A Chance to Talk

"…dy Breanna? Lady Breanna!"

Breanna's eyelids flickered open, the words spiking a headache that cut through her daze. She groaned, trying to sit up.

"Are you alright, my lady? What happened?" One of the witches, face stricken with panic, was crouched in front of her. The redhead, the one that had come back after fighting Emily Kaldwin—

A slash in the world—

Combat in the Void—

Exhaustion, panic, and then—

Snip.

And she was alone, where was her love, why was she alone—

Breanna jerked backwards, collapsing to the floor before pulling her legs under her and stumbling to her feet.

The redhead stood too, hesitantly. "Lady Breanna, can you…can you speak? Did she—"

"Do you have your magic?" Breanna snapped, voice coming out cracked.

The redhead blinked. "I—Yes, of course—"

"Prove it."

No more hesitation. The girl vanished and reappeared some metres away, then did the same to return.

Breanna exhaled, shakily, and looked around.

So…it was only the ones she could reach…

Over a dozen witches were laid out unconscious around the Oraculum. Or, what was left of it. The entire setup had been smashed, shattered, bent, and crushed under bookshelves.

Breanna noticed with distaste that there were less witches than there had been before the battle. How many woke up, realised they were useless, and fled before they could be held accountable?

"The Kaldwin girl." She said aloud. "She has some…artefact. My connection to Delilah has been severed. So has that of every witch she could get her grubby little paws on."

The redhead's eyes widened. "But…I don't understand, how did she…what do we—"

Crack.

The redhead reeled backwards, clutching her cheek.

The slap wasn't necessary; stammering didn't usually warrant such harshness. But Breanna was not in the mood. "Call back the coven." She said. "Every witch in Karnaca, I want them here."

"Yes my lady."

"You'll have to coordinate the search. I…I cannot." There was an impulse to stretch out her hand and try to summon magic, but Breanna knew there was no point. It was gone. She could feel it, like a hole inside her where Delilah was supposed to be. She'd felt this once, after Corvo Attano had…had…

She's alive. The rest of the girls still have power, so she's still alive.

"Of course, my lady." The redhead bowed, not meeting her gaze. "Are we searching for Kaldwin?"

"No. I know where she will be going." Breanna looked back to the scuffed ritual circles on the floor, where whale oil still glowed blue in the early morning light. "If she does not go straight to Dunwall, her objective is Aramis Stilton's manor."

"I'll assemble there immediately and—"

"No, stupid girl." Breanna grit her teeth against the new burst of headache. "The protections on that manor are insufficient, and the effects inside will ruin your advantage. You have another target." She looked to the door, and the city beyond it. "Emily Kaldwin has allies, and they have a hideout in the city. Co-ordinate with the guard, do whatever you have to do. Find it."

"Of course, my lady. I will start at once." The redhead turned to go, but hesitated. "Are you safe here? Do you need—?"

"There is nothing left for her to take from me. Nothing outside Dunwall, that is." Breanna glanced up at her room. "Go. I must inform Delilah of what has happened."

"About that…" the redhead winced. "I checked for you in your office first. Delilah's statue has been—"

"Girl." Breanna snapped. "For your own safety? Do not finish that sentence."

The redhead squeaked, nodded, and disappeared.

Emily Kaldwin was not a woman who typically 'liked' sleep. Most nights, sleep brought her the strange, disturbing dreams it brought to all those touched by the Void. If not those, she had nightmares.

The best nights were those when she was too damn tired to dream of anything at all. Sometimes then, after a long day, she would actually find herself looking forward to climbing into bed. The night she'd finally talked down Havelock after forty-four hours of straight witchery came to mind.

But even then, she hadn't been quite as eager to get to sleep as she was Right Now.

Emily, Thomas, and Billie made their way back to the Wale in record time, and she barely spared enough thought to explain to them how things had gone on her end, or listen to their recount. Once back on board, a quickly signed 'tired, goodnight' was all they got before she stalked down to her quarters, flopped on her bed, and closed her eyes.

Sleep, of course, was a bitch, and did not come easy.

