment all too well.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

In the infirmary, Rook collapsed onto an unoccupied cot next to Varric, gazing at the ceiling, her hands resting on her stomach. 

“It hasn’t even been two full days since you confronted the person responsible for the death of your family. Give yourself a moment to breathe, Rook.”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Anticipating when the next shoe is going to fall.”

With a grunt, she turned her head and studied her friend’s face. While his black eyes had faded and his gait had improved, he still had a strange air about him. Like he’d never quite be the same. She felt a pang of sadness in her chest and changed the subject before she over thought it any further.

“Your old friend Cullen is an interesting character.”

Varric chuckled. “And how is the Commander?”

“He seems well. I think he misses his wife.”

“Love will do that to a person,” he mused. “Speaking of, you didn’t come back to the Lighthouse last night. Do I want to know?”

Rook’s eyes grew distant as she smiled. “Mind your business, old man.”

“It’s nice to witness a bit of mutual pining. All the brooding and good hair… it’s like watching Hawke and Fenris all over again.”

Rook frowned, studying his expression. 

“The way you talk about her… you loved her, didn’t you? How can you be so happy for them?”

“There could have been a lot of people for me, Rook,” Varric said with a grin, “but there was only one person for Hawke. Besides, I had a lot going on at the time. Sometimes the best thing you can do is step aside so the person you care about can have what’s best for them.”

“That’s… really sad, Varric.”

“Yeah? I don’t see you feeling bad for Illario.”

Rook scoffed. “No one feels bad for Illario.”

“Just saying. If the guy felt like anyone saw something worthwhile in him, it could make all the difference.”

“You are not Illario. You don’t know what he wants.”

“And you are not Hawke. Now let’s get out of my business. I’m hoping you didn’t wake me up from my nap just to poke at healed wounds.”

“Okay, give me advice then. Your friend Morrigan wants me to meet with Mythal in the Crossroads.”

“What do you need my advice for? You’re the one who learned to lie before you could walk. Tell her what she wants—or needs—to hear. Lies, truth… both. Whatever it takes to get her support.”

There was a soft, hesitant knock at the door, and Rook sat up as Lucanis wandered in, casting a quizzical look in Varric’s direction.

“Everything alright?” His voice carried a hint of concern.

“Just reassuring our favorite de Riva that everything is going to be just fine,” Varric replied. 

Lucanis crossed the room, ignoring Varric as he braced both hands on the bed. Leaning down, his lips brushed Rook’s tenderly, and she almost gave in. Instead, she reared back, flashing Varric an apologetic look, and reached for his hand.

“Not here,” She murmured. Lucanis stared at Varric with a puzzled expression as she dragged him from the infirmary and into the hall.

“What’s going-”

Rook crushed her lips to his, silencing him with a fervent kiss as her arms snaked around his neck. The tension dissipated from Lucanis’ body, and he groaned pleasantly, threading his fingers through her hair with a smile as he pulled back.

“I apologize for my cousin’s behavior this morning,” he murmured. “I would have liked more time with you alone.”

“You can’t take responsibility every time he gets on my nerves.” Rook cupped his cheek, tilting her head, “and we have plenty of time.”

He hummed in agreement, but didn’t seem entirely convinced.

“The others are waiting in the kitchen.”

Rook’s pulse quickened. “Did something happen?”

“Just a reason to share some food and enjoy one another’s company,” he laughed softly, brushing his lips over her temple, “no emergencies tonight, Fiammetta. I promise.”

She followed as he led her downstairs, across the courtyard and through the kitchen doors. Laughter and excited chatter greeted her from where the others had gathered around the dinner table, in higher spirits than usual. At its center was a half empty tray of orange scones, crumbs scattered across several plates laid out between them. 

Bellara noticed their arrival first, lifting her head and waving eagerly.

“Hey guys!”

Lucanis grinned and nudged Rook forward, sidestepping to stroll casually to the hearth.

“I’ve recruited another member for book club,” he said, once out of reach. Rook recoiled, a wave of panic washing over her.

