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Chapter Text

The Demon and the Bee

- Antivan Nursery Rhyme

The honey bee flit flower to flower but did not stop to smell,

She gathered their sweet nectar and returned it to her well.

But as she garnered all her gold she could not but despair,

As heathens came and stole her wealth inside her comb-ed lair.

One day the demon heard her cry and whispered in the dark,

“I’ll grant a single wish, sweet one, if with your soul you’d part.”

“Grant me a blade,” she pleaded, “that these thieves might feel my sting.”

Now armed with venom off she flew, upon her glassy wing.

Her silvery barb found its mark, the theif let out a shout,

But victory was short lived, as the little bee cried out.

“What hast thou done thou wicked thing?” As all turned dark and cold,

“A fair exchange”, the demon crooned, “Your vengeance, for your soul.”

Chapter Text

“Lita, enough! You might as well eat a whole beehive.” 

Amelita smiled unabashedly as she licked the honey from her hands and took a bite from the warm slice of bread she had just liberally doused in the sweet substance. This earned an exasperated sigh from her mother and a low chuckle from her father, who sat next to her at the worn wooden table, on which her mother had placed another steaming loaf to cool. The scent of her baking swam throughout their small kitchen, as Lita sighed contentedly, watching the sun ripple through window of their small home in Treviso. Light bounced off the copper pots hanging overhead, dancing on the walls and animating the many charcoal drawings pinned around the space. Her mother turned to gather herbs from the small planter that sat on the windowsill, their leaves spilling out in small tendrils. Lita watched her mother prepare another loaf, mesmerized by her movements. Something about the way she could turn the most basic of ingredients into tantalizing breads and pastries was akin to magic, well, at least to Lita. She took another bite of her bread, as her mother set to kneading the dough, a strand of long auburn hair falling out of its braid as she worked the small mound in a gentle rhythm like the beat of an old song. 

Her parents were soon to leave to the northern coast of Anitva; to acquire a shipment of dyes from Par Vollen and inspect a new ship her father had his heart set on purchasing for the past year. Though their business was by no means comparable to the great merchant Princes of Trevisso, Donte and Chiara Florentino had made a comfortable living for their daughter. It was said her father could charm the horns off a Qunari and the man’s ability to negotiate would cause any politician to envy. Her mother, his partner in marriage and in business, managed their ledgers and often accompanied her father when it came time to acquire new goods. Fashion may be a fickle mistress, but even it appeared to submit to her will. Lita’s father often remarked that his wife must have been a soothsayer in her previous life, as her ability to predict and even create trends amongst the noblewomen of Trevisso verged on that of the occult. As was their routine, her mother had set to preparing rations to take on the road and her father checked off a list of all the items they hoped to acquire on their expedition.  

“Why an’t I ome wif you?” Amelita spoke around another mouthful of bread, spitting out half chewed crumbs onto the wooden table in the process. 

“Hacedor, preservami!” her mother exclaimed throwing her hands up, launching a cloud of flour into the air. “Amelita I have seen COWS with better manners than you.” Reaching for a towel she attempted to dust away the small flurry that she had let fly in her frustration. 

“In Lita’s defense” her father interjected, “they also tend to chew while they speak.” 

“Do not encourage her!” her mother quipped, playfully snapping the towel at Lita’s father. 

He skillfully caught the towel and reeled his wife onto his lap. “Come now Chiara, Lita may have a point. She’s nine, that’s plenty old enough to handle herself.”  

“Her table manners would say otherwise” Chiara retorted, struggling against her husband’s grip, but eventually giving in as he pressed a tender kiss to her neck. “Besides Signora Capra has already agreed to watch her.” 

Lita wrinkled her nose in disgust. While her parents went off to trade, she often found herself under the mercy of Signora Capra, an ancient goat who smelt of sour milk and, until proven otherwise, Lita was convinced, 
was only alive out of pure spite. The woman always wore a minimum of three shawls despite the unforgiving Antivan heat and refused to let Lita outside for fear of “youths” and what their corrupting influence might have on Lita. Her days with Signora Capra were spent holding a ball of yarn, as the goat sat for hours, needles clacking away as she knit yet another shawl.  
“How many shawls can she possibly have?” Lita had wondered, “Surely she has a mountain at this point”. She would let her mind drift to thoughts of a scaly Signora Capra perched on top of a mountain of itchy shawls like a dragon atop its hoard, the sharp “clack, clack, clack” not the sound of knitting needles, but of the Signora’s claws clicking together; only to be snapped back to reality by the grating voice of Signora Capra shouting at her to unspool more yarn.  

“Please take me with you Mama! I promise you won’t even notice I’m there!” Lita’s parents exchanged a bemused look, as she huffed in indignation. “It’s true!” 

“The day our little ape manages not to buzz will be something to behold indeed.” her mother laughed. “I have no doubt you would be on your best behavior, but it’s not safe Mio Cuore.” 

“And staying with Signora Capra is?? She tried to poison me!”  

Her father threw back his head in laughter, the sound rumbling around the space, like thunder in a summer storm. “You make her sound as though she is secretly one of the Crows. Her cooking can hardly be considered an assassination attempt” he joked. “Don’t be so dramatic.” 

“You only say that because you haven’t been forced to eat it!” Lita exclaimed. Signora Capra suffered from occhi di luna, Moon Eyes, causing her to frequently mistake certain ingredients for others due to her struggling eyesight. And thanks to the old goat’s pride, any attempts at providing direction or assistance were futile. Lita recounted the many culinary disasters she had the misfortune of consuming, including cioccolata calda made with salt instead of sugar, polenta made with flour, and perhaps the most monstrous creation of all, a strawberry jam Lasagna.  She choked back an involuntary gag at the memory. It had been 2 years since the incident, and she still couldn’t stomach the sweet preserves. 

“I’ll do anything.” She pleaded. 

“Anything?” her father repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Just what would you have to offer, hmm?” 

“Donte...” her mother warned, elbowing him gently. 

“What? The roads are safe enough, and it’s about time she saw a bit more of the world.” Lita beamed at him. “That is, if, she can make it worth our while.” He narrowed his eyes, challenging her. 

And so the bargaining began.  

Lita pondered for a moment. “I’ll polish all of your shoes and mend the favorite shirt you tore last week.” 

“Hmm.” Her father tapped his chin feigning contemplation. “A solid offer, or it would be, had I not shined my shoes this morning and had your mother not mended that shirt last night.” Lita shot a disdainful glance at her mother, which was met with a flick on the nose from her father. “Save your sting for someone else ape. You truly thought I would travel to trade without looking my best?” he scoffed. “Half of our customers come for my good looks alone,” he preened. “Just ask your mother, she was one of them”, he whispered, sliding an affectionate hand onto her mother’s thigh. 

“Donte!” she chided, but Lita did not miss the blush creep into her mother’s cheeks as she lept onto her feet and returned to making bread. 

Rubbing at the grin on his face her father continued. “Counteroffer, you mend six pairs of my socks.” 

Lita grimaced, a ripped shirt was one thing, darning socks was another. Her attempts at restoring the pairs she had worn through typically ended with a pile of bloody socks and a mouthful of soap as punishment for the string of expletives she would ultimately weave in the process.  “How else could one cope with stabbing themselves repeatedly” she had thought, while spitting out suds into the sink. At six pairs, her fingers would have more holes than a pasta strainer by the time she finished. Knitting her brows together she contemplated more ideas that might sway her father.  

“One pair. And I’ll give you all my desserts for the next month.”   

“Tempting” he nodded, “but sadly something I think neither your mother nor my growing waistline would allow.” He chuckled. “Besides, a month without one of your mother’s Bombolones is not a punishment I would wish on anyone. Three pairs and you’ll clean out the hive for a month.” 

Lita blanched at her father’s proposal. Her parents maintained a storeroom near their shop where they kept a variety of items from the off season, switching goods out as supply and demand ebbed and flowed. Lita had lovingly deemed the small building “the hive” after seeing her parents bustle to pack items onto its shelves like bees filling honeycomb. Despite their best efforts at sealing every crevice and employing several hungry cats, the space had always housed a small army of mice, and Lita, was absolutely and unequivocally terrified of them. Her mother had once found one of the “poor creatures” with its leg broken in a mousetrap, and since witnessing its suffering, had insisted they use a more humane way of capturing the pests. Instead, they set up a large grain bucket fitted with a special lid that opened like a trap door. The mice would crawl onto the lid enticed by the grain below and would fall into the container, finding themselves with a veritable feast to enjoy, but unable to climb out. Twice a week her parents would take the bucket to the alley across from the shop and offer the scurrying tribute to the felines that lingered in the area. Their routine had become so commonplace, that the local cats would line up in anticipation of the buffet. How this was “any more humane than a quick snap to the neck” was beyond her father but one icy stare from her mother had enlightened him. And thus, their ritual began.  

Lita recalled the first time her parents had set her to the task, she had been 8 at the time and the frantic scurrying of the mice inside the bucket had haunted her dreams for weeks. Her grip on the handle had slipped multiple times due to her sweaty palms, and she prayed to the Maker that she wouldn’t drop the creatures before delivering them to their demise. When she reached the alley, the local cats had already gathered, circling her like vultures around a carcass. As she struggled to open the bucket, the audience around her had grown more and more impatient, their hungry meows sounding like the wails of demons. In desperation she had held the bucket with her feet, attempting to pry the lid off with both hands, and as a result, inadvertently sent the vessel sailing into the air. To her horror the lid popped off in mid-flight, launching mice, grain, and an unholy number of droppings into the air. The moment the vermin completed their descent, chaos ensued. Lita had shrieked as one of the rodents landed in her auburn hair, shaking her whole body like a dog she smacked her head frantically, trying to get it out. Cats and mice darted around her legs, and she cried as she felt a feline swipe at her leg attempting to catch one of the escapees. After what felt like an eternity the unwanted passenger had finally loosed itself from her tangled locks and fell to the ground, only to be snapped up by one of the crazed predators running about the alley. Lita had sprinted home crying and attempted to explain what had happened to her parents, only to find herself blubbering incomprehensibly. She had continued to weep as her mother had held her, rocking her back and forth, stroking a steady pace through her hair as her hysterical sobs had turned to a soft hiccup. From then on, her father had dismissed her from the terrifying task.  

Until today it seemed. 

“Papa... I... I can’t.” She stammered.  

“You can. And you will, if you want to go with us.” He insisted. “This trip will not be a vacation, Amelita. Your Mother and I will be too busy to be your keepers, so I need to know that you’ll be able to handle yourself. I 
need to see that you are capable of facing your fears. You’ll empty the trap once before we leave and pick things back up when we return.” 

Lita slumped in her chair, poking at her unfinished bread as she weighed the two options in her mind. Which was the lesser of two evils? Two weeks of Signora Capra’s torture or a potential reenactment of her life’s most terrifying moment? Surely there would be more opportunities to travel, though perhaps not so enticing as the northern coast. Her father and mother had often lulled her to sleep with the tales of the coastal markets, their vibrant stalls lining the streets, barrels of spices, exotic fruits, and other tantalizing items all on display. Would she really let the adventure of a lifetime slip through her grasp, due to a few insignificant pests?  

She inhaled, steeling her resolve. She channeled her mother and did her best to put on what she hoped was a hardened stare. 

“Two pairs and three weeks cleaning out the hive.” 

Her father looked up at the ceiling, mulling over her proposal like a sommelier trying to determine the quality of a wine, before extending his hand. 

“You have yourself a deal.”  

Lita squealed in delight, leaping out of her chair and throwing her arms around her father. He leaned forward enveloping her in hug, but through their embrace she could see the look of concern flash across her mother’s face.  

Her father reached out placing his palm over her mother’s flour coated hand. “Everything will be fine Vita Mia.” He held her gaze. “I swear.” 

Chapter Text

Lita rubbed her aching back and attempted to will the blood back into her stiff legs, flinching at the stinging sensation that burned her toes as the feeling returned to her feet. They had been riding for days, only stopping to allow her mother and father to switch places at the front of the cart, to water their two horses, and to heed the call of nature, which to her parents’ dismay, was answered frequently thanks to Lita’s tiny bladder. The trip had been “blessedly safe” according to Lita’s mother, which was equivalent to “painfully uneventful” in Lita’s humble opinion, and after three days of meals consisting of little more than bread, cheese, and salami, she was beginning to think staying with Signora Capra would not have been as terrible of a fate as she had initially thought. More than once, Lita had voiced her discomfort only to be put in her place by her mother’s strategic remarks.

“I’m sick of bread,” Lita complained.

“You’re welcome to help yourself to some grass if you’d like something different. The horses seem to enjoy it.” Her mother had smiled sweetly.

“I can’t feel my backside.” Lita had whined.

“Well thank goodness you aren’t old enough to take the reins, or your hands would be numb as well, from driving the cart like your father and I.” Her mother had replied.

“I’m bor-“

“I hope you weren’t about to say you’re bored.” Her mother gasped in mock concern, cutting Lita off before she could finish. “I don’t think I could forgive myself knowing you weren’t having fun on our little venture, in fact, I don’t think I’d have the heart to ever drag you away on another trip like this again if I didn’t know for certain you were having the time of your life. But I interrupted you, what were you going to say Ape?” she challenged.

Lita stared at her mother, fists clenched, mind scrambling for a retort that would make her sorry for not taking her concerns more seriously, only to fall short. Shoulders slumping in defeat, she mumbled, “I forgot”. Earning a snort from her father, who was rewarded with an elbow to the side from Lita’s mother. Reaching into her pocket, Lita’s mother withdrew a stick of charcoal. “I’ve been thinking…” she began, extending the charcoal to Lita, “Our cart is a bit plain; wouldn’t you agree Ape?” Eyes lit with excitement, she snatched the charcoal from her mother, offering a quick word of thanks before committing herself to decorate every inch of the cart with her art. 

On the fourth day, Lita had dozed off in the back of the wagon, which was now covered with small doodles of various flowers, animals, and every other object that had popped into Lita’s mind whilst possessed by her artistic frenzy. For three nights she and her parents had huddled together in the cart for warmth, cotton stuffed in Lita and her mother’s ears in an attempt to drown out the thunder of her Father’s snoring. To Lita’s despair, the cotton hadn’t been effective, and she had grown more and more exhausted as their trip progressed. She had finally managed to drift off for a few hours when her father gently nudged her awake. Lita had prepared to utter a particularly unsavory expletive at him when she saw him pointing ahead of them. It was then she spotted the city. "Welcome to Tarifa, Ape.", her father grinned. Hundreds of tan and red square buildings were stacked along the horizon, their warm hue contrasting against the blue ocean behind them. Colorful banners and flags decorated the rooftops and towering palm trees waved in the coastal breeze. As they rode into the city Lita marveled at the buildings around her, eyes practically bulging, as she drank in the curved archways and intricate tiled walls every structure seemed to sport.

They continued their trek to a small inn near the bay, in the vicinity of the main markets where her parents intended to acquire their goods. The room they had rented was hardly extravagant, but Lita felt like royalty. She marveled at the view of the ocean from the small window, before throwing herself onto the feathered bed in the middle of the room. In the evening, they had walked down the vibrant streets to a small restaurant, which Lita’s parents had frequented during their previous expeditions, where they feasted on Tagine loaded with too many spices to count, fluffy couscous, and sipped on cold mint tea to wash the rich dishes down. Lita had eaten to bursting and had begun to nod off after a few bites of the honey-smothered Briouate, her parents had ordered for dessert. Her father had carried her back to the inn, her mother’s humming mixing gently with the sounds of the city as Lita drifted off to sleep.

---

The next day of their adventure had taken Lita and her parents to trade in the main market. Lita had often wondered if her parents had exaggerated the grandeur of the souks but upon reaching the markets, she swore she would never doubt another one of their tales again. Countless stalls lined the streets, toting a variety of items that made Lita question how one could possibly decide where to even begin exploring. They passed a shop selling rugs with such intricate patterns Lita wondered how one could even manipulate thread in such a way. Another stand sold pottery with paintings so vibrant and detailed, she could still see them etched on the back of her eyelids when she blinked. Stall after stall revealed something new and exciting, be it giant barrels of spices twice the size of her father, or massive displays of exotic fruits that she didn’t know half the names of. She followed her parents in absolute awe, her mother gently tugging her arm to snap her out of her daze when she became too mesmerized with her surroundings.

Lita’s mother had wandered through the shops of the countless fabric sellers, their stands toting vibrant silks that shone like jewels in the sun. Various merchants had tried to talk Lita’s mother into the latest colors of the season, fiery reds, burning oranges, and opulent golds, but she had simply waved them off. Instead opting for bolts of gentle and cool pastels she unearthed from the vast piles of fabric, hidden away like long-forgotten secrets. “Mark my words Ape, every woman in Treviso will be sporting these colors in two months.” She insisted. Gently gliding her fingers over a bolt of pale green fabric with a delicate pattern of dragonflies woven throughout. 

With each day that passed Lita’s parents checked off the items on their list, sending them to be delivered to the inn in preparation for their departure. Their fourth day in the city, brought them to the shipyard; to inspect the boat her father was considering purchasing. It would be their last day in Tarifa before picking up a shipment of dyes and returning to Treviso with the goods they had acquired. Lita trudged behind her parents in silent protest of them having to end their trip, thinking of ways how she might extend their adventure a little longer. She had been bouncing around the idea of pretending to be sick when her parents stopped on the pier, her mother gasping. Scheming disrupted; Lita pushed between them to see what the cause for concern was. Her mother stared at the ship in front of them and Lita could see nothing amiss until she spotted the name painted on the side.

“La Lita”

“Donte” her mother began. “You didn’t.”

Lita’s father grinned sheepishly, “In my defense…” he started, hands raised in surrender “I got it for a deal only an idiot would refuse. I practically made money.”

This didn’t seem to comfort Lita’s mother, as she grabbed at the silver necklace she wore, worrying the charm between her fingers. She opened her mouth to berate her husband but was cut short by Lita’s outburst.

“YOU NAMED IT AFTER ME?” Lita shouted; face flushed with glee. “Can we go on it? Please, Papa?”

Lita’s father turned to her mother for approval, eyebrows quirked, awaiting her reply.

“Hacedor presservami,” she sighed. “Fine, let’s inspect this ship your father just had to buy.”

Lita squealed with delight, sprinting up the gangplank before her mother had a chance to reprimand her. Her parents soon followed, smiling as they watched her explore. She ran across the deck of the ship spinning in a circle, arms spread wide, before racing to the upper deck to the helm, hands reaching to give it a spin, freezing when she heard her mother shout.

“Amelita Florentino don’t you dare! We don’t let you drive our cart, what on earth makes you think we would let you steer a ship?” She scolded.

 Lita’s father threw his head back with a laugh “As enthusiastic as Lita is, I don’t think she’s strong enough to even move the helm, Vita Mia. Though she’s welcome to try…”, he remarked, raising his eyebrows at Lita in a challenge.

Sticking her tongue out her father, Lita rolled up her sleeves and grasped the helm, turning it with all her might, only to find it wouldn’t budge. Rubbing her palms on her skirt she tried again, face reddening as she strained against the stubborn wheel, only to let out a grunt in defeat. Lita’s father roared with laughter and her mother hid a smile behind her hand. Humiliated, Lita stomped down the steps, instead turning her attention to finding her way below the ship. She had just stumbled upon a small door to the galley when it suddenly burst open, eliciting a small yelp from Lita, which quickly turned to an ear-piercing shriek when she recognized the figure stepping out onto the deck. 

“ZIO MARCO?” she shrieked.

Lita tackled the burly man and squealed in delight as he scooped her up and twirled her in the air, stumbling dizzily as he returned her to the ground. 

“Thank goodness it’s just you Lita,” the man remarked. “I heard the most ungodly squealing and stomping, and thought perhaps the ship was being taken over by an army of Nugs.” He winked. “You’ve grown taller”, he remarked taking in Lita’s height.

“And you’ve grown balder.” Lita nodded at Marco’s now glistening scalp, earning a smack on the back of the head from her mother and a snort from her father. 

Marco laughed, his large black mustache hiding the upper half of his smile. “Whoever said a bee can only sting once has never had the pleasure of meeting you Ape.” Marco chuckled. “I suppose I earned that for the Nug comment. Shall we call a truce while I show you around the rest of the ship?” He extended his hand.

“Fine.” Lita sighed in mock exasperation, taking her uncle’s hand and following him below. After a brief tour of the galley, sleeping quarters, and cargo hold, all of which Lita deemed satisfactory, they returned to report their findings to Lita’s parents. 

“Well, Ape?” her father asked. “Is she worthy of her name?”

“Yes!” Lita squealed, running to her father and throwing her arms around his waist. “Can we go sailing, Papa? Pleeeeeease?” she begged. 

“Ape,” her mother warned, “The ocean is no place for a bee.” 

“Your mother may have a point.” her father agreed. “I'm sorry, Cuore Mio. Perhaps another time, once the ship is back in Trevisso…”

“I’ll clean out the hive an extra month!” Lita blurted. Hands clamping over her mouth too late to stop the ridiculous offer from escaping her lips.

“Done!” Her father replied. 

“Donte!” gasped her Mother. 

“What?”, he shrugged. “A month of cleaning the hive in exchange for a day of sailing is almost as good of a deal as I got on the boat”, he winked.

“And the shipment of dyes we’re supposed to pick up tomorrow?” Lita’s mother pressed, her fists on her hips in an attempt at intimidation. “Do you plan on leaving them at the dock for anyone to take?”

“They’re already below deck.” This time it was Zio Marco who spoke. “In fact, all your purchases from this week are in the hold.” 

Lita’s mother whipped her head to her husband, casting him an accusatory glare. 

“Chiara…” he began, walking towards Lita’s mother and wrapping her in his arms. “I thought it would make the trip back a little more bearable. It was supposed to be a surprise, and would have been, had Signore “Chiacchierona” over here not spoiled it.”

“And how will our ship make its way back to Trevisso, hmm?” Lita’s mother questioned, clearly unconvinced by her husband’s charms.

“Signore “Chiacchierona” at your service,” Marco replied bowing deeply.

“You?” Lita snorted, eyeing her uncle skeptically. 

“Are you trying to hurt my feelings?” Zio Marco replied, hand clasped over his heart as if wounded by Lita's words. “I thought we had a truce?”

“That was only for the tour, and it’s over. You’re not sailing my ship!” Lita exclaimed.

“Your ship?” scoffed Marco, his bushy eyebrows raised skyward. “I don’t see your name on…” he stopped, face sobering at Lita’s fiendish grin, as the realization struck. He pointed to his brother, shaking his head. “You’ve created a monster.”

“I’m well aware.” Lita’s Father laughed, before turning to Lita. “It’s your uncle or nothing, Ape. Otherwise, La Lita will have to find a new owner…”

“Fine!” Lita surrendered, pointing a finger at her uncle, “But if anything happens to my ship, I’m putting a contract on your head with the Crows.” Marco gave Lita a mock salute, laughing as her remark earned another smack from her mother. “So can we sail now?” Lita mumbled, rubbing the back of her head.

“We aren’t expecting the deckhands till tomorrow,” her father remarked, “but we should be able to manage a small trip if your mother approves.” 

All eyes turned to Lita’s mother, her face inscrutable, until she finally sighed. “Let’s put these boys to work Ape.”

Chapter Text

After a quick stop back at the inn to grab a few essentials they would need for their venture, Lita and her parents returned to the ship. Her father had Lita, her mother, and Zio Marco running about the deck like geese in a hailstorm, loosening knots, tying off lines, and completing other various tasks. All the while he stood on the upper deck, barking orders like a Grey Warden in battle, earning more than one poisonous look from Lita and her mother. After what felt like the hundredth command and a large push against the hull from her uncle, they were off. 

Though no great cargo ship, La Lita was a credit to her name, cutting through waves like shears through silk. Lita had spent half the day at the bough of the ship, arms spread like a bird in flight as the salty breeze whipped her hair about, eyes peeled for any signs of whales or dolphins. So far, she had seen two flukes and a pod of porpoises through the small telescope her father had lent her. The other half of the day had been spent plaguing her father and uncle with questions about sailing. Lita had every confidence that her father could handle any dangerous scenario their family might encounter, storm and sea monster alike. But Zio Marco on the other hand… left much to be desired. So Lita took it upon herself to drill him and ensure he was fit to take charge, should the worst arise.

“What happens if you fall asleep at the helm tonight?”

“I won’t need to be at the helm, the current will guide us close enough to the city.”

“What happens if the current takes us too far?”

“Your father and I will lower the sails in the morning and harness the wind to get us back on track.”

“What if there is no wind?”

“We’ll drop anchor and wait for it to pick up.”

“What if the anchor breaks?”

“We’ll signal to another boat in the harbor to rescue us.”

“What if there’s no one to rescue us?”

“Amelita enough!” Her mother cried in exasperation, “You’re going to have a stroke at this rate.”

Marco roared with laughter. “Well then Ape", he chuckled, "I hope you can swim as fast as that brain of yours manages to come up with these questions.”

The small kitchen in the ship left little room to prepare food, so dinner had been a simple Bolognese. Yet as they scrubbed dishes in a bucket of seawater, Zio Marco had raved over the quality of the meal, earning a blush from Lita’s mother, more than one jealous glance from her father, and the following comment from Lita.

“Perhaps if you’d shave that mangy rat off of your upper lip you could get a wife of your own…”.

Which was promptly met with a smack to the back of the head.

Once dishes were put away, they had spent the rest of the evening watching the sunset, before laying on the deck to gaze up at the constellations. Lita quietly recalled their names, as her uncle and father recounted tales of their childhood being raised on the sea. Lita’s favorite being the story of a drunken Zio Marco plunging into the ocean off the coast of Rivain to steal a kiss from a mermaid, only to discover he had been swimming after a disgruntled seal. As Lita’s eyelids had begun to droop, her father scooped her up and placed her in a hammock below deck, her mother humming a soft lullaby, while stroking her hair. And as sleep slowly stole Lita away to the fade, she couldn’t help but wish every day could be like this.

—

Lita awoke to a hand over her mouth. Jolting upright in her hammock, she inhaled to scream, when her mother’s silhouette slowly solidified in the darkness.

“Quickly dress and grab your pack.” Her mother whispered.

“Mama what’s happen…”, Lita started.

“No time for questions, do as you're told”, her mother snapped, cutting her off. 

Lita quickly lowered herself from the hammock, donning her linen shirt and skirt before pulling on her worn leather boots. Slinging her satchel over her shoulder, she couldn’t help but notice her mother’s eyes dart to the small window in the kitchen, as she hurried to throw items into her own bag. Creeping onto the counter, Lita slowly pulled out her father’s telescope from her pack, careful not to knock it against the glass pane, as she held it up to her eye. For a moment all she saw was an endless ocean, the moonlight reflected over its waves, but then, she saw it. A great wooden dragon stalking through the sea, red blood dripping from its gaping maw, its carved talons clutching what appeared to be a headless body; it raced through the darkness, as the bough of the ship it decorated, cut through the water with impressive speed.

“Amelita!” Her mother hissed, beckoning Lita to hurry towards her.

Jumping off the sink she ran to her mother, wincing at her vice-like grip as she pulled Lita up the stairs. As they walked onto the deck she saw her father speaking to Zio Marco, who stood aiming a large telescope towards the approaching ship. As her mother quickly pushed away random crates behind her, Lita listened intently to the men’s furious whispers, but could only make out a single word, shiavatore.

Slavers.

Blanching, Lita quickly turned to her mother to find her kneeling on the deck, fingers carefully running over the wooden planks, before pressing down. With a small click, a trap door popped up. Lifting it, Lita marveled at the hidden compartment, just large enough for a single person to hide. As her mother ushered her into the small space Lita paused.

“Mama please tell me what’s happening.” she pleaded.

Her mother quickly hushed her, offering her a strained smile. “It’s probably nothing Ape, just being cautious.” She whispered, running a comforting hand over Lita’s cheek. “But whatever happens I want you to promise me that you won’t make a sound and that you’ll only come out when I get you.”

“But Mama…”, Lita began.

“Promise me, Ape.” her mother pleaded, her false calm cracking and giving way to the rising panic underneath.

Lita nodded as she lowered herself back into the space, knuckles white as she clutched her satchel to her chest. Her mother began to lower the door, but upon seeing Lita’s terrified expression, stopped. Reaching around her neck she lifted the small silver chain from over her head and slipped it onto Lita’s neck. Lita held the delicate necklace in her grasp, her fingers pausing at the small silver bee charm that hung from the chain.

“You know I don’t go anywhere without my little bee, so if you hold onto it for me, you’ll know without a doubt I’ll be back for you.”

“Promise?” Lita whispered, eyes suddenly glossy.

“I swear, Cuore Mio,” came her mother’s fervent reply.

Lita nodded rubbing the small charm as she had seen her mother do so, so many times before, as the door lowered, submerging her in darkness. She listened as her father instructed his wife to hide, wincing as the two argued in hushed whispers until eventually, the sounds of her mother’s footsteps echoed down the stairs to the galley below.

Then everything fell silent.

An eternity passed, before great metal clang rang out against the side of the ship, followed by another, and the grind of wood against wood reverberated into the night, as a gangplank slid onto the deck. Another tense moment passed before Lita heard her father’s voice call out, tone thick with charm, as if he were greeting a customer.

“Good evening!” he spoke in the common tongue. “A fine night to be out on the sea is it not? And what a fierce vessel you champion. What might you charming gentleman be up to tonight?”

Footsteps sounded above Lita, as multiple people made their way onto the ship. 

“I could ask the same of you,” replied a cool voice, in a thick accent Lita did not recognize. The owner’s heeled boots striding onto the deck of the ship, their pace sounding more like the strut of a peacock than a person.

“Just out for a quick boat ride before rounding up a few men for a journey”,  her father replied with a casual air. “And you?”

Low laughs and chuckles arose from the strangers.

“Much the same”, replied the peacock, “It just so happens we were on our way back to Tevinter, when we lost a few pieces of…cargo.”

“Che sfortuna”, her father sighed. “Well, it just so happens I stumbled upon a cask of Antivan Red just floating about, perhaps it belongs to you? What say we grab it for you and you can be on your way? I’m sure you’re eager to locate the rest of your cargo.” Her father remarked. “Marco, bring it up, will you?”

“No need.” Replied the peacock. “We’ll fetch it ourselves.”

“That’s really not necessary” her father began, “it’s no trouble for us to…

“I insist.” The man spoke, cutting off Lita’s father. “Unless you’ve something to hide?...”

Lita waited for her father to object, for her uncle to fire off a snarky retort, but no argument came from them, as two heavy sets of footsteps walked across the deck and thundered down the galley stairs to the hold below. Lita panicked, thinking of her mother, and uttered a wordless prayer to the Maker that she had found a good hiding spot, only for her invocation to stop abruptly as she heard a shout from below. Moments later the door to the galley burst open, her mother’s voice ringing out into the night, stringing together a strand of expletives that would have the Maker himself blushing, as she yelled at the “stronzo” holding her to put her down.

“Well, well.” Crooned the peacock. “When you mentioned you had an Antivan Red, I must admit this is not what I had in mind. Hard to believe you found her floating about.”

Lita’s father barked out an unconvincing laugh. “It appears your men can’t tell wine from women, but we’d be happy to educate them. If you’ll just allow my wife to return below…”

“Your wife?” The man leered, “She bears a remarkable resemblance to the cargo we lost...”

