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“It has to be a trick, right?”
Halfway through his stew, Bryvas looks over to Mallor. She’s always been prone to conspiratorial tangents and so he can’t get too excited about whatever this latest one is. “What’s a trick?”
“Spider’s new guest!” Mallor says. She’s not so much sitting on her chair as perched on top of it, and Bryvas avoids her bony knee as he reaches for more bread. “It must be a trap. The prince was always cunning.”
A correction comes from Bryvas’ left as Tivic inserts himself into the conversation. “The prince was insane,” he says. “The Spider takes a big risk. What if he kills us all in our sleep?”
Unaware this was even a possibility, Bryvas tries to catch up on current events. “Why is there a prince here? What is he prince of?”
Tivic and Mallor sigh simultaneously, but it’s left to Mallor to explain, “Prince of the Awoken! The blue people?”
Bryvas glares at her. “I know what Awoken are.”
“Whatever you say, hatchling,” Mallor teases, and Bryvas’ scowl deepens. Sure, he may not be good at retaining information but he hasn’t been a hatchling for more than a decade now.
“Anyway,” Mallor continues, “the Crow-prince is clever. I used to be House Kings — I saw his treachery.”
Bryvas goes back to his stew. “Treachery?”
“He let himself be taken prisoner,” Mallor says, voice low and dramatic. “He let Craaskkel think he was in control and then boom! The prince and his demons slaughtered the kell and his archons. They even killed servitors!”
“But not vandals, right?” Bryvas asks. As long as any treachery takes place above his paygrade, he’s okay with it.
“The risk is not only treachery,” Tivic says. “I saw what happened to the Shore during the Prince’s rampage. No-one was safe from the fury of the Scorn. The prince went mad; people say he was even speaking with the dead.”
Bryvas brightens. “Oh, like Guardians?”
“What— No!” Tivic smacks him on the shoulder. “Not Guardians, you idiot.”
“I feel like you’re not appreciating the danger,” Mallor tells him. “What if the mad prince turns on Spider? Rumor is he’s a Lightmonger now too. Hard to kill.”
Leaning back in his chair, Bryvas peers past Mallor’s knee to where Spider’s new project is loitering in the hallway outside the break room. He’s skinny for a human, dressed in armor far more tattered than that of the shiny Guardians who often visit for bounties, and he tucks himself beneath the worn cloak bearing Spider’s sigil as though hiding from any Eliksni who passes by.
While Bryvas is hardly an expert in princes, this one mostly just looks pitiful.
“Are you sure you’re thinking of the right prince?” he asks. “Maybe he had a twin?”
Tivic’s head thunks against the table. “Bryv, you are the dumbest person I’ve ever met.”
“I’m just saying!” Bryvas protests. The maybe-prince glances in their direction at the noise and Bryvas gives him a cheerful wave. “He doesn’t look mad or treacherous.”
The bell chimes in the corner of the room, marking the shift change, but before Bryvas can get back on patrol duty, Mallor fixes him with an ominous stare. “I’ll remember that when he murders you.”
———
Much to Bryvas’ relief, he does not get murdered.
He doesn’t see much of the prince, who has now been dubbed ‘Crow’, despite looking nothing like a bird. (Bryvas would never say this to his face but Spider’s jokes aren’t great.) Their interactions are mostly limited to passing in the hallways between shifts but despite all Mallor’s prophecies, Crow seems more intent on keeping his head down and doing Spider’s bidding rather than wreaking bloody havoc across the Shore.
Of course, he’s new, and also not Eliksni, and so the introductory bullying goes on a little longer than it should.
It’s never anything major, not like the docking or ether-lack that Bryvas has heard about in other Houses. It’s nothing too different than Bryvas experienced himself either, before Mallor and Tivic took him under their wing — having food stolen, finding weapons mysteriously emptied of ammo, being pushed around by assholes who wish they were more powerful than they are — but that doesn’t make him feel any better about witnessing it as he walks home one evening.
Crow’s on his knees, purple-red blood dripping from his split lip as a captain towers over him. Bryvas doesn’t know the captain’s name but he’s large enough to make him think twice about interfering, and he ducks behind a stack of crates instead as the captain backhands Crow hard across the face with one of his upper arms.
