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Chapter Text

Corvo still remembered Serkonos.

His father had worked at a lumber mill, while Corvo and Beatrici took care of their house. Their family was respected in Karnaca, because they were obviously native Serkonans; dark hair, dark eyes. And skin the colour of coffee, a woman said to Corvo once. He couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or not.

Karnaca was a good city, and it attracted a lot of visitors. But the area Corvo lived in wasn’t much of a tourist destination, so it was rare to see foreigners around there. That was the first reason Corvo didn’t trust those men that came to the house.

His father had fallen on hard times when Corvo had turned fifteen. He could barely support them all on a good day, but when the lumber mill shut down, they were lucky to have enough money for one meal a day. Corvo could see why the men seemed like a blessing to his father; they said they were fishermen, and could give Corvo and Beatrici a better life on their ship, proper work, a future. It had seemed too good to be true in Corvo’s eyes, but he didn’t blame his father for agreeing to their offer. They were desperate. And these men claimed to travel all around the isles, trading in different kinds of meats.

They agreed to take Corvo and Beatrici in exchange for some coin, and promised they would be paid and well fed on their ship. Promised to let them visit whenever they docked in Karnaca.

The men burned the house down after they had gutted Corvo’s father. No loose ends, they said. No one to track them down and have them caught. They couldn’t have people knowing they were really pirates, couldn’t have people knowing what they really traded in. They took Corvo and Beatrici to their ship, seeming very pleased with their catch. Apparently attractive whores and slaves were hard to come by, so they said the pair were bound to fetch a decent price, particularly Beatrici.

Corvo couldn’t remember if he felt sick or relieved that they weren’t the only children on board; chained up in the gallows were at least a dozen others, most of them female, a few of them male. None of them older than eighteen. Corvo thought he must have been one of the youngest there.

The boys saw to the chores around the ship in practise for slave work. The girls stayed in the gallows to be broken into their new lives by the crew. The first time Corvo saw the Captain heading down there, he’d gotten the scars across his back from a whipping when he tried to stop him. It turned out it didn’t make a difference if he tried or not. The Captain went down there anyway.

Beatrici died a month later from the disease she caught.They threw the body overboard while Corvo was scrubbing the deck.

It was a long voyage to Dunwall, and Corvo learned to hold his tongue. By the time they docked, only four of the girls had survived. Three boys had made it; the fourth had managed to hang himself the night before they arrived.

The first mate went to haggle with the harbour master, and he came back angry. He told the Captain they’d have to wait until nightfall to smuggle the children out and take them to wherever they meant to sell them.

Night came, and the children were herded onto the port. Dunwall didn’t look all that inviting. It was gray, Corvo remembered his first thought being. Nothing like the colours and countryside Karnaca had to offer.

It wasn’t gray for long. They were barely off the docks when the first mate’s throat was sliced open from right to left, covering his shirt with blood. Corvo saw another pirate falling to his knees, a blade shoved between his ribcage from behind. Their saviour weaved around his latest victim and went straight for the rest of the crew.

Corvo could hardly register it while it happened, and then the Captain was the only one left alive. He was crawling towards his ship, the bullet in his leg leaving a messy red trail behind him.

Among the other children, Corvo watched their saviour stalk towards the Captain, and a horrified fascination overcame him – there wasn’t another way to explain it. Corvo couldn’t turn his gaze from the men who had caused him nothing but months of suffering, who were now choking on their blood at his feet. Only the Captain was left now, and he was still trying to claw his way up the docks and back on board. A boot clamped down on his injured leg, no doubt breaking the bone entirely. Their saviour stood over him, blade in his hand and ready to strike down.

But he hesitated, turning to the children. His gaze landed on Corvo, and he must have seen the look in his eyes.

“This one’s yours.” He held the blade out for Corvo to take.

That’s how he met Daud.

Chapter Text

Fugue Feasts were always havoc. Sex and chaos and murder. Rampant gang members throwing molotovs at rich estates; overseers slumming the night with lowlife whores, so much for their sixth stricture. The Watch cheering the disorder around them, uniforms and morals forgotten. It was poetic, in a sadistic kind of way.

Like every year, the happenings of this Feast would be history when the sun had risen. And all those disordered folk would slip back into their respective roles. Overseers to the Abbey, guards to their stations, Lords and Ladies to their manors and peasants to the streets.

The large clock tower was impossible to miss. Five hours until sunrise.

A firework went off near Corvo’s rooftop, but he paid it no mind. The fucking things hadn’t stopped going off since he had arrived in the Estate District a few hours ago. He was doubtful they’d cease any time soon, so it was better to ignore them. He had a job to see through.

Corvo had a good view of the apartment opposite, and he had worked out the fastest route inside, in case there was any trouble. Not that Daud couldn’t handle himself. Corvo knew he could. But after two pints of Gristol Cider and a bottle and a half of Tyvian Red, even a man like Daud tended to lose an ounce of self-awareness. Corvo wasn’t looking forward to the aftershocks of that hangover; Daud was irritable on the best of days, and given a hangover he was famously short-tempered.

