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Drip. Drip. Drip.
Illario watched the ceiling, the growing wet spot where water dripped between loose bricks. He should let someone know. It would be a shame to die from a cave-in of all things.
Wouldn’t that just be…humiliating.
He would like to spare himself a humiliating death after so much humiliation in life.
He heard a creak from above, and quirked a smile. Someone was finally coming down to see him, huh? His stomach had begun to cramp several hours ago, but it wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with. He half expected this kind of treatment after all he had done. Thrown into a cell with a mediocre mattress, a piss pot, and semi regular meals. He was more disgusted about the irregular opportunities to bathe or wash his hair. He was given a hairbrush by Teia. He knew he could rely on her, despite all his betrayals.
He didn’t bother rising from his bed where he laid. He was decently comfortable, and he was starting to get the shakes, truthfully. He refused to come off desperate for his meals. It was a lesson well learnt. Never show weakness.
He had shown enough for a lifetime in a single evening.
He listened closely to the footfalls, and found his interest perk when he recognised them. It was Viago. His visits weren’t abnormal, but they were more check-ins than visits. Making sure his jailers weren’t abusing their charge. He should know he was deadly, even without a blade. His body was a weapon, as much as a tool of seduction.
His steps grew heavier, slower, until they reached his cell. He didn’t look. Not until he heard a jingle of keys. His eyes darted to the door as it creaked open, and Viago slipped inside. It shut behind him, but it was not locked.
He could escape. If he really wanted to.
Yet something in Viago’s expression stopped him. It wasn’t fear he felt in response, but dread. Viago looked…tired. It was more than sleep deprivation, it was an emotional fatigue that seemed to drag his body downwards. His shoulders had never looked so heavy.
Slowly, Illario sat up, taking in the bottle and two glasses in Viago’s gloved hands.
“For me?” He asked, and Viago sighed.
“We’ll need it for this.” The Fifth Talon stepped closer, then paused, before seeming to reason with himself and take a seat on the mattress. He kept space between them, and Illario knew not to take offence. Viago didn’t like being touched, even accidentally. Not unless it was Teia.
Illario pushed his hair back, winding it over one shoulder. They didn’t let him keep his hair tie or bobby pins. He was too good at picking locks to be afforded much. His hairbrush was thick with bristles, but not the kind he could snap out and fiddle with if he was desperate.
Escape wasn’t really on his mind most days anyway. Not in the sense of disappearing from Treviso for good. He simply missed the freedom of his city; being able to walk about without Antaam up his ass. He had heard good things from Teia at least, in terms of the occupation. It was finally being driven out of Treviso, slowly but surely.
He found he missed walking around Treviso with Lucanis more than anything. He was so bored some days he would daydream about watching around the market with his cousin, before everything happened. Before Zara. Before the demon.
The cork popped loudly, dragging Illario from his thoughts. He watched Viago pour a glass, and then another, before offering one to him by the stem.
Illario smirked.
“How do I know it’s not poisoned?”
“Because I don’t want you dead.” Illario knew Viago’s humour. This wasn’t it. It was too serious, more serious than he was on a bad day. His stomach churned as he accepted the glass, narrowing avoiding Viago’s gloves.
He watched as Viago drank. He did not savour the taste. He shot it back quickly, turning his face away as he swallowed, the glass hanging loosely from his fingertips. Illario sipped the wine, red and sweet, with just enough dryness to stick to his tongue. He could taste familiar notes of blackberry and plum, the sweetness of chocolate and cherry coating his throat, with the most precious kick to it. It had him craving seared meats and roasted tomatoes.
Merlot was his preference when it came to red wine, especially at parties. Viago must have picked that up during his mourning period for Lucanis where he was carrying him home on his more pathetic nights.
Viago poured himself another glass, and Illario’s heart began to flutter faster beneath his ribs, anxiety brewing in his belly. Something was wrong. He could feel it in the air.
Something was terribly wrong.
He finished his glass quickly and offered it up for more wine. He feared he might need it.
Viago poured him another without question.
“You’re spoiling me.” He attempted to break the tension, but Viago shook his head.
“Like a child about to be drowned in a river.”
“So you do plan on killing me, then?” Illario laughed, even as he calculated how quick he would need to be to smash the wine glass and shove it into his jugular if Viago struck. He relied on poisons, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t use a dagger to kill. Especially someone who knew his ploys, and where exactly he kept his on-hand antidotes.
“No.” Viago sighed and finished his second glass, throat bobbing. So he wasn’t faking his intake. That made Illario feel a touch better.
