#and yet she favors teia over him

[haedia]

Oh god. I just had an Illario thought. And maybe I'm not the first to have this thought but I haven't seen it around yet.

So, the part that I have seen around: I think it's kind of fair to assume that one of Illario's parents was definitely not Caterina's favorite (and maybe even her least favorite child) which in part leads to her not valuing him. Which is, of course, an inversion of her favoritism for Lucanis being at least in part because she favored his mother.

But what if Illario's other parent was an elf? (or other non-human whose traits disappear when they have children with humans) Then the Dellamorte the Lesser has another awful layer to it. It's not just about him being the disparaged grandson of the (probably very much) not favored child. It's also him not being fully human. Possibly the only grandchild of the family who isn't.

It wouldn't even have to be anti-elven/racist sentiment that encouraged Caterina to look down on Illario. If that elven partner wasn't someone she approved of? It wouldn't matter if they were human or not -- Caterina doesn't really strike me as the kind of person who tolerates it when people defy her in any form. Unless they're Lucanis, of course. And, by extension, probably his mother too.

But say that he is half elven. Then you get stormy self-destructive thoughts of "If I were fully human, maybe she wouldn't have done this to me" and then later, him allying with the Venatori becomes darkly tragic and gives another layer to the self-loathing. Then it's not just about using them to gain power and assert his position as First Talon. No, it becomes about subjugating and stamping down a part of him he is certain is why he's been maligned his entire life.

From Caterina's perspective, assuming her dislike of her child's partner/spouse is from disapproval of the match itself and not racist in origin, Illario is lesser because her child disappointed her over and over again and she's incapable of seeing her grandson as his own person. She can only see him filtered through the lens of her dead, disappointing child.

From Illario's perspective, Caterina heaps praise and her own distant form of love on Lucanis well beyond whatever he receives. He's not as good as Lucanis is at least some things but he's not incapable. And he's better at certain things than Lucanis. He's still a master assassin who has lived to be in his mid-thirties (which is impressive given the profession!). And yet he'll never be good enough for his grandmother. He's no doubt picked at it for years: the differences, the whys.

Why he's not good enough. Why he can never measure up. Why he's treated so differently. Why is he different?

Everyone who's suffered as the scapegoat or otherwise unfavored child wonders at some point: was I born wrong?

And, if Illario's other parent isn't human, well...there's no way he wouldn't have wondered if that's why she treated him so differently.

How could he not?

[himluv]

Welcome to House Dellamorte

Chapter 32 of Say My Name (Say it Twice) is here! I hope you all enjoy it!

Read below, or on AO3 :)

Lucanis finally faces his cousin, with Rook's help, of course.

This was not how he’d imagined showing Rook Villa Dellamorte. That Illario had allowed Venatori filth into their home angered him almost as much as his cousin’s betrayal did. It would take months for the residual magic to fade and for the Veil to heal. And in the meantime, Lucanis’s eyes would itch terribly. 

And the rugs! So much blood had been spilled in these halls. It would cost a fortune to clean it all. And some of the damask wallpaper was beyond saving, which meant costly removal and replacement. 

Mierda, he might just kill Illario after all. 

They reached the salon in the East wing, where Caterina often hosted visiting Talons or particularly influential clients. It was a formidably decorated room, with not a single vase or pillow out of place. Even held hostage, Caterina’s will could not be refuted. It would be inspirational, if she weren’t so terrifying. 

“This is where you live?” Rook asked. Her eyes were wide as she took in the moody splendor of Caterina’s domain. 

He snorted. “No. I haven’t lived here since I turned eighteen.”

“But, this house is yours?”

He shrugged. “It is the main residence of House Dellamorte. It is my inheritance,” he added darkly. 

Neve raised an eyebrow at him. “Doesn’t sound like you want to inherit.”

He said nothing to that. The truth was, when it came to the Dellamorte legacy, what Lucanis wanted did not matter. It had never even once been considered. He would become First Talon and he would rule The Crows from this Villa. Period. 

It was not a truth he was eager to remember, and yet, Caterina was in need of saving. And so here he was.

He did not miss the weighty glance between Neve and Rook. 

Worried, Spite hissed at his ear. 

“Come,” he said. “I doubt Caterina would allow herself to be kept anywhere but her suite.”

Neve snorted. “Sounds like a formidable woman.”

Lucanis grimaced. “You have no idea.”

