Chapter 10

In the playroom, there was a panther. It was muscled and nervy, posed to strike and stuffed with threat. Teeth in a forever snarl. Marble eyes gleaming hungry. As a child, when Chiara had played at being an assassin, the thing had always been her target. She would slice at those dead, orange eyes; pretend to open up its stomach and arrange the entrails across the carpet. Datari and Tadashi would pay her in sweets for her work, and she would taunt the panther with her false victory.

False, because some vague anxiety always lingered down Chiara's spine. Those eyes. Always watching. Always taunting her in return. She wouldn't dare lay a finger on the panther really – to do so without Mommy or Mamma's permission would get her whipped across the palms – and it was like it knew. You can't touch me. Stupid, useless little girl. No matter how many games she played and how many times she pretended to kill it, it knew.

That same gaze followed Chiara now.

Curiously, at first, with raised eyebrows and a sharp, thoughtful frown. But soon it became more pointed, more loaded with meanings Chiara couldn't understand.

Whenever she spoke to Illumi in everybody else's company. Whenever she looked at him and he looked back.

It half-thrilled her, somehow, like this too was just a game. She would touch her pinky to Illumi's under the dinner table, and he would press back lightly, and nobody seemed to pay it too much notice. She would whisper things when she knew he'd be listening, and it didn't seem that anybody could hear. And in such little acts of sneakiness, Chiara relished the same fleeting sense of delight she gained from pretending to kill the panther.

She also suffered the same anxiety. Even if nobody could see the things she did, still they seemed to know. The fluttering in her lungs and stomach. The fine bite of guilt in her throat. They were not secrets at all, and Chiara couldn't figure out how she had been figured out.

Of course, she reminded herself, it was nothing. Illumi was her friend. Her birthday present. It didn't mean anything, all the stares and the watchful expressions. Just as the panther was dumb and deaf and dead, so too could Illumi's family do nothing to hurt her. Well… they could, but they wouldn't. Surely? They had no reason to. Much as Missus Kikyo always looked on the verge of spitting venom. Maybe, then, it really was all just a game – like flaying, dancing cobras more concerned with looking scary than actually using their fangs.

The idea was comforting. The curiosity of it drowned the anxiety.

And before the week was up, Chiara returned the Zoldycks' stares with restless, eager smiles and unabashed manners. She would cuddle baby Alluka and play with Killua – catching insects, racing around the estate – and would meet Missus Kikyo's piercing gaze head-on. A staring contest. Just a game.

Why do you wear such big hats, Missus Kikyo? Can you see properly through your visor – how many fingers am I holding up, Missus Kikyo? Missus Kikyo, do you like being a mother?

Just a game.

"My, my, Chiara-chan," Missus Kikyo said one afternoon in the garden, lips upturned in that red gash of a smile. "You certainly ask a lot of questions."

Chiara fidgeted with her teacup. Kicked her legs beneath her seat. She, Missus Kikyo and Datari were having tea together while Mommy played on the grass with baby Alluka. Somewhere around the estate, Mamma had taken Illumi and Killua to train with Tadashi.

"I like asking questions," Chiara said. "And I like hearing people's answers."

"Our mothers have told her it's rude," Datari added pointedly.

"Hmm. Fortunately, you haven't asked anything terribly troublesome as yet." Missus Kikyo tapped Chiara's nose. "Tell me, Chiara-chan, do you think you'll like being a mother one day?"

"Oh, definitely! Yes, I want to have lots of babies."

"And will they be assassins too?"

"Yup!"

"Hmm." Her attention turned swiftly and deliberately to Datari. "What about you, Tari-chan? Do you and Illumi plan to have lots of children too? It'll be very important that you provide a strong heir to take over the family one day, as you know."

Datari, stirring her tea languidly, betrayed no disgust nor disdain – though Chiara knew it lurked beneath the surface, as it always did when it came to talk of children.

Dark hair in an elegant tumble down her shoulder, like a silky curtain out her sunhat. Lips bruised with glossy, purple lipstick. Datari was perfect as a doll, cool as a creature of myth in the pale afternoon sunlight – it was no wonder the Zoldycks had chosen her. Chiara considered it with a dull, clean ache. She should have been glad Illumi was marrying someone so brilliant – someone as beautiful, as clever, as unfairly talented as Datari. And yet, there was a twinge inside of Chiara like a branch breaking.

(Datari always got the nicest things).