Viago inspected his glass, twirling it between two fingers before he placed it on the ground. Then, he reached over and took the glass from Illario’s hand, still half full. He made a soft noise of disapproval, his stomach tempted to growl at the theft. Wine wasn’t food, but it was better than nothing.
“Illario,” Viago clasped his hands together between his knees, opening his mouth and then closing it again with a twist of his mustache. He reached up and fiddled with one end, before fiddling with the other. He couldn’t be asymmetrical by any means, after all. He was almost as meticulous as Illario about his appearance, yet he lacked the appropriate vanity to be dubbed ‘vain’ like he was.
“Viago.” He intoned, hoping to make Viago speak faster. The quicker he ripped this bandaid off, the better. The older Crow looked at him, and for the first time in his life, he thought he could see tears in those electric blue eyes.
“Whatever it is, just say it.” He feared his heart would jump from his throat any moment now if he didn’t speak. Had he been misinformed? Had the Antaam taken over? Had the Gods won? Did Viago spike their wine in some hope of sparing them both a painful, blighted death? If so, why wasn’t he doing this with Teia? With Lucanis?
Why wouldn’t Lucanis be here in his stead if the Gods won? For all of his own cruelties, his own faults, Lucanis was not so heartless as to let him die alone. Not like he had.
His cousin had always been the better man.
“The Gods are dead.” A sliver of relief made it easier to breathe. The world was no longer in danger, and Lucanis had made sure of it. He was probably with Caterina now, celebrating his success. The bastard. Did Teia insist on Viago coming all the way down here to tell him, with Lucanis so occupied? He’s surprised she didn’t come down herself.
“They were getting a little out of hand there, weren’t they?” Illario mused. “Whatever did I see in all that? I’m terribly easy to manipulate, it seems.”
He wasn’t. They all knew. It didn’t stop him from light-heartedly shifting the blame in the name of a well-won victory. He only wished he had had a chance to fight amongst them. Maybe then he could have proven himself to the Crows again. To Lucanis.
He reached for his glass once more, and took another drink.
“Lucanis…didn’t make it.”
The glass shattered between his feet. He could feel the sting of glass in his left foot, but the pain was shallow compared to the deep hollow crater that was punched into his chest. His ears rang, Viago’s curse muffled.
“Lucanis…” He tried to wrap his tongue around Viago’s words, the undeniable truth that raked through his system like nails on a chalkboard, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t possible. Lucanis survived Zara and her lackeys for a year, alone, but he couldn’t take on two ancient mages with Rook and their companions?
“How?” He suddenly understood Lucanis’ need to know how Caterina ‘died’. Like the why and how and when would make sense of its possibility. “Viago, how?”
“He was protecting Teia. Not that she needed it, but he…” Viago’s voice failed as the assassin covered his eyes. “A Venatori witch. Aelia. She ruptured his heart like it was nothing. It was quick. Painful, but quick.”
Illario stared down at his feet, the shattered glass. He couldn’t tell if the red was just wine or his blood too.
That’s why Teia wasn't here. That’s why it was Viago. Lucanis took a spell for her, and now he was…
“Aelia. Is she dead?”
“Teia slit her throat.”
“I hope she choked on her own blood and asphyxiated slowly.” He hissed, raising his feet from the floor to pick out a shard of glass. It wasn’t very deep. It stung, but it was nothing in hindsight. A hand touched his knee, and Illario let the shard fall to the floor. There was a lump growing in his throat, and he wished it would cease.
“Caterina knows?”
“Yes.”
“And how is she…?” Why should he care? She never loved him nearly as much as she loved Lucanis. But then, who else had ever loved Lucanis as much as he did, except her?
“She is planning the funeral. She wants some of his ashes sprinkled in the canal. Some kept in the Villa.”
“Am I invited to my own cousin's funeral, then?”
“I don’t know.” Viago admitted, squeezing his knee before pulling back. That he bothered to try and comfort him was touching. Viago was not physically affectionate, compared to Illario who often enjoyed getting his arms around anyone and everyone.
Illario laughed bitterly, tears prickling his eyes.
“Of course not. I was the reason he died last time, was I not? I already attended a funeral for him, there’s no point in another.” It was a bold faced lie. This was different from the first time. There was no guilt to drink away; this wasn’t his fault this time. Yet the grief was just as potent.
He covered his face with a sharp sob, curling his head into his lap. What did it matter? It was only Viago. He had been privy to far too many of his reckless, pathetic hours. There was little dignity to spare in front of the Talon.
He wasted so much time. He wasted so much time being bitter and envious; waiting for Lucanis to fight for him with Caterina’s disapproval, and then fighting himself for Caterina’s approval. He took Lucanis off the board entirely in hopes of finally getting that damn seat, of finally being respected and treated as more than a playboy, the lesser Dellamorte. He crafted himself into the perfect weapon, the perfect sonnet of seduction, and he still fell short of his reckless cousin. The cousin who always took Caterina’s favour, and took her side more and more as they got older.
