Chapter Text
Rain flooded the Court of Fontaine, running in rivulets down the streets and into the gutters to drip onto the heads of the residents of the Fleuve Cendre below. Thunder crackled ominously in the distance, making the people huddled around their fireplaces jump when they heard it. Not a soul could be found outside; even beggars knew to take shelter when a storm like this hit the city.
The pounding of droplets on the roof of the House of the Hearth was so loud that Arlecchino could barely hear herself think. Her office windows rattled, the wind howling like a vengeful spirit. She was nursing thoughts of this being a precursor to what was to come if she failed to prevent the prophecy from taking place.
Most of the children were in their rooms, playing, reading or otherwise distracting themselves from the raging storm outside. She doubted that they would be freely wandering the halls of the House. It had only been three weeks since her return from Snezhnaya upon being appointed the new Knave, and they were still rather frightened of her.
She knew that her words would do little to convince them that she was ‘Father’ and not ‘Mother’, and that earning their trust through actions was an endeavor that would perhaps take the rest of the time that fate had allotted her.
It was therefore unfortunate that paperwork and formalities for her Harbinger duties had taken up most of her time, leaving her little to dedicate towards her children. Arlecchino sighed as she looked down at the page in front of her, the typed letters blurring in front of her eyes, running into a stream of dark ink.
“You can’t hide from them forever, you know.”
Arlecchino blinked, and the letters were neatly ordered on the page again. She looked up to see a young woman around her age standing in front of the closed door. Blonde curls spilled down her back, bangs held back by a hair clip shaped like a Bulle Fruit. Her eyes were a grayish-blue, the color of murky water. Only her face was clear; the rest of her was engulfed in a haze of red and black flames that licked at her body, yet did not singe the carpet below.
She dipped her head slightly to acknowledge the afterimage of her deceased sister, Clementine. The clock continued ticking, measuring the silence that stretched out between them. Arlecchino had long ceased to be surprised at the appearance of the siblings that had fallen at her hand. They all appeared to her at times, sometimes mere shadows and other times painted in such vivid colors that she almost believed that they were alive again, come to take vengeance.
Clervie, of course, always appeared just as she was the day they had become friends. But with the others, it was always a surprise.
Clementine scoffed. “Oh, you won’t even talk to me now?”
Arlecchino knew she would appear quite insane if anyone were to essentially see her speaking to thin air. However, from her experience, the hallucinations got worse if she did not humor them.
She waited a moment or two, ensuring that she did not hear any signs of life behind her office door, before saying calmly, “It has been a while since you appeared to me.”
Lightning cracked in the distance, a brilliant flash that turned the room nearly white. Arlecchino had to close her eyes, and when she opened them again, Clementine was standing in front of her.
You fool, Crucabena snarled in her mind. Never turn your back on an enemy. Have I taught you nothing, Peruere?
The flames had receded, sinking down towards the floor. The front of Clementine’s shirt was ripped open, dried blood crusted on the fabric. On her cream skin lay a clean stab wound, made by a stable hand. Arlecchino’s hand.
“You’re just like her, Perrie.” The words were delivered in a cool tone.
“What do you want?” Arlecchino asked. She was starting to feel lightheaded, black dots dancing in her vision and a faint ringing in her ears. Dimly she was aware of the sounds of a child passing in the hallway.
“You’re worse than ‘Mother’,” Clementine continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “You killed Clervie.”
Arlecchino did not speak. She bit down on her tongue to keep from making any noise. She could not afford for one of the children to see their ‘Father’ in such a state.
“You knew what she was planning. You could have let her kill you, but instead you stood by and watched her fall on your sword!” Her voice rose into a scream to rival the wind outside.
Pain pummeled the inside of Arlecchino’s skull. The floor tilted beneath her feet and she clutched at the desk so she did not fall out of her chair. Her breathing was ragged and uneven, coming in sharp bursts.
The flames rose up from the floor to engulf Clementine’s body once more. The color started to fade from her hair, her eyes, until she was as gray as ashes, apart from the bright orange of her hair clip. She continued to screech, pointing one accusatory finger, “You cannot raise those children. You will kill them just like you killed Clervie! They will die at your hand, you will burn them away, and you will hide it so the rest of them continue to worship you. You are a monster, Peruere.”
Arlecchino’s eyes fell shut.
Clementine’s voice changed, becoming broken and high-pitched, like a little girl’s. “I– I mean, you won’t even let me die. You keep me here.”
She was silent.
“I want to die, Perrie.” The words were not a plea but rather a secret between sisters.
Arlecchino counted to ten and opened her eyes. Clementine was gone.
***
“Again.”
A streak of red and white on her left side. Arlecchino turned towards it, her scythe sweeping out in a clean arc, slicing through nothing but air. She heard the fluttering of fabric behind her and placed her left hand near the blade of her weapon, jabbing the end of the handle into a soft belly.