"Yes, ma'am," Datari said in a melodic, melting voice. "Children will be a major priority, though I think Illumi and I will also probably be occupied with other things."

"Such as work," Missus Kikyo prompted.

"Yes, ma'am. Work."

"Please, darling, I've told you to call me Mother! You'll be my daughter soon enough."

A polite giggle, like a song bird – not anywhere near the gregarious, snorting thing that was Datari's real laugh. To hear it, Tadashi tickled Datari often. Even at night. When Chiara was supposed to be asleep, she would watch over the rim of her blankets as Tadashi would sneak into Datari's bed and tickle, tickle, tickle – the sounds of restrained giggles and gasps scratching texture into the darkness.

"Soon enough," Datari said, and flashed Chiara a secretive smile. "But not quite yet."

It was easy to play the game with Missus Kikyo because she was always so quick to react. She would smile back dangerously or look away. She would change the subject if Chiara spoke too much. She would send Illumi to do something somewhere, and would then start a conversation so Chiara wouldn't be able follow (but she did – she always followed him, no matter how rude it was or how Mommy would slap her for it). Missus Kikyo was a fun opponent because it was easy to push her and get away with it.

Illumi's father, on the other hand, was a bit of an issue.

For one thing, he always smiled back at Chiara. Genuinely. A small, surprising twist of the mouth which looked terrifically funny on his big, beastly face.

He answered questions bluntly, unaffectedly, no matter the content – Do you like dessert, Mister Silva? Have you ever scalped someone, Mister Silva? – and in return, he asked Chiara questions too. More than that, he actually seemed to listen when she answered, eyes fixed and full with attention. Like she had anything interesting to say.

Without entirely knowing why, it made Chiara cringe. The lack of a reaction. Or the unexpectedness of what little reaction there was.

"Why is he being like that?" she asked Tadashi before bed one night.

He sat behind her on the mattress, combing her hair out with the pearl comb Missus Kikyo had given as a birthday present. "Maybe he is just being nice," he said.

"Huh? You think?"

"Missus Kikyo is such a bitch, I bet you're like a breath of fresh air for Silva-san."

Chiara frowned. "But he's not that nice to Tari, I don't think. He doesn't even talk to her."

"Yeah. Tari can be a bitch too, you know. She wouldn't be anything special to him."

"Do you think Tari is special to Illumi? Just a little bit?"

With a harsh tug of her hair, Tadashi peered over at Chiara with an incredulous expression. "God, you're such a baby," he grumbled. "You really can be dumb sometimes."

The week went by. Chiara lamented the fact that, with each passing day, she felt no different now – at thirteen – than how she did when she'd been twelve (no more an adult, no less a child); and that with each passing day, she was closer to having to surrender her time with Illumi – sunrises on the highest branches of the oak tree, him using his needles on frogs (Make it hop again, Lumi! Make it croak again!), she coming up with any number of games for them to play to avoid saying goodnight – and finally, with each passing day, Mister Silva's attention only grew more intent. More and more like the unremitting stare of the panther in the playroom. Boring into Chiara's skin. Never giving her the satisfaction of a blink, a moment's distraction.

By the last night of the Zoldycks' visit, she was forced to wonder if perhaps Mister Silva had started it on purpose. Could he tell it frustrated her? That she didn't want to play the game anymore? He spoke to her over dinner when she only wanted to speak to Illumi, and the best of her responses would be to blush. To let her words tumble out in a high, childish babble because she had been beaten.

And he knew.

Silly little girl.

"Is something wrong?"

Chiara looked away from the panther, silhouetted in orange by glow of the fireplace, and back to the checkers game between her and Illumi. He sat on the floor across from her, feet long and bare and white white white. Same ugly tracksuit top as the one he had arrived in. Eyes set on Chiara, his head cocked in a hard question mark of an expression.

She smiled. "You're going to win this game. Again."

"Is that what's bothering you? Do you want me to let you win?"

"No, Lumi. Nothing's bothering me."

"You're quiet."

"So?"

"You're never quiet."

"Oh. Right." Chiara leaned her chin onto her knees, still looking at Illumi. "I guess that would seem a little funny."

Curiously, he mimicked her – he curled his long legs to his chest, pressed the sharp point of his chin to the valley between his knees. "If you're nervous about your job, you should do something to calm your nerves," he said, matter-of-fact. "Immediately. It will only give your target an unnecessary advantage if you're distracted by your feelings. Nervousness is not becoming of an assassin."