If he hadn’t wanted that seat so damn bad, maybe Lucanis would still be here. Maybe he could have walked into battle with him and made sure he lived.
Despite everything he did, he was still here. Alive. Lucanis was not. The Dellamorte line was nothing without him. Illario wasn’t sure he was fit to sit amongst the Talons anymore, even if he begged for it for so long.
At this moment, he wasn’t sure he ever truly wanted it to begin with. He just wanted the respect and affection he had tried to earn for so long from Caterina, from the other Talons.
“Oh, Lucanis…” He shuddered out, shaking through his sobs. If he cried hard enough, maybe it would dislodge the tight coils of pain in his heart and throat.
A hand touched his back, and Illario gave a guttural sob as he turned into Viago’s arm, his head hanging low with regret.
Why did he do it? Why did he let Zara get into his head? Why did he let his resentment get the best of him? He was no better than the Crows who killed their family, who orphaned them.
Viago’s hand awkwardly rubbed his back, before slipping higher to squeeze his nape.
“I’m sorry.”
Illario laughed at the irony, tears dripping down his face as his tired body lowered itself to the mattress, his face buried in Viago’s thigh. He curled himself tighter, and tried to remember a time he had been afforded such comforts when crying. He couldn’t remember his family anymore. Only their deaths, gruesome and fuzzy as they were.
Lucanis. Lucanis used to comfort him when he cried; when they were still young, and the tears hadn’t been beaten out of them yet to make them stronger.
“I’m sorrier than you will ever be.”
Viago didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The gentle circles he traced into the space behind his ear was enough.
He wasn’t sure how long he cried for. Only that he felt awful when his tears started to dry. The ache of grief didn’t alleviate. He was simply too tired to keep going. Days without food and water in a dimly lit cell would do that to a person. His head throbbed. It was his childhood all over again. How fitting, to experience twice, without Lucanis there to soften its terrible edges.
Viago dared to speak when he became too still and too quiet in his lap.
“Would you like more wine?”
Illario laughed weakly.
“Yes.” What else did he have to lose? He forced himself to sit upright, and pointedly ignored the wet patch on Viago’s thigh from his tears.
The man raised the bottle, and his own glass, filling it and passing it over.
“Don’t drop this one.” Illario snorted, an inelegant thing.
“When did you become my babysitter, De Riva?”
“When Lucanis asked me to keep you out of trouble.” Viago squeezed the neck of the wine bottle. “I’m not a miracle worker, but it’s the last thing he asked of me. So I can’t leave you to rot, Dellamorte.”
“Thanks. I think.” Illario scoffed. Even beyond the grave, Lucanis had his claws in his life. Now, he supposed, his sentence would be up to Caterina. He wondered if she would organise him a quiet, quick death in his cell, or if she would bring him back into the fold in her grief. If he would be leashed to her word, her law, until she croaked.
“Yes, well…I’m certain you won’t be here much longer. Caterina may be looking to marry you off soon, if she even can after your stunt. If only to keep her house alive. Or maybe, just maybe, she’s going to admit defeat.” Viago topped Illario’s glass, and then drank from the bottle. It felt a touch surreal to watch the man do so, almost vulgar. “Teia may be dubbed a Dellamorte in your stead.”
“Or she’ll beg Teia to marry me.” Illario huffed a humourless laugh. “Wouldn’t that just be hilarious?”
He said it to annoy Viago, but truthfully, if he was forced to settle down with anyone, Teia was not a bad choice. She was beautiful and deadly. It would be privilege for any man. And he actually liked her.
“Teia wouldn’t marry you even if it meant her life.” Viago snorted at the very idea.
“Caterina has a way of making people do what she wants.” Illario shrugged, staring at his glass before tipping it back. He swallowed it down in three gulps and sighed. A rush of warmth coloured his cheeks. It felt good. “She always did love Andarateia.”
Viago didn’t bother with a response, merely rolling his eyes. Illario observed him for a long moment.
“You know…Lucanis liked you once.”
“So I have heard.”
“So you ignored him on purpose, then?”
“Ah…no.” Viago grimaced. “It took me sometime to realise it was a proposal of courtship, rather than a…death threat.”
Illario chuckled.
“You’re hopeless. What does Teia see in you?”
“Whatever it is, it’s worth her attention.” Viago took another swallow of wine, wiping at his reddened lower lip before a drip could sneak into his beard. Illario played with the stem of his glass, pressing the rim to his lips.