Corvo…She laid there, staring at the backs of her own eyelids. It had always been 'Corvo' to her. Even after he'd admitted to his relationship with her mother, 'father' (or Strictures forbid, 'dad') had always felt strange on her tongue. The knowledge had been nowhere near as strange in her head, though. Nothing had really changed. Corvo was simply…Corvo. An immutable fact of her life, an ever-present figure of comfort and warmth and safety. And even when he'd been taken from her, by business or magic or Daud, he had always returned, as true to her as ever.

And now it's me that's left him…but perhaps, he's not as frozen as I thought.

Even with her eyes closed, she could still see the strings. Cords of her own magic, binding her to Thomas, to Billie…to Corvo.

Corvo, who she had seen move.

"It does always interest me, watching you mortals try to figure it out."

Emily jolted upright, looking around. Her bed was floating through the Void. Got to hand it to him, his transitions are immaculate…

"Figure what out?" She asked.

"This. All of this." The Outsider gestured into the emptiness, perched on the edge of the bed. "Your minds warp to try and wrap around the incomprehensible. None ever do it quite the same way. I'm impressed: Only four or five in my time have ever surpassed what you know now, and all of them were insane. Delilah still is."

"Thank you, I think." Emily made to stand up on the bed, then sat right back down as it flew into a shoal of fish. The dead-eyed creatures parted like a cyclone to let them through. "So what now? I have the knife. Do I just…"

She manifest the obsidian weapon in her hand, feeling the Void pulse around her. Holding it, she could intrinsically tell that this wasn't the Outsider. Or at least, not all of him. Just a tangled knot of magic, sight, and sound, held together as much by her mind as by his.

"How does this thing even work?" She asked, generally overwhelmed.

"It doesn't kill." The Outsider answered. "Two blades, two sides. It is a tool for cutting through the barrier between worlds. Bringing things to the Void, or back to your plane. For most people, being sent to the Void is death. But you know that for some of us, it is not that simple. No, it will not kill Delilah."

Emily blinked, nonplussed. "You…you just gave a straight answer to a question. Who are you and what have you done with the Outsider."

"You already decided not to return directly to Dunwall." He turned his head just slightly, enough for her to glimpse one of his eyes, before turning back to the Void. "So it does you no harm to explain."

"But it can kill you?" Emily asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Would you like that, I wonder?" The Outsider remained still, not looking at her. "To bring an end to me? Daud certainly would. And were it not for me, perhaps you would never have killed your mother. Perhaps you would never have even heard of Delilah."

Emily twitched, and took a second to breathe before answering. "Part of me does. Part of me is just sick of all this paranormal bullshit. Wishes that I could have just lived in my tower, grown up with my family…Or rather, that some other girl could have. I doubt I'd even recognise that Emily Kaldwin."

She sighed. "You're also the only reason I survived any of what happened. You gave me agency. Back then, I didn't just offer to help you because I felt like I should, I was—I am…grateful."

The Outsider didn't reply for over twenty seconds. Didn't move. This was the longest he'd ever gone without doing anything, and it was starting to make Emily worried.

"Okay, you're still mad, fine." She huffed, looking away. "So what's next? We know where this 'Cult of the Outsider' lives, should we go after them?"

"…You know, I think you're entitled to a break." The Outsider replied.

Emily's head whipped back to him. "Pardon?"

"You've made good progress. Please, go back to what you were doing. Aramis Stilton's manor, wasn't it? Good luck."

"Is this a test?" Emily asked, crouching. "I don't—A week ago you made me beg to help you and now you're letting me off—"

There was a snap.

"Of course this is a test." Said the Outsider, black eyes staring into hers. His body hadn't moved, and his head was twisted around backwards on his neck. "Go, and witness Delilah's return. I want you to know what you're doing. If you're going to save me, I want you to understand what you're saving me from."

He vanished before Emily could answer. She blinked at the space he'd left behind—

Then yelped, as her bed slammed into something. She was thrown unceremoniously off the back of the cot, crashing and rolling on cold marble tiles.

"Son of a bitch." She snarled, raising her head and looking around. "When I find him I'm going to—" Her eyes widened, "CORVO!"

Dr Hypatia put away the last of the medicines and sighed, lowering her head.

Long day…too many long days…

She stepped over to the room's singular chair and sat down, sinking as best she could into the cheap fabric.

Bartholomeus Vasco was laid beside her on a cot. Asleep, lucky for him. A clean(ish) room, the health elixir, and some actual medical treatment had done wonders for his condition. The scars he bore were still ugly, and from his reports they stung awfully while he was awake. But for now, he looked…peaceful.