“Oh, no—I’m not sure what I would have to contribute…”

“Nonsense!” Emmrich’s jovial voice cut through her protests, “Davrin and Taash are new as well. I’m certain we’ll find a way to include everyone.”

“And I don’t even read,” Taash said with a shrug. 

“Some of us can’t read at all.” Davrin gestured towards Assan at his feet. The griffon stirred from his nap, lifting his head and squawking in greeting.

Rook reluctantly took a seat beside Neve, who offered a reassuring squeeze of her wrist. 

“You’ve earned your seat at this table just as much as the rest of us, Rook.” She murmured, “someone made a good point that we should do more to include you.”

With a nod, Rook lifted her eyes to where Lucanis leaned against the hearth, pulling out his logbook.

“So, the assassin, I didn’t understand why he kept coming back,” Harding began, referencing her notes, “why not just kidnap the princess right away and fake her death? That way, he could keep her as a prisoner and get all the stories in less time.”

“That’s the point!” Bellara said earnestly, “Every night he returned, he earned her trust, and she earned his affection. Once her guard was finally down, he was already hopelessly in love. His only choice was to choose her in the end.”

“Who knew a hired killer could be so romantic?” Neve mused. Beside her, Manfred hissed in agreement. 

“Wait.” Rook’s brow furrowed, and she pulled Bellara’s copy of the book closer, examining the spine. “You all read Seventy Winter Nights?”

From behind his journal, Lucanis’ brown eyes flicked to hers.

“You’re familiar with this title?” Emmrich asked. 

“Lucanis…” Rook hesitated, clearing her throat, “someone read parts of it to me once.”

“Delightful,” Emmrich tapped one finger on a page, skimming a few lines, “Perhaps we could discuss…”

Their companion’s voices faded into the background as Rook held Lucanis’ gaze. With a wink, he returned his attention to his notes. Throat tight, she blinked back tears and slid Bellara’s book across the table. At her feet, Assan nudged her calf affectionately, but Rook couldn’t seem to bring herself to do anything but stare at Lucanis, pulse hammering, as her friends chattered around her. 

Chapter Text

“Where's Rook?”

Lucanis emerged from the pantry with two handfuls of bread, staring at the now vacant seat between Emmrich and Harding. A deck of cards snapped together in Taash’s hands as they shuffled at the head of the dinner table, prepping a game of Wicked Grace. Manfred circled the room with a steaming pot of tea, scouting for empty cups. Behind the stove, Bellara prepped a cutting board of vegetables, while Davrin hovered with his arms folded over his chest, peeking over her shoulder as she worked.

“I’m sure she’s not far,” he said, smirking as Bellara blinked the sting of chopped onion from her eyes. The kitchen doors swung open, and Neve slipped inside, exchanging a look with Lucanis upon also noticing the empty seat at the table.

"I only stepped out for five minutes."

Lucanis abandoned the bread on the kitchen counter and brushed his hands on his trousers. "Plenty of time to disappear."

Davrin dropped his head back with a groan. “She doesn’t need a babysitter. Let her breathe.”

“Like you’re letting Bell breathe?” Neve asked with a knowing smile. Davrin scoffed, taking a step back and dropping his arms to his sides.

“Am I supposed to keep tabs on Rook?” He gestured to the table where Taash was dealing cards among their opponents. “There’s a room full of people here.”

“We’re busy.” They said without looking up. Manfred hissed in agreement, refilling Harding’s mug with a chamomile blend of some kind. The table settings wobbled and spilled over, and Emmrich muttered something under his breath before retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket and mopping the excess. 

“I apologize, I hadn’t realized she’d even slipped out.”

“Yeah, she was here a second ago.” Harding craned her neck to glance at the fire. “It’s like she just… vanished.”

“Well, it is within her skill set to disappear without a trace.” Neve’s eyes swept over the table, and her brow furrowed. “Harding, I thought you would know Wicked Grace from all the time you’d spent around Varric.”

“He and Rook tried teaching me a few times. They loved playing together long after they gave up on me. We were supposed to keep trying, but, well…” her voice trailed off, and she chewed her lip, staring at the cards in her hands. “Shit. I didn’t even think.”

