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“You already have everything you need.”
It was Emmrich’s deft, guiding hands and Taash’s cry of “heave!” which pulled him through the Fade tear. He stumbled through the buzzing resistance of the Face’s magic until his feet found solid ground. Stronger hands—Taash’s—grabbed his arm and fetched him upright.
Emmrich—“Steady, there.”
Taash—“Got you.”
Rook lifted his head. His team surrounded him, Davrin and Bellara—“Rook!”—leaning around Davrin to see. Lucanis.
Rook locked eyes with him as Lucanis moved toward him. Emmrich and Taash seemed to melt away from him as Lucanis took their place. A sheen of purple glimmered in his dark eyes.
“Lucanis—”
His hands grasped Rook’s arms, tight enough to be shocking. “Are you hurt?”
“No. I’m fine, I think. Are you—?”
Purpled moved in his periphery—Spite’s wings haloed around them, providing a protective shroud from the rest of the team. The sight of them stifled his breath for a moment, so that he could only whisper, “Spite?”
“Rook.” It was Lucanis’s voice, with an echo of Spite’s growl beneath it. Both of them asking for his attention.
“I’m fine,” he repeated. He scanned over Lucanis’s body, remembering—but maybe that had been a trick, too. “What about you—are you hurt?”
Lucanis’s grip eased; Spite’s wings shuffled lower. “I’m not hurt.”
“Good.” He tried to peer over Lucanis’s shoulder, through the vibrant feathers. “How’s the team?”
Suddenly, Lucanis embraced him and Rook felt the urgency of it in the strength of his arms, the clutch of his hands. The tension trembling through his body. Just as Rook was about to return the gesture, Lucanis slipped away—for a moment, he was bereft—and Spite’s wings folded out of reality. Lucanis stepped back and aside, allowing Rook to see the others.
Each one of them wore drawn expressions, something of greater magnitude than worry. Dread stirred in his heart.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re back!” Tears rimmed Bellara’s eyes. “We…we finally found you, thanks to Emmrich.”
“You’ve been gone a long time, Rook,” Davrin said. “Glad to have you back.”
“How long?”
Glances were traded. Emmrich placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We have much to discuss, but first we should return to the Lighthouse.”
Finally looking around him, Rook frowned. “This…doesn’t look like Tearstone Island. Emmrich, what happened?”
“Two weeks,” Taash said, crossing their arms over their abdomen. “That’s how long you were gone.”
“Weeks,” he echoed faintly. “But it only felt like a few hours…”
Rook’s gaze, again, landed on Lucanis. His expression was hollowed, haunted. That, more than the impossible answer, scared Rook.
“As I said,” Emmrich sighed, “we have much to discuss. Please, let us return to the Lighthouse where we can all be more comfortable.”
Nearly as one, the team surrounded him and guided the way out. Davrin and Assan took the lead, with Bellara just behind. Lucanis and Emmrich walked alongside him, and Taash guarded their backs. The passing landscape reflected somewhere near Arlathan Forest, the tall evergreens and autumn-toned plant life warm and weathered.
So, not far off from the island. But not very close, either.
Two weeks.
He couldn’t wrap his head around it.
It was all explained to him. Elgar’nan and the Archon’s Palace. Solas, endorsed as a savior to the people of Minrathous. The dagger, in his hands now.
Something bubbled beneath his breastbone, filling him up until his chest was tight with it. He paced around the dining table.
“He’s not going to be happy when he sees you’ve escaped from his trap,” Lucanis warned, coffee cup clutched tightly in his hands.
“That’s his problem. He’s got the dagger, and the dagger is the only thing that can kill Elgar’nan. We need to get it back.”
Emmrich produced the fake and passed it to him. It felt so similar to the real one he probably wouldn’t have questioned it. The weight, the resonance, the crystalline edge. How had they done it so quickly—
Two weeks, he reminded himself.
“We reclaimed lyrium pieces from existing artifacts,” Bellara explained. “We didn’t want to requisition new lyrium ourselves—with what we know about it now. It would be wrong. And. Harding would agree. So, it’s similar. It’s made from the same stuff—just, not quite the same amount. Or from source, technically. But…it’s what we’ve got.”
“It’s good work, Bellara.” He sheathed it at his side. “It could work.”
