Work Text:
Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? Andarateia, Seventh Talon of the Antivan Crows, considered the group gathered around a map of Treviso laid out on the large table on the uppermost floor of the Cantori Diamond. Surely not!
Viago gestured to various points on the map, explaining the latest movements of the Antaam invaders, illustrating new checkpoints and barricades with chess pieces and colored pins. Teia interjected reminders, notes from reports she knew he hadn’t read yet, obvious flirtations – the Fifth Talon knew her well enough to raise an eyebrow at her feigned attentiveness, but otherwise let her be. The others, she was sure, wouldn’t notice.
Deryn “Rook” Aldwir had proven herself a valuable ally to the Crows, and to the city of Treviso as a whole. She cared, genuinely – probably too much, for a person in her position, and not just about how disrupting the Antaam, and now Venatori, in Treviso would further her own war against the gods Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. The former Veil Jumper cared about her mismatched team, her allies, their homes, their people… How she didn’t break under the weight of her bleeding heart, Teia couldn’t begin to imagine.
But right now, that care seemed to have a very particular target. “You mentioned a possible Venatori base,” she said, her lilting Dalish accent cradling the words. “Do you have any idea where they might be holed up?”
Last of their little war council, Lucanis Dellamorte, presumed heir to the First Talon, infamous Demon of Vyrantium, mage-killer, and of-late abomination, reached past Rook and tapped a cluster of buildings on the map, not far from the Market Square. “Somewhere here, I would think.”
Teia ignored his explanation.
Rook’s breath hitched when Lucanis leaned close to her. Her eyes followed his hand, then snapped back to the map in forced concentration. Though she hid it reasonably well, she was undeniably aware of his every move.
I do not believe I’m seeing this!
Lucanis’s lack of attachments was almost as legendary as his cousin Illario’s many conquests. Most believed him simply too driven, too focused on his work to have time for romance. While that was partly true, the more Teia got to know him, the more certain she became that was only part of his problem. Aside from one, ill-fated attempt to woo Viago when they were young, she had never heard of him taking the least interest in cultivating even friendships. Her own attempts to crack his shell, being raised in the same household, had certainly been futile. If Rook was throwing herself at that wall, Teia couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.
Satisfied she’d at least deciphered Rook’s odd behavior, Teia shifted her attention to her fellow Crow. Was this attraction as one-sided as every other she’d seen directed at Lucanis?
Spotting it took longer – even for a Crow, he was reserved, grave, and tightly controlled, and even more so since the unwilling addition of his demon. But Caterina, rest her soul, had trained them both, and Teia could see the tiniest fractures beginning in his guarded demeanor. Nothing nearly as obvious as with Rook – subtle shifts of balance, the angle of his shoulders… His awareness gravitated toward Rook like iron filings to a lodestone.
But also…entirely unconsciously.
The longer Teia watched, the more she grew convinced he had no idea he was even doing it, let alone his affect on poor Rook. Maker, she thought, he’s enchanted by her and doesn’t realize it. Nonna, what are we going to do with your grandson?
When they all finally ran out of updates and had turned over every plan numerous times, looking for holes – the tactical side of war was so boring – Teia pushed away from the table and crooked a finger at Rook. “A word, please. In private,” she added, as Lucanis reflexively moved to follow.
“I won’t be long,” Rook assured him.
He nodded but did not look pleased to be letting her out of his sight.
Viago clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come, Lucanis. I’m sure Teia will bring her back in one piece.” He gestured toward the lounge that overlooked the gaming floor. “Besides, I just unearthed an aged Selenian port from my stores I am itching to try.”
“Save some for us!” Rook called after them and followed Teia down a floor to the Diamond’s office.
Unlike the rest of the casino, the opulence of Teia’s office was not in elegant good taste. She enjoyed having things, especially shiny things, as her profession’s namesake would suggest, and her office had become a halfway house for all the random décor and furniture she could either think of no place for, or simply had yet to ship to the Cantori estate. The overwhelming riot of color and shine usually put visitors off balance.
Wide-eyed, Rook peered around the space, torn between awe and amusement. “Teia, I think a Nevarran vault threw up in your office.”
“Everyone’s a critic.” Teia shifted several knick-knacks of unknown origin to clear a space, hitched herself up onto the edge of her desk, and folded her arms, staring at Rook. “Close the door.” As it snicked closed, she continued. “All right, spill. What is going on with the two of you?”
“Two of…who, exactly?”
“You and Lucanis.”
Rook sat heavily on the arm of an overstuffed, gold embroidered chair. “Oh.” Her long ears seemed to droop, and she showed no sign of answering the question.
“Well?”
“Nothing is going on.”
“Please,” Teia scoffed. “Do you think I’m blind?”
“Nothing is going on!” Rook repeated. She flung herself from the chair and paced the room, once, twice. “Though not for my lack of trying,” she muttered.
“What?”
Rook paused long enough to glare. “You’re no more deaf than blind, Andarateia.”
“So, what’s the problem?” Lucanis might be overly reserved, but he lacked the accompanying paranoia that had made Viago such a tough nut to crack. Persistence – and well-timed cornering – had won Viago over to Teia eventually, surely Rook could manage Lucanis. Unless… “Is it Spite?” She could understand his not wanting to risk anyone coming to harm from a demon he couldn’t control.
“No. At least, I don’t think so. Maybe?” Uncomfortable and distressed, Rook picked at her Veil Jumper leathers and stared down at her feet, bare, as was Dalish custom. Seeing her judging every inch of herself wrung Teia’s heart. “As far as I can tell, he’s not interested.”
Entirely untrue, but not something Rook seemed likely to believe. “You told him?”
“Have I gone up to him and said, ‘Lucanis, you’re amazing, and I might be falling in love with you?’ No.” Rook dropped ungracefully back onto the brocade chair. “But I haven’t exactly been subtle, either.”
Teia choked back a laugh. “Whatever you do, don’t say it like that. You’ll scare him off.”
“Especially if he isn’t interested.” Sighing, Rook slowly shook her head. “We have a near-impossible job to do. I can’t jeopardize our ability to work together.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That if I was going to compare coffee to kisses, I might need some help refreshing my memory.” Her mismatched eyes sparked briefly with mischief, quickly replaced by weariness. She hid it well, especially around the team she had to lead, but fighting gods? That would wear anyone down.