"Are you worried about me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly that." Smile curling wider, cheeks warm from the fire place and her last sip of champagne, Chiara resisted the urge to reach out and tap Illumi's knuckles. "You ask a lot about whether or not I'm nervous."

He didn't answer immediately. But when he did, it was with a peculiar quietness. "I don't think you should go."

"Why not?"

Again, he took a moment to answer. "You're so... small."

"Killua's small too."

"Yes. But you're not Killua."

But what did that matter? "You could come with me, if you wanted. Maybe," Chiara urged, trying not to sound as enthusiastic as the fluster of bubbles in her chest might have suggested. "It would be nice, I think. Mommy has arranged a room for me, so she could probably arrange one for you too, and then after I've done the job we could–"

"No." Illumi shook his head. "I have my own target to dispatch once my family and I leave. Father allowed me to put it off to see you this week."

"Oh. Well ~ next time, then! Let's go on a mission together, and then you can see that you have nothing to worry about. Hmm? Would you want to do that?"

"Mmm. Perhaps."

Chiara leaned in closer, voice lowering to speak as though they were conspirators cradled in the secret safety of the playroom's honey light, impervious to the knowing glare of the panther beside them. "And if you could," she began, "would you go on this job with me?"

"Yes." Illumi tipped his head to the side again, and cracked a tiny smile. "If I could. To keep you safe."

In the morning, Chiara didn't rush first thing to the oak tree. Instead, having dressed and brushed her hair into a tidy-enough braid, rehashing words and words to herself in practice, she dashed through blue-lit corridors and past silent rooms to where she knew her final chance at winning the game had presented itself. Now, clear as it was that her prize could be Illumi, a new resolve had washed over her. Really, she couldn't say she hadn't thought about it before – in the half-awake, half-dream states of falling asleep, she had considered the possibility of it. Having Illumi with her on her first job.

But now, somehow, the possibility had become a reality. Datari would probably roll her eyes. Tadashi would probably throw a tantrum. But what did they matter if Chiara could win extra hours with him? Outside of the estate. Away from prying eyes (!).

And Mister Silva wouldn't be expecting it.

Near the guest bedrooms, Chiara ran into one of the Zoldycks' butlers first. An old, hulking woman with a monocle who sometimes gave her sweets – Tsubone: shaped like a balloon animal and somewhere in Chiara's top five favourite Zoldyck butlers (it varied from visit to visit).

"Ah, good morning, Chiara-chama," Tsubone said, setting down the pair of suitcases she carried. "You are spry this morning. Might I ask where you are off to in such a rush?"

"I need to see Mister Silva. It's very urgent."

"Ah. Clearly. I see you even brushed your hair for it. May I?" With a hand upon her shoulder, Tsubone turned Chiara steadily. "The trick to doing a braid is to keep your three strands as even as possible, you see. That way, you don't end up with lumps." Fingers clawed to comb. Nails separating Chiara's hair into paths quickly and gently.

Bemused, Chiara put up none of the resistance she usually dealt the maids. "I don't normally do my own hair," she said.

"Of course, Chiara-chama."

"Does it look better?"

"Much. Now, if you're looking for Silva-sama, he should be by your oak tree."

"Huh?"

"He's expecting you."

Whether the thrum of Chiara's pulse was alarm or disappointment, she couldn't say – nonetheless, it made her skin prickle with feeling, hot despite the misty cold outside. She ran a little slower than before, hands curling and unclenching in anticipation, grass slapping wetly against her shoes when at last she reached the garden.

Indeed, Mister Silva was leaned against the trunk of the oak tree, already watching as Chiara came around the house and into view. A trap! Dastardly fate! She could barely see him through the frail light, but could feel him staring. Of course she could. Like an ominous cloud settling over her the moment she began across the stretch of lawn towards him.

He greeted her first. "I thought I'd find you here. Bright and early."

"You expected me." Chiara blinked up at him, suddenly aware exactly of what Illumi meant – she felt small. Very small compared to Mister Silva and crushed ever further by the obscurity of the morning. She bundled her hands into fists, tried to keep her voice from betraying her dismay. "Please tell me how."

"Intuition."

"Oh."

"Illumi also speaks about you. He told me you've been meeting here every morning."

"Illumi talks about me?"

Mister Silva made a sound like a chuckle, carried upon the air by the shape of mist. He bent down to his haunches, and even still, remained ever so slightly taller than Chiara. Eyes bright, like a cat's, he seemed to consider her. "You and I have not spoken very much until now," he said.