“You have excellent taste then.” Quipped Lita’s father. “But I’m afraid if it isn’t wine you’re looking for, I’d invite you to kindly search for your cargo elsewhere.”

Tension tightened the air like a bowstring waiting to snap, as the thinly veiled threat Lita's father had loosed hung heavy in the atmosphere. Lita willed her breath to steady, as she waited an agonizing moment, then two.

It was the peacock that broke the silence. “Take her back to the ship”. 

“Well, we tried talking” came Zio Marco’s reply.

There was a crunch of bone breaking and a scream of agony, as someone, presumably the man Marco had just punched, dropped to the deck. It was then that all hell broke loose. Footsteps thundered toward the spot where Lita’s father stood, and her mother cried out. Lita shook as she heard the woman being dragged backward towards the gangplank. Lita jolted at the sound of another thud of a body falling, this time near where her father had been standing. She tensed at sound of her father's dagger leaving its sheath as he shouted after Lita’s mother. He let out a growl, as another man cried out in agony, the squelching noise causing Lita to gag, as her father's blade was pulled from the man’s body. Lita held back a scream as moments later blood seeped through a crack in the floor above. A roar of pain came from near the gangplank as she heard her mother sprinting back toward her father and uncle.

“The little bitch bit me!” Shouted a gruff voice. Lita half expected another scream of pain, when a sudden crackling of electricity filled the air. Like static before a lightning strike it raised the hair on Lita’s arms. The backs of her eyes began to itch as though someone had poured sand in them when a vibrant flash of red illuminated the cracks in the floor above her.

Three bodies hit the deck in unison, and then, silence.

“Honestly, what’s the point of hiring you buffoons,” the peacock spoke. “If you can’t even round up a few rats? The Venatori don’t have patience for incompetence”.

“My apologies, Lord Pagoni”, came a gurgled reply.

The peacock, or Lord Pagoni, as his underling had revealed, let out a noise of disgust before continuing, “Take these three and cage them with the rest of the slaves, have your men scour the ship for any other useful supplies before pushing off.”

“Why not just tow the ship, my lord?” The man began, his voice muffled by the hand he pressed to his face.

“Did that mustached brute bash your brain in when he broke your nose?” Lord Pagoni snapped. “Because, you simpleton, we’re expected in Tevinter in three days time and it will only slow us down. Now do you have any other dazzling ideas?”

“No, my lord,” the man choked out.

“Hop to it then”, the peacock quipped, heeled boots clicking towards the gangplank before pausing to turn.

Lita’s stomach lurched, as she heard the man stalk towards her hiding spot. Her heart raced so loudly that she feared it may give her away. She had heard stories of the Venatori, that they bathed in the blood of children who stayed up past their bedtime, or how they dined on the hearts of those who ate too many sweets, for the sugared flavor of their flesh. All of which Lita had thought false until staring at the man above her through the cracks in the floor. Her eyes could just make out the blood-red robes he wore, his white waist-length hair glistening in the moonlight, and his pale skin glowing like a phantom, his icy gaze chilling the blood in Lita’s veins. She covered her mouth as the man’s boots stepped over the trap door, his pale eyes staring at the floor so intently that Lita swore he could surely see through the wood. His stare narrowed before he lifted a heeled boot in disgust, nose puckering at the blood dripping from it, before stepping away.

“Throw this body overboard,” he commanded, “We don’t need anyone tracking us.” He quipped before resuming his departure from the ship.

Lita would have cried from relief if it hadn’t been for the sound of her parents and uncle being dragged off the ship. Another group of men soon boarded, tearing through the ship like a hurricane, walking off with various crates and barrels filled with the treasures Lita and her parents had so carefully curated. Still, she waited, her limbs frozen with fear, as the men concluded their plundering. She listened as the metal hooks were pried from the ship, the grinding of the plank being hauled away once more filled the air, and orders barked in a foreign tongue began to fade until finally there was silence. She counted to a hundred, then once more, listening for any sign that one of the marauders may have remained on the ship, but they were long gone. Lita burst through the small trapdoor, racing to the back of the ship, her stiff fingers fumbling as she pulled the telescope from her satchel.  Whipping it back and forth she searched frantically, her gaze finally landing on the slavers ship. She held back a sob as her parents and their captors became a spot on the horizon.

Lita sank onto the deck as her body wracked with sobs. She didn’t know how long she sat there, pinching her arm every few moments as if it would awake her from the nightmare, only to flinch as she added another bruise to her arm. After an hour, not even this was enough to stave off the exhaustion, as she collapsed onto the deck, the darkness mercifully swallowing her.

—

Lita awoke with her head foggy, stuffed with the cloudy wisps of a dream she couldn’t quite recollect. Her eyes cracked open to reveal the rosy glow of dawn, sunlight spilling over the clouds above, painting everything in warm pastel hues. Sitting up, she stretched her arms above her head, wincing at the stiffness of her neck. When her eyes roamed over the trail of small purple bruises on her bicep, she froze, as the events of the previous night came flooding back.

“It’s all your fault.” A rasping voice whispered to her mind. “Had you only listened to your mother, had you not begged to go out to sea, they’d still be here…”

Lita’s shoulders began to shake with the weight of all that had transpired. Her eyes, still swollen from the tears she had shed just hours before, began to burn as she wept once more. She wiped her face with the back of her hand inhaling to scream out, when she was cut short by the cry of a gull. Crawling to her feet, Lita gazed out in the direction the bird had flown. Squinting against the sunlight bouncing off the waves, she gasped as she recognized the stacks of red and tan buildings dotting the shore. 

Tarifa. 

Her uncle had not been lying when he promised the current would carry them back to the city, but her comfort was short-lived, as that same current who had delivered her to Tarifa was quickly guiding the ship further away by the minute. Her breath began to hitch as panic slowly tightened its grip around her lungs. Steadying her breathing, Lita scoured her thoughts, trying to recollect all that her Uncle had claimed he would do should the worst happen.

“Lower the sails!” she practically shouted, her excitement quickly extinguishing, as she realized that even if she somehow managed to lower them, they’d be of no help with her being too weak to steer the ship. “Drop anchor?”, Came another thought, but she waved it away quicker than the last. If she wasn’t strong enough to turn the helm, there was no way she’d be able to move the iron weight into the water.  “Signal for help” whispered a memory, leading Lita to quickly scan the ship, searching for the telescope she had dropped the night before. Running to the lower deck she continued her hunt, finally locating the small tube, its' lens slightly cracked but otherwise no worse for wear. Sprinting to the starboard side, she extended the scope, searching for any signs of ships passing by she might flag down, only for her stomach to sink with dread at the sight of the empty harbor. She began to lower the scope, abandoning her search, when she spotted a small dark smudge. For a moment she worried the crack in the lens was playing a cruel trick, but there was no mistaking the small fishing boat near the shoreline. 

Lita let out a whoop of triumph and continued to yell, arms waving wildly. She peered through the scope again, praying that the men aboard had heard her plea for help, only to cry in frustration as the boat appeared to continue on its course away from her. Undeterred, she raced below to the galley, stunned by the chaos before her. The small cabin lay bare, dishes broken, food trampled, their few belongings long gone. Blinking back tears, Lita quickly pushed through the wreckage till she found the two items she was looking for. Racing back to the upper deck, she beat the steel ladle against the old copper pot she’d retrieved, the container ringing like a strange metal drum. She continued to scream, praying to the maker, to anyone that would listen, that the ship would turn around, as she glanced nervously at the city, which was growing more distant by the second. Flinging aside her makeshift drum she pulled out the telescope and pointed it towards the fishing boat, an agonized cry tearing from her throat, as she noted their trajectory away from her. Dropping to her knees she sobbed, voice stinging from her attempted signal for rescue. Wiping the tears beginning to form, a thought flashed across her vision as her uncle's voice echoed in her mind, “I hope you can swim as fast as that brain of yours manages to come up with these questions”. 

It was without a doubt, a stupid idea, and Lita couldn’t be sure that her uncle wasn’t joking when he had suggested it. After all, shark attacks weren’t uncommon in the warm waters of the north, and even the most experienced swimmer had found themselves caught in a riptide and pulled to their watery grave, as her father had loved to remind her. Grimacing at the thought, she ruminated over her other options. She could risk staying on the boat and pray that it eventually managed to beach itself before she starved or died of thirst. Or perhaps by some miracle, another boat would find her… 

Before she could finish the thought, an image of the slaver’s ship cutting through the water flashed across her vision, ice flooding her veins at the memory. Shaking away the nightmarish thought, she sat weighing the outcomes in her mind, over and over. Drowning, starvation, slavery… before she came to a resolute decision. Sprinting back to the galley she pushed through the mess once more till she found the small pairing knife they had used to prepare dinner the previous night and slipped it into her satchel. It wasn’t very sharp, but if a shark tried to make a meal of her during her swim to shore, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Running back to the deck, she pulled herself onto the railing of the starboard side, breath coming in rapid gulps, as she gazed at the water beneath her. Grasping at the silver chain around her neck, she rubbed the small bee charm between her fingers, mustering all of her courage. With one final inhale, she jumped. 

Lita dropped into the sea, the frigid water tightening its grip around her chest, as she fought to hold her breath. Kicking frantically, she crawled towards the surface at an agonizing pace, her lungs screaming for air. Just when she thought she may never reach the surface, her head burst above the waves. She sucked in a precious gulp of air, struggling to stay afloat as she quickly wiped the brine from her eyes; she turned in a panic, searching for any sign of the shore. She had just spotted the red smudge of land in the distance when a wave crashed overhead. Catching her breath just in time, she braced herself as it collided with her body, plunging her deeper into the water. Once again, Lita swam desperately, ignoring the burning in her limbs as she fought against the water. Her head had just broken the surface once more, when another wave slammed into her, filling her mouth before she could even think to steal a breath. Lita cried out, her scream nothing more than a gargle, when she felt a sudden burst of pain in the back of her head, met with a cracking noise muffled by the roar of the current. She began to sink, arms suddenly weightless, as the hull of La Lita loomed overhead, and darkness consumed her vision. 

Chapter Text

Rook awoke from her dream with a start, sitting up, she clutched at the back of her skull, her fingers gently feeling for the old scar at the base of her scalp. She winced at the sudden headache that arose, as her blood rushed to her head from rising too quickly. It had been three days since she had split her head open, courtesy of the disruption of Solas’s ritual. And yet after copious amounts of healing salve, she still found herself having to sleep on her side to avoid aggravating the wound any further.

She had half expected Solas to invade her dreams, now that he had taken up temporary residence in her subconsience. Luckily, the elf had not called on her again since their last conversation. No matter how noble he painted his cause to be, she still didn’t trust him, not that she was in any position to judge, considering her colored past. But her experiences had earned her the nickname of Rook, whereas Solas…well…she could only imagine what horrific things he had done to earn such charming titles as the “Dreadwolf” and “The God of Trickery, Rebellion, and Lies.”Whatever the man’s true motivations were, for the moment their goals were aligned, and it would have to be enough for Rook.

Easing off the green couch, she quickly dressed, pulling on a loose navy blouse, a pair of worn trousers, and a particularly beloved set of boots that she desperately needed to have re-soled. She finished the simple ensemble with a small silver dagger that she strapped to her thigh before pushing out of her room and making her way to the infirmary.

She had just creaked open the door when Varric called out. “If you’re here to argue about your new role, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline Kid. If you can take out twenty Antaam single-handedly, leading our ragtag team should be easy.”

“First of all…It was only 19…” Rook corrected him, stepping into the room. “Second of all, since when have defeating Antaam and defeating ancient blighted gods been considered to be equal challenges?” She walked to the foot of the dwarf’s bed. “And third, I only came in to see how you’re fairing. Despite our occupation, we Crows are taught to care for the elderly, and you’re certainly no exception”, she smiled sweetly. “But before you get any ideas, just know I draw the line at sponge baths,” she gagged, “no amount of gold could ever force me to bathe…that”, she waved a hand at Varrics body.

“I’ll have you know half the women in Thedas, would kill for a glimpse of this body” he scoffed. “And a decent number of of their partners as well…”

Rook gasped. “I wasn’t aware such a large number of the population was clinically insane…”

“There it is”, Varric pointed a finger at her. “That quick wit that makes a leader.”

Rook rolled her eyes, “Save the fiction for your novels, Varric. Now, since the sponge bath is off the table, can I tempt you with some breakfast instead?” Rook asked. 

Varric arched a brow. “Depends on who’s cooking…” he paused, taking in Rook's pained smile, “Harding?” He asked. 

Rook nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“You don’t say…Sadly these painkillers I’ve taken have made me lose my appetite,” he winked.

“Right...” She winked back. Rook couldn’t blame the man. In the months they had spent chasing down Solas, she and Varric had consumed enough of Harding's culinary miscreations to last a lifetime. Rook was by no means a chef herself, she could burn a meal just by looking at it wrong. But at the very least she could still claim that her food was edible, a quality that many of Harding's recipes did not share…

“Well,” she continued “if you need anything you know where to find me.”

“Thanks, Rook.” He smiled. “Good Luck”.

Rook returned his smile before leaving the space, closing the door gently behind her. Shaking her head at Varrics remarks about leadership, she still couldn’t wrap her head around why her had chosen her to lead their team, she could only hope that by the time they had to face down two elven gods and preserve the veil, someone else would step up in her place. 

Wandering to the kitchen. Rook was surprised to see Harding notably absent despite it being her turn to prepare breakfast. Seizing the opportunity, Rook busied herself and attempted to scrape together a meager meal. By some miracle, she had managed to cook a small skillet of scrambled eggs and a plate of toast for the others. Half of the loaf of bread she had used had been charred beyond recognition, and its remains may or may not have been chucked into the fade, but she didn’t feel that Neve or Harding needed to know that.

There was a lot they didn’t need to know. 

Rook was as close to Harding as anyone she supposed. The dwarven woman loved to chatter, didn’t pry too much, and couldn’t smell a lie even if it stunk like a wheel of overripe cheese. A combination that, as an assassin, Rook found to be the makings of a perfect companion. The past few months with Varric and Harding had hardly been easy, but the redheaded ranger had played more than a small part in easing Rook's discomfort in having to leave Antiva behind.

Neve on the other hand… was a different story entirely. Rook supposed the mage couldn’t be considered the most famous detective in Minrathous if she didn’t know how to wheedle out facts from fallacy. But the sheer number of deductions she had made in the past 72 hours had Rook questioning the effectiveness of the years-long interrogation training she had experienced as a young crow. The woman had caught Rook in more than one lie, and after realizing the sleuth may dig up more secrets than the Rook wished to share, she had taken it upon herself to keep her interactions with the savvy sleuth brief. 

As if merely thinking of the woman was enough to summon her, Neve pushed through the doors into the kitchen, her metal prosthetic gently chiming against the stone floor as she walked. 

“Good morning Rook,” she smiled. 

“Morning,” Rook muttered, offering a small smile in return. “Eggs?” She asked, holding the skillet in front of her like a shield. 

“Sure” came Neve’s bemused reply

Rook quickly spooned a small portion onto a plate and passed it to her, the mage’s watchful gaze not escaping her notice. Neve eyed the plate of eggs, before taking a cautious bite. Chewing slowly her gaze narrowed as if she could taste all that Rook was trying to hide amidst the seasonings. 

Shaking off the preposterous thought, Rook proceeded to smother a piece of half-burnt toast with honey, before taking a large bite. 

Neve spoke, “I think I’ve worked out how to use the Eluvian if you’re feeling up to investigate Solas’s ritual site.” 

“Really?” Rook replied, attempting to speak around the toast she was still chewing.

“Is…” she stopped, choking on the dry piece of bread before swallowing painfully, eyes watering as the sharp crust made its way down. 

Neve snorted, reaching to pour a glass of water which she extended to Rook.

“Thanks” Rook muttered hoarsely, taking the glass and nodding to Neve in thanks, before quickly gulping the liquid down.

Clearing her throat she began again. “Is Harding up?” 

“I don’t think so.” Neve replied, “She’s been sleeping in more thanks to the elfroot she’s been taking, so my guess is she’s still in bed.” She paused taking another bite of eggs and swallowing before continuing, “On the other hand, perhaps she’s taken your sudden interest in cooking personally, and is sulking in her room about it…” 

Rook flushed. “I didn’t mean to…” she began. “Harding's cooking isn’t THAT bad. I would never try to go behind her back and…”

Rook was cut short as Neve let out a laugh. It’s sound dancing across the kitchen. “I know Rook, I’m only teasing. I know you’re just trying to help. Why not take her a plate and I’ll clean up here.” 

Rook nodded ears still red from having been so gullible, she busied herself with preparing Harding a plate, and quickly made her way to the door.

“Rook,” Neve called out.

Rook froze. 

“Thank you for breakfast, don’t tell her I said so, but you’re twice the chef Harding is.”

Rook offered a small smile in return, "Your secret is safe with me,” she nodded, before pushing out of the kitchen and into the courtyard. 

Rook carefully traversed the vine walkway leading to the observatory that Harding had claimed as her room. Though the space was still somewhat barren, Rook couldn’t help but feel it fit the dwarf perfectly. Harding had already taken advantage of the abundant natural light pouring from the glass ceiling and had set up multiple potted plants to bask in its rays. Neve’s space likewise suited her tastes and after news of their new feud with the gods, the detective had assembled various piles of evidence and leads regarding the Evanuris and had plastered her walls with her findings. Rook couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy that the lighthouse had seemingly curated rooms to fit her companion's needs perfectly, yet had neglected Rook in that department. How the sentient domicile deemed a room with a gargantuan aquarium, fit for a woman who was terrified of anything that even remotely resembled the ocean, was beyond her.

Pushing into Harding's quarters, Rook chuckled to see the woman sprawled out on the dirt floor, gazing out into the fade. 

“I thought I’d bring you some breakfast in bed but seeing as you are sleeping on the ground…” Rook trailed off.

“Ha, ha,” Harding responded. Accepting the plate of eggs and toast Rook extended, and took a few bites. 

“How are you holding up?” Rook questioned. 

“I’ve been in worse shape before.” Harding shrugged, taking another bite of eggs. 

Rook gave her a skeptical glance, lingering on the massive bruise covering the better half of Harding's face.

“Really? Because if your internal injuries are half as bad as your face looks, I imagine your head has got to be killing you.”

Harding rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to sit back while elven gods destroy the world just because I have a headache.”

Rook sighed. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Well if you’re feeling up to it, Neve thinks she’s figured out how to work the eluvian. She’d like to go back to the ritual site today.”

“Great!” Harding replied, setting her plate aside to stand. “Let me just get changed and I’ll…” she gasped suddenly, clutching her ribcage.

Rook took a step toward her, eyeing her warily. “Ever heard that rest is the best medicine?” Rook began, “As someone who’s experienced their fair share of broken ribs, I can tell you not overworking yourself is all that’ll really help. Besides, it’s not as if the world is going to end just because the great Lace Harding takes a day off.”

“I’ll be fine, Rook. Really.” Harding argued. “It’s nothing a little elf-root can’t help.”

Rook cast her a doubtful glance. Her hand suddenly fidgeting with the dagger at her side, as she pushed away at a memory threatening to surface. 

“It’s true! Besides it’ll just be a short trip to the ritual site to grab that dagger. Quick and simple.”

Rook stared at the dwarf for a moment, before throwing her hands up in defeat. 

“Fine, but the second we spot trouble you leave it to Neve and me to handle, alright?”

“Alright.” Harding smiled, moving to her pack to prepare for their venture. 

Shaking her head Rook gathered Harding's plate and made for the door. “Quick and simple” she whispered to herself, before stepping out into the courtyard. 

—

“Quick and simple, my ass” Rook growled. 

Dodging a blow from the large Ogre they’d had the misfortune of stumbling upon, she quickly rolled onto her feet, using the momentum to throw one of her knives into the Ogre’s arm. As the blade sunk into the creature’s flesh, it let out a roar, swinging in a wild arc as Rook lept out of the way once more. 

The easy trip they had planned to Solas’s ritual site had quickly gone up in flames when the party had stepped through the Eluvian to find themselves in Arlathan Forest. Things had only further escalated when their attempt to rescue Bellara, their best shot at fixing the Elluvian, had resulted in fighting several ancient elven sentinels, blighted ghouls, and now an aggravated ogre.

Realizing that its mad tantrum had not resulted in crushing its target, the beast let out a howl of frustration before charging at Rook. Pulling back its arm, it prepared to unleash another swing when it was suddenly knocked back by an arrow to the shoulder. 

“Nice shot Bellara,” Neve called out, casting an icy bolt at the creature's feet. The Ogre hollered as the freezing magic caused it to slip, the earth quaking beneath it, as it crashed to the ground.

Rook seized the opportunity. Dagger in each hand she sprinted at the monster, leaping into the air she descended onto the beast, and drove her blades into its heart. The ogre let out one last roar of pain before going limp, black Ichor seeping from its wounds like oil. 

“Are you alright Rook?” came Bellara’s nervous lilt. 

Rook didn’t yet know what to think of the elf they had met just hours before. When the veil jumpers had spoken of the bookish mage, Rook had half expected to find the woman cowering behind a rock. Instead, Bellara had proven her skill in combat was just as sharp as her intellect.

“I’m fine,” Rook replied, pulling her daggers from the massive corpse, wrinkling her nose as she wiped the stained blades in the grass before sheathing them. “I’m just glad we persuaded Harding into staying back.”

Neve laughed. “Your definition of persuasion is a little different than mine…”

 Rook grimaced. Harding had been more than upset when Rook demanded the scout remain with the veil jumpers, so much so Rook had almost given in to her request to accompany Neve in her search for Bellara. She shuddered to think what might have happened to her had she acquiesced. 

“Let’s grab your artifact and head back shall we?” Rook suggested, before walking through the temple doors.

—

After returning to the Veil Jumper camp, Bellara had shared word of their fight with a frenzied Ogre. Rook noted with relief that even Harding seemed grateful for being left behind. As she detailed their encounter with the blight, Harding finally spoke.

 “Well, while you’ve been out monster hunting I’ve been busy myself.”

“Harding…” Rook cast the dwarf an accusatory glance.

“Talking! Busy talking.” Harding raised her hands in defense. “Anyways, from what folks in the camp are saying, there might be more blight than just at the temple.”

“Where?” Rook questioned, gut clenching as her conversation with Solas echoed in her mind.

“DeMeta’s crossing. Strife sent two Veil jumpers down to help three days ago and haven’t heard back.”

Bellara grimaced, “Protocol for missing jumpers is one week. But I know dementias crossing, it’s only a few hours away by boat. If they haven’t sent word…” she stopped. Worry was etched across her features. 

“If blight is behind their disappearance, we should look into it. That is if you don’t mind taking a quick detour before helping us at the lighthouse Bellara?” Rook turned to the elf. 

She lit up. “Not at all! If anything I’ll work faster knowing what’s going on at Demetas Crossing. I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing Mihlva and Jihal might be in trouble, not to say that I don’t think that the other veil jumpers wouldn’t be able to handle it... And of course, I’d still help you even if we weren’t able to check on them, I just…”

“Bellara.” Neve interrupted, placing a gentle hand over the elf’s. “It’s alright to worry, we would never ask you to put our needs above the Veil Jumpers.”

Bellara nodded. Rook noticed the tips of the elf’s ears turn a slight pink, as the woman squeezed Neve’s hand back. 

“That’s settled then” Rook stood, “we’ll just need to find a boat and we can head out in the morning.”

“Leave it to me,” Harding replied. 

“I’m sure Bellara or Neve can…” Rook began.

“Rook! I’ve been sitting around all day, I doubt I’ll run into an ogre getting us a boat.” Harding pressed. 

“Alright,” Rook relented “but don’t even think about trying to help row.”

—

The next morning they set off. Harding had managed to find a small sailboat for the group to take to Demetas Crossing.

Rook steeled her nerves as she stepped onto the small vessel. Hoping her breathing didn’t appear as labored as it felt, she willed her racing heart to calm, as the boat lurched away from the shore. 

After a few hours the boat finally docked, Rook had leaped off the stern and nearly fallen into the lake in her desperate attempt to reunite with solid land. Quickly righting herself she ignored the chuckles from her group, she made quick work of mooring the boat, as they joined her on the dock. 

“This way” Bellara beckoned. They followed the elf to the outskirts of the small village, and it didn’t take long to notice that something was terribly wrong. The market, which Bellara mentioned was typically bustling with travelers and villagers alike, was utterly barren. An eerie silence cocooned the street they now walked. Stalls stood empty, fish lay decaying in barrels, flies swarming their rotting bodies, and bushels of fruit and produce lay trampled or left moldering in their baskets. 

As they made their way further into the town, the rumors of blight became less a theory and instead evolved into a shadowy certainty. Dark oily vines crept up buildings strangling chimneys and bursting through windows, large red pustules filled doorways of abandoned homes, pulsating with an ominous glow. Rook grimaced at the site of a ragdoll lying abandoned in the mud, its young owner likely killed or worse. 

For a moment there had been a small hope of the villager's survival when Bellara had stumbled upon a barricade at the center of town. But her optimism was soon crushed when Rook and her companions found themselves on the other side. Men and women, stood frozen, their blighted eyes transfixed, as mindless ramblings poured from their blackened lips. Bellaras's despair only deepened when after locating Mihlva’s body, they found Jihal suspended by a series of blighted roots, barely clinging to life. He had been able to mutter a quick warning about the gods before, to the group's horror, the dark tendrils slowly crushed him, a rattling wheeze escaping from the man as the last of his breath was forced out of his lifeless body.

Bellara choked back a sob when a muffled shout sounded from behind a wall of blighted vines.

“What was that?” Harding asked raising her bow towards the sound.

“A survivor?” Bellara suggested.

Rook cast her a skeptical glance.

“Well whatever they are they are, they’re the only witness we’ve got” Neve pointed out, walking towards the wall of vines and shimmying through a small gap. 

One by one the group made their way through until they stumbled into a small opening. Rook had just spotted the man wrapped in a pale tentacle when they were all launched back by a gust of wind. Shielding her eyes, Rook’s jaw dropped, as a thunderous roar ripped through the air. A dragon, scales glowing like embers, flapped above their heads. Suddenly a voice called out to them. 

"Fresh blood. A Hungry Heart. Creature come to me."

Just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. Before she could question the voice that had spoken to her mind, the air filled with an acrid stench, interrupting Rook's thoughts. She cringed at the man still writhing in the blight's grasp, trousers soaked from wetting himself. 

“Help me, please.” He cried desperately. 

“I know you” Bellara began, you’re the mayor of this town. “What are you?…” she stopped suddenly staring at the ground around them. It was then Rook noticed the wealth scattered about the space. Trails of gold coins and chests full of valuables surrounded a small cart with a broken wheel. It appeared the wagon had been no match for the mayor's greed. 

Rook seethed. “All this, for some FUCKING gold?” She roared. “There isn’t a soul alive in your town, apart from a bunch of blighted drones. And here you are stuffing your pockets before skipping town. Figlio di puttana, she spat.

“It wasn’t like that I swear” the man stuttered. “They made me, they whispered all sorts of things to me, promised me wealth. But I know better now, it won’t happen again I swear, just let me go.”

“So you can run back to the Gods?” Bellara shouted. “I say we leave him here.” 

“To what end?” Neve countered. “If he has information on the gods, we should hear him out. We need every edge we can get.”

“Yes!” The man cried, “This woman has some sense. Give me a chance.”

“Did you give the children of this village a chance?” Rook replied icily, fingering one of her throwing blades.

“I… I…” the man choked. 

“Thought not.” Rook finished. “We leave him here, it’s more of a chance than what those villagers got.”

Neve grabbed rooks arm, “You’re just going to abandon potential intel, and leave him to the mercy of… who knows what?”

“I can stab him if you prefer.” Rook quipped, fingering the silver dagger at her thigh that would release a particularly nasty toxin into the man, ensuring an excruciating death.

Neve withdrew her hand from Rook's arm, her expression cold. 

“We’re done here,” Rook muttered before turning on her companions. 

—

After reporting their rather dismal findings to Strife and receiving an impromptu visit from a shapeshifting mage called Morrigan, whom Harding had neglected to mention her previous acquaintance with, the weary group had finally made to return to the lighthouse. 

Bellara and Harding had gone through the Eluvian first, chatting animatedly about their base and where Bellara could potentially bunk, with Rook trailing a small distance behind, leaving Neve to follow up the rear. Rook had barely made it to the top of the stairs before Neve had grabbed her wrist, pausing to let Harding and Bellara exit to the courtyard before speaking. 

“What the hell was that about?” Neve asked, her icy gaze searching Rook for clues.

“Justice” Rook quipped, shrugging out of Neve’s grasp, “more or less…”.

“You left our only lead as blight bait. For all we know he was just a puppet, he might not have had any control of as actions, and sparing him could have revealed that.” Neve argued.

“Or…” Rook countered, “He was a greedy little pig who sold out his entire village for the promise of coin. And the only thing releasing him would have revealed, is if he could wet himself again in the time it took me to end his pathetic life.” Rook replied bitterly. “There’s no changing men like him.”

“Well I guess we’ll never know, will we?” Neve replied coolly, before storming off, her metal leg hammering against the floor as she left. 

Huffing, Rook continued her trek up the stairs, slamming the door to her room, even though no one was around to hear. She couldn’t understand why Neve was so upset with her. Bellara had been the first to suggest they leave the mayor to his fate, and Harding had hardly put up a fight at the suggestion. Yet Rook was the only one who seemed to earn Neve’s ire. 

Releasing an irritated growl, she quickly moved to change out of her fighting leathers. Unbuckling the various sheaths from her body, Rook lazily dumped her daggers out on the table. She knew she should clean the blighted blood from them, that it would be a pain to scrub them in the morning, but she couldn’t be bothered with the task. Flopping on the green settee, she closed her eyes. She tried to calm her mind, but a thought continued to scratch at her skull, like a cat clawing at a door, begging for entry.

Neve was right, and Rook had been wrong. 

There hadn’t been a guarantee that the mayor would have been able to provide any useful information, but in condemning the man, she had dismissed Neve’s ability as a detective. Rook had acted purely on emotion, she had swaddled vengeance in a poor disguise and dubbed it justice. Dooming the mayor to the same fate hadn’t magically revived the fallen villagers, and they were no closer to defeating the gods Rook having squandered their only lead.

A memory whispered in Rook's mind, “There is no place for emotion in killing. It’s sloppy. File it down. Make it useful.”

You’d think after two decades, she might have learned to take that advice…

Chapter Text

Amelita lay in the alley across from her family’s home. Tucked behind a crate, she curled in a ball, trying to ignore the gnawing pain in her stomach. Attempting to distract her self from the discomfort she rubbed idly at the small scar at the base of her head that she had earned from her futile attempt to abandon La Lita. Had it not been for the fishermen who had plucked her from the water and dressed her wound, it would have been a coin toss to see if she’d have drowned or bled out first. Once her saviors had returned her to the shore she had managed to make her way back to the inn.