She deserved a little joy amid the darkness. If, for some unfathomable reason, she thought Lucanis would bring her that? Teia was more than willing to help. A little matchmaking would be a pleasant diversion in its own right.
“I’m so sorry, Rook. Unless death is involved, Lucanis is basically an idiot.”
Rook snorted. “Death and coffee.”
“No, I think the coffee makes it worse. Too distracting.”
“So, rather than politely disinterested, you think…”
Teia nodded firmly. “Oblivious. Quite likely.”
Rook wrinkled her nose, but she seemed to perk up a bit at the suggestion. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse,” she said, after a long silence. “Do all your Crow men run to such extremes, or is it an Antivan thing? I mean, on one hand, you have Lucanis and Viago; on the other, Illario and Chance. I haven’t seen any middle ground.”
“Ah, you just have to break through the Crow discipline to find the Antivan passion.” Teia grinned wickedly. “Believe me when I tell you, it’s worth it!”
“Any advice for a Dalish Veil Jumper poorly acquainted with discipline?”
“I’ll give it some thought. What worked for me, may not work for you. For one thing, those were very…particular circumstances. And Lucanis isn’t Viago.”
“Thank the gods!” Rook laughed.
“Hah! I could say the same. What on earth do you see in him?” She held up a hand, forestalling any answer. “No, I don’t need to know. I wouldn’t judge the passions of a woman’s heart.”
Rook grinned crookedly, distorting the lines of her branching Vallaslin. Lucanis had good taste, at least, Teia decided. Rook projected confidence in her leadership, however she felt in private. She was funny, compassionate to a fault, and certainly lovely to look at. Every change in expression did surprising, enchanting things to her face.
“If the interrogation is over, I should probably get back,” Rook said, blushing a bit under the obvious scrutiny. “Before they think you decided to eat me alive, after all.”
“That could be great fun for both of us.” Teia wiggled her eyebrows and hopped down from the desk to open the door for a now-laughing Rook. “Go rescue Lucanis before Viago decides to try some new poison on him. Again.” She watched until Rook disappeared up the stairs, then returned to her desk, grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen, and began rapidly jotting down every random idea she could come up with.
Several weeks later
Mistakes chased themselves in circles in Lucanis’s brain, punctuated by Spite’s incessant yowling. He threw himself into fencing exercises, trying to drown them out, to hone the edge on his skills and prevent their recurrence.
Weisshaupt. Ghilan’nain.
Rook in the pantry. So very close.
So close. How could he have missed? He never missed!
Not close enough. Not nearly.
He growled in frustration. Lunge. Parry. Riposte. But so slow. How much longer before the lack of sleep took its final toll and got him killed? Or one of the others? Guilt twisted in his gut. How long before he got Rook killed?
"OUT. WANT OUT. PROMISED!"
Out where? He looked up at the shifting Fade sky. One didn’t get much more “out” than this! What did Spite actually want? Maybe they could work on that airborne Fleche again. That might entertain the demon enough to keep him quiet, at least for a little while.
He doubted they’d get a third chance at Ghilan’nain.
Would Rook give him a second?
“Mierda. This is getting me nowhere.”
Assan picked up his head from where he lay sunning himself – as well as one could, in the Fade, at any rate – and trilled inquisitively.
“You cannot help, but the offer is appreciated.”
With a reassuring chirp, the griffon returned to his nap.
Lucanis stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. He was losing his damned mind. “I need more coffee.”
The lighthouse door opened as he turned back toward the dining hall and kitchen, nearly startling him out of his skin. Spite, naturally, thought that was hilarious. Not pulling knives on people who surprised him was some consolation, at least.
It wasn’t Rook who emerged from the Lighthouse, which was both a disappointment and a relief. Instead, a boy, in his early teens and wearing Crow colors, peeked cautiously around the heavy doors, staring wide-eyed at the floating ruins and greenery sprouting from bare stone. When he saw Lucanis, all expression fell from his face; he squared his shoulders and marched across the courtyard.
Lucanis schooled his own expression back into neutrality, or as close as he could manage in his current mental state. “I assume you are looking for me?”
“Yes, Signore.” The boy stopped halfway up the stairs, his composure shattered again when Assan perked up to see the visitor. “Is – is that a griffon, Signore?”
“He is.” Should he remind the boy to focus? Any number of Crow trainers might have caned him for his distraction, including Caterina. Surely a griffon was a special case.
Assan squawked sleepily and stretched his way to his feet like the cat he resembled. The boy’s eyes went very round as he found himself nose to beak with the creature, but he gamely stood his ground. “Can I… Can I touch it? Him?” Assan looked back at Lucanis, as if also asking permission, or requesting he give it.
“He’ll be very annoyed if you don’t. Here.” Amused, he showed the young Crow where Assan liked to be scratched. “But first,” he said, before the boy got too distracted, “why are you here?”
“Oh!” He stood up very straight, briefly ignoring Assan, who, offended, shoved him hard in the ribs. “One moment. Signor Dellamorte, I have a message for you from the Fifth Talon.” He held out an envelope with Lucanis’s name scrawled across the front in an even flourish, the back closed with the seal of House de Riva. Satisfied he’d done his job, he buried his fingers in Assan’s feathers and scratched for all he was worth.
Lucanis dubiously turned the envelope over in his hands, several times. “This is a contract.”
“Um. Yes, Signore. I mean, it looks like one.”
“I’m already on a contract.”
The boy stopped scratching and shifted uneasily. “Should I return it to the Fifth Talon?” His voice broke.
Assan complained and bumped his hands, but the magic of meeting a griffon had been broken.
Bad enough to be asked to bring a message to the infamous Demon of Vyrantium in a bizarre ancient ruin floating in the Fade. Delivering a contract on behalf of a Talon, only to have the Senior Crow recipient throw a fit and refuse – it was not a healthy situation for a fledgling. More mistakes.
Lucanis ran a hand through his unruly hair, sighing in frustration. “No. I will deal with it. Thank you.”
Recognizing a dismissal when he heard one, the boy bowed, offered Assan one last pat, and took himself back to the Lighthouse. The moment he was through the doors, Lucanis turned on his heel and headed straight for the pantry, waving a brief apology in response to Assan’s confused chirps.
Another contract? What was Viago thinking? Too many distractions already vied for Lucanis’s attention! He resisted the urge to slam the pantry door – mostly because Spite wanted to make noise and break things, and contradicting the demon made him feel like he still had some control over the madness his life had become – perched gingerly on the edge of his cot, and tore open the envelope.