"Almost makes you want to eat him alive." She muttered, sighing wistfully.

Then tensed, her eyes widening and her hands gripping the arms of her chair.

"No." She said, shaking her head. "I don't…I'm just tired. Saying silly things."

She sat back, breathing deeply. It was the ship that was doing it to her. Being stuck in cramped quarters all day with the rocking, the smell. It would drive anyone insane.

"I didn't mean to hurt him." She corrected, more confidently. "There are much more fun ways to go about getting my teeth into a man—"

Realised what she was saying again, and grit her teeth.

"This is ridiculous." She hissed. "They injected me with the antidote. I'm fine. The Crown Killer's dead."

"Oh, but what did it actually stop?" Was her next thought, and she articulated it. "The problematic tincture in the Addermire Solution, it didn't cause violent tendencies. It caused dissociation. Patients' personalities were splitting along points of contradiction, things they couldn't reconcile about themselves."

That sounded better. Hypatia nodded, and continued "But it's cured now. And I'm not a bad person, so I shouldn't be thinking this silliness anymore."

A troubled frown flitted across her features. "Or am I? Like it or not, those feelings were there. The person who could do all those things to all those people already existed, long before ever trying the serum, and her name was Alexandria Hypatia—"

"NO! I never did anything like that! I never wanted to…"

"Oh, but of course I did. I just buried it. I was a good, upstanding, well-respected young woman who wanted to help people. There was no room in there for the woman who got sick of the stupid, fat, ugly, morons that infest this city, making mistakes all day long that anyone with common sense would never make. It would have been too damaging to grab the worst of them about the throat and tear, so I had to take those thoughts and shove them deep down inside me—"

"And they should stay there!" She shouted, standing up from her chair. Bartholomeus shifted slightly, but didn't wake. And of course, nobody answered.

"…What do you want from me?" She whispered.

Then shook her head, because of course, "Stupid question. There is no 'you' anymore. Just me, talking to myself. This is about what I want. And I want lots of things. I've already seen what happens if I let those urges out…that delightful scene at Ichabod's house, for instance…"

She glanced back over at Vasco. Her pulse quickened. "No. I'm not hurting him. Not again."

"But then, of course I'm not hurting him. He's mine. And I'm an intelligent young woman. All I need to do is make sure I can aim my desires in productive directions, and then—"

"Alexandria?"

She stiffened. Bartholomeus' eyes were open, and he was squinting at her.

"B—Bart!" She gasped, crouching down beside him. "I'm so sorry I woke you. I was just—um—talking to myself."

"It's fine." He coughed, then winced, reaching down to cover his stitches. "Hurts to be awake, but it hurts when I'm asleep too." He smiled, weakly. "And at least now I get to see your beautiful face."

Hypatia flushed. "S—Stop it, you! Honestly, you shouldn't make such jokes—"

"Who says I'm joking?" He asked. Hypatia froze, and he gave a small smile. "I almost died a few days ago, the world's falling apart, the fact that we're still here together is a miracle. Why would I joke? You're beautiful."

"You…you can't…" Hypatia turned away, her hands clasping at each other. "How can you want to look at me after what I did?"

A sigh. "Hypatia, you can't blame yourself for—"

"No, stop it!" She shouted, barely resisting the urge to stomp a foot. "It's not fair! You forgive me, Emily forgives me, Sokolov forgives me, I deserve worse than this! I hurt people! I can't keep pretending that was all okay!"

"But you didn't." Fingers reached out and touched hers. Hypatia turned to see Vasco smiling reassuringly at her. "Alexandria, the days I spent a captive of that…monster…they were the worst days of my life. But that's not you. I know you. You could never have done that, so I can't possibly blame you for it. Understand? It's not your fault."

Hypatia gulped.

But it WAS me, that's not—

No. It has to be. It's gone, that's it, it's over—

You can't just put things like that back in the bag and pretend they never—

WATCH ME.

"Of course." She said, forcing a smile. "Don't worry. Grim Alex is gone for good."

"EMILY!"

"CORVO!"

He was here, he was dishevelled and blurry and monochrome and alive and Emily crashed into him as hard as she could, wrapping her arms around him and holding on for dear life.

