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Lucanis watched carefully as Neve lifted the unassuming mug of coffee and took a sip.
They were sitting around the large table in the Lighthouse dining hall. The fire was happily roaring in the fireplace. It should have been almost midnight, but thanks to the Fade, it was perpetually light and the sky stayed always the same confusing shade of peach.
“Well?” Lucanis urged.
Neve nodded a little in appreciation and sipped again. “I stand corrected. The coffee duty is all yours.”
She flashed him a rare hint of a genuine smile.
“Good.”
Lucanis leaned back in the chair. He could throw out that bag of whatever Neve used to insult real coffee beans. The next time he had the chance to shop, he would get something special. Maybe Rivaini Robusta beans for that extra kick of caffeine.
There was a blessed silence from Spite. Curiously, he was not so keenly throwing tantrums whenever Neve, Bellara or Harding were around. Instead, he almost seemed to sulk. Lucanis had been able to have a whole conversation alone with Neve, mostly about Antivan dark roast coffee.
And then Rook walked into the dining hall.
Lucanis grimaced. Spite went wild. In a flash of purple embers and smoke, the demon appeared right next to Rook like an overly enthusiastic shadow, way too close to be respectful of her personal space. Rook paused briefly, blinked, and looked to the side, bemused – as if a fly had been hovering by her ear. She made a wry face, but brushed the feeling off just as quickly.
Spite was tipping closer to her. Lucanis tensed and pulled on his stoic mask. Spite acting up in Rook’s presence made him inexorably anxious. It had been less than a week since he had arrived at the Lighthouse and it was already a problem.
“Rook. Is here. For coffee.” Spite nodded to emphasise the words and stalked after the mage.
Mierda. Could the demon stay calm just once whenever Rook walked into the room? It was bad enough that Lucanis himself was overly conscious of her presence. Naturally, he could tell her footsteps apart from the other ladies by heart. Unless she didn’t want him to hear her approach – the con of having another trained assassin around.
However, Rook could not hide her magic from Lucanis. After years apart, he would still notice her signature tap into the Fade like a leaking faucet was suddenly turned on at the back of his head. It was not uncomfortable, but it would take a while to get used to the sensation again.
“Who’s taking over the coffee duty?” Rook asked.
“Lucanis,” Neve said off-handedly, but she was curiously watching Lucanis, calculating and making unwanted, unnecessary connections. Her gaze followed his over to Rook and Spite, though she couldn’t see the demon either.
“Oh, I thought that was already settled,” Rook commented.
Her hand brushed Lucanis’ shoulder in a manner of acknowledgement as she passed him on her way to the coffee. A flush of comforting warmth followed the light touch. Rook’s scent was like–
“Lavender. And burnt olive oil,” Spite decided.
Lavender from the incense and oil from the lamp. So Rook had been reading in her room, no doubt researching the Fade or the self-proclaimed elven gods. Lucanis would have to pick up the books too to help her fill out the dossier on their marks. He tipped the coffee cup at his lips, but barely tasted anything. Rook poured herself a cup and added a generous splash of milk.
Neve got up from her seat.
“I should get back to it. The ritual murders in Dock Town never solve themselves.” She shrugged and continued with a knowing expression: “Don’t stay up too late.”
“Right back at you. Goodnight, Neve!” Rook tossed after the detective and took the chair opposite Lucanis. Spite hovered near her… sniffing the air.
Lucanis groaned in frustration.
“Spite, could you not… Mierda,” he huffed. The demon barely afforded him a look and definitely did not stop.
“Do I want to know?” Rook questioned and coolly sipped her coffee. She seemed to have become worryingly accustomed to Spite’s presence. And that excited the demon a little too much to Lucanis’ liking.
“I don’t think you do,” Lucanis replied. He relaxed a little since Spite backed off. The demon settled back like a good little stalker and continued to survey Rook’s every motion, unbeknownst to her. It was creepy, but there was not much Lucanis could do about it. The demon’s fixation on Rook was peculiar to say the least. Lucanis didn’t know if it was just because she was a mage or because of something else.
“How many cups of coffee have you had today?” Rook asked with a humorous twinkle in her eyes.
Eighth. This was his eighth cup of the day.
“I haven’t counted.”
“You drink so much coffee that Spite can probably smell colours.”
“Hah!” Spite roared, apparently exhilarated because Rook had mentioned him.