"No, Mister Silva." Chiara nodded her head. "You're a very busy man. And I'm not very important that you'd need to speak to me ~ or, at least, that's what Mamma says." It occurred to Chiara then – "I'm sorry if visiting me this week was inconvenient for you, Mister Silva. Illumi said he had to put off a job to see me." She bopped forwards in a clumsy bow. "It was the nicest birthday gift, if it means anything."

"Mmm. We are a very busy family." With a finger to Chiara's forehead, Mister Silva made her stand straight once again. Eye-to-eye. "But rest assured, I would not waste time on inconveniences."

Chiara nodded.

He continued, "I was curious, you see. About what has my son so fond of you as compared to your sister."

"Illumi and I are friends."

"Friends. I see. As Illumi's friend, then, have you put any thought towards how you feel about him and Datari getting married?"

The ache returned, and placed a lid on Chiara's lungs. "No, Mister Silva."

"Is that the truth?"

"Am I in trouble?"

"No, no." He balanced his hand on top of Chiara's head – the weight of it was comforting, somehow. Warm and heavy like a thick, wool blanket. "I'm only interested in hearing your opinion, Chiara."

For some confused moments, she allowed herself to linger there. Aware of how easily he could probably flatten her with that one hand alone, and yet still oddly soothed by the pressure of his palm. It was not like Mommy or Mamma's, or even Tadashi's. It was solid. Undeniably and frighteningly real. To think too much about it, of how he held her there and watched her as though she were a butterfly caught in a jar, made Chiara shiver out from his hold.

"Mister Silva, I have something to ask you," she said, eventually, when her voice returned to her. "Sort of a favour. Or ~ I don't know. But I know Illumi has to work, and it'll probably seem weird that I'm asking this, but ~ well, you know I have my first job in a few days. And I was really looking forward to going alone, but I think I'd like it even more if – if – well ~"

"Well?"

"I'd like it a lot of Illumi could come with me."

"Oh? I see." He cocked his head to the side in a way that was painfully familiar – Chiara almost wanted to laugh at the sight of it. Thoughtfully, Mister Silva sighed. "It's as you said. Illumi has a job to do."

Chiara had thought of that. "Can I ask a sensitive question?"

"If you must."

"How much will Illumi get paid?"

As usual, the question did not seem to take Mister Silva by surprise. "It's a relatively straightforward job," he said. "So in total, he'll be receiving five million jenny, of which he will take a certain percentage."

The number slapped Chiara through the gut. "Five?"

"That's right."

"Five million? You could buy so many cakes for that amount! That's crazy! Is that even allowed?"

A chuckle. "The very reason assassin work pays so much is because it's not technically allowed."

"Oh, right ~ I guess. Anyway!" Chiara composed herself with a delicate huff, a hand clenching nervously behind her back. "It's a little bit more than I thought it would be, but I thought that maybe we could make a deal. Would you make a deal with me? Because I always keep my promises. And I'll do my best to pay you back as quickly as possible ~ but what I was thinking was that, well, yes. I could pay you back for the job Illumi would have done."

"Pay me back?" Mister Silva sounded amused.

"Mmm." Chiara nodded, more sharply than was maybe necessary. "It'll take me a while. But I can give you all my cuts from all my jobs."

"That's a big responsibility."

"I know."

"You'd make a deal like that for Illumi?"

"He's my friend."

No response. Only that same, loaded stare, glinting metallically as the sun began its pastel-hued rise. This was a decisive point, Chiara realised – to back down now, to flinch or even to breathe, would be to fail. She would lose. She couldn't bear to lose – so she stared back, biting down so hard against her tongue that she was sure she tasted blood. And when a smile coiled itself into Mister Silva's face, her heart threw a fit in her ribcage. And when he lifted his thumb to his teeth, piercing the calloused flesh so that a dewdrop of crimson pooled upon its print, she went a little dumb with surprise.

Unmovable, Mister Silva held out his hand to her, thumb bared and waiting. "I accept your deal," he said. "We'll seal it as Zoldycks would do."

"Really!?"

"Better be quick, Chiara."

Quick, quick, Chiara pressed the tip of her thumb to her teeth too – unfazed by the prick, not stopping to stare at the globe of blood as she would usually do. A little giddy with disbelief, she flattened her thumb against Mister Silva's, astonished anew by the impossibly small size of her hand alongside his.