Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Daud ate well as Dunwall cracked around him, slumping and slipping down into the sea. The food was perhaps the smallest benefit of his profession, between the money he took in and the skills he had acquired, but why bother stealing bread and tinned whale meat when he could just as easily sup on wine and caviar?

He didn’t have a taste for the dishes of his homeland, never much had.

The decision had been purely tactical, when he’d decided to call the wasteland of the Flooded District both home and fortress, but Daud was not such a dullard that he couldn't see some poetry in it. Why pretend the cracks hadn’t always been there, even before they were visible? The obvious, perpetual decay that lingered on all shores, from sea to sea, and the knowledge of what lay at the end of all enterprise. The world was as the world was, why hide from it?

It could be beautiful, even so. Daud could stand on the rooftops and look across the crumpled buildings as the sun went down and every brackish pool and cove and watery grave for a dozen Weepers was touched with gold and splendor, and it was terrible and beautiful and no one needed to tell him of the Outsider, or the pathetic smallness at the heart of every Stricture.

A man could stand against that, if he wanted to. A man could build towers and walls and music boxes, and play pretend for all the hours of all his days.

The wood in the buildings was badly bloated, heavy and waterlogged no matter how many stories he walked above the submerged streets. Everything creaked and groaned in the wind, or when the tides came in and out, and the salt air was relentless, the windows scoured opaque, held together by welding that was little more than rust, a single touch enough to send it all caving in. The carpets at the highest floors still carried the echo of rot, the only way to avoid the smell to keep as much of a room as open to the elements as possible. Daud had done so with his own quarters, a way to keep him at his best should one of his own men finally decide to act, with little reason to worry about an attack from outside. The Flooded District was its own best security, he would hear anyone coming a quarter-mile before they got anywhere near him.

It was a damn stupid conceit, and Daud hadn't realized how much he'd actually believed it until he'd been in his office and felt that particular prickling sensation, the one that always told him when to have steel in his hand. He'd stood there for nearly a full minute, fingers poised to draw his blade, listening for the smallest sound from the floorboards or the slightest change in the room. A displacement of air, or the odd pull of gravity, that impossible shift in the light as everything ground to a halt.

He hadn't cast his gaze on a shrine for some time, though Daud doubted his lack of piety had any influence in either direction.

It had taken far, far too long before he realized his key was missing from the nail, and his pocket was that little bit lighter, the charm he'd kept there now gone off to give another the chance for better luck.

As if a man who'd caught the Outsider's eye would have any use for luck.

He hadn't said anything to his guards, and they'd kept on the watch for their escaped prisoner for days afterward, if only for the coin he would have brought. Daud knew the former Lord Protector was already gone, off to finish things with fools who'd thought they'd been clever. Who'd thought they could easily best the man who’d done all their work for them, and hadn't even bothered to cut his throat for good measure. Daud doubted they were bad men, or at least, not bad enough to keep from caring about it.

It was the problem with letting doubt and shame into the mix, in allowing regret to take hold. Those weren't just common feelings - no, they were smarter than that, more cunning and entirely merciless. Regret could slip in without warning and undo a man utterly, could disarm him so completely he would welcome death, and yearn for that balancing of the scales.

Daud had let Corvo keep the mask. If he'd wanted to make sure the man would kill him, though, he should have taken the heart. His men, his cutthroat band of the blackest of souls, each one of them touched by the Outsider's power - they hadn't dared to carry it, or even look at it, shying away as he'd drawn it from the pocket of what was left of the Empress’ bodyguard.

It had throbbed in his hand, clicking and shifting with a strange, mechanical purpose. He’d felt the beat of it pulse up to his elbow, as the former Lord Protector had groaned. Half-conscious at best, Corvo had strained in the grip of his men, trying to fight free with the look in his eyes the exact same as it had been in that timeless second before Daud had advanced upon the Empress.

He'd said he didn't know what the man fought for, or for whom. Stupid, really.

Daud should have flung the heart into the sea, if he’d wished for Corvo to give him no quarter. He was certain of that now. Of course, he'd been certain then that it wouldn’t matter, that things had already been well decided, and in a somewhere that was nowhere, the Outsider was paying close attention. Corvo would surely come for him, the mark on his hand and six months underground erasing any lingering differences between them, eliminating hesitations and sharpening all the edges.

It would be a wonderful fight. It had been a long time, since Daud had anything like a wonderful fight.

He'd heard and seen the full of what had been accomplished: the ravings of the fallen Lord Overseer echoing up from the streets below had been his lullaby for many a night, and there were whispers of the final fates of the brothers Pendleton and the Lady Boyle. Corvo Attano was not content with mere killing. He wanted more than simple blood for blood, so perhaps Daud should not have been as surprised as he was to keep the life he no longer had much use for. Sitting at his desk, staring at the nail where the key had been, sending his men out about their business while he waited to see what his end would be.

Had they been lovers, the Protector and his Empress? Of course everyone knew the rumors, but there were always the things that everyone knew. Everyone knew what a whale was for. Everyone knew what the Outsider was.

A whole world of children telling stories in the dark, blind and stumbling down what might be nothing but one long corridor, a hand against the wall and no idea where they had been or where they were going, only faster, faster…

Jessamine Kaldwin, by all useful accounts and his own observations, had been an exceptional woman in a difficult time, and Daud thought it spoke volumes of her to have sent her bodyguard away at such an hour, knowing what such a gesture would look like. A way to buy more time from a populace growing more frantic by the day, a way to underscore the seriousness of her plight to those she wished to petition. The Empress knew there was danger all around her, that it might easily cost her life to do as she had done, and she had done it anyway. Daud wondered what she might have changed, had she known what her decision would do to her Lord Protector.

Or perhaps that was what drove Corvo now, not a love for the Empress but the simple shame of failing at his duty, a matter of tarnished pride and responsibility. If things had gone to plan, if he had returned those few days later perhaps he would have nobly laid down flowers and just as nobly taken up at the side of the new Lord Regent.

Daud remembered Corvo's eyes, the desperation there. He’s killed many men, and they've died in many ways, few of them well and even fewer of them with any hint of nobility, but the Lord Protector - nothing former there, why had he ever thought it? - had been true, would have flung himself on the assassin's blade in an instant, to save the life of the Empress.

He could still feel the throb of that beating heart, pulsing all the way up his arm. Open hand, closed fist - it didn't matter, he never stopped feeling it.

A soft creak came in with the breeze, giving way to a sound like the surf against the shore, only louder and growing more so by the moment as another building surrendered to the sea, moaning like a dying thing as it collapsed into the water. Daud listened carefully for the sounds of screaming, of Weepers who could think no more but still felt pain. He would go out sometimes, or give the orders for target practice, to make an end of the ones they found. It had to be a mercy, he would have wanted it so. A quick, clean death, rather than twitching and vomiting all his insides out onto the street.

Daud made no apologies for the life he had lived or the deeds he had done, not a single one, and in turn he would not beg or plead or refuse to face his fate when it came. He was not surprised to hear that the Lord Regent had sniveled like a babe when they'd managed to rouse him, when he realized the guard had not come to help him and his pathetic days of glory - less than a year, barely even half that - had all come to such an end. Had Corvo spent all his vengeance there on that waste of a man? Had he seen Daud as nothing more than the blade and the Royal Spymaster the one to wield it? A thousand times a fool, if he had ever thought so, a noble gesture that would not be rewarded.

Outside, he could hear no cries of pain, no further sounds of destruction, only a few bricks and boards splashing into the water like drops from a leaky pipe.

It was quieter now all across his little kingdom, fewer bodies being dumped in the shallows, and more care taken in all the city's affairs. Every day, it seemed, Dunwall moved a little further from the precipice.

He'd received one missive in the days between the loss of his key and the end of it all - a note from the last remaining Pendelton, of all possible people, with an oblique reference to the price of his services. Daud hadn't bothered to find out if he had meant protection or assassination before throwing it into the fire. He didn’t care, content to wait and listen to reports as that quarter-assed intrigue finally came crashing down. It didn't take long.

Emily Kaldwin had been taken prisoner by the new Lord Regent, with the new High Overseer and Lord Pendleton murdered when they'd protested the sudden coup. The disgraced Lord Protector had been a hero all along, wrongly accused of his crimes, sweeping in to save the girl so she might rightly reign. Stories in place of stories, with the truth as an unnecessary side-effect, though at least these new tales had kinder ends. Havelock had been sentenced to execution at Coldridge, though there had been a few, even then, to speak up for him, and his sentence had been commuted to some far-off shore, never to be seen again.

Why cut a man down, why make it easy when you could bleed him a drop at a time? So Daud sat and waited, as the city rejoiced for the crowning of its true Empress, as the combined knowledge of the two best minds in Dunwall finally started to make headway against the horror of the rat plague – though they were calling it the Burrows Plague or even Hiram’s Horror, now. Not so long ago, there had been the suggestion of moving the seat of Imperial power out of Dunwall entirely. No one mentioned such things anymore.

He'd stopped with the caviar. It didn't taste of anything. It never really had.

Daud sat. Daud waited. One of his men finally sought to take control of the Whalers, and came at him in the dark, as if that would make any difference at all. Daud put the man’s head through the remains of a window and flung him, blind and screaming, into the waters below, or what would have been the water had the tide not been out. Very soon in Dunwall, they would have the resources to take a new look at the Flooded District, to build and drain and perhaps even reclaim the whole of it. It was of no real consequence. He had no ties and even fewer allegiances. Daud had put up in a dozen places, lived a dozen lives and he could live a thousand more before his time was through.

He sat. He waited.

He still didn't see it when the invitation arrived, a single moment’s inattention enough for the messenger to be there and gone again and why, why did he still breathe? The letter lay in the center of his desk with a quiet, modest splendor. The paper was flawless, thick and cream-colored, with his name ornately etched across the surface, and a single line within.

Her Serene Highness, the Empress Emily Kaldwin, requests your presence tonight at Dunwall Tower.

Chapter Text

Dunwall Tower shone like a second moon along the coastline, a beacon against the dark. Daud had been content simply to stare at the city’s skyline for a long time, wondering - Outsider’s balls - just what he thought he was doing. The wind played a little bit along the collar of the dress jacket he’d stolen for the occasion. His boots were even laced up properly, all the way to the top. A corpse politely tidying itself up for the pine box.

Daud wanted to burn, if he had a choice in the matter.

He had bothered to glance at himself in a shop window as he’d passed. Daud had never been handsome, and after years of the life he’d lived, it looked as if an angry and determined hand at the forge had used his face for the anvil. Ugly as ever, and he loved the way he looked with a surge of absurd vanity, his skin with the raw, scarred dignity of cliff rock, so weathered there was no doubting his endurance, survival or indifference.

Once, Daud might have been even worse with his pride, but he had seen long ago what timeless truly looked like. He had seen real power. The Overseers thought they knew all the reasons to be afraid - frightened of the spells of witches and terrors in the dark. A fear of death - but death was nothing compared to what the Outsider could do to a man, the slow corrosion of the soul that came from simply knowing he was real.