“Do I sense the need for an intervention?” Rook wondered and leaned over the table to take a better look at the coffee-addicted, sleep-deprived assassin. Then she frowned, as expected.
Lucanis let out a pained sigh and put down his cup, feeling a little too much like the intervention was already happening.
“We discussed this already. I won’t sleep.”
“Mm-hmm. You keep saying that, but at some point you will have to.”
Rook kept narrowing her eyes at him, but let the subject go. Lucanis had told her – patiently and on several occasions – that the risks of Spite sleepwalking were too high. What if he passed through the Eluvian when Spite had the wheel? Or hurt someone?
What if he did something to Rook?
Lucanis could survive with minimal sleep until this contract was taken care of. After that, he planned to find a place to lock himself and Spite in and sleep for a week. After that, he could focus on the issue of his demonic possession and find a way to get rid of the extra passenger in his body. And maybe after that, he could focus on bringing Rook back to Treviso to reclaim her place as the Spellblade of House de Riva. Viago had not explicitly said he was expecting as much in his letter, but Lucanis knew the Fifth Talon trusted that he would try. No one had tried to claim the place in Rook’s absence.
And speaking of the demon, Spite was still hovering at the end of the table, purple eyes trained on Rook like a maniac. The demon was hanging on her every word.
“So… The demon of Vyrantium?” Rook started.
Lucanis realised they had been quiet long enough for the silence to become uncomfortable. Time passed faster when he was keeping one eye on Spite and plotting his demise.
Lucanis drained the last drops of his coffee and regretted losing the only thing to keep him preoccupied under Rook’s sharp gaze. “Tevinter news sheets. And Viago, I suspect.”
Rook snorted and puffed the air out of her lungs in amusement. “The Wigmaker job, right? You’ll have to tell me all about it.”
“Gladly. Whenever you have the time to spare,” Lucanis replied.
“I… feel like we need a bottle of Antivan red for that one,” she said.
He leaned back in the chair and allowed himself to drink in the smile on Rook’s lips. She had always been good at distracting him.
“Rook, I like how you think.”
“Of course you do, Lucanis.”
She was smiling sweetly – like the old Rook, who was always playful and up to no good. Lucanis had known her long enough to know that smile spelled trouble with a capital T. And his heart took liberties whenever he witnessed it.
Being around Rook again… it was comforting. Normal. But also surreal, a reclaimed part of his past that Lucanis had thought forever lost, but not in a bittersweet manner. No. He had believed Rook was somewhere South in Ferelden or Orlais, living her life and fulfilling her dreams with people who cared for her, loved her. Never in a thousand years would he have guessed it would be her out of all people to swoop in for a rescue in an underwater Venatori prison. Lucanis had felt Rook’s magic before hearing her voice in the Ossuary. He was not the religious type, but even he had a hard time not believing in some form of fate or providence after the rescue.
“Catching up and reminiscing the old days sounds also good,” Rook continued, completely missing the way Lucanis’ own smile had turned into a wistful one.
“Some things never change, do they?” Lucanis murmured. Maker, he had been awake for so long that his brains felt scrambled. He glanced at Spite, who was inspecting the surface texture of a plate.
“True, but don’t you think we both traded up in terms of housing?” Rook motioned around the dining room. “I’m sure the Ossuary was horribly drafty and damp.”
Spite suddenly appeared right behind her and hissed: “Tell her. We want. To be free.”
Lucanis fought to keep his expression neutral.
“She was asking me, Spite,” he noted and impressed even himself with how calm the tone was.
Spite lurched over the table and banged his fists down with a force that should have clattered the cutlery, but made no sound outside the Fade. It was just another reminder that Lucanis couldn’t allow himself to relax in Rook’s presence. Not with Spite waiting by the edges.
Rook chuckled and it felt so out of place with Spite throwing a tantrum next to her that Lucanis bristled.
“Spite,” Rook cooed, looking to the general direction on her left and continued as the demon’s head snapped towards her, “if you give us a moment of privacy, I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement.”
Lucanis swallowed. Mierda. Making a deal with a demon. Rook was entirely too laid back about the whole abomination thing. She really had not changed all that much. And it was all for his benefit, which made the notion even more troubling.
Spite was standing just by Rook’s shoulder, which made her distant gaze that more weird to witness.
“You shouldn’t humour him. Spite will never do what is asked of him,” Lucanis said dryly.