She had planned to spend only a week in Tarifa, in the misguided hope that, should her parents return, the town was the first place they’d go. But one week soon became two, and after a month of wasting away in the small rented room, her funds slowly drying up, Lita had been forced to decide. Bartering away the few belongings of her parents, she had been able to secure passage back to Trevisso. What had taken her and her parents four days took her a fortnight to navigate herself. By the time she had returned to the city, she had felt like a stranger in her own home. Upon seeing the notice of eviction hammered to her parents' house door, the sentiment took on a whole new meaning. She had tried desperately to enter the building, only to find the doors and windows had all been nailed shut.

Despite the grief threatening to drown he,r she fought against its current,t clinging desperately to the hope that her parents would return any day, and that this would be the first spot they would look for her. Armed with that notion, she had sat on the porch of her home and waited.

The day after her arrival, she watched in horror as a group of men came to clear the house. She sobbed and clung to the workers, tearing at their sleeves, begging them not to take her family’s belongings; only for her pleas to be brushed aside, as they carried away her childhood and the only proof of her parents' existence, box by box.

She wept at the memories so cruelly stolen, and yet she waited.

Two weeks later, a new couple had moved into her beloved home. Seeing the grubby little girl on the porch, they threatened to report her to the city watch should they catch her on their doorstep again. Fearing their threats to be true,e she fled to the grimy alleyway a street over.

And yet, she waited.

As the days bled into one another, Lita had been forced to pawn off her father’s telescope for food, but the meager funds quickly ran out. Unable to part with her mother’s necklace, she had scrounged for scraps amongst the rubbish bins. She slowly grew acquainted with the hollow pang in her stomach from lack of food, and the dull ache behind her eyes due to restless nights. She had learned early on it wasn’t safe to sleep at night, and would spend hours sneaking about in the darkness, avoiding the beasts that stalked the alleyways in late hours of the evening. Only daring to doze off once the warm glow of dawn arrived, hoping that her parents might arrive with it one day.

—

It was so hot. So unbearably hot. In the weeks since Lita had taken up residence in the alleyway, Lita had never once attempted to beg for assistance. Driven by the fear of how ashamed her parents would be to find she had done so in their absence, but as she wiped the sweat from her brow, she decided she would lick the dirt off someone’s boots for a cold glass of juice, or better ye,t a bite of Gelato.

As she let her mind be carried off by the dream of frozen desserts and ice-cold horchata, Lita dozed off behind the abandoned crates she had been using as shelter. She had just begun to drift off when someone startled her awake. Clutching the small pairing knife she slept with, she swiped at them, releasing what she hoped was an intimidating snarl. A boy likely no more than a year or two older than she, yelped, jumping back to dodge her blade.

“Try to touch me again and I’ll gut you”, she hissed.

“ Che Diavolo !!” The boy exclaimed, “I wasn’t going to do anything, I just wanted to talk!” he swore, as he reached a hand into the worn satchel at his side.

For a moment, Lita tensed, gripping her blade tightly, she braced for an attack, pausing only when the boy outstretched a trembling hand, clutching a bruised apple.

“Here”. He spoke, pushing it towards her.

Lita eyed the fruit warily, cursing as her traitorous stomach let out a growl. She shook her head at the boy.

“What?” He shrugged, “It’s not pretty, but I bet it’s better than what you’ve been eating. I swear it’s safe, look..” he took a generous bite, wiping the juice from his chin before extending the apple once more.”

Lita weighed the risk of accepting his peace offering in her mind before her stomach let out another growl. Snatching the apple from the boy's hand, she quickly backed away. Feasting on the slightly mushy, but no less delicious fruit, till only the seeds remained.

The boy smiled, clearly satisfied.

“Now that you’re not so hangry, I suppose it’s time for introductions. My name is Lino.”

Lita stared at him in silence.

“Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?”

More silence.

“You’re Lita, right? The market vendors have all talked about you, how your parents died, and how you’ve been camping out here waiting for them to come back. It’s clear you’re not going to ask for help, but I’m going to give it to you anyway.” He drew his shoulders back in a clear attempt at a confident pose. “We orphans have to stick together.”

“I’m not an orphan!” she snapped. Flushing when she saw the boys' startled look. “I’m sorry, it’s just… my parents were taken, but they’re out there still, I know they’ll come back.”

He nodded. “Well, orphan or not, you need a place to stay.” He gestured for her to follow.

“I can’t leave,” she began, eyes darting across the street to her parents' home. Not that she hadn’t considered looking for help elsewhere, in fact, she had become so desperate she had considered begging even Signora Capra to take her in.

“It’s not far, I promise,” he called over his shoulder as he took off down the alley.

Lita hesitated, her eyes lingering on her house, before letting out a sigh and taking off after the boy. Lito led her through the winding alleyways, dodging under clotheslines, and climbing over fences and crates till they came to a dilapidated building. Lita examined the structure, taking in the boarded-up windows and doors, and the large soot stains painting its sides like charcoal smudged by a giant’s fingers. Climbing a series of bricks that jutted from the wall, he led her to a window on the second floor.

Crawling through the broken frame, she stood and took in the small attic. Whatever fire had once ravaged the house had also eaten a large hole in the roof. Still, it was clear from the small touches around the space that Lino had put in work to make the remaining room habitable.

“Who used to live here?” she asked, gazing at the exposed wooden beams peeking out like a ribcage through the charred floorboards.

“My family,” came his response. “I had parents and a younger sister; she was about your age.” He cast a sideways glance at Lita.

“What happened?”

“I think you can guess,” he nodded at the blackened walls.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Me too.” He replied mournfully. “Still, sitting around moping won’t bring them back. So the least I can do is make them proud.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Lita asked, brow quirked.

“By taking you in, of course.” He scoffed as if the answer had been obvious. “Tomorrow I’ll show you all the merchants that you can sweet-talk. I’m an expert.” He said, his chest puffing up ever so slightly.  “Once I’ve shown you the ropes, you just have to promise you’ll share the best stuff with me, and you can stay here as long as you like.” He grinned.

“What do you say?” He extended a hand, “C ompagnos ?”

Lita mulled over his offer for a moment. Begging for assistance hardly seemed appropriate, especially if her parents were ever to find out. Her parents had cemented a sense of self-sufficiency in her; even when times had been bleak, her parents had always remedied the situation themselves. What would they think of her pleading on the street for handouts? Her stomach growled again, and as she looked down, reaching a hand to silence it, she paused, seeing that the bones in her arms looked far more pronounced than they previously had. No doubt, thanks to the weeks of living off scraps. Can’t have a reunion with my parents if I’m not alive to see them. She thought.

Releasing a sigh, she clasped Lino’s outstretched hand.

“ Compagnos ”.

Lino’s face lit up as he shook her hand vigorously. “Just you wait, Freckles, this is going to be the start of a beautiful partnership.”

Lita cringed at the moniker, but couldn’t help but smile at the hope that Lino’s promise would be true.

—

The next day, Lino showed her which merchants would give away their bruised produce at the end of the day, and who would give a fish or a small loaf of bread for sweeping or performing some random task. Some names were familiar, many were her father’s business competitors, and others were friends who had worked in the merchants' guild alongside her parents. Lito quickly covered who to sweet-talk and who to avoid. The latter most assuredly being “Signore Porco ”.

As they surveyed the man’s stall, Lino recounted the time that he had seen the merchant once beat a man bloody for knocking over a stack of Orleasean pomegranates. Lita eyed the man warily, yet violent tendencies aside, she still did not understand where he had earned his unflattering nickname. He was by no means good-looking, and he may have had a bit of a potbelly, which seemed to commonly plague most affluent 40-year-old men in Trevisso, but aside from that, he didn’t resemble a swine in any physical sense. She had heard her parents mention Signore Mazza in passing, urging her to stay clear of his stall, but had provided no additional context as to why. She had continued to pry, of course, but had earned a smack on the head from her mother as a result. “The gods can hear you gossip, Ape ”, her mother had warned.

As she stood with Lino in the market across from the impressive stall, with its towering displays of exotic fruits and other delicacies. Lita continued to contemplate the origin of his crude moniker. She had just turned to Lino to ask him for his insight, when she was interrupted by the sound a wolf whistle, released by Mazza The intended recipient, Lita noted, being a pretty young woman walking by the man’s stall.

The girl, surely no older than 16, had ducked her head, hurrying past the man as he brazenly ogled her and winked. Blanching, the young lady sped up, quickly passing where Lita now stood, muttering under her breath just loud enough for her to hear.

“Porco”.

Pig . Lita scowled at the man. “Why doesn’t someone have him arrested?” She asked Lino.

“Word has it he’s screwing a noble, no one knows which one, but it’s enough to keep people from tattling.”  Lino sighed. “Nothing we can do about it.” He shrugged.

Lita disagreed, from word on the street, there was justice to be found through the Crow’s so long as you had the coin for a contract…but as if to remind her that there were more pressing matters at hand, her stomach growled.

Lino laughed, “Time to work.”

—

If Lino was a “master” of his operation, then Lita was nothing short of a God. Summoning a smile that her father had once donned, she haggled vendors for their unwanted goods in exchange for menial tasks with the aptitude of a wisened tradesman, refusing any goods she didn’t outright earn. “It’s not begging if I work for them”, she reasoned with herself. Her first few interactions with those who knew of her misfortune had been laced with pitying glances and empty condolences. But as the weeks waned on, the comments had faded, as did the pain in Lita’s heart at the mention of her parents.

She soon realized that she surpassed Lino when it came to providing for their household, as proven by her daily haul that was nearly double the size of Lino’s. “Beautiful partnership for whom?” Lita thought, recalling their agreement. As charming as Lino appeared to be, it had its limits, especially when he ran his mouth. How the boy had not starved to death before recruiting her was a mystery, but it seemed her skill had more than accounted for his lack.

The busy days of earning their next meal would end with Lita stopping by her old home before heading back to the attic. And each day her hope shrank by that much more, but it still warmed her heart that Lino shared her hope of her parents' return. Though she would never say it to his face, she doubted she would have survived had she not met the gap-toothed boy. Loath as she was to admit it, they had become family.

As fall approached, the wind grew colder, and in turn, the markets would grow shorter as winter made its way to Trevisso.

Lino acted as if nothing was wrong, but anxiety gnawed at Lita’s chest. Goods tended to be more expensive in the winter months, and they couldn’t rely on the vendor’s generosity as they had before. As Lita ruminated on a brisk autumn morning, her thoughts were interrupted by the fiery sound of Signora Serafino arguing with a customer, “I told you already, I have to close the stall early to run to the docks. That coglione Costa is holding my shipment hostage, so if you want your produce, you’ll have to buy it now.  It’s bad enough that I’m losing money heading there, I don’t need to waste any more time bickering with you because you’re too weak to tote around a few groceries.” Lita’s ears perked at this news.

“ Perdono ”, Lita spoke, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I’d be happy to deliver a message for you, Signora, say for 4 apples and an orange?”

“Ah Signora Florentino”, the merchant woman smiled. “I’d be grateful for it, but I’m afraid my message needs less of a delivery than it needs to be magically branded into that brute's head. If I don’t talk Costa into getting my shipment here by tomorrow night, I’ll be peddling rotten produce for the rest of the week.”

“What if I can guarantee you get your shipment here tonight?” Lita asked.

The woman laughed. “I think you’d have a better chance of facing down a blighted monster, but I’m game if you are.” Writing a small note on a piece of paper, the woman quickly sealed the message and handed it to Lita. “If you can get him to deliver the shipment tonight, I’ll give you a copper and a whole bag of oranges.”

“Done,” Lita replied, snatching the note and taking off towards the docks. She had quickly memorized the maze of Trevisso’s alleyways from her initial nights spent wandering, and quickly traced a path through the city, shimmying between narrow walls and scaling fences, she found herself at the docks in record time.

Lita recognized the building next to the docks as Signore Costa's residence. Her father had often hired one of the man’s boats to handle shipments, and Lita had the chance to tag along more than once. Costa was more brusk than a bulldog, but with a whole bag of oranges and a copper at stake, not even the man’s bark could deter her.

Pushing through the faded wooden door, she entered the building.

“Bon Giorno, Signore Costa. Message for you.” Lita sang, extending the note to a tall balding man behind the counter.

“Ah, Lita.” He remarked, “It’s been some time since I’ve seen you, not since your parents…”

“I’d love to catch up with you Signore, as it’s been far too long since we’ve chatted, but I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a hurry, so if you would be so kind…” she gestured towards the note.

The man, seeing through her attempt to divert the topic, nodded, taking the note and breaking its seal, his eyes glanced over the writing before he huffed. “She wants the shipment by tonight? Col cavolo .”

“Come Signore,” Lita crooned, lacing her words with as much sweetness as she could muster. “I’m sure a man of your caliber would have no issue getting Signora Serfino’s crates to her that quickly. If you don’t, she’ll be forced to close shop for a few days.” Lita placed a hand over her heart, drawing her face into a mask of concern.

“Well, she should have thought of that before she…!” he quickly shut his mouth.

That confirms it. Lita thought. She had quickly learned that the one thing the market stalls traded in more than any other good was gossip. And she had just so happened to hear about Signora Serafino turning down Costa in a most magnificent fashion, that may have ended in her suggesting he take a long walk off a short pier. Lita had been sweeping the woman’s stall as she had heard other merchants chatting about it. It was common knowledge that Costa had fancied the feisty produce vendor for years, but sadly, his skill in procuring goods did not translate into procuring him a date with the woman.

Her mother’s words came to mind: The gods can hear you gossip, Ape. But surely the gods wouldn’t mind if a little gossip was used for good…

Lita’s smile turned saccharine. “What if I could guarantee you a date with Miss Serafino?”

The man gaped, his mouth flapping as he stammered. “Who said… I don’t.. what do you…” He paused. “How?”

“Guarantee the delivery by tonight, and I’ll help.”

He eyed her doubtfully.

“I swear. If you don’t get that date, I’ll deliver messages for you for a month, free of charge”. She swore.

He furrowed his brow. Mulling over her offer in his mind.

A second passed, then two. Before he let out a huff. “Fine”.

“Put it in writing,” Lita demanded, recalling one of the many rules of bartering her father had drilled into her mind.

Costa chuckled. “You’re your father’s daughter, alright.”

Tears suddenly pricked Lita’s eyes at the comparison, but she quickly blinked them away as the man passed a sealed note of reply to her.

She nodded her thanks before tucking the note into her satchel. “Now, go ask Signora Serafino out again…”

“I already tried that once, she made it very clear that she’d…” he growled.

“Don’t interrupt you old bulldog!” Lita snapped. “Andraste Presservame!” She exclaimed,  “And you wonder why she turned you down?” She shook her head. “Go and ask her out again, but this time take her flowers. Purple ones. But not Lilacs. She’s allergic to Lilacs. She wants to be romanced, and asking her out for a pint does not count as romance.”

The man looked gobsmacked, retracing her words, Lita realized that she had let slip his nickname of “bulldog”. She opened her mouth to apologize. But he cut her off.

“How on earth do you know that?” He questioned.

She shrugged. Lita had often caught Signora Seraphino reading a romance novel while tucked into her stall and had overheard the woman gushing over the romantic gestures of the characters therein.

She had also been present during the unfortunate event, the poor woman had tested a lilac perfume from a traveling vendor, and had broken out in hives. “I have my ways.” She smirked. “Now, you’ve got a delivery to prepare, and I’ve got a message to return.” She winked and raced out the door before the man could change his mind.

“I don’t believe it.” Signore Serafino stared wide-eyed as Signore Costa pulled up in a cart bearing crates of produce.

Lita could hardly believe it herself. She had refused payment from the woman until her goods had been delivered. But as the sun had set, she had nearly lost hope, when the bulldog had come trotting up in his wagon, a bouquet of lavender and irises in hand.

The man had awkwardly leaped off the wagon and pressed a kiss to Miss Serafino’s hand before uttering an apology for the delayed shipment. Lita tried not to grimace at the poor attempt and turned to Signora Serafinoto to find the woman giggling and smiling like a schoolgirl at the bumbling man.

As promised, Lita had been given a bag of oranges and a copper from a now blushing Miss Seraphino. And had beamed when Signore Costa pressed an additional copper into her hand.

Racing home to Lino, Lita struggled to scale the wall on account of the massive bag of oranges she carried in one arm.

“What the…” Lino remarked as Lita tumbled into the space, oranges threatening to spill onto the floor, before abruptly shutting his mouth as Lita extended the coppers toward him.

“I have an idea.” Lita grinned. That night, fingers sticky from a dinner of oranges, the two chatted animatedly about their new business, before drifting off to sleep, bellies full and hearts brimming with hope.

—

The next day brought Lita back to Signora Seraphino’s Stall.

“Good Morning, Signora! How was your date?”

“Lita!” The woman grinned. “It was absolutely wonderful,” she sighed. The woman proceeded to chat wistfully about her dinner with Signore Costa. Lita nodded along, only half listening, till there was a lull in the conversation.

“So! Are you in need of my candle hop services again today?” Lita asked, bouncing with anticipation.

“Candle hop?” The woman tilted her head.

“Yes! Like the enchanted messengers in Minrathous!” Lita had listened in amazement as her father had told her of the magical dolls used for sending messages in the famed city of mages. She had shared the story with Lino, and they had agreed it was an apt name for their new blossoming business.

“Oh! I’m afraid not, dear.” The merchant replied.

Lita deflated.

“But Signore Sardina does. After hearing about the job you did yesterday, he was hoping you might be able to work your magic.”

“Thank you!” Lita grinned before racing to the fishmonger's stall.

“Signore Sardina! How can the candlehops help today?”…

“Ah, Miss Florentino”. The slender old man replied, “I need to let my wife know I’ll be coming home late, since I’ll be playing dice with a few of the other merchants.”

Lita nodded, “That’ll be one copper. Any special requests?” She raised a brow.

The man chuckled. “Manage to get a message back from her that isn’t a death threat, and I’ll throw in a filet of tuna.”

“Done”.

Chapter Text

Over the next months the Candlehop’s business thrived. Soon enough Lino had joined in on the venture. Though perhaps not as persuasive as Lita, he knew the town well, and could race through it streets faster than a cat chasing a rat in the canal. Some days provided more profit than others, but the harsh winter had been bearable thanks to additional coin they had brought in. Months passed and the cold and rainy days of winter ebbed into spring, bringing with it warmer weather, till the day Lita had dreaded dawned. Lying on the small straw mattress of the attic, Lita opened her puffy eyes, she had cried herself to sleep the night before knowing It would be her first birthday without her parents. Looking around the space she quietly thanked the maker that Lino was no where in sight. The boy had pestered her to no end shortly after they had met, begging to know when her birthday was, and after a week she had finally divulged it just to shut him up. She could only hope after months of busying themselves with their candlehop business that the somewhat scatterbrained boy had forgotten. Readying herself for the day she made her way to the market. By the end of the day she had managed to make two coppers, as well as secure a pristine loaf of bread and a small jar of honey, but amidst her errands, had yet to run into Lino. As the sun started to set she began to wonder if he had perhaps gone home.

She began her trek back to the small attic when she heard the cry of a familiar voice sound from the direction of Signore Porco’s stall. Her heart plummeted. Lita raced across the square, skidding to a halt, eyes wide with horror as she took in the scene before her. Fruit lay scattered around The Pig’s normally immaculate stall, and there in the midst of the mess, Lino lay curled up in a ball screaming in agony as the burly merchant stomped his heavy boot into the boy’s side. She watched one of her customers, Signore Piuma, a frail man, quickly put a hand on the pig’s shoulder urging him to stop, only to be thrust backward with an angry shove.

As the brute raised his foot once more, Lita charged, lowering her head like an angry bull she rammed into the man’s stomach at full speed, knocking the wind from his chest, with a small “oomph” as he fell back a step. She made to swing at him, but instead cried out as he kicked her stomach, sending her backwards. Hitting the ground with a painful thud, she quickly threw herself over Lino, shielding his body with her own just in time as the man’s boot came down on her back, ripping a scream from her throat. At this point, their spectacle had drawn a crowd of bystanders, and more than one vendor rushed to haul the now fuming pig away from Lita. Seizing the opening, she quickly threw Lino’s arm over her shoulder, hoisting him to his feet, hissing as they hobbled away.

“What the hell happened?” She snapped.

“Happy Birthday Freckles”. Lino chuckled, his laugh quickly turning into a pained cough. He gasped suddenly, clutching his side. Lita quickly pulled them into an alley way, easing Lino onto a crate. “I was trying to get Porco to pay me the copper he owed me, but the cheapskate claimed I took too long.”

“Why would you argue with that stronzo?” Lita chided. “And over a copper at that? You should have walked away dummy”

“I needed one more to get your birthday gift.”

“Well then you could have asked me for one!” She practically shouted. 

“Then it wouldn’t be a real birthday gift would it, you dummy. Anyways when he refused, I tried to knick one of his fancy fruits but sent half the lot tumbling to the ground. I slipped on one trying to run away.”

Lita shook her head “And you wondered why the Crows never tried to recruit you?…”

This earned a small laugh from Lino before he doubled over, crying out in pain.

Lita quickly looped the boys bag over his head before pulling his shirt up to examine his chest, gasping at the giant purple bruise covering his right side. She imagined she would have a similar mark on her back come tomorrow if it hadn’t already formed. Trying to keep a placid expression, she carefully reached out to feel his ribs, she had barely touched the injury when Lito yelped, suddenly coughing into his hand, freezing as he withdrew his palm. Lita looked down, sucking in a breath as she noted the blood on the boys fingers. 

“We have to get you to a physician” 

“But your birthday gift…”

“Don’t cough blood on me and I’ll consider this birthday not to be a total loss.” She argued, pulling him back to his feet.

After a laborious trek through the back alleys, they finally found themselves at a small building in the center of town, a small worn wooden sign carved in the shape of a plague mask swung above the door. Knocking Lita waited an excruciating moment before the the door creaked open, revealing a whethered old man behind it. As Lita opened her mouth to speak she was cut short by another hacking cough from Lino, her heart freezing as she saw the blood now drenching the boys sleeve.

The physician didn’t hesitate “Bring him in and get him on the table, quickly.” 

Lita hurried, practically dragging Lino’s limp body into the building. Murmuring a word of thanks as the doctor helped life him onto a small wooden table at the center. Pulling up Lino’s shirt he tsked, taking in the mottled bruise on the boys chest that had doubled in size. Rummaging through a leather bag he pulled out a long pipe with a cone on either end, holding one end to his ear he placed the other on Lino’s chest, avoiding where the bruising seemed the worst.

Lita held her breath as she waited. 

Lino breathed, once, twice, a third time, before the doctor retreated.

“Well?” Lita urged.

“He has multiple broken ribs, and it appears one may have punctured his lung. I’m amazed you managed to walk here. Shall we talk in the other room for a moment young lady?”

Lita nodded curtly before following the physician into what appeared to be a small kitchen. Its walls stood lined with a number of strange herbs and ingredients, and a kettle boiled over a fire in the corner. She waved her hand urging the man to continue their conversation. “So… what do we do now? Is there a potion you have or can you bandage it?”

The doctor turned to her, his expression sobering. “I’m afraid my dear, all I can do now is ease his passing.”

The man’s words sunk into Lita slowly, like a child watching a paper boat slowly submerge in a pond, she realized too late their consequence. 

“No.” Was all she could reply.

“Young lady…” the physician began.

“That’s not possible.” She quipped, cutting him off. “You can fix it, you have to.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple, child. Were we dealing with a slight fracture he could easily recover, but one of his ribs has been snapped in two. And from the amount of blood he’s coughed up it’s clear his lungs…” He hesitated, as if considering whether he should continue to share such gory details with a child, but upon seeing Lita’s stony expression he finished. “His lungs have already filled with blood. He has an hour or two at most.”

Lita nodded numbly. “So what can you do?”

“I can give him a sedative to eliminate the pain and have his remains seen to properly. That is if…” he glanced downward, chagrined, “if you have the coin for it.”

“How much?”

“2 silvers.”

Lita blanched, it would take her a month to manage that sum. She only had the two coppers she had earned that day. wracking her brain she considered what she might be able to pawn off when she recalled Lino’s comment about not having enough for a gift. Reaching into his pack, Lita pulled out the small coin purse that lay tucked amongst the random bits and bobs Lino always toted around. Emptying its contents onto the table she counted 199 coppers, a kings ransom by her humble standards. Willing her hands to stop trembling, she passed the coins to the doctor, who quickly pocketed them and set about to work mixing the sedative. 

They returned to the table where Lino lay, his now pale face glistening with sweat, and his breathing growing more labored by she second.

“The sedative will work quickly, so if you’ve anything you wish to say before he… drifts off. You’d best say it now,” the physician whispered for only Lita to hear.

She nodded, biting back the tears in her eyes. Crossing the room, she sat down on the stool next to the table and gently grasped the boy’s hand. Lino’s eyes slowly cracked open. “Hey Freckles. Why do you look you’re about to cry? Am I… what did the doctor say?” He asked his rattling voice taking on an edge of worry. 

“Everything is fine!” Lita quickly answered, her heart stinging with a pang of guilt at the lie. “I was just paying the doctor when I found all the money you’d saved up for my birthday and it made me cry.”

“Oh that.” He grinned. “ I had to save up for three months. But just you wait and see what I’m getting you, once I earn that last copper.” 

She laughed, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I can’t wait.” She paused, “Thank you, Lino.”

“Don’t thank me yet, at least wait till you get the gift first.” He argued.

“No dummy, not for that.” She laughed horsely, “Thank you for everything, for finding me and taking me in, for letting me boss you around, for… for being the brother I never had.”

Lino’s eyes softened. “Thanks for letting me be a big brother again,” he replied. Flashing her a weak smile, before turned suddenly to cough, blood splattering on his sleeve and staining his lips crimson. 

The physician passed Lita a small damp cloth, she gingerly wiped the boys lips, before dabbing at his feverish brow.

“The doctor made you some medicine, it’ll put you to sleep for a while but when you wake up we’ll head home,” she spoke, willing her voice not to quake.

Lino spoke through ragged breaths. “The merchant… can’t hold your gift…we have to get it before… someone else buys it.” He gripped Lita’s hand, “you promise… we’ll go tomorrow?”

“I promise” she smiled, squeezing his hand gently, as she felt a hot tear streak down her face.

Her false oath seemed to put Lino at ease. He nodded to the physician who gently raised up the boy’s head to help him swallow the milky substance from the small cup he held. 

Lita worried for a moment, that Lino’s pain might be too great, but the doctor had spoken true. Soon the boys eyes drooped with sleep, his brow previously creased in pain, softened. His breathing, though still labored, became more even, as the rest of his body relaxed. Lita sat for an hour, listening to his rattling breaths, feeling his heartbeat pulse softly through his finger tips, until on the second hour it stilled. Choking back a sob, she pulled out her final copper and pressed it to the boys palm, before rising from the table. Nodding to the doctor, she pushed out of the building into the night. Walking to the canal she looped Lino’s bag over her shoulder before gently tossing it into the water and watching it sink, desperately wishing she could do the same with the pain in her heart. 

She couldn’t return to the attic, it had been Lino’s home, not hers, and it somehow felt wrong to return without him. With nowhere to return, she wandered. For hours she stumbled along the cobbled streets, body so numb that she had long since forgotten about the bruise blossoming on her back, until she leaned against a building to rest. As she slid down the wall she suddenly cried out when her shoulder met the hard surface. Touching a hand to the injury, she quickly retracted it, hissing at the throbbing pain that flared in response. She had been so preoccupied with Lino, she had not thought to ask about treatment for herself. 

Lino.

Once again tears flooded her eyes, as a voice she hadn’t heard in months rasped into her mind. 

“If only he hadn’t met you. If only you weren’t such a burden. He’d still be here… it’s all your fault.”

Lita nodded at the voice’s words in silent agreement, her eyes welling with tears. Yet as her fingers brushed across her injury once more she paused. 

A fire, she thought, took both flint and steel to spark. Just like the loss of her parents, Lino’s death had not been her fault alone. But unlike her parents captors, the man behind Lino’s loss hadn’t sailed away… and now, not even the maker himself was going to stop her from making the pig pay.

— 

Had she the funds, Lita would have put a contract on the pig’s head immediately. But destitute as she was, she would have to take justice into her own hands. And if she couldn’t take the man’s life, his coin would have to suffice. 

That night she traced the same path over and over again, rehearsing the route in her mind, till she was satisfied. From the pigs stall, through the market, down the beggars alleyway, a right at the chantry, through the hole in fence, and straight through to the drowned district. She’d only have one chance at escaping, any slip-up, and at best she’d be arrested by the city guard… and at worst… 

She brushed a hand over the knife in her satchel.

Well…she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

 “Oh but you do”, the voice whispered in the back of her mind. 

Shaking off the thought, she picked a handful of rocks off of the ground, sorting through till she found a few stones of the proper size, just barely the width of a copper, yet with enough heft to be decently thrown. 

On rainy winter days when the markets were closed, she and Lino had often been confined to the attic. With little more to do than daydream, they had found ways to pass the time, their favorite being “throwing knives”. Of course they didn’t use actual knives, but instead used a series of stones they had collected. They had tried it once with the paring knife Lita always kept in her bag but after Lino nearly losing a finger, Lita determined it would remain their last attempt.

Throwing the stones at a series of old tin cups placed in a row, they would attempt to “kill” the target by knocking it down, the one with the most kills, would have first pick of whatever food they brought in the next day. Lita had delighted in the spoils of victory at first, giggling whenever Lino claimed “He wouldn’t go easy on her next time.” But after a month of obliterating the boy, Lita may or may not have let a stone slip here or there. For all his talk about joining the Crows one day, she thought even Signora Capra might have better aim than the boy. 

Lino…

Lita gripped the stones tighter. Pushing the memory from her head. Walking to the end of the alley, she scraped a small target on the wall before retreating to the end. One by one she threw the stones, chiding herself whenever she missed the mark. She would only have one shot, she couldn’t afford to miss. Hours passed, it wasn’t till dawn broke and her arm ached, that Lita deserted her target clutching the single stone she deemed worthy of her task, and made her way to the market.

—

Tucked in a corner across from the Pig’s stall, she watched as the bastard set up his oh so perfect displays. It took all of her willpower not to rush out and attack the man when she set eyes on him. 

Patience, she reminded herself.

So she waited and watched the despicable creature. Watched as he strutted about his stall, spewing lies about his wares and drooling over every woman and girl that was unfortunate enough to pass through the radius of his lecherous gaze. She watched every coin that made its way into his palm, and into the the coin purse at his side, that grew fuller by the hour. As the sun began its descent in the sky, Lita took a final breath before emerging from her space. Creeping behind a crate, she clasped the stone in her palm. 

Glancing out towards the pigs stall, she eyed the large stack of golden fruits at the front, selecting a large one near the bottom as her target. Muttering a quick prayer to whichever gods would listen, she drew in a breath and raised her hand.

“For Lino”, she whispered. 

She released the stone.

For a moment the world stood still as the small rock sailed through the air, but as if guided by the Maker himself, it met its mark. Hitting the fruit with a soft thud and knocking it free along with its mountain of brethren.

The golden orbs spilled onto the earth in a volley, as Signore Porco let out a shout. Scrambling to the front of his stall he whipped his head back and forth searching for the perpetrator who accosted his stall, only to find no one in sight. Cursing, he knelt on the ground and began to pick up the errant fruits. 

Lita reached into her bag, her hand clutching around the small paring knife, watching as the man continued to round up his produce. 

