Lucanis

Despite himself, Lucanis continued noticing Rook even when he fought against it. He wanted to blame Spite, but even his determined self-delusion didn't extend that far. The fascination was his and his alone. The demon had his own, separate interest in Rook, and Lucanis couldn't pretend to understand it.

He tried convincing himself that he only noticed her so much because he was a professional assassin. Noting a person's habits and tics was essential to a successful contract. But the things he noticed about her were the sorts of things he'd easily disregard with his targets.

The draw to pet every cat she passed; her voracious reading and persistent research into their foes; the quiet appearance of well-worn romances to the shelves (all with a tiny "LM" inscribed inside the cover); her preference for dark, fruity red wines; the dimple that appeared only on the left side of her mouth when she smiled. Lucanis noticed it all. When the rest of the tenants settled in for sleep, he would sometimes hear a quiet rustle in the kitchen, and he knew it was her from the footsteps alone.

One such night, he was blearily brewing another round of coffee when she slipped into the room. The whoosh of air and the tingle of magic grew stronger when the door opened, making his eyes itch, and the back of his neck prickled with awareness at the presence behind him. But Spite didn't thrash beneath his skin or hiss. The demon simply exuded contentment in the corner of Lucanis' mind he'd laid claim to.

"You're up late," he said without turning around.

"Or so we assume. Is that coffee?"

The weariness in her voice had a band squeezing his chest. "Si. Would you like a cup?"

"Only if you don't mind sharing."

"I wouldn't offer otherwise." He carried the cafetera and two mugs—certain to grab a dark blue mug with white flowers and no handle he knew to be her favorite—to the table. "Milk?"

She'd let her head loll back to rest against the chair, shaking it in the negative. "Just a bit of sugar, please."

He dropped a sugar cube into the cup, enjoying the easy silence. Save Neve, the others would have rapidly filled the space with nervous chatter. While he didn't mind, the rare respite with another person was a welcome change. Spite was calm, the Lighthouse was quiet, and he wasn't fighting. Peace wasn't something he was accustomed to. After making a name for himself, he'd been safe enough among the Crows (as safe as one could be), though he never let his guard down. That would just be foolish. In the Ossuary, there was no peace. Here, in the Fade with Rook, though, he knew he was safe.

It was terrifying.

When he slid the coffee to her, Rook cracked open one eye to peer at him. "The other night, you asked for time… Has this been long enough?"

"Yes, my head is clearer," he said, knowing full well she wouldn't press if he asked. "Though I would kill for a decent cup of coffee."

"This isn't decent?" She gave an exaggerated sniff and arched a brow at him. "Smells alright to me."

"My usual vendor wasn't open when I went. I'll pick up better beans on my next trip to Treviso. It will be like night and day."

"Have you ever killed for coffee?" There was no judgment when she cocked her head at him.

"Not today." Her snort of laughter was reward enough. Lucanis couldn't tell if it was him or Spite that warmed at the sound. "You have questions for me, so you might as well ask."

Rook assessed him for a moment before nodding, accepting his words at face value. And ask she did. She wanted to know about his capture, how he knew it was a set up. He could see her mind racing at his answers, tracing paths and possibilities that he knew only too well. He'd wandered those same paths for a year, examining every person who knew the details of the contract and compiling a list of everyone who would want him dead. It was both too short and too close for comfort.

When she asked if he wanted to work with her on this contract, he blinked. No one had ever asked if he wanted to work a contract. No client had ever seen him as more than a knife in the dark, a means to an end. He knew his job and knew that he was one of the best. He enjoyed the work. But in all his years as a Crow, no one had ever cared to part the shadows and see the man instead of the tool.

He chuckled a bit, opening his mouth to meet her openness with honesty. "When the First Talon of the Crows gives you a job, you do it. Especially if she's your grandmother."

"I see." The sad understanding—not pity, he noted, but sympathy—at his disclosure made something flutter in his chest. "Are there clauses for canceling a contract? I don't want anyone in this fight against their will—"

"There are plenty of reasons for me to work with you beyond the contract, Rook."