“But it cannot kill Elgar’nan,” Lucanis said, and broke down the flaws in a firm, straightforward analysis.
“And Harding is… she’s gone.”
Taash’s heartbroken reminder, the grief in their expression, sobered the entire table. Harding was gone. Not a trace of her left, they had told him. Rook didn’t have the time to process it and he couldn’t allow the team to be mired in it, either.
He reminded them what their lost would have done. They had to carry on. The case wasn’t finished yet.
“Fix up your gear and take care of any unfinished business,” he concluded, pacing around the table again. “In the morning, we take back Minrathous.”
The others dispersed, silent and all business once again. If he could just hold them together a little while longer… He shut his eyes against the phantom sensation of stone slipping from his palm. Flexed that hand, shook it, and fisted it against his hip.
“Rook. Are you all right?”
Lucanis’s voice was soft, worried. It made the tightness in his chest tremble.
He turned to him. “We’ve still got work to do. I can collapse when this is over.”
“We can contact our allies, Rook. You should rest. After all you’ve been through… I’ll come by your room soon. To see how you’re doing.”
Rook’s mouth shaped a thin smile. The offer, what it meant to him… He couldn’t describe what it did to him. He felt hot and cold all over, head aching and eyes sore. He nodded and stepped away.
He didn’t take a breath until he was outside the dining hall.
Hours later, Rook fell back onto the emerald chaise with a muted groan. His eyes had only been closed for a few moments when he heard his door shut with a quiet clunk. Whisper-soft footsteps crossed the room toward him.
“I cannot believe we found you.”
Rook sat up, feeling tender and heavy and somehow too light. “I’m a little surprised, too, honestly.”
Lucanis stood away from him, still and restrained in a way that made his heart ache. “I thought I’d never see you again.” His words fell out, weak and dazed.
“I didn’t think I’d ever get out of there,” Rook admitted, shaky and unmoored. “How do I know if I really did? This could be more of the Fade.”
So easily, Lucanis knelt before him and eradicated the space between them as he rested his hands on Rook’s knees. His eyes were warm and unwavering. “You’re here.” A smile traced over his mouth, and Rook fixated on it until Lucanis rose up and pressed it to his mouth. Sweet and brief as any kiss hello. Rook’s hand found his shoulder, unwilling to let him go far as he eased back. “You’re really here.”
“Promise?”
“I swear.”
Soft and deep and everything Rook needed.
They moved as one: Rook leaning back while Lucanis moved up onto the chaise between his legs. Rook guided him in by the shoulders as Lucanis leaned over him, hands planted on the cushion to either side of him. The second kiss became third and fourth as Spite mantled his wings over them.
Their presence brought an immediate sense of cover. Rook shivered and gasped against Lucanis’s mouth. Lucanis stopped and drew back—not far, because Rook curled his fingers into his shoulders.
“Does it bother you?” His eyes were so focused on him, serious, and Rook knew he had only to say the word and all of this would stop. It nearly provoked another shiver. “Because Spite and I talked about this.”
“Did you?” It slipped out before Rook could stop himself, intrigued, a delighted quaver in his voice.
Lucanis went stoic in a way that indicated embarrassment. “Yes. Of course. We agreed: Spite would be quiet and we both would respect your wishes.”
Rook considered that while he drew his palms down Lucanis’s arms, feeling the tense muscle through the fabric. He noticed while Lucanis seemed composed everywhere else his breathing was slightly too fast to be restful.
“Would he be watching?”
“Spite…doesn’t exactly sleep.”
Rook knew if he wanted Lucanis, any part of him, Spite was part of it, too. That hadn’t changed.
“If it helps,” Lucanis added, “I don’t think Spite experiences things the same way we do. Though, obviously, we haven’t tried this.”
“This,” Rook echoed. He glanced up at the wings to indicate them. “I like this.”
They did a happy shiver of their own, creating a hushing sound that was felt more than it was heard. Rook caught Lucanis’s subtle exhale.
“He’s glad,” he relayed.
Rook smiled. Let the moment linger. Asked, “Was he worried about me?”
Lucanis’s brow twitched and Rook felt a flash of that earlier dread. Then, his expression softened. “Of course,” he whispered.