“Not yet,” she whispered, Heart hammering as she crouched in anticipation. The man moving to all fours, reached for a fruit hiding under his stall, his backside waving about in the air like a pig rooting about the earth. As he struggled to reach for the escapee, the pouch at his side, leaden with a full day's worth of coin, lay exposed. 

Now! She shouted in her mind. Springing forward she raced for the stall. Before the man could even register her movement, she had sliced the leather cord of the pouch, freeing it from the belt of its gluttonous master. Kicking the burly man’s behind with all her might, she watched with glee as he launched underneath his stall with a yelp of pain. 

“Mangia merda, porco!” she shouted, sprinting through the market as a chorus of shouts and laughter from the marketgoers sounded behind her.

“THIEF” the swine roared. “GUARDS, CALL THE GUARDS”.

Lita dared a glance back to see the man emerge from his stall, face red as a tomato, and eyes flush with rage as he locked his sights on her. Throwing her hand up in a crude gesture, she grinned, but her victory was short lived, as a nearby guard shouted at her and began to give chase.

“Uh oh”, she breathed, before turning and taking off again, darting between barrels and crates, and shoving past market goers with out so much as an apology.

As she sprinted down the Beggar's alleyway, she drew the knife across the coin pouch, its contents spilling out, releasing a harmony of clinking sounds as the coins hit the road beneath her. “Help yourselves!” She shouted, grinning as the beggars behind her scrambled on all fours, clambering over the sudden donation that rained from above. The guard tailing her shouted, attempting to shove away the urchins now blocking his path with little success. 

Lita pushed on towards the chantry, turning down the alleyway, sprinting harder than she’d ever run, her body primed from her months traipsing the city delivering messages. Just under the fence, then one more street, she thought. She could practically taste the triumph on her tongue. Racing down the street she spotted the fence, it was then that her heart lurched. 

The ten-foot barrier was normally impassable aside from a small hole in the base, a hole that last night she had been able to squeeze through perfectly. A hole, that in the hours since, had been boarded up. Panic crept its way up her throat as she clawed at the boards, pulling with all her might. 

But they didn’t budge. 

“Think Lita, think.” She hissed, running the map of her many candle-hop routes through her head till she settled on an alternative. Retracing her path, she sprinted back down the alleyway. Going an alternate route might put her in the path of the guards or worse the pig himself, but what choice did she have? Sprinting down the road behind the Chantry she looped around the block, ducking in an alley when she saw a guard. Waiting till they had passed, she dared a glance at him only to find another two guards patrolling in his place, and a familiar figure marching up to them.

“Where the hell is the little rat?” The pig shouted.

“Calm down, Signore.” One of the guards replied, “She couldn’t have gotten far.” 

“Who do you think you are, telling me to calm down??”He roared, spittle flying in the guard's face. “No one steals from me. NO ONE. What kind of sorry excuse of a guard lets a little girl slip through their fingers?” He snarled, shoving the guard backward. 

The second guard stepped forward, “Assaulting a guard will land you two days in the stocks”, he threatened.

The pig sneered. “Oh, I don’t think it will. In fact, I’d be more worried about what Captain Montalto will have in store for you once he finds out about your slip-up today.”

The guards paled. “You know the Captain?…”

The pig smirked, “You could say that…”

Lita scowled, recalling rumors of of the Pig’s noble “acquaintance” but was quickly snapped out of her eavesdropping, by the sound of voices down the alleyway.

“Check down here before closing off the next street.” Called a voice behind her. 

Cursing, Lita peeked into the street. Silently willing the pig to walk in the opposite direction. She stood, heart racing, as the sound of footsteps came closer. The pig began to turn away, just as Lita caught the form of a figure out of the corner of her eye.

Times up, she thought and darted from space. She had just stepped out when her eyes locked with the Pig’s.

“THERE SHE IS”. He shouted pointing at her, face blooming with a reddened hue once more.

No, no, NO… Why did he turn back around?, she thought, as she took off down the street, the guards following in close pursuit, and The Pig trailing slightly behind. 

She willed her legs to move faster as she raced down another street, her lungs burning as if they’d been set ablaze. The guards were gaining on her, and she quickly concluded there was no way she was going to outrun them. The map of the city flashed through her mind once more, when an idea overtook the thoughts spinning in her mind. Halting in her tracks, she immediately broke right. She raced down a winding alleyway, darting under lines of clothes set to dry in the spring sun, a small spark of hope alighting, as she heard the guards struggle to navigate the laundry leaden trap. It hadn’t bought her much time, but it would have to be enough. Turning down the alleyway she spotted her refuge amongst the dozens of crates lining its sides. Diving behind a narrow stack she tucked in her legs, and slapped a hand over her mouth, willing her breathing to quiet. 

Seconds passed, before the sound of footsteps thundered by her. 

“I don’t see her.” The first guard replied.  

“Keep going!” Roared a voice further behind them. “If you let her get away again you’re finished, you hear me??”

Lita listened to the pair take off down the alleyway, and waited for the Pig to follow. 

The man huffed and puffed like an asthmatic cow, his pace slowing as he made his way down the alleyway. Lita waited, hand shaking as she continued to press it over her mouth. Seconds passed. She listened as closely as she could but struggled to hear anything over the sound of her heart hammering in her ears. Her feet began to turn numb as she kneeled on the muddy cobblestone, if she waited any longer, her legs would be too stiff to escape, but she couldn’t risk him seeing her. Shifting her weight, she attempted to move her feet ever so slightly.

A loud crash sounded next to her.

Shit.

She stared in horror at the crate that had tumbled off of her hiding spot. 

Please let him be gone, she begged in her mind. 

“You’re a sneaky little rat aren’t you?” Came a voice at the end of the alleyway. 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Thought you could run to your little shithole and hide did you?” The sound of wood splintering thundered out, as the pig kicked a rotting crate. 

“Looks like you thought wrong”. 

Another crash. 

“How about you save me the trouble of kicking through every damn crate here, and come out to play hmm?” 

“Like hell”, Lita thought. Moving her feet as lightly as she could, she tried to work the blood back into them. She might not be able to outrun the guards, but she could sure as hell outrun the pig. 

“No? Well then”. The man growled before wrecking another crate.

“I’d expect nothing less from a little coward like you. You couldn’t finish what you started yesterday when I beat that little friend of yours to a pulp.”

Lita froze.

Make him hurt.  Crooned a voice in Lita’s mind. 

“Seeing as your friend wasn’t with you today, I imagine the little pest is gone.” He spat onto the street. “Good riddance”. 

Make him bleed. Whispered the voice.

 Her hand slid to the small knife in her bag, her knuckles turning white as she grasped it.

“Is that what this was about? Did you think you were gonna be some great avenger?” He let out a cruel laugh, “All you’re going to be, is a shitstain on my boot, just like your friend.” 

Make him pay. The voice urged. 

Lita rose from the crate and stepped into the alleyway. Her body shaking with fury. 

“There you are, Rat.” The Pig smirked with satisfaction.

Her vision went red as she sprinted at the man, letting out a snarl. The pig met her charge, kicking out with his boot to catch her in the stomach. A move that had worked once on her yesterday, but wasn’t going to work again. Dodging his leg, she let the man fall forward, slicing her knife through the right side of his face as he came into reach, grinning as he howled in pain.

Turning around she lunged to slice him again and was met with a blow from his fist. Pain flared across her face as she was thrust backward, her knife flying from her hands. Turning, she scrambled on the ground reaching to retrieve the fallen blade. Her fingers had just grasped the handle when she was pulled back by her hair. Swinging her arm back with all her might, she thrust the knife into the man, praying the point would hit something vital. As the blade found its purchase, the Pig roared in agony before throwing Lita into the wall. As she crashed through a pile of crates, she cried out, as the splintered wood dug into her already wounded back. 

The pig reached down, pulling at the small knife that protruded from the top of his thigh, a sickening squelch sounding as it left his flesh.

She had one shot.

One shot. 

And she had missed. 

“You’re gonna pay now, puttana.” He spat, as he hobbled towards her, brandishing the blood-soaked blade. 

Lita desperately rolled off of the broken crates and tried to stand, only to collapse to the ground as her legs gave out beneath her. The pig let out a mirthful laugh. He stood above her, watching her flounder as he raised the blade above his head, before bringing it down towards her chest. Lita flung her hands up desperately, praying to gods for strength to block the man’s blow, knowing full well it was futile. 

I’m sorry Mama and Papa, she thought, as a tear streaked down her cheek. 

A blur swept across her vision, as a loud crack rang through the air. Lita glanced down at her chest, half expecting to see a blade there, only to find herself whole. A second crack sounded, and the pig let out a howl as the knife went flying out of his hand into the alleyway. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He shouted, clutching a hand to his chest, as his eyes lit with newfound rage. 

“Quite the ironic question coming from a man assaulting a child, don’t you think?” Replied a feminine voice. 

“I’m warning you.” The pig growled. “Walk away if you know what’s good for you.”

“I’m afraid empty threats don’t work on me.”The woman remarked coolly.

The pig scoffed. “Empty? If you had any idea who I am then you’d know…”

“I know exactly who you are Signore Mazza” she retorted, cutting him off, “and of the company you keep.” 

“How do you…?” The pig stammered, retreating as the woman stepped forward.

“Not a very observant one, is he?” The woman remarked, casting Lita a sideways glance before turning her attention back to the Pig. 

“Your noble friend has been cleaning up an awful lot of your messes lately, hasn’t she? I can’t imagine her husband would continue to cover up your incidents should he find out the more intimate details of your relationship with his wife?” 

The Pig paled. 

“But perhaps Captain Montalto is more forgiving than he appears?", she smiled. "Care to find out?” 

The pig shook his head vigorously. Lita stared in awe, never before had she seen the man rendered speechless.

“A word of advice then.” The woman’s tone turned icy, “Should you wish to avoid finding yourself on the wrong side of a blade, I suggest you behave more docilely. If I hear word of any more of your violent outbursts, I will see to it that you are dealt with personally. And I assure you, by the time we are through with you, that..” she gestured to the wound still seeping on the man’s thigh, “will look like a paper cut in comparison.” 

Lita watched as a dark spot appeared on the Pig’s trousers in between his now trembling legs, and cringed as the stench of urine filled the air.

“Now get out of my sight.” The woman finished. 

The man hobbled away as quickly as his shaking legs could carry him. Lita watched his departure for only a moment before the woman spoke again. 

“Foolish child.” She remarked, scowling at Lita. “I’m surprised you would make such a mistake. I expected better from the little candlehop the market seems to always chatter about. 

Lita flushed. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” The woman questioned. “I don’t want to hear an empty apology, I want to hear what your mistake was.”

“I…” Lita stammered. “I shouldn’t have stolen.”

“Tsk.” The woman waved a hand. “Stealing from swine is hardly a sin. No.” She paused, “Your mistake, was letting your emotions drive you. Emotions are sloppy. Sharpen them, then wield them. What did you plan do if you had killed the man? Were you willing to rot in prison? To perhaps be executed as well? Would you so quickly exchange your vengeance for your soul?”

A chill ran down Lita’s spine as she recalled the old poem the woman referred to. One Lita had not heard since she was a small child. She stammered, cut by the sharp comments, she opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by the woman’s reply.

“No. A single sting is not worth your life, little ape.” 

Lita turned over the woman’s words in her mind. Her heart stung at the use of the nickname her mother had so often called her.

“I take it you had good reason for attacking that pig?” The woman questioned. 

Lita nodded, “He… he killed my friend.”

The woman’s expression softened. “I had heard of the incident yesterday. I am sorry little ape.”

Lita nodded. 

“Have you any place to stay?”

Lita shook her head. 

The woman sighed, pondering a moment before extending her hand.

“Come Ape.”

Lita tentatively accepted the woman’s hand and held back a gasp as she lifted Lita to her feet with a surprising amount of strength. 

“Where are we going?” Lita asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it.

“Curious little candlehop.” The woman’s lips turned upward, betraying the slightest hint of a smile. She held to Lita with one arm while grasping her cane in the other, its wood tapping gently on the stone beneath them as they walked. 

“To my nest.” She replied. 

Chapter Text

Rook knew she should apologize to Neve. But the following days had failed to present an appropriate opportunity. Between reliving their glorious failure of disrupting Solas’s ritual, chasing down the Lyrium dagger, fighting a scourge of blighted creatures, and the discovery of Harding's newfound powers, Rook had been too preoccupied. At least that’s what she told herself as she sat across from Neve at the dinner table, feigning an air of indifference as the mage shot her icy looks over the course of their meal. 

After sensing the discomfort of Bellara and Harding and the frigid tension in the air, Rook had muttered an excuse about needing to unpack before retreating to her bedroom. Pushing through the doors of the space, she scowled at the large aquarium that took up the better part of the room. The fade had provided the perfect quarters for her other companions, so why it had seen fit to decorate her space with one of her greatest fears was beyond her. Pushing down the panic creeping into her lungs at the sight of the aquatic display, she preoccupied herself with unpacking the small bag of her belongings and proceeded to adorn the space with the few items she had managed to take with her on her travels.

A weathered crow emblem, its beak dull from the years of use. And a small indentation from the time, the metal insignia that had once stopped a knife from going through her chest. 

An Antaam Commander pin from her impromptu attack on a group of soldiers driving a caravan of slaves. 

A letter from the 5th talon, condemning said attack, and notifying her of her “temporary” suspension from the Crows. The usually neat handwriting, uncharacteristically shaky and splotched with ink, a clear sign of how furious the Talon had been while writing the missive. 

A small rogue kit, filled with various lock picks,  ingredients, and small vials of poison, the pristine labels bearing the typical meticulousness of the 5th talon. Rook gently hovered her fingers over the precious concoctions, making a mental note of which ones she was running low on. Stopping over an empty vial that read “kicking the hornet's nest”. Running her fingers over the worn label, a rueful smile pulled at her lips. The poison was one of the 5th talon's more unique creations, and one she would have to ask him directly for a refill of. But that likely wasn’t going to happen any time soon, unless… 

She sighed. 

“Neve isn’t the only one who deserves an apology, I suppose.”  She mumbled. Before placing the vial back and closing the small box with a “click”. 

She continued to unpack, storing her few outfits in the wardrobe. Many of them fighting leathers, all of them varying shades of black and navy blue.

 Pulling out a worn sketch book from her pack, she gently removed a few loose leaves of paper adorned with charcoal sketches, smiling as she hung them on the wall.

A murder of crows, perched high in the rafters of a building, waiting impatiently to be fed. 

A small black cat with ragged ears, batting at a dark feather, no doubt plucked from the outfit of a crow. 

A slender man with a sharp mustache and goatee bent over a table, fixating on a series of ingredients and glass vials.

A beautiful elven woman with a glorious mane of curls, leaping gracefully over a rooftop as if performing a lethal dance. 

An older woman, grasping a crow topped cane, her eyes cold yet determined, and the hint of a rare smile pulling at her lips. 

A young assassin, swathed in fighting leathers, lethal blades at either side, nearly blending into the night, as if sculpted in shadow. His handsome face and warm brown eyes, the only exception to the Man's otherwise hardened appearance. A man that Rook had not seen in well over a year, and had not spoken to for far longer. She considered for a moment, hanging the sketch with the others, but instead slid the parchment back into the sketchbook before snapping it shut. 

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the remaining item. Running her hands over the fraying blue fabric bundle, she gingerly placed it in a drawer of a nearby dresser. Not daring to unwrap the fabric and peer at the object within, for fear of the memories that may arise in doing so.

Even as she shut away the small bundle, thoughts of its giver flitted across her mind. Making her way to the small green couch in the middle of the room, she curled onto its mattress. Closing her eyes, she steadied her breathing, willing her mind to clear. After a moment, the buzzing in her brain turned silent, and a distant voice called out to her as she submitted to the pull of sleep. 

—-

Rook walked down a familiar path. When a cold voice called out to her. 

“Back so soon? Must have been worse than I thought.” Solas jabbed. 

Lita sighed, staring at the ancient elf with annoyance. “Hello, dread wolf.”

"Ah, but perhaps I’m mistaken and you’re here to correct me?" The man smirked. “I am, after all, the god of lies, treachery, and rebellion.”

“And of self-pity and condescension, it would seem.” Rook drawled. “See, this is why no one likes you.” 

He continued to smile. “And here I thought it was because of my part in the rebellion and destruction of the elven empire.” He quipped.

“That too.” Rook conceded. Scowling as she realized her retort had done nothing to cut through the egg-headed man’s aplomb.

“Be that as it may,” he continued. “You now know the dangers I warned you of are real, so you’ve come to me. Why?”

Rook swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I need to know what the gods are planning.” 

Solas’s expression hardened. “A scheme that no mortal is privy to, and one I am ill inclined to share with one who would rather exchange petty insults than work towards progress. What proof have you, that you are the right person to lead the battle against the gods themselves?”

Rook flushed at the admonishment. “I‘ve never claimed to be a leader.” She bit out. 

“Really?” He scoffed. “Because your reckless attack on that Antaam caravan would say otherwise.”

“How did you?…” Rook began, her pulse spiking at the elf’s knowledge of the incident.

“But perhaps you were driven by selfishness.” He spoke, cutting her off. “I have lived long enough to know that mortals are often inept at discerning between actions driven by courage and those spurned on by poorly disguised self-interest, or worse… fear.”

Rook ground her teeth. “I am no coward.” She seethed, her fists clenching. If I punch him in this dream, will he feel it? She wondered.

“Then prove it.” He challenged, interrupting her thoughts. Narrowing his eyes at her, he glanced at her fists, as if he had sensed her idea of striking him. He smirked.

Il Cazzo, she thought, before unclenching her fists and drawing in a long breath.

She exhaled slowly. 

“What do I have to do?” She asked. Holding his gaze. 

Solas gave a knowing half smile, “Something I think you’ll enjoy.”

—

So the Egg wanted her to beat up bullies and tyrants? She was loath to admit it, but the elf had been spot on in assuming the task would entice her. 

After waking from her trance, she quickly dressed and made her way to the infirmary. Sitting on the edge of Varric’s cot, she recounted her conversation with Solas, not expecting Varric to permanently pass the mantle of leader to her. She had argued with the dwarf, summoning every excuse that came to mind. Her misguided attack on the Antaam, disrupting the ritual, and even her choice to leave the mayor of DeMeta's Crossing for dead. Only for him to counter her flimsy justifications with sound reasoning, rewriting her perspective and thoughts as easily as the pages of a story, until her hope outweighed her panic. 

“Damn you, Varric.” She sighed, “I’ll do it. But I’ll never deliver the same quality of pep talks that you do.”

“Few can, Kid.” He chuckled as she rose to leave. “One more thing. I’ve been thinking of contacts who might be able to assist us in taking down the gods.”

“And…?” she gestured for him to continue.

Varric shrugged. “Haven’t the faintest clue. Lucky for you, our resident detective might.” 

Rook nodded. “I’ll see what she has to say.” She gave Varric what she hoped was a convincing smile before leaving the room. 

“If she even lets me speak to her in the first place,” she groaned to herself. 

—

Rook paced outside Neve’s office. Sterling her resolve, she knocked on the door.

“Come in.” Came a muffled reply.

Taking a breath, Rook opened the door to find Neve shuffling through a pile of papers, gently shooing away the pale blue wisps that attempted to lift the pieces of parchment skyward.

“Hello, Neve.”

“Hmm.” The woman replied, not bothering to look up from her task.

“I see the wisps are still here.”

“Deduce that yourself, did you?” She drawled, casting Rook an unimpressed glance. 

“I like what you’ve done with your office,” Rook replied. Letting Neve’s comment roll off her back like water off a crow's feathers, as she took in the space, eyes lingering on the spiderweb of red string pinned to a standing board behind the detective. 

“Look, as much as I’d love to chat about my decor, I’m a bit preoccupied trying to track down leads on the Gods. Which, by the way, is considerably more difficult since our best source of intel is likely digesting in a beast’s stomach at this point, thanks to your injudicious decision.” Neve replied. “So if you wouldn’t mind f…”

“I’m sorry!” Rook blurted, cutting the woman off. “I’m so sorry.” 

Neve quirked a brow, waiting for Rook to continue. 

“I was wrong to ignore you. At the time, I thought you were being too lenient, and I was so angry that I…I let my temper get the best of me. I didn’t mean to make your life more difficult, I just…” She paused, schooling her tone not to betray the emotion that threatened to spill over. “I’ve lost so much to men like him, men who, without interference, would watch innocent people burn before them and only speak to complain about the heat. But even so, that decision wasn’t mine to make alone. I promise that I’ll trust your judgement in the future.”

Neve studied Rook for a moment, but if the detective had questions about the brief glimpse into Rook’s past, she didn’t voice them. Instead, she stood from her desk before speaking. “I’m sorry too. I have a habit of listening to my head over my heart, a skill that’s served me well as a detective but has started more than one…disagreement in the past. I’m sorry for acting so frigid these past few days.” 

Rook smiled. “In your defense, you are an ice mage.”

Neve groaned, “I know you’ve taken Varric’s place as leader, but I didn’t know his horrible sense of humor was a side effect.” She tensed suddenly. Looking as if she had said something she shouldn’t have, she scanned Rook for a reaction. 

“I’ll have you know my shitty sense of humor is entirely my own.” Rook insisted. 

Neve relaxed. “I don’t think that’s something to be proud of.” She teased. 

“Then you’ve never known the joy of delivering a truly horrendous one-liner before offing an opponent.” Rook countered.

“You Crows are diabolical.” She shook her head. “Speaking of which…” She walked back behind her desk, snatching a paper from one of the wisps as it made to fly away.  

“As I mentioned, I’ve been trying to track down leads for any contacts who might help us against the Gods. It hasn’t been easy, but I think I may have two prospects. First, the Shadow Dragons. I doubt much explanation is needed there.”

Rooks heart leapt at the prospect of a trip to Minrathous, the Shadow Dragons were a known resistance group who fought against the Venatori to free slaves, a journey there could provide more than just an ally in their battle, it could potentially give her a lead to track down a Venatori who had long haunted her nightmares…

Suppressing the sudden spark of hope that bloomed in her chest, Rook nodded calmly, purging any hint of excitement from her tone, she spoke, “And your second lead? You mentioned the Crows?”

Neve nodded, “They may call themselves Gods, but at their core Elgar’nan and Ghilan'nain are just magic wielders. And from what I hear, the Crows have dispatched their fair share of corrupted mages.”

“I’m not one to undersell the skill of my guild, but I don’t know that an assassin is going to cut it… No pun intended.” Rook quickly added, seeing Neve cringe at the poor wordplay. 

“Normally, I’d agree, but we’re not looking to recruit just any assassin. ” Neve gave Rook a conspiratorial smile. “We need the Demon of Vyrantium, the Crow’s most legendary mage killer.” 

Rook's heart dropped to her stomach, as an all too familiar numbness washed over her. Careful to keep a schooled expression, she chose her next words cautiously.

“That may cause us trouble”, she warned.

It wasn’t a lie, at least not completely. It would be a pain in the ass to find another assassin when Rook’s companions discovered the Demon of Vyrantium was no longer available for hire.

“That may be, but he’s the best lead we’ve got.” Neve replied, her eyes roaming over Rook’s face, searching for clues only to come up short, “There’s been no reports of him for a little over a year now, so you’ll need to talk to your higher-ups if we want a chance of getting into contact with him. 

Rook grimaced. It had been months since she had spoken to any of the Talons. To say she had burned that bridge would be an understatement. It was more accurate to say that that bridge had been obliterated so fantastically that a serial arsonist would have wept in awe at the sight. Needless to say, her leaders wouldn’t be happy to see her. Particularly the 5th talon, whose last conversation with Rook had ended with her throwing a glass of Antivan red in his face before storming out the door. That, and she may or may not have then broken into his office later that day, and set loose a dozen or so of the creatures he kept there. 

“I should warn you…I didn’t start my temporary leave on the best of terms, and the talons aren’t the most forgiving of sorts. Talking with them could lead to some horrific consequences.” Rook finished. 

“Worse than the wrath of two ancient gods?” Neve pressed, “I highly doubt it.”

Only because you haven’t met the talons…Rook thought. She opened her mouth to argue, but upon seeing Neve’s icy expression, thought better of it. 

“I’ll get us a meeting set up,” she mumbled. Stuffing her hands in her pockets. 

“Oh, don’t pout.” Neve teased, “With any luck, we’ll be in and out with a mage killer in record time.” She smiled. “Just you wait.”

Rook returned her smile and nodded before turning to leave, her pleasant facade melting as she walked to her room to write a letter to the Talons, alerting them of their planned visit. She wished she could share Neve’s optimism, and normally she would, had it not been for one cold truth that had killed her hope like a flower in the frost.

The Demon of Vyrantium was dead.

Chapter Text

--One year prior--

“Did I tell you about the time Lucanis and I went Wyvern hunting?”, Illario slurred.

Lita caught Viago rolling his eyes as Illario recounted the story for a fourth time that night. His usual suave persona and perfect appearance, marred by his unruly hair and the stench of alcohol rolling off of him. 

“We were ten when he found this book about Wyverns, and suddenly it was all he would talk about. He insisted we go Wyvern hunting… “ he continued to ramble as Lita and Viago hoisted him along the hallway of the empty casino, an arm slung around each of their shoulders, attempting not to drop the man as he drawled.

“There I was, so covered in prickle-burrs I stuck to everything I touched. Lucanis was nothing but mud…” he stopped short, suddenly gagging. Sensing the intentions of Illario’s stomach, Lita dropped his arm as Viago quickly spun him towards a large decorative vase, cringing in disgust as the man vomited into it. 

“You’re lucky you managed to aim it into the  pot and not my boots.” Viago hissed, nodding at Lita to assume the position. She swung Illario's arm around her shoulders, and they continued their slow procession down the hall. When they finally reached the stairs, they paused, considering how to best maneuver Illario up the mountain of steps, when he suddenly went limp, flopping onto the base of the stairs.

“We could just leave him,” Lita suggested, casting a bemused grin at Viago. 

“Teia asked us to take him to a room”. He glared, though Lita knew full well he had been considering the same thing.

“Who’s to say he didn’t wander out of his room after we tucked him in and read him a bedtime story?” she said, half in jest, half hoping Viago might go along with it. 

“And he somehow miraculously made it down the stairs without breaking his neck?” He raised an eyebrow. “Teia would never buy it, and you know it. She’d kill us both.”

Lita let out a sigh, “Well, we can’t have that now, can we? Not after you finally managed to grow a pair and go after her...” She winked, "Again." She added, stepping over Illario and grabbing one of his arms. 

Viago scowled, but Lita only waggled her brows in reply as he went to grab the man’s other arm.

Together, they dragged the limp body up the red carpeted stairs, looking like two conspirators covering up the scene of a crime. As they reached the top, Viago left her to try the guest rooms' doors. Lita’s arms burned with the weight of holding Illario aloft when he began to mumble again

“He was my cousin, but we were more like brothers, really”. Lita resisted the urge to snort at this remark and had begun to drown the man out when Illario whispered, voice cracking with emotion. “Now there’s nobody for me to follow.”

Lita’s eyes began to sting when she heard the blessed click of a door opening. Quickly blinking away the tears that began to form, as Viago returned to help with Illario. Together they hauled him into the room and heaved him onto the bed, as he muttered bitterly, “It should have been me.”

Yes, it should have, rasped a small voice at the back of Lita’s mind. Shaking her head, she got to work pulling off Illario boots. She couldn't care less if they got blisters from sleeping in them, but knew Teia would be furious if he ruined the lavish bedspread in the guest room they had unceremoniously dumped him in to sleep off his drunkenness. As she chucked the man’s boots haphazardly onto the floor, Viago approached, a small vial and handkerchief in his hands. 

As Illario began the tale of Wyvern hunting for a fifth time, Viago gently pressed the fabric to the man’s nose, knocking him unconscious. They left him there sprawled on the bed, snoring like a cow with a head cold, as they walked back through the Casino. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night?” Viago asked. “You know Teia wouldn’t mind.” 

“And risk the wrath of Sleeping Beauty when he wakes up tomorrow?” Lita chuckled. “I’ll pass.” 

“Then perhaps Teia could stay with you…” He began.

“Viago,” she interjected. “I’m fine. Really. We hadn’t had a proper conversation in over ten years, we were practically strangers.”

“So earlier you were crying for Illario then?”Viago cast her a doubtful glance. 

Lita cursed internally, of course, Viago had seen her brief display of emotion. She plastered on a smirk before retorting.“Perhaps I was moved by his tale of Wyvern Hunting.” 

“Lita”, Viago pressed. 

“I don’t have a right, Viago.” She snapped. “Not after all these years.” She stopped in the hallway, running her hands through her hair before letting out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to look out for me. But I mean it, I really am fine.” 

Viago eyed her skeptically but didn’t press the matter further. 

“Now,” Lita spoke brightly, attempting to shake off the somber mood, “I have a cat that needs feeding and you have a woman that needs wooing.” She winked, earning a snort from Viago.

“Ah, yes,” he drawled, “Because nothing says romance like getting together after a funeral”, opening the door of the casino for Lita as she stepped out into the cool Treviso night.

“We’re Crows,” she teased, walking down the steps of the grand building. “Sounds pretty standard to me”. 

“Good Night, Idiotta,” he called after her.

“Goodnight Vivi,” she sang, giggling at the daggers he no doubt shot into her back at the nickname for him.

—

Lita opened the door to her apartment to be greeted with an angry meow.

“Well, hello to you, too, Ombra.” She chuckled. Watching a small shadow dart across the room. “You know you wouldn’t be so hungry if you would just do your job,” she chided, receiving another annoyed meow.

“I’m afraid fish will have to wait till I have time to go to the market tomorrow.” She spoke to the darkness, pulling off her boots and plopping them next to the door. “If you want a meal, you’ll have to go find one,” she remarked, watching as the shadow approached her, whining as it curled its tail around her legs.

She scooped up the small black cat and held the creature tightly to her chest, planting a kiss between its two chewed-up ears, earning a bat to the face from its paws. Giggling, she set Ombra down and went to crack open the window. “Well, signore, the night awaits; your dinner isn’t going to catch itself.” She prompted. Ombra shot her a dark look, but leaped onto the windowsill and prowled out into the night.

Lita shook her head, laughing softly at the feline who had become her only consistent companion over the years. The Crow’s line of business didn’t offer much opportunity to make friends, not that she ever trusted people enough to develop a relationship in the first place. But Ombra was as constant as the constellations, so long as she provided an ample supply of fish and belly scratches, both of which she was happy to supply in exchange for the small stray’s company. 

Stretching her stiff arms above her head, she caught a whiff of alcohol, a smell that had no doubt rubbed off on her clothes while putting Illario to bed. Peeling off her jacket and shirt, she walked to the small wardrobe in the corner of the room, the painted flowers adorning its surface, cracking with age. She creaked open the wooden doors and pushed through the countless fighting leathers hanging in the small space, as she searched for a lumpy old sweater, when her fingers paused on a glittering blue gown hanging in the back. As her hands glided over the combination of beaded silk and iridescent feathers, her eyes suddenly stung as memories came flooding to her mind.