It had been years since Daud had seen even a hint of him, but how many hurricanes did a man need to find himself in the middle of, to ever give up the memory? How many shipwrecks, to forget the crushing pressure of the waves, of being tossed about in the void, with no sense of up or down. Even if a man might find himself rescued and safe back home, could he ever be the same man who had left? How could the world not feel forever changed, a little dimmer, a little less real than the memory of what he’d left behind?

The Overseers spoke of many things, though some quite grudgingly. The Outsider’s beauty was a particularly point of reluctance. Whatever devilish, siren’s form he chose, it was only to trick and tempt the mind, to bewitch and beguile the weak. None of them spoke of the look in those eyes, though, the limitless depths that glinted like lightning off a midnight surge of the storm, marking the very wave meant to pull a man under.

The only expression he’d ever seen on the Outsider’s face was an amused sort of pity, and if he was not beneficent there was no malice there, either. Except that Daud had been given gifts, hadn’t he? Granted power without a single string attached, and he could not look back and claim otherwise, that his choices had ever been anything but his own.

He could leave, right now. Daud could sail a thousand miles away, back to Serkonos or up to Tyvia or to the edge of Pandyssia and beyond, but at the end of that journey he’d still be right here. If he didn’t see the end of this, he’d be poised at the edge for the rest of his life.

Reaching the Tower was easy enough in the dark. Daud felt better with each step than he had in a long time, lighter and calmer as he became little more than a passing thought that flicked its way from rooftop to rooftop. He couldn’t remember the journey as it had been, the day of the Empress’ assassination, only that in his memories the light seemed much brighter than it possibly could have been, even at midday.

Daud thought he distinctly remembered the glint off a pin in the Empress’ hair, and that he’d wondered what she might look like when she let it fall. But he couldn’t have thought that, not until much later, with all his focus on finishing the task set down to him. Well aware his employer would have no issue with letting his corpse take the blame, should he dare a misstep.

One of his own men had gone down first, run through by the Lord Protector. The Whaler had managed to get himself off the property, but bled out not long after. Daud had heard Attano was good, and he had been, but of course they’d had an unfair advantage from the start. It had been a minor complication, to deal with the arrival of the bodyguard, but they were no amateurs. Adaptation was just another part of the job.

Daud hadn’t needed the money. Of course, he’d been subtly threatened - if one could call Burrows a subtle man - but if Daud could be cowed by such things he deserved to be run down like a dog. So why do it? Had he felt some small part of himself balk at the thought, and that had finally tipped his hand? Had he been so eager to do it just to prove to himself that he could, that he had never hesitated, that he was as he had always been - beyond such foolish moral considerations?

If Daud hadn’t taken the job, Burrows would have found another way. He’d been too far in the shit to do anything less. Eventually, he might have been panicked enough to even attempt the job himself, though Daud can’t imagine how that would have gone well. Royal Spymaster aside, the man was an imbecile, and the total collapse of his absurdly stupid plan had done nothing to sharpen his wits. It was a happy thought, imagining the bewildered look on the man’s stupid, dead face, though Daud did not usually indulge in such flights of fancy.

Hating the man had always proved a good distraction. Burrows, who had suggested every mode of homicide from poison to a swarm of rats in his rambling, half-coherent meetings. He’d been trying for authoritative but had come up manic instead, pretending to have a hold on his present situation when Daud could hear the disbelief, the awe there - that for all his power, he’d been absolutely gobsmacked at how easily and completely he had destroyed his life.

The Royal Spymaster had mused on the possibilities of malfunctioning spring razors in unsuspected corners, while Daud had imagined all the ways to murder him with his own office chair. It had ornate decorations. He could be very creative with ornate decorations.

The Empress had not looked at all bewildered when she’d died. She had known exactly what was happening, and her only thought had been to shield her daughter. All her fear for the girl, and then for her Lord Protector, with only a pittance left for herself, right at the moment he’d put her to the blade. Maybe that was what it meant to be an Empress, setting every other need before her own. Maybe it was a kindness, not to be afraid until it was too late.

It had been quick, impersonal, professional. He would have said she’d died instantly, but that was before he’d held that heart in his hand, before he’d returned it to Corvo’s keeping.

If he’d had it to do over, Daud would have done it exactly the same, and he never should have. He didn’t have the right, it should not have been allowed. Funny how he’d thought he was past believing in transgressions, let alone that he had any left to make.

It was no real challenge to break into the main building, though there were more defenses than before, and more than a few of the holes he remembered had been tightened up, more men on guard, nearly every inch of space lit to blazing. Daud grinned, imagined the Lord Protector had been thinking of necessary changes even as he’d scaled the walls, taking note of where to establish a better position even as he sought to remove the Lord Regent from it. He had always hoped he might respect the man who would kill him.

Now if only Corvo would stop making him wait for it.

Technically, he had an invitation, and all of this was just wasting time. He could have stepped up to the front door and asked for an audience. Corvo had proved himself innocent and seated Emily on the throne without ever naming the Empress’ true assassin. Daud had kept some rein on his reputation outside of certain circles, and there was a chance the guard might not even know who he was.

Or this was all a trap, with orders to execute him on sight and half the Abbey waiting in the wings. Daud hadn’t actually seen an Overseer so far, or felt the distracting, dismantling hum of those damned boxes - there weren’t even that many wolfhounds, and half of those he’d seen had been asleep.

He almost stopped at the overlook, with its fine columns and long view of the sea. The place they’d put her grave.

Daud hated himself for even thinking of it, because thinking but not going was no less sentimental, and hating himself for the thought did not change the weight of what he had never intended to carry, not by a single ounce.

Maybe he was just getting old.

A tallboy guarded the last portion of the entrance, and Daud watched it go back and forth and back again on its endless, uneven circuit. During the time Corvo had spent regaining his position, Daud had felt no particular sympathy for the Lord Protector, and he’d never had many feelings for his homeland, for good or ill. Still, the last time he’d gone on a mission and overheard yet another conversation concerning the man - “what did you expect, sending a Serkonan to guard the Empress” - he’d allowed the extra time while the guardsman suited up, crafting a proper tripwire for those spindly little legs. All it had taken then was a bullet in the proper place to send the man tripping over himself, before plunging into the sea in a flaming, fiery ball.

Daud usually preferred understatement, but there was time and place for all things.

Now was the moment for discretion and invisibility, as he made his way inside the Tower. Interior jobs were always tricky, fewer exits and the far better chance for his enemies to blockade and surround him. He was a very good assassin, but this was not at all the same as being invincible. Daud tried to avoid being trapped within walls whenever possible - maybe Corvo knew it, and was trying to… or perhaps his paranoia was giving the man a little too much credit.

Still, he couldn’t deny how little control he had over any of this, or how he should have cared more than he did that he was likely walking to his doom. He hadn’t brought a single one of his men along, let alone told them where he was going or why. Not that he knew the why. If the Empress wanted him gone, there were other ways to make it happen. If she wanted him dead, there were far more sensible avenues to pursue. Corvo wanted him dead, he was sure of that, but given the opportunity the man had picked his pocket rather than put a knife through his back. If he’d thought the Lord Protector was taunting him Daud would have chased him down and finished things, but that wasn’t what this was about. If Corvo was watching him now, he didn’t feel it, no sign of any traps laid in advance and no particular tension among the guards.

He was certain he would come to regret it, but damned if Daud wasn’t curious about what would happen next.

In the hall he could hear the sound of light conversation from a large meeting room. It was well past the time for regular meals but there was the clink of, perhaps, a spoon on china and the soft cadence of voices. One low, one higher, the both of them female. Daud shifted from the chandelier to the ground in an instant, leaning just enough around the door to see into the room. The Empress sat at the far end of a long table, with Waverly Boyle at her right, and a vacant seat at her left. No one else was in the room, no Overseers or guards, no Lord Protector.

Daud did not steel himself, there was no point to it, and he was not at all surprised at the thought that flashed through his mind. The Outsider, who serenely ignored all nonsense questions of good and evil for the main goal, the vital point of it all - that one must always endeavor to be interesting.

He stepped into the room, and both women turned to him as one. Lady Boyle’s eyes were curious and cordial, hiding everything.

The Empress looked exactly like her mother.

“If you would be kind enough to close the door?”

So he did.

-------------------------------------------------------

Emily Kaldwin burned like a star at the head of the table, the perfect match to her Tower, pure and shining. Adorned with a crown her mother had not been wearing, as if the trappings of power might substitute for age. It was a simple, silver thing, though those were no fivepenny krust pearls adorning its edges. The girl wore only white, and would likely wear white every day until the day she was wed, if not beyond. Daud felt a moment of sympathy for the suitor that would one day have to prove his worth for her hand.

So here was his answer, what the Lord Protector fought for, and who. It had never been revenge, just a happy accident that seeing the girl here and seeing his enemies struck down had been two birds with the same stone.

The room was well lit from floor to ceiling. No windows. No doors save the one he’d come in from. The Lord Protector’s absence was as tangible as if he’d been standing at Daud’s side - but where was he?

Esma Boyle had been the most striking and extravagant of the Boyle sisters, but Waverly Boyle had an elegance and charm all her own, with less of a penchant for passing out under the furniture at the end of the night. A ridiculous member of the family could be a liability in certain circumstances, but there were benefits as well. As long as all gazes and whispers gathered around one sister, the others could move about with some measure of freedom. It had been a bit of a scandal, Esma’s sudden departure from the social scene, and though the official word was that she had gone to see an ailing, distant cousin in Tyvia, the rumors of everything from plague to pregnancy had been thick on the ground. Daud knew where the woman had gone - or more specifically, where she had been taken - and he wondered if Boyle had come here searching for clues of her own.

The lady smiled at him, polite and reserved but with the slightest sparkle in her eye, as if to say that whatever he’d heard, she hadn’t set aside all debauchery in the pursuit of power.

“May I pour you a drink?”

Lady Boyle’s hands were already moving, the bottle opened and half a glass in front of her, which meant nothing except that she knew how to properly set up such a plot. The Empress drank tea.

Where was Corvo hiding, and to what end? It would take nothing if he wished to flush the man out. He could practically pick out the tile on the floor that he might reach, a little more than half the distance to where the Empress sat, before the Lord Protector would be on him. He wondered if the Outsider had spoken with Corvo since Emily’s ascension, if the Lord Protector had been discreet to all involved concerning those… special circumstances of his many victories.

The Empress watched him in silence, and he had no desire to meet her gaze. The girl hadn’t been the one to request his presence, certainly, so what was this?

Waverly had to lean a little forward on the table to pass the glass to him, a reserved wardrobe that still bore the required amount of skin, her décolletage a rather fetching sight, as it was no doubt meant to be. She noticed his gaze, and her smile was wry, their hands brushing briefly as she passed over the glass. He wondered if it was poisoned. Or if Corvo wished for him to drink and wake up in front of some faceless firing squad. Perhaps a bit of torture first? The young Empress didn’t seem one to enjoy the sight of a man on the rack, even her mother’s killer - but he’d been surprised before.