He led the way up another staircase, and they dispatched three more Venatori on the landing. He stood over the corpses, panting and still shrouded in the shimmering purple of Spite’s energy, when Rook touched his shoulder. 

“Are you all right?” Her voice was low and Neve made a big show of admiring the original Renauldi painting hung on the wall – a gift from Teia, no doubt brokered by Viago. 

In truth, he was not all right. They were fighting their way through his childhood home, which was infested with racist blood mages. He was running out of time to save Caterina, whom he had very mixed feelings about seeing again. Feelings he neither had time nor the desire to analyze more closely. And, he was hurtling toward a confrontation he’d dreaded for most of his life, because – if he was honest with himself – Illario’s betrayal had simply been a matter of time. Caterina had ensured that when she constantly pitted them against one another. When she lorded the seat of First Talon over them both and attached it to her favor. 

So, no. He was not all right. 

But, Rook’s hand was still on his shoulder, and her eyes were big and shining in the lantern light. She was here, helping him, yet again. And he knew they would face the consequences together, just like they’d promised. 

He nodded once. “I will be,” he said. He nodded toward a hallway that led further into the house. “The family rooms are up ahead.”

“First her. Then we will find what we seek,” Spite said, sounding particularly ominous. Where Lucanis was on edge, angry and worried, Spite was almost gleefully eager for violence. 

Lucanis led them through the East wing, toward the back of the house where the family rooms were. Th entire East wing had been filled with family once, but after House Velardo’s coup attempt Caterina had insisted on keeping her grandsons close. 

He turned the last corner and saw a Venatori mage standing at Caterina’s door. Spite’s wings erupted from his back as they launched at the mage. He went down quickly and Lucanis rushed to his grandmother’s door. But Rook lingered on the other side of the hall.

“What are these–?”

“–Mine and Illario’s rooms,” he said. 

She raised an eyebrow and poked her head inside. Then she frowned at him. “I think there’s been some changes.”

“What?” He frowned and pushed past her into the room. It was large. Too large. He blinked and spun to take in the renovated space. “He took out the wall?”

Wants to erase you, Spite growled. 

Lucanis hadn’t lived in this house since he was eighteen, he shouldn’t be upset to find Illario had claimed the space. But to be faced with yet more evidence of his cousin’s efforts to excise Lucanis from his life…

It hurt.

“Lucanis?” Rook stood at a small table near the wall – the wall that had once been his – with a piece of parchment in her hands. 

He joined her and read it quickly. He snorted. This was what Illario chose to keep? A letter he wrote to Lucanis, when they were much younger. And closer. 

Lucanis shook his head. “That job was a shit show,” he said. “As I’d predicted.”

“Look here,” Neve said. She stood before the hearth, nudging at the ashes with her metal toe. 

Rook glanced at him, then went to the fireplace. She picked up a scrap of parchment and scowled. “A torn up note,” she said. “From Zara.”

Spite growled at the mention of Zara Renata, but Lucanis ignored him. 

“If he’s trying to cover his tracks,” Neve said. “He’s doing a terrible job of it.”

“Illario has never been one for details,” he said. “But, this is sloppy, even for him.”

“He’s rushing,” Rook said, frowning. “Which means he knows we’re coming for him.”

“Let’s go,” he said. He needed to put this room and all the emotions it’d conjured behind him. He needed a clear head when he found Caterina. Then he could let his rage go when he met Illario in the Opera House.

Rook and Neve followed him back out into the hall. He tested Caterina’s door, but just like its occupant, it was immovable. “It’s barred from the inside,” he said. 

Rook stood beside him, hands on her hips. “So, we bust it down and probably get attacked.”

He smirked at her. “Which is why I’ll go first.”

She gave him a disapproving look, but didn’t argue. This was his House – she had followed him this far, she would trust him in this. The fact brought a soothing warmth to his chest, a balm for his jagged thoughts. With Rook at his back, he could do this.

Together they kicked in the door. An idle part of Lucanis’s mind tallied that cost in his ongoing tab against Illario. At this rate, his cousin’s monetary debts would be almost as insurmountable as his blood debts. 

Caterina’s room was not a part of the house where he had spent much time, but it had the expected refined splendor. A large four-post bed draped in purple and black brocade stood in the center of the room, the hearth burned on their left. And on their right–

Lucanis turned in time to see a weapon swing down at his head. Behind him, Rook gasped as he reached up and caught it in one gloved hand. Wood, finely carved, and sturdy. He recognized it instantly – remembered well the crack of it against his knuckles, back, and ribs. Had been haunted by its tapping through these halls and in his dreams. 

