Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

We’d kill them. You Promised.

Lucanis woke up slumped against the jagged coral wall of his cell. “Mierda, Spite,” he mumbled groggily, stretching out his legs. “Were you pacing again?” 

The demon’s voice scraped eagerly at the back of his skull, like a cat clawing at the kitchen door to the sound of an opened can of tuna.

Someone. Is killing. Blood Mages!

Lucanis leapt to his feet. 

The barrier was gone. Fragments of the lyrium crystal that had sealed their cell crumbled to the ground outside. He caught a shard in his hand, watching the red glow fade as it cooled in his palm—it must have shattered mere moments ago.

And then he heard it—the muffled echo of shouts and clashing blades.

Someone was killing blood mages, and the fight was close.

He crept down the hall, considering his options. If he moved quick enough, he could take care of his vial and finish off Calivan while the Venatori guards were still distracted, but he was curious about the identity of the attackers. The enemy of an enemy was rarely something so simple as a friend, but it would be foolish to run off without knowing what other forces were at play, and considering his predicament, a circumstantial ally could prove useful.

Spite shifted impatiently as they reached the end of the corridor.

They’re Killing. All of Them! 

There are always more Venatori to kill. 

Then, there was a lull in the clatter of violence. A grunt, a strangled squelch, and the thump of a body hitting blood-soaked sand. 

Ours!

“Shh,” Lucanis hushed the demon as a woman’s voice echoed through the courtyard.

“Now, now, boys—we don’t need to fight,” she said. “I’m just here to pick up Lucanis Dellamorte. If you could point me in his direction, we’ll get out of your hair.”

Lucanis froze at the sound of his name.

They were here for him?

More than unexpected, it just didn’t make sense. Word that the Venatori had killed the Demon of Vyrantium must have spread throughout Treviso by now—what kind of fool would take a contract on a dead man in an underwater prison? 

Cautiously, he peered around the corner at the woman sizing up the remaining blood mages. 

A sly smile, face splattered with blood; Antivan leathers and a feathered cape.

A Crow.

He didn’t know her, but he recognized her from an initiation party a few years back. 

His cousin always made a game of wooing new recruits, and—shiny hair, long legs, and pretty curves—naturally, she’d been one of his conquests. Usually Lucanis made a point of ignoring Illario’s antics at such parties, but the glowing hilt of the dagger at her hip kept catching his eye, and his cousin, for all his charm and bravado, was clearly struggling to monopolize her attention, and it was such a rare treat watching him flounder over a woman. 

Caterina, of course, swept up at just the right moment to misinterpret his gaze. “Both my boys have noticed the de Riva girl, I see.” 

“I noticed her spellblade,” Lucanis said, turning to face his grandmother. "She's a de Riva? I'm surprised Viago recruited a mage."

"Some jobs are better suited for a mage than a mage killer.”

“Yes, but with all the Venatori in the city—”

“She has been with House de Riva since she was a child, Lucanis. If she was an agent of the Venatori as an orphaned five-year-old, I think we can trust that those ties have been severed by now," she said wryly.

"Oh," Lucanis said. "Viago never mentioned her to me, I guess."

"The man is meticulous with his fledglings," she said, swirling her drink. "But I'm told she fights like a storm."

“A storm can’t hide in the shadows," he mumbled.

“Neither can Illario, but we keep him around."

Lucanis snorted.

"Be honest, boy," Caterina put her glass on the counter and gave him a knowing look. "The reason the girl bothers you isn't because she's a mage. It's because you think she's pretty and your cousin is making a fool of himself over her.”

“Mierda, Caterina, I’m not twelve—”

“Shh.” She clicked her tongue and patted his cheek. “Let him be the peacock. You will always be the better Crow.”

Our Turn. We Kill!

The prickle of Spite’s wing’s unfurling on his back brought him back to the moment at hand. 

Right.

A fury half Spite’s and half his own, they flew, tearing through the Venatori until the last blood mage collapsed in the courtyard of the Ossuary. 

“Well,” the woman said, blinking off her surprise as she watched Spite’s wings dissipate from his back. “Looks like we found you.”

Lucanis narrowed his eyes. “Who sent you?” 

“Caterina,” she said, nudging a dead blood mage with her boot. “She figured out that the Venatori lied about your death, and I needed the Demon of Vyrantium for a job, so we made a deal.” 

“Careful Rook,” said the Dalish woman behind her, taking a step back. “He’s got a demon in him.”

“Ah, is that what the wings were?” The woman—Rook, apparently—paused and tilted her head at him. “I always thought the Demon of Vyrantium was more of a… metaphorical title.”

“It was. Unfortunately, the Venatori have a sick, literal sense of humor.”

“Well, you seem to be in control now,” Rook said. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“No,” Lucanis said quickly. “Spite and I have a deal.”

“Spite?” She gave him a curious look. “Hm. Well, it’s not the worst demon to be possessed by, I imagine.”

Lucanis raised an eyebrow. “I assure you, it’s not fun.”

“No, of course not—I just mean, sometimes spite is all that gets me out of bed in the morning.”  Rook shrugged. “As far as negative emotions go, I’d say it’s one of the more useful ones. Better than a pride demon, at least.”

She is. Nice to Us.

“I…suppose so,” Lucanis said, half to her, half to appease Spite.

“Anyways, I’m Rook. This is Bellara, a Veil Jumper on my team.”

Lucanis didn’t know what a Veil Jumper was, but he nodded at Bellara, who waved exuberantly in return despite her clear hesitation about the demon situation.

“So, shall we get you out of here?”

“Not yet,” he said. “The Venatori have a vial of my blood in their laboratory. They can use it to control me.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Rook said.

“And I was sent here on a contract to kill the warden of this prison. I can’t go back to Treviso until it’s complete. A Crow—”

“—never abandons a contract,” she said, pulling up her hair. “I know.”

“Right, as a Crow, I suppose you would.”

“Well, a Crow on probation, but yes.”

“On probation?” Lucanis raised a brow. “For what?”

“I got creative on a job and soured things with the Antaam and the local government,” she said, rummaging through the pockets of a dead Venatori at his feet. “Viago thought it would be best for me to take a step back while they smoothed out the politics.”

“I see,” he said. “Well, at least he let you keep the cape.”

“Right?” She grinned up at him, fiddling with the feathered hem. “I begged shamelessly.”

It was a casual, nothing of a smile, but it was warm and human and, after a year of nothing but cold eyes and cruel hands, it threatened something load-bearing in his heart. 

Spite rattled in his bones as he dropped his gaze. 

Lightning and Lavender oil. Hearth smoke and Honey. 

Mierda, Spite. A demon in my head, I can handle, but an amateur poet? That might kill me. 

She Smells good. 

Lucanis massaged his temple and sighed, grateful, at least, that no one else could hear this exchange. 

“So,” Rook said, brushing herself off as she stood up. “Smash some shit, kill Venatori, and get out of here?”

Yes!

“Yes,” Lucanis said, making a point to avoid any stray observations that Spite could get tangled in as he looked up at her. “And Rook?”

“Mm?”

“Thanks. I’ll owe you.”

——————

The fight with Calivan went longer than it should have. Even with Spite spurring him on, there was no denying that a year in the Ossuary had weakened him significantly. It pained him to admit, but if not for Rook and Bellara’s help, this contract might have been his last.

He had some doubts about Bellara’s ability in combat initially—the woman was jittery and distracted, even in battle. On more than one occasion, he heard her yelp “Oh— OH!” from across the room, firing off a spell like she’d just startled awake from a daydream. But then a second later he’d inevitably take a hard hit from behind and her healing spell was on him before he could even process the pain. Her anxious energy confused him, but for better or worse, it seemed to work in her favor.

Rook, however, was something else entirely. 

She was everywhere at once: the storm, and the crow navigating it. Her lightning struck with an assassin’s precision, but the electric crackle of her magic filled the whole room, tingling on his skin like a breath of static. There was a sensual, bone-shattering brutality in the way her close-combat spells landed that he didn’t know was possible with magic.

And in the battle’s final moments, she called out to him, Calivan paralyzed in a vice of her magic, wet strands of hair clinging to the sheen of sweat and blood on her face. 

“Come finish your contract, Demon of Vyrantium.”

——————

They returned to Treviso to find the Cantori Diamond dark and eerily quiet; the tiles on the balcony, blood stained and littered with shattered glass. 

Lucanis glanced sideways at Bellara and Rook, and it was clear by their faces this was not the scene they expected either.

Rook gingerly stepped in through a broken window. “Viago?”

His voice called back from across the casino. “We’re over here.” 

“Rook? Did you find—oh! Lucanis!” Teia rushed over, pulling him into a hug. “You’re alive. Thank the Maker.”

“What happened here?” 

“The Venatori happened,” Viago said. 

“But…we weren’t gone that long, were we?” Bellara said, blinking in shock at the rubble strewn about the casino.

“They attacked shortly after you and Rook left for the Ossuary,” said Teia. 

“That…doesn’t make sense,” Rook said, frowning. “I mean, assuming this was revenge for the breakout, they couldn’t have had time to organize and retaliate. At least not on this level.”

Lucanis glanced around the casino. “Where is Caterina?” 

“She’s…” Teia’s voice caught in her throat and her eyes fell to the ground.

Viago stepped up and gently took her shoulders. “The Ventori got her in the confusion.”

The brief, mournful silence that followed was interrupted by the sound of footsteps from the balcony. Lucanis glanced over his shoulder as Illario kicked in a window and climbed inside. 

“You return to us at a steep price, cousin.” He strode across the room, taking Lucanis’s face in his hands. “But you’re really home. I can’t believe it.” 

There was a familiar aggression beneath the warmth of his cousin’s greeting that opened a homesick wound in his chest. The two of them were basically brothers, and the conflict of tenderness and contempt that defined their relationship was the most honest love he knew. 

And now their grandmother, the only other person they called family, was gone. 

Lucanis turned to Viago. “How did this happen?” 

“How do you think?” Illario scoffed. “Zara Renata is sending us a message.”

“Perhaps,” said Viago. “But as was said, the timing doesn't quite add up. Caterina suspected we may have a mole, I fear she may be correct.”

Lucanis frowned at the floor, pressing his fist to his forehead. 

“I’m sorry, Lucanis,” Rook said, hesitantly touching his elbow. “I know we asked for your help, but if you need to be here—”

“No,” he said quickly. “I need to work.”

“Maybe you should take some time,” Teia said. “Rest.”

“I don’t need time or rest. I need a target.”

“You just got here, and already you want to leave?” Illario said. “We need you here, cousin.”

“Caterina gave me a contract,” Lucanis said. “I’m not breaking the last deal she ever made. Once that’s done, I’ll come home.”

“Mi linda, please, talk some sense into him,” Illario said, turning to Rook. “We are without a First Talon—look at this place—you would take our best Crow from us now?”

“Funny, I recall you telling me that you were the best Crow.”

He narrowed his eyes. “We were attacked. This is no time for your little jokes.”

“I know. And you can have your best Crow back after he helps me save the world,” Rook said. “If we don’t get help stopping these elven gods, there will be no Treviso to protect.”

“Fine,” Illario said, turning to Lucanis. “But I know you are out for blood, and I want to be there when you find Zara.”

“Forget revenge—we are under attack,” Viago said. “Venatori on one side, Antaam on the other—”

“No, Viago. Zara came for us here. She took Caterina from my house,” Teia said. “Lucanis, you find her and you cut her heart out. Illario, Vi, and I will hold down the fort here.”

Illario gritted his teeth. “She is my business as much as his—”

“We can not afford to split our resources,” Viago said. “We need you here.”

“I’ll give that Venatori witch your regards, cousin,” Lucanis said, squeezing Illario's shoulder. “For Caterina, for everything.”

——————

Lucanis met the rest of his new allies when they returned to the Lighthouse. Understandably, they had some concerns about inviting a demon-possessed man into their safe haven in the Fade. 

He did his best to reassure them that the demon was his problem, but Spite’s fixation on Rook made it very difficult to focus on the conversation. It was like having a five-year-old with a crush stomping around in his brain. 

Mierda, Spite. What do you need to tell her that is so important?

She is. Nice to Us. 

Lucanis massaged his forehead. You want to tell her she’s nice?

Hrmm. Let Me Talk to Her!

No. 

I Want. To Talk. To Rook!

Spite’s sudden push for control hit him like a punch to the gut. A small grunt escaped his throat as he staggered to keep his footing.

“Sorry, I’m fine,” he said, clearing his throat as he steadied himself against the mantle of the fireplace. “I am a little tired, I think.”

“More than a little, I imagine,” Rook said, clapping her hands on the table as she stood up. “We’ll reconvene after you’ve gotten some rest.”

The other women excused themselves and Rook walked over to Lucanis. She leaned against the other side of the fireplace, quietly inspecting him.

Lucanis was surprised by how soft and undangerous she looked without the grime of battle caked on her face. He saw the blueprint of an assassin in her now. It was no mystery why Illario had gotten so tangled up in her—if his cousin had a type, it was beautiful women with coy smiles and sharp teeth. His thoughts wandered back to that night a few years back when he saw the two of them together at the Cantori Diamond. He wondered if she ended up going home with him. For whatever reason, he very much hoped she hadn’t.

Rook tilted her head at him and tapped her left nostril. “Your nose is bleeding.”

“Ah.” He wiped his face. “Thanks.”

“A demon-related symptom, I take it?”

“Seems likely.” Lucanis sighed and stared into the fireplace. “Spite is…he’s stronger when I’m tired. I’m sorry you all had to see that.”

“He was trying to take control?” 

“Yes, but he’s quiet now. I think he tired himself out.”

“Well, it’s a good time for you to try to get some sleep then,” Rook said. “You’ve picked your room?”

“Yes, I’ve got my stuff in the pantry.”

“The panty?” She blinked at him. “We have a lot of nice rooms, you know. Why—”

“Why does the trained assassin prefer a quiet, unassuming room with good choke points?” 

Rook conceded with a little bow.

“Besides, the lock is tricky,” he said, nodding at the door behind him. “I doubt Spite will have the patience to figure it out if he takes over while I sleep.”

“Right, you mentioned he does that,” she said, pausing in thought. “On the off chance he does get out, what should we do?”

“Whatever you have to.”

“Is he dangerous?”

Lucanis gave her a peculiar look. “Of course he’s dangerous. He is a demon.” 

“I mean, from the bits I heard when we were fighting, Spite’s… spite seemed specifically honed on the Venatori.”

“It is. I don’t think he would hurt any of you on purpose, but that’s not a theory I’m willing to put to the test,” he said. “Spite doesn’t understand human logic or social boundaries, I wouldn’t trust him to act in a way that makes sense.”

“But he talks to you when you’re awake, right?”

“Almost incessantly, yes.”

“So did he tell you what he wanted? Just now, I mean.”

“I…” He stole a quick sideways glance at her before his eyes dipped back to the flames. “I don’t know. I don’t think he thought that far ahead.”

“Mm. Well, it’s been a long day for you both. Get some rest.”

Lucanis acknowledged her with a curt nod and stared into the fire as she started towards the exit. A fleeting gust of fresh air and sunlight swept into the kitchen as she opened the door. He waited for the light to dim as it creaked closed behind her, but it didn’t.

“Lucanis?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Hm?”

“The others will come around,” she said, lingering in the doorway. “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here.”

And then, with a warm smile that left him slightly off balance, the door eased shut, the light left the kitchen, and she was gone.

Chapter Text

The Cantori Diamond Lucanis returned to after the Ossuary had been a dim ghost of the place he remembered. Some part of him assumed it would remain that way—another piece of his life ravaged and left a husk by the hands of the Venatori. 

But when he and Rook stepped through the Eluvian a week later, the attack seemed a distant memory. The casino was still undergoing repairs, of course, but Lucanis was relieved to see the Crow’s hub alive and vibrant again. 

 “You guys cleaned this place up quick,” Rook said, steadying the ladder as Teia hung a painting of the canals at sunset on the wall. “The Diamond looks great.”

“Ha! I wasn’t going to sit around and let those Venatori witches leave their bloody handprints all over my house.”

“Teia.” Viago strolled up, his nose buried in a ledger. “The barstools are backordered.”

“Eh, let’s just replace all of them. They were getting old anyway,” Teia said with a grunt as she hopped off the ladder. “Now get your head out of the logbook and say hi to our visitors.”

“Hm?” Viago glanced up and frowned at Rook and Lucanis. “What are you two doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Viago,” Rook said wryly.

“Illario sent a missive,” Lucanis said. “He thinks he has a lead on Zara’s location.”

“So that’s what he’s been up to instead of helping around here? I should have known,” Teia said, rolling her eyes. “Still, I’m surprised he caught her scent so quickly. If only he could put that energy into the jobs he’s actually supposed to be working on.”

“We're heading to Pietra’s to meet him now,” Lucanis said. “I’ll scold him for you.”

“Do you think the lead is any good?” Viago asked.