“I’m certain it is.” He mused quietly, weariness taking over him. “Viago?”
“Yes?”
“I imagine everyone has been restless since the battle. So much so they’ve forgotten about me, it seems.” And didn’t that sting, just a little. Forgotten and discarded like he wasn’t the grandson and cousin of the previous First Talon and — well. The previous First Talons.
“If you’ve the time, I wouldn’t mind something to eat. Or even a bath.” He was sure he must reek after days laying in bed. He was going to get sores.
Viago muttered a curse, a stern furrow in his brows. He was going to have words, it seemed.
“I will have someone down as soon as possible.” Viago assured. “You should have said something sooner, idiot.”
“You brought me wine.” Illario gestured to his empty glass with a smile. “I didn’t want to be rude.”
“Sure. Because you’re such a polite young man, aren’t you?” Viago drawled, taking the glass and looking down at the shards. “I will have someone clean this up. Your foot too.”
So he was leaving. Expected, and yet Illario felt disheartened. It was rare he got company nowadays.
“Viago?” He called as the man turned to leave.
“Yes?”
“Tell…Tell Teia to come see me, when she’s ready. I bear no ill will towards her, despite what she might think.”
Viago’s lips curled up in the corners. A barely there smile.
“She will be grateful to hear it, I am sure.” Viago seemed to hesitate now, blue eyes flickering and fluttering ever so slightly as his thoughts raced. Illario watched with curiosity before Viago reached down.
Supple leather brushed over his cheek, under his eye, wiping away the wetness clinging to his lashes. Illario held his breath.
“When the time comes, I’ll make sure you can see where Lucanis is put to rest.” Viago vowed. “I know it’s what he would want, despite everything that occurred between you both.”
That pesky lump was crawling up his throat again. He nodded to avoid speaking. Viago awkwardly patted his cheek twice and pulled away, slipping through the door. The key clicked in the lock, and Illario laid back on the bed. He listened to Viago’s footsteps as they drew to a whisper, pressing a hand to his flushed cheeks. He blamed the alcohol and lack of food. Though, he did now see why Viago caught the eye of so many Crows. It was almost laughable.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
He looked over at the ceiling, the dripping crack in the bricks. He wondered how much longer until it caved in.
He thought of Lucanis, and wished more than anything for another drink. He was gone. For real this time. Viago had no reason to lie.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
He wasn’t sure if he would bother to move now, even if the ceiling caved in.
He didn’t mention it when the food was brought, nor when they swept his floor. He didn’t mention it when he was bathed, or his foot was bandaged. He watched the crack keep dripping. He watched it erode and grow slowly.
Teia didn’t notice it, speaking through the bars like he might strike for revenge, and that wasn’t the blaze of glory she desired. He didn’t blame her, as much as he blamed himself.
On the day of Lucanis’ funeral, Viago brought him a suit to wear, and finely crafted silver cuffs that could pass for jewellery, if it didn’t keep his hands locked behind him. The man fitted them as comfortably as possible around his wrists, and Illario didn’t acknowledge how freezing the metal was against his skin.
He kept watching the drip. Viago’s eyes caught it.
“How long has that been there?”
“I’m not sure.” It was hard to measure time in his cell.
“It looks ready to cave in.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Viago’s brushed lint off his shoulder, and huffed. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the sensation.
“You’re being moved after the funeral.” Illario’s ears perked at that, glancing over his shoulder at the Talon.
“I am?”
“You are.”
“Will I be returning to the Villa with Caterina?” Something icy spawned in his gut. He didn’t like the thought.
“No.” A swoop of relief warmed him. “You will be residing in the De Riva estate. Caterina asks that I keep my promise to Lucanis. It is easier if you are where I can see you.”
One prison for another. A nicer one though. One Teia might visit more. One that’s not so…lonely.
He stared at the crack in the ceiling.
“Illario.”
He turned back to Viago and smirked.
“Is it only because of Lucanis?”
“Teia doesn’t like you down here either.” Viago shrugged, crossing his arms.
“Mm.” Illario huffed a laugh. “I see why Lucanis liked you.”
Viago blinked and furrowed his brows with a frown.
“What?”
“Let’s just go, before we miss Lucanis’ last chance in the spotlight.” It was easier to joke than to cry. The crying could be done later. When Lucanis’ ashes had mingled into the Treviso canals.
Viago sighed, sounding vaguely annoyed as he guided Illario out of his cage.
Illario spared one last glance at the crack in his cell's ceiling.
Goodbye cousin.
He didn’t say a word to Caterina as he watched her sprinkle Lucanis’ ashes into the waters below. He watched them disappear without a trace.
