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"Sharp edges have consequences, guess that I had to find out for myself; sharp edges have consequences, every scar is a story I can tell..."—Sharp Edges, Linkin Park.
It had been a truly trying few days for all of the Crows, but perhaps most especially for Andarateia Cantori. Many of those closest to her were hurting—grieving, though they would likely never admit it, and she did not know how to help them.
The First Talon had not been heard from in days, not since the funeral. It was likely she had locked herself away to grieve in private, leaving Teia and Viago to try to keep things together. Caterina could not appear weak, the Crows could not appear weak—especially not after what had happened at the Villa and with the threat of an Antaam invasion lingering over their heads.
No, the Crows had to appear strong. Had to be strong.
As for the others in Teia’s life, Illario was apparently trying to drink himself into an early grave. He’d been drinking since before the wake, and had not stopped since. While that was concerning, it did mean that he wasn’t likely to get into any trouble tonight.
Emrys on the other hand, while they were not in a much better state than Illario, they were behaving currently; Teia knew it was only a matter of time before they did something stupid.
And Viago? She knew he had to be affected as well, if not by the loss itself than by the worry for Rys at the very least. Not that he would admit that. But Teia liked to think she knew him better than most.
Still, the others were out of sorts, and so, Teia had been left to pick up the pieces, to try and hold her family together and keep them safe. But they were not making it easy on her.
Lucanis’ loss had been difficult for the whole organization, but especially for those closest to him. He was well-known among his fellow Crows and for good reason.
He was the grandson of the fearsome Caterina Dellamorte, a skilled assassin and a ferocious fighter. When he took on a task, it was completed quickly and effectively, or so the stories said.
Teia had always respected that about him, even if the pair were never close.
They had been children together, the Dellamorte cousins, and her and Rys—nestlings as they were called.
The cousins and Emrys had entered training around the same time; Lucanis and Illario had entered late, having been privately trained by the First Talon after their parents died, and Rys had been brought in early.
Viago had been there too, for a couple of years, until he graduated and became a fledgling. Teia had arrived just after that, and once she had, she and Emrys had stuck together.
They weren’t the only elves there, but they had survived where others hadn’t, in part because they had one another; that kind of bond was difficult to break. Rys was like the brother she never had.
However, as close as she and Emrys were, she knew they were just as close with, if not closer to the Dellamorte cousins.
The friendship Rys had with Illario wasn’t surprising. Illario liked mischief, Rys liked mischief and Illario was easy-going, and carefree in a way that endeared him to most people.
But Rys’ friendship with Lucanis, that was surprising to anyone who knew either of them.
Yes, Lucanis was the First Talon’s grandson and that could make him a valuable ally to anyone trying to gain any standing in the Crows. And he was handsome, in his own way, Teia supposed. But there was something off-putting about him—something dangerous about him that Teia couldn’t quite explain.
Besides, she knew Emrys well enough to know that they weren’t the kind of person to associate with someone for personal gain. And Lucanis himself had been wary enough of people trying to use him that he’d never have let anyone like that close.
Whatever it was that had drawn them together was a complete mystery to her.
They were opposites in many ways. Rys was high energy, tactile, incredibly talkative and someone who thought a fight was a good way to get to know someone or pass the time.
Lucanis, on the other hand, was none of those things. In fact, Teia would describe him as terse—she could count on one hand the number of times she had ever heard him speak, as opposed to simply looming in the background like the omen of death most people thought him to be.
Despite not understanding the nature of the friendship, Lucanis and Emrys were friends and now he was gone. Rys would never admit it out loud, but she knew they were hurting deeply.
It had been evident all during the funeral, in the tense line of their shoulders, pulled taut like a bowstring on the verge of snapping; it had been even more evident during the wake, and it was obvious even now, while they had their head resting atop one of the tables in the casino.
Emrys approached life with an abandon that verged on recklessness at the best of time, and this was certainly not that. Teia was not the only person worried about them; Viago liked to pretend otherwise, but she knew he cared about the Crows in his house, Emrys especially.
Viago had been the Crow that Emrys had been assigned to as a fledgling, and had always felt a responsibility for them.
In fact, Teia had seen Vi keeping a close eye on them earlier, even taking a drink or two away from them—which is likely what Rys was pouting about now.
Teia kept her eyes on Rys for a moment longer, until she caught sight of Viago dragging Illario up the stairs to an empty room. She should do the same with Rys soon.
She wasn’t certain what to do with them. A part of her thought that she should keep Emrys and Illario separated for a while; Maker knew what kind of self-destructive bullshit the two could get into if left alone.