“It’s Illario,” Lucanis said. “Who knows.” 

“Well, for your sake, I hope it is,” said Teia. “Tell him to check in with us though.”

“I will,” Lucanis said. He glanced sideways at Rook. “It’s a bit of a walk to the café, we should get going.”

“Mm.” Rook nodded, gazing out the window at the Treviso skyline. “I’m looking forward to walking around the city a little. It’s been too long since I’ve terrorized these streets.”

The warmth in her tone brought a small smile to Lucanis’s face. “In that case, perhaps you won’t mind stopping by the market with me after we’re finished with Illario? I have some things I want to pick up.”

“Coffee, espionage, and shopping? Stop, you’re spoiling me.”

“Someone needs to stock our kitchen,” Lucanis said. “You women eat worse than stray cats. I don’t know how you survived before you hired me.”

“Hey.” Rook folded her arms. “My noodle dish the other night turned out okay.”

“Don’t get me started—what you did to that spaghetti was a crime.” 

“I told you, I had to break it or it wouldn’t have fit in the pot—”

“The water wasn’t even boiling yet.”

“It boiled eventually!”

“Are you hearing this?” Lucanis said, motioning at Rook as he turned to Viago. “Give me a contract on whoever taught this woman to make pasta, I’m begging you.”

Teia laughed. “One week and you're already bickering over dinner like an old married couple. How sweet.”

Viago gave Rook a stern look. “You’re not taking this seriously at all, are you?”

“Maker have mercy—you Antivan men are so fucking serious about pasta.”

“I’m not talking about pasta. I’m talking about your job,” he said. 

“Oh, right.” Rook scratched the back of her head. “I am taking it seriously.”

“Lucanis is one of our best assassins. You didn’t hire him to cook for you and do your grocery shopping.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Lucanis said. “I like cooking. After a day of stabbing blood mages and heretics, it’s a good palate cleanser.”

“Lighten up Vi,” Teia said. “Would you have Rook ask her team to fight ancient elven gods on an empty stomach?”

“Or worse,” Rook said gravely. “Her spaghetti.”

Lucanis snorted, despite himself. 

“Could I have a word before you go, Sepharine?” Viago said, narrowing his eyes at Rook.

“Why? Are you going to yell at me?”

“No, I just—” Viago sighed and, to Lucanis, said, “She’ll meet you on the balcony, it’ll just be a minute.”

——————

A minute later, Rook met him on the balcony. 

Lucanis glanced sideways at her as the zipline dropped them on the roof across the canal from the casino.

“Everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Viago just thinks I’m sixteen still.”

“Sepharine?” 

“Whuh-huh?” She jerked around and gave him a bewildered look.

“Sorry, Viago called you that back at the Diamond.”

“Oh, did he really? Funny, I didn’t even notice,” Rook said. “That’s my real name.” 

“You don’t like it?” 

“No, I like it fine,” she said. “A lot of people here still know me as Seph, I guess hearing you say it just surprised me a little.”

“When did you start going by Rook?”

“About a year ago,” she said. “Varric gave me the nickname.”

“Ah.” Lucanis looked down at his boots. “It’s sentimental now, I imagine.”

“It’s a funny story actually.” She chuckled and shook her head. “We got drunk playing chess one night and I took out his king with my rook. ‘Ugh! Straight down the barrel and I didn’t see you coming! Of course the Crow would get me with the fucking rook. Just how many corvids do you have at your disposal to kill me with, kid? Know any mean ravens? Got a magpie up your sleeve?’” 

“Leave it to the novelist to be clever with his words even when he’s too drunk to play chess,” Lucanis said with a chuckle. “It’s a good nickname, I see why it stuck.”

Rook smiled sadly at the ground. 

“You must miss him a lot.”

Lucanis felt a sudden itch behind his eyes and his hand instinctively went to his blade. He scanned his surroundings—someone was tapping into the Fade.

But then, as swiftly as it started, the sensation was gone without a trace. 

Fade Keeps a Prisoner. Blood-steeped Despair. Trapped!

Lucanis frowned. Had he imagined it? Maybe it was his body still getting used to the Lighthouse. 

Rook skipped ahead and grinned over her shoulder. “Ready for coffee?”

Chapter Text

When Viago shooed Lucanis away back at the Diamond, Rook assumed she was going to get a simple lecture about being a dependable leader and staying focused on the contract.

Instead, the man looked her dead in the eye and said: “What’s going on between you and Lucanis?”

“Uh…” Rook raised a furtive eyebrow. “Nothing?” 

“You were flirting with him.”

“Flirting?” Rook snorted. “There’s this thing called ‘friendly banter,’ I’m not sure if you’ve heard of it—”

“I can tell when you’re up to no good, Sepharine,” Viago said, folding his arms. “I should have known letting you recruit him would be a problem.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“You think I don’t remember your little crush on the Demon of Vyrantium?”

“Oh, you mean when I was sixteen?” Rook scoffed and shook her head. “Seriously, Viago—I’m fighting a blight and two elven gods and this is what you’re worried about?”

“I’m worried that you’re letting yourself get distracted,” he said. “You may not be under Crow jurisdiction, but you’re still a de Riva, and I expect you to behave professionally.”

“I am,” Rook said, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Look, I know you think I’m incompetent, but I’m just trying to do my fucking job.”

“I don’t think you’re incompetent, I just—”

“Shut up and listen to me for once,” she snapped. “Most of my team has barely known me for more than a week, and I’m asking them to do an impossible task. I know you haven’t seen the blight, Viago, but it’s horrible. We come back at the end of the day covered in the gore and viscera of blighted monsters—we cross a whole town off the map and go to bed with piles of dead bodies burned behind our eyelids. Do you know how hard it is to keep morale up after you’ve seen shit like that?”

He frowned, eyes flitting between her and his shoes. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“Of course you didn’t. You assume everything I do is frivolous,” Rook said coolly. “I know this isn’t how you would lead a team—but I’m not you. Encouraging peoples’ hobbies and being a little silly in our down time is the best way I know how to keep us from falling apart.”

“I…I’m sorry,” he said. “This year has changed you more than I knew.”

“I change every year,” Rook said. “This isn’t the first time it’s slipped your attention.”

Chapter Text

A lute plucked softly through the hum of ambient chatter in Café Pietra. 

Illario was late, as usual. 

Lucanis breathed in the rich, bitter aroma of freshly ground coffee lingering in the crisp evening air. A wave of nostalgia washed over him. He had so few relaxing memories, the closest thing he knew to the comfort of home was a cool night on this rooftop terrace with a hot cup of coffee. 

He and Rook settled in at a table by the balcony overlooking the canal. The pale lilac sky shimmered in the dark water as the last blush of sunset faded on the horizon. 

“Do you know what you want to order?” Lucanis asked.

“You’re the connoisseur,” Rook said. “Any recommendations?”

“The roast I always get is called Andoral’s Breath. It’s bitter and sweet, like a kiss goodbye. You should try it.”

“Heartache infused coffee? How artisanal,” Rook said with a small, bemused smile.

Spite, who had been blessedly unobtrusive most of the day thus far, breezed through the table and circled Rook. 

Lucanis gritted his teeth as the demon leaned in and sniffed her hair.

Stop that.

Smells Like. The Sky After a Storm. Honey and Lavender. Rook.

Nobody asked.

Unaware of Spite’s phantom looming over her shoulder, Rook leaned into the table and rested her cheek against her palm. As she tilted her head, Lucanis found himself admiring the way her long, blonde hair tumbled over her shoulder. It looked so impossibly soft. He imagined how it would feel between his fingers—

“But it’s not really a kiss goodbye if you keep coming back for more, is it?” Rook said, jostling him back to the moment at hand.

His eyes snapped back to her face. “Sorry, what?”

“You said it’s your usual order, right? Wouldn’t calling it a ‘kiss ‘til next time’ be more accurate?”

“I—if we’re being literal, I suppose,” he said. “But a kiss like that would be a completely different flavor profile.” 

“Oh? Such as?”

“Something warm and comforting. A mocha, perhaps.”

“I see,” Rook said, a dark, teasing lilt in her voice. “Something of an expert, are you?”

Lucanis’s heart stumbled stupidly in his chest. 

The way she was looking at him—like he was something that could be wanted—he didn’t know what to do with it. 

The truth was, most of what he knew of love and intimacy came from romance novels. He’d known since he was a boy that his marriage would be arranged as an allegiance between houses—chasing pleasure in fleeting affairs always seemed like a waste of time.

But sitting here with Rook, her warm, amber-brown eyes gleaming like candle-lit cognac in the lamplight, suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be the person she thought she was looking at. 

“I, uh…” 

Before Lucanis had a chance to finish piecing together a clever response, someone in the café called out to Rook.

“Seph?”

A young man in Crow leathers at a nearby table hesitantly pushed himself up from his seat. “Is that you, de Riva?” 

“Hm?” Rook glanced over her shoulder, recognition lighting on her face. “Dareth! Maker, it’s been ages.” 

She stood up and met him with a hug, pulling back after a moment to pinch his sleeve. “What are you wearing, leatherworker? Testing the product?”

“It’s my uniform now, actually. I’m a Crow.”

Rook snorted. “Like fuck you are—your mom would kill you.”

“Yeah…” Dareth grimaced. “If she was still here, she would.”

“Oh…” Her shoulders slumped. “Dare, I’m so sorry. Is your dad…?”

He shook his head. “The shop got caught in the crossfire at the beginning of the occupation. They’re all gone.” He nodded over his shoulder at the teenage boy in fledgling leathers sitting at the table behind him. “It’s just me and Jacobus now.”

“Shit,” Rook said, running a hand through her hair. “But…why the Crows? There are plenty of leathersmiths in Treviso—surely there were other options for someone with your skills.”

“There were. But I chose this.” Dareth said. “I wasn’t going to sit around cutting and dying leather all day knowing the Antaam scum who killed my family were still out there marching in the streets like they own this place.”

“You know your family wouldn’t want you to abandon the legacy of their business for revenge—”

“Don’t worry about me, Seph. I’m just doing reconnaissance stuff, nothing too dangerous.” Dareth glanced between her and Lucanis. “But, ah—look at me. I’m interrupting your date.”

“Not at all,” Lucanis said quickly. “We’re here on business.”

“And coffee,” Rook said with a little smile as she turned back to look at him. 

“Speaking of—” Lucanis pushed back his chair and stood up. “I think I’ll go order our drinks.”

“Ah, good idea.” Rook held up a hand to her friend, excusing herself as strolled back over to him. 

“Stay here,” he said, “You two should catch up. Sounds like life has dealt him a rough hand.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Lucanis,” she said. “I’ll meet you back at the table—I mostly want to say hi to Jacobus. I’ve always wanted to be one of those annoying adults who gets to say shit like: ‘Oh, look at how big and handsome you are! Last time I saw you you barely came up to my knees!’”

Lucanis snorted. “I hope you get the withering, disinterested eye-roll you deserve for that.”

“Maker willing,” Rook said fondly.

“So…” He tilted his head at her. “Have you decided what you want to order?”

“Hmm…” Rook batted her eyelashes. “A kiss goodbye?” 

Lucanis gave her a long, incredulous look. “I think you’re having a little too much fun with my coffee metaphors, Rook.”

“What?” She blinked at him innocently. “I just thought you might want a romantic farewell for your long journey to the barista counter.”

He sniffed and shook his head.

“Two Andoral’s Breaths, coming right up.”

——————

Rook had, in her opinion, made some very good points during her indignant outburst at Viago back at the Diamond, so obviously she decided to undermine it by immediately doing the exact thing he accused her of. 

She’d always been very good at getting on her high horse—staying on it? Not so much.

But it was fun, getting to know the person behind the flutters of a childhood crush. Lucanis was a distraction—but a manageable one. She knew when to be professional. A little harmless flirting wasn’t going to compromise their mission today.

In fact, the mission fell apart quite effectively on its own—it was immediately obvious that Illario’s lead was no good. 

“The Crows I sent after Zara have picked up her trail,” he said. “She’s gone to Vyrantium.”

“That can’t be right,” Rook said. “It’s barely been a week since the attack, that’s not enough time to travel to Vyrantium.”

“Rook’s right, cousin. The Venatori have given you a false lead,” Lucanis said. 

“You have better information?”

“We’re compromised—there’s no way Zara could have touched Caterina otherwise. We need your eyes here, in Antiva.”

Illario scoffed. “Zara would never be foolish enough to stay—not with you out for blood.”

“Of course she would,” Lucanis said. “The Crows protecting her are here.”

“Sepharine, reason with him—he’s being paranoid.”

“Is he?” Rook folded her arms. “Or are you just not taking this seriously? She came for Lucanis, she came for your grandmother—what makes you think she won’t come for you?”

“Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll clean house, alright?” Illario shoved himself up from his seat. “Just leave this to me.”

Rook raised an eyebrow at Lucanis as he stormed off. “Well, that was weird.”

“Unless there is something he can seduce, my cousin is no good at intelligence gathering,” Lucanis said, absently swirling his coffee. “He doesn’t like being proven wrong. Once he’s cooled down perhaps he’ll see things more clearly.”

“I’m a little surprised he’s so invested in finding Zara,” Rook said. “I understand him wanting revenge, but I never expected him to actually put in the work to follow through on it. That kind of resolve seems out of character for him, doesn’t it?”

Lucanis’s eyes flitted between her and his coffee, eventually settling on a gondola passing through the canal below the balcony. “I’m sure he’ll get distracted soon.”

Rook frowned. He was avoiding her gaze. Had she said something wrong? Or, maybe he was just disappointed that the lead didn’t pan out…?

“So,” Lucanis said finally, clearing his throat. “You knew my cousin when you were a Crow.”

“Hm? Oh, kind of. I used to go to a lot of parties. We ran into each other sometimes. I’m surprised he remembered my name, honestly.”

Lucanis regarded her for a long moment, his face, a mask of composure. “Rook,” he said finally. “I know how my cousin’s relationships usually go. If he treated you poorly in any way, I'm sorry.”

Oh. 

‘Lovely as always, Sepharine,’ Illario had said when Rook showed up to the table after saying goodbye to Dareth and Jacobus. ‘I see you’ve already jilted my cousin on a date. How many Dellamorte hearts will you break before you’re satisfied?’

It had been obvious to her that Illario was joking, but Lucanis must have taken it more seriously. 

“Oh, no, no—it wasn’t like…it wasn’t like that.” 

He blinked at her. “It wasn’t like…what?”

“I mean—we danced, we had fun, we shared a drunken kiss or two—but it didn’t mean anything to either of us,” she said. “I knew his reputation. No hearts were injured.”

“I…I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he said, a faint blush warming his cheeks. “Sorry.”

Rook inspected Lucanis cautiously. It bothered him. Was he uncomfortable about the idea of his colleague being involved in his cousin? Was he jealous?

“I, um…I didn’t sleep with him, if that matters to you.”

His flush deepened. “That’s none of my business, Rook.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, holding up her hands. “You just seem upset.”

“I’m not.” He sighed. “I guess I’m just embarrassed.”

“Why? You’re not the one who kissed the dumbass.”

That got a laugh out of him—a real one. 

“True enough,” he said. “Better you than me.”

Rook leaned into her hands, drinking in the brief crack of sincerity in his smile. Did he have to be so pretty? It seemed deeply unfair.

“You should try your coffee before it gets cold," he said.

“Ah, yes. Let’s see…” 

Rook pulled the mug to her face and inhaled deeply. It smelled decadent—expensive. She took a slow sip. At first, it was sharp and bitter on her tongue, followed by the rich depth of something sweet, and then, as the cup left her mouth, a new flavor lingered.

“A kiss goodbye,” she said. “You were right. I can taste it.”

“Do you like it?”

“I do. It’s a gorgeous cup of coffee,” Rook said. “Though, Jacobus had a hot chocolate that smelled absolutely divine. I might have to get that next time.”

“I loved ciacolatta calda as a boy. They make a good one here, but I'll see if I can get the ingredients from the market.”

Maker help her, if this man made her hot chocolate...

“And your friends,” Lucanis said, nodding at the now empty table where Dareth and Jacobus were sitting. “They’re okay?”

“As okay as they can be,” Rook said, clearing her throat. “But...still. This shouldn’t be their life.”

“I get it,” Lucanis said. “You and I weren't afforded a choice. I understand how it must hurt to see someone you care about throw their life away for…this.”

Dareth. When Rook was twelve, Viago took her to his family’s shop to get her fledgling leathers refitted. Having a boy around her age take her measurements, all the incidental touches she wanted more of in a way she didn’t understand, the faint blush on his cheeks when she thanked him on their way out—it was the first time she’d ever felt that way. After that, she snuck out to see him sometimes. Nothing ever happened, and after all these years she couldn’t imagine seeing him as anything more than a friend, but she loved him all the same.

“He’ll be safe,” Rook said, mostly to convince herself. “He’s got his cousin to take care of.”