Daud sat down, and took a long drink, such suicidal recklessness still a better feeling than what he’d felt before coming here. The wine was a fair year, but he might as well have been drinking water for all that he could taste it. A few moments passed without fanfare, and no one seemed to be waiting for him to die.

“The Empress and I were speaking about the weather, before you came.” Waverly says, “It doesn’t feel much like the middle of the Seeds, does it? I believe it feels more like Wind. Wind and Darkness, though sometimes I can hardly tell them apart.”

“Indeed.” Daud had never been much for idle conversation, and had the distinct impression the woman knew it, and was pressing anyway. He felt a bit like a some great beast from the Continent, chained up and dragged from the jungle to be gawked at, but perhaps he’d only been too long with Weepers and Whalers for company. The Lady Boyle was testing the waters, not trying to provoke him. It would be good to know why.

She smiled again, as if they were sharing some private joke. “I imagine the Fugue Feast will be a thing to see, this year.”

If anything might prove as morbidly fascinating as Dunwall’s rush to the abyss it would be the city’s attempt to right itself again. Only a supremely foolish man would even wish to take control of a city in the midst of such crisis, and Corvo had certainly done his part to make sure all those men were dead or otherwise occupied. Still, there was the matter of an unstable Parliament and an Abbey yet undecided about its High Overseer, after losing two in such quick succession. It had been a hard-won victory for the Lord Protector, but Daud wondered if he had already regretted making the effort.

He took another sip of still-flavorless wine, his gaze fixed to the middle of the table. “Where is he?”

“On business,” the Empress said, and he looked up at that voice, nothing girlish in it as it echoed in the stone room, well aware of who he meant. She sat poised and expressionless, pale hands loose in her lap, her fingers barely touching.

Did she look like Corvo? Was the Lord Protector truly her father? Daud couldn’t see it, thought she took far more after her mother - but how much of that was his imagination, seeing what he apparently wanted to be tormented with? Before the last year had played itself out, he’d been fairly certain he no longer had an imagination.

“You should not have sent him away, your Highness.” Did the words sound as toothless as they felt? The Lady Boyle paled slightly, but Emily sat unmoved, her gaze flat and emotionless.

“Did having him near help the last Empress?” She replied with the shameless bluntness of a child, or the cold reserve of a girl raised to power, or a woman from whom Daud had already taken everything. What was he going to do, kill her? What could that possibly prove except that he was… whatever it was that had kept him up late into the night, throbbing in that empty place his conscience had never been.

“I came here at your invitation. If my presence displeases you, I can go. You will never see me again.”

The Empress said nothing, it was Waverly who moved - interesting, for the woman to make herself a handmaid now, though the opportunity was there for advancement, and even a Boyle might have some trouble making hay during an apocalypse. Whatever the city believed of Jessamine’s reign, the Lord Regent’s short time on the throne had been an absolute nightmare, and the Empress’ daughter was seen as a return to some kind of stability, the best hope for the future, if not the only one.

“You were hardly invited for a polite conversation,” Lady Boyle said. “Obviously you are a man of action, and we will not keep you a moment longer than necessary.”

The envelope she tossed down hit the table with a surprisingly sharp sound, sliding to a stop only an inch away from his hand. Daud didn’t move for a moment, not because he didn’t understand but because he now knew exactly what this was about. He’d done it too many times in too many places, some even as fine as this. It was his life, of course he knew what this was. It still took a moment to pick up what she’d cast down, and his hands didn’t feel at all like his hands, unforgivably clumsy as they unfolded the paper, the list of names, some familiar and others less so.

“You can’t possibly be serious.”

“We need information. We need to know what you know,” the Lady Boyle said. “I’ve given what counsel I can to the throne and I will continue to serve in whatever way I am allowed, but as you know there are many places in this world that ladies are not permitted to go.”

“What does she have on you?” Daud said, and he watched her flinch, saw the Lady Boyle’s smile go brittle at the edges as she very deliberately kept her eyes on him.

“I serve the Empress as a loyal daughter of Gristol, and citizen of Dunwall. If, in my humble labors I may bring about any progress for the Empire, or news of my ridiculous sister, I am honored to do what I can.”

“Where is he?” Daud growled, standing up with such force that he nearly knocked the chair back into the wall, turning a full circle where he stood. “Attano?! Where are you? This is absurd! Stop hiding behind these women and face me, now!”

The women in question watched him quietly and this time he did look to the Empress - a little girl, she was just a little girl and Daud damn well knew where authority came from and it was not from children no matter what they wore or how they thought to scowl at him. Power came only from the point of a knife, or the mark that burned against his skin and made him a terror of men and there was a price to pay for that, there had to be.

“I murdered the Empress for money. I killed your mother and I didn’t care. I don’t care. Now you are an orphan and you will sit on that throne and be cold and alone forever.”

Emily did not move or look away, but he could see the tight, thin line of her mouth, lips pressed together so fiercely they had all but disappeared, with her face nearly as pale as the dress she wore.

“I should be punished,” he said, and even as he did so Daud knew he was no longer making the rational argument, if he ever had been. He was begging, “I-“

I need to be punished.

He’d often wondered what other powers the Outsider had that he’d never bothered to pass along. He wondered what rules governed the world beyond the world, and how much the Abbey had figured true and how much they were simply grasping in the dark. It had taken him the better part of a year to learn to possess a bird, and Daud had quickly discovered what a mistake that was, for how little he’d wanted to return to the ground afterward. How no freedom had felt quite as total as how it had been to wheel through the sky.

Maybe that was how it was for the dead, that they had no reason to think of coming back. Maybe he imagined it completely, the imperious tilt of her head, and the knowing gaze that looked out just for a moment through the young Empress’ eyes.

“You are being punished, Royal Spymaster."

Chapter Text

Corvo had told her exactly what to say.

“You’ve been so strong, Emily. So brave. It… I am ashamed to ask for more.”

He fixed her collar, like always, gloved hands light and steady on her shoulders, but he still looked so thin, and strained, the same way Mother did when most of her thoughts were elsewhere but she was trying not to show it. He smiled when he caught her watching, but it didn’t get anywhere near his eyes.

“It’s going to be all right. Lady Boyle will help you. She’s been doing this her whole life. If you get frightened, just follow her lead.”

Waverly Boyle was Emily’s newest companion, appearing every few days right at the hour that she was ready to run and hide from another lesson or meeting or diplomat. It wasn’t quite clear exactly what Lady Boyle was meant to teach her, but they enjoyed long conversations and Waverly was always ready to offer up advice or sympathy as necessary, the way Emily had always imagined a sensible elder sister to be. She answered all sorts of questions too, especially the ones no one else would answer, and nothing in the whole world seemed to scandalize her.

Callista didn’t like her, although Lady Boyle hardly seemed to care, or even notice the other woman was there at all. Emily had been warned not to say too much, that as the Empress she needed to keep a close watch on her privacy, but there was very little that Waverly didn’t seem to know already. She knew all kinds of things, from how the ships were sailing to who had caused a scandal in which drawing room, and when the days were especially gray and grim she would bring along a book or two, stories of whalers and pirates and lost Pandyssian expeditions.

Callista knew those tales too, but since Emily had become Empress and the woman had become her official head tutor there was always some other matter to take precedence. Emily had always known being Empress would not be easy, but she had never imagined it would be dangerous and difficult and an endless, grinding bore, all at once.

Sometimes, the Lady Boyle stayed late to speak with Corvo in private. Emily wondered what they were talking about - if they were only talking, though that was a thought that made her blush even as she tried to unthink it. Waverly was pretty, and quite diverting when she wished to be, and many things seemed to make her smile. Did Corvo like her? Or was it more?

Love was too small a word for all it was forced to do, Emily had known that years ago. Love meant dashing rogues snatching their beloved ladies from the decks of flaming ships, sharing breathless kisses in midair as they swung away to freedom and perfect horizons - but that was just dreams, not reality. So love really meant honorable men and women keeping to quiet courtships in full view of everyone to avoid a scandal, and only when both sides might bring about a good match for the family. Emily would have to do it all herself one day, even if it seemed dreadfully dull. She barely remembered her own father - Mother had kind words in his memory, of course, but never any more than kind. It had definitely been that second kind of love.

Growing up meant setting aside the frivolous, the fantastical for what was respectable and real - or at least, Emily had thought so, until she’d been dumped in the Golden Cat, with walls so thin that listening in wasn’t optional. Emily had learned then how love could be absurd even without ships and swordfights, that the same men and women she’d seen standing soberly at parties, looking down on her for giggling too loudly or eating too many sweets - they were absolutely ridiculous when left to their own devices, drunken and half-naked even in the common halls. She’d peered through cracks in the floor here and there and mostly wished she hadn’t. The adults who laughed at silly romantic tales were the same ones who rolled around flailing and groaning for half an hour - at most - with women who cooed and gasped and then mocked them the moment they’d left, girls whose compliments and insults sounded identical, until it was impossible to say which were real, if either were. All make-believe of a different kind, lies that everyone told each other and no one seemed to care.

Callista went very red whenever Emily mentioned her time at the Cat, clearly not a topic Empresses ought to discuss. Lady Boyle had only chuckled, and seemed not at all surprised by any of Emily’s observations, which made far more sense than pretending at offense - why be so shocked by something that everyone did, or at least seemed to know about?

Emily had thought she understood liars even before Mother's death, but she'd never known there were as many as she'd seen at the Cat. She hadn't imagined the men at the Hound Pits could do what they'd done - Lord Pendleton had even killed his own servants, who'd never done anything to anyone. The more Emily considered it, the more likely it seemed that everyone kept secrets, all her servants and all the guard and Callista and Lady Boyle… and her Lord Protector. It had to be so. Emily didn't like to think about it, that he would hide things from her, but there was no way to pretend otherwise.

Especially when Corvo hadn’t told her about the meeting, not until it was nearly upon them. He hadn’t told Callista either but she’d stayed too late and the Lady Boyle had arrived too early and then everyone had gone very quiet for a moment, with Emily feeling the weight of a thousand silent dialogues passing just above her head, until she wanted to reach up and grab at them and demand she be allowed to be as uncomfortable as everyone else.

Callista had finally gestured Corvo out of the room, politely fooling no one. Emily wanted to sneak after them, even if Empresses didn’t sneak and it would have been rude to leave her new guest - but Waverly Boyle had only smiled, as if she knew exactly what Emily was thinking, and turned away, pretending to be engrossed in a nearby painting she’d seen a dozen times before.

It had always been the greatest challenge to sneak around Corvo. Getting caught at the Cat had been horrid, Emily always ended up with new bruises on her arms from being dragged back to her stupid room, but she had loved to listen to the fights break out afterward in the halls, the Madame howling how it shouldn’t have been so impossible to keep one little girl locked away. Without anything else to do, she’d taken great pride in being a nuisance, all due to Corvo and the times she’d tried to get past him in the Tower, to the gardens or the kitchens without being seen.