He looked past the cane, to its wielder, and there she was. Caterina Dellamorte, First Talon of the Antivan Crows, his grandmother. 

He had not seen her in over a year. For much of that time, he’d believed he would never see her again. Then, after he’d escaped, he’d let himself imagine returning to her side, only to learn she was dead. Supposedly killed by Venatori in retaliation for his escape. To see her now, in her battle leathers, her hair frizzing out of its usually pristine and severe bun… Something cracked within him.

“Caterina?”

For a heartbeat, they stared at one another with wide, disbelieving eyes. Then she stepped toward him.

“Lucanis! My poor boy!” She took him by the arm and they exchanged brief kisses to each cheek.

Even now, in this almost heartfelt moment, Lucanis could not bring himself to touch her. Relief and apprehension warred within him. She was safe, unharmed, and they were reunited. But he was no longer the poor boy she remembered. 

Behind him, Rook spoke up. “I’d love to celebrate this touching family reunion with you both, but now might not be the best time. We have Illario’s celebration to deal with.”

She was right. There would be time for wary reintroductions later. After he dealt with Illario. He looked over his shoulder at her, grateful that she had his back. “Rook, we have to take Caterina to safety before we can break up the party.” The furious tap of a cane on the floor made him turn back to Caterina. 

“You’ll do no such thing,” she said to Rook. Her voice was imperious, the voice of a matriarch unaccustomed to argument. Then she looked at Lucanis. “And don’t speak about me as if I’m not here.” She glared between him and Rook. “There’s no time for heroic nonsense.”

Rook stood a little straighter, her fists on her hips. “Heroic nonsense saved your grandson and is rescuing you now.” She shook her head. “I won’t let Illario do more damage.”

He almost winced at Rook’s tone, but managed to keep his face devoid of emotion. He should have known she would butt heads with Caterina. Because, of course, he would plant himself directly between two incredibly strong-willed women.

Caterina eyed Rook, assessing her. Then, to Lucanis’s surprise, she smirked. “Go,” she said. “I’ll meet you in the Opera House.” She did not wait for their reply, did not give Rook the chance to argue. She just walked out of her room and into the hall, her cane tapping the whole way. 

Lucanis couldn’t help the smile that flickered across his face as she left. He and Caterina had a contentious relationship, there was no doubt. But she was still his grandmother. 

“I hope she can keep herself safe,” Rook said. 

He grinned at her. “Welcome to House Dellamorte, Rook.” Then he led her back out to the hall. They needed to get to the Opera House. 

Lucanis looked down on his cousin, his rage simmering into a bitter disappointment as Spite’s wings dissolved around him in purple mist. Illario had landed some heavy hits, particularly against Rook. When Lucanis had urged Rook to keep back and leave his cousin to him, Illario had honed in on that flicker of concern. Had read Lucanis’s care in a single sentence.

 He’d taunted her about choosing the wrong Dellamorte, and Lucanis about needing help. And he’d focused his efforts against Rook because he knew it was the most direct route to hurting Lucanis. 

For that alone he wanted to slice Illario’s throat. And he would– without hesitation – if Rook weren’t standing beside him, glaring down at his cousin. She was here, they had faced the consequences together just like she’d promised, and they had won. For that reason alone, he would let Illario live. 

His cousin glared up at him, one eye already bruising and swelling. “What are you waiting for, cousin? Finish what you start.” Even now, he repeated Caterina’s lessons to him. As if it was all they shared any more. Idiot.

Lucanis shook his head. “I already did. What am I ever going to do that is worse than this?” He raised his arms to gesture around the Opera House. “On your knees?” He sneered. “In front of every house?”

Behind him, Caterina made her grand entrance. “Get up, Illario.” Her voice and the tap of her cane commanded the room. Illario’s head snapped up, snapped to attention even now at the sound of their grandmother entering the room. 

Teia stepped forward, a brilliant smile on her face. “Caterina! Thank the Maker!” Lucanis wished he felt half her relief in this moment. 

Caterina scowled down at her youngest remaining grandson. “No one from House Dellamorte kneels.”