Speaking of the man, the door to the opposite apartment was thrown open and in they staggered; mouths crushed together, hands fisted into each other’s shirts. Boots were kicked off, and the Overseer was slammed, back first, against the wall. Corvo didn’t recognise him, but he memorised his face. Brown hair that was almost red, dark eyes. He couldn’t be too careful. Not that Corvo really cared who he was, but the Overseer uniform just reminded him why he was there at all. If it weren’t the Feast, this Overseer would kill a heretic without batting one of his pretty eyelashes. If he mentioned his encounter with Daud past tonight, Corvo wanted to be sure he knew what the Overseer looked like, so he could be taken care of before causing them too much trouble.

It didn’t mean Corvo liked doing this. Seeing Daud’s hands all over him, licking into his mouth and pressing their hips together while they rutted against the wall. Restrict The Lying Tongue, they say, and indeed Corvo would be lying if he said it wasn’t agony to watch this every year. But no one else was keeping an eye on their leader, and any amount of pain, emotional or otherwise, was worth knowing that Daud had someone watching his back. Making sure he didn’t get himself killed this time. Anything could happen at the Feast, and even the Knife of Dunwall wasn’t safe. So Corvo didn’t let him out of his sight. He didn’t dare.

Not until the fireworks began to quieten, and the voices came from the alleyways and not the open streets, did Corvo actually start to relax. Daud never stayed long afterwards, certainly not long enough for his choice companion to wake up.

Corvo spared a glance at the clocktower while Daud slipped his boot on the wrong foot. Four in the morning. Two hours until sunrise.

He tailed Daud as he stumbled from roof to roof, transversals drunkenly off mark. As if Corvo didn’t have enough to worry about that night. How anticlimactic, if the great assassin fell to his death instead of being stuck on an Overseer’s blade. One thing Corvo didn’t have to worry about was being spotted; Daud never saw him. With the state Daud was in, Corvo was amazed he even remembered the way back to the Financial District.

It was getting lighter, which probably helped, and by the time they reached Rudshore Gate, the edges of the horizon were turning yellow. About an hour until sunrise.

Some of the men had stayed behind at the Chamber for their own celebrations; empty whisky bottles were smashed about everywhere, whaling masks floating in the water below the makeshift walkways made when they first settled in Rudshore. It looked like they’d had a good time. No visible casualties this year, at least. Corvo stepped over Jordan and Galia, who were slumped over one another near a stack of chimneys. The two were inseparable, had been since Galia joined them a few years ago. Corvo couldn’t pin down the spite he felt, looking at the two of them together, but it only lasted for a second. He had honestly never met a nicer pair.

It was paranoid behaviour, Corvo knew, but until he saw Daud go into the Chamber, he didn’t count the night as finished. Only when he had used Void Gaze to check the office was clear, and watched Daud enter the bedroom through the window, did he leave him be.

The sun rose over the District, letting Corvo know that this Feast, like the ten before it, had been a success. Daud was safe. The job was done, and Corvo always tried not to laugh when he called it that. He guessed it was easier to think of it as a job, something with little sentiment involved, something he had to do, instead of what it actually was. What it actually was made him feel like the most pathetic son of a bitch alive.

Corvo headed to bed. He had a long night to sleep off.

***

Corvo grudgingly woke late afternoon, exhausted, but lacking a hangover at least. The same couldn’t be said for a majority of the men. Corvo passed a group of his comrades on the way to the kitchen, staggering their way to their patrol and grumbling about their headaches.

Corvo got a cup of coffee from Hobson, and then joined Rulfio in the training room. He was loading a set of wristbows, likely waiting for the novice recruits to arrive for ranged training. The dark-haired Whaler wasn’t usually one to indulge in drinking or the other antics that came with the Fugue Feast, but he looked a little worse for wear that afternoon. He had clearly just woken up himself.

“Evening,” Corvo greeted, perching on one of the training dummies.

Rulfio eyed his coffee. “Couldn’t have gotten me one?”

“You know where the kitchen is.” Corvo took an extra loud slurp, savouring the bitter expression Rulfio shot at him.

“You’re shittier than usual, Attano.” His focus was on the wristbows, but he was smirking, “Bad night?”

Corvo glared.

Rulfio was the only Whaler who knew how Corvo spent his Feasts, after they had crossed paths at a Feast four years ago. He was a sharp man, so it had only taken a minute or two of Corvo spouting some bullshit story before Rulfio knew exactly who he was following and why. He had never made a big deal of it though, which Corvo was grateful for. That didn’t mean he didn’t taunt him every now and again. Rulfio enjoyed having something to hold over him.

“Clearly not as bad as yours,” Corvo retorted, taking in Rulfio’s bloodshot eyes and weary movements. “Where did you go?”

“Distillery District.” Rulfio shook his head, obviously reprimanding himself, “Should never have let Ardan convince me to go with him. He wanted to get back at Bottle Street for breaking his arm last month. You know him,” he added. “Temperamental son of a bitch can’t let anything go.”

Corvo had to agree; Ardan was Gristol born and cursed like a sailor. He also wasn’t known for his forgiving nature.

“So where did you go?”