He’d never been angry, never raised his voice to her - even that time when she’d accidentally upended a whole jug of Tyvian syrup over herself and had to be scrubbed down with all her clothes still on. He was the Lord Protector, and she’d known what it meant even before she had the words to explain it. One of her earliest memories that of her mother’s steady voice - if anything happened, if she was in danger, run to Corvo. Run as fast as she could, and he would always keep her safe.

He’d found her at the Cat, just like that. They’d said he was dead and gone but Corvo had still opened the door, like Mother said he would. A masked man from a storybook and behind that mask the smile just for her, like always. The Lord Protector had picked her up and swung her around and for a moment everything had been like it was before.

When they’d reached the boat, Emily had sat right next to him. Corvo put an arm around her shoulder and she’d leaned in, pressing her face against his waistcoat. He was thinner, she could feel it, but he still smelled like she remembered, leather and steel and all that was safe. Emily had told herself then that anything else, anything more was just the brackish water at the shoreline, or the fading stink of one more leaky pipe at the bathhouse - but it had lingered. A new scent clung to him; at the Hound Pits, and then after, and even now that everything was all right and she was home again.

Corvo smelled like icy seas and thunderstorms and great distances, as if he’d gone even further than the farthest Isle and had only just washed ashore. Emily would catch him flexing his hands now and then as if trying to work out some old injury, the way an old sailor might feel the chill in his bones, rubbing at his joints through gloves he never removed. In other quiet moments, Emily would catch him looking out over the waves, posed near any open window that might offer up a view of sea - as he was doing now, with Callista pacing back and forth silently in front of him.
Emily snuck up as close as she could, hiding in the shadow of a large vase as their conversation - no, their argument - continued.

“It’s not… it’s not possible. I can’t begin to imagine what you’re… what are you thinking, Corvo?!” Callista’s voice was a hissed half-whisper, threatening at any moment to become a shout. “It’s bad enough having that… that woman here…”

“Waverly Boyle has the ear of half the nobles in Dunwall, and those are the ones she doesn’t have by the balls.”

Emily grinned, a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggle. Corvo never spoke like that where she could hear it, even after she’d heard everything there was to hear between the Golden Cat and the Hound Pits. The Admiral had usually snapped his curses in half when she was around, swallowing down the rest with a frown, though Overseer Martin had taken the time one day to quiz her on all that she’d heard, and correct a few of her mispronunciations. Lord Pendleton had scolded him soundly for that - it had all been very funny.

Emily tried not to be sad that they were dead, not with what they’d done and tried to do, but Corvo said she could be sad if she wanted to. It was an important thing for an Empress to know, that a man’s intentions might not always match his actions, that evil deeds didn’t always come from purely wicked hearts.

Corvo had kept a hand over her eyes when he’d taken her from the top of the lighthouse, even though Emily knew what she’d see. She’d heard the High Overseer and Lord Pendleton arguing with the Admiral, and then the odd and sudden silence that had followed. Once at the Golden Cat, she had listened to a fight break out in the alley behind the building, shouting and cursing and a high, thin scream, and then later, the sound of the rats enjoying a late meal. Emily had pressed her hands to her ears, but there had been no blocking out the sound. She could hear it even now, when she forgot not to.

“Corvo, you’re telling me the man who’s coming here- you’re not seriously…“

“Who’s going to hold it all together, Callista? You? Me?” The question was soft. Corvo rarely raised his voice to anyone. There’d been one fight, just before he had gone off on his trip across the Isles. Emily had heard him arguing with Mother, the both of them yelling, but the nursemaid had hurried her off before she could listen for long, or find out what was wrong. No one hurried her away anymore, they just stopped talking whenever she stepped into the room, until Emily wanted to ask them how they expected her to be Empress if no one trusted her to even know about a problem, let alone try to solve it.

“My uncle…”

“Is a fine man, and he’s going to have a damned difficult time just getting the Watch back in any sort of order. We have the advantage now - right now in this moment, but it’s not going to last. The people - damn them, they love Jessamine more now than they did when she was alive, and they’ll look at Emily the same way - none of it’s real, not yet. It’s not anything we can stand on. The minute the plague’s been dealt with, the minute one of the other dozen of problems we’ve got battering at the doors finally cracks them open, there’s going to be new deals being made, and if we’re on the outside - we were lucky Burrows thought he needed Emily alive, do you ever think about that? I do. If the Abbey or the Admiralty or the both of them - I can’t even imagine… ”

“And putting her Highness in danger is going to help?”

“I can’t protect her!” Emily shivered, a chill like being plunged into seawater at the way Corvo’s voice cracked. “I can’t… even now, this is all borrowed time. A bodyguard is useless when everyone has made up their minds on treachery. If nothing else, that’s been made quite clear to me.”

He did not sound at all like himself, and Emily’s heart skipped two full beats.

“You weren’t even in the city, Corvo,” Callista said, her voice gentle, careful. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. No one-”

Corvo shook his head, stepping away from the wall.

“It’s not important now. I can’t… I won’t see it begin again and do nothing. I try to imagine-“ He couldn’t say whatever it was he’d imagined, and the sound of his breath as he inhaled was like a whetstone on a knife. “It’s a strange thing, to realize I care more about losing Pendleton’s votes than that he tried to kill me. Martin too, we might have worked it out-” He shook his head. “It’s not about walls and towers, Callista. All the electricity and tallboys in the world, and they can’t stop… this is about people. I know that now. It’s about alliances, and who gets there first. We have to get there first.”

“Corvo, you’re talking about the man who murdered the Empress.”

Emily gasped, she couldn’t help it, and they’d looked up at her. In that moment, she felt annoyed with herself more than anything, wanting to hear the rest of that conversation and not what happened instead, Callista’s expression quickly falling into that gentle frown that meant she must look close to tears, and Emily didn’t care if she looked close to tears. Mother had been more than capable of crying while writing a letter or composing a speech, even if she didn’t realize Emily had ever been watching. Anyone could be upset and still get things accomplished - and she ignored her tutor’s soft words, pushed those gentle hands away and never took her eyes off Corvo.

“What are you saying about Mother? What’s going on?”

It sounded weak, her voice high and stupid and childish even to her own ears but Corvo wasn’t so quick to scold or soothe or try to pretend she shouldn’t be upset. He just looked at her, steady on, and Emily set her shoulders and stared back at him.

“Callista,” Corvo said, keeping his eyes on her, “we’ll speak tomorrow.”

“I…” she started, but from the corner of her eye Emily could see Callista look between them, and realize she’d been outvoted. Emily couldn’t always get her way, even now that she was the Empress, but with Corvo on her side there was no one who would oppose her. “Yes. Tomorrow. Goodnight, Lord Protector. Goodnight, your Highness.”

Corvo waited until they could no longer hear her footsteps, the door shutting quietly at the far end of the hall, before he spoke.

“A man is coming tonight, to meet with you and Lady Boyle. His name is Daud. I had him summoned here. I don’t want you to be afraid.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“After Lady’s Boyle’s arrival - she already knows. I didn’t want… I can’t even be sure he’s going to…”

“Is it true, what she said? Is he the one…?” The memory of it seemed longer than the act had been, and it never faded. Mother screaming. Corvo yelling. Men appearing out of nowhere - impossibly - and then, the red coat. The coat the color of dried blood and the sword and he’d hit Mother, he’d hit her and then- “He killed her and he’s coming back?”

Corvo shut his eyes, his breath catching as if she’d slapped him. It was a long moment before he spoke.

“You’ve been so strong, Emily. So brave. I… am ashamed to ask for more.”

Which wasn’t an answer to her question, and was what people always did, when they didn’t want to answer her questions. With anyone else, it was just annoying, but this time it hurt.

“Corvo, please. Please tell me.”

He flinched, and then nodded slightly, some silent agreement with himself. The Lord Protector dropped to one knee, fixing her collar, smoothing out what was already flawless and not looking her in the eye.

“It was Burrows who killed your mother. He used Daud to make it happen, but the assassin was just the means to an end. Daud is sharp, and careful. He practically has his own army in the Flooded District. He killed the Empress on an order, not by his own design, and I think… for whatever reason, I think he regrets what was done. Which means we can use him.”

“No.” Emily said instantly, and if Corvo had argued or said anything the way anyone else would have, she would have had a tantrum right then and there, because how could anyone expect her - how could anyone expect anyone to agree to that? But Corvo didn’t speak, his head bowed like a prisoner waiting for his sentence.

“I don’t… I don’t understand. How could you…” Emily said, fighting back a laugh, of all things. Adults were always telling her things would make more sense when she was older, but with every day that passed everything was more and more complicated, and this - “I thought you loved Mother.” A real love, not sober duty or the Cat’s giggling shadows but another way to use the word, rare enough that Emily still wasn’t sure just what it described. A mystery as vast and unknown as the heart of the Continent. “I thought you were sad when she died.”

The violence in Corvo’s gaze had been bad enough from across the room and aimed at another, but seeing it up close was too much to bear, his grip on her shoulders suddenly hard enough to bruise. Emily had done her best to be brave, all this time - it was what Mother would have wanted, it was what an Empress was supposed to be - but seeing the steadfast Lord Protector so frantic, and lost - Emily knew she was crying again, and hated how she knew he would react, horror and regret and soon after the familiar gentleness, comforting the silly upset child.

“Emily, I’m sorry…”

He reached for her, and she pulled away angrily, drawing herself up. At least when he was kneeling down, they were nearly eye-to-eye. “I don’t want you to be sorry, or nice to me. I want you to tell me why. It’s an order, Lord Protector. I’m ordering you to tell me.”

Corvo’s eyes dropped to the floor, and Emily felt her stomach sink as she got exactly what she wanted, and the fight went out of him all at once. His voice was dull and quiet, as if putting too much emphasis on any one word might send it all crashing down. He was the Lord Protector, he could still carry her about as if she weighed nothing. Emily was too young to give him such orders and he shouldn’t bow before her, not like this, never like this.

“Daud has as many connections as anyone in Dunwall, I’m fairly sure of it. If he wanted to be Lord Regent, it would have happened long ago. I believe he will help you. I do. Either as penance or… I don’t know. If I try, if I ask on your behalf - it’ll all go to blood, but if you’re the one to tell him that he’s the new Royal Spymaster… I think he’ll accept it. I don’t think he’ll have a choice.”

The Royal Spymaster. Which meant Emily would have to see him all the time, have to have him stand next to her while she gave orders and know his face and watch his hands move, those hands that had taken Mother away and tossed her into the darkness and he would be there every day from here on, even if she couldn’t see him. He would always be there. Emily shivered, goosebumps cascading across her skin.

“No.”

Corvo’s hands were on her arms again, her collar, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Nervous gestures. Mother used to do the same thing before an important speech, on those days that Emily had to stand beside her and try not to fidget.

“You’ll be safe,” He finally said. “I can’t be there with you, but I’ll see everything. He won’t get anywhere near you, I promise.”