"Thank the Void she didn't get you." Corvo breathed, hugging her right back. "I don't know how long I've been in here, ever since she froze me it's been hard to stay lucid, never mind keep time. Are you alright?"

"No. No, absolutely not." Emily sobbed, burying her head in his chest. He still smelled the same, of leather and sweat and Dunwall (even if there was an undercurrent of stone there that she tried her best to ignore). "But I'm alive. I'm alive, I'm free, and I'm fighting."

"That's my girl." Corvo squeezed, then brought her out to arm's length, looking her up and down. She took the opportunity to do the same, and her initial suspicions were confirmed. This was Corvo, but only a limited expression of him. The shadow of a dreaming man, glimpsed through murky water.

His focus, however, lingered on her obsidian arm. "Is that…"

Emily manifest the twin-bladed knife again. "Don't worry, its much worse in the real world."

"That's a reason to worry."

"Whoops." She tilted her head at him. "I'm considering trying to cut you free…"

"With that thing?" Corvo looked at the sword, and made that face that was the closest thing he ever looked to concerned. "Are you sure it won't just kill me?"

"No, which is why the considered response is not to." Emily sighed. "Not to mention it would probably just let you loose in Delilah's throne room…or am I a fool for assuming anything in here makes sense?"

Corvo cupped her cheek, meeting her eyes. "You're many things, Emily, but never a fool."

"I felt quite foolish when I lost my tongue."

"You what?"

"Long story." Emily reached up, covering her father's hand with her own. "I don't…I don't know how long I can stay here, I don't know if I can come back, I'm trying to decide what's most important to say—"

"You're alive." Corvo repeated. "And I'm alive. That's enough. If you need to, you can tell me the rest when you bring down Delilah and free me."

"Right. Uh, shit, what do I need to know—"

"Language."

"Fuck you, that's my line." Emily bit her lip. "Delilah. I've got most of the story from Daud, but, what do you know?"

"Mad witch with the Outsider's mark, thought she was entitled to the throne. Tried to use a ritual and a painting to put herself in your body." Corvo answered, diligently. "You know the painting of you that I gifted you after the rat plague ended? The one above your bed?"

"Delilah painted that?" Emily wrinkled her nose. "Remind me to burn it when I get home. And you never thought to tell me you did this?"

"I swapped the paintings and trapped her in a tree." Corvo answered, frankly. "As far as I knew she was dealt with, and I didn't want to burden you."

"Burden me?" Emily repeated.

"You were Empress of the Isles." Corvo pointed out. "I wanted to…well. Part of me hoped that the less we spoke of the Void, the less it would bother us. Clearly, that hasn't helped keep the Outsider away…"

"Partly my own fault." Emily grimaced. Corvo's words echoed the Outsider's from minutes earlier. Were it not for magic, Daud might never have killed the woman he loved.

Corvo's thoughts might have gone the same direction, because he narrowed his eyes. "Wait. You said 'Daud' told you. He's still alive?"

"Hanging on by stubbornness alone. Again, long story." Emily paused. "You worked with him for weeks. You got powers from him. Can I trust him?"

Corvo frowned, and was silent for a time. When he spoke, his words were hesitant. "I…understood Daud. He was an honest man, in his own way; would climb in through your window and kill you in the dead of night, but he'd never lie about doing it. He liked to think we were kindred spirits. 'You and I are not so different', and all that."

"And what do you think?" Emily asked.

"I think he's a man who's lost all purpose in life." Corvo said. "Or realised he never had one to begin with. It was something I saw in a lot of the Whalers, a lot of the Brigmore witches: They wanted power so they could have agency. But they never knew what to do with it when they got it."

"But you were different?" Emily pushed.

"Of course." Corvo's eyes were certain. "I just wanted you and your mother to be safe, and I'd tear the world apart to do it. What do you want, Emily?"

Emily felt a tugging in the back of her mind. She took a second to run her tongue around the inside of her mouth, then sighed. "I want my damn house back."

She closed her eyes, and opened them in her cabin in the Dreadful Wale. Her arm and tongue were gone once more.

"Aramis Stilton." Billie pinned a picture of the man to their conspiracy board. A proper silvergraph, notably, not the sketches or newspaper cuttings used for the others. "I've already told you all everything I know about him. Good man, supposedly been locked in his manor for years, nobody's seen hide nor hair of him in that time."

