Chapter Text
Viago bit off the cork of the vial with practiced movements. The acrid smell hit hard as he poured the liquid over the gash on Rook’s arm, the wound bubbling instantly with a whitish foam as it reacted to the poison’s residue. Illario. Will. Pay. Rook flinched, her breaths shallow and erratic, her body twisting where she lay in Teia’s lap.
Pain. NO AIR. Help. Rook!
Lucanis could only watch, helpless, as Viago yanked open a second vial. "Dammit, Gwynn, drink!" he cursed, tipping it to his Crow’s lips. Rook choked, spilling the precious antidote between coughs, fighting those who were trying to save her. Teia tried to steady her, holding her head as Viago tried to pour the antidote down her throat.
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It had been a dirty fight. Illario’s treacherous coup to seize the First Talon’s seat erupted into chaos—a fierce clash of Crows against Venatori. It wasn’t unexpected. They had come prepared, armored and ready, after Viago and Teia’s missive. Yet, Lucanis had held onto a shred of hope—that the past year of betrayal hadn’t been Illario’s doing. A shred that was torn to oblivion once they had found Caterina alive and as well as can be as a hostage in her own home.
Rook had been quick on her feet, as always. Her magic humming beside Lucanis as she darted in and out of the fray. She kept the Venatori occupied, leaving him to cut them down one by one. But somehow, Illario had slipped through the chaos, exploiting her unguarded left side while Lucanis was locked in battle with a Venatori magister. She was no trained fighter. A Crow in name only, some would whisper. Yet she had proven she could hold her own in the past few months, with Lucanis at her back.
It had been no more than a shallow nick. But with Illario’s blade poisoned, it didn’t need to be more. Viago’s concoctions were nothing short of deadly—undetectable until the damage took hold. Even for one who spend considerable time in House de Riva where paranoia and poison reigned. No healer’s magic could counteract it without antidote, once it spread through the blood, attacking the heart and lungs.
Viago had named this particular poison Perrepatae’s Vintage, its lethal effects compounding the longer it lingered in the victim’s system. Years ago, he had called it his masterpiece—a special commission from the First Talon herself for her mage-killer grandson. Lucanis knew its power too well. Even he hesitated to use it. Death by this poison was no simple mercy but a brutal struggle to breathe and live. A death even Venatori did not all deserve. Something even Viago would reluctantly admit.
Lucanis had always ensured his own vials were accounted for, keeping them close on his person. None had gone missing. Which meant Illario must have gotten his dose from Viago’s backup stash. Whether through thief or traitor, Viago would have to uncover that answer later. The Fifth Talon would not show mercy on the Crow who had betrayed House and Talon.
Rook hadn’t realized she was poisoned. She wouldn’t have connected the subtle tremble in her hands or her magic depleting faster than normal. Fatigue from battle, she’d have told herself. The shortness of breath and heart pounding in her chest? Adrenaline, nothing more.
She wasn’t a fighter by nature. Drawn into the Crows to settle a debt at an age most already went out on their first contracts. Her skills lay in subterfuge, intrigue and forgery, not with blade or staff. But the months spent in skirmishes against the Evanuris had hardened her into a viable spellblade.
The battle ended with Illario on his knees, defeated. As he was dragged away, Lucanis was declared First Talon. There should have been relief, even triumph, as the inner circle retreated deeper into the villa to celebrate.
But then Rook collapsed, her legs giving out as she gasped for air her lungs could no longer hold.
Teia reached her first, her frantic hands trying to steady her. Viago arrived moments later, biting back a sharp reprimand for her carelessness—until his sharp eyes caught the oil-like sheen glistening on the gash in her arm. That unmistakable sign.
Lucanis met his gaze, their silent understanding instant and grim.
Mierda, Rook.
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Spite bristled at the edges of Lucanis’ mind, seething. He fought to stay in control, to suppress the urge to turn and crush Illario’s throat. A hesitant touch on his arm steadied him. Bellara stood beside him, worry in her eyes. "Is she going to be okay?"
Viago’s reply was clipped. "Not yet."
Teia’s hands trembled as she stroked Rook’s hair, whispering soft reassurances in Antivan. Bellara’s confusion mirrored Spites’ rising frustration. "Why isn’t the antidote working? Were we too late?" Rook. In PAIN. Stop. Pain. HELP ROOK!
Lucanis pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply, forcing calm into his voice. "Because sometimes the cure is worse than the poison."
Bellara tensed, her grip on his arm tightening. He didn’t know if she sought to steady him or herself.
Rook's writhing gradually slowed, her coughing and gasping subsiding. At last, she seemed to relax. Bellara let out a sigh of relief beside Lucanis, but he remained tense, unwilling to let his guard down just yet. “Oh thank..” Bellara breathed. Just then Rook’s breathing stilled altogether.
With this, the waiting game started.
Teia ran her fingers through Rook’s hair over and over. "Come on, come on now, Gwynn." The worry in Viago’s voice cut through the silence, his quiet plea making Lucanis’ heart falter his chest. “Not like this, you idiot. Not now. Breathe., damn you..”
Seconds dragged by, each one marked by the frantic rhythm of his own heartbeat, while hers remained unyielding, unmoving. It was taking too long.
"Viago..." Lucanis started, stepping forward and shrugging off Bellara’s hold on his arm. But the Fifth Talon was already moving. After a brief nod, Viago sprang into action. With a firm but gentle motion, he eased Rook out of Teia’s lap, laying her fully flat on the ground beside him.
Viago moved closer, placing one palm firmly on her chest, the other interlocking on top. His lips moved in a muttered count as he began the compressions, his movements precise and unwavering. Teia scrambled back to make room. Bellara now reached to find her and clung to the Crow with tears in her eyes.
Lucanis knelt down, taking the spot across from Viago. He forced himself to focus, to suppress the rising dread threatening to overtake him. All the while Spite remained silent. A silence that only deepened his unease. He tilted Rook’s head back with practiced care.
As Viago paused, Lucanis leaned in, sealing his lips over Rook’s to breathe life back into her. Please, come back. A first breath, her chest rose faintly. A second, but the stillness persisted.
“Damn it.” Viago resumed the compressions, his jaw clenched tight, the force of his efforts enough to bruise her ribs. This made both men flinch, but Viago did not hold back. A third breath. A fourth. Still, nothing. Panic flickered in Viago’s eyes, mirrored in Lucanis’ own.
They were losing her.
Viago paused again, his shoulders heaving with exertion. Lucanis didn’t hesitate, bending down once more to breathe for her. Just as despair began to claw at him, a faint shiver rippled through Rook’s body.
Then, a cough. A desperate, gasping breath.
“Maker.” Relief crashed over them like a wave. Viago sagged back, as he sat beside Teia, who dropped down with him. Lucanis barely registered the tears in her eyes as he pulled Rook close, murmuring softly.
"It’s okay, Rook. You’re okay now. I’ve got you."