“No. I don’t understand,” Emily said again, because Callista hadn’t either. The woman had been angry too, so it wasn’t about being too young to know what she ought to. His glove was cool on her cheek as he wiped another tear away, and Emily hated it. Maybe Lady Boyle knew how to handle this - how to be strong, to stop from crying until she needed to, saving up the tears until they might be useful.

“I want him dead, Em. It’s all I want.” Corvo’s voice was very soft, and he looked away when she looked up. He hadn’t called her by that little name since she’d been named Empress, since Mother had died. “I swear to you, when I found out - I tracked him down. I swear I meant to finish it then, but… Daud was waiting for me. Hoping, maybe. He wanted it. He wanted me to kill him. I don’t know what changed - but I have no reason to give him anything he wants. Let him live with what he’s done, like the rest of us have to.”

“What if I told you to?” Emily asked, not sure why or what she wanted the answer to be. Corvo’s response was instant, without a breath of hesitation.

“Then he’s dead.”

“But you just said… you thought we needed him. You said-”

“It doesn’t matter. If you can’t bear to see him living, we’ll find another way. Give me the order and he dies tonight.”

Emily nearly said it, right then. Kill him, Corvo. You never should have hesitated. Kill this Daud, this bastard - she’d learned that word at the Cat, and so many others and all of them applied - because he was dangerous and because he deserved it and why should she even have to ask?

Except the words refused to come, her anger quickly quenched by the dark misery in Corvo’s eyes - was this really him, looking so lost? Oh, she never should have said what she had, questioning his love for the Empress. It was easy enough to imagine Mother’s sad gaze, shaking her head in disappointment that Emily would hurt the Lord Protector so, when he’d gladly put his life down in her honor. Easier still to imagine her Mother’s words - that being Empress meant doing what was necessary, and that wasn’t always what she wanted to do. It didn’t mean she would always be happy, nor should she be. Either she was responsible enough to put the Empire’s needs before her own, or she really was a selfish, spoiled child and no one ought to listen to her.

No one had stated it plain, but Emily knew the Empire could not afford to be ruled by any more silly children. Dunwall was counting on her to be smarter than that - Corvo was counting on her.

“I trust you, Lord Protector. If you think this is right, I’ll do it.”

He told her exactly what to say, and Emily did her best to listen. Corvo assured her once and again that she’d be safe, that no matter what happened Daud could not hurt her, and she believed him, though it did nothing to change the cold, hollow place that had cracked open inside of her, of knowing she would have to see the man who’d murdered her mother, that just seeing him might be more than she could bear.

It did nothing to change that there were no windows open, that Corvo had been at her side all day in the Tower, but when he hugged her he smelled only of the sea.

Chapter Text

Emily hadn’t meant to be disobedient and the Hound Pits weren’t so very interesting once she’d peeked into all the rooms, but it was difficult to sleep with so many changes and Corvo alive - alive! - and never quite knowing if they were safe, if the guard might come and the Lord Protector was gone so often now. Off on important business, putting things to rights - she would be Empress, and shockingly soon. Callista had tried to talk some sense to her, but Emily had said she’d grown used to her naps in the day at the Cat - true - and that she had fewer nightmares in the daytime - slightly less true - and so she’d been allowed to sleep mostly when she wanted, which meant she could wait up for Corvo.

The first night, she’d made it to the front of the tavern only to run into Overseer Martin, making notations in some battered text. Emily liked Martin the best of all of them, so indifferent to her it was almost like treating her like an adult. If it had been any of the others, or the servants, they’d have advised or scolded or escorted her back to her room, but Martin had only stared at her for a long moment before returning to his book. Maybe it was strange for an Overseer to ignore the rules, or maybe he had his own opinions about which rules were actually important. So Emily had sat and waited - and waited - trying not to make too much noise or kick the bench beneath her, thinking she ought to bring her drawings down with her next time. She didn’t even remember falling asleep, only waking up as Corvo was carrying her back to her room.

He’d stopped at the makeshift bridge just outside, with the peeling paint and paper giving way to the open sky. It had been a rare, clear night, the stars raw and cold and beautiful, suspended in the vast emptiness.

The second time she’d snuck downstairs, Martin had waited only a short while before pouring himself a drink and teaching her how to cheat magnificently at cards. In the daytime it might have been awkward for a little girl and an Overseer to find themselves in the same room, but in the middle of the night such rules seemed more negotiable. He’d been halfway through his third hand and she thought she might just take it when the door creaked open and heavy, uneven footsteps sounded against the floor. Emily was out of the booth and turning, eyes going wide, a hand at her mouth as her happy greeting became a shocked squeak.

“Corvo!”

He was bleeding. All over. He was… smoking, the heavy coat he wore steaming and charred, enough to make Emily cough as she drew near. He had his mask in one hand - undamaged, it seemed, but there were dark stains on his undershirt and the left leg of his trousers was shredded nearly to his waist and as he drew the hood back she could see blood on his face.

“It must have been some party,” Martin said cheerfully enough, though he was moving fast to assist as Corvo limped his way across the room, collapsing against the first seat he could reach.

“I got sloppy.” Corvo gasped, taking a long drag of the bottle the Overseer passed him. He shifted, and groaned, the mask falling from his hand to clatter across the floor, and Martin paused to collect it. “Tallboy caught me out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t even raise the alarm. I think he was just having fun, like picking cans off a ledge.”

“What about the boatman?”

“He’s fine. I told him I could make it inside under my own power… and here I am.” He blinked wearily, looking around the room - and finally focused on Emily, confusion turning to something darker, so abrupt that she nearly jumped. “What is she doing down here?”

“Thumping me soundly at Nancy, until you arrived. If our Lady doesn’t like being Empress, she’ll have a fine career at the tables.” Usually, the two men got along all right, but Corvo’s black look somehow slipped even further into the depths, and Martin grimaced. “Lady Emily, maybe you would prefer-“

Emily reached for Corvo’s free hand with both of her own, squeezing tightly, and shook her head hard, scowling at the both of them. If she left him, there would be nothing to do but sit in the dark and worry. If Martin tried to remove her, it would not happen without a fuss. She would leave over his shoulder, kicking and screaming, or not at all. Thankfully, he soon seemed to arrive at the same conclusion.

“At least if she’s here, Attano, she can see that you’re still breathing.” The Overseer snorted, though it was a somewhat sympathetic sound. “Try to stay still. I’ll get Joplin over to look at those wounds.”

“He’s up?”

“Now that he’s got Sokolov to play with? I think sleep’s been put next to food and sanity on the list of nonessentials.”

Martin left without another word, his long stride carrying him quickly out the door. Emily bit her lip in worry, both her hands still around Corvo’s own, and looked in vain for a clean cloth, although what good that might do against the damage in front of her, she wasn’t sure. He looked like a the wreck of a broadsided ship, listing and nearly sunk, with no a place her gaze could fall where she could bear to keep it.

“Stay awake, Corvo,” she said, shaking his arm as gently as she could while making sure his eyes didn’t close. He chuckled then, a soft, weary laugh but if he could then maybe he wasn’t going to die and leave her.

“I’m fine, Emily. I promise. It looks worse than it is. If you go to sleep, everything will be all right in the morning.”

He did his best to sound convincing, but beneath the gentle tone she could hear the tremor in his voice.

“If I stay awake, you’ll be all right now.”

Corvo rolled his eyes, as amused as he was exasperated. “You’re your mother’s daughter. I don’t know why I’m ever surprised. I-” He shifted slightly, and Emily watched the sudden shudder sweep over him, face contorted in pain as he bit back a curse.

“Corvo? What’s wrong?”

“It’s fine, Emily. It’s…” A long, slow exhalation, thick with strain, “can you tell me what you did today? Did you have any adventures?”

All she wanted to do was cry, but that wouldn’t help Corvo at all. Emily didn’t understand how talking would help either, but he’d asked and she didn’t know what else to try, afraid to touch him and cause further pain. So she told him all about her rather uneventful day, how she’d found two coins and an old, rusted compass along the shoreline, buried among the rocks . She told him everything she could remember of Callista’s lessons - it had been grammar and history, which meant she could describe her lessons as excessively, prodigiously boring instead of just the regular kind.

“You shouldn’t go out again, Corvo,” she said when she’d run out of day and they were still alone in the room. “Whatever you had to do tonight, you should stop.”

He smiled faintly. “It’s almost over, Emily. Soon, everything will be all right, and we will go home.”

“I’d like that.”

Martin finally reappeared with Piero in tow. The scientist looked surprised to see her but said nothing. Emily tucked herself up on the bench, out of the way as they shifted Corvo slowly and painfully onto the table.

“It’s hardly the proper place for a surgeon’s work.” Martin observed. “You don’t think you can-“

“No,” Corvo said between short gasps, “I don’t think I can.”

“Here is fine.” Piero waved the other man off. “Just let me work.”

The bottles and tinctures came out, Corvo waving away more than one, and Emily took his hand whenever she could, flinching when he did as Piero had to cut through the seams of his coat, peeling bloody cloth away from the wounds. Corvo hissed and trembled, his teeth clenched and very nearly crushing her hand before he remembered to let it go, trying to apologize when he could manage a breath for it.

“Martin… take her. … not for her to see.”

“Lady Emily, it would be better-“

Emily shuffled a little bit further onto the bench, toward the wall, and when she kicked at his hand the Overseer sighed and gave up again.

Piero worked quietly, cleaning what seemed to be the better part of a wall out of Corvo’s left side pebble by pebble, while Emily sat silently at his side, not nearly as horrified by the new blood as at the rest of what was revealed.

The Lord Protector had been hurt before in service to the Empress, she remembered Mother’s worry while they waited for word from the doctor, and there were some of those wounds that looked weathered and faded - but there were others. Many others, neither new nor old but half-healed - a line of scars, smooth and shiny, all down and across his ribs. Each of them the same size, spaced the same distance apart as if adding up some nightmarish tally. Emily knew how they must have been caused - they were burns. She’d had a welt on her arm from getting too curious in the kitchen, though that had been nothing like this, nothing so deliberate. She swallowed back a sour tang in her throat, and tried to keep breathing.

All the time she’d been in the Cat, Emily had never really thought about where Corvo had been, or what it meant to be imprisoned. Not even when she’d heard Havelock congratulate him - all of them had, admiring him for his fortitude, for not confessing to what he hadn’t done.

It shouldn’t have taken so long for her to figure it out.

Corvo’s eyes were closed, his head back against the table, and Emily watched the rise and fall of his chest and didn’t dare look away.

“Well, that’s everything I can do.” Piero said, with what seemed to be too close to good cheer, though he cleared his throat and looked at the floor when he saw her watching. “I assure you, Lady Emily, he will recover fully and in good time. Any slight fever or chills are only a mild effect of his injuries, or perhaps the aftermath of yet another impromptu swim.”

“Are you certain?” Martin said, with a slight edge in his voice.

