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Treviso was a city full of contrasts; there were sun-dappled canals that cradled half-collapsing gondolas and twisting streets that led to cloistered little courtyards, and there were areas alive with the hum of life – vendors calling out their wares, the chatter of passing crowds, the scent of spices and fresh produce lingering in the air. It was alive, chaotic in its rhythm, and yet… Peaceful.
As peaceful as anything could be when one was not actively trying to outwit fate and kill gods.
Neela de Riva weaved effortlessly through the chaos of the market, her short bob brushing against her jaw as she ducked under an awning, eyes sharp as flint. Behind her, Lucanis Dellamorte strolled through the crowd like he had all the time in the world. Despite the wind tugging at his coat and the scent of rain creeping in, Lucanis managed to look completely at ease, one gloved hand resting lightly on the hilt of his dagger. Neela didn’t even have to look to know he was smirking.
“You’re walking very casually for someone who almost got us killed two streets back,” she called over her shoulder.
Lucanis tilted his head as if considering this, his steps landing as quietly as a cat’s. “I find that panic ruins the aesthetic.”
Neela bit back a grin, though her lip still twitched. “And what aesthetic would that be, Lucanis? Disheveled menace?”
Lucanis’ voice dipped to a mockingly grave tone. “Dangerously charming. Broodingly handsome. Mysterious and…”
“…Deeply irritating?” Neela supplied, ducking around a corner into a narrow alley. She could hear his chuckle, low and rough, as he followed.
“Careful, Neela. Keep teasing me like that, and I might think you enjoy my company.”
“Enjoy? No,” she shot back, pausing just long enough to glance at him. “Tolerate, at best.”
Their eyes caught for half a second too long. Lucanis’ smirk softened, the teasing lines around his eyes easing into something more intent. Maker’s breath, that stare. Her sharp focus was softened by amusement as Lucanis stopped to inspect peaches for the third time that day.
“Are you hoping they’ll look better under a different angle of the sun?”
Lucanis gave a long-suffering sigh, rolling a peach between his fingers like he was testing its weight for balance. “These are Orlesian peaches, imported. I won’t settle for anything less than perfection.”
“Orlesian peaches,” she mocked, falling into a dramatic drawl. “Oh yes, we mustn’t forget the peaches. How could we possibly fight off the Antaam without perfectly ripened stone fruit?”
Lucanis didn’t look up from his examination. “Would you prefer I leave you to gnaw on dried meat?”
“Dried meat doesn’t judge me.”
“That’s because dried meat doesn’t care, Neela.”
She grinned, sharp and delighted, and bumped her shoulder lightly against his as they walked. “Well, I suppose that’s why I keep you around, then. The food and the judgment. You’re a generous man.”
Lucanis shot her a look, but the corners of his mouth were twitching upward. Neela thought it suited him – the almost-smile that never quite reached its full potential, but that softened him all the same. He could be many things – calculating, deadly with the flick of a wrist – but here, in the golden light of a mid-morning market, he was quiet. Content.
He paused at the next stall, inspecting wheels of cheese with a critical eye. The woman behind the table, all freckles and a quick, cutting wit, quickly began listing her finest products.
“I want something for grating,” Lucanis said, and then, more thoughtfully, “and something softer – sweet, for pairing with fruit.”
The vendor started pulling samples, chatting him up with the ease of someone who knew how to get a coin purse to loosen. Neela, meanwhile, stood a step behind and to the side, watching Lucanis argue about whether one particular cheese was too soft.
“Do you know what I like about you?” Neela asked suddenly, loudly enough to be heard over the bustle.
Lucanis glanced at her from over his shoulder, brows arching, faintly suspicious. “What’s that?”
“You’re so passionate about the smallest things. Cheese. Peaches. Fine wines.” She grinned. “I’ve never seen a man argue so fervently with a stranger about dairy.”
The vendor looked up at her with a bark of laughter. Lucanis, nonplussed, turned back to his selection and muttered, “Someone has to look after you all. No one wants to admit they care about good food until it’s gone.”
Neela’s expression softened. Just a fraction.