They sipped their coffee in silence for a time. The quiet was…nice, weirdly. Comfortable. Rook still had an itch to fill it with words, but for whatever reason, she didn’t feel like she had to with Lucanis. 

“So,” she said, deciding the peace had lasted long enough. “Can I pester the flavor expert for one more metaphor?”

“Very well.” Lucanis bowed his head and waved for her to continue.

“A first kiss,” she said. “What does that taste like?”

“Something fresh and indulgent, I imagine,” Lucanis said. “Honey and lavender.”

His brow twitched slightly as the words left his mouth—something his face always did when the demon interrupted his train of thought.

“Is Spite bothering you?” she asked. 

“No,” he said quickly. And then, with a sigh, added, “Only a little.”

“Does he have an opinion on the flavor of first kisses?”

“What? No, of course not.” Lucanis said. “Why? Do you?”

“Hmm…” Rook tapped her chin. “Well, if you’ve ever had a spicy margarita from the Rialto Bay Tavern, most of mine were like that.”

“Spicy and intoxicating?” he said dryly.

“Something like that,” Rook said. “But they usually felt bad the next day.”

“It seems you’ve had an adventurous life,” Lucanis said. 

Rook snorted. “If by ‘adventurous’ you mean ‘Viago yelled at me a lot,’ you’re correct.”

“Still, you’ve let yourself live,” he said. “For people who grew up like us? That’s something.”

Chapter Text

Lucanis leaned against the kitchen counter, absently drying a mixing bowl as Bellara chatted away washing dishes beside him.

“I know I already said this—but that dinner was so good, Lucanis. I still can’t believe you found all the ingredients for the Dalish seafood stew recipe I was telling you about.”

“A lot of Dalish merchants come through Treviso,” he said. “It was no trouble,”

“Well, it was still really nice of you to get us all something. I hope the spearmint plant helps with Harding’s dreams. Oh! Maybe I can dry some and make a tea…”

Half listening, Lucanis let his eyes drift back over to Rook. She sat at the dining room table, her quill frantically scratching parchment as she made her way through the recent influx of letters they’d received now that word of the elven gods was beginning to spread. 

He observed her mannerisms as she wrote. The way she fretfully gnawed at the left side of her lower lip when she was deep in thought, her fingers, fiddling with the top button of her blouse—

“…Lucanis?” Bellara leaned over, following his gaze. “What’re you…oh.”

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat, turning back to the counter. “You were saying?”

“Nothing important.” She gave him a sly smile. “Rook’s pretty, isn’t she?”

“What? No. I mean…” Lucanis sighed. “That wasn’t what I was thinking about.”

Lying!

Spite’s accusation rattled in his bones, denying him even a moment of peaceful self-delusion.

“It’s okay if you were,” Bellara said. “I think you two would be cute together.”

“I am an assassin possessed by a demon, Bellara. Nothing about me is cute.”

“I think you like her.”

“Everyone likes Rook,” Lucanis said, and, without thinking, added: “Even Spite likes Rook.”

“The demon?” Bellara’s eyes widened, a pink glow warming the tips of her ears. “Oh…”

“Mierda, not like that,” he said, mentally kicking himself for dropping that tidbit of information in front of the most indiscreet woman at the Lighthouse. “He’s not a desire demon. Don’t get any weird ideas.”

“R-right,” Bellara said. “Why does he like her, then?”

“I don’t know,” Lucanis said. “But Spite was essentially born in the Ossuary. My best guess is that he just imprinted on the first person he met who didn’t want to hurt him.” 

“But that’s kind of sweet, isn’t it? Oh—and such a good premise for a romance novel!” Bellara clasped her hands together, speaking faster as her voice raised in excitement. “Imagine how steamy it would be if a possessed man and his demon fell in love with the same woman and had to share—”

“Bellara—”

“You guys reading kinky demon smut?” Rook said casually, not looking up from her letter.

“No,” Lucanis said, glowering at Bellara. “And we’re not writing it either.”

She grimaced, mouthing an emphatic ‘Sorry!’ as she handed him the last plate to dry. 

“There’s a lot out there already,” Rook said. “I read one once about a desire demon who fell in love with the man he possessed. It was wild.”

“Ooh, what was it called?”

Lucanis sighed into his hands. “I am not reading demon erotica for book club, Bellara.”

“Right.” She gave him a sheepish look as she wiped down the counters. “Sorry.”

The conversation shifted to safer topics as they finished cleaning the kitchen. And, after a few minutes of idle chatter, Bellara thanked him once more for dinner and excused herself.

Lucanis lingered in the kitchen after she left, glancing sideways at Rook as he started a pot of coffee.

She shouldn’t be working this late. If she’d stayed here instead of joining him today, she could be finished with all this by now. He would have liked to make her a cioccolata calda as a way of apology, but he’d had to place a special order for the good chocolate at the market, so he had nothing to offer her but coffee.

Ah, well. At least it was good coffee.

Adding some cream and a pinch of sugar, he poured her a cup and placed it on the table beside her. 

“I’m sorry about today, Rook,” he said. 

“You’re…sorry?” She blinked up at him. “What for?”

“It was a waste of your time,” he said. “And now you’re working late.”

“Please, I would have procrastinated on these anyways,” Rook said. “I had a lot of fun.”

“You did?”

“Of course—was that not obvious?” She paused and took a sip of her coffee “Oh!” Her eyes lit up. “This is tasty.”

“I thought you might prefer it with sugar.”

“Damn, I thought I could trick you into thinking I was a cool black-coffee girl.”

Lucanis sniffed and looked at his feet. “I’m sorry they were out of the chocolate at the market,” he said. “I ended up getting a gift for everyone but you.”

“A day in Treviso was a gift enough,” she said. “Good company, good coffee, a lovely night at the Grand Market—what more could a girl ask for?”

Rook sealed the letter she was working on and stood up. “There is one person who didn’t get anything nice today—but don’t worry. I picked something out for him.”

Before he could process the meaning of her words, Rook swept around the table and placed an oblong parcel in his hands. “Here,” she said. “For you.”

Lucanis blinked at her. “Rook, you didn’t have to—”

“Well, I did anyway,” she said, folding her arms. “Open it—see if you like it.”

He frowned at her out of the corner of his eye, cautiously untying the string. His breath caught in his throat as he stared down at the beautiful blade nestled in the cloth.

“A wyvern tooth dagger? Rook, thank you, I-I loved wyverns as a boy. I’ve always wanted one of these, but Caterina would never let me have one.” He shook his head at her in disbelief. “You couldn’t have known that. How…?”

“I have my sources.” She grinned at him, clearly pleased with herself. “Come here, I’ll show you.” 

A flush crawled up Lucanis’s cheeks as she took his arm and led him towards the pantry.

“We’re still figuring out how the Lighthouse works, but it seems to change based on its inhabitants,” she said, pushing the door open. “And I noticed something in here the other day that looked a little out of place.”

She reached up to the top shelf and pulled down a worn, dusty book. “Ever read The Joyous Wyvern?” 

“I…it was my favorite book as a child,” Lucanis admitted, inspecting the cover. “How is this here? This looks like the exact copy I had in my room growing up.”

“Bellara thinks the Fade is pulling things from our memory to make this place feel more like home,” Rook said with a shrug. “Anyway, I figured if you liked daggers and you liked wyverns, you’d probably like a wyvern-dagger.”

“I love it, but…” He looked at her hesitantly. “I already owe you a debt, Rook. You should not be buying me gifts.”

“You repaid your debt when you agreed to help me kill these gods. You don’t owe me anything—I just wanted to get you something nice, so I did,” Rook said, patting his shoulder on her way out of the pantry. “Now I’m going to get some sleep. You should too.”

Lucanis watched from the doorway as she leaned over the table and gathered up her papers, his eyes drawn inadvertently to the intriguing curve of her hips. It was not the first time he’d caught himself admiring this particular view, but the guilty, impolite feeling that always chased off his gaze was overshadowed by something stronger this time—something hungry. 

He forced his eyes to his feet, his pulse still thrumming with the heat of unsolicited desire as he banished the dozens of half-formed fantasies blooming in his mind, tucking them away where Spite couldn’t find them—where he couldn’t find them. 

What was wrong with him?

“Oh, Lucanis?”

He glanced up at her. “Yes?”

“Harding’s contacts in the Grey Wardens got back to us. They said they have a man for us. I’m heading out tomorrow to meet him, wanna come?”

“I…sure.” Lucanis dipped his head. “I’d be happy to join you.”

When she was gone, he locked the door to the pantry and sank onto his cot. 

Rook.

This woman was becoming a problem.

Chapter Text

The next day was a terrible whirlwind. 

They found Davrin, their Grey Warden, in the middle of a crisis involving thirteen baby griffons and some blighted creature called the Gloom Howler, and what should have been a simple recruitment mission quickly devolved into an uphill battle against swarms of darkspawn.

Suspecting that a monster hunter might have some qualms about allying with a man possessed by a demon, Rook asked Lucanis not to use Spite in front of him for the time being.

“We’ll tell him, I just want to ease him into it,” she said. “We’ll have a better shot at convincing him you’re not a threat if he gets to know you a little first.”

Spite didn’t like being left out of a fight, but it was fine—Lucanis didn’t need a demon to be deadly with a blade. Still, taking out large swathes of enemies would have been much more efficient with Spite propelling them across the battlefield. Lucanis hadn’t fought without him in so long, he kept reaching for his wings like a phantom limb, his body, tingling from all the untapped strength.

He managed to make it through the mission without Davrin catching a whiff of the demon, but unfortunately, the day only got worse from there.

Upon returning to the Lighthouse, they were met with news of two blighted dragons—one in Minrathous, one in Treviso.

Lucanis didn’t wait for Rook to make a decision. It stung, at first, that she didn't immediately follow him to the Eluvian. There was no time to waste—Antiva had no formal army, and Rook knew as well as he did that the Crows didn’t have the resources to fight off a dragon on their own. But he saw the pain in her eyes as he left her and the team standing at the Crossroads—she was a leader, she couldn’t just drop everything to protect her city without considering the best course of action for their cause. Her allegiance to the Crows had to be secondary. And the elven gods, the dragons—they were attacking Neve’s home too. 

But Rook came to Treviso. 

She brought Davrin, sending Harding and Bellara to help Neve in Minrathous. 

They didn’t have time to talk before they were catapulted into battle. The dragon had already flattened a city block, and even with all the Crow’s artillery, they could barely scratch the blighted beast. 

Lucanis ended up having to use Spite not only in front of Davrin, but also Viago, Teia, and all the assassins watching the fight. He wasn’t sure how many people would notice or what they would put together, but the Crows knew he wasn’t a mage, and the purple glowing wings were likely to cause a stir of rumors.

Eventually, they managed to do enough damage that Ghilan'nain called off her dragon. The city was left in rough shape, but it was still standing. With Spite’s speed, Lucanis managed to avoid taking too many hits, but Davrin was bruised and battered, and Rook had a nasty claw wound curving across her upper chest from her shoulder to her sternum.

Viago gave her a potion for the pain and left Lucanis detailed instructions on how to clean and stitch the wound. “My hands are needed elsewhere right now, but please—” his voice wavered slightly. “Take care of her.”

“Of course,” Lucanis said. “We’ll check back in soon.”

He and Davrin hobbled towards the Eluvian, Rook propped up between them, wobbly and disoriented from the potion.

“So those wings of yours,” the warden said, side-eyeing him suspiciously. “That wasn’t normal magic. That looked like—”

“We’ll talk later," Lucanis said. "Please."

——————————

Rook sat on the cot in the infirmary where Lucanis had left her while he went to get some towels and a washbasin to clean her wound.

“What am I supposed to do now, Varric?” she whispered, hugging her knees to her chest. “Everything I touch falls apart.”

“You’re keeping things together just fine, kid,” he said. “You made an impossible decision and fought off an insurmountable force. I’m proud of you.”

“Neve’s gone.”

“She’ll be back.”

“I chose to save my city instead of hers. I can justify it with excuses all I want, but it was a selfish decision. She and I both know that.” She sniffed, a quiet tear rolling down her cheek. “I think Viago’s disappointed in me too. Even if he’s grateful Treviso is standing, he knows I wasn’t thinking like a leader.”

“There was no right answer, Rook. You had to make a tough call under pressure, and you did. That’s all anyone could ask of you.”

Rook curled in on herself. “I don’t know if I can do this without you.”

“I’m right here, kid.”

The door to the infirmary creaked open, and she straightened up, wiping her face on her sleeve.

Lucanis brought the tub over to the side of the bed and sat beside her. He cleared his throat as he wrung out the cloth. "Could you pull your collar down on the left side a little?”

“Oh, um…” Rook frowned down at herself. “I think the blood kind of caked it to my skin, unfortunately. Maybe if we loosen it with some water you can just cut me out of the shirt?”

“I…I suppose I can do that,” he said after a moment's hesitation. “But I really just need your shoulder—if it would make you more comfortable, we can wait for Harding and Bellara to get back from Minrathous to cut the rest of it off—”

“What would make me comfortable is getting this crusty leather off my body as fast as possible,” Rook said. "It's gross in here."

“R-right,” Lucanis said, plucking the scissors out of the surgical kit. "Of course."

He dampened the fabric, slicing carefully up the length of one sleeve and then the other, wiping away the dried blood on her skin as he peeled back the leather. Once her arms were free, he lined the shears up at the bottom hem of her shirt and glanced up at her cautiously. “This is okay?”

“Yes, Lucanis,” Rook said, rolling her eyes. “Maker—usually men are more excited about taking my clothes off."

He glowered at her, and, tugging the fabric taut to avoid cutting her skin, slowly freed her torso from the blood-soaked leather.

Rook was already a little loopy from the potion Viago gave her, but the side effects were beginning to hit harder now. The flesh around her wound throbbed numbly, but the rest of her skin felt strange too. Lucanis was trying very hard not to touch her more than he needed to, but her nerves lit up each time his fingers brushed against her. His eyes dodged away from the thin underclothes covering her breasts as he cleaned the dried gore around her upper body, and she watched the bright pink flush blooming on his cheeks with greedy satisfaction. It had been so long since she’d wanted someone to want her—this giddy, stupid feeling was a drug in and of itself.

Lucanis wrung out a fresh towel, pressing it gently to the raw, gouged flesh beneath her clavicle.

“Fuck,” Rook hissed, the sudden sting ripping her from her hazy daydream.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll try to be more gentle.”

He continued, brow furrowed in concentration, muttering apologies when he had to tighten his grip on her arm to keep her from writhing away from his touch. Once he was satisfied that the wound was clean, he reached for the elfroot ointment to disinfect it before stitching it up.

“I’m sorry I ran off back at the Crossroads,” he said, dabbing his fingers into the balm.

She blinked at him. “What?”

“I was afraid for Treviso, so I left without thinking about anyone else,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said with a weak laugh. “You and Neve were right. There was no time to waste, I was just…paralyzed.” Rook winced as the cool salve met her raw flesh. “I-I think I made the right choice. But even if it was the wrong one, I was always going to go to Treviso. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I didn’t.”

“No one with a clear conscience can blame you for that,” he said. “Neve loves Dock Town—she would have let Treviso burn in a heartbeat to save it. She might be hurt, but I know she understands.” 

“It still feels like shit.”

“I know,” he said.

Rook glanced sideways at Varric as Lucanis stood to return some supplies to the medicine cabinet.

She sniffed and shook her head. Ridiculous. The old man was fast asleep. 

She pushed herself up off the cot, reaching over to straighten his blanket. But as soon as she wobbled to her feet she knew she’d made a mistake—her limbs were weak and heavy; her vision speckled, and, in a dizzy, time-slowed haze, she felt herself begin to fall.

A flash of purple tore across the room, and two hands caught her fiercely by the waist. 

She blinked blearily up at Lucanis as he hunched over her, his fingers digging into her ribs. His gaze was intense, almost feral—his pupils, gleaming a strange violet. 

“Rook is. Hurt.”

That voice…

“S-Spite?” she said tentatively. 

“Honey. Lavender.” He leaned in closer, inhaling deeply through his nose. “Static and rain-dark skies.”

“Uh, sorry?” Rook said, trying to keep her tone even. She didn’t know what kind of temperament to expect from the demon—he didn’t seem hostile at the moment, but if she offended him and things went sour, she was in no state to defend herself.

“Ugh.” He sniffed again and pulled back, wrinkling his nose as he glared around the infirmary. “This room whispers. Lies! A Prisoner. Caged in. Blood.”

“I…is that some kind of demon riddle?” 

“No!” Spite said, gripping her waist tighter. He looked like he was about to say something else, but Lucanis’s body suddenly shuddered and the hands tight against her sides went slack. 

“Lucanis?”

“Rook?” Dark eyes blinked back at her, confused. “How did I…?”

“You’re alright. Spite just got out for a minute.”

