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In the weeks he had spent out of the Ossuary, Lucanis has learned several things about his unexpected savior. Rook, or Celeste de Riva, was one of House de Riva’s youngest members, and was unconventional to say the least. When she first walked into his cell, she’d stared him down without fear, even with the corpses of Venatori littering the floor around her. It was the first time in a year that someone had looked at him without fear or hatred in their eyes, and it was enough to silence even Spite for a brief, blessed minute.
Then she’d introduced herself as a fellow Crow, from House de Riva no less. Well. That explained the lack of aversion to the corpses. The hours that followed were a blur—his focus torn between suppressing the demon straining for control, his growing anticipation of vengeance, and the frantic dash for freedom. He didn’t recall every detail, but certain moments stood out with vivid clarity: the sting of her magic as electricity sparked through the air, the shock of purple hair appearing to his right to finish off whichever enemy he struck down. It was unusual, fighting next to someone again. More than once, he found himself turning to his next target only to see them already convulsing with her magic.
Mage, Spite had hissed in his mind as Rook filled the room with arcs of lightning, its wariness palpable. Ally, he corrected, watching Rook glance back at him, waiting for his direction without hesitation.
He hoped he was right.
An unspoken reason for Lucanis’ choice of lodgings in the Lighthouse was its balcony. From there, he could watch the courtyard below, an ingrained habit from years of training. Hours spent cataloging movement had a calming familiarity, even if they weren’t his targets.
This morning, as usual, the courtyard bustled with activity. He noted Harding tending to yet another potted plant, Neve and Bellara deep in conversation in her office, and then—there.
The double doors swung open, and Rook emerged, sprinting across the courtyard as though the Antaam themselves were on her heels.
At first, it had worried him. He’d once followed her, thinking there was an emergency, only to find her in Bellara’s room, handing the other elf a small frog figurine.
“Oh, Lucanis!” she’d exclaimed when she noticed him. “Sorry, didn’t see you there! Did you need Bellara for something?”
“No,” he’d replied. “I saw you running and thought there was trouble.”
“Oh! No, no, everything’s fine! Well, not everything with the gods and all that, but everything here is fine.”
She’d dashed off again, leaving him standing there, bemused.
Today, her destination appears to be the kitchen— that is, until she spots him on the balcony and abruptly changes course. Her gait is slightly uneven, a heavy satchel bouncing at her hip. He notices it immediately and is struck by a pang of disappointment. Up until now, Rook had asked him to join her on all her trips to Treviso, a silent show of support on her part, knowing how much he missed the city. Seeing the Crow merchant’s familiar bag in her hand stirs an unexpected sense of loss. Still, her smile is as bright as ever when she stops in front of him, her hair falling haphazardly around her face.
“Rook,” he greets, voice steady.
“You’ll never guess what I found,” she says, her excitement palpable. Before he can respond, she shoves the bag into his hands and continues, “Fletcher sent word—they finally found the staff I asked for. But this? I found it in the back.”
Curious, he unwraps the package to reveal an ornate silver teapot resting on an equally intricate tray. The craftsmanship is nostalgic, and as he turns the teapot over in his hands, he spots a familiar artisan’s seal. Memories from what seems like a lifetime ago rush forward unbidden: Caterina’s stern face softened by candlelight, Illario’s quiet laughter at his side, the warmth of shared meals.
Smells like jasmine. And rosemary, Spite chimes in, oddly intrigued.
“Teia said the First—your grandmother, used to speak highly of their work,” Rook says, her voice more unsure. “I thought… maybe you’d like to have something familiar to use here in the Lighthouse.”
Lucanis runs his fingers over the delicate molding on the handle, the gesture silencing him briefly.
“Thank you, Rook. It’s lovely,” he replies after a time. Rook’s smile, which had briefly faltered during his silence, returns in full force.
“Don’t mention it,” she says before waving and running off. His gaze lingers on her retreating form for a beat too long, before he takes the gift into his quarters.
Only later does it occur to him—he now has to make tea.