The woman behind the stall handed over two wrapped parcels of cheese, and Lucanis exchanged an obnoxious amount of gold coins for the goods. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged over his shoulder as they moved away.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” Neela replied. “The passion is inspiring, really.”
He sighed, shaking his head as he adjusted the pack slung across his shoulder. “You’re impossible.”
Neela smirked, hands on her hips. “What? I’m serious! I love the passion. Let’s see what’s on that list.”
She darted forward, snatching the folded list from his hand before he could react. He blinked, dumbfounded, as she unfolded the note and began reading aloud.
“Fresh eggs. Smoked trout – for Neve, of course – oh, how kind of you.” She glanced at him, voice lilting with playful teasing. “Carrots. Walnuts. Two good reds and a port. You even noted that you wanted Orlesian peaches!”
Lucanis swiped for the list, but she danced back a step, holding it just out of reach.
“And chocolate!” Neela’s eyes brightened as she looked back at him, the teasing melting into something softer. “You thought of me.”
He crossed his arms, blushing faintly. “I thought of everyone.”
“No, no, Lucanis, don’t ruin the moment. Let me pretend you’re just fond of me.”
He didn’t reply, and that was the trouble of it – the look he gave her, unreadable and heavy. The tension between them snapped tight as a wire, as if they were suddenly teetering on the edge of something neither of them knew how to name.
Neela cleared her throat, folding the list neatly and pressing it back into his hand. “It’s a good list,” she said lightly.
Lucanis glanced down at it, fingers curling around the folded parchment. His voice was quiet when he said, “Someone has to make sure you feel cared for.”
Neela opened her mouth to reply – likely to say something flippant, something to break the weight of the moment – but she didn’t. She closed it, watching him instead, eyes lingering on the sloped line of his shoulders. Lucanis carried too much weight, for all that he tried to mask it with a devil’s grin and deft hands.
He turned away, continuing down the market lane, and Neela fell into step behind him.
“Stay here,” she said abruptly after a moment, touching his arm to still him.
Lucanis frowned, but she was already gone, slipping into the crowd like shadow into shade.
She found him minutes later, exactly where she’d left him, inspecting smoked fish with his usual critical eye.
“Did you wander off to judge me behind my back?” Lucanis asked without looking up.
“Give me some credit,” Neela replied. “Here.”
Lucanis turned as she extended a long, wrapped parcel toward him. “What’s this?”
“Something you didn’t have on the list.”
He accepted it cautiously, unwrapping the brown paper to reveal the glint of polished steel. A wyvern dagger – exquisite in make, with a curling hilt shaped like a wyvern’s head and an emerald set into the pommel.
Lucanis stared down at it, uncharacteristically quiet. “Where did you…?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Neela crossed her arms, leaning one hip against the edge of a stall. “I saw it and thought of you. That’s all.”
His fingers traced the etching along the blade, lingering at the wyvern’s head where the neck curled back into the guard.
“I…” He stopped, words catching somewhere in his throat.
“It’s just a knife, Lucanis,” Neela said softly. “Don’t get emotional on me.”
Lucanis looked up, meeting her gaze, and there was a shadow of something in his eyes – something she wasn’t prepared to see. Gratitude. Vulnerability. Affection.
“It’s the least I could do,” she added, shrugging like it didn’t matter, blushing because it did. “For everything you do for us. For… Taking care of everyone. Someone has to remind you that you’re cared for, too.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, as though he meant to smile and couldn’t quite get there. “Neela…”
“Don’t ruin it,” she said quickly, holding up a hand. “I’ve already been sentimental once today. That’s more than enough.”
Lucanis exhaled a laugh – soft and breathless – and carefully rewrapped the dagger before tucking it into his belt. “You’re truly impossible.”
“And you’re truly welcome.”
They stood there for a beat longer than necessary, looking at each other as though one wrong move might shatter the fragile stillness between them. Then Lucanis straightened, patting the edge of his pack.
“We still need eggs,” he said.
“Orlesian eggs, I presume,” Neela replied, falling into step beside him.
He smiled. “Only the best.”
They walked back into the market together, shoulders brushing. It was a quiet sort of peace – imperfect, fleeting – but peace all the same.