“I’ve been paying attention to his doses, and he’s said he’s had the chance to collect a few more on the side.” Piero replied, almost primly. “I might propose that Corvo Attano is composed as much of elixir as blood at present. Hrm… now there’s an intriguing notion…”

“We had a deal, Joplin.” Corvo muttered, his eyes still closed. “After. You can have your pick of my insides after I’m gone. At least… ten minutes after. Martin, make sure to time him.”

A grim joke, but it made her a little less cold inside. If he could joke and they could laugh it meant he would be all right.

Emily didn’t know if they’d made enough of a commotion to wake the rest of the house or if the Admiral had only just realized Corvo had returned. She heard the heavy tread of large boots coming down the stairs, alongside a sharper, faster patter that meant a lighter, shorter stride at his heels, so Emily had fair warning when Havelock came through the door, with Callista right behind, her tutor looking rumpled and annoyed while Emily made her best effort to be completely unrepentant.

“I would advise you to keep your questions at a minimum for now,” Piero said, gathering up his supplies. “He needs his rest.”

If Havelock paid any attention to the suggestion, he didn’t show it, moving towards them as Martin helped Corvo to slowly sit up. He looked paler than ever beneath the layer of grime, lank, filthy hair hanging in his eyes, but he still smiled for her. A silent reassurance that he would still be there in the morning, as Callista came to collect her and Emily allowed herself to be led away. It wasn’t fair, she wanted to protest, they needed to let Corvo be. He could barely stand under his own power, a hand on Martin’s shoulder to stay balanced, his head back and his eyes closed, making only the occasional short sound in response to Havelock’s first few questions, low and slurred when he did speak.

“… You signed the guestbook?” Havelock said, as Martin let out an astonished bark of laughter.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. Which reminds me, someone needs to explain the definition of ‘letter delivery’ to our Lord Pendleton. Perhaps at fifteen paces.”

“You were able to…” Havelock glanced in her direction, and Callista quickly had a hand at her back, hurrying her toward the door. Emily was still able to make out the last little bit of the conversation over the tutor’s scolding, “finish what you needed to do?”

“It’s over.” Corvo sighed deeply, and Martin took a half-step close to his side as he swayed. “Esma Boyle won’t be… I don’t know. I don’t know. It’s over.”

------------------------------------

“Are you all right, Empress?”

The words were very soft, but every move Emily made - the rustle of her fabric or the creak of the chair - resounded in the stillness of the empty room. Daud was gone, as swiftly and silently as he’d come, like a thought rather than a man. He’d taken the envelope with him - Emily hadn’t seen him pick it up, but he’d left and the table had been clear in his wake. She stared at the blank, hard surface - an odd sort of reflection for the way she felt inside.

You will sit on that throne and be cold and alone forever.

Corvo had said he might try to provoke her, that she needed to remember Daud wanted her to end his life, that he could imagine no greater justice than dying by her hand. Emily still didn’t understand it, it was all she could do just to try and remember what Corvo had told her. What to say as Lady Boyle pretended to make conversation while she pretended to listen, the barest sip of tea threatening to rise up in her throat, the both of them waiting and waiting. Emily knew what she at least ought to look like, remembered Mother at her most imperious no matter what the problem and so she’d kept her head high, back straight even when he’d stepped silently into the room - even though he wore red.

It would be so easy to kill him. All Emily needed to do was scream and Corvo would come and she would never have to look at Daud again or even think about him again.

He appeared from nowhere, just as before, such effortless witchcraft. Broad-shouldered and merciless and unstoppable, and knowing he was coming had done little to soften the blow. Emily focused very hard on remaining still, on not betraying her nervousness or her fear - all she had to do was scream - and she watched Daud glance at her, and quickly away. He would not look her in the eye.

A few drops of clarity distilled into that memory, a moment Emily had always thought could never change. Mother still screamed, of course, and Daud still took the sword to her without hesitation, as hands dragged Emily back and away and the Lord Protector lay crumpled on the ground and all her world shattered to pieces. All that was still as it had been, but this scarred man before her - as broad-shouldered as Havelock, at least - he was not the gloating monster she remembered from that night. No cruel smile of satisfaction graced his hard features, he took no joy in standing before her, it was not a victory.

He wants you to kill him. It was her mother’s voice, the cold observation of an Empress, and Emily realized she no longer wanted him to die.

Corvo was right. He deserved more.

It did not make speaking to him any easier. Lady Boyle stepped in quickly to greet their guest, even before Emily could falter. Offering him some odd version of hospitality before then handing him his future. Emily didn’t realize how closely she’d been watching Daud until she saw the look of shock on his face - just for an instant, or less than that, but there. He may have been a killer but she was the one to surprise him tonight. Emily didn’t mean what she’d said to him, about Corvo and Mother, those hard, cold words - Did having him near help the last Empress?- as if the Lord Protector had failed somehow, as if she even knew how to blame him, let alone think he’d done less than he could have. Corvo had to be listening in, she would have to apologize later.

It was strange, to have Daud growl at her at last, to know he was quite capable of killing the both of them or at least giving it his best shot, and Emily was terrified, but it all felt cold and very distant, as if her skin were a suit of armor she could hide inside, where no one could see what she was thinking. He was angry, in the ominous way of storms gathering at sea, but he hadn’t attacked her yet which meant he wasn’t going to. Which meant she had the upper hand.

“I should be punished.”

So this was the power Mother had died for.

A gloved hand closed gently, hesitantly over her own, and it brought her back to the present.

“… your Highness? Do you need anything?”

No one still quite knew what to call her, most everyone reverting to the very formal, though there was no telling what they said in other rooms and other places. Emily wondered what Lady Boyle called her in private.

“I’m fine,” she said, and winced at the tremble in her voice, the ache in her fingers where she’d been clutching at the arms of the chair - when had she done that? Had Daud noticed?

It was a little comforting that Waverly did not seem entirely unruffled, draining her wineglass with a speed as effective as it was unladlylike, before pouring herself the rest of the bottle. Daud’s wineglass rested on the table, not quite empty. When was he coming back? How quickly would she have to see him again? Emily was embarrassed by how easily her small resolve crumbled, how her first thought was that Corvo would take over again, now that it was done. He would keep the man away from her.

Was that what she wished for? Was it how she wanted to be protected?

Emily remembered that thinnest sliver of what she’d heard before Corvo had left to seek help from the other Isles. The last fight between the Empress and her Protector and he’d shouted - he never shouted - and Mother had spat that very word and title back at him, protection - she didn’t need him or anyone else to protect her from the truth, and being Empress did not mean she deserved to survive while the city crumbled.

“… I suppose that went well.” Waverly sighed, one hand around her wineglass and the other against her temple.

“Thank you,” Emily said. “Thank you for all of this. You put yourself in danger.”

An odd smile flitted close to Lady Boyle’s face, a moth to the light. Emily wondered how often Waverly found herself in these sorts of situations.

“I am honored to be of service to the crown.”

Emily wasn’t as innocent as Callista feared, or saw fit to keep her. It was clear that Lady Boyle said things she didn’t mean or did things in order to get what she wanted, and perhaps that was wrong, and might even be threatening some day. But Emily had been at the Cat for long enough to see the girls there, the ones not so much older than her. Girls without servants or titles or anyone to come and save them from their lives. Waverly Boyle had to be her own protector.

“What did you mean, about your sister?”

Emily knew of one of the sisters already. Lydia, who enjoyed music. Waverly had offered to have her come in and play for them, and it had been pleasant enough, though Lydia had also been content to let her sister do most of the talking. Callista had been the one to ask about the third Lady Boyle, with an odd, sharp tone in her voice and a smile Emily didn’t think she was supposed to see. Waverly’s look had been very much like it was now, like she’d looked when Daud had asked why she stayed, with everything she was thinking and feeling forced down the beneath the surface, and her hands tight around her own emotions until they stopped struggling.

It wasn’t right for Lady Boyle to look like that, not if Emily expected her to keep doing things like this, to sit here and offer hospitality to murderers. Maybe she was dangerous, maybe it was safer to be cruel to her, but Emily didn’t want to hold anything like that over anyone.

“Does Corvo know?”

Yes. Of course Corvo knew, whatever it was. Maybe this was what they talked about when they were alone, which meant… Emily wasn’t sure what it meant.

Was Corvo watching them now? Even if he was, would he tell her what he knew?

Lady Boyle spun the stem of the glass between her fingers, light flickering off what was left of the wine. “I believe it would be better, Highness, if this stayed between myself and the Lord Protector. It isn’t anything you need to trouble yourself with.”

Emily scowled, she couldn’t help it. “If I was older, you’d tell me. If I was older, I’d know things.”

Waverly laughed, not unkindly. A clear, bright laugh that rang like a glass being struck for a toast.

“If I ever get that old, I will tell you.”

It was late, but Lady Boyle was not there to chide her on curfews, and Emily felt like she might never sleep again. A lingering sense of Daud yet remained as she looked across the table, a strength and his coldness not easily set aside. He was no longer the creature of her nightmares but no less foreboding for it.

“So that’s it, then. He is the Royal Spymaster.” Forgive me, Mother. Please, forgive me.

“If he wanted to do anything more, I think that was his opportunity,” Waverly smiled wryly. “If not, your Lord Protector will surely protect the head right off his body.”

Emily looked up, at the sound of a chain jingling from outside the door, the watchdog and its master back on their appointed rounds. The Abbey had demanded at least a few Overseers in the Tower to guard her through these ‘turbulent times’, though Corvo had been adamant in keeping their numbers low, and the Court Scientists were happy to assist in scolding them away. Sokolov in particular seemed to take a gleeful delight in haranguing them, a habit Emily did not remember from when Mother had been alive, though perhaps the Empress had simply fielded the complaints and told no one. Emily liked neither of them overmuch - let them bicker themselves to death, if it pleased.

“Do you know how he got into the Tower? How he killed the Empress?” It was easier to say it that way, not to call her Mother. Forgive me. “I saw it. I think… I believe he has walked with the Outsider.”

It wasn’t much of a revelation - of course Lady Boyle knew, even if Corvo had not told her, she could see that right away. Emily hadn’t even heard of the Whalers, those other men who had been with Daud that day, until she’d started asking, but that was more her own carelessness than a lack of common information. A child’s ignorance. She couldn’t afford it.

Emily wasn’t even certain what she was asking now - but Lady Boyle’s look of sympathy chilled her to the core, and she wished she didn’t know why, that there wasn’t a darker thought buried beneath her words. One question that had never been asked in front of her, and so very dangerous - too dangerous to pursue for long, even in an empty room.

If Daud had the Outsider’s magic, if he was that powerful - how had Corvo ever managed to best him?

The Tower wasn’t the Cat, but there were still rumors and they still carried and the Lord Protector had served so well and fought so hard, harder than a dozen men against such odds. Impossible odds. Corvo, who’d toppled a government in a handful of days without ever being seen, who’d reached the top of the lighthouse single-handedly against an army of men. Corvo, who hadn’t broken when he’d been tortured and didn’t die when they’d tried to be rid of him. Corvo, who smelled like the sea…

“He’s trying very hard to be the same for you,” Waverly said softly. “He’s said nothing to you and very little to me, I swear it. He never will admit to it on his own, because he thinks you’ve taken on enough, but this… it has left its mark on him.”