“Sometimes the absence of those we love in the places we grew to expect them most can be the most painful.” Emmrich reached out a hand, resting it comfortingly upon Harding’s. “The past several days have been heavy for Rook. Perhaps she just needed some solitude to mull them over.”

Lucanis sighed. He had hoped inviting Fiammetta to spend time amongst their companions would bring some comfort, but as the evening light faded, so had her spirits.

“I’m sorry, Bell,” he said, retrieving his cloak from where it hung on the wall. “I think I might be missing dinner tonight.”

“I completely understand.” She tilted her head with a wink. “Go get her, Lucanis.”

With an appreciative smile, he pushed through the doors and swept across the courtyard, slinging his cloak over his shoulders. It billowed in the air before the windless Fade let it clap heavily against his back. Uneven footsteps trailed behind him, and his ears pricked at the sound of metal against the cobblestones.

“I’m coming with you,” Neve stated, quickening her pace to match his.

“I can’t be certain where we’re headed,” Lucanis warned.

“All the more reason to bring a detective with you.” 

Illario stared at the ceiling of the Cantori Diamond, feet resting upon a table near the meeting lounge. His thumb traced the blade of Fiammetta’s dagger in his hands, smoothing along its edges. He could almost feel its ache to cut his flesh, to draw his blood as penance for the blood he’d driven her to spill with it so many years ago. She’d come storming through the casino not even an hour ago, threatening to choke him with his own belt if he dared to tell anyone he’d seen her. 

“Careful, Fi, that almost sounds like a good time.” He’d forced a grin, but it felt foreign on his face. The muscles there were tight, uncooperative, as if even his body knew better than to taunt her. So many times he had hidden behind his smile, tongue striking like a snake with words so poisonous they occasionally caught him by surprise. 

“You’re a pig.” She had spat, but her eyes shone with tears that were not for him. Illario’s smirk fell away, and he stepped closer, brow pinched with concern. 

“What’s wrong?”

Some of Fiammetta’s hostility had faded as she observed his worried expression, but she schooled her own into something indifferent, cold, and took a step back. 

“Fi please, we were friends once.” He had pleaded with her. But she walked to the stairwell, reaching for the railing to steady herself as she narrowed her eyes. 

“Surely there’s another fool out there you can bother at this hour.”

Leaving him alone with his shame, she had slipped down the passage to the ground floor. Perhaps once there had been others to torment with his presence, but these days all that was left were Viago and Teia. Two people he owed a great debt - and who he had pushed too far for too long. 

And so for the past hour, Illario sunk deeper and deeper into the couch cushions, playing his masochistic game alone, considering all he’d lost in the fruitless pursuit of proving himself. Both Fiammetta and Lucanis would presume he was heartbroken or pouting over Fi, but the truth was far worse. 

That if he’d ever truly had a chance with her, he would have sullied it horribly, lost his interest the moment she returned any affection. Their friendship was doomed to be ruined by his own selfishness, the same way his brotherhood with Lucanis was. 

Of course the two would end up together, they were meant for one another, equally cursed by the stain of his presence upon their lives. Illario had practically twisted their fates like barbed wire, his deplorable behavior repulsing them further and further from him, yet somehow closer to each other. He’d fenced them in, haunting their lives by keeping them tied to him: Lucanis by blood, Fiammetta by grief. 

And yet his cousin had spared him, rather than plunging a sword through his heart in front of every House in Treviso. What hope of redemption did he hold? How hard had Lucanis fought his demon as it demanded Illario’s blood for the way his alliance with Zara had doomed them both? 

Even if he was ignorant of her crimes, he was just as guilty. He’d spent a year coming to terms with the shame of killing his cousin, the grief of losing the only blood relative that was truly capable of harboring any affection for him. How long would it take for him to do it all over again, with the knowledge he’d doomed Lucanis and some demon spirit to a fate possibly worse than death? That he’d contributed to the rise of gods that wanted to see the world burn? Everything he’d done, he’d sworn he did for Treviso, for their home, for the Crows. 

And instead, he’d done it for a god he knew little of, becoming the plaything of a woman he could barely stomach to share a bed with.