Crow cries out at the impact but manages to keep his balance as he looks up at the captain. “I’m sorry, I don’t—“
Bryvas has seen Crow fight before. While he’s not as bloodthirsty as most of the Guardians who come by, he’s still decent with a gun, which makes it strange to see Crow not raising a hand in his defense when the captain hits him again.
From his hiding place, Bryvas catches the captain’s snarl of Pathetic which, while accurate, just feels mean.
Crow flinches back when the captain grabs the front of his cloak, but instead of any further violence, the captain just spits in his face and throws him to the ground. Crow doesn’t move as his attacker strides away and when Bryvas creeps over to him, he worries for a moment that he’s dead.
(Or dead again. Lightbearers are confusing.)
“Hello, dead thing!” he says cheerfully.
The new language feels strange in his throat but he’s been listening to Guardians run their strike missions; he’s pretty sure this is a friendly greeting.
Crow looks up at him — still alive! — but Bryvas gulps when he sees the fear in his eyes.
“Hi,” he tries again, this time in Eliksni. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. I know how much it sucks being new.”
He crouches to help Crow pull himself up to a sitting position — two arms seem so inconvenient sometimes — but when Crow’s breathing grows quick and shallow in terror, Bryvas opts not to touch him. Grabbing a scrap of fabric from his belt, he settles for wiping the spit from Crow’s cheek instead and then dabs at the blood running down his chin with a sympathetic chitter. “I’m sorry about that. People aren’t usually that cruel to new recruits.”
Crow blinks up at him, visibly confused. For a moment, Bryvas wonders if he just doesn’t understand the language (at least beyond offering apologies and pleas for mercy) but he smiles when Crow says in halting Eliksni, “Why help me?”
“I’m not sure showing up after the fact really counts as helping,” Bryvas admits. “But you seem nice enough. And hey, even if you’re not, you still don’t deserve that kind of treatment.”
Crow moves to stand, holding onto a nearby crate for support, and Bryvas watches with concern. He winces as he raises a hand to a purpling mark on his otherwise-blue cheek but he doesn’t seem like he’s about to fall over again, so Bryvas decides it’s a good sign.
“Thank you,” Crow says. “For help.”
“Helping,” Bryvas corrects. “And you’re welcome!” He dips in a greeting bow. “I’m Bryvas.”
Crow returns the bow. He’s still more unsteady than Bryvas would like. “Crow. I—“
He lets out a sharp, whooshing noise through his little human mouth.
Bryvas yelps.
“Sorry,” Crow says, holding his hands up. “I— It’s just a...” He trails off, clearly searching for the right word in Eliksni, but settles on his own language. “Sniis.”
He makes the noise again, sniffling after he does so, and Bryvas clicks in realisation when he peers close enough to see the faint red dust on Crow’s clothes. “Rykor powder! It’s a prank — someone has put it on your cloak. It makes Eliksni itch but I guess it makes Awoken do that?”
He gestures vaguely to Crow’s face but smiles when Crow nods in seeming comprehension. “Thank you,” Crow says, “again. You’re kind.”
Bryvas shrugs, embarrassed. “My friends were nice to me when I joined the Spider, so I want to be nice to other people. It’ll get easier, I promise. People won’t always be so mean to you.”
Crow’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine. I’ve had worse punishments.”
Bryvas eyes him with sympathy. He rarely works directly for the Spider himself, instead reporting in to Avrok or Arrha, but he knows of his ruthlessness. “Did your shift finish?” he asks instead. “I was going home but I can stop for a drink at The Tank if you want company?” He winks with two eyes. “I have good knowledge on the drinks to avoid.”
Crow smiles, more sincerely this time. “I need that. But my, uh, shift isn’t finished. I have tasks to do for Baron Spider.”
“Next time then,” Bryvas promises. “I will buy you a drink!”
Crow nods, looking stunned. Confident that he isn’t about to keel over, Bryvas bounds off in the direction of home with a wave back in Crow’s direction. “Have a good night, Crow! You’re way less scary than people said you’d be!”
———
A couple of months later, when Bryvas watches Crow go toe to toe with a furious ogre, he revises his opinions of how scary Crow is.