“What?” He staggered back, hands flinching from her waist.

“It’s okay. He helped me, actually,” Rook said, easing herself back down onto the bed. “I…I stood up a little too fast. He flew over and caught me.”

“But…I didn’t even see…I mean, he never should have been able to take control of me like that, but—” Lucanis frowned, massaging his forehead. “Mierda, the magic in this room makes the back of my eyeballs itch.”

“Huh,” Rook said, peering at their surroundings. “Maybe that has something to do with it? Spite didn’t seem to like this room very much either.”

“Wait—he talked to you?” 

“Only a little. I’m not sure exactly what he was trying to tell me—he has an interesting way with words. I think there was some kind of metaphor I wasn’t picking up on.”

“Rook, I’m sorry, I promised you that Spite wouldn’t be a problem—”

“He wasn’t a problem at all,” she said. “I think he was worried about me.”

Lucanis sighed and sank down on his knees before her. “I didn’t want you to have to see that.”

“He didn’t scare me,” she said gently. “And even if he did, it wouldn’t change the way I see you.”

“You’re looking at a man possessed by a demon, Rook,” he said, gaze fixed on the floor. “That’s what you should see.”

“Hmm…well, that’s part of you, I suppose. But there's more to see than that.” Rook reached out and touched his cheek. He blinked up at her, his hand hovering over hers like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hold it there or brush it away. “I see a reliable ally. A friend. An incredible chef.” She winked and flashed him a coy smile. “A handsome, gentleman-assassin.”

He scoffed and swiped away her hand. “Be serious.”

“I am being serious,” she said. “I mean, he’s a little broody, but it adds to his charm.”

Lucanis gave her a bemused look. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Whatever you want,” Rook said with a playful smile, relishing the way his eyes flitted over her as she leaned back on the cot. “But maybe stitch me up first?”

Chapter Text

In his dream, there was no gash on her chest or blood on the sheets.

He was a cage above her, hands braced on the bed frame, knees straddling her hips. And the way she smiled up at him, blonde hair splayed on the pillow like satin champagne—it was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

Lucanis knew, on a vague, subconscious level, that he was asleep. The scene was both too clear and too hazy. He was half-paralyzed—hyperaware of his own body—unsure which sensations were real and which were in his mind.

She shifted beneath him, an invitation in each small movement—but he didn't touch her. She may have been a dream, but she was still so…Rook. From the mole on her neck to the little dimple pressed in the soft bow of her lower lip, the likeness of her his mind created was far too warm and real to indulge in.

But he wanted to. So, so badly.

The restraint of his hands did not extend to his gaze, however. He watched with rapt fascination as she languidly traced the neckline of her white slip with the tip of her finger, his body thrumming with desire. His eyes roved over the shape of her breasts beneath the thin fabric, her nipples peaking against the chiffon. 

“So,” she said, a slow, sweet smile blooming on her face. “Have you decided what you’re going to do with me yet?”

“No,” he said, his voice, barely able to croak out the word.

“Hmph.” She propped herself up on her elbows and gave him a mopey, indignant look he'd seen before—namely when he told her she couldn’t adopt that nug at the Veil Jumper camp a couple days ago.

But, Maker—for a figment of his imagination, she really did move and act like Rook. How much of this woman had he memorized without even realizing it? 

Apparently, a lot, he thought, his gaze dipping back to the perfect teardrop curve of her breasts he'd tried so hard not to notice back in the infirmary.

“Are you going to touch me, Lucanis?"

“No,” he said, looking away. “I’m not.”

"So you're just looming over me bursting out of your pants for no reason?" She raised an eyebrow. "What are we doing here?" 

"We're not doing anything," he said. "None of this is real."

"I'm pretty sure that is," she said coyly, fingers dancing over his belt buckle. 

"Don't," he said, hands tightening on the bed frame. 

“Mr. Self-Control even in your own sex dreams, huh?” She flopped back down onto the bed and sighed. "Alright."

“This isn't a sex dream.”

“No? It sure looks like one," she said. “I mean, I suppose we could just be posing to be painted for the cover of a trashy romance serial or something—though I have to admit, I’ll be a little disappointed if that bulge is just for show.”

Lucanis sighed and crumpled down on the bed beside her. “Must you be a pain even in my fantasies, Rook?” he said, staring at the ceiling.

She laughed and rolled onto her side to face him. "So you admit it," she said. "You do fantasize about me."

Lucanis looked at her helplessly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You're not real."

"So I'm told." She smoothed her hand over his chest. His breath hitched in his throat as her touch slowly trailed down, stopping just above his waistband. "I can help you with this," she murmured. "I'm very good at it."

Lucanis shuddered, his body, aching with unslaked desire. "What...what would you do?"

"Whatever you want. It's your dream."

She grinned as his hands moved frantically to his belt to free himself from his trousers. 

The dream skipped a few steps. It was all hunger and sensation—a phantom of lust with Rook's face. All the dark, secret longings he'd buried over the years, blurring together. 

One moment, he was beneath her, moaning pitifully as she praised him—'Look at you, being so good while I fuck myself on you'—another moment, he had her face-down on the bed, teasing her entrance with his cock—'Lucanis, please'—she gasped, pleading for a release—and then—

And then—

He shot up with a start, sweaty and trembling, his ragged breathing, a tinny echo in the dim, grey pantry.

Fuck.

He raked a hand through his hair and adjusted his trousers, the echo of Rook’s voice gasping his name still hot and hazy in his memory.

The mattress creaked as he lowered himself back down onto the cot, arousal still taut in his body.

He gritted his teeth and reached for his waistband. 

He hadn’t done this since before the Ossuary—there was a shame attached to it, but right now it didn’t matter. He tried to be tactical, clinging to disjointed, carnal snippets—nothing too specific—nothing about her. 

Not the way her fingers had grazed his cheek back in the infirmary. 

Not the sweet caress of her words—‘I see a friend. A reliable ally. An incredible chef.’

Her warm, amber eyes, that teasing smile—his breath hitched—

A small, desperate sound escaped his throat. His head craned back against the cold wall of the pantry, the shape of her name, a ghost in each ragged breath.

Maker, help him—

For just a moment, he let himself drown in a fantasy that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. That he could touch her, hold her, give her the life she wanted, the pleasure she needed—

And then, all too quickly, he finished. 

Smells like Hunger. Shame. Loneliness.

“Sorry,” Lucanis mumbled as he cleaned himself up, quietly shoving the lingering thoughts of Rook back into the dark, secret corners of his mind where they needed to stay. “I’m sure that was weird for you.”

We Liked it. Rook in Your Hands. Keys twisting. Locks. Rook Opens Doors.

“It didn’t mean anything,” Lucanis said under his breath as he walked up the stairs to the balcony outside the kitchen, his words, perhaps more for himself than the demon. “It might have felt intense, but it was just a stupid, human thing. I promise.” He tossed his sullied towel out into the void of the Fade and leaned against the balustrade, watching the evidence of his sin disappear into the ether.

Rook is Hands. Want. Hunger. You Keep us Trapped! Drowning. Locked doors. Blood Magic. She Frees Us. We Free Her. 

Lucanis slumped over the railing and sighed, hands clawing into his hair. "How many times do I have to tell you that we’re not in the Ossuary anymore, Spite?"

We Never. Left! 

Chapter Text

Lucanis’s guilt over that dream haunted him for the better part of a week. 

He was usually better at compartmentalizing, but he didn’t know how to fit Rook into any one box. She was too many things. Too warm, too vibrant. She was a leader. A colleague. A woman. A friend. A thousand tiny contradictions splintering in his heart. 

And Spite, of course, wasn’t making it any easier for him.

You should Touch Rook. Like in your. Secret Thoughts. 

Absolutely not.

Why? She Liked it. 

Lucanis massaged the bridge of his nose and sighed. That’s not how it works, Spite. What happened in my head wasn’t real. I imagined her liking it because I wanted her to like it. I don’t know how else to explain this to you. 

I Know That. The demon’s glowing phantom paced angrily around the kitchen, throwing up his arms as if Lucanis was misunderstanding something obvious. But if you Do it. You make it Real. 

Ugh—this was fruitless. Trying to explain the difference between dreams and reality to a Fade creature was like being locked in an endless game of peek-a-boo with a toddler who thought the world disappeared when he covered his eyes. 

I’m done talking about this with you.

Hrmm. Fine. I Can Touch Her. Let Me Try—

“No, Spite,” he hissed. “And Maker help me, if you—” Lucanis paused, glancing at the door as footsteps pattered on the stairs outside the dining hall. If you ever take me over again, you will stay far, far away from her, understand?

No! I Caught her. Protected. 

I don’t care. I don’t want you talking to her. And if you touch her again, I swear on both of our lives, I will find a way to kill you. I’ll kill us both if I have to.

Mrrrgh! Lucanis Keeps us. Trapped. Breaks our. Contract!

The door creaked open, and a soft, sweet voice echoed through the dining hall. ”Hey, you.”

“Rook?” Lucanis knocked a spoon off the counter as he whipped around.

She raised an eyebrow. “Did I startle you, assassin?”

“No, I—” Lucanis shook his head and picked up the utensil. “I didn’t realize you were up and about.”

“Bellara and Davrin finally released me from bedrest prison.” She flourished a hand over her chest. “Looks pretty good, doesn’t it?

Lucanis frowned at the long, pink mark stretching beneath her clavicle. “I…how did it scar over so quickly? I thought you’d still be in stitches.”

“Bellara hooked me up with this fast-acting healing ointment,” she said, sauntering over to pour herself some coffee. “But there’s still a lot of knotted scar and muscle tissue under my skin, apparently—Davrin’s been helping massage it out—”

“Massage?” Lucanis said, trying to keep his voice calm as his mind conjured images of the Grey Warden touching her, kneading her chest with the base of his palm, his thumbs stroking beneath her collarbone.

Hands on Rook. Makes us. Angry! 

Will you please leave me alone?

“Yeah, I guess with wounds this deep the scar adhesions after you heal can limit your range of motion,” she said, rubbing her shoulder. “It’s getting better though.”

“That’s…good,” Lucanis said. Stupid. He should be happy she was recovering. 

It Should be Us. Tell Her. We’ll do It. 

Lucanis pursed his lips. No. Go away.

“So,” Rook said, leaning against the counter. “I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“I…I’m sorry I didn’t visit,” he said, looking at his shoes. “After what happened in the infirmary with Spite—I didn’t want to risk it happening again.” It was the truth—if not all of it.

Her warm brown eyes flickered over him. “I told you he didn’t scare me.”

“He should scare you, Rook. Your Grey Warden is right to mistrust me—I’m an abomination, I could snap at any moment.”

“I don’t believe that, and I don’t think you do either.”

“It’s safer for everyone if I keep my distance.”

“I could have really gotten hurt if Spite hadn’t caught me back in the infirmary, you know,” she said, folding her arms. “He’s a good boy—he just wanted to help.”

See? Spite rumbled contentedly in his chest. Rook Knows. I Protect. I Did Good.

“Maker help me, Rook—please don’t call my demon a good boy.”

Rook regarded his flustered expression with a smirk. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“W-what? Don’t be ridiculous,” Lucanis said, flushing deeply. “I just don’t want to give him any ideas. If you praise him like a puppy, he might start coming back for treats.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know what treats to give a demon, but if you’re open to it, I wouldn’t mind talking to him again sometime."

Yes!

“Out of the question,” Lucanis said sharply.

“I think he was trying to tell me something,” Rook said. “Maybe it would help—”

“No,” he snapped. “Please don't—”

She LIKES Me. 

“—Mierda, Spite, not now.”

“Ah.” Rook took a step back, her expression softening. “I’m making things worse, aren’t I? Sorry, I sometimes forget that he can hear what I say.”

“It’s alright. I just…need some space, I think.”

“Okay. I’ll leave you to it.”

She brushed her fingers over his hand, a whisper of something gentle that didn’t need to be said. It was a simple, casual touch, but Lucanis realized all at once just how much he'd missed it. How he’d missed her.

“Rook?” he called after her.

She stopped and peered over her shoulder. "Yes?"

He blinked at her, his mind suddenly blank.

Mierda, what did he even want to say? Something charming, maybe? What would Illario say? Ugh—no. Stupid thought. Rook had probably heard all his cousin's lines before anyway. Lucanis didn’t want to think about that.

You should Say. You Like Looking at Her Shapes from Behind. When she Leaves. Like the Man in the Book.

What? No. That’s—wait, when did you start paying attention when I read?

It’s Boring. But We Like the. Kissing Parts.

Fucking kill me, Spite. 

I Can’t. I Live Here.

“Lucanis?” Rook said. “Everything alright?”

“Forgive me. I, uh…I forgot what I was going to say.”

“Well, I’m back in my room now, so you can come find me if you remember,” she said with a little smile. “You are done hiding from me, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I missed you.”

She said it so effortlessly, as if the sentiment was light as air, easy as breathing. And when the door swung shut behind her, Lucanis mouthed his response into the silence, feeling the shape of words on his tongue—horrible and vulnerable, even as the weakest whisper.

“I missed you too.”

Chapter Text

As soon as they rounded the corner into the Cantori Diamond, Viago stood up from his desk and stumbled over to Rook.

For a moment, Lucanis thought that he was going to embrace her, but he stopped short. 

“Sepharine,” he said, relief and concern etched in his expression. “I’m…glad to see you back on your feet.”

“Aw, were you worried about me?” Rook said, folding her arms with a teasing smile.

Viago cleared his throat. “A little.”

“Please, you were inconsolable,” Teia said, smirking as she strolled up behind him. “What if it cut a major tendon? What if there’s an infection? What if the dragon’s blood got in her wound and she gets blighted?”

Viago glared at her. “They were valid concerns!”

“Well you can rest easy, old man. I’m as good as new.” Rook struck a pose, wincing slightly as she raised her arm over her head. “Well, almost,” she said, massaging her shoulder.

Viago turned to Lucanis with a sigh. “Thank you,” he said. “For taking care of her.”

“It was—” Lucanis was going to say ‘my pleasure,’ but his mind flooded him with damning memories from that night he’d stitched her up: how she’d shuddered beneath him, how his pulse sparked each time he accidentally grazed her breasts with his forearm, how his dream twisted her pain into a depraved, lustful fantasy—a fantasy he’d all too eagerly indulged in.

“It was no trouble,” he said, turning his gaze to his shoes before Viago could notice the guilt stewing behind his eyes. “How are things in the city?”

“The dragons left a mess, but Treviso will recover,” Teia said. “The Crows are helping where they can.”

“And you?” Viago said. “What is your team’s next move?”

“We’re working on gaining the support of the Grey Wardens. With any luck, we’ll have armed forces and a plan of attack the next time the gods take action,” Rook said. “In the meantime, we’ve recruited a Fade expert and a dragon hunter for our team.”

“Good,” Viago said. “The Crows are needed in Treviso right now, but we owe you. Wherever we can afford it, you’ll have our support.”

“Thanks, Viago,” Rook said, nudging him with her shoulder. “Really. It means a lot.”

“I can get us some drinks if you two are sticking around,” Teia said. 

“Next time, perhaps,” Lucanis said. “Right now, we’re headed to the market.” 

“Grocery shopping again?” Viago raised an eyebrow. 

“We have a lot more people to feed at the Lighthouse now,” Lucanis said.

“Also a griffon,” Rook said. “And a skeleton who likes stealing almonds.”

Viago blinked at her. “What?”

“His name is Manfred.”

“The griffon?”

“No, the skeleton,” she said. “The griffon is Assan.”

“I…” Viago closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m not going to ask.”

——————————

“We should’ve brought Taash,” Rook said, grunting as she gingerly lowered a crate of produce onto a bench by the canal. She stretched her arms behind her back and rolled her neck. “Oof.”

“I’m sorry, I should have thought about your injury,” Lucanis said, stacking his box of spices and pantry staples atop hers. “I don’t think I’ll be able to carry all three of these myself, but maybe we can hire some passerby to help us get it back to the Diamond.”

“No need, I can handle it. I just need a little break.” Rook patted the seat beside her. “It’s a nice night to sit by the water, hm?”

The groceries took up half the bench, but Rook didn’t mind the snugness as he settled in next to her, sturdy and warm against her side. She resisted the urge to rest her head on his shoulder. That night in the infirmary was so intimate to her—for a moment, she honestly thought he might have wanted her. It stung when he didn’t come back.

“You and Viago seem quite close,” Lucanis said, interrupting the silence as he stared out at the dark water. “How long have you two known each other?”

“My whole life, basically,” Rook said. “I was five when House de Riva took me in. He’s been like a big brother to me since the day the Crows brought me to Antiva.”

“He clearly cares for you quite a bit,” Lucanis said. “I’ve known him a long time. I’m surprised he never mentioned you to me.”

Rook snorted. “Oh that was by design. He worked very hard to keep me away from you Dellamorte boys,” she said with a smirk. “The poor man failed on both counts in the end.”