Now and then, another thought troubled him deeper. That, for those small scraps of blood magic– power –at his fingertips, it had almost felt worth it. 

Of course it wasn’t. That didn’t make him miss it any less. Mages so often took for granted what came so easily to them. If he had a second chance, he would have the sense to seize the moment, to commit it to memory one last time so he might not forget…

Voices echoed through the Crow’s Nest, just on the other side of the curtain dividing the lounge from Viago’s quarters. Hushed whispers and low murmurs in familiar tenors. Illario sheathed Fiammetta’s dagger back into his belt, tugging the hem of his trousers neatly around his boots, and rose to his feet. With delicate precision, he crept across the room and pulled aside the gap in the coarse velvet with his fingertips to reveal Teia and Viago’s figures standing before his cousin and Neve. The Fifth Talon’s face was only inches from Lucanis’, index finger buried in the center of his chest. 

“Are you telling me you’ve lost her, Lucanis?” He hissed. 

With a hum of interest, Illario side-stepped through the threshold, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, his favorite way to pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping. 

“Missing something?” His eyes flicked to Neve’s, and the corners of his lips twitched upwards without even a thought, much more naturally than the smile had come to him earlier.  “Or someone?”

Lucanis scowled and cocked his head to the side. “Tell us what you know.” 

His cousin wore the same expression he’d get during jobs when he would go the extra mile for some unnecessary heroism—freeing a slave or two, killing more than just his mark for the good of others—Lucanis got what he sought out, one way or another. It was usually best not to stand in his path.

Still, Illario shrugged. “Unfortunately, I’d be forfeiting my life if I spoke a word of it.”

“Just tell us where she is.”

Predictably, Lucanis’ tone was growing more impatient.

“I did not get the impression she wished to be found.”

His cousin pursed his lips and inhaled sharply through his nose. A good sign, it was one of his few tells. Lucanis had no other cards to play, and so he would have to offer something else to sweeten the pot. 

“Tell me,” he said deliberately, as if regretting each word as he spoke it, “and I’ll rescind Viago’s responsibility for you.”

Behind Lucanis, the Fifth and Seventh Talons exchanged skeptical looks. Illario, however, was unsurprised. He folded his arms over his chest, bending forward at the waist towards his cousin.

“Seems wrong to end my punishment for betraying you by betraying Fi.”

Teia threw up her hands and scoffed.

“For the love of the Maker, Illario! Are you such a fool that you would dismiss your own freedom?” 

“One might also consider it my freedom.” Viago muttered. 

“It's late. Don’t draw this out any longer than you have to,” Neve said, not unkindly. In fact, the detective appeared to be the only person nearby with any hint of cordiality towards him. 

Illario sighed, rolling his neck from shoulder to shoulder. He let his arms go limp, joints cracking as he relaxed his posture. 

“Check the docks at the mouth of the canals, where they keep the gondolas at night,” he said begrudgingly. “She likes to go there to clear her head.”

Without so much as a whisper of gratitude, Lucanis turned to Neve, as if waiting for permission.

“Go on,” she encouraged him, “see if you can convince Rook to stick around for the good parts now and then.”

Lucanis gave her a faint smile, nodded in acknowledgement to Viago and Teia, before his gaze briefly paused on Illario. Neither of them said a word, staring until he finally dipped his chin and disappeared down the stairwell. 

“Well, I guess this makes you a free man,” Neve said to Illario, breaking him from his daze.

“And it makes me officially off duty,” Viago announced, wrapping an arm around Teia’s shoulders. “Excuse us, I have a great deal of lost time to make up for.”

The Fifth Talon’s pointed look in Illario’s direction as they departed served as both a warning and something akin to gratitude. Viago’s way of saying , thank you for not fucking things up… this time.  

Illario cleared his throat to interrupt the uncomfortable silence that settled between himself and Neve, kicking at an imaginary scuff on the brilliantly polished floor underfoot. 

“You stand before gods soon,” he began, gesturing in the direction of the balcony, “do you think yourself ready?”

Neve chuckled, her steps cautious and unhurried. “Is that your best attempt at small talk?”

“I grow bored with conversations that lead nowhere.”