Even from where Bryvas is hiding behind a rock, Crow’s a sight to behold. He moves like lightning, disappearing and reappearing in flashes of solar energy as he darts beneath the ogre’s flailing arms, and that same golden light seems to fill him when a glowing gun appears in his hand.
Bryvas has seen Guardians fight before, has watched at a distance as their mysterious powers tear through the remnants of House of Dusk or clusters of thrall, but here in this small cave, he can feel the heat of it emanating from Crow’s body.
Crow is small in comparison to the ogre’s bulk, little more than a bug to be swatted, but as Crow stands tall and raises his gun, Bryvas would put money on him to win. The sound of the gunshots make his ears ring as he hunkers down against the cover of the rock, but he can’t help his grin when he hears the ogre’s corpse collapsing to the ground.
Across the way, Mallor cheers while Tivic exhales in relief, and Bryvas waits a second for his legs to stop trembling in fear.
“Is everyone okay?” Crow calls.
Bryvas’ sinuses sting with Hive magic but aside from some bruises, he’s far better than he has any right to be. “I’m okay!”
“That was too close,” Mallor says. “But we’re fine!”
“Fine? My leg—“
“Tivic’s fine too,” she says over Tivic’s protest. “He sprained his ankle dancing on a table last week. Looks like running from an ogre aggravated it, who knew.”
Bryvas can almost hear Tivic’s scowl. “I was not dancing—“
Leaving the two of them to bicker as Mallor helps Tivic limp out into the sunlight, Bryvas scrambles down from his hiding place to join Crow in retrieving Spider’s waylaid shipment.
He half-expects Crow to look different now, for him to be taller or broader or still ablaze with otherworldly power, but as he wipes his ichor-stained hands on his cloak, he’s still the same short, skinny, gently-glowing Crow as always.
He is kind of a mess though, breathing hard and caked with sweat and blood, and Bryvas gestures to the tear in the side of Crow’s armor as he says, “Ouch. Did it get you?”
Crow’s ghost appears out of nowhere, swooping down to mend the burned skin, if not the torn fabric, and Crow smiles beneath his hood. “Glint’s on it.”
The ghost bobs in a makeshift wave. “Hi, Mr Bryvas!”
Bryvas beams. “How’s it going, buddy? You getting your pal here all patched up? He took a couple of bad hits from that ogre.”
Glint’s iris contracts as if in thought and he says with determination, “Nothing that can’t be fixed!”
His attention focuses again on Crow’s injuries and Bryvas looks back to Crow himself as he says, “You were really good in there. I’ve heard of ogres wiping out whole skiffs; I didn’t think one little lightbearer could take one down.”
Crow’s smile widens. “I had help,” he says, which is a very generous description of Bryvas, Tivic and Mallor’s contributions to the fight. “Also I’m not that little.”
“You are very small,” Bryvas teases, drawing himself up to his full height so he stands a head taller than Crow. “Tiny short bird.”
He gets a swat on the lower arm for his efforts but Crow laughs as he bends to yank a crate out from under a crust of Hive growth. “It’s not my fault you Eliksni store everything on high shelves.”
“You’re lucky you’re so good at jumping,” Bryvas says, moving in to take the crate from Crow.
The ghost disappears, his work done. Up close, Bryvas can see the skin along Crow’s chest is healed as expected, but Bryvas hums at the visible ridges of Crow’s ribs beneath his torn armor. His knowledge of human anatomy still isn’t great but after so much time working with Crow, he’s pretty sure he’s getting thinner each time he sees him.
“Hold on,” Bryvas says, setting the crate down and feigning a yawn. “I don’t know about you but I could use a break.”
Crow hesitates, already halfway through extracting the next chest. “Spider told me to be back by sundown.”
“We will be,” Bryvas promises. “But I was just in a small cave with a big ogre — I need a couple of minutes to emotionally recover.”
He’s pleased to see Crow smile again, resting against the crate for a moment. They both uncork their flasks — ether for Bryvas, water for Crow — and after taking a long hit, Bryvas digs in his backpack for his supplies.
“Here,” he says, tossing a wrapped package of jerky in Crow’s direction. The catch is more out of instinct than anything else and Crow looks up at him in confusion. “You look like you could use a snack.”
Crow frowns, stunned. “I don’t—”
“Just eat it,” Bryvas says. “Or toss it out if it’s not your thing — I got plenty more. I’ve been working on different methods of seasoning in my downtime.”