Viago took that as his cue, stepping forward to drag Illario up off his knees. The Fifth Talon had murder written all over his face. If Lucanis didn’t kill his cousin, Viago just might. 

“Mierda.” He looked past Caterina to Rook. “What am I supposed to do with this idiot?”

Rook didn’t look at him right away. She was still glaring at Illario, who smirked up at her. And in that one arrogant move, Lucanis was certain his cousin sealed his fate. When Embria finally looked at him, there was so much anger on her face. Like that day in Fen’Harel’s memory.

“He tried to kill you,” she said. “And got you imprisoned. And kidnapped the First Talon.” She glared down at Illario. “And made a deal with the Venatori.”

Lucanis closed his eyes and sighed. “Too much to forgive.”

“But,” she continued. “Didn’t you tell me that he was basically your brother and your closest childhood friend?” She was still angry, she still deeply disliked Illario, but in that moment Lucanis knew that she suggested forgiveness, not for his cousin’s sake, but his.

Maker, what did he do to deserve this woman?

“My only friend before you,” he said, and then sighed. “He’s family.” 

Illario gaped at him. “You think you can show me mercy?” He laughed at the notion. “That’s not up to you, is it? Caterina is still First Talon.” He said it with such ice, with such disappointment, that Lucanis knew this mercy was actually the worst outcome to Illario. 

His cousin would have rather died than be forgiven. Not that long ago, Lucanis would have understood, perhaps even approved of such a mindset. If he had failed as miserably as Illario just had, he would have asked for death, too. 

Caterina slammed her cane against the marble floor. “Enough, Illario. Lucanis is the new First Talon.” 

What? Lucanis looked to his grandmother, mouth agape and eyes wide. He glanced at Rook, and knew from the look in her eyes that his disbelief and horror were written plain on his face. No! He didn’t want this. He had never wanted this!

 “His decision stands.” Her voice was completely devoid of emotion as she stole the only thing from Illario that he had ever truly wanted.

Lucanis swallowed back the panic climbing up his throat. House Dellamorte was already on shaky ground after Illario’s schemes, and now with an abomination as First Talon. He could not afford to fall apart now, in front of every House. 

He shook his head as Spite growled in his ear. Shame him. HUMILIATE him. Make. Him. SUFFER.

“Viago,” he said. “Keep him out of trouble.” Lucanis knew no better punishment than being endlessly demeaned and loathed by Viago de Riva. The only thing more lethal than the man’s tongue were his poisons. And judging by the furious flush in the Fifth Talon’s face, he would do an excellent job of haranguing Illario. 

“I’m no miracle worker,” Viago said. “But I’ll see what I can do.” He dragged Illario toward the exit. 

Illario smirked at Lucanis as he went by, purring his name as if to worm his way out of this situation. “Lucanis…”

Lucanis snarled at him. “Don’t. Not now.” He didn’t want to lay eyes on his idiot cousin, let alone listen to his excuses. If Illario said a single word to him, he might change his mind and throw him in a cell after all. 

As Viago and Illario left the Opera House, Caterina stepped forward to the table flanked by the remaining Talons. She took up a wineglass and turned to look at Lucanis. 

He shot a wary look to Rook, but followed after his grandmother. 

“Welcome home, my boy,” she said, handing him the glass.

He took it, slowly. He didn’t trust this kindness, this overture of her approval and acceptance in front of all of the Houses. Lucanis knew a performance when he saw one – even one as flawless as Caterina’s.

Around him, the Talons took up their glasses, and Teia passed one to Rook. Then the Seventh Talon smiled at him. “A Toast! To the new First Talon!”

Mierda, no. He glanced at Rook, saw her smile at Teia and then Caterina. Then she met his gaze, and he saw that, while her smile looked genuine, it did not reach her eyes. And her eyes always told him the truth. 

“To Lucanis!” She said and they all raised their glasses as the gathered Crows in the balconies cheered. 

But, Rook’s eyes never lied to him, and he knew a performance when he saw one. He had just been made First Talon, and Embria was very, very scared. 