“Both of us?” Lucanis shifted to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Illario, I understand, but I can’t imagine why he’d think I’d be a problem.”

She flashed him an abashed grin. “Oh, in your case, I was the problem. I had a huge crush on you when I was a teenager—”

Lucanis coughed. “You what?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t look so scandalized—you were the Demon of Vyrantium, and I was sixteen. I had an idea of you in my head, and it was sexy. And really, what girl hasn’t dreamt of being swept off her feet by a dark, mysterious assassin?”

“I…think you might be an anomaly in this case.”

“Oh, believe me, you had plenty of admirers—but I was confident that I was going to be the one to win your heart.” Rook clutched her chest with a wistful sigh. “I imagined one day you’d see me across the ballroom and be so overcome by my beauty that you’d fall in love with me instantly. You’d try to fight your feelings, of course—”

“Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.”

“Not at all. Ask Viago if you don’t believe me, I was constantly pestering him about it. ‘I’m not going to let you make a fool of yourself batting your eyelashes at my professional colleague, Sepharine.’—’You’re just afraid he’s going to fall in love with me’—’Believe me, that is not on my list of concerns.’—’Well, it should be, I’m very pretty!’—” Rook shook her head and chuckled under her breath. “I was a bombastic little pest.”

Lucanis sniffed. “Sounds like it was less about me and more about annoying Viago.”

“In that particular moment, maybe.” Rook sighed and looked at her shoes. “He’d just been named master assassin, and there was talk of him being next in line for the title of Fifth Talon. All of a sudden he was important, and I didn’t want him to be important, I wanted him to be my brother. So I did the rational thing and started acting out to get attention. He still sees me as that kid a little bit, I think.”

“Family is complicated, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.” She glanced up at Lucanis sheepishly. “But you understand that better than most, don’t you?” 

“I do, yes,” Lucanis said. “It’s not exactly the same, but Illario was my only friend growing up. When we got older and he started chasing girls and going out all the time, I didn’t know how to handle it. It was always just the two of us. I admit, I was jealous.”

“He was jealous of you too, you know,” Rook said. “I'm pretty sure the only reason he pursued me as much as he did was because I told him that I had a thing for you. I think he enjoyed the idea of taking something that could’ve been yours.”

——————————

Something that could’ve been yours.

The words fed something hungry in his heart. He tucked them away, like if he held them gently enough and turned them just the right way, there was a world where they might be true. 

Chapter Text

Lucanis insisted on rearranging the groceries so that Rook’s crate was lighter for their trip back to the Eluvian.

She noticed, as he lifted his two boxes, just how much strength he’d regained in his arms since returning from the Ossuary. It was incredible how well he’d been able to fight back then, gaunt and half-starved after a year in that horrible place. 

Aside from the questions she'd asked about Spite, Rook had avoided bringing up his imprisonment as much as possible. He always got a dim, foggy look in his eyes when the subject came up—his responses, flat and tactical as he withdrew into himself. She wondered how much of that pain haunted him silently each day in ways that she didn't see. How do you go back to living after going through something like that?

Lucanis inspected her out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, just admiring how handsome and strong you are,” Rook said, blinking at him sweetly.

He rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

Eventually, they made it back to the Cantori Diamond. Lucanis nudged Rook as they stepped off the lift onto the balcony. “Aren’t those your friends?” 

Rook followed his gaze. A young fledgling tossed a Crow mark at the wall, leaving a vaguely bird-shaped splatter of purple ink on the stone.

“Ugh, I’m never going to get it,” Jacobus said, kicking the crate of paint balls at his feet.

“That was a lot better!” Dareth kneeled beside his cousin. “If you flick your wrist like this, you should be able to get one more rotation in.”

“Ah, my old nemesis, the wretched Crow mark,” Rook said with a chuckle. “Poor Jacobus.”

Lucanis tilted his head at her. “Did you want to stop and say hi?”

“Maybe just for a minute, if you don’t mind.” 

“Seph!” Dareth said, standing up as Rook and Lucanis approached the training area. “The dragon attack, I heard you were injured—”

“I’m fine, Dare. It'll take more than a blighted dragon to kill me.” Rook turned to Jacobus. “Looks like you’re having fun.”

“We’re struggling a little,” Dareth said, smirking at his cousin. “Maybe you can give him some tips.”

“I don’t need help!” Jacobus said, an embarrassed flush blooming on his cheeks. “I’m doing fine.”

“You’re doing great, actually,” Rook said. “I always cheated when I had to throw these things.”

Lucanis raised an eyebrow. “How do you cheat at throwing Crow marks?”

“Watch and learn—” 

Rook picked up an ink packet and lobbed it at the wall, flicking off a spell right before it made contact. The lightning split, sending paint splattering in the shape of two upturned wings. “Hah!” she said, clutching her first. “Still got it.”

“You’ve got magic,” Jacobus mumbled. “That’s not fair.”

“Surely getting the timing on that right was just as hard as learning how to throw it correctly,” Lucanis said.

“Eh, probably,” Rook said with a shrug. “I mostly did it to annoy Viago.”

“Here,” Lucanis said, pushing himself off the wall and walking over to Jacobus. “Try tossing it underhanded, like this—”

Rook smiled to herself as Lucanis handed the boy a fresh paint ball and guided his hand to show him the proper throwing motion.

Dareth leaned against the column beside her. “So your friend—that’s Lucanis Dellamorte, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I never did introduce you back at Pietra’s, did I?” Rook said, shaking her head at herself. “Yes. Lucanis and I are on the god-killing team together.”

“You’re kind of a big deal now, aren’t you?”

Rook snorted. “For better or worse, I suppose.”

“Well, if anyone can pull this off, it’s you,” he said. “You’re too stubborn to fail.”

“Tch.” Rook elbowed him playfully. “And what about you? How’s life as a Crow after the dragon attacks?”

“It’s…hectic.” Dareth sighed. “Andarateia thinks that the Antaam are working with the elven gods. I’ve been out trying to gather intel.”

“Be careful,” Rook said. “Anything the elven gods touch is trouble.”

“I’m good at this, Seph. Don’t worry.”

“You’re good at this for now.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that this game gets more dangerous the longer you play it,” she said. “You’re a stranger until you’re not. If the Antaam start recognizing your face and you get caught poking around the wrong place, they won’t hesitate to snap your neck.”

“I’d like to see them try,” Dareth said bitterly. “I’m not the soft kid you used to know, de Riva. Have some faith in me.”

“I know, but you’re all Jacobus has,” Rook said, watching as Lucanis squatted beside the young fledgling and pointed at a blank spot on the wall. “He’s lost so much already.”

Dareth sighed and followed her gaze as his cousin wound up to toss the ink packet.

“Nice!” Lucanis said as it burst against the wall in a slightly crooked but recognizable Crow mark.

“I did it!” Jacobus said, running up to Dareth and Rook. “Did you see?”

“I saw,” Dareth said, mussing his cousin’s hair with a chuckle. “Let’s see if you can do it again, yeah?”

Jacobus skipped back to Lucanis and excitedly picked up another mark from the crate.

“I’m not going to die, Seph,” Dareth said softly. 

“Promise?”

He squeezed her hand. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

Rook hung her clothes up in the wardrobe as she got ready to turn in for the evening.

It had been a week since Neve returned from Minrathous. She said she didn’t want to talk about it, so Rook had been trying to give her space, but the weight of resentment between them only seemed to be growing heavier as time passed. Between the detective’s quiet bitterness and the hostility stewing between Davrin and Lucanis, dinners at the Lighthouse had been tense lately. If she was going to keep this team together, something needed to change.

Staging an intervention and forcing everyone to talk about their feelings would probably just make things worse. She needed to think of something that forced them to interact—something fun that didn’t seem like an obvious trust-building exercise.

Rook sighed and rubbed her forehead. Oh, well. She’d sleep on it. 

Just as she was about to dim the lights, the sound of feet shuffling outside her room drew her attention to the door. Someone jostled the handle with a little hiss.

Her frown quickly turned into a smirk.

Ah. Manfred. 

Probably back with a new collection of stolen trinkets. What had the little thief gotten into this time? For Lucanis’s sake, hopefully not the good coffee beans—though it was very funny watching a frustrated assassin attempt to explain the value of artisan goods to a spirit-animated skeleton. 

“Mierda, am I really trying to explain our food budget to a pile of bones? Look, this is where Neve keeps her coffee beans. These are worth less than nug droppings. Any of these you take would be doing us a favor.”

Rook sniffed and started towards the entrance as another impatient hiss came from outside.

“Yes, yes. Keep your pants on,” she said. "Well, I suppose you don’t really need to wear pants, but—”

A startled “oh!” escaped her throat as she opened the door.

Not Manfred.

Lucanis stood at a strange angle, hunched and fidgeting, a tinge of violet shining in his pupils.

“Spite?" Rook peered down the hall behind him. "How did you get here?"

"Walked." He tilted his head at her. “I should take off. My pants?”

Rook coughed. “Pardon?”

“You said. I don’t need them.”

“R-right, uh…” She scratched the back of her head and grimaced. “Sorry, I thought you were Manfred. You should keep yours on.”

“Hrmm. Curiosity has. Different rules.”

“Well...he’s bones.”

“We have bones.”

“Yes, but that's…nevermind.” Rook shook her head. “What are you doing here, Spite?”

“Came to talk. To Rook.” 

Not waiting for an invitation, the demon dodged into her room. 

“Come on in, I guess,” Rook said, hesitantly closing the door behind them. 

She could only imagine how furious Lucanis would be if he knew she’d allowed the demon in her room while she was alone in her underclothes, but she couldn’t very well leave Spite outside to wander around the Lighthouse. 

She quickly returned to her wardrobe to put on a shirt, watching in the mirror as Spite shuffled about the room. “You said you wanted to talk,” she said. “What about?”

“Free us. Free him. He lied.” 

“Lucanis? What did he lie about?”

“Everything!” Spite sniffed the Antivan coffee filter on her shelf and wrinkled his nose. “But you. He’d listen to you. He thinks of you always—Rook. Rook. ROOK.”

“Oh?” She fumbled with her buttons, trying not to read into his words. “Mostly good thoughts, I hope.”

“Good thoughts, yes,” the demon said, a strange, silky rumble over Lucanis’s voice. “Secret thoughts. Hungry thoughts.”

Before she could even process what he’d said, Spite skulked up behind her, brushed aside her hair, and buried his face in her shoulder.

The shock of the contact drew a tiny gasp from her lips. Her eyelids fluttered as his mouth moved up her neck, his beard prickling on her skin as he pressed a clumsy kiss to the sensitive flesh below her ear. Before any rational thought could overrule her body’s response, the shape of his name caught on her tongue “Lucan—”

It’s not him.

“Stop it, Spite,” she said, shoving him away as she returned to her senses.

He released her and scuttled back, shoulders arched like a spooked cat. “Why?” he said. "You liked it."

"No." Rook rubbed her neck, embarrassed by how undone she'd been. "I didn't."

"Lying!" He narrowed his eyes. "You smell like him. When he lets his secret thoughts. Get loud.”

The implications of his words did nothing to cool the flush on Rook’s cheeks. “I…it’s not that simple." She closed her eyes and tried to ground herself. "Just because something feels good doesn't mean it's wanted. And I think we both know Lucanis wouldn’t want you touching someone like that without his permission.”

“He touches you. In his head. All the time."

Her heart trilled stupidly. 

Oh.

“L-listen, Spite,” she said, clearing her throat. “The things Lucanis muses on in private aren’t for you to share—and definitely not for you to act on. Sometimes people have fantasies that are meant to stay as fantasies, do you understand?”

“No! He tortures himself—keeps us prisoner. Always he wants you. Rook’s smile. Rook’s voice. Soft shapes beneath her clothes—”

“Don’t—don’t tell me that,” Rook said quickly, not lingering on it, tucking it away. “He’s a grown man, if that’s really what he wants, he can discuss it with me when he’s awake.”

“He won’t. Traps himself. Traps us. Won’t move.”

“Come here,” she said, leading the demon over to the green chaise in the middle of the room. She sat him down and knelt to look him in the eyes. “I can see that you’re trying to help, but a body is a very personal thing when you’re a human. You have to ask before you touch people like that."

"Can I? Touch Rook?"

"No, Spite. You have a contract with Lucanis, and part of that is respecting that this—” Rook gently tapped his chest. “Belongs to him."

“Hrmm. Fine. He breaks our contract. But I follow. Rook's rules."

She sighed and sat down beside Spite. “How much of this will he remember when he wakes up?”

“Nothing unless I. Show him.” 

“Definitely don’t do that.” She’d sooner die than let Lucanis see the brainless puddle she turned into beneath his mouth. “How deeply is he sleeping right now? Can you wake him?”

Spite narrowed his eyes. "Hm. No. He is. Far away.”

“You’ll have to stay here until he wakes up, then,” Rook said. She tilted her head at Spite. He seemed antsy, sitting down. “Can a demon sleep?” she asked.

“Mrrgh." He shifted awkwardly on the cushion, palming the leather. “Never tried. Waste of time. Waste of legs.”

She scooted over to make room for him to lie down. “You should try it. It’s actually quite nice.”

He gave her a skeptical look, but curled up on the cushion beside her without protest. His head started to nestle on her thigh, but he quickly jerked up and pointed at her leg. “This?”

Rook’s eyes softened. “You learn quickly, little demon. Thank you for asking first.”

He looked at her expectantly. 

She sighed and guided his head into her lap. 

“Just for a little bit, okay?”

Chapter Text

Of all the fantasies that had slithered into his dreams over the past few weeks, this one was by far the softest. 

His head was in her lap; her fingers combed lovingly through his hair. The warmth of her body felt like home in a way that ached deep in his chest. 

A warning needled its way through the veil of sleep.

This is dangerous.

It was dangerous. Lucanis could deal with the shame of desire, but this? This was tender and intimate in a way that could unravel him. 

But in that moment he was too tangled in the fantasy to care.

A low groan escaped his throat as her nails scraped gently down the back of his neck. He pressed a kiss to her thigh, humming against her bare skin. She was so much softer than he’d imagined. She smelled like a field of flowers after the first rain of spring, and—wait…

Softer than he’d imagined?

That didn’t make sense.

He tried to open his eyes, but sleep still had faculty over his body. With some effort, he managed to flex his fingers and find his hand. He groped blindly at the space next to him, searching for the cold wall of the pantry, anything to ground him—

At first, he thought he’d found his pillow, but the fabric was too smooth, and the shape underneath, soft, warm, and intriguingly pliant—

Lucanis’s eyes shot open.

“R-Rook?” 

“Hm?” Her brow twitched as she stirred from her sleep, her eyelids fluttering open. 

For a long moment, the two of them just stared at each other, frozen in confusion, until a sudden spark of realization flickered across Rook’s face. 

“Shit—I must’ve dozed off. I, um…” She trailed off, frowning down at the hand resting awkwardly against the side of her breast. 

His hand.

Mortified, Lucanis jerked his arm back and flung himself to the other side of the couch. “That wasn’t—I-I was asleep,” he stammered, holding his hand away from his body like a moldy dish towel. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know, Lucanis. It’s okay,” Rook said with a drowsy chuckle as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Frankly, if that was you trying to feel me up, we’d need to have a serious talk about your technique.”

He glowered at her. “This isn’t funny.”

“Oh, lighten up—I’ve had my boob touched before. You haven’t sullied my virtue.”

“Rook, I…” A thousand questions roiled through his mind as he tried to make sense of the scene in front of him. “Where—how did I—”

“Spite came for a visit last night,” she said.

He froze, confusion twisting into nauseous dread in his stomach.

“I tried to get him to wake you up, but he said you were too far away,” she explained quickly. “I figured it’d be better to keep him here than let him wander around the Lighthouse unsupervised.”

“You should have fucking slapped me.”

“He wasn’t doing anything dangerous—I thought I’d let you sleep.”

His eyes flitted over her, taking in her state of undress. “And what was he doing, exactly?”

She hesitated.

“Rook.”  

“Don’t be mad. It really wasn’t a big deal—”

———————

“That’s it,” he said, shoving himself up from the couch. “Where is that stupid fucking demon? What, are you shy now?”

“Try to be gentle with him,” Rook said. 

“I will not be gentle with him,” Lucanis said, flexing his hands, “I’m going to kill him.”

“He didn’t know what he was doing, and he stopped as soon as I told him to,” she said. “You told me yourself that Spite doesn’t understand human rules and social boundaries—once I explained it to him, he was actually very respectful.”

“Mierda, Rook, my demon violated you and now you’re telling me he was respectful?” Lucanis scoffed. “Your brain truly is a mystifying contraption.”

“He was confused,” she said. “I think he thought he was helping you.”

“Helping me? How…?” 

Spite stirred in the back of his skull. I Told You. When you Touch Rook. You Make it Real.