The force of her blow was strong enough to send her son skidding backwards in the dust. Arlecchino turned just in time to see him double over and gasp, clutching his stomach. His tailcoat was torn and the ends singed; from his fire or hers, she didn’t know.
She could take the opportunity to end their little lesson there; it was an understanding between her and Lyney that they stopped at first blood, and it would be easy enough to walk up and draw a thin line of scarlet across his cheek with the nail of her index finger.
Still, even though she was impressed by his talent at such a young age, he had a lot to learn if he truly was to take her place as ‘King’ of the House of the Hearth. And as much as she was loath to acknowledge her own body’s limits, the reality that she may not have a great deal of time left was swiftly dawning on her. Cutting lessons short was simply not an option.
Beneath her suit, it was not only her hands that were blackened, but nearly the entirety of her arms. When the darkness inevitably swept from shoulder to heart, she would need a reliable blade to pierce it.
Or perhaps an arrow, Arlecchino thought. She waited a moment before taking a few steps towards him, holding her scythe out to one side with the blade pointed down.
“I’ve taught you that when your enemy favors close range, you should never remain in their reach.” She touched his bow; it was still humming with Pyro energy. “This is your biggest advantage in a situation like this. Use it.” He gave her a sharp nod. “Good. Again.”
Lyney looked up at her, eyes narrowed in concentration. Arlecchino did not wait for him to recover before she lunged. An assailant would not stop to allow him to catch his breath. She may have been his ‘Father’, but if he refused to treat her as his enemy on the battlefield, it was almost a certainty that he would not leave unscathed.
She struck out and he dodged it, disappearing in a flurry of playing cards only to reappear at the other end of the training grounds. Arlecchino allowed herself a small moment of pride.
Lyney had a grin on his face and a card clutched between two fingers; the ace of spades, she noticed. He grasped his bow tightly with his other hand. She dashed forwards in a flash of red light, but by the time she reached him he was already gone.
Arlecchino whipped around to be met with a storm of arrows, glinting as they flew at her. She cut them down with a few blows of her scythe, wood cracking as it met metal. Ruined arrowheads rained down around her.
Once the barrage ended, she looked up. At the top of a half-crumbled wall stood Lyney, and a dozen more of him, lined in an eerie formation. Arlecchino kept her gaze neutral, mentally ruling out the illusions to find her son.
“Satisfied with the distance, Father?” one of the false Lyneys taunted, jumping down. The others followed suit, charging across the field or positioning themselves behind their bows. He’d clearly taken care to ensure that they all acted separately to divide her attention.
“Your tricks will only get you so far,” Arlecchino replied, making a fist with her left hand. Twisted, sharp spikes rose up from the ground to cage each one of the illusions, then sliced right through them. They all poofed out of existence, leaving behind clouds of hazy smoke.
It reminded her of the smoke that had risen from the scorched earth, rich and sulfuric, as Clervie slumped in Arlecchino’s arms. Her body had still been warm.
Arlecchino gritted her teeth, focusing on the battle. Two spikes were driven cleanly through his sleeves, pinning him to the stone brick wall. His bow lay discarded on the ground in front of him.
She stalked forwards, not bothering to lower her weapon this time. It was held aloft, glowing like a lost sliver of the Crimson Moon. She could see her reflection in Lyney’s eyes, the fearsome image she struck with her cold expression and the endless, emotionless void of her black eyes, broken only by scarlet crosses.
Perhaps Clementine was right and she was nothing but a monster. She tilted her head to one side, observing her son. There was no fear in his gaze, only defiance. Or maybe he was afraid, and just not showing it. If that was the case, he had implemented Arlecchino’s teachings well.
He will make a good King, Clervie whispered in her mind, and she did not refute the statement.
She brought her scythe down in a nearly brutal blow, but was careful to control its path. It sliced through Lyney’s shirt, cutting him away from the twisted spikes. He slumped down against the wall before looking up at her with awe, a clean cut drawn across his cheek.
A single drop of his blood lingered on the tip of her blade. Lyney’s eyes caught on it and he dipped his head, a silent acknowledgement of her victory.
“You did well,” Arlecchino praised, ruffling his hair. He was warm, she noticed, like Clervie had been, and she had the sudden urge to wrap her fingers around her son’s wrist and confirm that his heart was still beating.
That was the past, she reminded herself, and banished any lingering trace of Clervie from her mind. While it was natural and, in her case, unavoidable to dwell on the past from time to time, it was unfair to the children to allow her bitter memories to taint the time she still had with them.
“Thank you, ‘Father’,” Lyney said, getting to his feet. She didn’t miss the wince that flashed across his face, nor the way he quickly covered it up with an easy smile.
“We’ll pick this up tomorrow,” Arlecchino told him sternly, and watched him wilt a little. Her voice softened. “But for now, get some rest.”