The other part of her thought it might be better if they were together—Emrys had a protective streak, and they might keep Illario out of trouble, and in doing so, keep themself out of it too.
But she couldn’t be certain. And she needed to make the right decision here. She would have no Crows die on her watch. That was the least she could do for Caterina.
With a sigh, Teia rose to her feet, determined to drag Emrys upstairs and force him to rest…only to find nothing. Rys was no longer at the table, nor were they anywhere in the immediate vicinity.
“Cazzo,” she hissed, angry at herself for letting them out of her sight for even a moment.
Where would Emrys go? They liked to be up high, so perhaps the top of the Diamond?
No, not tonight. They’d been drinking, and they were hurting emotionally, so they wouldn’t want to be alone with their thoughts.
So, they’d look for some place rowdy, somewhere they could get into trouble.
It must be the docks then.
That would be the perfect place to find drunken foreigners who would not recognize nor know not to pick fights with Crows—and a fight was surely what Rys was looking for now.
Emrys was looking for a distraction. They’d never learned how to successfully handle emotional pain growing up, but physical pain was an old friend, and one they could handle.
There just hadn’t been the time or space to deal with emotional turmoil. They’d always just pushed it down and bottled it up; if they didn’t acknowledge it, they could pretend it didn’t happen.
That practice had worked for them for most of their life.
But for some reason, when they’d learned that Lucanis had been killed, they were suddenly and inexplicably transported back to the orphanage, screaming and sobbing as their sister was torn away from them. It had been their first great loss.
The two events couldn’t be more different. This new pain was deeper and felt more keenly for reasons Rys couldn’t, or wouldn’t dwell on or explain. And yet, every time they tried to bury the hurt from both losses, it just came bubbling back up to the surface even stronger than before.
Rys couldn’t contain all of that hurt any longer; they needed an outlet for it.
He needed a reprieve from the overwhelming sorrow, even just the briefest moment of respite from it all.
So, they had gone to the docks to find it. There were plenty of assholes there that deserved a beating—all the detritus of Thedas always washed up on Antiva’s shores, even if only briefly.
Rys knew he had to be quick about it, because Teia would undoubtedly be looking for them. And it wouldn’t take her long to track them down and drag them back, or worse, send Viago to do it.
They could handle Teia’s concern, but they weren’t sure they could handle Viago’s disappointment right now.
Thankfully, Emrys was faster than either Talon.
In the orphanage, he had to be fast to survive. Rys was certain one of the Talons would find them eventually, but there was just enough time for him to get into enough trouble to forget everything going on, at least for a while.
Ducking into the busiest tavern along the docks, it took Emrys no more than a minute to find a target; they’d always been good at finding marks. They could spot with ease the people that would be easiest to steal from, and those most likely to fight back.
Of course, this time they wanted them to fight back.
The target they’d picked? Venatori, as an added bonus.
Rys wouldn’t feel the slightest bit bad for picking a fight with, and likely killing a few of those bastards.
Bumping into the Venatori closest to them, Rys purposefully let the man see them pocket his gold purse.
“Oh, apologies messere,” Rys muttered demurely, averting their eyes and adopting a Freemarches accent.
That was what they were best at in training, learning languages and mimicking accents. It was why the previous Talon of House De Riva had poached them from House Nero not long after graduation.
And why Viago, even now, sent them out on foreign missions and put up with their behavior.
Sometimes, it worked best to have a Crow that could blend in almost anywhere.
“That’s my pouch!” the cultist shouted, trying to grab them.
Emrys thought they did a masterful job of appearing scared—mismatched eyes wide and fearful, before bolting out the back door like a startled halla.
Loud footfalls followed after them, which told them that at least one Venatori had taken the bait.
Good.
Once outside in the darkened alleyway, Emrys turned to face their pursuers, finding six other figures in the alley. Well, that was more than they’d been expecting, but it was nothing they couldn’t handle.
“Give back the gold, and we’ll let you go.” One of the figures said.
“I could do that, and pretend I don’t know you’re gonna knife me in the back first chance you get,” Rys said. “But I think I’ll take the gold, and while I’m here, I’ll take your lives as well.”
The Venatori all laughed, the mocking sounds of it echoing off the nearby buildings. Rys was going to enjoy killing these men.
“There’s six of us, and only one of you,” one of the other Venatori sneered.
Emrys grinned, “It’ll be a fair fight then.”
“You’re a ballsy little dock rat, aren’t you?”
Rys didn’t respond, surging forward with their blade in hand. The first Venatori fell with no resistance.