Sweater forgotten, she kneeled down, reaching to the back of the wardrobe, her hands scraping against the wood till they grasped a familiar object wrapped in fabric. Trembling, she pulled it out, unwrapping the fraying blue handkerchief to reveal a worn green picture book, and gently traced the gilded illustration of a Wyvern embellished on the cover. Curling onto the floor, she clutched the small book to her chest, eyes clenched shut against the tears beginning to form. 

It was like she told Viago, she had no right to cry. Not when the Dellamorte family had lost something so precious, not when the Crows had lost their most prized champion, the heir set to carry on the title of first Talon, despite Illario’s claims otherwise. Yet as Lita turned these facts over in her mind she couldn’t help as the tears began to fall. Clutching the book tighter, she wept, mourning all the years wasted in silence, and the man she had pushed away through it all. 

Chapter Text

Rook treaded carefully down a rocky path of the fade, Bellara, Harding, and Neve close behind. Their plan was to divide and conquer; Harding and Rook would travel to Trevisso to speak with the Crows, while Neve and Bellara would head for Minrathous to connect with her contacts in the Shadow Dragons. A plan that they now realized would be delayed until they managed to defeat the Guardian that the Caretaker had assigned to protect the crossroads. Rook had eyed the strange spirit warily, as it had instructed which course to take to complete the task, but with no other paths forward, they had been forced to trust the mysterious entity. 

“What do you think the Guardian will be?” Bellara had wondered aloud.

“Based on what we’ve fought so far… nothing pleasant.” Neve pointed out.

“Is it too much to ask that it be a rabid nug?” Rook asked, eliciting laughs from the group. “Just once, I’d like to fight something that doesn’t have the ability to rip my throat out.”

“You clearly haven’t seen an Avvar War Nug then.” Harding teased.

Rook’s eyes widened, “What in the Maker's name is that?”

Harding laughed, “Massive horned beasts that they ride to battle at the Skyhold in Ferelden.”

Rook's jaw dropped. She was just about to ask Harding about when the scout had had the opportunity to witness such a beast, when a sudden static crackled in the air. 

Rook froze, her gaze darting to Neve to confirm her suspicion.

“Venatori,” the Detective remarked. 

Crouching low, their group edged their way up the path, slowing as the space opened to reveal a small gully and a group of 10 Venatori prowling in the area. The best course of action would be to pick them off one by one, but at the sound of a man shouting commands in Tevene, she paused. 

“They’re going after the guardian,” Neve confirmed, translating the man’s words. “We need to act now.”

Nodding Rook stood, walking slowly into the small ravine and shouting to the group of red garbed figures. 

“Buongiorno, teste di merda!” 

The tall mage in the middle, dressed in an elaborate burgundy robe and a tall scarlet hood, glared at her before barking an order in Tevene. Four figures peeled away from the group, sprinting in the direction of the guardian’s location. 

“Split up!” Rook shouted, “Neve, Bellara, can you handle the guardian?”

The two women nodded, taking off down the path, while Rook and Harding approached the remaining Venatori. The head mage shouted another order and a single soldier split from the group, racing down a path to the side.

“Harding!” Rook called. 

“On it!” The woman replied, before taking off after the man, bow drawn.

Alone at last, Rook thought. She turned to the remaining Venatori, watching as blood red daggers and axes materialized in their hands. “Now, before things get messy, tell me.” She paused, her eyes slowly grazing over each of the figures. “Which one of you walking menstrual stains has heard of a Lord Pagoni?”

The group all shared confused glances with one another, at least she assumed from their furrowed brows they were, it was hard to tell with the masks they all wore. All, it seemed, except one. Subtle as it had been, there was no denying the slight tremor in the Mage’s fingertips, and the shock that had briefly flashed across his gaze, that Rook could only hope was an admission.

She smiled,  “It’s your lucky day, Signore. Or possibly unlucky…but I tend to look at the glass half full.”

The Mage uttered a command in Tevente, and the men in front of him began to rush at Rook. She tsked. 

Reaching at the bandolier across her chest, she quickly freed two small knives and sent them sailing into the necks of the first two attackers. Before their bodies had even hit the ground, she had unsheathed two daggers from her sides, sweeping the larger of the two upwards to meet her next attacker’s axe, before plunging the smaller blade into the man’s stomach, twisting upwards to his heart. Sinking to the earth with man, she pulled the blade free as she rolled, using the momentum of the movement to launch the knife into the neck of her final attacker. The woman clutched frantically at the blade before falling backward, her cry a whisper as she met the earth with a heavy thud. 

Pulling the filigree silver dagger from her side, Rook sprinted at the remaining Mage. Whatever emotion the man had displayed before had been momentarily replaced by sheer terror. Coming to his senses, he threw out his hands before him, the air crackling as he summoned a blood red shard, sending it hurtling towards Rook. 

“That’s a neat trick.” She replied with delight. Twirling to the side, she dodged the projectile, her pace not slowing as she launched herself at the man, sinking the tip of her silver blade into his chest, as she knocked him to the ground. The man released a curse, but was quickly silenced by the blade Lita moved to his throat. 

“I have tricks too.” She smiled. “Now, remember when I mentioned luck before? Well I suppose it’s subjective depending on if you choose to answer my questions. See, my little knife here”, she looked to the blade pressed into his chest, “can inject you with whatever substance I see fit. I have one that will have you floating in ecstasy as you gently drift off to greet the Maker. The others… well… let’s just say a red hot poker up the ass would be more appealing. Do you understand?” 

“Yes”. Came the man’s strained reply.

“Stupendo,” she grinned. “Now, just to make sure I didn’t confuse your earlier facial expression for constipation, do you know of Lord Pagoni?”

“Yes.”

“Is he alive?”

“Yes.”

Rook's heart raced at the confirmations, steadying her pulse, she attempted to quell her emotions before continuing.

“Do you know where he is?”

Silence.

She pressed the dagger against his throat, eliciting a hiss from the man as it sliced into him,  ushering out a thin trickle of blood.

“Come now,” she urged.  “You’ve been honest with me so far. I ask again, do you know where he is?”

“No”, the man uttered, his gaze shifting momentarily. 

“I think you’re lying.” She pressed.

“Think all you want, Antivan hoar.”

Make him talk, whispered a voice. She tried to push the thought away. But felt her blades dig deeper into the man, as he gritted his teeth in pain. 

“Tell me.” She snarled as an icy rage overwhelmed her senses. 

“No,” he ground out. 

“TELL ME, BEFORE I CARVE IT OUT OF YOU.” She shouted. “WHERE THE HELL…”

“Rook?” Came Harding's shocked voice behind her, “What are you doing?”

Rook turned to the scout, paling as Harding stood taking in the scene, a horrified expression overtaking the woman’s face as she noted the placement of Rook’s blades. 

“I… I was. I was trying to…” Rook stammered, her hands suddenly numb. 

“Rook, look out!” Harding suddenly shouted, drawing her bow. Before she could register what was happening, Rook screamed as Harding’s arrow pierced the mage’s skull, his body going limp instantly. 

“No, no, NO!” She yelled, fury spilling over. “What have you done?” She stood, turning to Harding. “Why would you..” She stopped, noting Harding’s alarm. Following her gaze, Rook looked down to her side, to see a small red shard sticking out of it, blood seeping out of the wound, and dripping down her armor.

“Oh... mierda.” Rook remarked. 

“I’m sorry,” Harding sputtered, rushing towards Rook. “I just didn’t know why you were yelling at him, then he summoned that weird crystal, and went to attack you, and I just…” she paused. “Let me heal that, let’s sit you down… preferably away from the corpses.”

Lowering Rook on a nearby rock, Harding quickly pulled out a small bandage and healing poultice she kept in supply, before grabbing hold of the shard. “Ready?” she asked.

Rook nodded. 

“On three,” Harding suggested. “One, Tw…” She ripped the crystal from Rook’s side, quickly pressing the bandage to the puncture.

“ANDRASTE'S TITS,” Rook shouted. 

Harding gave a nervous laugh. “You and your colorful language…”

“Sorry”, Rook mumbled. “For cursing and…” the image of Harding’s horrified expression flashed across Rook’s thoughts, “and for shouting at you earlier, you were only looking out for me.”

“I’ve got your back,” Harding replied, giving Rook a pained smile. “And, apology accepted…though, it would be nice to know what caused your outburst in the first place…” she trailed off. 

“Oh, erm.” Rook floundered for an excuse. “I was trying to get information on why they were here in the fade.”

Liar a voice whispered. 

Ignoring the thought, she continued. “The bastard didn’t feel like sharing, and you shot him before I could…” She paused, looking for a delicate term, “persuade him.” She grimaced, “I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you.”

Harding frowned. “You weren’t using any morally questionable tactics, were you?” she asked tentatively. 

Rook gave her a chagrined look. 

Harding cringed, “Isn’t there a nicer way?”

Rook raised a brow, “Harding, you do remember I’m an assassin, right?”

“I knowwwww…” Harding insisted. “It’s just you’re normally so sweet, I sometimes forget.”

Rook stared back in disbelief. 

Harding continued. “I know it comes off as naive, but I can’t help but feel we could use other tactics, that are less…ya know…”

Rook nodded. 

Harding sighed. “I’m sure we’ll find a way eventually. Anyways, thanks for being honest with me.”

Rook nodded, trying to ignore the shame seeping into her skin, spreading like a slow poison. She hated lying. A part of her desperately wished to tell Harding the truth, but trust was a blade. One, if not wielded correctly, you’d too often find lodged in your back. 

They sat for a few minutes as Harding finished dressing her wound, chatting animatedly about how excited she was to finally see Trevisso. Rook listened to her list off the sites she wished to see, when they both turned at the sound of footsteps coming down the path.

A sense of relief flooded over Rook to see Bellara and Neve approaching, a strange glowing orb in Neve’s hands. Noting that the two of them were splattered in what appeared to be the black blood of a blighted creature.

Rook smiled. “How was taking down the guardian?”

Bellara’s face lit up, “Neve was incredible! For a second, I worried we might need to retreat when we watched the blighted Ogre wipe the floor with the Venatori, but Neve incapacitated it like it was nothing!”

“You’re exaggerating, Bellara,” Neve insisted. “Besides, had it not been for that shot you put in its neck, I wouldn’t have been able to ground it. You’re quite remarkable yourself,” She gave the Veil Jumper a none-too-subtle once-over. 'I'm amazed your skill with a bow is equal to your magic."

Bellara blushed furiously, fiddling with one of the many pouches on her belt. “I mean… I wasn’t… I’m nothing compared...”

Neve quirked a brow, as if daring her to finish that sentence. 

Bellara flushed. “I just… Thank you.” She finished, the tips of her pointed ears now a bright crimson.

“Looks like you two handled things just fine on your own,” Rook chuckled. 

Neve shot her an icy look, “Don’t even try.” The mage scolded. “Next time, you can be the one to get your head nearly bashed in by a blighted ogre, and Bellara and I will handle the Venatori grunts. Which, from the looks of it,” her shrewd eyes surveyed the scene, “Took you all of five minutes to tackle yourself.”

 “Harding helped…” Rook mumbled.

“Mmhmm,” Neve hummed, eying the downed Venatori. “Now, as much as I’d love to list all the clues that prove you’re full of it, we've got a gate to open.”

— 

As the caretaker had promised, the guardian's essence had opened the gateway. As they walked through, Rook marveled at the open space decorated with the towering stone frames of Eluvians, the hazy image of their destinations flickering across their mirrored surfaces. Her heart clenched at the sight of a familiar skyline, shimmering in the reflection of the portal to the left.

“Shall we?” she asked Harding, casting a quick glance towards Neve and Bellara, as they made their way towards an Eluvian glimmering with the silhouette of an unfamiliar city, noting the way the elf’s gaze lingered on the detective. 

“Yes, please,” Harding replied, barely containing her excitement. 

“After you,” Rook gestured, watching as the woman stepped hurriedly through the silver portal, bouncing with each step. 

Rook exhaled slowly as she approached the Eluvian, thoughts swarming through her mind as she hesitated at it's entrance.

How would the Crows respond to seeing her?

What would Harding do when they revealed that the Demon of Virantium was dead?

Hell, what would she do? 

Closing her eyes, she pushed the thoughts away before stepping through the silvery mist. The grey haze briefly consumed her as a sensation overpowered her body. The only thing she could compare it to was that feeling of falling in a dream, only to suddenly find yourself jolted awake. As the mist faded, she found her senses suddenly flooded by a symphony a familiar scents and sounds. Opening her eyes, she didn’t fight the tears that welled there, grinning at the sight before her.

Home. 

Chapter Text

Rook took a long breath, reveling in the distinct blend of coffee, spice, smoke, and musk that permeated the air. A scent unique to Trevisso and one that immediately put her at ease. She gazed out from the balcony where they stood and stared over the city. Familiar buildings towered overhead, stone statues of crows perched on their rooftops, keeping a silent watch over the city with their stony gaze. Canals wove their way through the city like great snakes, the glow of lanterns and bonfires lining the street, glistening off the water's surface, like light bouncing off the scales of a serpent. The songs of Gondoliers echoed through the night, some singing romantic ballads, others tales of grief or words of warning. She turned to Harding to see the woman with her eyes aglow, consuming the city around them.

“Welcome to Trevisso, Harding.” She smiled. 

“This is where you grew up?” Harding replied incredulously. “Why would you ever want to leave??”

“Few do,” Rook chuckled, “and most only by force, myself included.” 

“Sorry.” Harding grimaced. “Well, I hope it feels good to be home, even if it's just for business.”

“It does,” Rook smiled, “But I have a feeling once we meet with the Talons, I may change my mind.” She shuddered. “Come, we’ll meet a friend at La Fonatana di Andraste before heading to Headquarters.”

Making their way down the street, they wove through various roads, passing by glistening fountains, small cafes, and other colorful sites. There were faster ways to the fountain, but seeing Harding’s face light up with amazement at each monument had convinced Rook to take the scenic route. 

“Is it true there are markets here open late at night?” Harding asked. 

Rook nodded. “A few, though, tourists and the Crows mainly frequent them. And tend to sell armor, weapons, and wine mainly.”

Harding laughed. “I guess it is hard to imagine an assassin grocery shopping.”

Rook smiled. “Fledglings usually run errands as part of their duties before becoming a full-fledged crow.”

“I would think you would be trained in things more relevant to a Crow’s occupation, ya know, like lock picking or how to fight,” Harding remarked. 

“We were, in fact, training was so brutal and bloody, grocery shopping felt like a reward.” Seeing Harding’s look of pity, Rook declined to share the other darker purpose of such errands. Shopping wasn’t just a menial task; fledglings were responsible for listening to the market’s gossip and reporting back to their leaders. Any intel was valuable to the crows, and as a child, Rook had often been surprised at how much people let slip around children. 

In an effort to change the subject, she spoke, “The Fontana is this way,”  nodding her head down a small tree-lined street, before continuing down the path. After walking past the Chantry, they continued down the street until they came upon a large square, wherein rested one of Trevisso’s most beloved landmarks, La Fontana di Andraste. White stone figures clashed at the base of the fount, wielding weapons and magic; some, their faces carved with fury, as they lashed at their opponents, but most bore an expression of hope, staring upwards at the figure above them. 

Shining in golden armor, Andraste stood proudly in the center of the battle, shield blocking the spray of water from Tevinter mage, her sword extended above her head as if urging her followers forward, light glistening off of the veins of gold on her delicate face, frozen in a battle cry. 

A golden plaque rested at the base, with an inscription carved into the worn metal reading.

Now her hand is raised,

A sword to pierce the sun

With iron shield she defends the faithful

Let chaos be undone.

As they approached the structure, Harding gasped, her jaw open as her gaze roamed over the massive fountain, when she suddenly quirked her head.

“I thought you said this was the Fountain of Andraste?” She asked Rook. 

“It is,” Rook assured the scout.

“But the woman in the center is a warrior; the only depictions of Andraste that the Chantry has ever displayed all show her crying, praying, or both.” She reasoned.

“The Chantry didn’t build this fountain; it was commissioned by one of the greatest Merchant Princes of Trevisso.”

“But then why did he have it built directly across from The Chantry’s Cathedral?” Harding replied.

“She did it to retaliate against the Chantry.” Rook grinned. 

“Really?” Harding replied, eyes lit with intrigue. “I didn’t know there were any female merchant princes?”

“Probably because she was the only one, well, the only one so far. One can only hold out hope that another will rise.” Rook winked before continuing. “Her name was Lucrezia Bovi; she was the only child of the Merchant Prince Paolo Bovi. Merchant princes don’t pass their titles to their daughters, so if the merchant has no sons, the title is given to the woman’s husband when they marry. Lucrezia refused to follow this tradition; she never married, and thus carried on her Father’s title.”

“That’s amazing! Why haven’t more women done that?” Harding grinned. 

Rook laughed, “Probably because they value their lives. A week after Lucrezia announced her decision never to marry, one of her male cousins put a contract on her head through the Crows. If a merchant has no children, their title can pass to extended family, you see.”

“Oh.” Harding's face drew into a frown. “So she died young, then?”

“If you consider 92 young, then yes.” Rook smiled.

“But I thought you said the Crows had a contract on her?” 

“They did. A crow, from a rather renowned house I might add, was sent to slit Lucrezia’s throat. But the day after the job was to be executed, the Crows received a box sealed with Lucrezia’s signet. Inside was the assassin’s hand, still gripping their dagger.”

“Her guards caught the assassin?”

Rook shook her head. “Word has it, Lucrezia killed the Crow herself. After surviving the encounter, she attempted to bribe the Crows into disclosing who had put the contract on her head. But such information is proprietary, so they refused to tell her.”

“So her cousin got away with it??”

“Not at all.”

The scout let out an exasperated huff. “But you said the Crows wouldn’t tell her which of her cousins put the hit on her.”

“They didn’t. So she put contracts on all of her cousins' heads and paid twice the regular rate. Unlike Lucrezia, it seems they weren’t as skilled in defending themselves as she was.” 

Harding’s eyes widened. “She had all of her cousins assassinated? Even the innocent ones?” 

Rook grinned, “I never said the contracts were for assassinations. We Crows deal in many other services, though those skills aren’t used nearly as often as our more lethal talents. Lucrezia hired the Crows to investigate her cousin's activities. Through their investigation, they found correspondence between all of Lucrezia’s cousins, condemning her actions and conspiring to have her killed. As for disposing of her cousins, Lucrezia handled that herself.”

Harding grimaced. “I’m surprised the Crows agreed to work with her after she killed one of their assassins.” 

“I’m not.” Rook shrugged. “After the assassin failed and their house was destroyed as punishment, the Crows would have needed the funds to found another house.”

“What do you mean their house was destroyed?” Harding gasped.

“Crows always finish their contract. If an assassin fails their contract, the entire house is considered to blame, and is often eliminated as a lesson to other Crows.” Rook explained.

“That’s terrible,” Harding whispered—her expression that of shock. 

“True. But it’s terribly efficient. Thanks to that tradition, the number of failed or abandoned contracts is almost nonexistent.”

Harding stared at Rook with a look between horror and pity. 

“Anyways..” Rook cleared her throat. “We’re getting off topic, back to the fountain. The Chantry had appealed to the Merchant Princes to sponsor a series of artworks for the cathedral. Lucrezia offered to have a large statue of Andraste made for the grand hall; her only caveat was that Andraste would be depicted as she was in Canticle of Victoria, a warrior leading her rebels to freedom. The Chantry refused her donation, arguing that such a violent depiction was not becoming of something to be housed in a place of worship. Especially if it was to be sponsored by a woman who had defied the rules of society by taking up her father’s place and personally eliminating her cousins.”

 “So she built the Fontana instead, and placed it where members of the Chantry would have to look upon it daily. She commissioned the greatest sculptors in the city and made sure the fountain would be so monumental that the artists wouldn’t have time to complete anything for the chantry while it was being worked on. The result was so beautiful that some even stopped going to the cathedral and instead came to the fountain to pray, throwing their tithe in its pool as an offering. 

“I can’t blame them.” Harding giggled, looking at the fountain again, “Especially knowing the story.”

“It’s one of my favorites.” Rook smiled. “I’ll never understand why everyone paints Andraste as kneeling or crying. She wasn’t some weepy maiden; she came from a tribe of fierce warriors. She stepped into the fray, not knowing if she would make it out alive, only that it was her duty to protect those around her. That is someone truly worthy of worship.” 

“I see your obsession with La Fontana is as strong as ever, Ape.” Came a voice behind them. 

—

Rook fought a smile at the familiar sound of the musical voice and feigned a scowl as she turned to face its owner. Rook wished she could say Teia looked the same as usual, but that would be a lie; she had somehow become even more stunning in Rook’s brief time away. Golden light from the fountain danced across Teia’s rich brown skin, making her look like an ethereal being from another world. The elven woman’s curly brown hair had grown a few inches in length, and her curves were even more pronounced, perhaps on account of the new style of fighting leathers she wore. Her sultry eyes lit up with amusement as she flashed a devastating smile, her lips as lethal as the daggers strapped to her thighs. 

“How many times must I ask you not to call me that publicly?” Rook replied.

“That’s right, I hear you’re going by Rook nowadays.” She smiled. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce me? I know I’m famed in Antiva, but I doubt word of me has reached your friend’s ears yet.” She winked. 

Rook rolled her eyes. “Harding, this is Andarateia Cantori, the Seventh Talon of the crows, and the most overbearing woman this side of Antiva.”

“Mocciosa.” Teia replied, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harding. Please call me Teia. Now that we’ve finished the formalities, can I hug you yet, Rook, or have you become a hardened recluse while you’ve been away?”

“As you command, Principessa,” Rook smiled, running to the woman and embracing her. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, and so has Viago, for that matter. Come, he’s gathering everyone for the meeting.” She replied, gesturing them to follow as she jogged down the street. 

Rook and Harding followed her closely. “I think you may underestimate Viago’s ability to hold a grudge. In his letter, he made it sound like home is the last place he wanted me to be.”

Teia laughed, “He complains more when you’re not around, especially about not having someone around to help feed his creatures.”

“I don’t think he’ll let me anywhere near them after my… incident,” Rook replied. 

Teia snorted, “Oh yes, that. Normally, you’d be right. But the fledgling he had helping in your absence let one of the adders loose, Vi had to administer antivenom to 5 people.” She shook her head, “You at least didn’t release anything venomous.”

“Nope, only the ones I knew would piss and shit all over his office.” Rook groaned.

Harding laughed this time, and Rook couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, in any case, it’s all water in the canal now. He’s got bigger things to worry about than family squabbles.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Rook huffed.

Their pace slowed to a walk as the Cantori came into view, the grand casino glimmering with light, the sound of merriment pouring from its open doors. They ascended a staircase at the back of the building to the top floor, and as her impending reunion with Viago approached, Rook couldn’t help but hope that Teia was right. Her parting with the 5th talon had been the worst fight they’d ever shared. The only time she had seen him as livid was when she had joked about how worked up he had been the day of Tiea’s Crow trial. A joke she would learn the significance of when it came to her own trial.

She tried to steady her breathing as they made their way through headquarters, and Lita noted many new fledglings.

“I see you’ve been busy recruiting.” She commented to Teia, nodding at the children scattered about the space, some practicing combat, others reading books on poison.

“With the Antaam becoming increasingly more aggressive towards citizens, we’ve had an influx of orphaned children,” Teia replied, a look of sorrow flitting across her face. “We can’t take them all, but I’ve tried to bring as many as I can into the fold.” 

“Ah, Santa Andarateia, still as benevolent as ever, I see.” Rook winked, laughing as Teia shot her a dark look at the nickname. 

“We’ll see how much of a saint I am when I drive a dagger through every last tyrant's throat.”

“I can picture La Fontana de Teia now.” Rook gasped, extending her arms to frame Teia. “You standing atop a pile of Antaam corpses, knives sticking out of their necks. Ooh, we can have water spraying from the open wounds!”

Teia threw her head back and laughed. “Now to just find a merchant prince to fund it.” She joked.

“Viago can have it made as your Birthday gift. Maker knows that frugal miser has enough saved up.” Rook chuckled. 

“I heard that.” Growled a voice from the space ahead of them.

A man stepped forward, scowling, before continuing, “You’re late.”

Rook froze overwhelmed by the flood of emotions at the sight of the 5th Talon, disquiet over the furious glance he shot her, but relief at seeing him as grumpy as ever, his hair immaculate, his mustache and goatee styled with precision, his posture rigid, but hidden somewhat by the dark leather cape draped on his shoulders.

“Nice to see you too, Viago.” Rook drawled.

“Oh, Hush, you two.” Teia scolded, “It’s my fault; we had some catching up to do.” 

Viago’s face softened ever so slightly as he turned to Teia, before donning his stern expression again. “The first Talon is waiting.” He quipped, “You can catch up later, that is, if Rook is still standing after our meeting.” He shot Rook a venomous glance, as potent as one of his many pet serpents, before turning on his heel. 

They entered a large room, decorated in the Crows' traditional colors of navy and black. Moonlight spilled through the large window, highlighting the two figures in the room. 

As their group approached, Rook spoke, “Harding, this is Caterina Dellamorte, First Talon and leader of the crows.” Rook gestured to the woman sitting in a high-backed chair and noted the woman’s cold gaze swept over their party, before lingering on Rook.

“And that,” Rook looked to the woman's right, barely refraining from gagging at the odious man before continuing, “Is her grandson, Illario Dellamorte.”

The handsome man stepped forward, bowing with a flourish, “A pleasure,” he replied, flashing a roguish smile, “I didn’t know you kept such beautiful company, Rook.” He winked at Harding, causing a blush to rise to the woman’s rounded cheeks. Viago, Teia, and Rook rolled their eyes simultaneously. 

“Enough with the pleasantries,” Viago interjected. “Did you finish your contract to stop Solas?”

Rook shrugged, “Depends on how you look at it, I suppose. We’re all still standing here and not being torn apart by demons by the fade, so you’re welcome for that.”

Viago fumed. “How many times do I have to tell you? Crows always finish a contract.”

“They just can’t take initiative.” Rook quipped. “My run-in with the Antaam made that very clear. How’s your office smelling by the way?” She smirked.

“Sei un piccolo arrogante …” he seethed.

“Enough,” Teia spoke, “Don’t let him scold you. Vi was worried about you.”

Viago flushed. “That’s.. I mean..” he cleared his throat. “You said in your letter you needed the Crows' assistance.”

“Our target is a pair of elven gods, or they at least like to think they are. As far as I’m concerned, they’re simply mages. One of my associates had heard of our group's proclivity for dispatching Venatori and asked us to pursue recruiting the crow’s best, the demon of Vyrantium.”

Illario scoffed. “And your associate expects us to, what, resurrect my cousin to help you? Is this a joke?” 

“I came,” Rook paused, shooting an icy glance at the man, “with the hope we could work together to find an alternative solution, but since you’re about as useful as a rusty blade, perhaps your time would be better spent jumping into the nearest canal, you pomp…”

“Rook,” Viago interrupted, shooting her a warning look.

“Wait, I’m confused,” Harding said, shaking her head. “The demon of Vyrantium is dead?” 

Illario let out a laugh, “You didn’t tell them?” He smirked at Rook before turning to Harding, “It seems our little bee hasn’t been forthcoming with you, can’t say I’m surprised.” 

Rook glared at the man, her fingers twitching, itching to reach for her blade.

“That’s enough, Illario.” Came the First Talon's reply. “Not everyone has the talent of wagging their tongues, as you’ve decided to demonstrate today. I’ll ask you to remain quiet for the remainder of this meeting unless you have something useful to contribute.”

Illario reddened, shutting his mouth, before offering his Grandmother a curt nod. 

Viago spoke, “To answer your question, Signorina Harding, Lucanis Dellamorte, the Demon of Vyrantium, was killed a year ago.”

Harding frowned, “Dellamorte? So he was your…?” She paused, turning to the First Talon for confirmation.

“My Grandson, yes.” She nodded. 

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Harding replied, her frown deepening. 

“Don’t be.” The woman replied. The room stilled. 

“Signora?” Rook prompted. 

Caterina stilled momentarily, staring at Rook and Harding as if weighing the risk her following words would pose before speaking.

“Not a word of this is to leave this room.” She commanded, her tone hinting at the threat lurking beneath her words. “The body that our people brought back was not my Grandson’s. It wore his clothes, but it was a corpse warped by Blood Magic to look like Lucanis.”

Rook couldn’t breathe. The news had knocked the air from her lungs, like hitting the ground after a fall. Schooling her expression, she tried to maintain her composure as Illario spoke.

“My cousin is still alive, and you didn’t think to tell me?” He seethed. 

Viago eyed the first talon, stroking his mustache as he digested the woman’s revelation. “We knew he had been betrayed when his ship was attacked, but you kept your suspicions to yourself.” 

Rook spoke, hoping her tone did not reveal the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. “You’re telling us this now,  why?” 

The first Talon turned to Rook catching her gaze a Rook quickly averted her eyes, fearing the woman might note the tears waiting to spill out. 

“I’ve had my eye on the Venatori since they took my Grandson. They were tracking your Dreadwolf as well. But when you disrupted the ritual, you threw them into disarray, and now I have a location. The Ossuary, a great prison locking away all manner of beasts and unfortunate souls, including the demon of Vyrantium. I offer a contract, go to the Ossuary, and free Lucanis. You’ll have your godslayer, and I will have my Grandson.”

“What makes you think we can free him?” Rook questioned. 

“I have never been wrong to put my faith in you before Ape, and I don’t believe I am wrong now.” 

Rook didn’t dare admonish the woman for the childhood nickname she had chided Teia about earlier. Instead, offering the woman a brief bow, “Thank you, Signora Dellamorte.”

The first Talon beckoned Illario closer, speaking softly for only him to hear, before dismissing him with a wave of her hand. He nodded before retreating from the room.

“Come,” Viago beckoned, “we’ll prepare you for your departure. I have some new poisons that may interest you. Signora Harding, Teia will take you to our personal vendor to stock up on any items you may require.”

Teia smiled, linking an arm through Harding’s, before escorting her out of the room, “So, have you got any embarrassing stories about Rook to share?” 

Harding laughed, “Where to start?”

“I take it back about the fountain!” Rook shouted as they walked away, only for Teia to flash a crude gesture behind her back.

Viago shook his head, wiping at the smile that seemed to creep onto his face wherever Teia was concerned. “Let’s go.” 

Wandering to a small storage room, Viago walked to a large wooden trunk on the far side of the wall and opened it, carefully pulling out small vials of various substances in silence, before speaking.

“How are you doing?” 

“Considering you haven’t killed me yet, just fine.” Rook teased.

“Idiotta,” he warned, the clinking noise of his perusing suddenly quiet. “You know that’s not what I meant… Lucanis is alive.”

“It doesn’t change anything.” Rook huffed. Attempting to feign annoyance in the hopes that Viago would drop the subject. 

“It changes everything,” he argued. “Here you’ve been berating me over how long it took me to admit my feelings for Teia, when you’ve been cowering in a corner hiding yours behind your work.”

“It. Changes. Nothing.” Rook replied. “Once Lucanis is freed, he’ll be under contract, I’ll be his employer, once the contract is over, we’ll go back to our lives.” She reasoned. If I have a life to go back to, she thought. 

“Lie to yourself all you want, but don’t lie to me Idiotta.”

Tears suddenly pricked her eyes, “I’m not lying…”

Viago turned to snap at her, only for his gaze to soften as he watched a tear streak down Rook’s face. 