Corvo knocked back his coffee, the heat scolding his throat. “Estate District.”

Rulfio glanced at him, probably out of pity. “Who was it this time? A noble?”

“Overseer.”

“An Overseer,” Rulfio sighed. “For one of the smartest men I know, Daud can be a real fucking idiot.”

“It’s the Feast,” Corvo pointed out. “He can do what he wants.”

Rulfio chuckled at that. “An Overseer, though.” He snapped the last steel bolt in place, examining the wristbow before placing it down in line with the others.

Corvo frowned. “Dimitri said you had an Overseer. A few years before I got here.”

“Yes,” Rulfio ground out, unamused. “But I’m not the most known heretic in the Empire.”

“Touché.” Corvo set his mug down. “Want to spar? You know the pups will be late.”

“You shouldn’t call them that,” Rulfio chuckled, getting into position at the centre of the room.

Corvo tied his hair back in a messy bun. “They are pups.” He stood opposite Rulfio, stance defensive. He was no match for Rulfio’s strength, but he was much quicker. “They can’t shoot or fight for shit.”

“You were a pup once yourself,” Rulfio pointed out, taking a swing.

Corvo ducked under it. “I was better than them.”

As they sparred, Rulfio knew he couldn’t deny that. Corvo was one of the best they had. He had shown undeniable skill, even from as young as fifteen, and he had only honed his skills in the ten years on from there.

“You have a shittier attitude, though,” Rulfio teased, aiming a kick which narrowly missed Corvo’s shoulder. “I much prefer training them.”

Corvo caught Rulfio’s arm when he came in for another swing, and managed to topple the older man to the floor. “You prefer training them because they can’t best you.” He shot him a thin smile. “I understand. An old man like you needs his confidence boost.”

Corvo’s back smacked against the ground when his legs were kicked out from under him. “And a young pup like you has to learn to respect his elders,” Rulfio replied, both of them lying on the floor and catching their breath.

“Enjoying yourselves?”

They both winced, peering towards the gruff tone. Corvo had known it wouldn’t be long before Daud stalked in to chide them. Not for any reason in particular; Daud’s mood was just as sour as hagfish brine whenever he had a hangover.

“On your feet,” Daud ordered, voice rougher than usual. Another effect of the hangover.

They obeyed, Rulfio sheepish, Corvo keeping eye contact. He always found it strange, to have been watching Daud from a distance most of the night, and then have the man suddenly looking straight at him. He couldn’t bear what it did to his stomach.

Daud grumbled something about them slacking off, and then shoved a dozen novice recruits into the room. “See to it they can at least hit something from a distance by sun down.”

The poor pups looked terrified. Daud had that effect on most new Whalers. And some master assassins too, Corvo came to think of it. Killian still tensed up whenever Daud walked past him.

Rulfio began lining the recruits up, each of them collecting a wristbow he had earlier loaded for them.

Satisfied enough, Daud motioned to Corvo. “Attano. With me.”

“Sir.” Corvo followed him up to the top floor.

After a brief stop on the way, so that Daud could bark at Finn and Jenkins for the state they’d left the archive room in, Daud led him into the office. It was empty besides Thomas, who was stood obediently at the desk. Corvo assumed he hadn’t partaken in the Fugue Feast, but you never knew with Thomas. The man was a walking enigma.

Corvo took his place in front of the desk while Daud walked behind, brow furrowed while he flipped through reports and posters.

He found the paper he was searching for and handed it to Corvo. “Alder Croonigan. Recognise him?”

Corvo inspected the portrait. A wealthy man, rat-faced and skinny. “He’s a tailor. Owns a clothes store in Draper’s Ward.”

Daud gave a short nod, sitting behind the desk.

“Most of his materials are fake,” Corvo added. “He’s been known to cheat his customers out of their coin.”

“One of his buyers has figured him out,” Daud explained. “She’s wasted one coin too many on his goods and wants him gone.”

Corvo placed the paper down on the desk. “You wouldn’t rather have Zachary on this one?”

Daud grunted. “Zachary lacks discretion. And the client wants this to look like a suicide.”

Don’t be seen was left unspoken. No one ever saw Corvo, unless he meant for them to. “Understood.”

“Tomorrow,” Daud said, taking Croonigan’s portrait and passing it to Thomas. The Whaler stuck it to the board of targets on the far wall.

“I can get it done tonight.”

Daud regarded him cynically. “I don’t trust anyone to get anything done tonight. Not after the Feast,” he added, pinching the bridge of his nose when he saw Rinaldo nearly stumble off the walkway outside the window. “Go tomorrow.”

“I'm-”

“Tomorrow,” Daud growled. “That’s an order.”

Corvo backed off, annoyed but he wasn’t going to defy Daud. That was a death wish. “If that’s everything.”

Daud nodded gruffly. “Get back to the training room.”

Corvo headed to the doors.

“Attano.”

He turned back.

“You’re stationed there for the rest of the week,” Daud told him, not looking up from whatever he had started writing. “Rulfio needs all the help he can get with this new group.”

Corvo grit his teeth. “Yes, Sir.”

