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The sea …
It had never meant much to him. The immensity of its depth did nothing to unnerve him. Not until he was dragged to the bottom of it.
Never would he have expected he’d choose a life at sea. Not after that. Not even before. Being Talon, he’d expected. But he didn’t choose it, didn’t want it. Funny, how the first life he’d actually choose for himself, was to return to what had almost been the death of him. What had been the death of who he used to be.
Though he supposed the Crows would have been for certain, sooner or later. Even more likely than the sea.
When he first came to the Hall of Valor, Isabela had said people came in three kinds. Those who are alive, those who are dead, and those who are at sea. To him, there had only been family, enemies, and contracts. But he was coming to realize people could not be categorized so restrictedly. But maybe Isabela, at least, was onto something.
He’d been alive. He’d been dead.
Now … he was something else.
Not dead. Free. New.
Spite was leaning over the railing, transfixed by the fighting in the ring below. But he never missed a thing.
Lucanis found himself more transfixed by the ocean beyond, not entirely within reach, beckoning him. Holding the same promise of that razor sharp edge between the dead and the living, as being a crow did.
The inevitability of death. But with the uncertainty of the unknown, and the certainty of freedom, that clipped wings could never give him.
It seemed too far away, even if just a short walk. As if somehow, something would come between them and freedom, even as close as it was now, especially as close as it was.
Crows cage you. Cage us.
Spite seemed to smell the air, standing on his tiptoes. To think he’d once seen the demon as his enemy. Now it seemed more like an annoying little brother. Or a cousin …
Salt. Wildflowers in spring. Freedom.
“Perhaps.”
But why did it make him feel like one of the mice Viago kept for his experiments, and to feed his snakes?
He wanted to follow her lead, whenever, wherever. Wanted it more than anything, more than he had been willing to admit even to himself, duty holding him back like shackles. Shackles she’d broken. Like she’d broken him out of the Ossuary. Like she’d broken down his walls and climbed inside. Her and Spite both. Inspired him to take the hammer into his own hands and help.
Like a river running into the ocean, Spite echoed, turning to look at him. No, past him. And for maybe the first time, Lucanis realized he didn’t even sense her before she was right behind him.
“You alright?” Celeste asked, a fruity drink in each hand.
The mere sight of her eased his nerves.
Even if it wasn’t what Spite smelled on her, to him; she smelled like a really good cup of Andoral’s breath. Not literally. But the smell of her aroused the same feelings. Of belonging. Of home.
And she was as fiery, as strong, as the breath of an archdemon. Red hair falling in waves, almost seeming to glow, reminding him of the soft light of sunset, reflected on the water’s surface.
“Lucanis?” she pressed, gently, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.
“Mm,” he mumbled, fighting off the good old familiar ‘I’m fine’ that lingered at the tip of his tongue. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?” she asked, sitting down next to him, pushing a glass of bright pink liquid in his direction.
“The open ocean …” he began, not sure what he was trying to say, what he was truly feeling. It wasn’t even the fact that he’d been imprisoned at the bottom of it, the last time he took to ship. “It’s so … open.”
She laughed, voice like wildflower honey, bold and sweet. “The freedom of it … It’s like nothing else. Live and die by your own sword, at the mercy of no one but the sea herself.”
“A small box in the middle of an ocean of nothingness feels … a bit constrained to me.”
She laughed again, and he vowed he’d say a million stupid things as long as it meant he’d hear the sound of her laugh.
“To you? The man who hides in a pantry?”
“It’s just … How do you not go mad from seeing nothing but grey and blue all day, only a black void at night, with no clue what’s out there? From being surrounded by the same faces, doing the same things, over and over?”
The pantry felt safe. The smallest, least grandiose room in Villa Dellamorte, where every room had a ceiling so high it could have been two stories, felt safe. So much space, in every direction, even below, unnerved him like nothing else. He’d heard of sailors going up the pole from months at sea. Like prairie madness. A sky so big not just dwarves were scared they’d fall into it.
“Are you sure you’re not just worried about running out of coffee?” she remarked, nudging him with an elbow.
He sighed. “Don’t remind me. I haven’t had a proper good brew since leaving Treviso. And how do you even store beans on the coast of Rivain? On a boat? It’s too hot, too wet. And they only produce a truly rich brew the first day or two after roasting, if they were even good to begin with. They’ll grind clumpy, stale quickly, grow mold …”
“At least there’s enough rum to go around! Maybe it’ll help you forget about coffee. For a little while at least. Until you wake up with your head pounding like the drums of a Qunari dreadnought.”
“My head will be pounding either way.”
Her sweet, sweet smile was replaced by genuine concern. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“I am,” he hurried to say, but he meant it. “I want to be at your side, wherever that may be.”
Her smile returned. “We won’t always be at sea, though. We’ll raid for treasures, see the world … No need to worry about scurvy.”
“Just don’t make me walk around half naked,” he joked, with a glance at all the scantily clad patrons of the Hall of Valor. “No offense, I just prefer my vitals on the inside of my body.”
“What? Does it look like I don’t? Is the demon of Vyrantium scared of a little risk?” she challenged, twirling the little pink umbrella in her drink between two fingers, as surely as she was twirling him around her pinky.
Spite, who had spent a good five minutes in deep concentration, with his nose in the fruity pink drink, looked up with a grin.
Spite is not scared. Tell her Spite is not scared!
He didn’t acknowledge the demon, barely registered it, gaze fully enraptured by her, roaming all the exposed skin, in truth only lightly scarred. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out a finger to graze one of them, running along her hip.
“You look … good. Very, very good.”
Spite suddenly materialized over his shoulder, blocking his view of her.
Tell her Spite is not afraid to be naked!
He made something between a chuckle and a growl, not sure whether it came more from him, or from Spite.
“Spite wants you to know he is not scared,” he sighed. “And …” he hesitated, waiting for the demon to lean back again. “He would like to be naked.”
The smirk that spread in her face was enough to practically convince him to set sail stark naked, anyway. “Well, as long as I get you at least a little naked, all to myself,” she said, pulling his hand in to cup her hip completely. “Although, you’re going to get cooked like a sous vide chicken under all that leather. You’ve been warned.”
“Maybe a little less leather, won’t hurt? Or maybe a lot?” he suggested, hand gliding around her waist to pull her closer. “Very soon? Somewhere a little more … private?”
“If you insist, sailor.” She winked at him, and downed the rest of her drink. “Bottoms up! Pants off first, preferably.”
He chuckled, raising the drink to his lips. “What is this anyway?”
“There won’t be much else than rum to drink where we’re going. Might as well have something sweet while we still can. Don’t tell me you’re too tough to enjoy a little sex on the beach.”
He smiled. “Not at all. But as long as I have you, I’ll never want for anything sweet.”
The sea would not let him go. But this time he came willingly.
Rook is the sea.
He had to agree. She was his sea, theirs, as terrifying and as beautiful, and he’d drown in her waters a thousand times if she’d let him.