“I’m trying to humour you, silly,” Rook retorted with that damn grin. She lifted the coffee cup to her lips again and Lucanis had to avert his eyes. She swallowed a sip and continued: “I wonder if it would be possible for me to speak with Spite directly. We should actually ask this Fade expert, when we meet him.”
“You should ask,” Lucanis muttered.
“Rook. Is. Smart.”
“That’s not news to me.”
“What’s not news to you?” Rook inquired with raised brows.
“Nothing.”
She pouted. Spite retreated again, maybe content with the promise of further negotiations and Rook’s interest in talking with the demon directly. Hell if Lucanis knew, but it was stressing him out.
“Have you thought about shaving?” Rook suddenly asked.
Lucanis’ hand shot up to feel his beard.
“Should I?” he inquired. If Rook didn’t like the jailbird look, he definitely would find his barber the next time they visited Treviso.
“Mm. Not necessarily. The Venatori won’t recognise you now,” she teased and clasped her lower lip between her teeth. Lucanis still didn’t know what that meant.
“It’s enough for me that you did,” he noted and the precipice of the truth behind the words felt prickly in his mouth.
Because he would recognise her anywhere; her voice and magic and touch. All soothing like the caress of feathers against his skin. One of the new constants in his life was the itching need to reach over and lay his hand over hers, or to offer a cup of coffee, to ask if she was comfortable and if there was anything he could do for her. It was not a completely new feeling in regards to Rook, but, mierda, how it had returned with vengeance in the past few days. Lucanis wondered if Rook had ever felt the same. About him, or anyone.
Rook smiled faintly, but it faltered quickly. She cupped the coffee cup in her hands and looked down, trying to find the words. Her throat bobbed in a swallow. The cup was surely empty by now.
The fireplace crackled softly in the background and Lucanis vaguely realised Spite was crouched in front of the fire. So much for bargaining for some privacy. This was probably the longest Rook and Lucanis had been alone in the past week, and he knew Spite was too invested to scurry off, no matter how much Lucanis wanted him to. He made another effort to ignore the demon’s presence.
“What’s on your mind?” Lucanis urged softly.
Rook looked at him, then looked away.
“The other night, it’s… I’m sorry, it was…” She sighed heavily. “Confusing.”
Lucanis’ pulse picked up as if he had just ran ten miles. His fingers gripped the empty cup and he forced a calming exhale. This was it. His chance to play it cool.
“It’s fine. I’m compartmentalising.” His lips tipped into a crooked smile.
A few seconds ticked by. An eternity.
“That’s not healthy,” Rook finally laughed.
“Hmm. Maybe you’re right,” Lucanis quipped back in mock-thoughtfulness.
“Usually I am,” Rook relented, but rolled her eyes.
Lucanis still felt warm every time his thoughts crossed that moment; how he had been taken completely by surprise and almost lost his precarious control in the pantry. He had wanted to touch her, to kiss her. Rook had just been so… She had been worried about him. And admitted to missing his cooking. Virtually admitted to missing him. Deep in his torn and wretched soul, the touch of Rook’s lips still smoldered and the tension in the pantry had set the burn alight.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lucanis saw Spite stalking closer again, maybe sensing the discrepancy between Rook’s apology and laughter.
“Lucanis. Stop,” Spite spat out.
Lucanis frowned at the demon and Rook’s brows shot up in question. He just shook his head.
Lucanis had sorted all things Spite and everything related to Rook into different mental boxes. Spite was a complication. Rook was… another kind of dilemma. A box he constantly wanted to take out and ponder its contents in private. There was a box labelled as ‘colleague Rook’, filled with memories of their youth, and then there was the ‘complicated Rook’ box that was burning through the shelves.
It was a problem he couldn’t solve with a knife and it frustrated him.
Silence fell and Rook looked sadly at her coffee cup. Empty. Spite had popped off to Maker knew where. Lucanis was just about to stand up and offer to make some more, when Rook talked:
“I can’t believe you asked about the wyvern watching.”
Trust Rook to change the subject by bringing back something Lucanis really didn’t want to talk about, but he would take it just because there were a lot of things he wanted to talk about even less.
“I really wanted to show them to you back then,” he answered tentatively, unsure where Rook was going with this.
“Right. Now I feel even worse about it,” Rook huffed, talking more to herself than Lucanis. Then she planted her palms on the table as if reaching an important decision. “Alright. If there are any wyverns left after this is done, we will find them.”