Lady Boyle looked at her, and for all that Emily felt - confused, small, already reeling from the night - she still straightened up as best she could, trying to prove herself worthy of the woman’s estimation, whatever that might be.

“Try to be gentle with him, Empress. If there’s anything left in this world that can break him, it’s you.”

Chapter Text

The Tower that Emily returned to was not at all the one she had left. It had changed, and she had changed, little sign of the homecoming that might have been. Emily had wondered if it all would feel like this from now on, trading one place that was not home for the next. A life full of moments that should have been fair and familiar, cast into empty replicas. It was an ungrateful thought, for all that Corvo had won on her behalf, for how hard he’d struggled to give it back to her, but the feeling lingered anyway. The massive structure looked more like a fortress than it ever had when Mother had ruled - with razorwire everywhere, and extra steel embankments and walls crudely fastened to the stones.

The worst and ugliest barriers had been quickly removed, to provide a better backdrop for her equally swift coronation, though as Emily stepped outside tonight she could see all the rusty marks and gouges in the stones, evidence of where the old walls had been.

Dunwall was still in a bad state, and the Tower remained under heavy guard, though Callista told her that the mood in the street was not at all how it had been for the Lord Regent. The people had been furious at how many barriers he constructed between himself and the world, and openly mocked him for what looked less like prudence or even tyranny and a great deal more like fear. Emily, on the other hand, was loved, and her citizens only wished for her safety. As a child, she could get away with being so carefully looked after.

Her life was a strange balance, then, of power and vulnerability, and maybe this was also how it would feel from now on.

Corvo had been the one to reorder all the rooms and advise on the patrols, and he had been fine-tuning things ever since, though Emily didn’t ask if that meant he ran the security himself to see how many guards would shoot at him. His quarters were, of course, next to her own, with one door to connect them and another secret passage hidden away, so seamlessly matched to the wall that even Emily had trouble finding it at first.

It suited them both to leave the door open.

He had not appeared after Daud had gone, or even when Lady Boyle had finally taken her leave. The Lord Protector was not in the front hall, speaking to the Guard, or waiting for her along the way, and when she’d stepped through the door between their rooms, he wasn’t there either.

After he’d taken her from the Lighthouse, Corvo had barely left her side, a return to the way things used to be, except that she was Empress now so she wouldn’t even be left behind while he escorted Mother on some task or another. As Lord Protector he was a steady, silent presence at her back through every meeting and audience and dinner, quiet enough that she often forgot all about him as the demands of the day required her attention, but when he was gone his absence was notable, and she couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Emily remembered how it had been when he’d gone away, for his journey across the Isles. How Mother had seemed more clumsy, and cursed under her breath often, picking absently at the food on her plate at meals in the same way Emily had often been chided for.

Dunwall Tower held some secret spaces Emily could sneak off to - or at least there had been before she’d become Empress, and there’d no longer been time to escape. Corvo had been the one to present a compromise: his coronation gift to her the rooms on the roof of the Tower, the sanctuary the Lord Regent had considered the safest even in his great fortress. Every bit of furniture had been removed, replaced with plush couches and shelves full of her favorite books, and all along the walls were cases full of rare and beautiful curiosities from across the Isles and even further. Butterflies with wings larger than her hand spread wide, colored in vibrant blues and greens, brought all the way from Pandyssia. A cage full of white birds with long feathers tipped in red who sang beautifully and took seeds from her hands. Of all of these, the most valuable was the portrait of her mother, one Emily had been so afraid the Lord Regent would have destroyed in some final moment of spite.

Sokolov’s first royal commission, after he’d finished with the plague, would be a portrait of the new Empress and - if Emily got her way - her Lord Protector, though neither painter nor subject had seemed much inspired by that idea.

Her new lady’s maid was pleasant and kind and helpfully oblivious, so it hadn’t taken long at all for Emily to get into her boots and her long coat and sneak her way up the back stairs to the rooftops. In the places where there were no shadows, she didn’t bother trying to hide, just walked past the guards with her head high and a severe look on her face, as if she had urgent business, forcing herself not to look surprised when they only saluted and wished her a good evening.

It was cold when she hit the rooftop, and Emily winced, shoving her hands down into her pockets, If she was honest with herself, she wasn’t altogether certain what she meant to accomplish, why she’d needed to track her Lord Protector down. Emily came up here as a refuge, to draw or read or spin tales all of her own, to pretend for a very little while that rest of the world had ceased to be, and if Corvo was up here he must have wanted the same thing.

It was strange to think about what Waverly Boyle had said, that the Lord Protector might need her. As difficult a thought as seeing him flat on that table at the Hound Pits, and realizing he was strong and fast but in the end still as fragile as any other man, with the same chance to die if he made a mistake - that at any moment he might die for her sake - and why?

The Madam had mocked her once, during one of Emily’s endless tantrums - she had made a spectacle of herself whenever possible, for the lack of any other way to fight back. Emily had screamed that Corvo would come for her, that he wasn’t dead, that would save her, and woman’s sharp laugh had been far worse than a blow. So what if he lived? Alive or dead, his duty was over, he had no Empress to protect and Emily wasn’t the Empress, she was just a little girl. The Lord Regent was in charge now, not her - never her - and so the Lord Protector was free to escape her, to go anywhere he wished, as far away from Dunwall as he wanted. The Madam had eyes hard enough to strike sparks at a glance, eyes that had seen everything the gray world had to offer, and Emily knew she wasn’t lying when she said most men would give up on revenge, or justice, or love when there was an easier way out.

Corvo had rescued her, and she hadn’t wanted to question it, but she’d still asked herself why and there had never really been an answer.

Emily had to let Corvo have his secrets, like anyone else, like he’d given her the room at the top of the Tower so that she might have some semblance of her own privacy. She owed him that - she owed him everything, and he’d asked for nothing and yet here she was, needy and ridiculous, unable to just leave him alone.

Except he wasn’t alone. As she drew closer, Emily could shapes and shadows along the far railing closest to the sea, heard Corvo answer a question with a soft ‘maybe’ and a rumble of some other voice in response. The moon had been paved over by the clouds, she could barely see anything, even outlines - had the Lady Boyle somehow snuck up here? Emily pressed herself against the corner of the wall, feeling as ashamed for snooping as she was certain she would not move.

“I can tell you, Attano, a few of those names on your list? I’ve already had rumors come past. Nothing substantial, at least not yet.”

No, it wasn’t Lady Boyle, the voice far deeper - he shifted, and Emily had the full measure of him, Daud a momentary silhouette in the vague, low light of some faraway watchtower. Her imagination filled in the red of the coat that the shadows obscured.

Corvo cursed under his breath, leaning against the rail. Daud didn’t move.

“Anyway, I would have thought you’d be more worried about who the Abbey might appoint for the next High Overseer.”

Corvo snorted. “What do you think you’re here for?”

Daud made a noise, too angry for a laugh but not quite provoked enough to be a growl, or the prelude to a fight.

“I suppose we should talk about my men.”

A long pause. “You might as well keep them working. Maybe someone will hire the Whalers to kill another Empress.”

“We’ll see,” Daud said evenly. “You would have made a good cutthroat, Attano.”

“I’m learning.”

“Mm.” Daud’s tone changed, not a whit warmer but somehow approaching the conversational. “It’s funny, isn’t it? He gives out just enough power so you can hang yourself - or change the world. One day, you start making choices just because you’re curious what the results will be, considering the possibilities when another man would just act. A little taste of what it’s like to be Him? The old rules stop applying. All of them.”

“Not all.” Corvo said, and it was a growl and there was a warning there, though Daud seemed not to care, the next sound he made far more like a laugh, leaning against the railing hard enough that Emily could hear it creak.

“You’re certainly more interesting than I ever was. The Outsider must be pleased with his investment.”

It wasn’t the shock it should have been, finally hearing it out loud. Lady Boyle had all but stated it outright. So this was yet another one of those open secrets, everyone proclaiming their devotion to the Abbey while the truth ran far differently. Mother had never been fond of the High Overseer, and all of rest of them had always frightened Emily. The masks made them look empty, like a great, hungry darkness, and she couldn’t imagine that the Outsider, no matter how terrible, could be so much worse than that.

As if summoned by her heretical thoughts, Emily thought she could make out the very faintest sounds from an Overseer’s box far below, the odd, dissonant sound carried up by the wind. Almost as one, her Royal Spymaster and her Lord Protector peered out a bit further over the rail, looking down, though they seemed less than impressed by the reminder of righteousness.

“Sokolov should have left his canvas blank, if he wanted to be honest.” Corvo said. “Do you ever think about telling them that it doesn’t matter?”

Daud shrugged. “I think He could parade up and down the street reciting the Strictures with one hand with a box plinking away in the other, and they’d never see it. If He wasn’t real, they’d have to invent him.”

“It must be funny, to be little more than what other men will make of you.”

“We both know something about that.”

“I am nothing like you.” Corvo snapped, his voice suddenly hard and cold as the stone beneath his hand. “Don’t mistake this for absolution. It isn’t. It never will be. Whatever happens, I will never forgive you for what you’ve done.”

“I’ve worked with less.” Daud said, sounding barely interested. “Do I even bother to ask how long this honor will last?”

“Ten minutes after you’re dead - and they might even bury what they don’t need.” Corvo said, and Emily marveled again at the grimness in his tone, what he sounded like when he didn’t think she was there to hear. “I have no reason to betray you, if that’s what you’re asking. Any business between us… it’s over, it’s done with. Swear your loyalty to the Empress, and I will swear my loyalty to you.”

Corvo was not joking, and though Emily couldn’t see his face he was turned toward Daud, a good chance they were eye-to-eye.

“Dangerous words, Lord Protector. I’ve had quite a few employers who’ve found me inconveniently durable.”

“Oh, I hope that’s a challenge.”

Daud actually laughed at that, though it was a sound as blunt and grim as he was. The night lapsed into an odd, awkward silence, nowhere near companionable but far less than the ominous uncertainty at the beginning of the night. The armies had finally met, the first tentative lines of parlay established and a delicate truce begun. Emily wondered if all her negotiations would feel this way, forever on the cusp of breaking.

“Do you ever hear them?” Corvo said, so softly it was almost lost in a sudden stirring of the wind.

“What?”

He gestured vaguely out at the sea. “The… singing. Can you hear it?”

Emily imagined Daud’s expression was much like her own, by the confusion in his voice. “… you mean… the whales? No, of course not - wait, Attano, do you…”

Corvo sighed. He sounded so weary. “You were right, there’s much more that needs doing. The High Overseer…”

“… is a topic for another time, in less polite company.” Daud turned, and tipped in her direction, a slight bow of acknowledgement that she doubted even a half-dozen people had ever been granted. Who did assassins bow to? Her, apparently. “Good evening, Empress. I would think it was past your bedtime.”