After two lines, he flung the contract aside and headed for the kitchen. He choked down a mug of Neve’s coffee, vile, but bracing and immediate. Viago, you fucking bastard.
“WANT TO. BITE,” hissed Spite. “BLOOD AND BONES. NOT HIS BUSINESS.”
They certainly agreed on that. Lucanis’s hands shook as he made a new batch of coffee. Good coffee. He stared at them, feeling like they belonged to someone else, just going through the motions.
“AND YET—"
“No, Spite.”
“SMELLED. SO GOOD. WANT MORE. WANT TO TA--“
Lucanis flung the water carafe into the fireplace. It shattered and hissed, startling even Spite into silence.
“Mierda…” He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his hands, breathing deeply through his nose to ward off encroaching panic.
Fingers light against his chest. Breath teasing his face. Hair scented with leather and sandalwood…
He would have to warn the others to watch for glass in the ashes until he could get it cleaned up. While the coffee steeped, he collected what shards he could. Maker’s Blood, what was wrong with him? Was it his own memory fighting him? Or was Spite forcing the images to the front of his mind? And did it matter? The feelings were his own, even if Spite did seem to share them.
Cleanup and good coffee helped him get his nerves back under control. He returned to his bed and picked up the so-called contract once more. It was just as infuriatingly absurd on a second read.
Target: Deryn “Rook” Aldwir
Objective: You are hereby charged to deliver unto the aforementioned target the “little death,” il piccolo morte, in a manner of her choosing, at your earliest convenience.
Another sharper, finer hand added:
But with the world trying to end, you might wish to hurry.
It was signed, “Viago de Riva, Fifth Talon,” and “Andarateia Cantori, Seventh Talon.”
One of these days, he was going to murder them both. Teia, anyway. Viago would never have done this without her meddling. At least, he didn’t think so, but the man had a contrary streak a fathom deep.
The real question was, what did he do about it? Ignoring it seemed the wisest course. Knowing those two, however, they would ensure it returned to haunt him at the least opportune moment. Probably in front of Rook. No, he’d have to confront them.
“WITH KNIVES. AND STABBING.”
“As cathartic as that sounds, hopefully it won’t be necessary.”
And hopefully he could get to the Eluvian without running into Rook. He could not contemplate facing her right now. He grabbed a sheet of the scrap paper he used for shopping lists and scribbled a quick note.
Went to Treviso. Back soon. No one touch the ashes; they’re full of glass. Don’t ask. Will clean when I return.
-L
Satisfied, he belted on his blades, slipped into his armored coat, pinned the note to the dining hall door, and headed for the Lighthouse proper. Creeping through the front doors made him feel for a moment like a child back in the Dellamorte villa, sneaking in or out, or into the tunnels beneath the estate, avoiding the servants and any visiting Crows. He could feel the eyes of the Caretaker and Assan on him, but neither offered any comment on his behavior.
A quick look revealed the library sitting empty, thank the Maker. He hurried across to the stairs leading down to the Eluvian room.
The soft pat of bare feet on stone stopped him on the first step. Mierda…be Bellara, please…
TOO SLOW, Spite hissed in his head. LET ME. TALK.
Be quiet. Maybe she hadn’t seen him.
“Lucanis?”
Not Bellara. He took a deep, steadying breath and stepped back from the stairway. “Ah, Rook.”
Rook leaned over the balustrade to peer down at him. Her rich, auburn curls cascaded down to caress her face, slender elven ears piercing the soft cloud that Lucanis wanted desperately to bury his hands in while—
He stared abruptly at the wall, grateful regular meals had his trousers fitting a bit more tightly than would otherwise be comfortable.
“Is everything all right? Emmrich just told me he saw a messenger from the Crows come through. I thought I should see what the latest news is from Treviso.”
“No. I mean, yes, everything is fine.” The contract felt like it was setting his hand on fire. Trying to hide it would only make her more suspicious, so he held it up. “A summons from the Talons,” he managed. “I won’t be long.” He looked up again, letting his eyes settle on her shoulder. That was safe enough.
Rook padded down a few more steps. “Do you want backup?”
“No!”
She went very still, and Lucanis could have kicked himself. Spite was torn between laughing at his discomfort and howling at him for possibly hurting Rook. At least it kept him quiet.
He dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated and bewildered. The nonsense she put up with! “I’m sorry. No. It’s—” He couldn’t say it was Crow business. He’d never denied her involvement in that before. Family? No, that was worse, and he’d already called it a summons from the Talons. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said, instead. He risked briefly meeting her eyes, and at once felt heat rising in his face.
Rook could have said any number of things, then. Could have pressed the issue, pried at his obvious evasiveness. But she did not, and his heart ached even more for her. “A few hours, then. Try not to let them keep you. You look like you could use a rest.” She retreated up the stairs so silently, even Spite couldn’t hear her steps.
Lucanis burned with shame at the half-truth – LIE! Spite shrieked at him – at the mercy she offered, unasked; at his own fumbling incompetence.
He couldn’t go on like this.
The Diamond stood mostly empty during the day, opulence bordering on gaudy without the cloaks of smoke and flickering candlelight. Teia paced the upstairs lounge, taking advantage of the emptiness to engage in free and occasionally heated debate over the identity of their possible traitor. Today, even most of the lingering Crows had been sent out, in anticipation of…other trouble. Viago watched her nimble legs carry her to and from the banister and the sofa he had draped himself upon, wondering when it might be safe to catch her around the waist and pull her down with him, and when she would be more likely to swat him.
“You don’t really think we have another Crow selling us out?” she complained. “Wasn’t one—”
Viago held up a hand, but she had heard it, too, and already fallen silent. A distant fizzle of magic. Footsteps. He measured them against memory, but Teia was a step ahead, as usual.
“Here he comes.” She paused, head cocked like a curious bird. “He’s furious.”
A thrill of cold fear chased down Viago’s spine. He’d thought of Lucanis as a demon for years, long before the Venatori had given him the name. Pushing him like this, now? They were playing with fire, and he, at least, knew it. Teia had thought it sounded like great fun. He locked eyes with her and held his breath.
A hand slammed down on the coffee table before them. Viago turned to stare dispassionately at it – and the crumpled paper beneath it.
“What, by the blood and bones of the fucking Maker, is this bullshit?”