Emrys was, as previously stated, fast. And the cultists didn’t realize they were dealing with a mage at first. This would not be the first time Rys had caught a fellow mage off guard this way; Venatori mages especially thought they always had the upper hand in any encounter.
But Antiva was home to spellblades, who carried blades not staves and that meant they looked no different from the average rogue—until it was too late.
Because unlike average mages, spellblades were melee fighters. Given that this alleyway was not wide enough for the Venatori to get to an effective range for their staves, that meant Rys had the advantage.
Their blade caught the second Venatori in the chest, tearing through flesh as if it were made of wet paper; bolts of lightning coursing through it and spreading out to the surrounding cultists.
Emrys’ mind was in fight mode, focused solely planning their next move and winning; finally, blissfully numb to the pain he couldn’t shake.
Unfortunately, they were very drunk and though their mind was responding correctly, their body was sluggish.
That was why when one of the mages brought the end of their staff up to put some distance between them, it caught him in the jaw, sending him stumbling backwards; barely seeing the blade from another Venatori in time to dodge.
They didn’t feel the injury as they righted themself—fire spilling from their fingertips, burning the attacking Venatori; they only noticed it when blood began running into their eye and mouth.
But Rys couldn’t stop now. Stunning the Venatori they’d set ablaze with a punch, they drove their dagger through the cultist’s throat.
Another Venatori fell in rapid succession, and that was when the sky opened up and began to pour down rain—a storm had blown in from the sea.
If he’d had the time to think on it, Rys would find the timing poetic.
Of course it would start to storm now, when he’d finally quieted the storm in his own mind; the tempest was would always find him, either from within or without—he couldn’t escape it, only try to weather it.
Teia found Emrys, predictably, in the middle of a fight. The scent of blood was heavy in the air, even as the rain began to fall.
Her first instinct was the help them. But given their likely state of mind, and their intoxication, it wasn’t wise.
The last thing she wanted was to find herself on the receiving end of their magic. So, she decided to hang back, unless it was clear that she was needed.
Rys was covered in blood; their face partially obscured by it—a gaping would, the source of all the blood, cut through his eyebrow, running down his cheek and crisscrossing the older scar that cut through their lips.
It was difficult to tell in the dim light of the alley whether or not they’d lose the eye. She hoped not; Rys had lost enough in his life.
There were only two enemies left. Teia could tell they were Venatori by their ridiculous outfits. Those cultists were growing too bold if they thought they could traverse Treviso without incident.
Teia kept her eyes on both Rys and the alley itself, to make certain no other cultists arrived to catch Rys off guard; she knew that even drunk and injured, Rys was more than a match for their opponents.
When the last Venatori had fallen, Rys stood stock still in the rain, staring intently at the dagger in his hand. For one terrifying moment, Teia thought they’d plunge it into their own chest. Instead, they let it drop from their hands, clattering against the cobblestones.
Rys’ knees were the next thing to hit the ground.
The scream that left them as they pitched forward, forearms hitting the ground, was heart-wrenching.
A wave of realization washed over Teia then. That was not the sound of someone mourning a friend. No, she knew that sound.
It was the sound her own heart had made when she’d found Viago barely conscious on the villa floor some months back and feared she would lose him.
Moving forward then, Teia knelt down and pulled Rys into a hug, letting them bury their face into her shoulder as they sobbed.
Teia ran her hand over Rys’ back; she’d never seen him cry in all the years she’d known him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She hated this—hated feeling so helpless. How was she supposed to help them? She didn’t know.
Once Rys’ sobs had quieted, Teia pulled free the sash from their waist and pressed it against their bleeding face.
“Come, we should have that looked at.” Slinging an arm around them to keep them upright, the pair made their way back to the Diamond.
Viago met them at the door, eyes raking over Emrys, taking in the state of his Crow. “Merda, what happened?”
“They won, that’s what matters,” Teia replied. “I'll take them upstairs, their wound needs to be cleaned and stitched—they need to rest.”
“No,” Viago’s hand caught her arm, his grip light, “Rys is my responsibility. You should rest too.”
Placing a hand on his and giving it a small squeeze, Teia let Viago take Emrys from her.
“Vi,” she called before he’d made it too far, “Be gentle, please.”
With a nod, Viago helped Emrys up the stairs. Heaving a tired sigh, Teia decided that Viago was right, she should rest while she had the chance.
Tomorrow, she decided, she would talk to Viago about finding Emrys a job or two—perhaps even outside of Antiva. If she could keep them working, focused on a mission, then maybe it wouldn’t be him they buried next.