Walking towards her, he wrapped her in a steady, albeit awkward embrace. Rook let out a muffled sound half between a sob and a laugh, as she wrapped her arms around him, his body suddenly stiff at the contact. 

“I'm sorry for pestering you, Idiotta.”

“It’s alright," she sniffed. "Teia was bound to rub off on you in more ways than one.”

He tugged a strand of her hair, eliciting a small yelp from her. “I mean it, I don’t mean to hurt you by bringing it up, but you changed after Lucanis died. Teia noticed it too. We just don’t want you to have regrets. You deserve someone you can be yourself around, even if they are only a friend." He paused.  "Preferably just a friend", he added.

Rook shoved him away playfully, “I have friends, Vivi.”

“Cats and work associates do not count as friends, not wholly anyway.” He quipped.

“This, coming from the man who only ever talked to his venomous pets till he was 34?” She snorted. “Speaking of, how is Ombra?” 

“As mangy as ever,” Viago shook his head. “I still think you spoiled him too much, feeding him the way you did. But Teia and the fledglings I send to feed him disagree.”

Rook laughed. “Give it time, he’ll grow on you, soon you’ll start replacing your snakes with cats.”

“And have them tear apart my office? Maker forbid,” he shook his head. “I had a hard enough time recovering from your little prank.”

Lita flashed him an apologetic smile, “How about this. You stop pestering me about you know who, and I’ll never vandalize your office again. Deal?” She extended her hand.

“That’s not a convincing offer…” he mumbled.

“Deal??” Rook repeated, waving her outstretched hand.

Viago sighed, clasping his gloved hand in hers before shaking it. “Deal. But I can’t stop Teia from meddling.”

“Maker's breath,” Rook groaned. “Learn to control your woman!”

“The day a man controls Andarateia Cantori, is the day nugs fly.” Viago joked. “Now, back to the matter at hand, I have a new paralytic I want you to test…”

Rook gestured towards the chest of vials. “By all means, if we’re freeing a prisoner from the Venatori, I’ll need all the help I can get.”

—-

As Viago and Rook returned to the main room of the diamond, the latter equipped with new vials of poisons and a handful of new blades coated in venom, they saw Teia and Harding approach, both bursting into laughter as they saw Rook and Viago. 

“Whatever Teia said about me is a complete falsehood,” Rook assured Harding, “anything she said about Viago, however, is absolutely true… What did she say about me?” She shot Teia a wary look.

“Sorry, Rook,” Harding shrugged. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy.” She smiled. 

“You learn fast”, Teia winked at the scout. “Now, if you’re done pouting, Rook, Illario is waiting outside for you to give you details on the mission.”

Rook stuck her tongue out at the woman as she made her way to the balcony with Harding. 

“I love you!” Teia sang in reply.

“Be careful, Idiotta, try to bring back the first talon’s grandson in one piece, yes?” Viago called after her. 

“Love you too, Vivi!” She shouted over her shoulder, laughing as she stepped into the night air.

“Hurry, will you?” Illario called out. Rook resisted responding to him with a crude gesture, as she and Harding made to follow him. 

“Where are we headed?” Harding asked.

“To the docks, Caterina has arranged for one of our mages to prepare a boat and meet us there.”

Rook fought off the sense of foreboding that crept along her spine. “And we need a boat because…?”

Illario let out a bitter laugh. “Did you think the Venatori would be stupid enough to keep the Demon of Vyrantium in a regular prison? No, the Ossuary lies beneath the sea. If my grandmother is to be trusted.” He replied in an acrid tone. 

Rook tsked. “Poor little prince, still pouting that the first talon didn’t share. Seems your grandmother knew about your affinity to run your mouth.”

Illario shot Rook a furious glare before his charming mask slipped back into place. “I don’t blame her for not telling me, she must have known if she did that I’d risk anything to rescue Lucanis.”

Rook rolled her eyes. She had a mind to make another jab at him when a salty wind stopped her in her tracks. They had reached the docks. At the end of the pier, one of the Crows' mages sat in a small sailboat. Rook's fists clenched as panic began to take hold of her limbs. Willing her feet to move, she stepped into the boat after Harding. Clutching the seat, as the boat rocked, she noted Illario made no move to join them.

“Well, Principe? Aren’t you coming?” She taunted. 

“It will be suspicious if all three of us are seen leaving the city, we might have been trailed. I know these streets more intimately than anyone, if someone was following us, I’ll have a better chance of distracting their interest.”

Rook gritted her teeth. She knew for a fact the only places in Treviso Illario knew “intimately” were the brothels and perhaps the bottom of a wine glass. “And they say chivalry is dead,” she taunted. “Let’s go,” she urged the mage. 

“Good luck, Insetto.” Illario smirked.

Rook fumed at his juvenile quip, but as she lifted a hand to flash the most vulgar sign she could think of, the mage summoned a breeze to propel them forward, causing Rook to desperately clutch her seat once more, as the boat took off across the water.

---

They sailed for what felt like hours. After plastering a smile on her face and assuring Harding for the sixth time that she was “completely fine”, Rook muttered a silent prayer of thanks as they arrived at their destination.

As the boat slowed to a stop. Rook dared a glance around them, yet saw nothing but open water. 

“How do we get into the Ossuary?”

“You’ll see,” came the mage’s less-than-comforting reply. Raising her hands above her head, the mage compelled the very water beneath them to churn. Rook clung to the side of the boat with white knuckles as the whirlpool spun beneath them, widening until a set of mossy stone steps appeared, vanishing downward into the darkened depths of the ocean.

“You have two hours. After which, I close the opening.” The Mage warned. 

“Understood.” Harding nodded before climbing out of the boat and onto the steps below. “Rook?” She asked, a look of worry flashing across her gaze.

Rook sat for a moment, willing her frozen limbs to move. She hoped Harding didn’t notice the way her hands subtly quaked in fear as she stood, eyeing the wall of ocean surrounding the entrance. 

The ocean is no place for a bee, a memory called out in the back of her mind.

Perhaps, she thought, but it’s no place to cage a crow either, she argued.

Stepping over the side of the boat, she descended onto the first step. Taking a steadying breath, she whispered to herself.

“For Lucanis.” As the ocean swallowed them whole. 

Chapter Text

Lita and her rescuer walked silently as they made their way to one of the larger canals in the city's center. After a few minutes, Lita finally worked up the courage to glance at the fearsome woman next to her. Though Lita knew better than ever to guess a woman’s age, the dark-eyed woman looked to be in her late 50s. Her features were sharp, much like her manner of speaking, and her black hair, pulled into a neat bun, was streaked with silver. Soft wrinkles etched her tanned face, the heaviest being those between her brow. Lita deduced from her lack of smile lines that the woman did not laugh much, and from the threats she’d levied at the Pig earlier, that she likely didn’t have much of a reason to. She wore a simple black dress and navy coat, yet it was clear from the quality and tailoring that she was a noble. But the thing that intrigued Lita the most was the woman’s cane. The slender black stick was topped with the silver head of a crow, and from how the woman had brandished it earlier, Lita felt the symbol wasn’t a coincidence. 

As they arrived at the canal, the woman approached a large gondola, tied off at one of the docks. Upon noting their arrival, the gondolier leaped to the dock and extended a hand to assist her into the boat, bowing as he said a quick greeting, “Signora Dellamorte.” 

“Antonio,” She nodded. “Take us back to the Villa, please.”

He nodded before escorting Lita into the boat, a curious expression darting over his face, before he pushed them off, propelling them forward with a long pole. The city rolled by as they glided along the canal, easing under bridges and passing other gondolas. The small, simple structures of the lower city soon gave way to grand buildings and villas, home to the nobles of Trevisso. As they wound their way up a private canal, they reached a large metal gate, its scrolling grate adorned with a large crow, its great wings encompassing the entire entrance. Antonio let out a series of whistles, and Lita startled as the shrill creak of the gate opening answered in reply. Their gondola swept inward into a small pool and came to rest at the steps of the largest home Lita had ever seen. 

As they exited the boat, Lita noted that Antonio broke away, leaving Lita to follow Signora Dellamorte up the steps to a large set of black carved doors that magically swung open at their approach. Lita tried not to gawk as they entered the home, if you could even call it that. There are probably castles less grand than this, she thought to herself, as she took in the great pillared walls and marble floor. As a footman closed the doors behind them, a baritone voice called out to them. “Welcome home, Signora.” A neatly dressed butler approached, with two maids in tow. Passing her cane to the butler, Signora Dellamorte turned, allowing one of the maids to remove her coat, as the other extended a small silver bowl of rose water and a crisp linen towel for the woman to wash her hands.

“Elena, please fetch my grandsons and tell them we have a guest. Renata, please have a room and a meal prepared for Miss Florentino; she will be staying with us for the night. Renaldo, send word to house De Riva that I would like a meeting with them immediately.“ Drying her fingers, she accepted her cane from Renaldo, dismissing the three to their duties, before beckoning for Lita to follow her. 

As they made their way across the foyer, Lita could hardly breathe from the rapture that overwhelmed her body, as her eyes continued to feast on the space around her. Large paintings adorned the walls, ancient statues stood poised on carved pedestals that could have easily been considered art themselves, and crystal sconces, cast prisms of light that seemed to dance about the grand space. As they walked through a lavishly decorated hall, Lita couldn’t help but be drawn to a series of portraits hanging on the wall. Sensing that Lita’s pace had slowed, Signora Dellamorte stopped, turning to see where Lita had been staring.

“You have an eye for art, I see,” she began, “would you care for a closer look?”

Lita thought to decline for a moment, but her curiosity got the better of her. Nodding, she followed the woman as she walked to stand in front of the wall of paintings. From the varying styles, it appeared that the oldest portraits hung on the left, the works growing more recent moving to the right. Near the right end, Lita recognized a familiar, albeit less wrinkled face belonging to the woman next to her. 

“Is that?… she began.

“It is,” the woman nodded.

“Then those are…” Lita glanced at the portraits to the right. 

“My children, yes.” 

 Lita made to step closer towards the portraits, looking to Signora Dellamorte for approval. After receiving a curt nod, she walked closer to the framed works, maintaining what she hoped was an acceptable distance. All of the subjects were in their early twenties, shared similar features, and by Lita’s standards, were blessed with spectacular looks, but one in particular stood out. She hovered in front of the portrait of the woman, unable to look away. Perhaps it was the rich coffee color of her eyes that the painter had captured with such clarity, or maybe the subtle smile seemed to pull at the corners of her lips. Whatever the reason, Lita continued to stare at the work, stopping only when Signora Dellamorte spoke.

“My eldest daughter.” She commented, her lips twitching, as if tempted to betray a smile. 

“She looks,” Lita paused, pondering thoughtfully, “lovely.” She finished, unsatisfied with the word, but unable to identify an alternative that would properly fit the captivating woman.

“She was.” Signora Dellamorte replied softly, her eyes flashing with an emotion somewhere between mourning and anger.

Lita opened her mouth to ask about the woman in the portrait when she was interrupted by a call echoing from the hall.

“Welcome home, Caterina!” a cheerful voice sang.

Shaking her head, Signora Dellamorte waved a hand, urging Lita to follow her again. As they made their way into a large open room, Lita marveled at the grand staircase cascading down its center, quirking her head in curiosity as a boy only a few years older than herself sauntered down the steps. He wore fine clothes all trimmed with intricate embroidery and sporting golden buttons. His black hair was carefully slicked back, and despite his untucked shirt and askew vest, it was clear that every aspect of his appearance was a calculated performance. Confidence radiated from him like rays from the sun, and it took Lita all of two seconds to guess that, like the burning star, this boy, too, was used to the world revolving around him. 

Reaching the base of the stairs, he spoke, “When the servant said we had company, I wasn’t expecting this. His eyes roamed over Lita. "Piacere di conoscerti Signorina," he remarked, flashing her a dazzling smile. "My name is Illario Dellamorte," he announced, bowing deeply. Before he could straighten himself, he was met with a whack from Signora Dellamorte’s cane. 

“Where is Lucanis? As I recall, I sent for both of my Grandsons.” She scowled. 

Rubbing his shoulder, Illario mumbled. “I tried to get him to come, but he insisted on finishing his history assignment and said something like, How are we supposed to finish contracts if we can’t finish a paper? ”Illario recited, in a mocking tone, before waving a dismissive hand. 

“Am I to understand you left your work unfinished?” she raised a brow.

Illario held his hands up in defense. “The servant said you wished to see us immediately, and it would have been rude to keep such a lovely guest waiting.” He winked. 

“Perhaps if you would put half as much effort into your studies as you do trying to charm every pretty face you cross paths with, you’d manage to keep up with Lucanis during training.” She scolded.

 Illario reddened, and Lita didn’t fail to notice the flash of resentment dart across his features at the admonishment. Signora Dellamorte continued, “You’ll head straight back and finish your work once you and your cousin have taken Miss Florentino to the guest house. Am I understood?”

Illario nodded, fists clenched at his sides.

“Speak of the devil.” The Woman's gaze turned to the staircase. “Lucanis, this is our guest Amelita, she’ll be staying with us for the night.”

Lita glanced up the stairs, her breath suddenly catching, as her eyes fell upon the most beautiful boy she had ever seen. If his cousin was the sun, then Lucanis was all shadow. He moved with such stealth that Lita couldn’t hear the boy’s steps as he descended the stairs and went to Illario’s side. He was dressed in a simple outfit in shades of black and navy, the cool palette only adding to his shadowy persona. Like a polished blade, everything about the boy was sharp and precise, from his angular features to his piercing gaze. His quiet confidence, though perhaps not outright asking for attention, seemed to command it anyway. Lita had not realized how long she had been staring till his eyes met hers. 

Hacedor preservame, those eyes, she thought, admiring their coffee brown shade and the thick black lashes that framed them. It suddenly dawned on her that she had stared at an identical pair of eyes just moments before, but before she could broach the subject, her reverie was soon broken as Lucanis’ gaze narrowed at her. Realizing she had been staring the boy down, she blushed furiously before quickly turning her gaze to the floor. Attempting to draw attention away from her increasingly reddening cheeks, she awkwardly thrust out her hand to him, “Amelita Florentino”, she mumbled, “people call me Lita.” She forced herself to meet his eyes once more. Lucanis’s cool gaze dropped to her hand, his eyes widening slightly, before flicking back to hers.

“Makers' breath,” Illario remarked. “Did you kill someone before or after Caterina found you? Were you just walking around the city like that?” He laughed. 

Lita looked down at her hand and paled upon seeing the dried blood coating her palm and sleeve. Quickly retracting her hand, she hid it behind her back, her head ducking as heat rose to her cheeks once more. She opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by the sound of Signora Dellamorte’s cane making contact with Illario’s head, earning a yelp from the boy.

“This house is no stranger to dirtied hands, as you well know,” the woman scolded. “They are a sign of hard work, something I’ve yet to see from you, Illario.” 

Lita glanced up to see Illario's face flush at his grandmother's words, his clenched fists shaking subtly. Lucanis, on the other hand, was the perfect picture of composure, which seemed only to irk his cousin more.

“Now then,” the woman spoke, punctuating her words with a stomp of her cane. “While Miss Florentino’s room is being prepared, why don’t you both give her a quick tour of the villa. I trust you can manage that much?” She eyed Illario before continuing, “When you’re finished, fetch a change of clothes for our guest, will you, Lucanis?”

“I…” Illario began.

“Will be busy finishing your assignment, yes?” Signora Dellamorte finished, her hands gripping her cane, ready to deal another blow if needed. 

“Yes, Caterina,” Illario mumbled.

“Good”. She waved a hand dismissing their group before turning to leave, her cane echoing against the marble floor as she went. 

“Come on then.” Illario huffed, stomping as he took off up the stairs. Shaking his head at his cousin, Lucanis turned to Lita, waving his arm in a silent “after you”. Clutching her satchel, she followed Illario and tried to convince herself that she couldn’t feel Lucanis’s gaze on the back of her head. 

---

Illario led them on a tour of the Villa, stopping in each room to comment on various art, weapons, and other memorabilia they stumbled upon. His self-assured tone never faltered as he listed off random facts, which, if Lucanis’s facial expressions were any hint, were all incorrect after passing yet another painting of a hooded figure overlooking a landscape of Trevisso. The unspoken background of Lita’s hosts was beginning to metamorphose from theory to certainty. She had just opened her mouth to ask if her tour guides were Crows themselves when Illario spoke. 

“How old are you?” He questioned Lita. 

“Nine, erm… ten I mean,” she cringed.

“You don’t know how old you are?” He laughed.

Lita flushed at the boy's remark. For a moment, she thought she might share that she had been so busy robbing and stabbing the market pig that she had forgotten that yesterday was her birthday. But she bit her tongue upon seeing the two boys' expectant looks. 

“I’m ten,” she reaffirmed. “How old are you?”  She asked Illario, willing her tone to sound polite. 

“Thirteen,” he replied, spine straightening just a little.

She nodded, “And you?” She started, turning towards Lucanis.

 “We’re the same age,” Illario interjected, speaking before his cousin could reply. Lita suppressed a smile as Lucanis quirked an eyebrow at his cousin, challenging his remark.

“Fine”, Illario sighed. “He’s the eldest, but only by a few months. And you’d never be able to tell, eh?” He preened, turning to Lita for assurance. 

“Right…” she conceded. Noting the way Lucanis rolled his eyes at Illario. Looks aside it was fairly obvious that Illario was the younger of the two, if their studying habits and demeanor were any indicator. But she decided to keep that observation to herself.

After walking through the largest library Lita had ever seen, their tour finally brought them to the back of the house. Illario pushed open two ornately carved double doors to reveal a stunning landscape. Lita gasped in amazement;  it was as if she had walked into a fairytale. Tall white pergolas towered ahead, lush green vines of clematis climbing the sides, their large purple blooms nearly as large as Lita’s face. Neatly trimmed hedges and rose bushes lined the clean gravel walkways, creating a blissful aroma. She marveled at the many marble fountains spotted throughout the giant space, their spray creating a fine mist and casting a dreamy haze over the property. 

“Keep up,” Illario called, urging her to follow.

Snapping from her daze, Lita quickly made to follow, flushing upon realizing that Lucanis had also stopped behind her as she had paused in the middle of the walkway to admire the space around her. 

Waking to the entry of a smaller, no less extravagant building, Illario opened the doors just longthrough, leaving them rapidly closing enough to step in Lita’s face. Realizing too late to dodge the great carved door swinging towards her, she braced herself, when a hand suddenly shot out from behind her, halting the door before it could accost her.  She froze, shocked by the narrowly avoided collision and the proximity she now found herself to Lucanis. Muttering a quick word of thanks, she quickly ducked under the boy’s arm before darting inside the guest house. Catching up with Illario, she paused as he stopped in front of a door, pushing it open before extending an arm to welcome her inside. 

 The room had a particularly feminine touch in contrast to the rest of the Villa. As she stepped inside, Lita couldn’t help but smile at the delicate furnishings and the small vase of flowers sitting on the table at the end of the room.

Illario spoke from the hall. “The bathroom is through that door to the left.” He pointed. “You may want to wash your face when you rinse that blood off your hands, you’ve got mud splattered across your nose.”

Lita flushed. She opened her mouth to correct the boy when Lucanis punched him in the shoulder. 

“They’re freckles, not mud, tonto.” Lucanis quipped. Lita’s eyes widened. It was her first time hearing the boy speak, and the rich tone of his voice caught her off guard. 

Illario rubbed his arm, “I’m telling Caterina.” 

Lucanis snorted, “She would tell you if you didn’t want to get hit, then you should have dodged.” 

“It’s rude to fight in front of our guests.” Illario countered. 

“Wouldn’t be the first rude thing you’ve done to her tonight.” He spoke darkly, casting an accusing look at his cousin.

“I was teasing, I can’t help but tease pretty girls.” He crooned. “You know I was only joking, right, Miss Florentino?” Illario gazed at Lita through his lashes.

Lita knew for a fact that the boy was peddling more shit than a cart full of manure, but starting a fight with her rescuer’s grandson was hardly the first impression she wanted to leave. “Right…,” she responded, willing herself to ignore Lucanis’s gaze, his eyes narrowing as if doubting her reply.

“See? No harm done. If you’ll excuse me, I have an assignment to finish.” Illario pouted, “Buona Notte Signora Florentino.” he bowed, giving her one final wink, before sauntering down the hall. 

She held back a snort as Lucanis shook his head at his cousin, before he spoke. “I’ll be back in a while with some clothes. There should be a meal on the table, and the servants drew you a bath, towels, and soap are by the tub.”

Lita flushed in embarrassment, she hadn’t looked in a mirror in months, so she could only imagine the mess she looked.

Catching her sudden discomfort, Lucanis stuttered. “Not that you need a bath… I’m sure Caterina just assumed you’d want to wash the blood off… You don’t have to…”

“Thank you”, Lita interrupted, suppressing a giggle at his flustered response. “A bath sounds wonderful.”

Schooling his composure, he nodded, “I’ll be back in a bit,” he responded before walking down the hall. Whispering to himself as he went. Shaking her head, Lita closed the door and turned to take in the room.

Setting her satchel on the floor, she made her way to a small table where a tray topped with a silver cloche had been set. Removing the lid, the aroma of food wafted up her nose, causing her stomach to growl, as she eyed the veritable feast of Caio e peppe, fresh bread and butter, and a variety of fruit lay. She attempted to pace herself so as not to get sick, but having not eaten since the day before, she found herself scarfing down the tray’s contents. Wiping her face on the cloth napkin, she grimaced as it came away filthy. 

Making her way to the bathroom, she marveled at the great clawed tub filled with steaming water, a table littered with towels, and a myriad of toiletries beside it. Sorting through the various glass bottles of soaps and oils, she poured what she hoped was a reasonable amount of lavender oil into the bath before undressing and climbing in. She nearly wept at the blissful sensation of the warm water enveloping her body and the comforting scent of lavender wafting around her. Due to their precarious living quarters and lack of running water, Lita’s baths had consisted of an ice-cold bucket of water or a plunge in one of the city’s fountains, while Lino stood guard like a dutiful watchdog. 

Her heart ached at the memory. 

Here she was, staying in a palace, belly full, and soaking in a gilded tub. After she had failed Lino not once, but twice, as she scrubbed angrily at the blood still coating her hands, tears began to stream down her face at the unfairness of it all. She continued to clean herself, weeping all the while, until her bath had cooled and her eyes had finally dried. Rising from the tub, she dried herself with a towel, eyeing her bloodstained clothes warily. Searching the room for an alternative, she spotted a thick fabric robe hanging on a small hook. The garment, clearly made for an adult, dwarfed her, but she relished the smooth, clean fabric. As she doubled up the sash, a knock came at the door. Hastily shoving up the sleeves, she made her way out of the bathroom and opened the bedroom door a crack, flushing upon seeing the boy on the other side. 

Lucanis stood, holding a small bundle of fabric. He eyed the oversized robe she wore and arched a brow before speaking. “I brought you something to wear,” he said softly, extending the stack of clothes. “They were mine when I was your age, so they might be too big, but better than…” he trailed off glancing at the sleeves of the robe she had haphazardly pushed up. 

Lita burned with humiliation, quickly snatching the bundle from his arms. She avoided his gaze and muttered a soft thanks. 

“You’ve been crying.” He remarked.

She tensed. “I wasn’t… I mean…Yes… Sorry.” She mumbled. 

“Why?”

“Because, I’m… just…sorry?” She replied, confusion furrowing her brow. 

“No.” His lips twitched. “I meant, why are you crying? Is it because of your eye?”

“No…” she replied. Until he had pointed it out, she had nearly forgotten the pain now thrumming above her cheek. He waited patiently for her to continue, as she fiddled with a button on the clothes she held.

“I lost…” she began, before pausing. That wasn’t right; she didn’t lose Lino, like a beloved toy dropped in the canal; he was taken, and the theft of his light and laughter widened the growing hole gaping in her heart.

“My friend was killed, and it was my fault. I couldn’t stop it from happening, and I… I couldn’t even get proper payback on the pig who killed him.” She whispered, her breath hitching as she fought back a sob.

“I’m sorry,” Lucanis spoke, his voice just above a whisper. “I can’t imagine how something like that could be your fault, but I hope you get the chance to make things right.” 

She nodded. Wiping at a tear that suddenly streaked down her cheek, she hissed as her hand touched the split beneath her eye. 

Lucanis suddenly raised a hand to her face as if to touch the wound, before quickly dropping his arm to his side. “There should be a healing salve in the bathroom cabinet to help with the pain. My grandmother will likely wish to speak with you tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you”, Lita whispered. Clutching the bundle of clothes tighter. 

Lucanis opened his mouth as if to say something, but quickly shut it, taking a step back. “Goodnight then... Lita,” he offered a slight bow before turning to leave, his steps silent as he treaded down the hall. 

Retreating into the room again, she leaned against the door, considering Lucanis’s words about things not being her fault. She struggled to find the truth in them, but they were a balm to her aching heart all the same. Moving from the door, she set the clothes on a chair before entering the bathroom. Digging through the small cabinet, she located the jar of healing salve and an ebony-handled comb. Staring into the mirror, her breath caught seeing her father’s eyes stare back at her, albeit more puffy and red than she had ever seen his, the bloodshot veins causing the specks of green and gold in her irises to stand out. She gently traced the freckles Illario had mistaken for filth, noting that they had only seemed to multiply in her time on the streets, before hovering over the purple bruise and cut covering her eye. Opening the jar of salve, she applied a liberal amount to the injury and the bruise on her shoulder from the day before, before taking the comb to her still-damp hair. 

Amongst the long list of essential daily tasks Lita had to complete the past few months, hair brushing was often neglected for other duties. Most days, Lita had simply run her fingers through her hair, thinking it was enough to combat the tangled mess. She suddenly realized how wrong she had been after attempting to run the fine-tooth comb through her hair, only for it to snag immediately on the knotted strands. Struggling to pull it the rest of the way, she considered quitting, only to recall Illario’s implication about her looking a mess. If she were truly to meet with Signora Dellamorte the next morning, she would look her best even if it killed her. Yet as she struggled against the comb, it was not Signora Dellamorte’s approval but her shadowy grandson’s that motivated her as she fought her auburn locks. 

Lita spent the next twenty minutes attacking the snarls she had collected, her scalp aching from the painful process, till the comb finally glided through effortlessly. Running a hand through her now smooth hair, she quickly plaited it into a simple braid, tying it with a scrap of fabric from her bag. She had just stood back to admire her handiwork when there was a knock at the door. Pulling the robe tightly around her, she creaked the door open a fraction, only to find the hallway vacant. Opening the door further, she tilted her head in curiosity at the small tray that had been placed on the floor, a small fabric-wrapped bundle, and a steaming cup of what appeared to be chocolate calda sitting atop it. 

Picking up the tray, she closed the door before walking to set it down on the table next to the plates from her dinner. Picking up the mug, she inhaled deeply before taking a sip, sighing at the rich chocolate taste and the warm sensation that spread through her aching bones. She tried to make the beverage last, but seeing as it had been months since she had tasted chocolate, the mug was emptied far too soon. Setting the cup down, she carefully picked up the small fabric bundle before moving to sit on the bed, letting out a sigh as she sank into the downy mattress. 

Noting the embroidered "L" on a corner of the fabric, she gingerly unwrapped the navy handkerchief to reveal a small green book, her eyes lighting as she took in the beautiful gilded cover. She traced the golden beast on the front, as she whispered the title aloud.

“The Joyous Wyvern”.

Curling onto her side, she began to read, smiling at the sweet tale that unfolded and marveling at the ornate illustrations decorating its pages. As she reached the end of the small book, her eyelids began to droop with the promise of sleep. Sneaking under the soft covers of the bed, she clutched the book to her heart, picturing the warm brown eyes of its giver, before drifting off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Lucanis lay on his cot, staring at the sky above him. Technically speaking, he was staring at the ocean and the faint crimson ward keeping the ossuary preserved from the sea surrounding them. Even so, he supposed the sky was above him somewhere. 

At first glance, one would think the skylights in each cell to be a small mercy offered to the inmates trapped in the Ossuary, the one source of enrichment in an otherwise barren cell. But Lucanis knew better than most that the only mercy one would find from the Venatori was a swift death, and even that was rarely granted. No, it was far more likely that the skylights served as a warning, that even if one of the prisoners dared to break free from their cells, that escape would not be so easily won. But Lucanis never was one to shy away from a challenge.

His fingers twitched restlessly, as his eyes drifted to the crude handholds he had carved into the rock wall, weeks after he had first arrived in the Ossuary over a year prior. He had forsaken his usual routine of climbing exercises, hoping instead to preserve his strength for what was in store. Ignoring his spasming limbs, he redirected his attention to the door of his cell, listening intently for the guard who usually delivered his daily meal to approach. He had taunted the guard for two weeks, hoping to goad him into action. It had earned him more than a few skipped meals, but he could see the poison slowly working. He could only hope that today he could deliver the final blow. 

A grating voice broke the silence.

“Too long. Taking too long. Let me out. I will free us.” 

Lucanis suppressed a groan as his eyes flitted to the demon pacing before the cell door like a caged beast. “No.” He replied sternly, earning a glare from the creature. “Not again.” He remembered the last time he had listened to Spite, 6 months prior. In a desperate attempt to escape, he had relinquished control to Spite, and in seconds, he had blacked out, only to wake up three days later sporting a dislocated shoulder, three broken ribs,  and a fractured foot. And so, not daring another ill-conceived scheme, he had waited. Playing the penitent prisoner, he had spent months formulating a new means of breaking out, memorizing the Ossuary layout, documenting the number of guards, their rotations, possible routes of escape, and every other morsel of information the foolish Venatori let slip. 

“How many times must I tell you to be patient? We’re getting out, but we’ll be doing things my way, understood?”

Spite let out a frustrated growl, his eyes flashing. He opened his mouth to grumble another complaint when the creaking of wheels echoed outside the cell. Spite vanished, disappearing into some dark corner of Lucanis’s mind. 

Reaching under his bed, Lucanis withdrew a makeshift garrote from under his mattress, tucking it into the back of his worn trousers as he stood, as a small wooden cart creaked into view outside the bars of his cell. Inhaling slowly, he donned his carefully constructed facade as easily as an actor might slip into a costume. Sagging his shoulders, he stumbled to the cell bars, leaning against the rusted gate for support.

“You know the rules, Demon, two paces back.” A voice barked. 

Willing his legs to quake, he stepped backwards, tripping over his feet, as if he were too weak to walk correctly, hoping his performance painted a pathetic picture. 

The guard chuckled, “Not so mouthy now, are we, Demon? Seems a few days without food did you some good after all”, the guard sneered. “But I’m not sure if you deserve this,” he held up a bowl of thin gruel, its smell nearly as appalling as its grayish color. Tipping the bowl, the guard began to dump the contents onto the floor.

“Please,” Lucanis begged, his voice hoarse, as he dropped to his knees. “Please.”

The guard laughed, his eyes lit with cruel amusement, behind his red mask and hood. “If only your Crows could see the sorry state of you now, their prized assassin groveling on the ground for slop.” He chuckled, “Well, since you’re being good today, I suppose I’ll be nice.” He carelessly slid the bowl under the barred door, further spilling the stale-smelling liquid. 

“Why,” Lucanis spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “Why do you…”

“What’s that, abomination?” The guard smirked, stepping closer to the gate. “You’ll have to speak up.”