It’s a few days after their conversation with Illario when Lucanis finally brings it up. Though the Fade lacks true night, he can tell it’s late-- late enough that the rest of their friends have turned in. On previous nights, Rook would have headed upstairs by now, a familiar stack of correspondence in hand to “sleep on”. He suspects she means it literally but calling her out for poor sleep habits feels hypocritical. Besides, he can always see the toll in her stiff shoulders come morning.
Lately, though... lately, she lingers. The kitchen has become her late-night haunt, drawn by the excuse of coffee.
“Hope you don’t mind,” she’d said the first night, mug in hand.
He hadn’t and told her as much.
But watching her desecrate her third cup of coffee with a truly obscene amount of sugar has him reconsidering. A travesty, he laments, thinking of the cup from Café Petra she had similarly mutilated. That’s when the memory resurfaces.
“You mentioned disappointing House de Riva,” he says, keeping his voice casual.
Her head doesn’t lift from her book, but her hand falters, creasing the page.
“Which time?” she replies lightly. “You’ll have to be more specific. I don’t think Viago’s known peace since he let me join his House. I swear his hair gets thinner every time I see him.” She straightens suddenly and points at him, her expression mock-serious. “Don’t you dare tell Teia I said that.”
Lucanis laughs at the genuine fear in her voice. “Teia would cut my tongue out for insulting Viago to her face. Then she’d stab me in the back for betraying your trust.”
“Exactly. And with her dull knives, too.” Rook nods solemnly, though the corner of her lips twitch with amusement. She returns to her book, but he finds himself unable to look away. It must be the sleep deprivation, he thinks, because several minutes pass before he realizes she’s set her book aside and is watching him instead, one brow arched.
“Lucanis, while I appreciate the lovely view, you know you don’t have to force yourself awake to keep me company, right?”
“No, it’s...”
“I’m kidding. I know you’re worried about Spite.” She smiles faintly. “Well, in exchange for keeping me company—and keeping my secrets—it’s only fair to tell you. It was a run-in with the Antaam.”
“The Antaam?”
“That’s why Viago kicked me out of Treviso—sorry, ‘reassigned’ me out of Treviso and onto this mission to stop Solas. Maker knows why he let me keep the de Riva name, or why he didn’t kick me out of the Crows entirely.”
“I find it hard to believe it could have gone that badly.”
“Oh, aren’t you the charmer?” Her smirk turns wry. “But yes, it went that badly. It wasn’t a contract, for one. Just an unlucky Antaam platoon and some very lucky prisoners. I saw those bastards walking around Treviso like they owned the place, hurting our people. I couldn’t just stand by and let it happen. After all, the Crows rule Antiva.” Her impression of Viago is terrible, but it draws a soft laugh from him despite the weight of her story. “Turns out ten dead Antaam and two dozen freed prisoners weren’t enough to appease the Fifth Talon when I ruined his plan to infiltrate their garrison and poison their commander.”
“Do you regret it?”
The question hangs heavy in the air for several long seconds before she answers.
“For a long time, I wondered,” Rook admits, her voice quiet. “Would Treviso still be free if Viago’s plan had worked? If I hadn’t…” She trails off, the words left unfinished. Her gaze drops, and when she speaks again, her voice is steadier. “I’m glad we learned of the traitor in Treviso. Now I can point the blame at them—and when we learn their name, I’ll point my blade at them too.”
She sits back, exhaling as though the admission has drained her. “So, as you can see, House de Riva has plenty of reasons to be disappointed.”
“They have plenty of reasons to be proud as well,” Lucanis replies firmly.
Her head snaps up, eyes meeting his for the first time. For a moment, she looks utterly stunned.
“Thank you, Lucanis,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, more firmly: “I—thank you.”
Her words linger between them, soft but meaningful, and Lucanis finds himself smiling.
A list in Lucanis’ handwriting:
- She prefers lightning magic—and favors her right side.
- Impulsive. And more perceptive than she appears.
- Takes 5 sugars and half a cup of milk with coffee— will need to buy more sugar. Maybe a sweeter blend of coffee as well?
- Mistakenly believes she's a disappointment. How? Must be corrected.