Emily scrutinised his face, naturally suspicious of anyone Billie called a friend, but he seemed perfectly genial.

"And three years ago, Delilah came back to life in his house." Thomas said, his feet up on the table. "If we wanna know how, we gotta get in. Oh, by the way!"

He snapped his fingers at Billie. "All that talk back in the Conservatory. You were with the Brigmore witches for a bit, right?"

Billie nodded, crossing her arms. She seemed remarkably at home with the bony, shadowy limb that her bond with Emily had granted her. "I was. Sold Daud out for her when I thought he was getting weak, then Corvo and Emily came in and rendered everyone's scheming meaningless. But I've already shared all my useful intelligence."

"Great, that's all I needed to hear." Thomas turned and snapped his fingers at Emily. "I want my fifty coin back! And another fifty on top, besides."

When she gave him a confused look, he clarified "I bet you she used to be a Brigmore Witch. I was right, pay up!"

Emily rolled her eyes, and stretched her shadow-arm over to the satchel she'd carelessly tossed aside the night before. Pulled out one of the gold bars from her vault, and dropped it on the table in front of Thomas.

His eyes went wide.

"Well, that would have been good to know about when I went food shopping this morning…" Billie muttered. She rapped her knuckles against the board to get their attention back. "Anyway, getting in may not be easy. The entire dust district is a powder keg right now. Paulo and his Howler gang are practically at war with Vice-Overseer Byrne and his Overseers in the area."

"Do either of them like us?" Thomas asked.

Emily shook her head.

"You don't make many friends, do you?"

She threw a wrench at his head.

"And it gets worse." Billie said. "Apparently, the entrance to Aramis' manor is locked."

"Oh no…" Thomas caught the wrench with one hand, using the other to slap into his own cheek and then move to cover his mouth. "A locked door! How could we possibly overcome this obstacle—"

"It's a puzzle door." Billie sighed, "As far as I've heard there's no other way in."

At the word 'puzzle', Emily's eyebrows shot up, and she grinned.

"Yeah. And three guesses who made the damn thing…"

Jindosh was working at his desk when the head of a clockwork soldier landed in front of him.

He scrambled backwards, taking what he'd been building and shoving it in a drawer before turning to the door with wide eyes.

It was the Kaldwin girl, because of course it was.

"Your majesty." He waved a hand and dipped his head. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He glanced at the head she had thrown at him. "Are you just showing off that you destroyed another of my machines? Yes, well done, I know how competent you are at violence."

In response, Emily raised a hand in a fist. He flinched backwards, but then she started raising her fingers individually.

0…1…1…2…3…5…ah.

"Took a trip to the bank, did we?" He asked, snidely. "How amusing that they let you through the doors. I'm impressed that they actually managed to work out the locks on the safes, however. I've been waiting for months to see if they dared to ask me for it."

'They didn't.' Emily replied, writing the words out on her palm as usual. Strictures, her handwriting is appalling…

He squinted, then chuckled. "Oh, come now. Are you trying to tell me that you solved it?"

'Each number in the sequence is the additive product of the previous two.' Emily answered, raising an eyebrow. 'It wasn't a very clever puzzle.'

"Yes, and I'm sure you worked that out by yourself in an hour while they—" Jindosh cut off, when the last part of that registered. "I'm sorry, 'wasn't very clever'?"

'All you gave them was that it was a sequence where the numbers were formed from previous ones. That's basically every sequence.' Emily mimed underlining the words. 'It was pure guesswork. I was lucky the first safe clicked when I got it right so I could rule them out quickly; there's only so many sequences that follow 0-1-1.'

Emily looked distinctly unimpressed. Jindosh didn't like it.

"It was a joke." He huffed. "It wasn't a challenge. Yes, fine, you solved it, well done. You're not impressive, if that's what you're—" He paused, and smiled. "Ah, that's what this is. You're showing off your intellect. Trying to get me to reconsider your offer. It's cute, really, but it's not working."

Emily stared at him. Then, 'I'm going to Aramis Stilton's manor.'

Jindosh couldn't quite repress the shiver that went over him, nor the memories of flashing blue lights, warping walls, and twisting vines.

"Ah." Was all he said.

'You were there.' Emily continued. 'You know what happened. I'm willing to give you a lot (on top of, as a basis, not throwing you in prison) to explain what happened.'