"Like what? You don't even know my name," she laughed, incredulous.

"I owe you a debt, for one." That line between her brows was back and he didn't like that he'd put it there. "For another… Down in that hole, the Venatori talked. They were certain—certain their Old Gods had returned."

Her brows rose at that. "The old dragon gods?"

"Two of them." He nodded his confirmation and settled back with his coffee, pleased to see her mind fast at work. The furrowed brow, the way she worried her bottom lip with her teeth—she was a general examining her enemy and slotting the pieces into place. She was a sight to behold.

"So… two ancient elven gods escaped from the Fade and cultists say two Tevinter Old Gods have turned up." Her dark eyes rose to meet his and his stomach clenched at the connection. "What are the chances that's just a coincidence?"

"Next to none." Lucanis allowed himself a grim smile and another sip of the substandard coffee. "After a year in that hole, I'm looking forward to stabbing a god or two in the back."

"Lilya," she said quietly. "Rook is a code name, as I'm sure you know. But my name is Lilya."

He could only nod at the confidence. "Thank you for telling me."

She nodded and hurriedly drained her coffee with a wince. "You're right, this is… not great coffee. We'll make sure the good stuff is always on our supply lists."

"Yet another debt I must repay," he teased, sipping his own coffee. "Mierda, that's bad. I notice you haven't asked about Spite."

The demon perked up at the mention of his name and Lucanis had to pointedly block that part of his mind. The creature was far too interested in Rook—Lilya—for comfort. He needed to be wary of that new development.

"From what I've seen, I'd say he picked the right name."

"He's stronger when I sleep, so…" Lucanis pointedly lifted his cup. "I try not to do it much."

Rook—Lilya, he corrected—shot him a wry look. "Yes, that sounds both healthy and sustainable."

"No one was in the Ossuary by choice, not even the demons. I learned to sleep less there," he admitted. "But we both did what we had to get out of there."

"If you're an abomination—" She shot him an apologetic wince at the word.

"I suppose I should get used to that." He hated the word, hated that it meant he was somehow less than he had once been—less human, less of a Crow, just… less.

"We really should find a better term and use it," Lilya challenged, chin tilting and eyes flashing defiantly. "If you share space with a demon, is there any chance you're a mage?"

Lucanis huffed ruefully and swirled his coffee. "I'm skilled with a blade, but, I promise you, without Spite, I have the magical talent of a brick."

She hummed and poured herself another cup of coffee. The steam curled in the air, scent mingling with the woodsmoke from the fire. "I can look into it, if you'd like. It never hurts to be prepared. Varric once mentioned mages splicing spirits into non-mages through blood magic—just one bit of madness from Kirkwall. Maybe that's a place to start?"

"There must be some difference between a demon deceiving their way into a body and being forced into one," he agreed, brows shooting up at this insight. "Only Zara knows for sure, and I want to take that away from her."

Lilya stole a glance at him before her gaze darted down to her drink. "I admire you, you know. What you've been through would break most people."

He leaned back and simply said, "I would not allow Zara the satisfaction."

"Still, you must be a very courageous man."

Was it his imagination or were her cheeks turning pink? If they'd met before his captivity, Lucanis knew he'd have eventually become infatuated with her. It would go nowhere and be exactly the sort of thing Illario gave him so much grief for. A relationship was more than he would offer anyone regardless of any distant pangs of loneliness. He could die, they could become a target for his enemies, it could make him weak. Never mind that he was often away for weeks or months at a time on one job or another—the list of reasons to avoid entanglements was endless.

But he was different now than he had been. How could he not be after a year of imprisonment and torment? He doubted anyone could seriously want him after that, much less that he had anything to offer. Whatever his bravado, he knew he was damaged. That made it easy to dismiss her blush.

"A very stubborn one, perhaps. But that's… kind of you to say." She'd put him off balance with the compliment. He shook himself and moved to something safer. "Leave Spite to me in the meantime. If he's trapped in this world, he has good reason to fight for it."