Viago slowly looked up. The air around Lucanis shimmered like heat haze, and his normally brown eyes bled toward glowing purple. Viago’s fingers curled around the crook of his cane. “Tamp it down, Lucanis,” he said, far more calmly than he felt, “or we will put you down.”
“Can you?” he – or Spite – hissed, contemptuous. Speed had never been Viago’s strong suit, and they all knew it.
Speed wasn’t Teia’s strong suit, either. But she was unmatched at moving unnoticed, when she wanted to. A knife slipped along the side of Lucanis’s throat, and after a long, tense moment, the demon-light drained away.
“We are still Talons,” she said from behind him. “And rage makes you sloppy.”
Finally, slowly, he relaxed, slumping to lean against the table. His right hand curled into a fist, further crumpling the letter. “Answer my question.”
“Well now.” Teia stepped up beside him and made a show of peering down at the paper. “It looks like a contract. Albeit a rather informal one.”
Lucanis’s glare could have put all the smelters in Treviso out of business. “On Rook. For—” He choked off, ears suddenly quite red.
If he hadn’t tried to kill them by now, he wasn’t going to. Viago released his grip on his cane and laid it across his lap. “Is that a problem?” Lucanis seemed a far cry from the fledgling who had once tried to woo Viago with knives, but his romantic prowess clearly hadn’t progressed much beyond that. Pity he and Illario had failed to learn anything useful from one another.
The “Demon of Vyrantium” stared, entirely floored. He clearly hadn’t expected them to treat this with any seriousness.
“We can always find another to fill it, if so.”
“I might like to take it, myself,” Teia said. “She would be a lovely diversion from harassing the Antaam.” She studied her pristine fingernails, all contrived nonchalance. “And I’m sure Illario would be—”
Too far! “Teia!” Viago cut her off, lurching to his feet.
Lucanis’s hand wrapped around her slender neck before Viago even realized he’d moved. His eyes blazed demon-purple, with no trace of the normally level-headed Crow. “TRY.”
“Lucanis!” Shit, shit, shit. This was getting out of hand.
Fear shadowed Teia’s eyes for all of a heartbeat before furious defiance took over. She tipped her head back, baring her throat. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Lucanis would never risk another House war, but Spite? “Enough, both of you! Teia, that was uncalled for and beneath you. Lucanis – Spite? – this isn’t helping!” He gripped the smaller man’s arm without trying to pull him off. A fight could get them all killed. But Lucanis’s leather coat offered little resistance to the fine needle between Viago’s fingers. Lucanis stiffened as it pierced his flesh. Enough sedative to take him out would probably kill him, but this should at least slow him down.
Or maybe it worked on Spite, instead. Lucanis fought the demon back again, peeling his fingers, one by one, from Teia’s neck, until he was pale and sweating with effort. “Please,” he panted, bracing his hands on his knees as though he could barely keep his feet, “stop taunting him.”
“Him?” Teia asked, rubbing her neck and putting some space between them. “Or you?”
Lucanis just shook his head.
“I am trying to be patient, since this was our doing,” Viago said, moving to stand between them. “But touch her again, and I will feed you your own heart before killing you.”
A weary hand-wave seemed to acknowledge and dismiss the threat, both at once.
“I don’t need you to protect me, Vi.”
Viago scowled at her, slipping the used needle back into his cane. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten whose idea this was.”
“Caterina would have your heads, abusing our contracts like this.” Lucanis pulled himself upright, but his eyes were dull.
Teia planted her hands on her hips. “Caterina would agree you’re being a coward.”
“You say that, when I just—”
“Spite does appear to do his worst in Rook’s defense,” Viago offered. Why did Teia think this anything other than a terrible idea? Not only needling him with the fake contract, but encouraging him to get involved with Rook when his control over the demon seemed tenuous at best. But even Viago could see the way Rook looked at him. “Your concern is understandable. Do you really think he’d harm her?”
No response. Lucanis might well have been a statue. Maybe the poison did work.
Teia flung up her hands in disgust. “Hopeless!” She jabbed a finger at Lucanis’s chest, apparently no longer concerned about angering Spite, fool woman. “You are going to lose her! You think Rook cannot handle the both of you?”
That roused him a little, and he stepped back, out of reach. “Teia, I can barely handle both of us.”
“She is mad about you, for some Maker-forsaken reason. But if you insist on holding back, I’m certain another of your team would be thrilled to offer her their support.”
Viago gently took Teia by the shoulders and drew her away from Lucanis. “Please stop trying to goad Spite into wanting to kill you.”
She rounded on Viago, clearly needing to yell at someone, anyone, right now. Lucanis had shaken her badly, and she was finding her metaphorical footing. “And you! You are too soft on him. What is the point if you let him wiggle out of it?”
“Mia cara—”
“Don’t ‘mia cara’ me, Vi. Ugh!” She huffed in aggravation and stormed off, soft-footed as an angry ally cat. “I’ve had enough of both of you.”
“Well,” Viago said, after a long moment. Half a dozen thoughts and arguments and recriminations stayed tightly behind his teeth. None of this was Lucanis’s fault, not really. If not for the actual demon, seeing someone finally cracking through the infamous “Demon’s” stubborn devotion to his work might have been amusing. “Calming her down is going to take days.”
“I hope you aren’t expecting an apology.”
“Only for trying to strangle her.”
Lucanis snorted, but looked away, shamefaced. “She won’t even bruise. Spite… I… We did not try that hard.”
“No. She would have fought back if you had. Then where would we be? Short two Talons and one god-killer.”
“Do you honestly think—” Lucanis broke off, surprised, suddenly swaying on his feet. “Ah. There it is.” He reached for the chair behind him.
Viago caught him before he missed and wound up on the floor. “Took long enough,” he muttered. He eased Lucanis into the chair, struck, not for the first time, by how small he was. Particularly after his long incarceration, though he’d been looking less gaunt, lately, than immediately after Rook returned him home.
“You overestimated the dose.”
“It won’t kill you. Probably. How did you hold it off so long?”
“Spite,” he answered, bemused, and Viago couldn’t tell if he meant the demon or not. Closing his eyes, he leaned back into the chair. “I wouldn’t kill a fellow Crow for my own pride, Viago. Or let him.”
Viago cautiously returned to the sofa. He shouldn’t have used a sedative. Now someone would have to ensure Spite didn’t wander while Lucanis slept it off, and, naturally, that someone would be Viago. Fair retribution for letting Teia talk him into such a ridiculous scheme.