Oh, now you’re here? Lucanis gritted his teeth. Did I not tell you I’d kill you if you touched her again?

I Helped. Now We Know it Works. But We Have to Ask First. It’s the Rules.

“Lucanis?” Rook said, a concerned edge in her voice. “Is he talking to you?”

He glared at her. “What were you thinking, letting him into your room like this? And why aren’t you wearing pants?”

“I-I was getting ready for bed when I heard him at the door,” she said, tugging her shirt down. “I thought he was Manfred.”

See? Rook Knows the Rules. Teaches Me.

Oh, so you listen to her, but not me?

You Break Our Contract! Your Rules are. Always Stop. Always DON’T. Rook is Better.

“He can hear me, right?” Rook said, taking a cautious step forward, eyes flitting about like she was looking for a ghost. “Spite? Could you let me and Lucanis talk alone, please?”

Lucanis furrowed his brow as Spite immediately and without question sank into a quiet corner of his mind.

“How…how did you do that?”

“Oh,” she said, looking pleased. “Did it work?” 

He raked a hand through his hair and sighed, frowning at the pink mark warming her thigh. “What was I doing in your lap, Rook?”

“Ah.” She looked down at her legs sheepishly. “I am sorry about that. It was only supposed to be for a minute, but I guess I fell asleep.”

“You let him use you as a pillow? After what he did?”

“Yeah, well, he asked me if he could, and I thought it was kind of sweet, you know?” 

“Sweet?”

“He asked permission! He was trying to do the right thing. Positive reinforcement is important when you’re learning.”

“Maker, help me—will you stop trying to house-train my demon?”

“Why? Someone needs to. Kicking him and ignoring him clearly isn’t working. He listens to me because I’m nice to him.” Rook folded her arms. “He’s not going to touch me like that again, I promise.”

“No, he’s not,” Lucanis said, starting towards the door. “I’m leaving.”

“Leaving my room, or…?”

“Your room. The Lighthouse. It’s not safe for me to be here—”

She grabbed his arm and spun him around. 

“You’re not going anywhere, Dellamorte,” she said, a dark edge in her voice. “You have a contract.”

“Fire me, then,” he said. “Find another god-killer.”

“No. The First Talon promised me this one, and I intend to keep him.”

His gaze flickered over her. She was so startlingly pretty—dark lashes, bright, auburn eyes, a mopey, orchid-shaped mouth. He imagined, not for the first time, what it would feel like to press his thumb to the little cleft in her lower lip. To drag his tongue over it, pull it between his teeth—

He dropped his eyes to the floor and shook his head. Mierda—what was wrong with him?

“You have more important things to deal with than cleaning up my messes,” Lucanis murmured, his heart fluttering like a caged bird in his chest. 

“Maybe I like messes,” she said. “And maybe you’re important to me.”

Lucanis sighed. “How do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Break apart my perfectly gathered clouds of doom.”

“They’re not as heavy as they look,” Rook said with a smirk. “You’re more than what you’re going through. Spite might be part of you, but he’s not all of you.”

He was suddenly aware of how alone they were. For a small, stupid moment, he imagined how easy it would be to lean down and kiss her. And he thought, perhaps foolishly, that there was a chance she would let him. 

But he didn't.

She took his arm and led him to the door. “Try to be nice to Spite,” she said. “He’s a good boy.” 

"Rook, please—"

"Sorry, I forgot you didn't like that." She paused and tilted her head. "I think you're good too, though, if it makes you feel better."

Lucanis turned away, resenting the blush darkening his cheeks. "You're ridiculous."

"A little," she said. "But you like me."

"Yeah," he said. "A little."

Chapter Text

Lucanis stood in the kitchen, peeling an eggplant with the strange, bleary-eyed focus that could only be born from three days without sleep.

He hadn’t allowed himself so much as a nap since that night in Rook’s room. It would be a problem soon—he wasn’t quite hallucinating yet, but it was only a matter of time before the ghostly shapes and patterns blurring the edges of his vision began to play with his paranoia. 

Spite’s voice was drowned and garbled in his sleep-deprived haze. Lucanis knew, on some level, that ignoring the demon could come back to bite him. But right now he didn’t care.

He frowned as he turned and put down his paring knife. Something shadowy moved in the corner of his eye.

“...so tomorrow we’re going to—”

His pulse spiked with a jolt of panic, and Lucanis jerked around to face the woman leaning against the counter beside him.

“Mierda, Rook—” He put the eggplant down on the cutting board and sighed, rubbing his chest. “Don’t scare me like that.” 

She gave him a perplexed look. “I’ve been standing here talking to you for like thirty seconds.”

“Were you?” Lucanis scratched his forehead. “Sorry, I guess I was lost in thought.”

“Uh-huh…” Rook said, inspecting him with a frown. “Maker, Lucanis—you look terrible.”

“Risky business, insulting the assassin cooking you dinner,” he murmured, shooting her a lukewarm scowl.

She snorted. “You’d threaten Viago de Riva’s progégé with poison? Please—anything strong enough to kill me would taint your flavor profiles, and we both know you’re too proud to let me die thinking that the last meal you made me was anything less than a perfect delicacy.”

Lucanis sniffed.

She hoisted herself up to sit on the counter. “Anyway, as I was saying, we’re taking a trip to the Hall of Valor tomorrow.”

“That coliseum in Rivain with all the spirits?” he said, glancing over his shoulder at her. “What business do we have there?”

She grinned. “Gold and glory.”

“Uh…what?”

“I rented out the bar for the day,” she explained. “I thought we should all do something together now that our team has grown and Neve is back from Minrathous. Get to know each other over drinks, have some fun in the arena—we’ve been working hard. We deserve a little break.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is sipping wine and play-fighting with a bunch of spirits really the wisest use of our time?”

“It’s not play-fighting—it’s training,” Rook said, folding her arms. “I may have recovered from my injury, but I can’t very well just jump headfirst into a battle against the gods after two weeks without combat. Frankly, we all need to learn how to fight better as a team. We’re too disjointed right now. Attendance is mandatory.”

Lucanis acknowledged her with a little hum and began slicing the eggplant into rounds.

The steady rhythm of the knife striking the cutting board echoed through the dining hall, heightening the tense silence between them. He could feel her gaze on the back of his neck. Rook had become such a familiar presence in his life, he could tell just by the cadence of her breath that she was searching for the words to say something sensitive that she was afraid might scare him away.

He braced for it as she slipped off the counter and touched his shoulder. “You haven’t slept since that night Spite came to my room, have you?”

Lucanis’s hand slipped, and he winced as he nicked the tip of his finger.

“Shit!” Rook jumped back as the blade clattered to the floor. 

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch,” he muttered. “There should be bandages in the drawer behi—”

He inhaled sharply as Rook took his hand and pressed his thumb to her mouth. Her tongue grazed his skin, licking the blood dripping down the sensitive pad of his finger. His wrist was hot in her hand, his pulse quickening beneath her grasp. His fantasies rushed back all at once. A half-second spanned an eternity as he imagined slipping his thumb through her parted lips, the feel of her humming around him as he explored the soft, wet crevices of her mouth—

She quickly released him and staggered back. “Right,” she said. “A bandage—”

Lucanis braced himself on the counter, dizzy in the wake of…whatever that was. 

Rook let her hair fall in her face as she turned back and wrapped his finger. 

A curious frown stitched in his brow as he watched her work.

Was she…blushing?

He'd never seen her flustered before. This was a woman trained in seduction—he was certain she knew how to bring a pretty pink glow to her face if the job demanded it, but this? The way she dipped her head to avoid his gaze—it didn’t seem like an act.

“You need to sleep, Lucanis,” she said softly. 

He opened his mouth intending to say something like ‘I’m fine’ or ‘I know’ but something about her demeanor left him feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“I’m scared,” he said.

“Maybe Spite would listen to me if I told him to let you sleep?”

“I can’t rely on you for this, Rook.”

“You can though,” she said, blinking up at him, holding his hand to her chest like a promise.

Lucanis smiled sadly at her. Maybe he could rely on her for now, but he knew couldn’t keep her. One day, she’d slip through his fingers like dust glistening in a veil of sunlight. He’d try to catch her, and then night would fall and he’d be alone again, grasping in the dark for something to hold onto. She was so loved. Too warm and beautiful to be anything but fleeting in a dim, sad place like him.

Rook pressed a kiss to his bandaged thumb. “Let him sleep, Spite. Be good.”

Chapter Text

As much as Lucanis had needed a good night’s sleep, he couldn’t shake the unease he felt the next morning when he woke up feeling refreshed and well-rested. Spite had listened to Rook. Again. 

You Have to Tell Her. I Let You Sleep. Tell Her. I was Good.

Maybe later.

Mrrgh!

Spite’s obedience to her was…disconcerting. The demon clearly thought Rook was going to help them in some way, but it was anyone’s guess what that actually looked like, and Lucanis had no idea how he would react if she failed to fill the role he expected of her.

But he didn’t have time to ruminate on that now, because shortly after he woke up Rook called the team to gather at the Eluvian and they set off for the Hall of Valor. 

——————————

Lucanis knew their opponents in the arena would be spirits, but he was surprised by how many other denizens of the Fade were roaming about the coliseum. He and Spite drew quite a bit of attention as they walked through the halls. Many of the spirits fell into quiet whispers as they passed by, one of them waved at Spite, offering him a tentative smile.

Ugh. Compassion.

Friend of yours?

Keep Walking.

“Ah, I see we have another spirit of Determination in our halls today,” a Rivaini woman said, looking directly at the place where Spite’s phantom floated beside him. 

“You mean Spite?” Lucanis said, tilting his head. “He is a demon.”

The woman shrugged. “All demons are spirits. And what is spite if not a facet of determination carved by resentment?” 

“You seem to know what you’re talking about,” Lucanis said.

“I’m a seer. It’s my job to understand our reflections in the Fade.” She turned her attention back to Spite. “We have one similar to you upstairs—a spirit of Determination named Pluck. Perhaps you’d get along.”

Hrmm. All Mettle. No Teeth!

The woman laughed. “Yes, theirs is a resolve less bitter, I admit,” she said. “Regardless, I look forward to seeing you in the arena today, Spite. May your enemies die bitter and in pain.”

Yes! Good.

Lucanis sighed. “Don’t encourage him.”

——————————

Later that afternoon, Lucanis leaned against the marble railing overlooking the coliseum as Rook took on swarms of Venatori-glamored spirits in the sand pit below.

She moved like rain in the wind, swaying away from her opponent's blows like they were leading her in a dance. And then, once she’d lulled them into a complacent rhythm, lightning struck.

Tendrils of electricity coiled around the blood mage’s throat. Rook raised her palm and lifted them off the ground, twisting her wrist as they struggled to escape the chokehold of her magic. She coiled her hand into a fist, thunderbolts sparking in the air around her, and slammed them face-first into the ground.

Lucanis pursed his lips to suppress a smile as she kicked the limp body into the pit in the center of the arena.

“Looks like someone’s enjoying the view.”

Lucanis glanced sideways at Neve, who was watching him with a smirk a few feet away.

“I always enjoy watching Venatori die,” he said.

“Even more so when you fancy the woman smashing their heads in, I imagine.”

Lucanis glowered at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb, Dellamorte,” she said. “I saw that sweet little smile. There’s clearly something going on with you and Rook. I noticed it as soon as I got back from Minrathous.”

“Noticed what, exactly?”

“Please—when she walks in the room, you look at her like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time.”

Davrin, who had been eavesdropping on a nearby bench, stood up and joined them. “And when she leaves you look at her ass like a soldier watching his last sunset as he bleeds out in a field.”

“I do not!”

The Grey Warden rested his hand in his cheek and sighed, fluttering his eyelashes at Lucanis with a look of piteous, wistful, longing.

Lucanis scoffed and pushed Davrin’s head away. “My face doesn’t do that.”

Neve laughed. “It kind of does, though.”

He raked a hand through his hair with an indignant huff. “Are you two done?”

“Almost,” Neve said, “I’m gathering evidence for a bet I made with Taash.”

Lucanis slumped onto the railing. “I’m going to hate this, aren’t I?” 

“Almost certainly,” she said, patting him on the shoulder.

“So?” Davrin said. “What’s the bet?”

“Well, I was talking to Bellara and Harding about the previously discussed lovey-eyes they’ve been making at each other, and we got to debating whether or not either of them would ever make a move, and then Taash sat down and said, ‘Rook and Lucanis? They’re definitely already doin’ it’—”

Doing. What?

Lucanis buried his head in his hands. Not now, Spite.

“—to which I replied, ‘Trust me, I'm a detective, I can tell when I'm looking at two pining idiots who haven't slept with each other yet,’ and here we are.”

But We Have. We Slept with Rook.

Spite…that doesn't mean what you think it means.

I Know What Sleeping Is. I’m Not. Stupid.

Sometimes words mean two things.

Hrmm. Fine. What is. Secret Sleeping?

“So?” Davrin said, folding his arms. “Are you?”

Lucanis blinked at him. “Sorry, am I what?”

“Blight take me, assassin. Are you fucking Rook?”

He flushed. “I-I hardly see how that’s your business.”

Lucanis.

Not now, Spite.

Lucanis knew he should have just said no and ended this mortifying conversation, but a greedy part of him didn’t want Davrin to know the truth. Rook and the Grey Warden got along so well—they were both charming, good-looking people—he could so easily see them sidestepping into an intimate relationship. And the thought of living in the Lighthouse knowing that he and Rook were—

Lucanis!

Mierda, Spite—what do you want?

What is. 'Fucking.'

Maker have mercy. Lucanis closed his eyes and let out a long, slow exhale.  I’ll tell you when you’re older.

Hrmm. More Secrets.

Davrin folded his arms. “Actually, it is my business. I’m a monster hunter. Protecting people from abominations like you is my job.”

“You don’t need to worry about Spite," Lucanis said. "He’s my problem.”

“For now,” Davrin said, narrowing his eyes. “It’s sweet that Rook trusts you, but I don’t. A man possessed is no man—you could snap at any moment.”

"Speaking of snapping at any moment—how's that blight feeling lately, Grey Warden? Any ghoulish urges to scurry off into the Deep Roads?"

"At least I know I'll be on the battlefield covered in Archdemon blood when I hear the Calling," Davrin said coolly. "Where will you be when Spite turns you into a monster? The kitchen? The toilet? Rook's bedroom?"

“Maker's breath," Neve said, rolling her eyes. "Lighten up, you two."

“Am I the only one here with any sense?” the Grey Warden said, motioning at Lucanis. “Come on, Neve—if he lost control in the throes of passion and his demon took over, he could really hurt her.”

Thinks We Hurt Rook? No! Tell Him. We Protect Rook. 

"Rook's a big girl," Neve said with a shrug. "If she decides she wants to bring a demon to bed, that's her prerogative."

“Pardon me for interrupting—”

Lucanis, Davrin, and Neve all glanced over their shoulders as Emmrich strolled up behind them.

The necromancer cleared his throat. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you were discussing concerns over the temperament of Lucanis’s spirit companion."

Neve raised an eyebrow. "You have some insight, Professor?"

"I've always been in tune with spirits, moreso even than other necromancers of my station, and I am quite confident that Spite will not hurt Rook."

“Uh-huh…” Davrin said skeptically. “And how, exactly, did you come to this conclusion?”

“I’d like to ask the same question, actually," Lucanis said.

The Bones Man. Understands.

“Well..." Emmrich paused and offered Lucanis a small, apologetic smile. "You see, when I’m in close proximity to Lucanis I can sometimes pick up some of Spite's...louder thoughts, let's say—"

"You can hear him?" Lucanis balked. “I…I am so sorry.”

“It’s nothing to apologize for, spirits are delightful creatures,” Emmrich said. “Though it is a shame about the…unpleasant circumstances leading to your allegiance.”

Zara. She will. Die. For What She Did.

That, at least, they could agree on.

“What makes you so confident that Spite won’t hurt Rook?” Davrin asked.

“Spite is…protective of Rook,” Emmrich said carefully. "He was offended when you insinuated he might hurt her. He's quite fond of her, really."

The Grey Warden wrinkled his nose at Lucanis. “Quite fond?”

“Mierda, don't make it weird,” Lucanis said with a frustrated sigh. “How many times do I have to remind you people what kind of demon he is? He’s not Desire, he’s not Wrath, he’s—”

“Determination,” a woman said as she swept up beside them—the seer Lucanis ran into earlier.

"I thought he was Spite," Neve said, frowning. 

"Two sides of the same coin, Detective Gallus. Human emotions can be shadowy and difficult to define. Spite may be a determination born from cruelty, but it's not a determination to perpetuate it." The Rivaini woman bowed her head at Lucanis. "I was just stopping by on my out. It was a pleasure to meet you and Spite."

"Determination..." Emmrich mused to himself as the seer took her leave. "Of course. How fascinating."

"So the demon likes her—what if he changes his mind?" Davrin said, folding his arms. "None of this spirit nonsense means anything to me. He's dangerous."