Rook hadn’t given himself time to consider what those two weeks meant, pouring his focus instead on the team and their individual needs. They spoke around his absence like they didn’t know how to parse it, either, but their eyes held onto him with a familiar kind of desperation.
He took a breath. “Then, we do this and we figure it out together. I trust you.” Lucanis bowed his head. Rook felt his body tremble under his hands. “Come here.”
Guiding him down, Rook felt his shoulders relax and their bodies press together. His fingers found the curve of Lucanis’s neck while they kissed, sliding beneath his thick, dark hair. He tasted like coffee, the rich and dark blend he favored—Rook thought he would probably always taste like coffee. He felt good—the weight of him, the strength in him. Solid and real.
Rook wanted more.
Lucanis broke their kiss, breath panting against his cheek. “Rook. I want.” His hand traveled down Rook’s chest, along his side, and Lucanis hooked one finger beneath the edge of the red sash. “May I?”
“Yes—yes.”
As Lucanis sat back on his knees, Rook lifted his hips, allowing him to tease out the knot tucked into the back layers of the fabric. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this. Mierda.”
A laughed huffed out of him. “Really?”
Lucanis grasped the free end of the sash and drew it out. “No idea at all.” His eyes raked over Rook’s form, shoulders to waist, and unwrapped him slowly. Layer after layer, until the red sash was sliding through Lucanis’s hands, carefully folded and set aside. Rook felt curiously unbound without its customary tension around him.
After that, it was a simple matter to push back the halves of his shirt and pull his arms from the sleeves. Lucanis’s attention, immediately, affixed to the design scrolling down his arm from bicep to wrist. Careful fingertips traced the stylized points representing claws and fangs at his shoulder, touched the star-burst emblems on his bicep, followed the curving lines of scales to his wrist.
“You always manage to surprise me,” he said, slowly taking in the rest of Rook’s bared skin.
With a grin, Rook sat up and looped his finger around the chain dangling from Lucanis’s collar. “Your turn.”
All that Antivan style took more time to undo than Rook’s Tevinter clothing. Maybe it helped to ground them both, focusing on each component, taking care with each piece. Spite’s wings faded away as soon as Rook unbuttoned Lucanis’s vest, as if not to be in the way. Rook didn’t think that was how spectral Fade magic worked, but it was a charming bit of consideration.
There were scars, older, and not many. The thin, pale lines of blade edges scattered here and there—well tended, of course. Villa Dellamorte could easily provide all the medical care their Crows needed. On Lucanis’s wrist were a few blurry dots that made Rook think of acid traps. This was probably what a young Crow’s training years looked like. Despite the fact that the fighting was exponentially harder nowadays, Lucanis remained one of the least injured members of the team. Besides that, Rook knew blood magic left no marks, so there wouldn’t be any recent—
“What’s this?”
A large, dark bruise the size of Rook’s hand covered Lucanis’s hip. The outer edges of it were starting to break up into mottled colors, but the center remained dark.
“An argument.”
What happened, he wanted to ask. He laid his palm over the bruise. What happened in those two weeks?
“Rook.” Lucanis lifted his head with a soft touch to his chin. Lucanis’s fingers swept through the fall of dark hair that shadowed Rook’s face, pushing it back behind one ear. Absently, his thumb swept along the scar marking Rook’s cheek. “Not now. Please.”
He leaned into Lucanis’s palm. “Okay.”
With his palms against Lucanis’s bare chest, Rook applied the focus he’d given their clothing to their next kisses. He wanted to know Lucanis, the way he kissed, the way he liked to be kissed back. Lucanis’s hands were warm against his back, soft, but he knew if he leaned back Lucanis would hold him. His arms were strong, compact with more muscle than Rook possessed. Yet, his touch was delicate in exploring new boundaries. Rook imagined Lucanis working him open like a trapped chest, finding each catch and easing through it.
He exhaled a laugh.
“What?” Lucanis’s hands stopped, one skirting the edge of his pants at the back of his hip and another whose thumb was working toward Rook’s nipple.
“You’re being so careful.”
“Why shouldn’t I be careful with you?”
Rook stared speechlessly at him until Lucanis closed his parted lips in another kiss. “I think,” he finally said between kisses, “that we should lose the pants.”
So they did, with noticeably less care and more distraction this time.