With effort, Lucanis retrieved the contract and smoothed it out again. “I still cannot believe you, of all people, went along with this. It would almost be amusing, if not aimed at me.” The worry lines between his brows deepened. “And Illario as backup.”
“We would never,” Viago replied, snatching the letter away. “You know how Teia gets.” He held one corner over a candle-flame. Once it caught, he dropped it on the table and let it burn. Only its reflection in almost-closed eyes let him know Lucanis was still awake. As it slowly fell away to ash, he could no longer be sure.
Silence did not suit the Diamond any more than daylight.
“These women,” Lucanis mused, words thick and starting to slur, “will be the death of us. Whatever shall we do with them?”
“I can think of several things.” That earned him a half-hearted glare. “More to the point, it sounds like you need to think of a few things.”
“None of your business.”
It would be if he failed his contract for pining over Rook. Viago knew all too well that as distracting as a lover could be, wanting them, not knowing if one’s feelings were shared, was far worse. A heart to heart with the Demon of Vyrantium. Who would have imagined? “Teia is right about one thing, at least,” he added, gently. “You can’t expect Rook to wait forever.”
“She deserves better than… I’m a walking disaster, Viago.” The edge of pain in his voice was sharp and brittle as glass.
And as close to a confession of feeling as he was likely to make. A small victory.
“Why don’t you let Rook decide that, hmm?” Viago waved away further protests. “Just a thought. Now, hurry and let yourself sleep off that drug. I have work to do that doesn’t involve babysitting temperamental demons.”
Some time later
Doors open. Locks broken. Guards driven away. Hands - small and strong, gentle but unyielding - drawing them out, tearing down the walls of the not-Ossuary.
He might not leave. Not yet. But. They were free.
A touch. Fingertip to fingertip. Spite looked down. Rook's fingers, outstretched toward a hand that could have been stone, a shiver of pleasure warring with Lucanis's instinct to withdraw.
DON'T YOU. DARE.
A breath. Long and deep. Scents of snakeskin and cinnamon from the watching Crows, and Rook Rook Rook, and tension-knotted shoulders eased.
Lucanis caught Rook's hand as she started to pull back. Surprise. Delight like starlight.
They saw. The Snake quirked an eyebrow, and Cinnamon pressed a fist to her lips, hiding a grin. Smug. Happily smug? Irritating, but…Spite felt the same.
Thoughts tangling Lucanis - too many emotions. The cousin-brother. Grandmother. Rage-sorrow-regret-betrayal. Hope. Fear. Rook. The warmth of two hands. Passion.
Determination.
Complicated, mortals. But they had an accord, a contract. Caterina, coffee, Rook. A plan, a path. Finally, they were moving. And better, no more hiding. Spite touched their joined hands.
MINE.
* * *
"CAKE."
Hands dusted in flour. A strange softness. And the smells! Hazelnut and chocolate and apricot and coffee. Rich and sweet and dark. So very good.
"To thank her. And…if she still wants…" Wants me, he didn't say, but words echoed in his mind for Spite to hear.
"WANTS. NEEDS. SMELLS LIKE—"
Lucanis held up a hand, flour and cocoa a swirling cloud around him. "No, Spite." Heat in such interesting places. Neck, ears, low in the belly, groin.
Rook wasn't the only one smelling of need.
"CAKE. ISN'T ROMANTIC."
Amusement, annoyance. "What does a demon know of romance?"
"THEY DON'T. BAKE. IN THE BOOKS."
Pause. Consideration. Reluctant agreement. "Think of it as a gift, then."
Spite radiated skepticism.
"I cannot believe I'm asking this, but what would you suggest?"
"A BED."
Desire, uncertainty. What did he still have to be afraid of? He knew what to do, where all the strange pieces fit. The books were very clear.
Lucanis's ears grew hot again. "Remind me to never ask you for advice again."
"DO NOT—"
"I know, Spite."
But he asked. Why ask? Contrary human. Spite could get nothing further out of him until the cake was finished.
"SMELLS GOOD," he admitted.
"Thank you."
"ROOK. SMELLS BETTER."
Lucanis buried his face in his hands. "Mierda. What am I getting into?"
"NOT ROOK," Spite quipped. This time, the rush of heat was a victory.
* * *
Quiet, soft. Candlelight on tawny skin. A cloud of walnut curls, warm lips, and laughter like feathers. Lucanis sat at the head of his cot in the pantry, Rook tucked against him, head on his shoulder. Spite unfurled his wings around them, protective, awed.
CAKE IS MAGIC.
A chuckle rumbled through Lucanis's chest.
Rook raised her head to kiss his cheek. "Commentary?"
"Always." His lips found hers, one arm tight around her waist, the other hand gentle in her hair.
Spite reveled in the taste of her, nestled close to the bond with Lucanis to feel her touch. Drunk on the scent of her, senses overwhelmed. Leather, hazelnut, coffee, salt-honey desire, chocolate, silken skin - taste and touch and smell blurred.
When Lucanis came up for air, Spite pressed forward, nuzzling into her hair.
Fingers traced down the front of his doublet, caught the edge of his waistband.
Surprise, unease. Only a heartbeat, but enough to knock Spite back, away from the intoxicating sensations.
Lucanis caught Rook's hand, pulled her away, kissed her knuckles. He rested it back on his chest, his own holding it over his heart.
She searched his face. "Lucanis?"
"Shh, Deryn, mia cara." He kissed her again, and she settled more tightly against him.
Spite watched, waited. Uncertain. Hesitant. And yet—
Content.
While the Antivan Crows certainly knew how to throw a party, Deryn decided rather quickly that Veil Jumper celebrations, though few and far between, were much more to her taste. Though perhaps it suffered from the forced nature of the festivities. Younger Crows threw themselves into feats of acrobatics with apparent wild abandon in the far corners of the hall, while those with more restraint or gravitas gathered in small knots for more cultured, subdued exchanges. But it all seemed stiff, as though a party was the furthest thing from their minds.
It probably was, she thought, eyeing the nearest of the dark stains on the cobalt-blue carpeting, where a Venatori corpse had been cleared away to make room for a table laden with antipasti.
One wouldn’t find poison tasters watching the food at a Veil Jumper party, either. She hoped they were only ensuring Illario hadn’t tampered with it ahead of time.