Corvo startled, she could see his dark shadow jerk back as if he’d been shot, and it forced her to act, stepping out before he could catch his breath and take control, willing her voice not to tremble in the cold.

“Where is the Lady Boyle?”

“Waverly?” Corvo said, and the roughness in his voice nearly made Emily stop - she would not hurt him, and she needed no one to tell her so - but now she was close enough to see Daud towering over her and she had to be steel in front of him, she had to be better and stronger than she was. “I thought she-“

“I’m not talking about her. I’m talking about Esma Boyle.”

Corvo might as well have been stone. Daud made a small, thoughtful sound, turning to him.

“Brisby,” the Lord Protector said, his voice soft and toneless. “I’ve looked. I don’t… I have looked.”

Daud was quiet for a long moment. “You know she wouldn’t be able to return to Dunwall, regardless.”

Corvo nodded. “Waverly Boyle has already agreed to it.”

Emily knew there was more going on than she could hear, entire conversations happening in the way each word was spoken, but she didn’t need to know all the details to know what needed to be done.

“I want her found, Royal Spymaster. As soon as possible.”

“I may have to deal with Lord Brisby.” Daud said, not sounding at all regretful at the prospect. The more Emily wondered just what had happened the less she wanted to think about it.

“Do what you need to.” She said, without hesitation, and it seemed she may well have surprised him. Emily wondered if she ought to feel good about that or not.

He gave her another slight bow and Emily braced herself for the moment he would have to come closer, would move past her toward the door. Forgetting in her nervousness that he had no problem stepping to the edge of the wall instead, and then he was on the rooftop of the turret at the far side of the courtyard, and then perhaps a flickering shadow near the torchlight at the gatehouse before he was gone completely.

Emily had never been nervous around Corvo, but there had never been that odd tension in his pose, as if he might bolt at any moment, might follow Daud across the rooftops and farther, right out of the city. She wanted to reach for him, to apologize and cry or plead, to ask all kinds of questions - to panic, but Empresses didn’t panic. Instead, she slowly crossed the distance between them, and leaned on the wall. A moment passed, and Corvo took up a place beside her. Overhead the moon was peering through the mortar of the clouds like a vast, barren eye, and she had enough light to see that Corvo was turned toward the sea, his eyes closed and his expression so distant. He trembled, and it was impossible to tell if he shivered in pain or for some other reason, and Emily blushed, not quite sure why she dropped her eyes or looked away but feeling as if she’d seen what she ought not, a moment too intimate even from a man who’d sworn her his life.

“Is it very loud?”

“Yes.” Corvo breathed, so softly.

Emily remembered everything she’d ever learned of those who worked on behalf of the Outsider, the witches and madmen and monsters who worshiped at his altar. The Overseers gave all sorts of dire warnings, tales of butchery and horror, twisted hearts and twisted minds but all Emily could think was that Corvo would go to sea, the Outsider would call him and take him and he wouldn’t come back. Did he even wish to remain at her side, or was she simply another burden for him to bear?

Emily reached for his hand, and felt him tense up, but the Lord Protector didn’t pull away, didn’t try to argue or defend himself or say anything at all as she pulled the glove off and then there it was, somehow even darker than the shadows around them, and Corvo would not look at her.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Foolish words, but what else was there to say? It was, too, strange but beautiful in its way. The Overseers had never mentioned that.

“I’ll go.” Corvo’s voice was steady, too steady. “I was hardly the only choice there was for Lord Protector, there are surely a dozen younger and stronger men now. I will find you the best, and then I will go, and…”

“I have ships now, Lord Protector. Ships and soldiers. I can find you.”

It was a terrible lie. With that mark on him? Emily wouldn’t be able to find him if he took up his exile just down the street. She hadn’t let go of his hand, and brought her other hand up, until they were clasped over the Outsider’s mark. She’d wondered if she would feel it, wondered if it would burn like ice or shock like a Wall of Light but there was no difference, it was still only Corvo.

“If they wanted to send you away, I’d go with you, Corvo.” Abdicate, that was the word. It hardly sounded like the worst possible fate.

He didn’t answer, only took a slow step back, and another, and Emily hovered next to him, afraid she couldn’t help him if he started to fall. At least there was a staircase behind them, a place to sit, and the chill bit into her legs as she sat. Corvo didn’t seem to notice it at all, still staring away from her, out to where the moon chipped tiny, glimmering pieces out of the tides.

“Are you all right?” Corvo said. It was a simple question, but one she should have asked him, and not the other way around.

He’s trying so hard…

“Lady Boyle was very helpful. I like her. I think she knows things I should know.”

Corvo nodded slowly. “She’s proven herself. At least… for the moment.” He smiled. It was a wince, too. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m glad that you like her.”

“You don’t have to be the same for me, Corvo, if it’s too difficult. You don’t have to pretend.”

He didn’t move, didn’t answer for such a long time that Emily was certain he wasn’t going to, that he’d just put his gloves back on and they’d pretend none of this had ever happened. His breath steamed in the cold, the only sign he was even a living thing.

“You can see the Tower from nearly everywhere in Dunwall. I didn’t really think about that, until…” Prison. Coldridge. Words he wouldn’t say, not even to her. “I looked for it, all the time, after. Even when I wasn’t looking, I looked.”

Corvo dropped his gaze to his hands, wringing them together, perhaps staring at the mark. The thought came to her then, and Emily spoke before she could think to stop herself.

“Can you do that? Like Daud did. Across the rooftops?”

He nodded.

“Can you take me along?”

He grinned, maybe even laughed a little, and Emily hadn’t realized how frightened she’d been until she felt the relief surge in. She’d meant it, that he could be whoever he wanted to be, but it was nice to think that person would still want to smile at her.

“You could have been Lord Regent, you know.”

Many people were quietly surprised that Corvo hadn’t just stepped into Havelock’s position, and many more simply assumed he was still pulling all the strings behind the scene. The men who petitioned her were surprised by his silence, then, when the Lord Protector barely shifted where he stood as she took counsel and delivered her judgments.

“I think the city has had quite enough of that,” he finally said. “I used to look, and think about what had happened. I had a lot of time to think of how I’d gotten it so wrong. After I…” He paused, rubbed a little at the back of his hand. An unconscious gesture, and now she realized just how often she’d seen it before. “I thought about revenge. I thought about what your mother would want, and what I wanted. I looked at the Tower until it seemed a part of me. It was your future, and I knew I couldn’t… I had to deign to Dunwall, and it was bitter, but I knew that you would see the best of it. There was still something worth saving. It was all right, if I failed to avenge her. She… she might still forgive me, if I did right by you.”

“Corvo…”

“You saved my life, Emily. I was lost and you saved me.”

It was Emily’s turn to have nothing to say, to finally change the subject when there were no words.

“The High Overseer - if the Abbey knows about you, and Daud...”

“I’ll be careful,” Corvo said, and even as he said it he was sliding his gloves back on, though now that she knew what lay beneath Emily thought it was meager protection at best. He seemed to notice her unease. “We’re going to see what we can do to influence things, to find a man who knows how best to ‘restrict his wandering gaze.’”

“Oh. Well… that’s good, then.” She’d had a short but violently instructive course on the difference between the way she was told things work and they way the world actually behaved, but it was still strange to hear her Lord Protector speak of lies and blasphemy as a matter of course, even when Emily knew she would do far more than that to protect him.

“Em…”

“What’s He like?” She said, because anything was better than listening to Corvo try to make up some story, a prettier version of the truth, that the Abbey was destined to be no more friend to her than it had been to Mother.. “I mean, you did… you met Him, right?”

She was pushing too far, she knew it, for all those things he wouldn’t have told her about at all if he’d had the choice. The shadows were not his friend at the moment, she couldn’t identify every emotion that crossed his face but she could still see them all.

“A horror. Inhuman... or more than human, if there is such a thing. He’s the sea, just like they say. Without boundary or measure.” Corvo spoke in a whisper, as if they weren’t alone. If the Abbey spoke true, they might not be. “Gentle. Terribly gentle. I never expected that.”

Emily twined her arms around his, leaning against his side. The cold had numbed her now, it wasn’t uncomfortable, and she thought she finally understood what it meant when she’d overheard one of the guard saying he was too tired to sleep. It was too much, all of this far too much for one day, and she knew for certain that tomorrow, the day after, the one after that - it would just be more of the same.

“He can’t have you.”

“Don’t.” Corvo said, a sharp whisper and how could it have been such a short time ago, not even a year that she’d thought of him as fearless. He was afraid now, more than she’d ever seen from any Overseer who’d claimed a glance into that darkness. Corvo knew what was looking back. “Em, don’t ever...”

“All right,” she said, but thought it just the same, looking out at the sea and the clouds and the tiniest sliver of moon peeking through the haze, imagined it on the throne with a crown and a scepter and all of the assembled fleet upon the ocean, all her power set against Him. Maybe it would make the Outsider laugh, maybe He would only mock her the same as any adult, and dash all her ships to pieces, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.

You can’t have him. I won’t let you.

Now if only she was sure she could say it to His face without flinching.

“So… what happens now?”

“Now?” Corvo said. “Now you grow up, and the city loves you, and the Empire loves you. You marry and have beautiful daughters who will grow up to be Empresses themselves, and we will play hide-and-seek in the garden.”

“You’ll be old.”

“Well, then one of them might have a chance of catching me.”

Emily leaned back just long enough to punch him on the shoulder. He accepted his punishment loyally, as a true servant of the throne should.

“You’ll always be with me, Corvo.”

“As long as you have need of me.”

“Always.”

“Yes.”

Emily expected him to mention the cold or the hour, to hurry her back to her rooms or at least inside her sanctuary, where they might light a fire. At the very least, he might try to reassure her again, that everything with Daud had been dealt with, that Lady Boyle’s sister was nothing she needed to worry about. He might even apologize. Corvo tended to do that when any silence lasted too long.

She didn’t expect to feel him lean a little more on her shoulder, to hear the rasp of his breath grow steady and slow, and Emily found that he’d fallen asleep right there. If she moved at all it would surely wake him, and she would have to eventually, before they both froze solid, but for the moment it was quiet and peaceful. Maybe Piero knew of some remedy for whatever nightmares plagued him. if it was the Outsider’s doing, perhaps there was something from the Overseers that might be borrowed, without their even having to know it. At the least, if Daud wasn’t to betray her she could lean on him, and let Corvo recover some of his strength. As days passed, as she learned what she needed to know, she might even start making allies of her own.

Emily cast her eyes out to the dark city and the darker waves - her city. Dunwall was cold and dark, grim and gray, spotted only here and there with tiny points of cold, diamond light. It was the kind of night that would make any man bless himself for fear, tip up the collar of his coat and scurry away to a warmer place - but a new day would come, and sun would still rise, as fixed as the moon and the tides. It was already there, just past the horizon.