"Delilah will know it was me who blabbed, she'll kill me." Jindosh said.

'Not if you tell me how to kill her first.' Emily said. If she even noticed that she'd just spoke of breaking her aversion to murder, it didn't show on her face. 'And whether I get my answers from you or from the manor, she'll probably kill you either way.'

"Goodness, I suppose you're right." Jindosh sighed theatrically. "Well, that's me scuppered, I suppose I'll have to—Oh, wait! But you won't get in! Because the lock I built to seal that manor is a challenge, and there is no way you will ever be able to crack it."

'Yes I will.' Emily signed.

"No you won't."

'Yes I will.'

"No you won't."

'Yes I will.'

"No you—this is infantile!" Jindosh scoffed. "That lock was made for geniuses. Sokolov, maybe, if the old man didn't fall asleep halfway through solving it. But I'm sure none of my lesser at the academy could do it, Breanna couldn't, Delilah couldn't, you certainly couldn't!"

'So if I did?' Emily asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jindosh shut his mouth. Glared at her.

"…I'd have to see it." He hedged.

'Then come along.' Emily offered. 'Watch me solve it.'

Jindosh bristled. The part of him that he had tentatively labelled as his common sense said that this was a bad idea. But at the same time, this was a challenge to his intellect. A flagrant, unapologizing challenge, and with that smug smile on the bitch's face.

"…Fine." He said. "I'll come. I trust you won't object to me bringing some packed meals? I suspect you are stubborn enough to keep trying for hours before you give up, and I get peckish easily."

Emily grinned, the black cracks over her lower face stretching viciously. 'Be ready in three hours.' She signed, before turning and walking away.

Jindosh waited until her footsteps receded before sitting back at his desk, and slowly reopening the drawer he'd hastily slammed closed.

A quick inspection revealed that the device inside was, thankfully, still intact. He picked it up and stuffed it inside his blazer.

Honestly. Leave an inventor alone in the belly of a ship for days. What did you expect me to do?

Treavor Pendleton straightened his cravat, and tried not to gulp.

"You couldn't possibly be scared, now, could you Treavor?" Asked one of the Boyles, stepping up beside him. Lydia, probably. In truth, he'd never been able to tell the sisters apart even when they weren't wearing masks, but Waverly was in jail and Lydia had always been the one most inclined to sass and flirtation.

Is she in jail? Burrows and Campbell both died of natural causes years ago, but last I checked Waverly was still in Coldridge. Then again, last I checked was before Delilah took over the city.

"Utterly terrified." Treavor admitted, turning to her. "But there's a small legion of city guard in and around this building. And in any case, I wouldn't be aristocracy if I didn't know how to mask fear, now would I?"

Lydia tittered. "Always the consummate gentlemen. Emily's empire would have collapsed a decade ago if it weren't for you."

She stepped past him, taking her seat.

Dunwall's house of lords was a very busy, very nervous place. Representatives from most of the prominent nobles in the city were present, and none of them looked all-too-happy about it. Some were angry, some were afraid, some were apprehensive but hopeful. Treavor had been in contact with most of them over the last few weeks, and could have guessed what each and every one was thinking.

"Why do you think Delilah's called a parliamentary session?" Lydia asked the titular question.

"To kill us all?" Treavor responded, blithely.

"Oh, ha, ha." Lydia rolled her eyes. "Don't be absurd. She needs us."

"She does?" Treavor's nose curled. "Could have fooled me. Five hundred men died in the attack on Dunwall Tower and she's not left since."

"Five hundred men who attacked her." Lydia pointed out. When he turned to give her a sharp look, she raised her arms, saying "It's a tragedy, I agree, and I understand your anger. But let's look at it objectively. If she just wants to run her cult out of Dunwall Tower, then fine. Find Emily and she can reign from some other fancy mansion. But if Delilah wants to rule, she requires our co-operation. Unless she would like to personally manage, say, the allotment of berthing spots in the harbour to different trade ships, and a thousand other such technicalities."

She gave a crafty smile. "We have power here, and Delilah knows that. Why else would she be coming to address us?"

Treavor scoffed. "Yes, perhaps she's here to announce that taxes are being halved under her rule."

They didn't get it. None of them did. Had they forgotten how many of the nobility at Jessamine's anniversary had been butchered?