Lucanis was sensitive to light touch along his ribs, but he hummed appreciatively when Rook applied deeper pressure up and down his back. The brush of his beard drew gasps wherever he placed kisses, and Rook couldn’t help arching into him when Lucanis grazed his teeth down neck.
Lucanis’s hands went quickly to Rook’s waist, stilling. “Rook. I…don’t want you to have the wrong impression. Or certain expectations.”
Understanding his implication wasn’t difficult. Even disregarding the obvious complication of a demon cohabitant and a year-long incarceration in a torture prison, Rook knew enough about Lucanis to understand this. Not so suave and flirtatious as his peers. Romance more accessible on a page than with a person. The sudden withdrawal when things became too heated, emotional, too quickly. They were only here, now, because of the things they had experienced together. A connection forged and treasured.
“Hey.” He tilted his head to catch Lucanis’s eyes—stoic, again, except for the rosy flush in his cheeks. “It’s just us here. We get to decide what we want. Together, remember?” Although Lucanis looked away, there was a curl at the corner of his mouth Rook recognized. “Clouds of doom?”
The curl spread into a grin. “Exactly.” Lucanis lifted his head. “Make me stop thinking, Rook. Please.”
With a laugh in his voice, “I’ll do my best.”
Wrapping arms and legs around Lucanis, Rook turned them until Lucanis was beneath him on the cushions. The sight of his hair splayed around his head, and his eyes looking up at Rook… He could get used to this. He kissed him, because he couldn’t stop kissing him, and planted one on Lucanis’s cheek, one against his neck, and several more across his shoulders and chest where the subtle flush heated his skin.
He slid a hand down Lucanis’s abdomen, where the fine hairs on his body turned darker and thicker, and bumped his fingertips against the last boundary of clothing. Returning the consideration, Rook asked, “May I?”
“Yes,” said in a rough gasp. “Yes, Rook.”
He slipped his hand beneath the soft cotton and thrilled at the punched-out groan when he wrapped his fingers around Lucanis. He felt his thighs tense reflexively, hips pushing forward like he couldn’t help it.
Rook pressed his smile into Lucanis’s skin. “See? Just like that.”
“Mierda.”
“And it only gets better.”
Before he decided to continue, considering an essential element to all of this, Rook leaned up and looked over the back of the chaise. There, on the surface of the standing shelf sharing space with the chaise, and sitting innocently beside the chessboard was a vial. Rook was only halfway positive that it hadn’t been in the room before Lucanis came to visit him.
He picked it up. “Compliments of the Lighthouse. I suppose.”
“Maybe Neve is right about this place knowing too much,” Lucanis muttered.
Rook slid out the stopper with his thumb. “Not going to think about it.”
Lucanis grumbled a noise and then pinched the fabric at Rook’s hip. “Time to get rid of these, too.”
Perfunctorily, the underwear joined the pants on the floor. Nothing was left between them. They drank in every detail.
Rook applied slick fingers and a measured grasp and watched Lucanis’s head sink all the way back on the cushion. Watched his heavier, quicker breathing and noted the restraint of his hands, fingers curled into his palms. Rook leaned in, shifting his weight onto his side, and cupped the back of Lucanis’s neck with his free hand. Within reach now, Lucanis lifted one arm and clutched Rook’s shoulder.
The way pleasure looked on Lucanis’s face, as Rook brought him closer and closer, transfixed him. His eyes were hazy with it, eyelids heavy. Jaw relaxed, lips parted, the white peek of his teeth. Rook felt his abdomen tighten and hips flex, chasing now, and Rook helped bring him there.
Gasping, “oh—Rook.”
Uniquely alive, flushed and vital, and for a moment totally free.
Rook gentled his hand, slowed, and rested. He pressed kisses to Lucanis’s shoulder, unable to contain the hot and tender thing welling up in his chest.
“Rook,” Lucanis groaned. “Now, you. For you.”
Finding the vial, he wet Lucanis’s palm with the oil and guided his hand where he needed it, fingers overlaid. Letting go, Rook braced himself and pushed through Lucanis’s grip until he finished against his belly. Then, sighing, he sank into Lucanis’s side and rested his cheek on his shoulder. An arm wrapped around his back and held him.
Green light rippled over them, entangled on the chaise, and the motion encouraged Rook’s eyes shut. He decided they had well-earned their rest.