Deryn hadn’t felt so out of place since Varric had put her in charge of his Veilguard. She considered herself fairly personable, enjoyed the company of the Crows, for the most part, but after everything they’d just gone through, rescuing Caterina and dealing with Illario and his Venatori…she would rather be anywhere else.
It didn’t help, she mused, watching Lucanis speaking in low tones with the grandmother he hadn’t seen in over a year, that everyone she might have enjoyed celebrating with was otherwise engaged. Teia and Viago had disappeared to deal with Illario – Viago was not going to enjoy babysitting that one – and Lucanis and Caterina deserved all the privacy their people could give them. Rook wasn’t about to intrude.
Not being the center of attention for a while, though…that was a nice change. She exchanged pleasantries with the handful she knew by name – Chance, Fletcher, Heir – then hovered near the dessert table as inconspicuously as a Dalish among Crows could. Her half-Antivan styled coat helped a little. The barefooted boots less so. She eyed a plate of wafer-thin, sugar-dusted waffle cookies and wondered if they’d be worth the risk.
“The de Riva pizzelles are always spectacular.” Lucanis seemed to materialize at her side, reaching around to snag a cookie off the plate. In contrast to everyone else, his ease seemed unfeigned, as though the title of First Talon didn’t weigh nearly as heavily as the cares it had replaced.
“Not poisoned then?” she asked, grinning.
He clutched his chest in mock horror. “And risk another House war? No one would dare!” He took a bite and wrinkled his nose. “Hmm. Anise is not my preference, however.”
“Viago bakes?” Deryn plucked the pastry from his unresisting fingers and tasted it. “Not bad. Hazelnut would be better.”
His smile warmed her to her toes. He smiled more often since reaching an accord with Spite, and, sometimes, she would find him sitting alone, eyes open and glowing, in various places in the Lighthouse, letting Spite watch the goings-on while his body, finally, got some much-needed rest. Weariness no longer wrung him into a gaunt, careworn shadow.
“Viago trusts very few to cook for him,” he replied, taking a pizzelle from a different plate. “But no. A younger cousin. Not a Crow, but she works with Café Pietra.” This one must have been more to his liking, as he took a second. He finished the first, looking thoughtfully around the hall. “When you wish to leave, just say the word.”
“Are you sure? This party’s for you, after all, First Talon.”
Lucanis snorted. “This is Illario’s style. Caterina is back safely; that’s enough for me.” He met her eyes, his own full of mischief and…something dark and warm and just a little uncertain. “I have…other plans for the evening.”
Deryn’s stomach fluttered. “Is that so? I should pay my respects to Caterina first.”
“Wise,” he agreed, gravely. “I shall meet you outside.” Taking a plate half-full of pizzelles, he made his way along the tables of food, adding to it as he went.
Mystified, Deryn looked around for Caterina.
The former First Talon shooed away a cadre of Crows as Rook approached. She leaned lightly on her cane, but there was steel in her posture. When she spoke, her voice was cool, but not unkind. “Ah, Rook. House Dellamorte’s debt to you grows.”
“Killing gods is a lot to ask,” she said. “Once we knew you were alive, it was just a matter of finding the best time to extract you safely. I – we – need Lucanis at his best. No distractions hanging over his head.” True, but so incomplete it felt like a lie.
Caterina was too shrewd not to see right through it. She looked in the direction her grandson had gone and raised an elegant white eyebrow. “Indeed.”
Deryn followed her gaze. An assortment of antipasti and charcuterie had joined the cookies on his plate, and he carefully picked up a bottle of wine and two glasses as they watched. Heat crept up Deryn’s face. What was he doing?
“I am surprised he stayed so long,” Caterina sighed. She turned her steely eyes on Deryn, and only a lifetime of thumbing her nose at authority kept Deryn from retreating right then. “I do not approve, you realize. As First Talon, I could not. You are not a Crow, and bring no advantage to the House, despite your…hmm. Fame.”
Well. That was honest, at least. Deryn rubbed the back of her neck, embarrassed. What they had was still so new, and so raw. If Caterina expressed displeasure, would Lucanis shut Deryn out again? “And as his grandmother?”
A ghost of a smile crossed Caterina’s weathered face. “Killing gods is a lot to ask. It is a distraction.”
Knowing she was pushing her luck, Deryn couldn’t resist asking. “What about after?”
“Survive first. Then we may consider ‘after.’” She nodded toward the door in an obvious dismissal, and Deryn gratefully excused herself. She’d only gone a few steps when Caterina spoke again. “Look after him. He is the best of us.”
The “best of the Crows” had already disappeared out the front door. Deryn hurried to catch up.
She waited on the stoop while her eyes adjusted to the torch-lit darkness and tried to ignore the Venatori corpses someone had simply dumped into the bushes to make room for the party. The Crows were rather frighteningly practical. “Lucanis?”
“Over here.”
His voice led her back into the Dellamorte gardens, where he waited beside the canal flanking the far side. Behind him floated a small, but well-appointed gondola, wine and plate of pilfered snacks on a small table between the stern and a cushioned bench about a third of the way toward the prow. He stepped lightly onto the stern and held out a hand. “Come here.”
“What’s this?” Deryn asked, laughing as she took his hand. His thumb caressed her knuckles, and he lightly tugged her toward the boat. Whatever had gotten into him? She certainly didn’t object! She carefully stepped over the gunwale and let him guide her to the seat.
“A gondola?” he offered, innocently. He peeled off his armored coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. The oar rattled free of the forcola, and he pushed the little boat away from the dock. As it slipped into the lazy canal current, he stowed the oar in favor of the wine bottle.
Deryn took the glass he poured for her, sipping idly while they drifted past villas crowned with crystal rotundas, torch-lit gardens, bustling cafés, and intersecting canals. All of which she barely saw, in favor of watching Lucanis masterfully guiding their vessel toward whatever mysterious destination he had in mind.
"I take you along the most beautiful waterway in Treviso," he said, his crooked grin belying any real chastisement, "and you completely ignore the view." He tsked. "What a waste!"
"I'm enjoying the view very much, thank you."
"Barbarian," he teased. "We shall send you south, with the Avvar."
Deryn popped a cube of cheese into her mouth and grinned, entirely unrepentant.
Lucanis steered the gondola away from the main canals, and now he had to fight the current. The play of muscles in his chest, arms, and neck entranced her, but he seemed untroubled by the effort. This smaller canal took them outside Treviso proper. The glow of the city faded in the distance, letting the stars overhead shine to their fullest, casting a sparkling silver webbing on the water.