Lucanis’ brows shot up and he looked at Rook hopefully. She sounded honest. “Promise?”
Rook nodded. “Promise.”
It really didn’t make sense, but he believed her. If anyone could find a wyvern in a world gone mad, it would be Rook. Still, Lucanis couldn’t help feeling that they were only adding stakes to their already impossible task and nothing short of an ultimate victory would crush them. The Ossuary had changed his perspective. There were things that should not wait for the right circumstances. Unfortunately, wyvern watching was not one of those things.
“Rook?” Lucanis started, searching the familiar, curious gaze. Warmth, that had nothing to do with the fireplace at his back, greeted him and it instantly caught in his chest. He made a hopeless attempt at relieving the sensation by pressing a palm on it.
“Hm?”
“When we have the time… I would like to go back to Treviso to see what’s changed,” he said.
Rook swallowed, but then a stern, decisive Rook emerged that Lucanis really didn’t know well. She nodded curtly. “We will make time.”
“Thank you.”
It was much too late for any sort of sensible conversation, but Lucanis couldn’t make himself stand up, take the empty mug to be washed, and step away to the pantry. He was hoping against hope that Rook was also stalling, but he didn’t allow himself to pursue that thought. So they just sat in tired silence, two insomniac Crows.
“Do they still run the puppet shows?” Rook wondered out loud.
“Would Antiva give up their one form of art that’s completely devoted to political satire?” Lucanis replied.
She laughed. “You’re right.”
Lucanis wanted to ask if Rook would be okay to return to Treviso. He wanted to ask if she had made peace with Viago – he suspected not, since both of them could be stubborn asses – because the last time Lucanis had heard Viago grumbling about Rook de Riva, he had not had a warm welcome waiting for her. The two de Rivas had always had a curtain of secrecy shrouding their real relationship from view. It was not Lucanis’ business, but he still wondered how Rook really felt about the Fifth Talon and what their relationship was besides that of a Talon and his underling. Lucanis had never thought to ask and he doubted Rook would even answer.
“How does it feel to be back now that a few days have passed?” Rook asked quietly.
“Antaam in Treviso. Caterina… I’m not sure what I’ve returned to,” Lucanis replied in a somber tone. Most of the time he tried not to think about it; it was best to focus on the job, clean his weapons, maintain his gear, or exercise. There was no room for thoughts of the bigger picture during the lonely nights. Not yet, when everything was still so overwhelmingly new. Survival was more important.
Rook nodded in understanding. She had always wanted to bring up the heavy topics as little as Lucanis did, but she did it anyway because she was concerned of his well being – or mental state and current progress of turning into a mindless abomination of Spite. Spite, who was currently sticking his head into the fireplace.
Still, Lucanis felt light, or at least lighter. Talking with Rook had usually had this effect on him. She was kind and caring. And always ready to beat him into a pulp or challenge him into a pointless duel. Her tendency to make everything into a competition had often been frustrating as it was endearing how she thought she could win.
Rook got up from her seat and since they were out of coffee, Lucanis had no choice but to follow her example. He rolled his neck and shoulders. And caught Rook staring. She looked away instantly as he quirked a brow at her.
“Nothing. Time for bed. Want to come with me tomorrow to find the Grey Wardens?” she asked.
“If you want me to come,” Lucanis replied, as always.
“I always do.”
He paused. Rook was still avoiding his gaze.
“Are we still discussing the expedition to find this Warden?” he shot with a raised brow.
“Not necessarily.”
Mierda.
Rook bit her lip and her expression glazed over briefly in such a way that Lucanis could only guess where her bawdy mind had slipped. It was just like her; speaking first and thinking second, especially with him. It made him happy. It meant she didn’t have her guard up. He didn’t know what it meant, but for now he was just delighted to hit her with a crooked smile and a saucy, thoughtful hum.
Rook huffed in annoyance. “You’re the worst. See you in the morning. Unless Spite makes you walk off the edge into the Fade.”
“See Rook. In the morning,” Spite burst out loud and Lucanis grimaced. Rook had definitely heard that. He was getting so sleepy it was difficult to keep the demon in.
“Oh? Huh. He–?”
“Don’t mind him,” Lucanis quickly said.
“At least one of you would miss me,” Rook teased.
And she had no idea just how much.