Crow stares at him like Bryvas has just given him a priceless gemstone instead of some dried meat. However, hunger soon wins out over pride when he tucks his flask away and tears into a strip of the jerky like he’s starving, and Bryvas turns away to give him what little privacy he can.
He doesn’t know all that much about Crow’s deal with Spider but as far as he’s concerned, it feels unfair that a guy who can take down an ogre single-handed isn’t even allowed a decent meal.
(Although, when he pictures Crow’s glowing gun being aimed at Spider’s face, it isn’t hard to guess why.)
———
“I’m a generous man,” Spider says. He descends from his throne like a predator stalking closer, and Bryvas tries not to whimper as he bows lower on the ground. “Patient too. But it seems you all have decided to test the limits of both these virtues.”
Bryvas’ head still aches from the blow he took the last time he tried to speak up and so he clamps his mouth shut as Spider paces in front of them. He’s bigger in person, looming over them as they kneel before him, and to his right Bryvas feels Mallor shiver in fear.
“Now,” Spider continues, “if you have a reason why I shouldn’t have Arrha cut off each of your arms and beat you to death with them, this would be a good time to share it. You’re certainly all worth less than the cargo you lost for me.”
Bryvas gulps, eyes fixed on the floor. His guilt almost outweighs his terror — it was his screw-up, his idiotic failure which led to their ambush and the loss of Spider’s goods — and nausea rises in his gut as he forces himself to summon up the courage to admit it.
He doesn’t want to die here but he can’t bear the thought of his friends dying too for his mistake.
“Sir, I—“
“It was my fault,” Crow blurts out before Bryvas can finish.
Bryvas’ head snaps to the side, where Crow is kneeling on his left, but Crow’s gaze is fixed on Spider as he says, sounding as terrified as Bryvas feels, “They didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one on watch; I didn’t notice House of Dusk approaching.”
Too scared to look up, Bryvas watches Spider’s feet as he moves to stand in front of Crow. “You’re usually such a nosy little bird,” Spider says, suspicious. “What changed?”
What changed is that Crow is lying — Bryvas was on watch, not him — but he keeps his head lowered as Crow clings to his story. “I- I was careless. We found some new weapons and I was testing one instead of paying attention. I’m sorry, Baron Spider.”
“Sorry?” Spider echoes, furious. “You worthless little...“
Out of the corner of his eyes, Bryvas sees Spider’s huge hand close around Crow’s throat. Crow is hauled upward, to his feet and then higher, until Bryvas can just see his boots dangling above the floor as he chokes and struggles.
Guilt sears through Bryvas’ chest, sharp enough to make his eyes blur with tears, but cowardice and fear keeps him from speaking up as Spider snarls, “You stupid, pathetic parasite.”
Each word is accompanied by a punch, one of Spider’s lower arms driving into Crow’s stomach, and Bryvas closes his eyes when Crow cries out in pain.
“Baron, please,” Crow begs, “I’m sorry, I—“
“Oh, you will be,” Spider promises.
Another blow and Crow drops to the floor at Spider’s feet, winded and gasping for air. Bryvas itches to reach for him but fear stays his hand when Spider paces back in front of him.
“The rest of you, get out,” he thunders. “You’ll get no ether rations for three days but be grateful I don’t skin you all alive for your failure.”
“Yes, Spider,” Tivic stammers. “T-Thank you, Spider.”
He bolts out of the room, Mallor hot on his heels, but as Bryvas scrambles to his feet, he hesitates when he sees Crow still slumped on the floor.
Spider growls low in his throat before Bryvas can even form a question, and self-preservation wins out over bravery as Bryvas ducks in a frightened bow. “I’m so sorry.”
He runs before either Spider or Crow can say anything more.
———
It takes hours for Spider’s rage to burn itself out.
While Tivic and Mallor (wisely) put as much distance between themselves and Spider’s safehouse as they can, Bryvas tucks himself in a storage closet nearby to wait. He’s too fond of all four of his arms to intervene but since Crow is getting hurt on his behalf, he figures the least he can do is stick it out and be there to help him afterwards.
Unfortunately, that doesn’t make Crow’s screams any easier to listen to.