"Here we are." Lucanis drew the gondola alongside a dimly-lit dock, disembarked, and secured the mooring line with practiced ease. A man-made stream emptied into the canal down-current, stretching back alongside a quartz gravel path that disappeared into backlit trees a stone's throw from the dock. Once again, he offered her his hand, and his brown eyes were liquid honey in the torchlight.
"But where is here?" Deryn had little enough experience with boats to be glad for his help, but he released her far too soon, turning back to the boat to collect his spoils from the party.
With the food nestled safely in a basket, Lucanis offered her his free arm. "You'll see."
Deryn took his arm and let him lead her away from the dock, beneath the sheltering branches, toward the glow on the far side of the tunnel they made. She leaned into the solid warmth of his presence, content to let him have his mystery. "How are you doing?" she asked after a moment. "And Spite?"
"Spite is almost purring with satisfaction. It is…an odd feeling."
"And you?"
He hummed thoughtfully. "Caterina is safe, and I am here, now, with you. The rest? Problems for tomorrow."
Stepping out into the light, Deryn stopped short.
The garden sprawling toward the villa dwarfed the Dellamorte's, though it was not as well-kept, and the villa itself looked considerably smaller. Instead of statues, arbors and pergolas formed islands of seclusion amid paths lined with flowers and lush greenery she could only guess at in the lamplight. Night-blooming varieties filled the air with their heavy, mysterious scents.
The house - what she could see of it from the treeline - was impressive in its simplicity, in an elegance more of clean lines and perfect form than ornamentation. Some kind of carvings adorned the walls, subtle and too distant to make out.
And every bit of it seemed drab and inconsequential compared to the garden's centerpiece, a fountain falling in low, tiered waterfalls into an irregular pool. Scattered throughout and behind the falls, orbs of light filled the surrounding garden with a quavering glow.
"Lucanis, what is this place?"
He released her arm and set the basket beside the path. "It belonged to one of the Crow families that did not survive the last House war," he said, pulling the silver crow studs and chain from his lapels and tucking them into his pocket. "No one wanted to let it fall to ruin, or risk an appearance of favoritism by bestowing it on another House." His nimble fingers went to work on the buttons of his doublet, and Deryn lost part of his reply. "—should be a neutral ground for…private meetings." With a sly grin, he continued toward the fountain.
His doublet fell negligently to the ground, cravat fluttering after.
Deryn couldn't breathe. Yearning, need twisted low in her belly, hot and fierce. For so long, she'd been holding back, afraid, after that first almost-kiss, that if she pushed too hard or moved too suddenly, he would balk again. His brief hesitation the night they learned Caterina lived, after she and Spite had helped him see his way out the prison in his soul, seemed to justify her concern. Soft kisses, strong arms warm around her, hands light upon her face and in her hair…it was enough.
Then.
But as Lucanis's shirt slipped from his fingers to the grass, as she admired the glow of his Antivan bronze skin, scarred from an assassin's life, her hands desperate to map their lines, her lips to kiss away any dark memories they carried…
It wouldn't be enough, now. Not nearly. She wanted to devour him from the mouth down, to wrap herself around him and crawl into his skin. To—
"Rook - Deryn?" He had taken to using her name when they were alone, and it was like velvet across her skin. No one had ever said her name like that. "Are you coming?" He had reached the pool and was stepping out of his boots.
She forced her feet to move and tried to keep her tone light. "You came all this way to swim?"
He laughed - the freest, most unguarded sound she'd ever heard from him. "You don't swim in Treviso, amore. Particularly not with open wounds." Neither had taken serious injury from Illario and his Venatori cohorts, but minor cuts and magic burns had been inevitable. He stripped out of his trousers and stretched languidly.
By all the names of all the gods, this man was beautiful.
Before she could enjoy more than a cursory look, he knifed into the water in a shallow dive.
Deryn couldn't stifle a strangled cry of dismay, and she pressed her hands to her mouth. He was not playing fairly at all!
He surfaced, shaking water from his hair and wiping his eyes. Smirking wickedly, he said, "Do you intend to stand there all night?"
Any chance she might have had to undress…surreptitiously…had vanished the moment he took to the water. "What if I'd rather watch you?" But she shrugged out of her long leather coat and folded it carefully to protect the feathered collar.
"Flatterer." Lucanis drifted back to the pool's edge. He gazed up at her, and the softly glowing crystals in the water threw his wolfish features in to stark contrasts of light and shadow, turning his eyes into bottomless wells of a desire that seemed to match her own. "I am adaptable, cuore mio. If it is your pleasure, I will oblige. But," his voice grew husky, "if you are willing, I would much prefer you join me."
Deryn knelt, closing the space between them. She touched his forehead, trailed her fingers down his jaw and neck in a feather-light caress. He shivered. As she leaned forward, hands on his shoulders, he rose to meet her.
And she dunked him.
He came up, sputtering with laughter, reaching to pull her in, but she danced back out of reach. "Incorrigible woman!" He pushed away from the edge. "My poor heart could weep."
"With laughter, sure," she teased. "Turn around."
Grinning, he did so, wisely not mentioning how illogical a request it was. They had dressed one another's wounds often enough, and Deryn's Dalish upbringing had imparted no functional concept of body shyness. But this…
This was different.
She had never been naked around anyone she wanted, anyone who wanted her. Her body, normally comfortable and rarely considered, seemed suddenly awkward and ill-fitting. Any moment he would turn, see her, and change his mind about whatever this was. Or she would catch her toes in her underwear, fall over, knock her head against the tiled rim of the pool, and have to be fished out of the water like a fool.
But he didn't; and she didn't; and she slipped into the water with a relieved sigh. The pool was not deep - small as she was, she could reach the bottom with her toes - and the water was comfortably lukewarm. A hot spring feeding into the fountain? Or the same magic that lit the crystals? Curiosity could wait. She had waited long enough.
Deryn swam around in front of him. He'd closed his eyes as well. At her approach, he cracked one open and grinned.
"Better?"
"Much, thank you."
"Shall I apologize for teasing you?"
She thought of his clothing falling to the ground, one careless piece at a time. "Don't you dare."
As it had that afternoon in the Lighthouse pantry, his confident charm slowly slipped away. "Deryn…" he murmured her name like a charm, and she almost begged him not to leave, not again. But a shadow shifted in the water, and his fingertips grazed her ribs. "I have wanted this, you, for so long…"
Deryn shifted toward him, trying to lean into his touch, but he kept it tantalizingly light. "Spite?"