"I don't know..." Neve said with a teasing lilt in her voice, "I've met a few women who wouldn't mind their lovers having a bit more spirit of determination in the bedroom."

"I-I'm determined enough mysel—ugh." Lucanis tossed his hands up and sighed. "You know what? I'm not sleeping with her, okay? Can we move on?"

"Hah!" Neve said, clenching his fist victoriously. "Looks like Taash is on double dishwashing duty this week..."

Emmrich joined her as she headed back to the bar.

Abruptly alone, Davrin and Lucanis stood in awkward silence.

"You're really not sleeping with her?" the warden said finally.

"No," Lucanis said, staring at his shoes. "I'm not."

"But you would if she propositioned you."

Lucanis gritted his teeth. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Look, she's beautiful, I wouldn't blame you—"

"Enough, Davrin. I'm not harboring any stupid fantasies—"

“Well then—”

The two men jumped at the sound of Rook's voice as she strolled up behind them. 

“—sounds like you two found things to talk about besides killing each other.”

She smirked at their startled expressions. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt boy talk?” She untied her bun and a mess of sloppy waves tumbled around her shoulders.

"Not at all," Davrin said with a grin. ”You looked great down there, Rook.”

She struck a pose. “Pretty spry for a girl who just got mauled by a dragon, right?”

Lucanis didn't say anything.

Maybe when they were back at the Lighthouse he'd find a quiet moment to tell her how he'd missed fighting beside her. Maybe he'd tell her how breathtaking she was on the battlefield. And maybe, if she smiled at him, he'd lean in a little closer and tell her how exhilarating her magic felt on his skin—like the threat of static in the air before a storm, like the whisper of a hesitant touch, and maybe—

Rook laughed at something Davrin said. 

"Join me at the bar if you boys want drinks."

Lucanis watched as she sauntered away, his eyes following the pendulum of her long, blonde hair down the length of her back.

Davrin snorted. "See? There's that face I was talking about.”

Lucanis shot him a withering look out of the corner of his eye. “What are you talking about now?”

"Like a soldier watching his last sunset as he bleeds out in a field.”

Chapter Text

After dinner the next day, Lucanis received a missive from the Crows. 

He paced around the library in a daze as his eyes scanned the words on the page. He read it once. Twice. Three times. He found his feet carrying him upstairs to Rook’s room. After a moment’s hesitation, he knocked.

She was clearly startled to see him when she opened the door. “Lucanis?” she said, squinting to get a good look at his eyes. 

“They found Caterina’s body,” he said, holding up the letter. “They’re planning the funeral. I know it’s late, but I need to go to Treviso to help Teia and I thought you might—”

She nodded. “I’ll get my coat.”

——————————

“Mierda, Illario—you didn’t stop to think that maybe I might have wanted to see my grandmother’s body before you went and cremated it?” 

“She was in bad shape, cousin,” Illario said. “She would not have wanted you to see her like that, trust me.”

Rook leaned against the wall in the back of Cantori Diamond, watching them bicker as she waited for Viago and Teia to return with the flower samples.

A harsh laugh escaped Lucanis’s throat. “She’s dead and suddenly you care what she wants?”

“Don’t patronize me,” Illario snapped. “I may have been a disappointment to her until the day she died, but I’ve always cared. You know that.”

Lucanis slumped into the seat beside his cousin with a long, exasperated sigh. “I know.”

“I hated her sometimes, but she was so strong…I thought–I thought she was invincible.” Illario swallowed and stared into his glass of wine. “When I found her body—”

“Where did you find her body?” Rook interrupted.

“The Drowned District,” Illario said. “She was blue and bloated from the canal water, but I recognized her right away.”

“The Venatori are known to glamor the dead using blood magic,” Rook said. “They did it to trick you into thinking Lucanis was dead, they could have easily done the same with your grandmother. If you had waited and let me check the body—” 

“I had someone check it.” Illario scowled at her. “You’re not the only mage in the Crows.”

“And if we’re compromised?” Rook narrowed her eyes. “Did you not stop to consider that your mage could have been working with the Venatori?”

“They weren’t,” Illario said coolly. “I was diligent.”

“Did you find anything on her body?” Lucanis said. “Any notes or clues as to what they were doing with her?” He paused and looked down at his hands. “My mother’s ring?”

“I’m sorry, cousin. There was nothing,” he said, gently clasping Lucanis’s shoulder. “The Venatori must have stolen her jewelry before they dumped her body.” 

Lucanis nodded. His face was a mask of composure, but Rook could see the tinge of sorrow gleaming behind his eyes. 

“We’ll find your mother’s ring when we kill the Venatori scum who did this,” Rook said.

“It’s just a ring,” he murmured.

Rook offered him a small, quiet smile. 

Maybe it was just a ring. But Rook knew he lost his mother when he was a baby, and she knew how quickly an heirloom could become an idol in the eyes of a lonely child. She thought about the box in the corner of her room, the one with her own mother’s blood-stained locket, her father’s blood-stained work ledger, and a pristine statement from the Crows regarding the circumstances of her adoption. How easy it was, she thought, making gods out of the shattered remains left behind by the people who were supposed to love you.

Rook inspected Illario. As everything was with him, the sorrow on his face was an act. That didn’t mean it wasn’t real, of course—Illario was an emotional man—the reason his theatrics were so effective was because they came from the heart. 

But there was something else behind his mask this time. Something frightened and desperate—he was antsy—strung up like a spooked horse, ready to kick the head off of anyone who walked behind him with the wrong energy.

“Something about this doesn’t feel right,” Rook said, eyeing Illario cautiously. “It’s not like the Venatori to waste a body like this. They could have kept her alive—used her blood—why bother taking her hostage if they were just going to dump her in the river? At the very least, you’d think they would have taken credit for the First Talon’s death and made a show of it, right?”

Illario shoved himself up from the table. “Mierda—would you stop trying to play detective for five minutes? My grandmother is dead. I’m distraught.”

Rook raised her hands and bowed her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don't mean to undermine your grief.”

“Frankly, I don’t even know why you’re here,” he said, pacing around the room in frustration. “This is family business.”

“I invited her,” Lucanis said sternly.

Illario sneered at him. “I know this etiquette is new to you, cousin, but you don’t bring the girl you’re fucking to pick napkins for your grandmother’s funeral.”

Rook glanced at Lucanis, who looked like he was trying to decide whether he was going to flip the table over or crawl under it.

“Don’t be a dick, Illario,” she said. “I’m here because Teia said she needed extra hands.”

Illario looked like he was going to say something else when the Fifth and Seventh Talons strolled around the corner into the bar.

“I’m telling you—they should have been back by now,” Teia said, craning her neck back to see over the armful of flower arrangements she was carrying.

“You’re wearing yourself thin stressing about the funeral,” Viago said, scribbling a long note in his logbook. “Give it time. It’s just a scouting mission.”

“I don’t have time—I need to find the best florist in Antiva, I need to look at marble samples for Caterina’s grave, I need my fucking scouts back so I can kill the Butcher and get these fucking Antaam out my city—”

Rook ran up and caught a bouquet as it slipped out of Teia’s arms. “Sounds like a lot, but we’re here to help.”

“Rook! Lucanis.” Teia’s eyes softened. “Thank the Maker you’re here, I need at least one Dellamorte to help me plan the First Talon’s funeral, and the one I’ve got has been no help.”

“I’m sorry, Teia,” Illario said, wiping his eyes as if he’d been crying. “This has all just been…too much.”

Rook gave him a dirty look, which he pointedly ignored.

“Our House owes you a debt for handling this, Teia,” Lucanis said. “Just tell me how I can help—”

“First, there’s a guest list I need you to look over,” she said, motioning to a pamphlet on the table. “I’d also like your opinion on catering for the reception—”

Voices of greeting erupted outside on the patio, and Teia made a beeline for the window, peering out at the fledglings convening on the balcony. "Fuck," she said. "Where are they?"

“What's this contract you’re worried about?” Rook said. “If you give me the details, I can go check on your scouts.”

“Would you?” Teia said, shoulders slumping in relief.

“Of course,” Rook said, glancing sharply at Viago as he opened his mouth to protest. “If you’re about to say something stupid like ‘This is Crow business’ I’ll throw a knife at your head.”

He pursed his lips. “Fine. But if you’re going to be on the street representing the Crows, I expect you to behave like one. Understand?”

“Alright, Dad,” Rook said, rolling her eyes. She turned back to Teia. “So, tell me about this contract.”

“We’re beginning to suspect that the Butcher had some help taking the city. From the elven gods, or something else, we don’t know,” she said. “I sent my scout to pick intel at a dead-drop location in the Drowned District. It was going to be a quick, easy mission—his little cousin went with him. They should have been back by now.”

Little cousin?

Blood drained from Rook’s face. “What…what was the name of your scout?”

“Dareth,” Teia said. “And his cousin—”

“Jacobus,” Rook heard herself say, like her voice was above water and she was drowning.

“Rook?” Lucanis stood up. “Do you want me to come—”

“No…Teia needs you here. I’ll bring them back.”

She felt everyone’s eyes on her back as she stumbled out the door. She kept her gait steady as she made her way through the Cantori Diamond, and as soon as she hit the street, she broke into a sprint.

Chapter Text

Rook called back her lightning and collapsed to her knees as the last Antaam fell to the floor of the warehouse with a meaty thud. Exhausted by the surge of magic she’d just expended, she half-crawled, half-dragged herself across the room, her heart thumping horribly in her chest. 

“You promised, you fucking idiot," she croaked pitifully, her palm slapping against the blood pooling on the tile as she pulled herself up to the body slumped against the back wall.

She reached out to him with her clean hand, fingers trembling.

The right side of his face was bruised and swollen—his abdomen, a shredded mess of blood and gore. She knew there would be no pulse when she pressed her fingers to his throat, but she did anyway.

Quiet tears spilled down her cheeks as she touched the soft, recognizable side of his face and brushed a thumb over his eyelid. 

“Hey there, leatherworker,” she said weakly, a barely repressed sob aching in her throat. 

On a night like this fifteen-some-odd years ago, Rook might have been on the roof outside Dareth’s bedroom. 

She’d tap her knuckles on the glass three times, and he’d unlock the hatch and lean out to greet her. She remembered the way he’d always comb his hair back and lean his forearm against the window frame in one smooth motion. “Hey, killer,” he’d say with that bright, crooked smirk that made her pulse stutter. “Need your armor mended?”

And then she’d crawl into his room and show him the damage. “You wouldn’t believe what happened, Dare,” she’d say, and proceed to regale him with a completely made-up story about how her leathers had gotten sliced up in a fight. Crow-grade armor was not easy to tear through—he probably knew that the sloppy gashes in the fabric were her own handiwork, but neither of them ever acknowledged it. They had their little routine. Dareth would give her some spare clothes, politely turning around as she changed, and then she’d sit on his workbench and they’d chat for hours as he slowly repaired the cut.

Rook cherished those nights with him more than he ever knew. 

Her world was narrow in House de Riva, and death was in her job description. She had acquaintances and colleagues, but never friends. Everyone she knew was an assassin, and she learned quickly that it was dangerous to forge bonds that hurt when a heart stopped. The only person in the Crows she trusted to stay alive was Viago—he was too paranoid to die.

But Dareth was just a regular person, and his life was so beautiful to her. She could listen to him talk about his family for hours. He had neighbors and friends—his parents loved him. Apparently, customers always teased his father, saying Dareth was lucky he got his mom’s good looks. His aunt was pregnant—his mother’s sister—and he was so excited that he was going to have a little cousin. He wanted to be a dad someday, he told Rook one night. The thought rattled her in a way she wasn’t prepared for. She was fourteen, and a little bit in love with him—the image of him running the family business, his beautiful dark-haired wife laughing with the customers, his greying parents watching the children during work hours—it infuriated her. 

Now, she wished more than anything that she could rewrite his fate and give him that life—beautiful, dark-haired wife and all.

As she clutched his face, a drop of blood rolled down her arm and fell onto his cheek. She choked out a broken laugh as she inspected the shallow wound through her torn leather sleeve. “Looks like I need some mending done, Dare,” she said, her voice barely a whimper. She took his limp hand and pressed it to the cut in the fabric. "You won't believe what happened. Some Antaam snagged me with his axe. Nearly took my arm off—"

Something inside her cracked, and she fell to her hands and knees, struggling to breathe through the wrecked sobs strangling her windpipes.

She hated herself for crying. She knew what she was really mourning was a childhood fantasy—a long-buried dream of romance and a simple, domestic life—this grief came from a young, naive version of herself that didn't exist anymore. This man wasn’t the boy she knew. That Dareth died the day he lost his family during the Antaam occupation. 

Well, most of his family.

Fuck.

Rook shoved herself to her feet, suddenly remembering where she was.

Jacobus’s hoarse screams echoed through the warehouse over the rhythmic squelching of his blade stabbing repeatedly into the pulverized chest cavity of a dead Antaam. “You killed him—you killed him—” 

“Jacobus!"

Rook flung herself across the room and grabbed the boy’s wrist from behind. “He’s dead. They’re all dead,” she murmured into his hair. “It’s okay. It’s–it’s not okay. But it will be. You will be.”

His blade clattered to the floor and he turned around and collapsed into her arms.

“I know,” she said softly as he sputtered and sobbed into her chest. “I know.”

Rook held him there for what felt like hours, and with each passing moment her heart broke in ways she didn’t know it could. She knew what it felt like to be an angry child, but she didn’t know what to do with one who was clinging to her like a lifeline. She kept her arms wrapped around him until he shrugged her away.

“I have to finish his contract,” Jacobus said numbly, reaching down to pick up his blood-stained knife.

“No,” Rook said, keeping her voice steady. “Get yourself back to the Diamond. I’ll take care of this.” 

She could tell he wanted to argue. Jacobus was clearly a proud kid—apparently he was something of a prodigy amongst the young fledglings in the Crows. Of course he’d want to finish his cousin’s contract.

“You need to report back to Teia,” Rook said sternly. “She knew something was wrong. She’ll be glad to see you’re safe.”

He nodded reluctantly, swallowing as he looked back at Dareth’s body. “But, I-I can’t just leave him here, I—”

“There’s a morgue nearby,” Rook said, clutching his face in her hands. “I’ll take him there before I do anything else, and we’ll make plans, okay?”

“Right,” he sniffed. “Okay.”

“Now go. Teia’s waiting. She’s a sharp Talon, but she has a good heart. She’ll take care of you.”

With one last tearful glance at his cousin, Jacobus ran from the warehouse.

Rook watched to make sure he made it to the first zipline before returning to Dareth’s body. 

She took a deep, steadying breath.

This was a job.

She searched his pockets for the intel he’d picked up at the dead-drop. Every crevice was wet and terrible, but eventually her fingers curled around a soggy piece of paper. 

She unfurled the scroll, swiping blood off the parchment so she could read the message on the page.

Your lead panned out—we’ve more shadow work for you.

The contract is in the usual place. Just follow the marks.

 

Rook pressed her forehead to his one last time.

"Goodbye, leatherworker," she whispered. "This never was supposed to be your life." 

And then, she hoisted him over her shoulder and set off to finish his job.

Chapter Text

Rook staggered out of the Antaam garrison. 

She was poisoned—not lethally, but she was in for a rough night if she didn't get treated soon. When she was younger Viago had her take a few small doses of qamek, but it wasn’t an effective poison for assassination, and she hated the bad dreams it gave her, so it was never a part of her regular regimen. 

Still, she recognized the effects in her system. She could already feel the dizzy uncertainty creeping into her thoughts—she was okay for now—she just needed to get back to the Cantori Diamond before her grip on reality really started fracturing.

She limped to the zipline, reminding herself what she needed to tell Teia. She’d killed the qamekmaster and destroyed the stash of poison in the garrison. She’d learned that the forces that helped the Butcher take Treviso were human traitors inside the city. She’d finished Dareth’s contract.

Dareth.

Rook leaned over the balcony and vomited violently. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she coughed, struggling to catch her breath.

Shit. 

Maybe she wasn’t okay.

Just as her knees began to buckle, she heard a familiar, concerned voice call out behind her.

“Lucanis…” she murmured weakly, head lolling heavily against the cool, marble railing. 

He ran up to her and took her face in his hands. “You,” he said, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. “I ran halfway around the city trying to find you, you reckless idiot.”

She blinked up at him. The way he clung to her, the raw, desperate relief etched in his features—this wasn’t an emotional response she’d expect from Lucanis Dellamorte. The moment was intimate and charged in a way she wasn’t prepared for. She was suddenly very aware of the taste of bile on her breath, the sweat and dried blood crusted on her skin and in her hair.

She didn’t want him to see her like this.

Writhing with limp, heavy limbs, she tried to shrug away from him.

“Mierda, will you stop squirming?” he said, hands tightening around her. “You’re going to hurt yourself—”

“Don’t look at me,” she mumbled. “I’m gross.”