[treviso-nights]

Blood and Allegiance—Rook de Riva, Teia/Viago

summary: before she was rook, Keket was a fledgling taken from a declining, abusive House. now, in treviso, she meets her new benefactor (viago de riva) and his surprising, beautiful counterpart (teia cantori). what will she think of her potential benefactor? what will they think of her? rating: M word count: 2500 (inspired by the first prompt from this post!!)

read on AO3

Keket had heard many things about Treviso, had flipped through the images of its canals and architecture marvels in textbooks. In private, Keket had even pressed her fingertips to the glossy pages and imagined she was there instead of where she was, instead of doing what she was. In fact, anywhere would have been better than training in her House. Yet in those secret daydreams, in those most private thoughts, Keket was always in Treviso, cartwheeling down boardwalks flanked by sparkling water—or perhaps ziplining over a twinkling marketplace.

Now, as she was escorted through its front gates, Keket knew she had been right to hold onto those daydreams.

Treviso was the most beautiful place she had ever seen.

Her escort didn’t speak to her as they meandered through Treviso’s walkways, moving with the elegance and grace of a trained assassin. Someday, she would be as languid as that. Though as a teenager just past her thirteenth year, Keket was mostly just uncertainty, with limbs too stiff to do anything useful with. It wasn’t as if the anxiety hadn’t already been beaten out of her—it had.

But Keket also couldn’t help wondering what kind of beatings her new benefactor favored—because they all favored one or another. There was no love lost for her old House; that was for sure. However, the nondescript warehouse they came upon didn’t do much to appease newfound concerns, no matter how often she’d been punished for them in the past. After all, Antivan Crows were nothing if not relentless. At least, that was what she told herself.

“This is where I leave you.”

Years of training kept Keket from jumping at the sound of his voice. “Thank you,” she responded, smiling grimly up at her escort. Because even then, she knew to be polite. Even then, in this new city, with this new benefactor, Keket knew to be pleasant. How else was she supposed to form alliances?

To her surprise, her escort smiled warmly back at her—even winking before he began to walk away. That was harder to digest. Crows weren’t supposed to smile at anyone that wasn’t a contract. Keket nearly frowned at the absurdity of it. No doubt that whoever trained him would be ashamed if they’d seen.

The front door to the warehouse was also nondescript—though pretty and well-stained wood, if anything. The inside was dark and empty, save for a few skylights, which provided enough sunshine for Keket to easily make her way to the room’s center, where a person in shadow awaited.

Her new grandmaster.

There wasn’t much Keket wanted—they didn’t need to be kind or accepting or even remotely interested in their fledglings. But if this new House could just be better than the last… if they could just be even one iota less cruel, that would be enough for her.

“Welcome! You must be our new fledgling.”

If Keket’s escort had surprised her, this was nothing less than shock, radiating down into her very bones. As she approached the figure, she could have sworn the day-light filtering in from above rearranged itself just for her—for the small woman standing in front of Keket. Which it should.

Because standing in front of Keket was an earth-shatteringly beautiful woman.

“I’m Andarateia Cantori,” the woman said, flashing white teeth in her smile. “Though you can call me Teia. Just don’t tell anyone else I told you so.”

Sheer instinct kept Keket on her feet, had her nodding slowly back to Teia. Though it was several moments before she could find her voice again. “Are you my new grandmaster?”

This only made Teia smile’s widen, until she was full-blown grinning at Keket. If the gesture itself wasn’t so warm and full of kindness, she would have retreated to a more defensible position in the room.

“Well…” Teia began. “Not really. Although, if you wish, I could make arran���“

The warehouse door slamming back open was the last straw, and Keket threw herself to the side, safety rolling near one of the room’s main walls, which she promptly pressed her back against.

“Oh, dammit!” Teia shouted, all traces of her previous warmth evaporated. “You scared our little fledgling half to death!”

A new, distinctly male voice sounded off then. “Teia!” the intruder barked, his long legs carrying him to where Keket had just been standing. “What do you think you are doing? Is it your life’s mission to be a complete pain in my ass? Or did I do something to specifically warrant this intrusion? I can never tell.”

“Keket?” Teia called, ignoring the intruder’s protests. “May I introduce to you your new grandmaster—Fifth Talon, Viago de Riva.”

At this, Keket’s eyebrows shot up. Fifth Talon? The Fifth Talon wanted her in his House?

“Come over here,” Teia encouraged, beckoning Keket with another warm smile. Still, she ignored Viago’s ever-reddening face, the deep blush darkening his handsome bronze skin until it almost looked purple.

The wall felt safer. But Teia was too enticing, too beautiful and friendly to disobey—as if they had already formed a comraderie or an understanding that could not be betrayed by Keket’s own suspicion. Even if that suspicion was a necessary part of their trade.