He was tempted not to go, but again, he wasn’t stupid enough to disobey. The last time a Whaler changed posts without Daud’s knowledge, they had been assigned to watch over the Boyle Manor for a month. Vladko, the poor bastard, said he still had nightmares about the scandals he’d seen around there.

Corvo skulked back to the training room, letting Rulfio know that he’d been ordered to keep him company for the next week. He spent the evening with Rulfio’s shit-eating grin and a dozen novices to babysit.

Chapter Text

Since the arrival of the plague, Draper’s Ward had been lacking in nobles. That had left it open for the taking. At the moment, there were two street gangs fighting over the territory; the Hatters had claimed the textile mill, and the Dead Eels had set up camp at the waterfront.

The Eels, Corvo liked. The Hatters, not so much.

Perched above the mall, Corvo was watching three members from each gang taunting each other from opposite sides of the river. Back and forth, back and forth. It was unending, and Corvo soon doubted that they would ever get around to an actual fight, so he moved on.

Blinking into the mall, he could see Alder Croonigan’s store. A small place, but no doubt lavishly decorated inside. The shopping centre was still popular in Dunwall among the high society, even with the gang war going on just outside. There was quite a rich crowd in the mall, so Corvo stayed high and kept to the shadows.

This would have been so much easier last night, Corvo griped to himself. But Daud wasn’t to know that Corvo hadn’t spent the Feast drinking or fighting or fucking aimlessly. He couldn’t have trusted Corvo to be capable for the job last night. So Corvo grit his teeth, and eventually managed to sneak to Croonigan’s shop.

There was an upstairs window, unlocked, just large enough for Corvo to slip through. He was tall, taller than most of the men certainly, but slender enough to fit into spaces that others struggled with.

He heard Croonigan, along with someone else. The voices were coming from downstairs, and it sounded like a customer was making a purchase. Corvo was tempted to interrupt and spare the poor soul from wasting their money on a pair of fake ox-skin shoes or a fur coat. But Daud’s orders had been clear. You can’t be seen.

So he wandered from room to room upstairs, pacing around with perfected silence. He had come a long way since his first job; his footsteps used to echo, his movements awkward. Daud and Rulfio had taught him well.

Finally, the bell above the entrance signalled that Croonigan’s customer had left. Corvo, already with a plan in mind, blinked above the bookshelf and waited patiently. Soon enough, Croonigan made his way upstairs, humming Drunken Whaler under his breath.

Corvo dropped down silently and trailed him to the bathroom. Croonigan was rummaging through a cupboard beneath the sink when Corvo eased his blade against the tailor’s spine. The man froze, straightened up, and their eyes met in the mirror.

“Mr Croonigan,” Corvo greeted. Croonigan’s eyes widened in horror. “You’re looking for your straight razor, I believe.”

Croonigan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Who sent you? How did you get into my house?”

“The straight razor, Mr. Croonigan,” Corvo continued patiently. “It’s on the edge of the sink. You’re going to pick it up.”

“What are you doing here?” Croonigan’s trembling hand reached for the razor, fingers curling around the handle. “What do you want?”

“I want you to bring the razor to your throat.”

Croonigan whimpered. “I have money. A lot of money-”

Corvo dug the sword a little harder into his back. “Bring the razor to your throat.”

Croonigan did, his whole arm shaking now. “You can take anything you want! Everything I have, it’s yours, if you’ll just let me go!”

Corvo placed his other hand over Croonigan’s, the straight razor nestled comfortably between their fingers.

“Please! I don’t know what this is about!” Croonigan’s eyes pleased with Corvo’s through the mirror. “Is it the coats? The dresses?”

“They’re fakes,” Corvo supplied.

Croonigan gulped audibly, and Corvo felt the movement against his wrist. “I won’t do it again! I swear!”

Corvo pressed the razor deeper. “I know.”

He sliced, blood splattering against the mirror and covering their reflections. Once Croonigan had stopped convulsing, Corvo let his body slump onto the sink, half upright, head in the basin and blood slithering into the plug hole. Corvo put the razor on the floor, beneath Croonigan’s limp right hand as though it had fallen from his fingers. It looked authentic enough. Now they just needed a note.

Corvo cleaned his hands using the bathtub. Sidestepping the red pool now forming on the floor around Croonigan, Corvo headed for the bedroom, where he pinched a pen, some ink, a blank sheet of paper, and another sheet with Croonigan’s writing on it. Rulfio had taught him how to forge, and after one shitty attempt at copying the tailor’s handwriting, he had a perfect counterfeit note, telling of Croonigan’s wish to take his own life; ridden with guilt over spending years selling fake merchandise to innocent, unknowing customers.

Corvo put the note on the late tailor’s pillow, and after swiping a coin purse from the bedside table, he left through the same window.

He got back through the mall easily enough, and made it to the rooftops without being spotted. Croonigan would likely be discovered soon, so he wasted no time in heading to the waterfront.

He met the client outside an apartment complex overlooking the Dead Eel territory. The woman who had hired them seemed nice, for a noble; well mannered and not overdressed.

She actually smiled at Corvo when he approached.