“Really, Rook?” He gave her an exasperated look. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

She glowered at him, but didn’t say anything. 

“No one knew where you went,” he said, that wretched, sincere gleam returning to his eyes. “I followed the Crow marks as far as they’d take me—lucky for me several people were talking about the scary, blood-soaked woman running through the streets and, with some monetary encouragement, they pointed me in the right direction.”

Rook looked down at her feet. So many pieces of herself had shattered in the past couple hours, she knew if she tried to pick them all up at once she’d break down again. “Did…did Jacobus…?”

“He’s safe, Teia is taking care of him,” Lucanis said. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have time to stand around chatting. I need to get you back to the Diamond. If you can’t walk, I can carry you—just tell me where you’re hurt.”

“I’m not hurt,” she said, her vision blurring. “It’s just poison.”

He paled. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Fought this nasty god-blighted Antaam in the garrison,” she said, slumping into him uselessly. “Blew up some barrels of qamek—inhaled a lot of fumes.”

Lucanis held her up by the shoulders and pulled away to look at her. “Is there an antidote?”

“No…but Viago has stuff that helps,” she said, struggling to slur out the words. “It won’t kill me. Just bad dreams.”

“I…I’m going to pick you up and carry you, is that okay?”

Rook tried to nod, but she wasn’t sure if her head moved or not. “Mm…mhm.”

One hand wrapped firmly around her waist, he slipped his arm under her thighs and scooped her effortlessly off the ground. 

“Oh…” Rook nuzzled her face into his neck. “This’s nice.” 

She felt him swallow, his hands tensing on her body. “It could be nicer.” 

“You’d never touch me like this if you didn’t think I might be dying.” She meant for it to sound playful, but she was cold and shaky, and the words came out flat. 

He sighed. “Rook…” 

“What?” she said, using the last dregs of her energy to ensure she sounded as indignant as possible.

Lucanis pressed his lips to her hair and murmured something in Antivan. The words sounded so sweet and warm, she tried to conjugate the verbs—you don’t know—I want or I would—but he spoke so softly, and her Antivan was clunky, even in the best of circumstances. She tried to memorize the syllables so she might piece their meaning together later, but everything was growing faint and dim around her. 

She wrapped her arms tight around his neck.

“Stay with me,” she heard him say. “I’ve got you.”

Chapter Text

There was a door at the end of a long, dark hallway. Behind it, the sound of rattling chains. Human voices, shrieking in agony. 

“I don’t like it!” the child shouted, covering her ears. “I don’t like it!”

Her mother stroked her hair. “Shh…don’t be afraid, Sepharine. It’s just your father working. When they get loud it means he’s doing a good job.”

Smells like. Rosewater and Blood. 

A flash of violet tore through the scene and suddenly, everything went quiet. 

——————————

A little girl snuck downstairs at midnight, following the sound of clinking glasses and bright laughter to the parlor room.

“Sepharine!” her mother said, her words slurring sweetly. “Why aren’t you in bed, silly girl? Here, come sit with Mommy—”

Clutching her stuffed nug to her chest, the child stepped into the room. The other women in the parlor fawned over her as she shyly climbed onto the green leather chaise next to her mother. 

“What a perfect little doll!” 

“Look at that angel face, lucky girl probably won’t need blood cosmetics until she’s fifty—”

“She’s the spitting image of you, Risalda.”

“Isn’t she?” Her mother grinned down at her, spider-legs of mascara on her eyelids, red lipstick smeared on glistening white teeth. “My pretty, pretty girl.”

The child crawled up on her knees to whisper in her mother’s ear. “I had a bad dream.”

“Aw…” She stroked her daughter’s cheek and stuck out her lower lip to imitate a pout as she looked around at her friends. “Sounds like we had a little nightmare. I’ll be right be right back, ladies—”

Her mother took her by the hand and led her back to her bedroom. 

“Tell me about the dream, sweetie,” she said, tucking her back into bed.

The child squeezed her nug toy, tucking its head under her chin. “Noodle got married and had babies.”

“A little nug family? How cute!”

The child nodded and wiped a tear from her eye. “But Daddy said the Old Gods wanted their blood, so he took Noodle and all of his babies to the basement and he…he did bad stuff to them. They were scared. I heard them crying.”

“Oh, sweetheart—” Her mother pulled her into a hug. “Razikale and Lusacan would never ask Daddy to hurt Noodle.”

The little girl sniffled and blinked up at her mom. “You promise?”

She kissed her on the forehead. “I promise.”

Smells like. Salt and Sour fruit.

The scene dissolved in a flurry of feathers.

——————————

The child stared at the blood pooling around the lifeless body on the floor of the foyer.

“M-Mommy?” 

Cold panic blurred her vision as she ran down the stairs. She collapsed onto her mother’s chest, wrapping her fingers around the gold locket resting on the hollow of her throat.

She glanced over her shoulder towards the patter of quick footsteps approaching from the hall that led to the basement. “Daddy?” 

No. No, she knew the slow, heavy rhythm of her father’s footsteps.

She froze in fear as two hooded figures rounded the corner into the foyer.

Upon seeing the girl, the larger man made a sound between a scoff and a groan and said, “Maker’s breath—these sick fucks had a kid?” 

The other one lowered his hood. He was younger—a tall, lanky teenager with the shadow of a mustache on his upper lip. He stared at the child, dark blue eyes wide with horror. “Wh-what are we supposed to do now?”

“Nothing. The contract didn’t ask us to kill a kid. Now c’mon. Let’s get out of this Venatori shithole.”

“What? We can’t just leave her here—she’s practically a baby—”

“I’m not a baby,” the child said, coiling her hands into fists as she stood up. The static tingling on her fingertips prickled against her palms. “I’m five.”

“See? She’s five.” The large man let out a mirthless laugh and clapped the teenager on the shoulder. “Don’t be soft, Viago. If you want to put her out of her misery, be my guest, but—”

Veins of lightning tore through the room and struck the hooded man with a thunderous crack. His body went rigid and he fell to the floor.

Singed Hair and Smoke. 

The dream went fuzzy, and Rook heard the garbled echo of voices somewhere outside her body.

Small Rook’s Memories. A Fragile Thing Shattered. 

Spite?

Tastes like. Tenderness. Disgust. 

Love and Loathing.

Chapter Text

Lucanis paced the hallway outside the suites on the second floor of the Cantori Diamond. 

The silence was stifling. Even Spite was quiet, and for once, he actually missed the demon’s rambling—anything was better than being alone with the anxiety spinning in his head. 

The image of Rook covered in blood was burned in his memory. The way she stumbled into him, shaky and frail like a wounded deer; her voice, a slurred, raspy whisper—‘I’m not hurt, it’s just poison’. Such a ridiculous, infuriatingly de Riva thing to say.

Lucanis closed his eyes and sighed, willing himself to remember the life in her body as he’d carried her back to the Diamond. The slow rise and fall of her chest, the warmth of her breath on his neck as she burrowed her face in the crook of his shoulder. 

'You’d never touch me like this if you didn’t think I might be dying.’

The thought of a world without her was so cold and dark that he couldn’t even bring himself to imagine it. She was the sun, and he ached for her like a man drowning. But even if he never felt her warmth on his skin, it was enough just knowing she was there—a faint glimmer reaching for him through the waves. 

He whipped around to the sound of a door opening behind him. 

Viago stepped into the hallway. “Good, you’re still here—”

“Is she okay?” Lucanis said, unable to mask the edge of desperation in his voice.

“She’s stable,” he said. “The monstrous transformations people typically associate with qamek only occur when a huge amount of the poison is ingested. As an inhalant, it only attacks the mind, and it’s not strong enough to cause any permanent damage.”

Lucanis swallowed. “It attacks the mind?”

“It tugs at people’s memories,” Viago said. “And when your inhibitions are lowered, it’s often the dark, painful moments that rise to the surface. I’ve given her a calming elixir that should help.”

“Is she awake? Can I see her?”

“She’s stirring, but not quite responsive.” Viago hesitated, his gaze dipping to the floor. “Someone should be here when she wakes up. I would stay, but I need to be in Salle in the morning—”

“I’ll watch her,” Lucanis said quickly.

Viago pursed his lips. “She’s…in a vulnerable state, and not of sound mind, I trust you wouldn’t take advantage—"

“Really, Viago?” Lucanis said, an indignant flush blooming on his cheeks. “Who do you think I am?”

“I…I know. I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes shifting back to his shoes. “She is dear to me. I’ve made a lot of choices for her, and I fear I’ve failed her in most of them.” Quickly clearing his throat, Viago propped open the door and waved him inside. “Never mind. Come in.”

Lucanis made his way through the room and leaned against the post at the foot of the bed.

Rook.

“Teia cleaned her up,” Viago said. “The poison should leave her system within the next couple hours, but she might wake up before that. If she does, just talk her through it. I don’t know how much she’s shared with you, but she’s not had an easy life. Be gentle with her. She's more sensitive than she often lets on.”

Lucanis nodded absently.

Her brow was furrowed; her fingers, twitching like she was trying to hold onto something that wasn’t there. There was a bruise on her jaw, a small gash on her arm, and surely more of both beneath her clothes—but she was alive.

“The room is paid for the night,” Viago said. “I'm sure you'll be gone by the time I get back, but if you could leave a note before you go just so I know she’s okay—”

“Of course,” Lucanis said, not taking his eyes off Rook. A moment later, the door clicked shut behind him.

He thought about the night he’d stitched her up after the dragon attack. She’d been an ally—a friend, almost—but in his dreams, little more than a pretty face and a repressed fantasy. Since then, the part of him that was able to hold her at a distance had completely fallen apart. He was in too deep to untangle himself from her. Whatever this feeling was, he couldn’t give shape to the words—she was everything, and he was not enough.

Her Dreams. Taste Like. Despair.

Lucanis staggered back as Spite’s phantom shifted from Rook’s body.

“Where have you been?” he hissed out loud. “Where did you—”

Rook is. Scared. Hurt. Poisoned.

“Mierda, Spite—I know. Where were you?”

I was Helping. Eating. Dreams.

“I’m sorry, you were eating what?”

Dreams. The Bad Ones.

“Oh, right,” he said flatly. “Just eating dreams. Like you normally do.”

Yes. Spite’s voice rumbled, irritated. You think the Ossuary Just. Disappears when you Sleep?

Chapter Text

“Rook?” Lucanis said, rushing to her side as she groaned and shifted on the sheets. “Can you hear me?”

“...Spite?”

“No, it’s me,” he said, tentatively touching her hand. “It’s Lucanis.”

“Lucanis.” She hummed and laced her fingers through his, and his breath caught in his throat as her thumb gently traced the length of his index finger. 

“I’m here,” he murmured. 

“Where am I?”

“We’re in a suite in the Diamond. You were poisoned, but Viago gave you something to help. You’re going to be okay.”

“Ah.” Her eyes blinked open, and she stared blankly at the ceiling. “Dareth is dead.”

Lucanis squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry, Rook.”

“You know, when I was a girl I used to fantasize about his life. He had everything. A loving family, an honest career. Friends.” She closed her eyes with a small, sad smile. “I hate that the world took that from him.”

Lucanis thought for a moment. “Did you…did you resent your life as a Crow?”

“No, not at all,” she said with a weak laugh. “And even if I did, my other life would have been much worse.”

“You were five when you were adopted, right?”

“Yes. I lived in Vyrantium.”

“Vyrantium?” 

“That’s right.”

Had he really never asked her where she was from before? 

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I guess I’ve just never heard of the Crows recruiting from that part of Tevinter before.”

“My situation was…unusual.” Rook turned on her side and looked at him. “Did Viago ever tell you about his first kill mission?”

“I…I can’t say he did.”

“He was fifteen. The contract was on a young Venatori couple who were running a business out of their basement. They kept cages of people and tortured them for blood rituals. They targeted elves, slaves, whores—people whose sudden absence wouldn’t make the papers, but one of the brothel workers they picked up happened to be the favorite of a wealthy businessman in the city. He knew no one in Vyrantium would betray a prominent Venatori family to save a sex worker, so he went to the Crows.”

Lucanis said nothing, and waited for her to continue.

“I heard my mom scream in the middle of the night.” She shifted onto her back again and gazed up at the ceiling, a quiet tear rolling down her cheek. “I hugged Noodle—my stuffed nug—and I tucked him back into bed as I got up. I was scared, but I wanted to be brave for him. I told him I’d be right back.” 

Rook took a deep, steadying breath. “But my mom was at the foot of the stairs when I found her, dead in a pool of her own blood. And then, two strange men wearing dark blue leather walked up from the basement. I barely remember what they said, I just know it made me angry. My magic—the lightning—I killed one of them. The other one was Viago.”

“Rook…I…I can’t imagine—”

A sob escaped her throat. “I never went back for Noodle,” she said, her voice, a broken whimper. “I left him in that horrible place. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not his fault, it’s not his fault—I loved him—he didn’t do anything—”

Physical affection had never been an instinct for Lucanis, but in that moment it was the only way he could think to comfort her. He pulled her into a hug and let her cry into his shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “You were a kid. You didn’t know. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I would have,” she said with a wet sniff, trembling in his arms. “Someday, I would have.”

“Maybe,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. “But I’m looking at a woman who got kicked out of the Crows for going off script on a contract to free Antaam captives. If Viago couldn’t keep you in line, I’d like to see the Venatori try. You’re too headstrong for your own good. You would have been a terrible cultist.”

“Hah…well, that’s sweet of you to say,” she said, dabbing her face with the back of her hand.

“Rook—forgive me if I’m overstepping, but your relationship with Viago—how did you reconcile…?”

“I was only five, I didn’t really understand what happened,” she said. “For the longest time I thought that my parents were killed by the Venatori, that the Crows found me after and took me in. I’m not sure if it was something Viago told me or if it was just a story I made up to protect myself, but eventually he sat me down and told me the truth. I was probably around ten or eleven.”

“That’s a lot for a kid to process.”

“I was so angry,” Rook said, shaking her head with a sniff. “After that conversation, I developed a kind of twisted fascination with the Venatori. I researched them obsessively—their rituals, their beliefs—it made me sick to my stomach, but I wanted to know everything. Viago called it a complex, which I didn’t like. It made it sound like there was something wrong with me. There probably was. But I could still picture my parents' faces in my head. They were just people. They loved me. I couldn’t make sense of it.”

She sighed and dipped her head. “You remember my little crush, I’m sure? When I was fifteen, I started collecting newspaper clippings about the Demon of Vyrantium. I was itching to kill Venatori, and there was something romantic about knowing that, in another life, I might have died with your blade buried in my chest.” She blinked up at him sheepishly. “I was a pretty fucked up kid.”

They were so close that their noses nearly touched when she glanced up at him. And the way she was looking at him—dark eyelashes, bright, blood moon eyes—it was like she was waiting for something. He forgot how to move.

“I think…” she said, her voice, a faint whisper. “I think maybe I thought if you could love me, it would be a kind of redemption.”

Her hand reached up to his face, and Lucanis, fearing her intent, gracefully untangled himself from her and stood up. Her words fluttered in his chest.

He was the furthest thing from redemption.

But, Maker—it would be so terribly easy to love her.

——————————

Lucanis made sure she got back to her room when they returned to the Lighthouse. 

Rook was surprised he didn’t leave right away. She’d been too forward again, but she was just so exhausted—she didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed right now. 

Maybe in the morning, she thought as she slumped onto the green chaise. 

There was a crescent moon imprint on the armrest, just like the one in the parlor room in her parents' home. She traced the mark with her finger, remembering the way her mother used to absently dig her nail into the cushion on those nights when her friends stayed late for cocktails. 

Was it an anxious habit, Rook wondered? A tick of frustration? Anger?

It didn’t matter. She’d never know. But she found herself pressing her nail into that crease a lot these days—whatever the impulse was, it belonged to her now. 

The cushion groaned beneath her as she rolled onto her back. She sighed. If only the Fade had manifested her bed from House de Riva instead of her mother's squeaky old lounging couch.

She heard Lucanis shuffling with something in the corner of the room and propped herself up on her elbows. "What are you doing over there?" she said, frowning. "Rummaging through my underwear drawer?"

"What? Mierda—of course not," Lucanis scoffed. "I just saw something behind all the clutter on your shelf and—"

"It's not clutter. All those items are there on purpose."

Lucanis sighed and rolled his eyes, holding something behind his back. "Do you remember that book you found in my room a while back? A copy of The Joyous Wyvern that looked just like the one I had as a boy?"

"Of course."

"Well, I don't think this was on your shelf the last time I was here—" He walked over and knelt beside the chaise, holding out a small, worn stuffed animal. “Is this...?”

A pink nug.

The fabric, grey and tattered from love. One of its button eyes, hanging on by a thread.

Stupid tears welled in Rook’s eyes as she reached out a shaky hand.

“Noodle.”