She nodded at that, draining her coffee with a wince. "I can't argue with that logic."

"As it stands, I must honor our contract," he said, more to remind himself not to get too comfortable with her. She was a client, he was an assassin—they had work to do. "You chose a good time to hire me, Lilya. Gods, magic, politics… Things are going to get very bloody."

Rook, Neve, and Harding had slipped away to Minrathous on some business or other, leaving Lucanis and Bellara alone in the Lighthouse. It was… beyond awkward to feel her eyes following him and catching her worried looks from the corner of his eye. The elf was friendly enough, even if her thoughts often got ahead of her mouth, but Lucanis couldn't stand the combination of fear and pity she exuded whenever they were alone.

Luckily, Bellara seemed to dread the interaction as much as he did, at least without the others around to smooth it over. It drove her to hide away in her workshop, leaving him to his own devices.

He didn't mind the silence at first. It was nice. The lack of interruptions allowed him to mend his leathers and take care of his blades. Then he scrubbed the kitchen from top to bottom (for the third time). And then he organized the pantry (also for the third time). When even coffee didn't tempt him, Lucanis knew he needed a change. The Lighthouse was too quiet without the others. Quiet conversations through the wall, feminine laughter, and those little reminders of life were his new normal. Without so much as the wind in the Fade, the silence began to grate on his nerves. It allowed him too much space to think, and thinking always opened the doors to the darkest corners of his mind.

So he quickly dressed, hid no fewer than seven daggers on his person, and slipped through the eluvian. The Crossroads was simple enough to maneuver alone. He avoided antaam and demons easily enough—Spite's hissed warnings did most of the work with the latter—before stepping through another mirror into Treviso.

The first thing that washed over him was the sound. The city was alive, despite its occupation, and a welcome reprieve from the stillness of the Fade. Sounds of surf, terns, and voices from the streets below mingled into the sweetest cacophony. He was home.

Lucanis made quick work of getting through the casino unseen and took to the familiar tiled roofs of his youth. He scaled walls and leapt over gaps, doubling back a few times in case of a tail. If the Venatori were still in the city, as he suspected, it wouldn't do to let them get the slip on him. Again.

First, he stopped by the bank to see if his accounts had been liquidated or transferred by his grandmother. The man he spoke with was nearly speechless and stumbled over his words when he realized exactly who sat in his office. It didn't stop him from eagerly conveying that Caterina had not touched Lucanis' accounts, save to conduct a regular audit. Hearing that made his chest twinge. She'd kept some hope alive that he'd return. He didn't know how to reconcile that with the cold, brutal trainer, his unaffectionate, domineering grandmother. With a quick glance at the banker's sympathetic expression, Lucanis walled off those feelings. It wasn't the time.

Next, he went to the market to arrange shipments of food to the casino, to Teia from an 'E. Luvian.' It was simple enough to set up and a far cry better than subsisting off the scraps the Lighthouse managed to produce (though it did provide an overabundance of cheese, much to his confusion). He was convinced that Bellara would starve, Harding would poison herself, and Neve would die of scurvy if he didn't take ownership of the kitchen and pantry. Rook… well, he worried she'd die of exhaustion from mothering the others. Food was a necessity to keep the team running, and a little contribution he could offer to keep them alive and healthy.

He finished paying the last vendor and lost a possible tail in a crowd, taking to the rooftops once more. Spite didn't fight him, far too engrossed in the cityscape surrounding them and the blatant displays of humanity. The demon asked question after question, not leaving a beat for answers and not really caring. It was a welcome reprieve from the oppressive silence of the empty Lighthouse. Still, he'd never admit it. Spite would quickly turn to pride if Lucanis didn't keep him in check.

When he found the building he wanted, Lucanis quickly jimmied open a window and slipped into the shadows within. The space smelled the same, perhaps a little dustier, but the faint scent of sandalwood, cooking spices, and the oil he used to tend to his weapons was still there. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, familiar shapes took on more detail. His large, elegant bed with the plush mattress and sinfully soft sheets sat across from the large marble hearth. The armor stand stood empty beside a chest of drawers Lucanis knew housed a small armory. A large, ornately carved wardrobe loomed in the corner farthest from the hall door.