They stopped short of the strange mirror that led to the Lighthouse. Illario hated the way it felt to step through, like shadow and light swallowed him all at once, tearing him apart and rearranging him in a foreign place. Without incentive to return, he didn’t see himself crossing into the Fade again anytime soon.

“And where are you hoping this conversation will lead?” Neve asked. Illario studied her face, uncertain if she was flirting with or mocking him. Strange, he was usually so good at these things. 

“I could help,” he finally said, surprising them both. “It’s the only way I might convince my cousin I mean to make things right between us.” 

Neve pursed her lips and bowed her head to stare at her boots. 

“Lucanis might trust you’ve lost interest in his seat as First Talon, but I’m not certain he’s ready to put you on the field against a god you once drew power from.”

“My experience with blood magic is precisely why I should be there,” Illario pressed. “There are things I’ve seen, heard… you can’t imagine what it’s like. To have him in your head that way.”

“I experienced it for a moment, and that moment was long enough.” Neve said quietly, eyes rising to meet his. Illario watched for a hint of anything–fear, hatred, even affection—but all he found was pity. 

“Don’t look at me like that, detective. It makes me worry it’s the last time I’ll see you.”

He stepped forward, hand outstretched, fingertips tracing the hollow of her cheek. Neve stilled, but did not recoil, as Illario’s face lingered so close he could sense she was holding her breath. Shame, and perhaps his conscience, tugged at something in his rib cage. He dropped his hand and retreated, fixing his gaze on the rough stone beneath their feet. 

“Goodnight, detective,” he bowed stiffly and walked backwards, glass from the broken window crunching under his boots as he ducked inside, leaving Neve alone in front of the eluvian. The cool air of the casino mixed with the outside humidity as he walked across the sky bridge to the top floor, realizing that without Lucanis’ punishment hanging over him, he would have to find another way to torment himself. 

Chapter Text

Rook didn’t flinch when she heard footsteps on the docks behind her. From her seat inside a moored gondola, she listened to the rhythm of Lucanis’ boots, moving across the planks with purposeful precision to warn her of their approach. The boat creaked in protest as he swung his leg over the side and stepped in, sending it rocking from side to side on the slow waters beneath them. Rook hugged her knees more tightly to her chest, resting her chin atop them, eyes fixed on the silhouettes of trees on the horizon. 

Why she had fled a perfect evening amongst her friends so suddenly, she couldn’t say. Once Taash took out that deck of cards, some invisible string tugged her back to Treviso. Back to the quiet of the canals, where the river mouth met the ocean. Where days of rain pooled in the gaps of the cobblestone paths, steadily dripping into the water below as gentle tides lapped at the steps where gondoliers would board their vessels at sunrise, traveling alongside the streets in search of cargo or nobles too proud to ever allow their boots to touch the muddy ground. 

“You don’t seem surprised to see me.” Lucanis draped his cloak over her shoulders and took a seat on the bench opposite her with a grunt. He clasped his hands together, letting them hang between his knees as he leaned forward, angling his head as he waited for a response. 

“You’re our best assassin,” She mumbled, “I’d question your place as First Talon if you couldn’t find me.”

“If I tell you I had help, would you think less of me?”

She lifted her chin, holding his gaze, and swallowed down the prickling sensation that rose in her throat.

“Never.”

His brow pinched, and he sighed through his nose, brown eyes filled with concern.

“Tell me what I can do, Rook.”

“You’ve done enough, Lucanis. Far more than I deserve.” 

She tipped her head back, blinking hard as she stared at the sky. The stars were barely perceptible through the clouds that shrouded them like smoke.

“I decide what is enough, Fiammetta.” He reached for her hand. “And it is my belief you deserve much more than you would ever ask for.” 

His fingertips brushed hers as he held her palm between his thumb and forefinger, drawing small circles in its center. Rook pulled away, sniffling as she wiped the tip of her nose on the back of her wrist. 