“Miss Blair?”

“Jane,” she insisted.

“Jane. Alder Croonigan’s dealt with.” He held out the coin purse he’d picked up from the bedroom. “I believe this is what he owed you, from your purchase.”

She took it, and exchanged her own payment. “Thank you so much, young man.” She scrutinized him, “And my, you are young aren’t you. How old are you?”

Corvo hated it when clients wanted to talk. “Twenty five.”

Jane Blair fanned herself in surprise at the information. “My my! Well, do pass on my thanks to your- erm- people,” she decided on, waving him off as she made her way back into her apartment.

Draper’s Ward was on the other side of the city from Rudshore, so Corvo knew it would take the afternoon to get back. Kaldwin’s Bridge was the only way to get across Wrenhaven by foot, and the Royal Physician’s house was on route. Corvo could never resist a peek inside.

Sokolov usually wasn’t around, and when he was, he was in his greenhouse doing Outsider knew what. So Corvo was surprised to find the natural philosopher on the ground floor, at his easel. He wasn’t alone either.

Corvo examined his companion. A slender woman, pale, with short black hair and wickedly sharp nails. She was the one painting, under Sokolov’s guidance it looked like. Corvo frowned. He hadn’t heard word of Sokolov taking on an apprentice.

The woman was painting in bold, erratic, colourful strokes. Completely different to the style of Sokolov’s portraits, which in Corvo’s opinion were rather dull.

Corvo crept nearer, staying on the air vents that ran above the room. He looked closer at the painting. It was Daud.

Or someone who looked like him, at least. Corvo narrowed his eyes. No, it had to be him. Corvo would never mistake that scar, running jagged along his right eye.

“Yes, my dear. Very good,” Sokolov was praising, as the woman whipped her paintbrush across the canvas.

Corvo knew the Royal Physician had painted Daud before. He didn’t know the precise story behind it, but Rulfio had told him it happened during the winter Daud spent at the Academy. No one knew where the portrait was now. Corvo was determined to find it someday.

Daud should no doubt know about this new painting and the strange woman. Corvo didn’t have a good feeling about it.

____________________________________

Before going to the top floor, Corvo headed to the training room. He’d let Rulfio know where he was going and why before he helped out with the new recruits.

The painting had been playing on his mind the whole way back to Rudshore. The luminescent colours and disturbing style couldn’t be shaken from his thoughts. The sooner Daud knew, the better. Plus he’d want to know Croonigan had been eliminated. Corvo doubled checked that Miss Blair’s payment was still there in his pocket.

Corvo frowned when he reached the training room. Dimitri was with the novices instead.

“Dimitri.”

The whaler’s blue eyes widened, relieved, when he saw him. “Corvo.” He threw a glance at the novices, then pulled Corvo to one side.

“Where’s Rulfio?”

“Upstairs.” Dimitri sounded on edge. “Daud called him up. Said to send you their way as soon as you got back.”

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” Dimitri shook his head, “Nothing good.”

“I’ll head up there.”

Dimitri gave him a half pat, half shove on the shoulder towards the window. “Good. Good luck with whatever it is,” he added warily. “Daud wasn’t happy when he came down here.”

“When is he ever,” Corvo muttered.

He slipped out into the small courtyard and blinked up to the archive room. Finn and Jenkins were still tidying it up after yesterday. They both nodded to Corvo when he passed them.

Corvo hesitated when he got to the doors of the office. Through the glass, he could see Daud at the desk and Thomas at his side as normal, and Billie was standing aloof from the others. Rulfio had his back to the doors, hands on the desk and speaking in a raised voice to Daud. No one ever raised their voice to Daud.

The words were muffled, but audible. “Refuse him.”

“I can’t do that, you know I can’t. He knows where we are.”

“This is foolish! We couldn’t pull this off, even if we wanted to! Refuse him, and he can find someone else to do his dirty work. We can be rid of him, for good this time.”

“Who else is there? I can’t refuse him, Rulfio.”

“Daud-”

“If I refuse, he will send every overseer to our front door. Are you willing to risk the men like that? Because I’m not.”

Rulfio rubbed his hands over his face. “This is madness...”

Dimitri was right, Corvo deciphered from the looks of the small gathering. This wasn’t good. He walked in, cutting off whatever else Rulfio had been about to say.

Rulfio looked at him, exasperated. “Where the hell have you been?”

He was clearly distressed, but Corvo was in no mood to be interrogated. “Back off,” he said shortly. “I had a job.” He stood beside Rulfio at the desk, dropping the payment down in front of Daud. “Croonigan’s gone. Dimitri said you asked for me.”

Corvo took in Daud’s appearance with a heavy heart. Their leader looked discouraged. His usually neat hair was in disarray, as though he’d messed it up in frustration. There was something behind his eyes he was trying not to show.

Corvo realized it was fear, and his chest began to ache. “Why did you want to see me?”

Daud hesitated.

“Tell him.” Billie gave a standoffish shrug when he looked at her, “He should know.”

Daud sighed, rubbing two fingers against his forehead, probably to soothe a headache. “Burrows has made contact with us.”