By the time Spider strides out past his hiding place, muttering something to Arrha and Avrok about getting a crew to track down his missing goods, Bryvas’ legs have gone numb. The rattle of the ether pipes covers his wince as he unfolds himself and slips out into the hallway, and when he sneaks through the throne room, his stomach turns at the non-Eliksni blood that’s splattered across the floor.
He’s seen Crow die a handful of times while out on missions but as he follows the trail of blood to what passes for Crow’s quarters, he finds himself hoping that a clean resurrection is on the cards here.
However, when his gaze lands on Crow, it’s clear Spider hasn’t been that merciful.
His ghost flits above where Crow is lying on his makeshift bed, focusing its light in a clear effort to triage the most serious injuries first, and Bryvas can’t help the soft chitter of sympathy that escapes him.
Both Crow and his ghost flinch at the noise, tensing in expectation of further violence, and Bryvas holds his hands up as he inches further into the room. “It’s okay. It’s only me.” He swallows hard when he gets a better look at Crow’s face. “I, uh. I wanted to check you were okay.”
Crow drops back to the bed with an exhale that turns into a wince, and Glint’s shell spins as he chides, “You need to be careful with those ribs.”
“I know,” Crow mumbles, voice tight with pain, but he forces a half-smile when he looks over at Bryvas. “I’m fine. Nothing that won’t heal.”
Rationally, Bryvas knows that’s true, but the knowledge does nothing to make him feel any better at the state Crow’s in because of him.
“You didn’t need to do this,” Bryvas whispers, twisting his lower hands together. “I— You shouldn’t have taken the blame for me.”
Crow smiles. “Come on, it would’ve taken days for you to heal; I’ll be back at work in a few hours.”
“That isn’t the point,” Bryvas says. “You didn’t deserve this. I’m the one who fucked up — you didn’t do anything wrong.” The guilt seeps through him like acid and he scrubs a hand over his mouth as he stares at the marks of Spider’s hands around Crow’s throat. “Why did you lie for me?”
Crow’s shrug is weak and sheepish and earns him a scolding whirr from his ghost.
“You helped me,” Crow says quietly. “You gave me all that food a few weeks ago — I owed you.”
Bryvas stares at him, dumbstruck. “The jerky?!“ He takes a breath to collect himself. “You let Spider beat you half to death just because I gave you some spare food?”
Crow watches nervously as he moves closer, and Bryvas exhales in frustration. “Look, I’m grateful,” he says. “You just saved my life, and I’m still not certain I deserved that, but I didn’t give you that food because I expected something in return.”
It’s hard to tell beneath the bruises but he thinks Crow is frowning.
“I gave it to you because you were hungry,” Bryvas explains with a sigh. “Because I had plenty to spare, and you needed it. That’s just how friendship works.”
Crow blinks. “Friendship?”
Despite the awful tension of the last few hours, Bryvas almost makes a joke in response, but stops himself at the look of quiet amazement on Crow’s face. While he fits in well with them, Bryvas is reminded that Crow isn’t Tivic or Mallor, that he sometimes doesn’t understand things which would seem obvious to anyone else.
“Yeah,” he says carefully. “I mean, we’re friends, aren’t we?”
Crow’s hesitation is brief yet still enough to make Bryvas’ heart clench in sympathy, but he’s relieved when Crow finally nods. “I— Yeah. Friends.”
“Good,” Bryvas says. He takes another step closer, watching as the ghost repairs Crow’s broken leg, and he tries once again to rein in his guilt. “You rest up, okay? And don’t even think about coming back to work until tomorrow — the rest of us can cover for you until you’re fully healed.”
He would put money on Crow ignoring that request and showing up to work again as soon as he can stand, but he decides not to challenge it when Crow nods in agreement. “Thanks, Bryvas.”
“I should be thanking you,” Bryvas says. “I get why you did it and trust me, I’m beyond grateful to still have all my limbs, but I won’t ever put you in that position again. I promise.”
“It’s okay.” Crow’s expression is painfully hopeful as he looks up at him. “Like you said, that’s how friendship works, right?”
Bryvas doesn’t have the heart to correct him.
“Get some rest, Crow,” he says instead, reaching out to pat his non-dislocated shoulder. “We’ll be here if you need anything.”