“What about me is so broken, Lucanis?” Her voice cracked. “Why do I feel like a stranger in a room of people who look to me as a leader? Every moment they laugh– live – it’s as if I’m watching from the other side of a pane of glass. I can’t reach them, I can’t feel …”

Rook bit her trembling lip in a feeble attempt to hold back tears. She failed, and they spilled over her lash line, trailing down her cheeks in glimmering streaks. A growl of frustration escaped her, and she buried her face in her hands, rocking forward, pulling her hair tight at the roots. 

“Taash’s mother and Bellara’s brother are dead. Neve’s home will never be the same. You’re possessed as a result of Illario’s jealousy,” her breath hitched, “and yet all of you can sit around a dinner table like everything is fine-”

“Nothing is fine, Rook-”

“People have gotten hurt, died, because of my choices!” Rook’s head snapped up, eyes glistening with anguish. “So many more decisions lie ahead of me, and each one comes with a cost…”

Leaning forward, Lucanis clasped her hands again. Despite her shame, this time, she did not pull away. 

“Thousands are alive because of you, Fiammetta. Why do you carry every loss as if you are to blame, ignoring all the lives you saved?”

She took a shuddering breath, forcing herself to look at him, voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know how else to carry them.” 

“Leave the dead buried, Rook,” he said firmly, fists closing more tightly around her hands. “Survivor’s guilt will not bring them back.”

“And if I can’t stop the gods? Then what?”

Lucanis tilted his head sympathetically, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. His hand lingered, warm against her skin.

“Then the time we had together matters. That we fought until the end… that matters, Rook.”

He smiled and shook his head, fingers threading into her hair as he drew her in. His lips brushed hers, inquiring, and her mouth caught his with more certainty than she’d felt in weeks. As the kiss deepened, Lucanis sank to his knees on the floorboards, his hands rising to her thighs with a reverent touch. She let him guide her down onto his lap. The gondola swayed hard beneath them, rocking in both directions. Rook broke the kiss with a startled breath, one hand bracing against the side.

A faint chuckle rumbled in Lucanis’ chest as he tucked her hair behind her ears and carefully eased her back into her seat as he rose. Hovering over her with an arm braced on the edge, he peered out into the water sloshing and spraying over the sides. 

“It’s still a beautiful evening,” He straightened, looking down at his hands as he opened the clasps of his vest. “we shouldn’t let it go to waste.” 

The planks of the boat groaned underneath his boots as he wandered to the bow of the gondola, lifting his chin to admire the navy and purple clouds strewn across the starlit sky. Lazily, he discarded his vest on the bench behind him and loosened his cravat. Rook watched curiously from under her lashes, lips parted and cheeks flushed from the kiss, her gaze following his every movement with rapt attention. Lucanis paused, hands going still, eyes flicked to meet hers with an arched brow.

“Are you enjoying the show?”

“I haven’t made up my mind.” 

Amused, he tugged his cravat loose and began to unbutton his shirt. 

“You can swim, no?”

Rook swallowed. It was not so much a question of ability, but whether she could overcome her aversion to it. 

“It’s deep here.” 

He shrugged off his shirt, and she stared at the spot where his trousers dug into his hips, perfectly tailored to his form. “The shore is an arm’s length away, Rook.” 

“The currents-”

“-Are quite weak here.” 

He crouched to work the laces of his boots. Kicking them aside, he unfastened his belt, stripping down to his underclothes. A sly challenge flashed in Lucanis’ gaze as he sauntered closer, shirt hanging from the crook of his finger. He dropped it on the bench beside her, brown eyes dark with desire as they traced her figure.

“So many excuses,” he purred. 

Rook rose to her feet, nervously watching as he glanced over the side of the boat again, appraising the depths. 

“I don’t swim for pleasure,” she blurted. 

Lucanis’ eyes flicked back to her. 

“Ah,” he said, bracing both hands on the edge of the gondola, “disappointing.”

With a grin, he vaulted over the side and vanished beneath the water. 

“Lucanis!” 

Rook threw herself against the railing, eyes scouring the dark surface as it swirled in his wake. She held her breath, stomach clenching until he came up for air several seconds later, chuckling as he slicked his long hair back from where it stuck to his face. 

“Your head will never go under, I swear it.” He swam closer, arms draped lazily along the gondola’s hull.