Corvo’s nerves spiked. Burrows was a manipulative bastard. He had hired them on countless occasions, for a countless number of reasons. To remove a rival, to abduct a target for his own personal gain. He was a coward, but not an idiot. He had a bargaining chip that he used to keep Daud under control. Burrows knew they were based in the Financial District; if Daud and the men disobeyed him in any way, he wouldn’t hesitate to send every overseer in Dunwall to arrest or slaughter them.

Corvo kept a straight face. “What does he want?”

“Daud...” Rulfio pleaded. “He doesn’t need to be involved in this.”

“I can speak for myself,” Corvo bit back. He knew Rulfio had his best interests at heart, but he could be overprotective, and Corvo wasn’t a child anymore. “I’d prefer to know what’s going on.”

Daud scrutinized him. Corvo tried not to fidget under the attention. “He wants to arrange a contract.”

Rulfio sighed loudly. “This is madness,” he repeated under his breath. He began pacing around the room.

Corvo tried to ignore him. “Who’s the target?”

Thomas handed the contract’s portrait to him. Corvo examined it, and then the painting and the strange woman were the last things on his mind.

“Jessamine Kaldwin.”

Chapter Text

Corvo hadn’t been this anxious on a job in years.

They had taken the water lock’s control room. A couple of guards were snoring in the corner, since there was no cause to eliminate them. Daud had always made it clear that, unless it couldn’t be avoided, they were not to kill anyone but their target.

Now they just had to wait for Thomas and Billie to return. They was scouting the rooftop, checking it was clear of any look outs. Burrows would dismiss the guards stationed in the gardens, so they weren’t concerned about any interference once they reached their target.

It would be easier than expected. That didn’t mean Corvo liked it.

“Restrict the restless hands,” Jordan muttered to him.

Corvo hadn’t noticed his fingers were tapping against the wall. “Sorry.”

“It’s not like you to be nervous.”

Corvo knew it wasn’t. “This isn’t a normal job.”

Jordan didn’t argue with that.

Corvo glanced at his companions. They were a small, select group, chosen for their skill in the field. Ardan was slouched against the wall, cracking his knuckles. Feodor was guarding one entrance to the control room. Daud was prowling about nearby, expression a mask of apathy. Corvo had never seen his face so closed off before.

Corvo and Jordan were at the other door, waiting for Thomas and Billie.

Jordan was examining them all too. “Looks like we’re not the only ones on edge,” he whispered.

Corvo agreed. There was palpable unease between them all.

“What did Galia say when you told her you were coming?” Corvo asked, just to ease the tension. He was usually far more comfortable with silence, but he knew that most others didn’t feel the same.

Jordan shrugged. “She was alright. Not happy about me getting involved, but I couldn’t say no. Daud asked me to come.” He shook his head, smiling slightly as he added, “She pretends not to worry.”

Corvo chewed the inside of his mouth. “Must be nice. Having someone worry about you.”

Something moved in the corner of his eye. Corvo glanced outside, and Thomas and Billie reappeared on the stairs. They nodded.

Anticipation clenched Corvo’s stomach as he announced to the group. “It’s clear.”

“Move out,” Daud ordered.

Corvo and Jordan led. They took the stairs and circled around the wall, spotting a few more sleeping guards. Thomas and Billie’s handiwork.

They blinked to the roof of the water lock, coming to a stop when they were overlooking the Tower gardens. Corvo perched at the edge and saw guardsmen leaving their posts. Burrows must have given the order to dismiss them. He saw the Spymaster himself, speaking with Sokolov, Captain Curnow and High Overseer Campbell. Corvo narrowed his eyes at the Royal Physician, trying to remember what had set him so on edge the last time he’d seen the man–

“Are the targets alone?”

Corvo flinched at the gruff voice, far too close to him. He scoured the upper gardens, the gazebo. Two figures, a woman and a little girl, were talking in the centre. “They’re alone.”

But it wasn’t as though they had expected the Empress to have company. The Royal Protector had died from plague one month past, and the court had yet to find a replacement.

“We getting on with this?” Billie asked impatiently. Everyone was shuffling.

Daud held out a hand to still them. “Hold position for now.”

“Make sure the guards are gone, and Burrows has the guard Captain occupied,” Thomas agreed.

Burrows was leading the Captain in question to admire Sokolov’s portrait. The High Overseer was posing a few feet away, looking regal in his blood-red robes. The Royal Physician looked disappointed in his own work. Corvo didn’t blame him; his model was no beauty.

“Arden, Feodor and Jordan, corner the gazebo,” Daud relayed the plan. “Make sure the targets don’t leave. Thomas and Billie, keep look out over the gardens. Corvo, secure the girl.”

They all gave a stiff nod.

“Now or never, Sir,” Arden cautioned, eyes on Curnow. The Captain seemed distracted enough.

Daud waited a few more seconds to be sure, tapping out the time with two fingers against the rooftop. Then he signalled them forward. “Go.”

Arden, Feodor and Jordan disappeared from the building, transversing to the gazebo and surrounding it. Thomas and Billie disappeared to keep a closer watch on the Captain and the rest of the guards.