Lucanis crawled to the bowl, shakily lifting it to his lips before taking a sip, spilling some of the gruel onto his shirt for further effect, before speaking, his voice slightly louder.“Why do you wear a mask?” He quirked a brow. “Are you hiding some sort of disfigurement? You must be, otherwise you’d have at least managed to fuck your way to a better position than delivering meals to me. Unless…” he glanced down at the man’s groin, offering a look of pity. 

The guard’s gaze turned murderous as his hands clenched around the bars of the cell, knuckles turning white. 

“My condolences, I know I’ve always called you ball-less, but I was only referring to your inability to fight. Had I known…” he shook his head. “My deepest sympathies for your loss. Anyways, thanks for the meal.” He lifted the bowl in weak “cheers” before taking another swig. Closing his eyes and letting out a sigh of satisfaction, as if he were sipping on a cup of Andoral’s Breath. 

The sudden static of blood magic filled the air, causing the backs of Lucanis’s lids to itch, as the loud crack of the magical ward dispelling around him rang through the air. The gate creaked open as the now fuming guard entered his cell.

“Looks like you’ve lost meal privileges again, demon.” He spat, “Now give me the bowl, unless you want me to bash in that face of yours.”

“Alright,” Lucanis shrugged. “Here.”

Lucanis flung the wooden bowl at the guard’s head, the remaining gruel dousing the man’s face. Before the guard could so much as shout, Lucanis had freed his hidden garrote. Leaping onto the guard, he looped the rope around his neck, pulling the line taught as the guard flailed, clawing at his neck desperately trying to remove the cord now crushing his windpipe. Lucanis continued to hold fast until the writhing ceased. Dropping the body to the ground, he quickly searched the guard, grabbing a small ring of keys, before exiting the cell. 

Making his way down the corridor, he eyed the cells that had once held other abominations, now lay vacant. It seemed the rumors he had heard whispered amongst the guards, about Zara sending her more impressive pets away to assist the “new gods”, had been more than idle chatter. Stopping at a small wooden door, he began testing the various keys, cursing silently at how long it took, and wishing he had a set of lockpicks instead. A small iron key finally found purchase, and the lock clicked open. Lucanis opened the old door, its hinges creaking as he entered the small room beyond. Various crates lined the walls, covered in a thick layer of dust, clearly having not been reopened. Part of him questioned why the Ossuary even bothered holding onto the prisoner’s belongings, knowing full well all those who entered the accursed prison would either die or depart as one of Zara’s rare “successes”. But upon seeing his name scratched upon one of the crates, he offered a small thanks to whoever had come up with the misguided notion. 

Opening the crate, he made short work of donning his fighting leathers, noting with a twinge of sorrow how the tailored outfit now hung loosely on his frame.

“Nothing a few good meals won’t fix.” He thought. Strapping a dagger to his chest, he exited the space. “Now to finish that contract.”

—

After snapping the neck of a sixth guard, Lucanis’s earlier act of “the weakened prisoner” began to blur with reality, as his head began to spin. Ignoring the ache at his temples, he continued down a crumbling pathway, reaching a large door in the center of the Ossuary. If the guard he had threatened earlier was to be trusted, he would find the vile of his blood being stored in the next room. Leaning against the door, he paused, listening for signs of movement within before entering. His eyes combed over the room, noting the large crystalline structure that filled the space, and little else.  Huffing in frustration, he circled the structure to be sure, but upon sensing Spite’s shared vexation, he determined his quarry must be elsewhere. He turned to make his way out when the sound of the door being shoved open stopped him. Ducking behind the crystal, he listened as footsteps echoed through the space, and five distinct scents permeated the air, all muddled with the metallic traces of blood and sorcery.

“You two, alert Calavan of the Demon’s escape. You three will remain with me to deal with the intruders.” A gruff voice spoke. 

Intruders? Lucanis thought. 

As the two men made to peel off, the door suddenly opened again. Lucanis’s senses were engulfed by the fragrant scent of lavender and honey, soon followed by the faint scent of pine and earth.  The intruders, perhaps? He speculated.

The sound of weapons being drawn and the static of blood magic filled the air.

That’s a yes. He thought. Standing up, he suddenly stumbled, throwing out a hand to steady himself on the large crystal. Voices shouted, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying over the sudden pain bursting in his head.

“Let me out,” Spite growled. 

“No,” Lucanis muttered through gritted teeth. His vision blurred as his head continued to throb.

“You need me.” Spite argued.

“No,” Lucanis argued, with somewhat less resolve. “I won’t let you take over.”

“Use my strength.” The demon urged. “Spill their blood.”

“I… you won’t take me over?” Lucanis asked in disbelief.

“No time.” The demon hissed as the shouting grew louder. “Let me out.”

“Swear it,” Lucanis commanded, a familiar itch suddenly forming between his shoulder blades. 

“I swear.” The Demon crooned.

“Deal.” The moment the word escaped his lips, Lucanis was filled with electricity. His limbs suddenly straining from the power filling them, the pain in his head vanishing instantly, as two dark wings sprang from his back in a cloud of inky smoke. He launched skyward, shattering the tip of the crystal and releasing a spray of shards on the startled Venatori below. He struck with unfathomable speed, kicking a guard and sending their body flying, impaling another on a crystal stalactite. Two more guards charged him, but by some unknown instinct, he spread his wings once more. Their shadowy span, slicing through the men, as swiftly as any blade, as he turned to meet the final assailant. The guard lunged desperately, but Lucanis easily dodged the blade, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck before snapping it with a swift jerk. 

“Lucanis?” A voice whispered, the sound so soft he thought for a moment he might have imagined it. The owner cleared her throat before speaking again, tone firmer. “Lucanis Dellmorte?”

Wrenching control from Spite, he willed the wings at his back to recede as he turned. Squinting through the smoke that arose as they vanished, he could make out two heavily armed figures. 

“Who are you? Who sent you?” He growled, muscles tensing as he braced himself for another fight. He pondered for a moment whether he should summon spite’s powers once more, when the smoke finally cleared. 

He froze, heart racing as he stared at the woman before him. She had changed little from when he had last seen her lounging atop a rafter of the Canatori Diamond, scratching away in a small sketchbook she always seemed to carry, or petting one of the many stray cats amongst the alleys of Trevisso. But there was no mistaking that freckled face.

“Lit..” Lucanis began, his voice just above a whisper.

She spoke, cutting him off. “My name is Rook. House de Riva. I’m here to take you home.”

Why Amelita de Riva was sporting a new name and pretending to be a stranger, he didn’t know, but there were more pressing matters at hand. 

“This is… unexpected…” he remarked.

“Today is full of surprises, it would seem,” Lita, or Rook, as she apparently called herself now, spoke. “You weren’t expecting a rescue, and I wasn’t expecting you to have a… I mean…”, she stumbled over her words.

“Rook.” A red-headed dwarf spoke. 

He had been so astounded by Rook’s presence, he had forgotten her companion. he flinched at her apprehensive tone as she continued, “he’s possessed by a demon.”

“It’s complicated.” He shrugged.

“Your grandmother promised us a mage killer if we broke you out of here,” Rook stated. 

“I can still work”. He insisted, resisting the urge to wave at the five bodies’ worth of proof lying at their feet.

“Rook…” the dwarf began.

“Good”. Rook replied, cutting her off. “Let’s get going then. I’m sure you’re anxious to get out of here.” She turned, “Harding.” She jerked her head towards the door.

“Wait, we can’t leave yet”, he spoke, resisting the urge to quirk a brow as Rook began fiddling nervously with the small silver dagger strapped to her thigh. 

“And you’re dying to lengthen your stay here in this watery hellhole because…?” she responded, the faintest trace of agitation threading her words.

“They have a vial of my blood they can use to control me. I can’t leave it in their hands.”

 Rook’s hand stilled, pity etching across her features.

“I also happen to have an unfinished contract, a Venatori named Calavan. He managed to capture me here before I could kill him, you know what that means.”

“A crow always finishes their contract”, Rook muttered, tilting her head towards the watery ceiling in contemplation before immediately snapping it back to the floor, her hands fidgeting with her dagger again.

Is she… afraid of the ocean? Lucanis thought before Rook spoke.

“So, we recover your blood, stab a venatori, and then you’ll come with us?” She sighed. 

“If it’s any consolation, I’ll owe you one.” He assured her, earning a half smile from the freckled crow.

“If your rates are anything like mine, that’s quite the pricy favor.” She winked. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

—

The trio had made their way through the remainder of the Ossuary, fighting the abominations and Venatori that were unfortunate enough to have lingered. With each room they passed, the truth of Zara’s abominable experiments was revealed, and Harding’s distrustful glances at him grew more wary by the minute. 

Rook’s expressions, on the other hand, had evolved from heartbreak to fiery rage, as Lucanis had shared details of the experimentation on him and Spite. By the time they had located his blood, she had looked ready to combust as she threw a small incendiary at the vial of Lucanis’s blood, the flame’s light dancing across her furious expression. 

As the fire licked away at the remainder of the blood, Lucanis rolled his shoulders, relishing in the sudden relief he felt as the invisible shackles around him shattered. He sensed Spite felt a similar relief, stretching like a caged beast and flexing his claws in anticipation. 

“Let’s get our target.” 

Spite growled in agreement. 

—

Calavan had not stood a chance. Even armed with additional mages and a raging Pride Demon, their victory against the haughty blood mage had been swift thanks to the combined effort of Rook, Harding, and Spite. 

Rook had been a sight to behold, her throwing knives sailing through the air with deadly precision, her daggers taking down Venatori with lethal grace. He had always known she was considered a protégée amongst the Crows, but seeing her in action was another matter. He had caught himself watching her more than once during their fight, only to be brought back to reality by a hiss from Spite or a warning glare from Harding. The latter of which still seemed ready to shoot an arrow through him at any given moment, especially after witnessing one of his conversations with Spite.

After disposing of Calavan, he had listened to the demon rant about their deal being incomplete, only stopping when he noticed Harding and Rook staring at him with a mixture of confusion and concern. It was then that he realized they could not see Spite, a revelation Harding had found particularly unsettling, as proven by her continued grip around her bow as they sailed in a small boat back to Trevisso. 

Lucanis had glanced at Rook to see if she harbored a similar distrust, only to find her frozen in her seat, her eyes fixated on the floorboards. He gently tapped her boot with his own, quirking a brow as her head snapped to meet his gaze. 

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“Fine,” she let out a pained smile, “Just worn out from the fight. Not that I have room to complain, you look like you haven’t slept in days.” She let out a nervous laugh. 

He offered a half smile. “I’m sure I look worse than I feel.” 

She raised a skeptical brow before continuing. “I’m just glad you’re in one piece. Viago would kill me if I brought the first Talon’s grandson back all scuffed up. So thank you for that.”

“Caterina wouldn’t mind. Besides, she wouldn’t have had you rescue me if she didn’t trust you.” He smiled. 

“I’m not so sure about that.” She snorted. “You should have seen her expression recounting how you were captured; she looked like she would raze the world for you.” Rook shuddered. “She’ll be happy to have you home.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” He replied, echoing her words. “But it’ll be good to be home.” 

She nodded, closing her eyes and wincing as the boat bounced over a wave. He reached out a hand to steady her, only to quickly withdraw it as he saw Harding’s grip tighten on her bow. 

“Throw her in the sea,” Spite spat. 

Lucanis let out a silent groan, ignoring the demon as his eyes turned to the horizon and the subtle glow of the city in the distance.

Home.

—

Lucanis could hardly believe his eyes as they walked through the streets of Trevisso. Had it not been for Spite incessantly asking questions about the city, he would have thought he was having a dream. As they made their way to the Cantori Diamond, he could hardly contain the anticipation of seeing his family again. A feeling that quickly evolved to dread as they walked through the headquarters doors. 

The stench of blood magic hit him long before he spotted the bodies being carried from the building. Crows stood sporting fresh wounds, the most heavily injured on makeshift cots. 

Three familiar faces came into view as the trio wove their way through the chaos. 

“Lucanis?” Viago muttered in amazement.

“Maker’s breath, you look…” Teia began.

“What happened here?” Lucanis spoke, cutting her off.

“Zara Renata,” Illario shouted, pounding a fist into a nearby table before turning to face their party, his gaze softening as it landed on Lucanis. 

“I can’t believe it,” he shook his head, as he approached. “You’re home.” He whispered, placing a hand on Lucanis’s shoulder.

He gave his cousin’s hand a reaffirming squeeze before looking over the room, worry knotting his stomach. “Where is Caterina?”

The room fell silent.

“She’s…” she choked out, her eyes welling with tears as Viago placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. 

Spite clawed at the bars of Lucanis’s mind, “Zara did this, make her pay. I WANT TO MAKE HER PAY.” He growled.

Lucanis ignored the demon. “I need to work.”

Teia shook her head. “You should rest, take some time…” she began, her voice still shaky. 

“I don’t need time, I need a target.” He replied coolly. Fists clenching as he felt Spite push at his bonds. 

“You just got here, and you already want to leave again?” Illario questioned, a bitter edge to his tone. “Caterina would…”

“Caterina gave me a contract.” He snapped, “I’m not breaking the last deal she ever made, and besides, I owe Rook.” Shutting his eyes, he tried to ignore the burning sensation blazing between his shoulders, as spite’s wings threatened to burst free.

“Lucanis,” Rook spoke softly.

His eyes eased open at the gentle sound, as he looked to the woman.

 “You don’t owe me anything.” She assured him, her voice heavy with emotion. “Especially not after losing Caterina.” 

“Please,” he pleaded. “Allow me this much. Just this job and I’ll return home. For Caterina, Rook stared back at him, unconvinced, before offering a nod. 

“For Caterina,” she whispered.

“Fine.” Illario huffed, “But I need to be there when you track down Zara.”

“Illario”, Viago warned.

“Hush, Vi,” Teia spoke, raising her hand to silence Viago, before turning to Lucanis, the sorrow in her gaze sharpening into something deadly. “Cut her heart out for me, Lucanis.” She commanded, earning a satisfied rumble from Spite.

“I’ll send her your regards,” Lucanis replied. Before turning to Harding and Rook. “So, tell me about these Gods.”

Chapter Text

Lita awoke to the sound of a gentle knock at the door. Springing from the mattress, she quickly pulled the large robe around her before opening the door by a fraction, revealing a maid on the other side. The woman offered a small courtesy before speaking, “Buon Giorno, Miss Florentino. Signora DellaMorte requests your presence at breakfast this morning. If you’ll please ready yourself, I’ll escort you to the main dining room.” 

Lita nodded, “I’ll only be a few minutes,” she replied, closing the door before making her way to the bathroom. Shedding the fluffy robe, she pulled on the outfit Lucanis had brought her the night before, fighting the blush that threatened to creep to her cheeks as she recalled their brief encounter. The clothes, although slightly large for her frame, were of fine quality. Standing in front of the mirror, she was shocked to find that the small cut beneath her cheek had healed significantly, the purple bruise that had blossomed there now faded to a faint mark. Undoing her braid, she ran her fingers through her hair, smiling at the smooth auburn waves. Deeming her appearance acceptable, she packed away her belongings in her small satchel, taking care to wrap her gift from the night before in its handkerchief before stowing it gingerly in her bag. 

Opening the bedroom door once more, the maid offered her a small smile before gesturing for Lita to follow. Their walk through the Dellamorte estate was no less magical than the night before, and Lita couldn’t help but marvel at the rays of morning sunlight painting the grounds in gold. As they made their way through the mansion, Lita willed her pulse to steady, as they stopped in front of a large double door. The maid knocked softly, and the doors opened in reply, revealing yet another grand room behind them. A large mahogany table lined with over a dozen chairs stood in the center of the room, three of its seats occupied.

“Come, Miss Florentino.” Signora Dellamorte called, gesturing from her spot at the head of the table to the chair at her right. Straightening her shoulders, Lita made her way to her seat, uttering a small thanks to the footman who pulled out her chair for her, cursing the small flush that rose to her cheeks as she realized who now sat directly across from her. 

As a maid set a heaping plate of food before her, Lita’s heart leapt as Lucanis’s eyes flitted to meet hers, stalling momentarily on the bruise beneath her eye, before settling back on his own breakfast. 

Picking up her own cutlery, Lita fought the urge to shovel down the plate of eggs and pastries before her, instead consuming the meal at a pace she hoped was appropriate, all the while ignoring the stares from her hosts. Only after her plate had been cleared did Signora Dellamorte speak.

“I hope you slept well.” 

“Si, Signora.” Lita nodded. “Thank you for your hospitality and for going through the trouble of letting me stay the night.”

The woman waved a dismissive hand. “We have plenty of rooms, most of which are never put to use. It was hardly trouble. But enough small talk.” She replied, her tone taking on a cool edge. “You mentioned not having anywhere to go after your incident yesterday. So, what is it you plan to do?”

Lita froze. The consequences of the previous day’s events rippled through her mind like a rock thrown into a pond. 

“I… I don’t know.” She admitted.

“Do you have any family?”

Lita nodded.

“Where are they?”

“They were taken by slavers a year ago. Led by a man in red working for the Venatori, he could use magic.”

Lita noted the sudden shift of atmosphere at her mention of the white haired mage, as Lucanis and Illario glanced at each other.

“A Blood Mage” Signora Dellamorte spoke, her face curling in disgust. “We are no strangers to their ilk. I am sorry for your loss, child.”

“They’re not dead!” Lita quipped, ducking her head in embarrassment at her own outburst, inhaling slowly before raising her head. “I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It’s just… I know they’re alive. They just haven’t come back yet.”

Signora Dellamorte eyed her shrewdly. “And what would you give in exchange for their return, ape?” The woman hummed, “Your soul perhaps?”

“Yes,” Lita replied, meeting the woman’s gaze. 

“You’re sure about that?” She pressed, quirking her brow.

Lita pondered for a moment, weighing the consequences of her answer like a stone in her palm. She recalled the sermons of the Chantry she had so often been forced to suffer through when she and her parents would visit the cathedral. The aged priests, perched at the pulpit, warned that sinners had no place in the Maker’s Paradise. If their stories were to be believed, then what value did her soul carry? Surely it wasn’t worth that much anymore, not with the bloody stains now littering its surface from the suffering she had caused. So if she could trade her soul, spoiled as it was, in exchange for her parents…

“I’m sure,” Lita replied. 

Signora Dellamorte’s gaze roamed over her, searching for any signs of doubt, until eventually she nodded, clearly satisfied with Lita’s answer.

“I take it after touring the manor, you are now aware of our family’s…unique background?” Signora Dellamorte asked.

“I’d hope so,” Illario laughed. “She’d have to be stupid not…” he suddenly yelped in pain, shooting a dark look to Lucanis, who sipped from a cup of black coffee with an undisturbed air. Furious, Illario raised a fist, freezing only at the sight of Signora Dellamorte’s hand tightening its grip around her cane. She narrowed her gaze at the boy before turning once more to Lita, awaiting her reply.  

“You’re Crows,” Lita spoke, meeting the woman’s gaze. 

She nodded. “As I mentioned before, we are no strangers to the atrocities of the Venatori; those unfortunate enough to run across them rarely survive. I won’t bother to give you false hope, as you must understand that your parents are likely dead.” She raised a hand, silencing Lita before continuing, “Nor can I provide aid in finding them if they are alive, but I can offer you an opportunity to do so yourself.”

Lita’s pulse thundered at the Woman’s prospect. “How?” She asked. 

“Join our ranks. Information is not easily bought, still, should you rise to a position of power, I have no doubt you’ll have the means of persuasion to purchase the answers you seek. But I warn you, ape, once you set down this path, there is no turning back. A price must be paid, and it will be paid in blood. So I ask you again, are you willing to make the exchange?” Signora Dellamorte asked, her expression cold.

For a moment, Lita turned the woman’s words over in her head, wondering just how much blood the price of becoming a crow would require, before concluding that whatever the amount, her parents were worth it. 

“Yes.” 

Signora Dellamorte’s lips twitched as her eyes lit with a satisfied gleam. “Welcome to the Crows.” Waving to the butler, she whispered a quick command, and the man departed from the room.

“Your training will start immediately. I’ve arranged for you to serve as an apprentice under House de Riva, speaking of which…”

Lita turned as a young man entered the room. Dressed in navy blue and black, he appeared to be a few years older than Lita, though slim and somewhat bookish looking, his athletic figure hinted there was more beneath his scholarly appearance. Lita questioned the leather gloves the boy wore despite the warm weather of early summer but dismissed the thought as the teen offered a stiff bow, before addressing the room. “First Talon, Master Lucanis, Master Illario.”

The three Dellamortes nodded in reply. “Amelita, this is Viago de Riva. Signore de Riva, this is your new apprentice, Amelita Florentino. I trust you’ll devote yourself to her training. I have a feeling she’ll be a great asset to House de Riva.”

Viago offered another bow, “Thank you for entrusting her to me. With your permission, we’ll take our leave.” 

“Of course,” she nodded. “Boys, I believe you have your own training to attend to.” She gestured to her Grandsons, dismissing them from the table, as she rose to leave.

“Good luck, Miss Florentino.” Illario winked before pushing up from the table. 

“Come, Amelita,” Viago commanded before exiting the room. 

Lita scrambled to rise from her chair, glancing at Lucanis as he offered a brief nod of farewell before turning to exit the room. She clutched at the small book inside her bag, her heart sinking at not having gotten to thank its giver. “But… I didn’t get…”

“Quickly.” Viago urged waving for her to follow. 

Offering Signora Dellamorte a quick bow, she mustered a smile, “Thank you, Signora Dellamorte. For everything. I won’t disappoint you.”

The woman’s lips twitched, “I’m sure you won’t.”

Nodding, Lita made to follow Viago, who stood in the hallway, tapping an impatient foot against the floor. 

“First rule as my apprentice, always follow my instruction without arguing, understand? I won’t tolerate any juvenile antics, understood?” He huffed, his demeanor more similar to that of a surly old man than a teenager. Lita bit back a sassy remark, offering a silent nod instead. 

“Good, let’s go.” 

“Where?” Lita queried. 

Viago let out a sigh, turning on his heel towards the door. “Where else? House De Riva.”

Rolling her eyes at the boy’s back, she followed him outside the manor. As they wound their way through the streets, she peppered Viago with questions, “How old are you? When did you join the crows? Have you killed people? How many? What is a Talon? Are you a talon? Are there other crows in House de Riva?”

Viago had unenthusiastically replied to her first few questions, revealing that he was 16, had been with the crows for 8 years, that a talon was the highest position in the crows, and that he wasn’t one yet, and he’d been given his own house after being promoted to a master assassin. Lita noted that he conveniently skipped over the questions regarding the number of people he had killed, but assumed from his title of “master assassin” and the sudden shift of his posture that the answer wasn’t zero.

Before Lita could pry any further into Viago’s past, they came upon a small manor, tucked into the end of a tree-lined street.  Though nowhere near as large as the Dellamorte estate, its size was far greater than one would expect a single person, let alone a teenager, to reside.

As Viago ushered her through the door, he led her on a brief tour of the lower floor, stopping at a small chamber that was to serve as her living quarters moving forward. The small space, though incredibly plain, was clean, furnished with a small bed, a chest, and a plain wooden table with a small mirror, washing basin, and pitcher atop it; and despite the spaces meager appearance Lita couldn’t help but smile at the thought of having a space of her own, as she peered at view of the city beyond the small window on the opposite wall. 

“A few outfits have been purchased for you. They should be in the chest there.” He nodded to the foot of the bed. “You’ll be in charge of laundering and mending your own clothing,” Viago stated. 

“But how did…” Lita began.

“The first Talon contacted me yesterday evening to alert me of your arrival, and asked that I make preparations immediately.” He answered, anticipating her question.

“But I hadn’t even said I’d join the Crows yet. What if Signora Dellamorte was wrong?”

Viago scoffed. “You will learn very quickly that the First Talon is never wrong. Now, if you’re done here, we have more to do.” 

Lita shook her head, marveling for a moment at the First Talon’s foresight, before following Viago out of her room. As they walked through the building, Viago listed off the daily tasks she would be expected to complete on a daily basis. 

“You’ll help the servants of the manor, and accompany them to the market when I require you to obtain ingredients, you’ll feed the messenger crows as well as clean their aviary, organize my office, assist me with taking stock of the Crows’ poisons and antidotes, as well as help me tend to my specimens, especially when I am out on assignment and cannot do so myself.”

“Specimens?” Lita asked, her head tilting in curiosity, as they came to stop at a large set of doors.

Pulling out a small key, Viago unlocked the door before pushing into the room. As the doors opened, Lita was greeted by a symphony of sound: deep croaks, faint chirps, and sharp hisses all blending together in wild harmony. As she entered what appeared to be an office, she took in the space with an air of wonder. A large black desk and chair sat against a wall, its surface covered with neat stacks of paper, letters, and writing utensils all meticulously lined up, the green velvet of the high-back chair complementing the dark rug sprawled across the room. Against the opposite wall stood large counters littered with various sets of alchemical glasses and burners, mortars and pestles of all shapes and sizes, and a myriad of glass vials and containers. Above them, shelves stocked with various herbs and mysterious ingredients took up every inch of the wall. But the feature that interested Lita most of all was the large group of glass terrariums lining the far wall, their occupants clearly the source of the sound she had heard upon entering. 

As she examined the containers, she marveled at the collection of different creatures. Small colorful frogs sat amidst blinking slowly amongst lush plants, serpents curled beneath the cover of logs, their tongues tasting the air, scorpions stood on small pools of sand,  barbed tails held skyward, and Lita saw more than one terrarium lined with the silken threads spun by the spiders within. 

Noticing a golden frog chirping softly within a small glass dome, Lita reached out to trace a finger over the enclosure, before her finger had come within an inch of the creature, Viago spoke.

“You are not to handle any of the animals without my instruction, and certainly not without gloves, if you value your life!” He growled.

Lita quickly dropped her hand to her side. “I wasn’t going to touch it, you don’t have to threaten me.” She mumbled. 

“It’s not a threat,” Viago huffed. “Had your skin made contact with that specimen, you’d be dead in an hour, maybe two, depending on how long your heart held out.” 

Lita stared wide-eyed at the small golden creature before eyeing the other terrariums.

“Are they all poisonous?” She asked, casting a wary look at Viago.

“No,” he replied. 

She let out a sigh of relief.

“The snakes, spiders, and scorpions are all venomous, as are a few of the carnivorous plants. Only the frogs and toads are poisonous.”

Lita paled. “And I have to help you tend to them?”

“Yes,” Viago replied matter-of-factly. “You’ll start out cleaning out their terrariums. Once you can handle that successfully, you’ll be responsible for feeding them. Manage to do so without getting bitten or poisoned, and you’ll get to assist me with collecting samples.” 

Lita tensed, “What do they eat?”

“Insects mainly,” Viago nodded towards a tall glass jar, full of chirping crickets and other bugs. “Except for the snakes and tarantulas, they require mice. Which you’ll gather from the traps in the cellar.”

Of course they do, Lita thought, shuddering at the mere thought of having to retrieve the small rodents. She he had quickly overcome her fear of the furry creatures, after having shared a sleeping space with them in her time living in the alleys of Trevisso, but it didn’t make the task at hand any more pleasant. Sensing Viago’s gaze she straightened her shoulders. 

“Will that be a problem?” He inquired. 

“No,” she replied, steeling her resolve. If she was ever going to be a true Crow, surely fetching a few rodents would be the least of her challenges. Looking at the terrariums, she gazed at their inhabitants once more. If she was going to be looking after the beasts, she might as well get acquainted. 

“What are their names?” She asked.

“That golden one you tried to acquaint yourself with is a ‘Sovereign Frog’ from Rivain”.

“No,” Lita shook her head. “I mean, what did you name them?” 

Viago snorted in reply. “They don’t have names.”

“Why not?” She quirked a brow. 

“Because specimens don’t need names to fulfill their purpose, Idiotta.“ He rolled his eyes, releasing an annoyed huff. “They’re animals, not people.”

Lita clenched her fists as anger welled in her chest. She gritted her teeth, willing herself to keep her mouth shut, but upon seeing Viago’s apathetic expression, the dam of her constraint burst. 

“Their lives are serving your needs. I’m sure they didn’t ask to be snatched up from their homes and shoved into little glass boxes. So if they’re going to serve you, the least you can do is call them by a real name. For example, mine is ‘Lita’, NOT ‘Idiotta’. Got it?” She shouted, not waiting for him to reply before continuing. “If you can’t be bothered to come up with names for them, then I’ll do it myself. Now, which one of your specimens is the crankiest?” She asked.

Viago stared at her in silence, clearly unused to being reprimanded. he stood unmoving, his jaw slack with shock.

“Well?” Lita snapped. Startling, he gestured to a terrarium with a small green snake. As Lita approached, the vibrant reptile reared into a defensive stance, snapping its jaw and hissing loudly. 

The resemblance is uncanny, she thought. Raising her hand over the small glass box, she waved her fingers in the shape of a sun, as she had seen members of the Chantry do, when giving the blessing of the maker to infants. 

“I dub thee, ‘Viago’.” She spoke, turning to the serpent’s namesake and flashing the now scowling teenager a smile. She then repeated the small ritual until every creature had been christened with an acceptable name before returning to stand in front of Viago, the human.

 “Now,” she placed her hands on her hips, “when do I start my training as a crow?”

— 

After a week under Viago’s tutelage, Lita had decided that as prickly as he was, one couldn’t call the young man cruel. After their spat, he had called for a truce, which Lita had readily accepted, on the terms that he refer to all the specimens by their newly given names, to which he had begrudgingly agreed. The rest of the afternoon, he had walked Lita through the remainder of her duties as his apprentice, as well as the other areas in which she would train in order to eventually qualify as a true fledgling. 

“I thought Signora Dellamorte said I would begin my training as a crow straight away, why am I helping you instead of working with the other fledglings?” She questioned. 

“Because, idio-, he stopped, correcting himself. “Lita. Most of the fledglings were recruited far younger than you were. If you want to stand a chance, you’ll progress when, and only when, the First Talon and I deem you’re ready.” He answered, as they walked to the roof where Viago’s personal messenger crows were housed. 

“But when will I be ready?” She pressed.

“Idiotta…” he warned. Ignoring the glare she gave him in reply. “If you want to train so badly, then quit asking questions and work for it.” 

Viago’s recommendation, she soon discovered, was easier said than done. Lita’s first morning as his apprentice had started with downing a series of diluted poisons so noxious, Signora Capra’s cooking seemed palatable by comparison. After downing the 4th vial, Lita had begged Viago for water to rinse the bitter taste from her tongue, only for him to refuse, stating that “identifying poisons by their taste was just as important as building a tolerance for them.” She had scowled at him, furious that she couldn’t argue with his sound logic. 

The rest of the morning was spent feeding the messenger crows, scrubbing Viago’s alchemist’s equipment, cleaning terrariums, and assisting him with preparing the various ingredients for a multitude of poisons and antidotes, which, as the main supplier for the crows, Viago always seemed to be making. Afternoons were spent practicing basic combat and conditioning drills, including running laps, balancing amongst the rafters of House deRiva’s attic, scaling walls, and countless repetitions of pull-ups, sit-ups, and every other torturous exercise imaginable. The evening ended with studying subjects varying from poisonous plants to the history of the Crows. A task that, to Viago’s dismay, revealed itself to be most challenging for Lita. 