He quickly moved through the apartment, ensuring that he was alone, before returning to his bedroom. The room held some of his most prized possessions—the few he allowed himself with Caterina's strict teachings echoing in his ears. Lucanis opened a nightstand and fingered the well-worn copy of The Joyous Wyvern his parents used to read to him at bedtime.

'Attachments mean death.' Caterina's voice cracked through his mind like a whip. 'Sentimentality is a weakness you cannot afford.'

Lucanis allowed himself another heartbeat of feeling the soft, aged vellum before sliding the drawer shut once more.

She'd done everything she could to stamp out his youthful fascination with wyverns from forcing him into small, dark closets to having him kneel on rice grains and coarse salt for hours on end, to really drive the pain home. She'd done everything she could to snuff out any affection between him and Illario while preaching loyalty to the House and the Crows. If one erred, the other took the punishment. They would often try to break the other out—Lucanis more often than his cousin—and he knew Illario thought him a fool for it.

But Lucanis had known love, once. He'd known kindness from his parents. Illario… hadn't. It only seemed right that he experience it from one person in his life, even if that kindness had a price attached. Lucanis' back ached with the memory of exactly how Caterina's wicked cane felt against it.

As much as he resented her, as much as he'd hated her as a young man, he had to admit that her harsh methods were the only reason he'd survived this long. Without those painful lessons, the Ossuary surely would have broken him. He'd been driven by spite to survive—his grandmother, First Talon of the Crows, hadn't broken him, and he wouldn't give the Venatori the pleasure either. Maybe that had drawn the demon to him, provided the catalyst needed for their fraught alliance.

Whatever it was, his complicated feelings towards Caterina remained. He'd seen children coddled and spoiled by their grandparents throughout the world. He'd seen them shielded and protected. He'd seen grandparents treasure their grandchildren. It was possible for that to happen, it was normal, even. But he'd been born into the Crows, into the Dellamortes. Caterina didn't allow herself attachment and demanded the same from her surviving grandchildren.

With age came the realization that she might have been different, once. She might have been softer (but never weak) before death took more than its due. She'd lost her husband, lost all of her children and most of her grandchildren. Tragedy had a way of hardening a person.

But she'd maybe shown some affection, some attachment in the preservation of his apartment and maintenance of his accounts. Caterina, without ever voicing it or expecting it to be seen, had cared about him enough to do that. The woman who'd shaped him into a cold, exacting tool of death, who'd been a fixture in his childhood nightmares, still cared.

"Hurts. Like Zara hurt. Bruises and burns and batters," Spite mused, tugging and turning the memories like a child examining a new toy. "Family cuts deep. Twists. Breaks and denies and locks in darkness."

"Yes, even when it shouldn't," he sighed, staring at the drawer that housed his precious book.

"Shouldn't hurt? World hurts. People hurt."

"Caterina would tell you 'that's just life as a Crow.'"

Lucanis allowed himself another moment to ruminate on Caterina and the Crows. When the job was over, he would resume his role with the assassins. He fully planned to talk to Teia and Heir about continuing to find kinder ways to train the fledglings. No other children should go through what he'd been through—and he'd gotten off light simply because of his name. He knew there were worse practices in the other houses. Teia, he suspected, would happily help him end the last of the Crows' involvement in the slave trade. She was soft-hearted beneath it all, and he knew she'd agree. With her support, Viago would likely join the effort. It would take time, but he fully intended to bring the Crows into a new era.

Assuming he survived, of course.

That in mind, Lucanis pushed himself to his feet. He needed to pack if he was to be away on this job. The Fade didn't exactly provide clothes or the tools he needed to work. He quickly packed two bags, one of clothes and toiletries and the other of weapons, stole a few essentials from the kitchen (one never knew when they'd need their poisoners kit or an antidote), and began the trek back to the Lighthouse.