Delilah was insane. But maybe she really would be willing to negotiate with them. If she made a few concessions, granted the aristocracy some more power, relaxed laws Emily had fought tooth and nail for, but meant nothing if you didn't actually care about your subjects...

How many nobles, Treavor wondered, would simply shrug and go back to business as usual?

A rumble and a creak, and the chatter cut out in an instant. The doors at the end of the great hall were shoved open, and…she emerged.

Delilah looked immaculate, in a long flowing dress that Treavor thought he recognised from Emily's own wardrobe. Her stride was as leisurely and confident as her smile. She was beautiful, if you were into the kind of woman that would stamp a heel into your skull and twist.

Two of her witches (dressed much less appropriately for the occasion) flanked her as she moved into the middle of the room, and two more waited by the doors. Treavor's hands tightened on his seat.

"Loyal citizens!" Delilah greeted them, raising her hands. She looked to the big pulpit at the end of the room, and paused, tilting her head. "Where's the guy? The old guy with the silly wig and the hammer. A few decades ago I snuck in here and saw one, I'm sure there's meant to be one of those."

Nobody said a word.

Treavor groaned internally, and stood up.

"You killed him." He declared, trying not to wince as eyes all across the room turned to him. "When you attacked Dunwall Tower and put every guest you found to the sword."

"Oh, right!" Delilah rapped her knuckles against her forehead. "Ah, sorry, my bad. You haven't got a new one since then?"

"The speaker of the house is elected by the Empress." Treavor said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, well that makes things easier." Delilah pointed at him. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

She doesn't even know who I am? Well, that might make this easier. Might explain why she hasn't already sought me out and assassinated me.

"Treavor Pendleton." He said.

"Hi Treavor! You seem confident, you'll do. Get on over there!"

This was, approximately, the fourth most absurd thing that had ever happened while Treavor was in these halls. But he worried that if he brought up the time Emily had appointed Alexi Mayhew 'honorary empress' and took a nap in the middle of court, Delilah would just try to one-up it.

Instead, he rapidly began debating the pros and cons of accepting Delilah's offer—

But didn't get the chance to respond. A hand clamped on his shoulder, and his surroundings vanished.

He choked and yanked himself away, turning to see one of the witches cackling at him before disappearing again.

It was only decades of training to keep his face straight that prevented him from throwing him up at the teleportation. He looked around, and found (without much surprise) that he was now the one in the pulpit. Delilah was staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

Oh, fuck it.

"This court is now in session." He declared, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. "Delilah Kaldwin—"

"Empress~" She emphasised.

"—you have the floor."

Delilah shrugged, letting the point go, and turned back to the seats.

"So, I've heard profits are down this quarter. What's up with that, huh?" She laughed. Nobody else laughed.

"Ah…for realsies, though, none of you need to worry. What happened to my dear niece was an...unfortunate accident."

"An accident." Treavor's voice was flat.

Delilah beamed. "Yes! I merely attempted to claim my rightful place, and she took exception to that, so I accidentally beat the shit out of her and froze her father."

"...And would you care to explain your massacre of the Overseers to the house?" Treavor asked, voice tight.

"I mean, in that case, they clearly started it, right?" Delilah spread her arms, with another small laugh. "And let's all be honest, who really gives a damn about the Abbey of the Everyman? Stuffy, religious lot. Frankly I've done you a favour here."

Treavor almost pulled his pistol out and shot her.

She turned away, continuing, "So, as for the purpose of my visit. I just thought we should all discuss where we're going to go from here! You see—"

There was a tap on Treavor's shoulder, distracting him from the performance. He turned, frowning—and stared. "Slackjaw?"

The old spymaster, mostly obscured from the crowd by the pulpit, jerked his head towards the side-door to the back of the room. "Fancy coming for a walk?"

"Pardon?" Treavor said, for lack of anything better.

"You, me, out that door." Slackjaw clarified. "Have a nice catchup."

"Why?" Treavor asked, looking frantically back at Delilah.

Slackjaw shrugged. "Well, cos I locked all the others. And I'm gonna lock this one in a minute."

"You—" Treavor's hands started to feel clammy. "What did you do? What's she doing?" Another look at the doors, "Where are the guards?"