The Empress grabbed desperately for her daughter, and Daud gestured for Corvo to move. They blinked into the gazebo, and Daud seized Emily’s arm to drag her out of the way.

The Empress lunged forward. “No! Get away from her!” She shoved at Daud, who stumbled and lost his grip.

Emily tried to run, but Corvo tethered and pulled her to him. “Don’t fight,” he warned calmly. “There’s nothing you can do.”

She thrashed anyway, her eyes wide and fixed on the Empress. “Mother!”

The Empress made a move for them, but the back of Daud’s hand lashed across her face, backing her off. His fingers closed around her neck, sword ready in hand.

“No! Mother, run! No!” Emily began to cry.

And Corvo began to register everything very slowly; Daud stalking towards his prey, the Empress scared for her daughter and her daughter scared for her. The memory of watching his father killed surfaced in his mind like a sudden blow to the stomach. No one should have to watch something like that.

Corvo turned Emily’s head into his shoulder, shielding her gaze just as Daud’s blade sliced into the Empress. It was withdrawn dark with blood, and Daud let her drop to the ground.

Emily wailed into Corvo’s chest and struggled to turn her head. Before she could, Corvo transversed them both to the roof of the water lock, leaving the turmoil behind them.

The little girl was shaking violently, sobs wracking her body as she clutched at Corvo’s uniform. She looked so much like he and Beatrici had, when their father had been slaughtered and their home in Serkonos was left burning to the ground.

He had to say something. Corvo knew it was only a matter of time before Daud and the men regrouped up there, so he wasted none. He removed his whaling mask, letting it drop onto the rooftop, and he knelt down to Emily’s height.

He cradled her head between his hands. “Listen to me.”

Her eyes, dark and shining with tears, met his.

"This world is not kind,” he said to her, his voice steady and calm. “And the people in it, even less so. You need to be strong.” He brushed away the tears. “You have to be strong now, little Empress.”

Emily’s shaking hands were fisted into his collar. But Corvo could see, buried under the pain and shock and confusion, there was resolve in her. He wondered if Daud had seen the same in him, when he had offered Corvo his blade ten years ago.

Just before Corvo stuck the sleep dart into her arm and she slumped against him, she didn’t look as afraid. It was reassuring. It gave Corvo some closure at least. Maybe she would be okay, in time.

When Corvo scooped her into his arms and replaced his mask, Billie and Thomas appeared.

They both glimpsed down at the gazebo. “Is it done?”

“It’s done.”

Arden, Feodor, Jordan and Daud joined them seconds later.

“We should go,” Jordan said, head jerking towards the chaos beneath them. “Best not to hang about.”

The guards had swarmed to the upper gardens, and Corvo could make out Burrows and the High Overseer among the crowd. There was a sour taste in his mouth as he took in the sight of the self-satisfied pair. Their weeks of scheming had finally paid off, it seemed.

“Better drop off the girl then, then,” Arden said, heading back along the water lock’s roof. “Them posh twats will be waiting for us outside the Legal District.” He meant the Pendleton twins. Corvo had heard bad things about their family, and worse things about the brothers.

Corvo found his hold on Emily tighten slightly. He hoped she would be taken care of, wherever Burrows wanted her hidden. It was soft of him to hope that, he knew, and Arden would probably knock his head against a wall if Corvo ever admitted that aloud. But he couldn’t deny it. He’d always had a soft spot for children.

“Take lead, Sir,” Thomas said as they walked.

It was only then that Corvo realized Daud wasn’t ahead of them like normal. And as he passed by to lead them from the Tower, Corvo saw his hands trembling.

____________________________________

“I can’t believe none of you fools got caught.”

Billie sighed. “Relax.”

“Relax, she says,” Rulfio chuckled bitterly.

Rulfio was still pissed off about the job. He had been muttering curses since they had stepped into the training room. He and Billie had been going back and forth at each other for half an hour or so. Corvo had stayed out of it.

“We could have held off the Overseers if Burrows sent them here. We didn’t have to accept.”

“That’s stupid. We’d be dead before they reached the Chamber.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” Billie shrugged. “Besides, we got paid a lot of money.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“No one’s ever going to give a damn whether you like something or not, Rulfio. What’s done is done, and we have month’s worth of coin now.” Billie strolled from the room. “If you’re not happy with that, take it up with Daud.”

Corvo and Rulfio watched her go.

Rulfio sighed through his teeth. “That woman.”

“You’re like two wolfhounds in heat.”

Rulfio glared at him. “I’m glad the uncertain future of the Empire is amusing to you.”

“I forgot what a politician you are,” Corvo muttered, perched atop his usual training dummy.

Rulfio tugged off his own boot and threw it at him. “I’d have let the Overseers come, just so they could cut out that tongue of yours and take you away.”

“You’d miss me.” Corvo tossed the boot back, rubbing his shoulder.

Rulfio paused, then shook his head in disbelief. “Outsider’s balls, I actually would.”

Corvo smiled slightly.

Boot replaced, Rulfio folded his arms. “So there was truly no trouble at the Tower?”