Later, cleaned up and with certain distractions re-clothed, Rook sat with Lucanis lying in his lap, drowsy-eyed and fighting it.
“You won’t miss anything. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“Please do.”
They talked a little more, securing their tomorrow with more promises. Lucanis settled back down, head resting on the cushion, while Rook ran his fingers through his hair. He watched Lucanis’s eyes sink and flutter and sink back down again, making a sleepy sound of contentment. Less than a minute later, breathing deeply, he was fast asleep.
Rook watched him until his chest felt too tender, so he turned his gaze on the underwater view in front of him. Fish swam by in small schools, entirely ignorant of their observer. Long strands of kelp waved in an invisible current. Light from some distant sun glittered through the water, turned cool and hypnotic on the walls of the meditation room.
Tomorrow they would finish it. Tomorrow would make it all worth it.
“Rook.”
When he looked down, startled, bright purple eyes met his. “Spite. I figured you would show up eventually. What’s on your mind?”
“It was messy. But. No blood.”
“No,” Rook said with a laugh. “Blood definitely wasn’t our goal.”
“Will it always be like this?”
“Maybe. Probably. We’re still learning what makes us happy.”
“Hah,” he smirked, as if he’d already solved that riddle. “Rook makes Lucanis happy.”
“That simple, is it?”
“Yes. I like Lucanis happy. He was never happy, before. This is better. It feels nice,” he said, sounding out the word like he’d never used it.
Rook absently brushed his fingers over Lucanis’s hair. Spite blinked a few times. “Are you happy?”
With uncharacteristic consideration, Spite answered, “Yes. But. Rook was gone. We did not like that. I did not like that.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Spite.”
“Hm. Curiosity is gone. Rook, also, was gone. The scout. The detective. Lucanis did not think you would come back.”
It hit like a blow to the gut. “Oh.” He had died. In their minds, with so much inexplicable loss mounting up, Rook had died. “I didn’t realize.”
Spite made a querying noise, concerned. “Rook?”
He tried to catch his breath, blinked. “Sorry. I didn’t realize…that.”
Spite shifted, sitting up. “Do you want Lucanis now?”
He shook his head. “No. Let him sleep.”
“You don’t have to do this alone. You said.”
It startled a weak laugh out of him, helped him refocus. “I’m not alone, though, am I?”
Spite’s eyes widened. “No, Rook. I am here.”
He straightened his posture and brought out his wings. He held them aloft, half folded around them like a screen. The tips of his flight feathers on each wing brushed Rook’s bare arms. It was a faint sensation, humming. Something akin to Arlathan’s ancient artifacts. Fade magic. But it was also cool like lake mist, soothing.
“You like doing that, don’t you?”
Spite grinned. “Rook likes it, too. You said.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Rook.” Spite’s tone sobered. “Lucanis and I will protect you. Lucanis and I will make you happy. You must not leave. Or,” he amended, “go without us.”
“I promise I won’t.” The space behind his eyes hurt and his body felt suddenly too heavy. “Thank you, Spite. Now, I’m feeling pretty tired. Would you mind if I put my arms around you?”
“Whatever Rook wants.”
Leaning into him, Rook wrapped his arms around Lucanis’s back and rested his cheek on his shoulder. After a moment’s hesitation, Rook felt arms return the gesture, warm hands against his back. From this close, the light of Spite’s feathers blurred together and ran like watercolor.
Another pause and then, quietly, beside his ear, “Rook. Smells like saltwater.”
“I’m fine, Spite. I promise. I’m just fine.”
“No. Not fine.” Said as softly as Spite could.
Rook tightened his arms. “Give me a little time. I’ll get there.”
“We are here, Rook. We are together.”
“Yeah. That’s all I need.”
Waking up the next morning, Rook found himself enfolded in Lucanis’s arms, pressed together on the chaise beneath a blanket. He didn’t remember falling asleep last night, so he supposed he had Spite to thank for the hospitality.
Lucanis woke with a deep inhale, squeezing Rook tightly in his arms. Warm, dark eyes opened and studied his face. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
“I almost don’t want to let you go,” Lucanis said with a sleep-deep voice.
Rook was tempted to ask him to keep him. But tomorrow had arrived.
“Time to kill a god.”
“Easy.”
Lucanis leaned in to kiss him.