"I locked some doors, she's talking to the government, and…you know, I think the city guard failed to get the memo." Slackjaw 'tsk'd. "Shame. Good for the Rhymes though, right? At least they're not getting caught up in this."

Treavor took a threatening step towards him, demanding "Mayhew you son of a bitch what are you—"

"I'd really come with me, if I were you." Slackjaw said, eyes hard.

"Go fuck yourself." Treavor spat.

Slackjaw's jaw worked. Then he shrugged. "Your funeral."

"So let me get this straight." Said Not Treavor and also Not Slackjaw and Not Delilah.

Lydia Boyle (who Treavor sometimes privately thought of as the only noble left with any balls in this country) had also gotten up from her seat, and was glaring at Delilah with crossed arms.

"The only reason you're here is to tell us all to shut up and do as we're told?" She checked.

Delilah paused to think, and then nodded. "Pretty much!"

That got an actual, vocal reaction from the crowds. Treavor hadn't been tracking what Delilah had said, but she'd somehow managed to piss off everyone in the room.

"You really have no idea what you're doing, do you?" Lydia laughed. "You have to give us something, 'Empress', that's how this government works. You can't run this Empire without us. You need us. Or would you rather we took all our wealth and manpower to Tyvia?"

Another upsurge of support, "Hear; hear!"s and foot stamps. Loud enough that Treavor barely heard the 'click' from behind him. He turned, and saw that Slackjaw was gone, the door closing.

Down in the middle of the room, Delilah had started laughing again. "Oh, I needed this." She sighed. "Really. You make a good point, lady whoever-you-are. The loyalty of my loyal subjects is very important. I can't rule this empire if I don't have obedient subordinates."

A smile ripped across her cheeks. "But I don't need those those subordinates to be any of you."

She raised a hand and flicked it, and Lydia died.

Time should have slowed, that would have given Treavor more time to process it. But no; Delilah flicked her wrist, and launched out a shimmering spine that stabbed straight through Lydia's skull, and that was that.

Still, he had until her body hit the floor before the screaming started.

Delilah attacked again and again, whistling merrily as she flung the projectiles into the desperate, scrambling crowd. The witches that had followed her in—and more besides—started appearing among the nobles, lashing out with blades or claws or magic of their own.

Treavor swore and drew his pistol, rushing to the door Slackjaw had fled through. He tried the knob. Sure enough, locked. Treavor knew he didn't have much in the way of strength, but he did have a gun, so he aimed at the edge of the doorframe and fired. The blast set his ears ringing and reduced that part of the door to splinters, letting him shoulder it open.

He looked out into the empty back corridors.

Grimaced, and darted back into the hall and all its chaos.

"THIS WAY!" He shouted, at the top of his lungs. "ESCAPE THROUGH HERE!"

A noble he barely recognised, Shaw, was being backed into the wall by a witch. Treavor took aim at her and fired, and when she vanished and reappeared nearby, turned and shot her again.

(His was an expensive pistol, and could fire four bullets before reloading.)

"Get up, man!" Treavor said, grabbing Shaw by the arm and pushing him towards the door. "EVERYONE, TO ME! YOU CAN—"

Shaw hadn't run two metres before a blast of magical energy struck him, silencing his desperate scream as his body froze into stone.

Treavor turned, saw Delilah, and fired again, but she barely even staggered as the bullet ripped a hole into her torso.

"Oh, look at you!" She said, batting his pistol away and (ever so gently) placing her hands on his shoulders. "You came back to help them! That's adorable."

"It's called having some fucking dignity." Treavor bit out, struggling. He couldn't free himself from her grasp, so he punched her in the face.

She rolled with it, and sighed almost wistfully. "You have a good heart, Treavor Pendleton."

Her smile grew wider. "I think I'm going to take it out of you."

His panic finally got the better of him, and he started screaming.

I'm back! Did you miss me? Did all two of you miss me?

The second half of the fic commences today, and will be updated weekly until its conclusion. I'm estimating something like twelve-fifteen more chapters.

Corvo's back! In a way. We can have a chat with him, at least. Expect more of him in this half...perhaps more of him than you'd expect. Mwahahaha.

And Delilah's still being fucking despicable, which is so much fun, even if it means brutally massacring my way through characters we've known for a fic and a half now. Whoops. Relax, I'm sure nothing else bad will happen to any main characters throughout the rest of this fic!