Unwilling footsteps shuffled Keket closer to where the duo stood, only twelve inches apart or so. The sky-light illuminated both of their features, which were very Antivan in nature—tawny brown skin and dark, curly hair so tightly coiled the curls were more like ringlets. And while Teia’s eyes were as deep and brown as her hair, Viago’s were a strange, muted emerald, as if that emerald had first been buried in fresh soil.

Only when Keket came to a stop next to him did Viago turn towards her, his piercing gaze pinning the teenager’s feet to the spot.

“Viago, Keket. Keket, Viago,” Teia chuckled.

Keket remained silent, as was expected of all fledglings before their grandmaster. So did she avert her gaze, keeping it trained on the ground. She needed to show him the utmost deference and respect, just as her last grandmaster had taught her.

“Look at me,” Viago commanded.

Keket’s blood ran cold. That didn’t seem right. What had she done wrong?

“Now.”

She obeyed him at once, her eyes wide and wiped blank of any obvious sentiment—the best she could do, given her terror.

“Don’t frighten her more,” Teia hissed, and Keket’s eyes involuntarily flicked to the scowling woman beside them. “Or I’ll make you regret it.”

Keket’s next inhale stuttered in her chest. Surely she would face punishment for speaking to the Fifth Talon this way?

But Viago only rolled his emerald eyes, his mustache quirking with a grimace. “How old are you?” he asked her.

Keket knew to answer quickly. “Thirteen.”

“How long have you been a fledgling?”

“Since I was eight.”

“Eight?” Both Viago and Teia shared a look.

Keket fought the urge to squirm. “Is that… unusual?” Typically, Keket would never deign to speak while not spoken to, but something about their reactions felt strange.

Teia was the one to answer. “It depends. But your former grandmaster had a certain reputation for eccentric recruiting practices.”

At that, Keket was silent. What did that mean?

Viago scoffed. “What she means is that your former grandmaster was a despicable speck of scum that had no qualms about recruiting hordes of small children so long as some of them survived long enough to cause trouble for the other Houses.”

Keket nodded absently.

“Agreed. Let us hope their new grandmaster has more sense,” Teia added, glancing at Viago again. “Lest the rest of us be forced to take action.”

With no clear understanding of what she meant, Keket once more averted her gaze.

“Keket, let me properly introduce you to Andarateia Cantori, Seventh Talon of the Antivan Crows, since I am sure she made no effort to disclose her official title.”

Against all instinct, an audible gasp ripped through Keket’s throat.

“Now you’ve done it,” Teia angrily muttered.

The Fifth and Seventh Talon. Keket knew this meeting could potentially be dangerous, though she would never have been able to ascertain the level of that danger—would never have thought that two Talons would ever be standing in front of her, squabbling like old lovers as if they couldn’t end her existence with a single twist of their hands.

There were no words for the influx of awe, horror, and hope rushing through her belly. So, Keket defaulted to the proper supplication these Talons deserved; a still body, and a quiet mouth.

This, however, did not seem to please Viago de Riva.

He cursed in Antivan. “What? Did your grandmaster beat the spirit out of you?”

Keket’s reply was instantaneous and without any emotion. “Yes.”

Then Teia cursed. Keket turned to her. “Grandmaster said that a good Crow must be emptied before it can be filled with anything useful, so we practiced being empty a lot.”

The warehouse’s subsequent silence only served to further strain Keket’s nervous system. That wall was looking highly safe right now…

“A good Crow uses everything at their disposal to complete their contracts,” Viago replied. “Especially their natural predispositions.” A pause. “Look at Teia,” he continued, gesturing to Teia with his hand. “What weapons do you think she is most likely inclined to use?”

“Here it comes,” Teia grumbled.

Keket was sure she was being set up to fail this question, but she also suspected Viago did not tolerate anything but the truth. Slowly, Keket appraised Teia once more, absorbing her small, lithe body, which would certainly attune her to agile movement; her full lips; the way her soft, long hair framed her jaw…

An uncomfortable blush began peppering Keket’s neck and ears when she realized she was staring. “Well,” she started. “She is… very beautiful.”

This prompted Teia to grin at her, which only served to aggravate the blush.

But Viago only frowned. “Exactly. So you can imagine how many powerful, wealthy men survive encounters with her when she is fulfilling a contract.”

“Probably not very many,” Keket said.