May death treat you better than life ever did us. Than I ever did you.
A small, warm hand slipped into his, and he squeezed Teia’s fingers tightly. Another hand rested between his shoulder blades, giving two gentle pats before stilling. He leaned into Viago’s touch, shying away from the evening wind as his eyes burned.
Say hello to the others for me.
He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, barely breathing through the sharp knife digging into his chest. Teia’s fingers laced with his own, her body leaning into his, and he shuddered in a breath at her familiar warmth.
I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance.
He wondered if anyone would bother to keep his ashes now. If they would sprinkle them in the canal like they had the rest of the Dellamortes.
Viago’s grip tightened on his shoulder, and he stifled a sob even as he bowed his head, tears slipping down his cheeks, over his proud nose. He could taste the salt on his lips.
I’m sorry. Lu, I’m so sorry I never apologised.
“It’s over, Illario.” Teia’ gentle voice rocked him like a boat in the night. “Let’s find you somewhere you can—“
“There’s no better place to cry.” Illario sniffed. “I just wish I could wipe my damn face.”
Maybe he did want privacy. Somewhere to hide. He felt too small. He deserved to feel this way.
Soft cotton brushed his face, and he leant into it, letting Viago wipe away his tears. Knowing him, he was going to find some way to make his grief poisonous. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at the idea. The handkerchief fitted over his nose.
“Blow.” Viago sounded disgusted even as he offered, and Illario snorted, blowing his nose.
“Now you have his dna.” Teia said conspicuously. “What will you do with it?”
“Clone a less disgusting and annoying version of him for jobs.” Teia smacked his chest, and Illario laughed, resting his forehead on her shoulder.
Maker, laughing at a funeral. Perhaps Lucanis would prefer that to all the tears. The tears were exhausting him far too quickly.
“About that getaway?” He asked hopefully, and Teia hummed with a smile.
“Let’s get you home, dear. Then out of those cuffs.”
”Shame, I was starting to really like them.” Teia giggled as his eyes travelled off to the side. “But what about…?”
He looked back at Caterina. She wore a veil over her face, so dark and thick it obscured her eyes. He wondered if it was to hide how much she had cried, how red her eyes were.
She won’t cry for me like that, a bitter part of him muttered. He batted it away. There was no point in caring anymore. Lucanis was gone. Caterina wasn’t suddenly going to favour him, let alone love him. She didn’t the first time, and she wouldn’t this time.
Teia squeezed his hand.
“I’ll check on Caterina later.” She assured. “I imagine she’s had far more condolences than you have this evening.”
“You’re just getting me as far from the booze table as possible.” He joked, and Viago chuckled.
“Yes. We are.”
“You squirm too much to carry when you’re drunk, Illario.” Teia teased, curling her arm around his as they walked along the canal.
“Viago simply needs a steadier hand.” The poison master grumbled as Teia laughed, and Illario felt a sliver of the weight on his chest ease.
It wasn’t Lucanis. It would never be Lucanis again. He would have to live with that guilt, all the wasted time, for the rest of his life. That he never got to apologise properly to his cousin for everything he did to him in his ambition.
But for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel lonely. He had always felt a little lonely when Lucanis wasn’t around. He could cram it down with parties and contracts and hedonism, but it stuck. He was always just a bird in a cage, like Lucanis. He was still a prisoner, in a literal sense.
Yet walking outside, breathing in the Treviso air, the mix of Teia’s fresh sweet perfume and Viago’s distinct, never changing cologne, he found himself content despite the grief. He closed his eyes and let the breeze cool his splotchy face. He hit rock bottom. The only place left to go was up.
A hand touched his back, guiding him along through the self induced darkness.
Everything was going to be alright. He just had to work on sealing up the cracks, so he didn’t cave into his old ways again.
The only way to repent now was to be better than he was.
•••
(He laughs when Viago tells him his old cell caved in on itself that very night.
”It’s not funny. You could have died! It could have been on purpose, Illario.” He paces like a trapped wild cat.
”I fear I will live forever.” Illario grins as he ties his hair back. The tie belongs to Teia, since he cannot have his own.
”Your ego is too large for your head, and that’s big enough.”
”Don’t be grumpy, Viago.” He smirks, eyes twinkling. “I’ve got a guardian spirit watching over me now. But don’t worry. He won’t put you out of work.”
Viago rolls his eyes, and when he recites the story to Teia, she laughs.
”Jealous?”
Viago grumbles.
”You realise he meant you, don’t you?”
Viago grumbles more, and denies the flush of colour in his cheeks when Teia teases.
When he died, he was going to wring Lucanis’ neck for making him make such silly promises.)