Corvo tried to push the thought of Daud’s shaking hands to one side. “Nothing worth mentioning.”

“Makes a change,” Rulfio said. “Arden’s usually eager to stir up trouble with the guards. I suppose this job was different, though.” He was quiet for a bit, looking thoughtful. “I don’t think it was worth the coin.”

“Daud didn’t accept for the coin,” Corvo defended. “We’d have a lot of shit over our heads if he didn’t take the contract. He was protecting us.”

Rulfio looked at him, incisive sympathy on his face. He opened his mouth–

“Don’t,” Corvo warned. “I don’t need your pity.”

Rulfio swallowed whatever he would have said. “He may have been protecting us, but he shouldn’t have taken you. Or Jordan either.”

“What do you mean?”

“To the Tower. He shouldn’t have involved you two, not on this one.”

Corvo frowned. “Me and Jordan did fine.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Rulfio sighed. “You’re still just kids.”

“Jordan’s twenty six. And I’m not the skinny brat you took in ten years ago, if you hadn’t noticed,” Corvo added, gesturing to himself. He was at least three inches taller than Rulfio.

“Yeah, now you’re a tall brat. Congratulations.” Rulfio shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t think you can take care of yourself,” he admitted. “I know you can. I guess I should stop trying to shield you so often. I’m not your father, after all.”

“You’re as good as,” Corvo said. As much as he hated being coddled, Rulfio had always looked out for him. Corvo was grateful. “Even though you look like a hagfish,” he added, making the older man laugh.

“Alright, you little shit. Go and check on Daud for me, would you? See what he wants the new recruits to learn tomorrow,” Rulfio said, pushing himself from his seat and heading for where they stored the practice gear. “I can handle training them alone tonight.”

“Daud ordered us to keep away,” Corvo said, but he dropped down from his perch.

Rulfio raised an eyebrow. “Now we’ll really see if you can take care of yourself. Good luck.”

Corvo hopped through the window, into the small courtyard. “Bastard,” he muttered.

“I can still hear you,” Rulfio called after him.

“With your hearing, old man?”

“Fucker.”

Corvo blinked up into the archive room and made his way to the office. He passed Yuri on the way, who was holding a bowl of soup in both hands.

He frowned when he spotted Corvo. “You going to the office?”

“Yeah.”

Yuri whistled. “You got a death wish, Attano. Orders are to keep away.”

“Rulf asked me to go.”

He offered Corvo a nod of encouragement. “I’ll come check for your corpse in the morning. G’night.”

“Night.”

Corvo slipped into the office, easing the door closed behind him. The lower floor was empty. Daud was normally at his desk after a mission, planning for the next job or going over reports.

Corvo spotted a book lying at the bottom of the stairs. It was open, face down, as though it had been thrown onto the floor from the upper level.

He hesitated. The second floor of the office was restricted to Daud alone. But something clearly wasn’t right. Corvo paced forward and picked up the book, deciding that returning it was a good enough excuse for heading upstairs.

He crept up, stopping when he reached the top.

The bedroom was chaos. The bookshelf had been toppled to its side, which explained the stray book; there were other books scattered all over the floor. The bed, the pillows and sheets, had been stabbed and shredded; the sword responsible was now half buried into the mattress. A chest was also open on its side. The bone charms that it had contained were strewn about among the books, humming quietly.

Daud was at the centre of the carnage. He had his back against the bed, and was rocking slightly, his hands fisted into his hair and still shaking as they were at the Tower.

Sensing Corvo, his head twitched towards the stairs. Most of his face was obscured by his hands, but Corvo saw him bare his teeth. “Get out.”

Corvo was frozen where he was. He had never seen Daud like this. He was certain no one had. Daud was cold, and calculated, and indifferent to most everything. Yet here he was now, his bedroom destroyed in some kind of fit, curled into himself like a wounded animal.

Corvo should have left. Daud had commanded everyone to stay away from the office. He didn’t want to be seen like this.

Corvo stepped forward. He lay the book down on the sideways bookshelf, and approached the bed as warily as one approaches a wild predator.

“I said,” warned Daud’s voice, rough and thick with tears, “get out.”

Corvo sidestepped around him and lowered himself to the floor slowly. They were shoulder to shoulder, the fabric of their shirts touching, and Corvo felt Daud trembling.

Corvo was adverse to touch most of the time, so he surprised himself when his hand tentatively rested on Daud’s arm. It was certainly a risk, comparable to someone trying to pet a wolf, and Corvo flinched when Daud’s fingers curled around his wrist, holding his hand in place tightly, painfully tightly. Corvo didn’t mind.

Daud made no more threats. Just let himself sink against Corvo’s weight when he realized the whaler wasn’t going anywhere. He broke down again, body shaking and head pressed into Corvo’s shoulder, tears staining the white of Corvo’s shirt. It stayed that way for minutes or hours, Corvo didn’t know. His face buried in Daud’s hair and his eyes were closed, as though that could somehow soften the sound of Daud’s remorse.

And Corvo decided – sat there against the bed, Daud’s fingers still digging into his wrist – that he would have gone back and killed Jessamine himself if it would spare the man he loved from this.