Teia laughed. “Exactly. Seduction is one of many tools in a Crow’s arsenal. These powerful, self-important men see my face and my ears and think I am harmless. Usually, it is the last thought they ever have.”

Keket’s eyes widened in something akin to wonder. 

“Now, what do you think of Viago? What skillset do you think he is most predisposed to?”

She felt her jaw lock when Viago’s intense gaze returned to her. This was most certainly a trap. Right? 

Still, the answer came at once—a muted whisper that bubbled inside her mind. Such whispers came infrequently, though when they did, they most often struck true.

“Poison.”

Both Teia and Viago’s brows shot up, their visages conveying an honest surprise at the answer.

“And why would you say that?” Teia asked.

Keket swallowed, attempting to ignore Viago’s stare seeping into her face. “He holds himself apart from others—at least one foot away. At first, I thought it was because of a… distaste for you,” she said, unwillingly glancing back at Teia, “but your obvious familiarity with each other ruled that out. I would guess that you just don't like to be touched.”

She got the distinct impression this made the Talons uncomfortable, judging by their stony expressions.

“Secondly… you smell like Belladern,” Keket murmured.

Viago de Riva cocked his head at that, his stare turning intense. “Are you sure you are not scenting my cologne?”

“I’m sure. Belladern is created by mixing belladonna with wyvern venom, and it has a signature aroma when heated at the right degree. It’s sweet.”

Viago nodded, his head moving slowly while he stuck his tongue against one cheek.

But Keket continued to answer, her voice steadily becoming more confident as she did. “I also think you sampled some before coming here. You probably ingest small amounts of several poisons to build immunity to them, since most who prefer poison are often paranoid about unknowingly consuming poison themselves.”

“What’s your evidence?” Viago asked, deliberating.

“Belladern side effects include rapid heartbeat, and I can see yours pounding against the arteries of your neck.” Keket lifted one hand, pointing at Viago’s carotid, where his pulse point throbbed at a steady and swift rate.

“And I don’t think it’s because you’re nervous,” she supplemented. “Also, your left fingers keep twitching. Since Belladern also causes convulsions, that would make sense as well.”

Teia muttered something softly, the Antivan momentarily breaking through Keket’s examination.

“Anything else?” Viago inquired.

Keket nodded at Viago’s other hand. “The tips of those fingers are red and raw, as if they’ve been burned. Since I assume you wear gloves while you work, yours are either old and worn through, or you need a second pair to cover the first. I would recommend drakeskin, as it deteriorates slowly,” she finished, voice once again quiet.

Viago de Riva folded his arms across his chest, the harsh angles of his brow and jaw smoothed out. “Was it your grandmaster that taught your class alchemy?”

“No. He used it on us. I remembered the smell.”

After an agonizingly silent pause, Teia cursed again—a fiery, filthy string of curses Keket struggled to not blush at.

Meanwhile, Viago looked vicious once more, fury etching deep into the handsome planes of his face. “Agreed, Teia.”

Keket resisted the urge to return to the warehouse’s wall. Had she said too much? Was she arrogant in her responses? Did she insult his honor?

“Right, then,” Teia chirped, a strained smile pulling at her mouth.

“Viago, if you do not want another fledgling, I would be more than happy to declare her part of House Cantori.”

That… couldn’t be right. Right? 

But Viago only glowered, each emerald eye narrowing in warning.

“Absolutely not. I will not have you poaching every wounded fledgling who crosses your path.” Then he turned to Keket, the curls in his hair bouncing slightly with the movement.

“You should know: I will not coddle you the way some may think you deserve. Becoming a fledgling in my House will mean even more discipline and more… correction, if you will.”

Keket nodded. She did not expect anything different.

“But,” Viago said, his jaw unclenching. “Only when you deserve it. Or when lessons demand that of you. Nothing more.”

Unwilling, traitorous tears began to gather in the back of her eyes.

“Stop that,” Viago snapped, all too observant.

Keket froze. “Yes, sir.” She briefly turned her gaze to the ceiling, hoping that the tears would suck themselves back into their ducts.

“I guess it is settled then,” Teia said, clapping her hands together. It did not escape Keket that she seemed to be pouting, her lower lip jutting out a touch more than the top. “What a shame. I do enjoy my strays.” 

And for the first time in many months, Keket found herself smiling.

Treviso, the city of dreams, indeed.