"Spite, me…" He sighed. "None of this is fair to you. You have been so patient with me. With us. More than I dared hope." Chuckling ruefully, he finally settled his hand more firmly on her waist. "Teia thought you would have tired of waiting long ago."
His callused thumb traced circles near her navel, making it hard to think. "Did she, now?"
"Mmhm."
"Never." Slowly, hoping not to crowd or trap him, she looped her arms over his shoulders, laced her hands behind his neck. His eyes half-closed as she stroked the top of his spine. "Lucanis, I would wait - will wait - as long as you need. " Somehow.
"That makes one of us." His free hand came up to cradle her arm, and his lips brushed the inside of her elbow, beard tickling the sensitive skin and giving her chills, despite the warm water. He trailed kisses up her arm to her shoulder, pausing at the crook of her neck, breath hot on her damp skin. "They tried to make it a contract, you know. Your, ah…'little death.'"
"Contract" and "death" steadied her more than she wanted, and she pulled back to look at him. He resisted with a low growl of protest that reminded her more of Spite. "My what?" Teeth grazed the sensitive flesh below her ear, and she gasped. "Lucanis, focus!"
"I am," he rumbled.
"What does it mean," she pressed, "my little death?" Wouldn't a contract preclude working with the Crows? Her arms tightened reflexively around him. They'd tried, he said. He'd refused it, then? But—
"Shh, Deryn. It's nothing like that." Lucanis drew back only enough to look up at her. "The Orlesian, 'la petite mort,' is more common. In Antiva, we might say "il piccolo morte.' Not familiar?"
Deryn shook her head.
"I do not know it in Dalish, or if the meaning would even translate. Your mother-tongue is elusive." His eyes were drowning-dark with promise, his lips quirked with mischief. "But I can show you." He kissed her again. He tasted like fine wine and sweet amaretto. Lips traced the line of her jaw, the curve of her throat.
She lost track of her body beyond where his skin met hers, beyond the warmth growing in her core. When her knees gave out, his strong hands cradled her backside, holding her up, then hoisted her legs around his waist for support. She could feel him beneath her, trembling with anticipation.
"Lucanis…" she breathed, "please…"
He nipped gently at her throat. "Tell me, cuore mio. Tell me what you want."
"You. Just…all of you."
She suddenly found herself lifted out of the pool and sitting on its edge, night air cool on her overheated skin. Shivering and suddenly uncertain, she started to cover herself with her arms.
Lucanis caught her wrists. He nuzzled her palms. "You need not hide, Deryn." His gaze drank her in, and the adoration in his face made her feel… "You are glorious, amore." He bent his head and pressed his lips, gently, to her inner thigh.
Deryn lost any semblance of coherent thought for some time.
* * *
The textures of his body fascinated her. The uneven sweep of his hair she ran her hands through, the taut, smooth scars puncturing the lean muscles of his back and torso. The rough brush of his beard against her skin, sensitive nerves still afire.
"Da'dinan," she said at last, dreamily. "But you're right, it doesn't translate, doesn't fit. Da'thenera, maybe." Little dream. But this was real. Achingly, beautifully, transcendently real.
Lucanis shifted against her shoulder, almost playfully bumping her chin with his nose. "How do you feel?"
"I feel…" Raising her hand, she stared at the stars between her fingers. "Indescribable. Like I should be up there, somewhere."
"Good." His voice rumbled against her chest with warm amusement.
Deryn went back to stroking his hair, watching it fall through her fingers, such a contrast to her own curls. "And you?"
Humming thoughtfully, he kissed her shoulder. "I feel I will be some time fitting back into my own skin, rather than yours." After a moment, he added, "Also sticky as a Rivaini summer, which is…less pleasant."
The admission sent Deryn into a fit of giggles, and he sat up to watch her, smiling.
"Is that why you brought me to swim?" she teased.
"Purely luck, I'm afraid," he answered ruefully. "I was not entirely sure what to expect."
"It was perfect." She rolled onto her side and gently shoved him toward the water. "But perfect can be messy. I wouldn't mind another swim, myself."
He kissed her temple. "Deryn," he whispered, "if there is perfection, then it is you."
She felt almost bereft when he slipped from her side and into the water, but she turned to watch him, to reassure herself he was still with her, and the feeling passed. Curiosity crept in its wake as she turned over his words in her mind, thought of hands, lips, answering her every need almost before she knew it herself. "Vhenan—" she balked a little, the word strange on her tongue. No one had warranted it before now. Certainly not her scant handful of casual partners. Nothing like this. Like him.
Lucanis rested his arms on the tiled fountain edge, waiting patiently for her to collect her thoughts.
For a moment, she forgot her intended question. "Creators, but I love you."
"And I you. But that is not what you were about to say."
"Hmm? Oh, no." She sat up, joints popping as she stretched and made her own way back to the water. Sliding in beside him, she kissed his cheek. "Am I your first?"
"Does that surprise you?"
"In some ways. Are you prodigiously skilled at everything?"
"Flirting?" he offered. "I'm quite terrible at flirting."
"It worked on me."
"Your taste is, obviously, questionable."
Rook splashed him.
Chuckling, he hoisted himself from the water. "I am observant," he said, "and very good at following instructions. You must be parched. I'll get the wine."
Eyeing his backside appreciatively, she asked, "Like that?"
"Borrowing your coat." But he also slung his trousers over one arm before heading back toward the trees, collecting the rest of his discarded clothing along the way.
Perfect is messy, Deryn thought, as she rinsed off and dressed. First Talon of the Crows, a jumped-up Dalish nobody, and Spite. Messy was inevitable.
Lucanis returned mostly dressed with his basket of wine, absconded snacks, and, to her surprise, a blanket and candles. A full, starlit picnic he must have prepared some time ago and finally seized the opportunity for. Careful of the wine, she tugged him down into her lap and wrapped her arms tightly around him. She wanted nothing more than to hold him, to distract Spite while he slept, so he could finally get some real rest.
"Deryn? Are you all right?"
It would be messy, but dreams always were. She would fight gods, grandmothers, and every encroaching doubt that might try to push them apart. "Stay with me," she whispered.
"I'm with you, cuore mio." Lucanis gently caressed her cheek. His eyes grew briefly distant, as if listening, and glowed faintly purple. He smiled. "We both are. Now and always."