She had tried her best to focus on the large tomes placed before her, but after flipping aimlessly through the musty books, had inevitably found herself sketching with the charcoal pencil and paper Viago had provided her to take notes with instead of reading. By the third evening, Viago was at his wits’ end. 

“Lita, if you don’t stop doodling instead of studying, so help me…” he growled. 

“I don’t see why you’re so upset”, Lita replied, not bothering to look up from the crow she had been drawing on a scrap of parchment. “I read the books…” 

Viago cast her a doubtful glance. 

“…more or less.” She shrugged. “Besides, how is reading going to help me become a Crow?”

“Because…” he growled, snatching the piece of charcoal from her grasp. “A sharp mind is just as deadly as a sharp blade, Idiotta. Any heathen with a weapon can draw blood, but a true Crow knows whose blood is really worth spilling, and how to do so efficiently.” He gestured to the book of poisonous herbs, “Poisons aren’t just about defeating your enemies, they’re about protecting yourself. Even the Crows aren’t above killing each other to get ahead. He pointed at the book of history, “Knowing the mistakes of your predecessors will keep you from repeating them, their victories can inspire your own. Now, quit doodling and read. I want a list of the Crows’ five most famous assassinations and how they were accomplished before you’re dismissed for the night.” 

Lita sighed, opening one of the dusty tomes and attempting to absorb the words listed on the page. Viago’s logic, although sound, did little to inspire her, and over the course of the week, she still found herself struggling to meet his staggering academic standards. In sheer desperation, Viago had bartered a sketchbook, charcoals, and two hours of drawing time in the evenings, in exchange for her cooperation. A bribe that seemed to earn results quicker than magic itself. 

As master and apprentice fell into a routine over the following weeks, Lita began to look forward to the quiet evenings spent sketching, accompanied by the ambient sounds of Viago tinkering away, developing some new poisonous potion. It was during such an evening, as Lita shaded the wings of a smiling Wyvern, that she asked a question long dwelling on her mind.

“Do Signora Dellamorte’s grandsons train with the other fledglings?”

“No. The first Talon sees to their training herself.” Viago’s logic replied, his hands busy preparing some new concoction.

Lita had hoped that amongst her errands about Trevisso that she might run into a certain Dellamorte and thank him for the small book she had practically memorized, but had yet to encounter him.

“So no one ever sees them?” She replied, attempting nonchalance. 

“Rarely. Illario is the less elusive of the two, but they aren’t seen often outside of the Dellamorte manor.”

“Do people ever visit the manor…”

Lita’s words were suddenly cut off as the door to Viago’s study burst open.

“Buon Giorno Vi!” A young woman called. 

Lita gawked at the girl as she bounded through the door, confidence rolling off of her in waves. If Lucanis was the most beautiful person she had ever seen, then this girl was easily second. 

Viago groaned, shaking Lita from the hypnotic state she had found herself in at the sight of the stunning brunette. 

“What are you doing here Andarateia? Aren’t you supposed to be training?” He scowled. 

The girl flashed him a smile that sent even Lita’s heart racing. “I bested everyone in combat training today so Signora Smeraldo gave me the afternoon off.”

Viago cast her a skeptical glance.

“I’d be happy to give you a demonstration if you don’t believe me,” the girl replied, slowly batting her lashes, earning an eye roll from Viago. “Besides,” she continued, “I had to see your new apprentice, I’ve been hearing all about.” The girl approached Lita, flashing her a brilliant smile while extending her hand. “I’m Teia, it’s lovely to meet you.”

Lita accepted her hand, hardly registering the contact, as a question burst from her mouth. 

“Are you an angel?”

Teia burst into a fit of laughter, her curls bouncing as her shoulders shook. “My word, you are sweeter than honey, no wonder Nonna calls you Ape.”

“And when did you find the time to pester the first Talon?” Viago scolded. 

“Oh, hush, Vi. Jealousy doesn’t suit you.” She giggled. 

“You’re the First Talons’ Granddaughter?” Lita asked in amazement. 

Teia laughed. “No, silly, my ears are usually a dead giveaway, I’m surprised you didn’t notice.” She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind a pointed ear. “Nonna was the one to recruit me.”

“Then why do you call her Nonna?…” Lita puzzled. 

“Because if it wasn’t clear from the way she burst in unannounced, Teia has no manners,” Viago replied.

Teia stuck her tongue out at him. “She secretly loves it, and you know it.”

“Considering not even her Grandsons call her that, I highly doubt it. Speaking of which…” he turned to Lita. “Back to our conversation we were having before the Trevisso’s biggest gossip barged in.”

Teia rolled her eyes before Viago continued. 

“If you’re trying to meet with the Talon’s Grandsons, it isn’t going to happen, not anytime soon at least.” He remarked, picking up his mortar and pestle, and grinding its contents once more.

Lita flushed, as Teia gasped. “Trying to meet with one of the princes?” She waggled her brows playfully. 

“I don’t want a meeting, I just wanted to drop off a letter…” Lita replied, her cheeks a bright pink. 

“A love letter?” Teia teased, “can’t say I’m surprised, Illario is quite the charmer.”

Lita cringed. “It’s not for Illario. And it’s not a love letter. It’s just a thank-you note to Lucanis for the gift.” 

Viagos’ grinding stopped. Teia stared at Lita as if she had sprouted feathers on her face. 

“Lucanis gave you a gift?” She asked in disbelief. “The only person in this city who’s more antisocial than Viago?”

Vi scowled at her comment, but didn’t stop Teia from continuing.

“I’ve never seen that boy speak two words to another person besides his Grandmother or Illario. You’re sure it was from him?”

Lita nodded. “I never got to thank him. So I thought I could leave a note.” She turned to Viago expectantly. 

“It’s against the rules for fledglings to leave the grounds unless on assignment.” 

“Oh.” She replied, her shoulders deflating. 

“Oh, please, Vi”, Teia groaned, “Like you didn’t break the rules smuggling snakes into your room when you were first recruited?”

“That’s… that wasn’t…” Viago stuttered. “That’s completely different.”

“Mmhmm,” Teia hummed. “And I’m sure that time Dante broke out in hives was just an accident as well?”

Viago flushed, fumbling with the mortar and pestle, his guilt evident. 

“My point is, letting little Ape here deliver a ‘thank you’ to House Dellamorte doesn’t seem to be too severe an offense. Wouldn’t you agree? Or should I bring up your most recent incident?”

“No!” Viago replied, his voice cracking. Clearing his throat, he spoke again. “No, it does not.” He sighed setting down the pestle once more, before turning to Lita. “You can go deliver your letter tomorrow.”

Lita beamed.

“If…you have that list of toxins and their effects I gave you this morning memorized by then.”

She nodded enthusiastically, “I promise.”

“Alright then.” He replied. “Now, will you two please let me finish my work?” He groaned.

Teia threw a hand over her heart, her eyes wide in mock disbelief, before she winked at Lita. Viago scowled. “Fine, oh, grouchy one.” She huffed before pulling up a chair next to Lita.

“So…show me this ‘thank you’ letter.” She grinned, nudging Lita’s shoulder. 

—

Lita had spent over an hour attempting to write a simple note, batting away Teia’s recommendations and overtly romantic revisions, as she had read the message aloud.

“Signore Lucanis,” Lita began. 

“My dearest Delamorte Prince,” Teia corrected.

“I am writing you this note to thank you for your hospitality and kindness.” Lita continued ignoring the elf.

“Words cannot express my gratitude for you opening your home and your heart to me.” 

“I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me, for lending me an outfit, and for your other gifts.” 

“Though your gifts were most generous, nothing compared to the time spent in your presence.”

Lita rolled her eyes. “I have read your book many times, and hope you’ll accept this drawing as a token of my thanks.” 

“I have spent much time reading your book, but perhaps not as much time as I have spent thinking of you since our encounter. I have poured my heart into this artwork in hopes it will make its way into your hands.”

It was at this point that Viago’s shoulders began to shake uncontrollably, as he failed to muffle a small snort.

Lita shot him a dark look. “Sincerely, Lita Florentino.”

“With all my adoration, your Amelita.”

Lita had spent the remainder of the evening agonizing over her sketchbook, attempting to replicate the Wyvern so gloriously depicted in the book she had now memorized. On her tenth attempt, she had finally deemed the artwork acceptable.

At least she had thought so until she left to deliver it the next evening…

Lita tread carefully down the long shrub-lined pathway to the steps of the Dellamorte manor. Upon her initial arrival to the grounds, the guards at the gate had begun to shoo her away from the main gate, but a flash of the silver crow emblem Viago had lent her had quickly convinced them to allow her entry. As she reached the steps of the great building, she clutched the small letter and drawing she had finished the night prior to her chest, willing her nerves to calm. For a moment, she considered running away, throwing her drawing and note into the nearest canal, and returning to House de Riva, but as she turned to abandon her quest, the doors of the manor opened. 

“Signorina Florentino,” a voice crooned. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Lita attempted not to roll her eyes. Schooling her face into what she hoped was a pleasant smile, she turned to reply. 

“Signore Illario. Is your cousin home?” She asked, daring a glance behind the boy, with the infinitesimal hope that Lucanis might miraculously appear, noting the flash of irritation in Illario’s eyes at her response. 

“He’s occupied with an assignment at the moment, but I’d be happy to pass on a message.” He smiled, plastering on his charming persona once more.

Lita weighed her options; she could ask to wait and risk having to further deal with Illario, or she could leave and risk appearing impertinent for having wasted one of the Dellamortes’ time. Before she could decide between the two evils, Illario spoke.

“What’s that you have there?” He glanced to the papers in Lita’s hand. 

“Nothing!” She quipped, moving to hide the letter behind her back. “I really should be going. I’m sorry for having taken up your time…” she mumbled before turning to leave, gasping as she felt a sharp grasp around her wrist. 

“Come now,” Illario smirked, snatching the papers from her hand and unfolding the parchment.

Lita’s face reddened with equal parts embarrassment and rage. She immediately considered pouncing on the boy and snatching the papers back, perhaps throwing in the odd punch or two, before reason dominated her senses once more. Attacking the Grandson of the first Talon, though perhaps cathartic, would not only end in consequences for her but for Viago as well. And so she stood, fists clenched, as Illario cleared his throat and began to read the note aloud, his voice lilting in a crude imitation of Lita’s own. As he concluded his recitation, he glanced at the somewhat crumpled drawing, releasing a loud snort. 

“What’s on earth is this supposed to be?” He asked.

Lita clenched her fists. “It’s a Wyvern.”

Illario tilted his head, staring at the illustration once more with squinted eyes. “Looks more like a pig with wings.” He replied, his smile deepening at Lita’s clear irritation. “You shouldn’t have bothered with all this, you know. Lucanis was only being nice to you because Caterina told him to, and he’d never disobey her.”

Lita’s stomach knotted. She sifted through the events of her brief interactions with Lucanis, desperate to offer up evidence that would prove Illario wrong, but found herself blinking back tears instead. 

Illario gave her a pitying look, “Poor little Insetta. Oh well, I’m sure he’ll get a laugh out of this. I’ll be sure to get this to him straight away,” he winked.

“No… please… give it…” Lita stammered, reaching to snatch the papers from him, flinching as he slammed the door shut.

In one second, tears had begun to fall down her face, in the next, she was sprinting down the stone pathway, fleeing the Dellamorte grounds as quickly as her feet could carry her. 

She had returned to Viago’s office to find him bent over his alchemists’ set, carefully pouring a bright yellow venom, no doubt from one of his various vipers, into a small beaker. Teia sat perched next to him, turning with an expectant smile as Lita pushed through the door, only for it to vanish upon seeing Lita’s tear-streaked face. 

“Ape? What happened?” She asked, leaping from her seat and wiping under Lita’s eyes. Lita shook her head, not daring to speak, fighting the tears threatening to fall once more, as Teia’s arms came to wrap around her. 

“What did Lucanis say to you?” Teia questioned, running a soothing hand through Lita’s hair. “Do you want me to talk to him? Just because he’s Caterina’s grandson doesn’t mean I won’t give him the beating of a lifetime.” 

“No!” Lita shouted, her voice muffled by Teia’s embrace. “Just leave it alone, Teia, please.” 

“Alright, Ape.” Teia replied, giving her a squeeze, before wiping Lita’s face once more. “But only if you promise to stop crying. No boy is worth crying over,” she shot a dark look at Viago. “Believe me, they’re too stupid to be worthy of tears.”

“Why did you look at me?” Viago argued. “I didn’t have anything to do with this.” 

“See, what I mean?” Teia sighed, eliciting a giggle from Lita. “Now come on, I for one would love one of your drawings, and I wouldn’t say no to a letter praising my beauty as well.” She winked, sitting Lita down at the work table before pulling up a seat next to her and posing for her portrait.

Lita offered a small smile before opening her sketchbook to a blank page. As she began to etch Teia’s delicate features into the parchment, she blinked away the last of her tears, and silently made herself a promise. The next time a boy tried to make her cry, Dellamorte or otherwise, she was going to make them regret it. 

—

As Lucanis made his way down the steps of the great hall, a soft plea echoed through the villa, followed by the loud thud of the front door closing. Walking to the foyer, he paused as Illario made his way from the front door, wearing a satisfied grin.

“Who was that?” Lucanis asked, glancing at the pieces of parchment in Illario’s hand. 

“Miss Florentino,” Illario smirked. “She came to drop off a note for me”. He remarked, waving the parchment in the air. 

“Oh?” Lucanis remarked, attempting to sound indifferent, as he ignored the pang of jealousy that pricked his heart. 

Illario smiled wider, “Yes, it seems she’s got a bit of a crush and wrote me a little love letter to confess.” He sighed. “I tried to let her down easy, but she didn’t take it too well.” He shrugged, crumpling the note as he passed Lucanis. “Why, jealous?” he waggled his brows.

Lucanis huffed. “Some of us have more important things to worry about. Schoolgirl crushes are currently at the bottom of my list.”

“Just be careful,” Illario warned, putting a hand on Lucanis’s shoulder. “Don’t be surprised if she hangs around you to make me jealous, wouldn’t be the first time...” he winked. 

Lucanis cringed, recalling the last time Illario had turned down an admirer. The girl had been a fledgling, a year older than them. After failing to capture  Illario’s affections, the spurned blonde had followed Lucanis around to such an obsessive extent, he had isolated himself in the manor for a month. She had been the third girl Illario had rejected to use such a tactic. 

Shuddering, Lucanis changed the subject. “Don’t you have an assignment to finish? Caterina will never let you hear the end of it if she finds out you were slacking off again.”

“She won’t be back for a few hours.” Illario countered. “So the only way she’d find out is if you told her… You wouldn’t betray me like that, would you, Cousin?”

“Of course not, tonto.” 

“I thought so.” Illario grinned, throwing an arm over Lucanis’s shoulder. “Now would you mind if I borrowed your notes?…”

Lucanis shook his head. Caterina would give them a sound beating if she ever found out he let Illario cheat, but after seeing the pleading look from his cousin, Lucanis found he didn’t have the heart to refuse. No one was immune to Illario’s charm, not even himself, it would seem, or Lita Florentino for that matter… Not that he was surprised by her choice, as it was one everyone made. Only a fool would choose a shadowy recluse over the shining Adonis destined to become First Talon.

He sighed. “Just this once, alright?”

“You are a saint, Cousin.” Illario grinned.

“You say that now…” Lucanis warned, wagging a finger. “But if Caterina finds out, I’ll be your personal demon.” 

Chapter Text

Lucanis paced in front of the fireplace. Even after his companions had left, Spite had continued to thrash in Lucanis’s mind, demanding to speak with Rook. 

“She doesn’t want to talk to us,” Lucanis argued, walking to the small pump at the kitchen sink, working its handle till a stream of water burst forth. Scooping a handful of water, he splashed it over his face, rinsing the blood Spite had drawn during his tantrum. 

“She wanted to stay; you should have made her,” Spite growled. 

Lucanis grimaced, gripping the edge of the wooden counter, as the image of Rook flashed through his mind, the way she had stared at him with a mixture of horror and pity as Spite had lashed out. 

“She’s always been too trusting.” He mumbled, running a frustrated hand through his hair, before making his way to the pantry. 

Scanning the shelves, he spent the next hour taking stock of the supplies on hand, hoping the menial task would eventually bore Spite into a stupor. Sure enough, Spite’s grumbles dulled to a low hum as Lucanis stood before the pantry shelves, slowly checking off the ingredients for different recipes. Although the fade seemed to supply most basic staples, it appeared a trip to the markets would be necessary for a better variety. Finished with his task, he located a glass container with coffee grounds. Undoing the latch, he gave the contents a quick sniff. The roast was perhaps not as robust as he would have liked, but it would have to do. 

A few minutes later, he sat on his cot, swirling a small cup of black coffee in his hands, its steam dancing off the surface like the mist of the fade. He took a sip of the dark liquid, releasing a sigh as some of the tension in his shoulders seemed to vanish. It certainly wasn’t the same caliber he had grown accustomed to, but after a year of consuming nothing but gruel, the substance before him was like drinking liquid gold. Finishing the cup, he returned to the kitchen for another, followed by another, until the pot was empty and a slight electricity buzzed at his fingertips. He could practically hear Caterina’s criticism in his head, “If you remain dependent on caffeine, you’ll soon be more coffee than Crow.” His heart ached at the sudden memory of his early days as an assassin, how eager he had been to prove himself to his Grandmother, to honor their family name. A family in which only two members now remained, and all thanks to Zara Renata. 

At the mere thought of the Venatori witch, Spite hissed, resuming his restless pacing once more, the movement sending a jolt through Lucanis’s limbs. 

“Time for a walk, I think.” Lucanis sighed, stopping at the sink to quickly wash the cup and coffee pot, before pushing out of the dining hall and into the fade. Closing his eyes as a cool breeze tussled his unkempt hair, he inhaled deeply, his pulse spiking at a familiar scent carried on the wind. Following the perfumed trail through the courtyard, he eventually found himself looking upward, his gaze landing on the scent’s origin. There, sprawled out on the lighthouse rooftop, lay Rook, arms tucked behind her head as she gazed up at the sky, her posture completely relaxed despite being one slip away from falling three stories. 

Does she have some sort of death wish? He thought, eyeing the stone wall, for a path upwards. 

“She wouldn’t be the only one…” Spite rasped. 

Waving off the demon’s comment, Lucanis began his ascent, finding footholds in the crumbling rock of the ancient wall, hidden amongst the vines trailing the side of the building. Reaching the top, he pulled himself onto the slate shingles, his footsteps careful as he made his way across the sloped roof. He opened his mouth to make himself known, but paused as he heard her speaking softly to herself.

“Draconis, Equinor, Fenrir, or wait… is that Fenrir? I could swear it has too many stars, but if it’s in the shape of a wolf…” She shook her head. “Mierda, even the constellations are different here.” She groaned, “Is it too much to ask for a little consistency?” She shouted to the sky. 

Lucanis let out a small snort. Startled at the sound, Rook jolted upright, stumbling as she attempted to stand. She let out a squeak as she suddenly began to tumble down the rooftop. He let out a curse as he lunged towards her, his hand grasping hers and pulling her into an embrace as Spite’s wings materialized, launching them backwards into a heap on the rooftop with a soft ‘thud’. Pushing onto her hands, Rook opened her mouth to speak but froze, her eyes widening as she glanced down at their position. Lucanis quirked a brow before following her gaze. Rook straddled Lucanis, her palms pressing gently into his chest, as her face hovered mere inches from his own. His hands, which had conveniently slid to her waist in the chaos of their collision, burned with a sudden warmth, as the memory of a similar scenario flitted across his mind. Fighting a smile, he released his hold on her as she scrambled to climb off of him.

“A de Riva caught off their guard?” He tsked, Spite’s wings vanishing into shadow as he righted himself. “What would Viago say if he knew you let someone sneak up on you so easily?”

“He wouldn’t say anything if he knew it was a Dellamorte doing the sneaking.” She replied with a huff, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, before sitting beside him. “I swear you move like a shadow.”

“Mmm… tell me more”, he hummed.

She narrowed her eyes at his clear fish for a compliment, but gave in. “I don’t know how you manage to not make a sound, you’ll have to give me the name of your cobbler in Treviso.”

“You wound me,” he placed a hand over his heart, “You truly believe I don’t have the skill to move undetected without the help of some boots?”

Rook raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Fine,” he threw his hands up in surrender. “Lorenzo Scarpato has been making shoes for the Crows for over half a century. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he uses blood magic. The man is an artist with leather. But he is a well-kept secret amongst the elite, if you tell anyone, I’ll have to kill you.” He warned, his admonition earning a delighted smile from Rook.

He was only half joking, seeing as Scarpato was, in fact, an exclusive cobbler amongst the upper crows. Sharing his information without express permission was akin to breaking a contract. Yet as he took in Rook’s smile, he found he didn’t regret letting the secret slip.

“My lips are sealed”, she smiled, making a small swiping motion against her mouth, the movement drawing his gaze and causing his eyes to linger just a moment too long on her lips.

“Good.” He chuckled. “Illario has begged me for years to tell him. I’d never hear the end of it if he learned I told you.” He shook his head, holding back a grin as Rook beamed at the revelation. 

“Makers breath, that smile,” he thought.

“To think I finally have a secret to hold over Illario,” she giggled. 

Shaking out of his trance, he cleared his throat. 

“So what brings you so close to falling off the top of the tower? Can’t sleep?”

Rook nudged his shoulder playfully. “If you hadn’t noticed, prior to you startling me, I was lying on the roof, not rolling off of it, thank you very much.” She remarked coolly. “I’ve always been a bit of a night owl as it were, or night crow depending on who you ask.”

Lucanis cringed at her dry joke; it was clear Viago’s sense of humor had rubbed off on her. Seeing his reaction, she snorted, “I had to try. Now that you’re replacing me as the main assassin of the group, I have to pull my weight somehow.”

“And terrible jokes felt like a worthy contribution?” He quirked a brow. 

“I can take back the role if you prefer…,” she warned. 

“You’re welcome to try”, he challenged.

“Hmmm,” she hummed, “I’ll have to sleep on it. Duels should never be started while drowsy; defeat tends to be sloppy. Not to mention, I tend to be far more merciful after I’ve gotten my beauty sleep,” She smiled, “So enough about me. Why are you up here?”

“I can’t sleep either.” He replied.

“Can’t or won’t?” She pried, her gaze lingering on his face, no doubt taking in the dark circles under his eyes. 

“Perhaps a bit of both.” He yielded. ‘But you still haven’t revealed how your insomnia brought you to the roof. Don’t tell me you sleepwalk…” his eyes narrowed. 

“Hacedor, no!” She laughed, “Though, I have been told I talk in my sleep… I come out to count stars.”

“Not crows?”

She nudged him again. “My father was a merchant. When he traveled, he’d often use the stars to navigate. He once caught me sneaking out onto the roof, but rather than scold me, he taught me the constellations. It became our tradition when I couldn’t sleep. He’d take me to the roof and I would recite the stars till I grew tired.”

“I’m amazed that you managed not to break your neck,” he remarked. “You truly never fell asleep and rolled off?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” She argued.

He gave her a doubtful look.

“Alright.” She huffed, “It happened one time, but a fractured wrist is hardly a broken neck. And it was only after my parents…” She stopped. Her expression sobering.

“Your parents were taken.” He finished.

She nodded, drawing her knees to her chest, before turning her gaze to the sky.

“Did you ever find them?” he asked softly, recalling the vow she had uttered to his Grandmother when they were children.

She shook her head. Eyes still fixed on the stars. “I tried to look for them, and my Uncle once I was sworn in as a Crow. I spent the better part of my earnings from contracts trying to buy any scrap of information I could about the slavers that took them.” She paused, her eyes flitting to him as if to gauge if he was listening.

“And?…” he asked, urging her to continue.

“I was able to track down their ship, 'the dragon’, only to find out the crew had been arrested and executed for the illegal transportation of slaves. So, without traveling to Tevinter and tracking down the Venatori that hired them, there was never much else to find out.”

“Why didn’t you?” He asked in disbelief, “Travel to Tevinter, I mean.”

“You should know it’s rare crows travel outside of where their contracts take them. And sadly I was never able to secure one in Tevinter since a certain Dellamorte Prince and his idiot cousin, kept hogging them all…” she gave him a sidelong glance. 

“I didn’t… if I had known I would never…” he paused. “Wait… am I the Dellamorte Prince or the idiot cousin?”

She snorted. “I’m only teasing. But since you are the famed Venatori mage killer… I don’t suppose you ever came across a Lord Pagoni in your travels? White hair, terrifying blue eyes, high heels that were definitely compensating for something?” Her tone was nonchalant, but Lucanis didn’t fail to note the small glint of hope in her eyes. 

He combed his memories, desperately searching for some useful piece of information he could offer her. He had killed more Venatori than he could count, but none had fit her description. “Can’t say that I have.” 

He watched as, for a split second, her mask slipped, revealing her disappointment, but as quickly as it had dropped, she had schooled her expression into a practiced smile. “Thought not. His flair for the dramatic isn’t one you’d forget; he missed his calling as a magician, that’s for sure,” she chuckled, the sound hollower than her previous laughs. “Though if you think about it, his affinity for making children cry probably nipped that career in the bud,” she joked, clearly trying to change the subject.

He knew he should relent, that digging up her already buried past might cause her pain, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Aside from a certain idiot and their cousin uprooting your plans, couldn’t Viago have secured you a Tevinter contract?”

Rook sighed. “That’s what I had hoped; however, I have a sneaking suspicion he’s the one who made sure one never wound up in my hands, the meddling prick.”

Lucanis smiled. Viago had always been protective of Lita, more so than any other fledgling that had come from House de Riva. For all his work to appear as scaly as the beasts he so loved for their venom, Viago was hardly the snake he pretended to be. “I’m sure he meant well…” Lucanis began.

“You would defend him.” Rook laughed. “As gallant as you are to try and defend his honor, I forgave him for his interference long ago, since I know for a fact he’s put his own resources into trying to find my parents. Though I think he worried more about what I would do if I found out they were… gone.”

“What would you do?” He questioned.

“Introduce the sharp end of my dagger to the vital organs of every filthy Venatori I could get my hands on.” She shrugged. 

“You’ve crossed off Calavan,” he pointed out. “It’s a start.”

“True…” she nodded, “And with any luck, Zara will meet ‘Stinger’ soon.” She winked, patting the small silver dagger on her thigh.

“Ohhh, I like her,” Spite rasped into Lucanis’s mind. “She’s fun.”

He froze, tensing at the demon’s sudden presence, he shut his eyes. 

“Spite?” She questioned, worry seeping through her tone. 

He nodded. 

“He’s lucky you’re the only one who can see him or I’d shove my boot so far up his ass not even your cobbler couldn’t repair it.”

Lucanis snorted.

“I mean it! There’s got to be some way we can discipline him.”

“And what would you suggest?” He quirked a brow.

“Can he… eat things?”

“I…” Lucanis pondered for a moment, “I actually don’t know. In all the time we were in the Ossuary, I never once saw him eat anything, though considering the swill they served, I can’t blame him. But for now…let’s say no. Why?”

“Never mind,” she shook her head, “there’s too much that could go wrong, believe me.”

Lucanis suddenly recalled a rumor of an incident that had occurred amongst the fledglings Rook had trained with, but Rook cut him off before he could question her.

“Can you attack him the way he attacks you?”

“Like a demonic toddler?” He remarked dryly.

“Shut up,” she smiled, rolling her eyes, “you know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I’ve already tried wrestling with my inner demon, so to speak. Sadly, his physicality is one-sided.” He sighed.

She growled in frustration. “There has to be something we can do. We can’t let that display from the kitchen happen again.”

At her remark, Lucanis looked away, bracing himself for her next words, only to turn back to Rook as her tone softened.

“You can’t keep letting him bully you. One of these days you’re going to…”

“Snap?” He glanced at her, a bitter grin creeping across his face, as his tone darkened. “Afraid I might embrace my nickname a little too much?”

She held his gaze. “Quite the opposite.” She scoffed. “Your exhibit at the Ossuary would have had any crow swooning.”

He eyed her with disbelief. “Any crow?…” 

She punched him. “You Dellamortes and your vanity, I’d think I was talking to Illario the way you’re preening right now.”

He cringed at the comparison. “That’s the third time you’ve mentioned him… do you two still keep in touch?”

“I have not brought him up three…” she paused. “Have I?”

“Unless Caterina lost her mind while I was imprisoned, officially adopted Teia, and the idiot cousin you referred to earlier was her…” 

Rook laughed, “You should be so lucky.” She paused to think, “I guess I have mentioned him three times…” She shuddered. “That has to be considered a bad omen in most countries.” 

“So you haven’t kept up your… relationship?”

Rook looked positively dumbfounded. “Are we talking about the same man here? To my knowledge, the only relationship Illario has ever concerned himself with, is the one between his forehead and his beloved hairline. And between you and me… things aren’t looking good for them…”

Lucanis threw his head back in laughter. 

Rook shook her head. “Now we really have to stop bringing him up, or he will haunt my dreams. Speaking of which…” she yawned, “I think it’s time for me to climb down before I roll off the roof a second time tonight.” She shot him an accusatory glance before walking to the edge of the roof. She had just turned to start her descent when a question escaped his traitorous lips.

“Why did you pretend not to know me in the Ossuary?”

Rook flushed.

“Sorry, I… don’t know why I asked that. Mierda.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Forget I asked.”

“No, I’m sorry. It’s just…” She sighed, her hand fiddling with the small silver charm on the necklace she wore. “You’re the Demon of Vyrantium, a veritable living legend, back from the dead. And I’m just a screw up of a crow who got demoted for picking a fight I shouldn’t have. I didn’t want our knowing each other to put you in an awkward position or damage your credibility. I’m not exactly revered…”

“It wasn’t because I’m an abomination?” He interrupted.

“What?” She questioned, confusion furrowing her brow. “Of course not.”

“But at the Ossuary, you looked shocked, you said you weren’t expecting…” he trailed off. 

“Lucanis Dellamorte to have a beard and a mullet?” She finished, “No. But I suppose staying clean-cut wasn’t exactly a priority while you were imprisoned.” She mused. 

He shook his head in disbelief. “So, Spite doesn’t scare you?”

“Considering I can’t see him… no.” She shrugged. “Should he? What does he look like?”

Lucanis flushed. “Like me… but… purple.”

Rook stared at him, waiting for him to continue. 

He shrugged.

She burst out laughing. “No, definitely not scared.” She giggled, wiping a tear from her eye. “But perhaps a bit… intimidated.”

“Why would that be intimidating?” He puzzled. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, demon boy?” she winked, before lowering herself to descend the tower wall, making it down the structure in record time. “Good night, Lucanis," she called from below. 

“Goodnight, Lita… uh…Rook,” he responded, letting out a frustrated groan at the mistake, earning another laugh from Rook as she sauntered into the lighthouse, the massive doors closing silently behind her thanks to the magic of the fade. Lowering himself onto his back, he ran an idle hand through his hair as he retraced their conversation.

“What have I gotten myself into?” He wondered aloud, as Spite stirred in the back of his mind once more.

“Trouble”, the demon crooned.