Chapter Text
“What can I do that’s worse than this? On your knees? In front of every house?” Lucanis Dellamorte’s voice cut through the silence.
Illario Dellamorte couldn’t think of much worse; this was true. Even death would be a mercy at this point—one he knew his cousin wouldn’t grant him.
Yet, surrounded by the other Crows and Caterina, it wasn't their looks of seething resentment that concerned him. His eyes drifted about the room until he found her.
He’d expected to see hatred, loathing, resentment, golden eyes dark with fury. He’d earned that much from her; that, he knew with certainty. Instead, what he saw in her gaze startled him—pity.
Illario took his previous thought back. Turns out, there was something worse than being on his knees in front of every house.
Those eyes had once held something else for him, something he hadn’t known how to hold when he had it. Took it for granted, recoiled at it, treasured it simultaneously. Abandoned it when his plans were set in motion, a weakness he could not afford. Mourned its absence when their paths crossed again, her eyes void of any light, any warmth for him.
He'd thought that emptiness was the worst thing she could show him.
He'd been wrong.
Anything would be better than pity—even her rage.
Still, he knew in his heart that he would do anything to see her look at him that way again—the way she had before he'd ruined everything.
Illario really hated blood magic.
Sure, it might not make his eyeballs itch like his cousin’s did when in the presence of magic, but it unsettled him just the same. With blood magic, the sensation was akin to tiny bugs crawling under your skin, an itch you couldn’t satisfy no matter how hard you tried.
He had to tolerate it, at the very least, if he were to become First Talon.
Wandering about the streets of Minrathous, he kept his eyes peeled for any tavern. He could use a nice, stiff drink after meeting with Zara Renata, the Venatori witch who promised to help him achieve his goals—in exchange for his cousin’s life.
A price Illario was willing to pay. As long as it was quick and painless for his cousin, he’d stipulated that much. Despite the nature of his work, a sadist he was not.
The Venatori would be free of their mage killer—the Demon of Vyrantium—and Illario’s path to First Talon would finally be clear.
Music poured from the doors of a building on the corner, and drunkards stumbled out onto the street. Illario supposed he couldn’t be too picky when trying to keep a low profile; this tavern would have to do.
He stepped inside, sharp eyes quickly scanning the smoky room. Satisfied there wasn’t any immediate danger, he went directly to the bar and motioned to the surly bartender for a drink, an old man who looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else—much like himself.
Illario took a pint of ale from the old man and sat at the bar. Typically, he’d be inclined to take a seat towards the back, facing the door, alert for any threats that might arise. His Crow training had drilled that into him.
However, tonight, he was simply worn out. Plotting your brother-cousin’s death had that effect.
As he took a sip from his pint, a woman’s voice, crystalline and sultry, wove through the haze. Despite his exhaustion, Illario found himself listening, his gaze following the voice to a platform at the back of the tavern.
For a brief moment, their eyes met across the crowded room. Golden eyes like the sun locked with his for just a heartbeat before he forced himself to look away, returning to his drink.
But something about the way the singer held herself—all confidence in a black slinky dress—made his eyes drift back, finding that she was still watching him. This time, he didn't pretend it was accidental, letting his gaze travel slowly from the gold epaulets at her shoulders down to where the slit in her dress revealed a tantalizing glimpse of her tanned thigh, lingering for a second—just long enough for her to notice.
She was entirely too well-dressed for this manner of tavern. Probably some brat of a magister or military officer who expected men to pine after her. Normally, Illario would pursue what little chase such a woman would have, relish in having her cede control to him.
But not tonight.
He forced his attention back to his drink, reminding himself that he needed to keep a low profile. The meeting with Zara had drained him, and the last thing he needed was complications.
Yet his eyes kept finding a way back to her.
When her set ended, and the crowd erupted into cheers, she caught him looking. A slow smile curved her full, red lips, entirely too knowing and self-assured.
Illario found he couldn’t muster his usual charm and bravado; instead, he immediately averted his gaze. Downing the remainder of his pint, he wondered why he was drawn to this woman in particular—besides the obvious, that is.
“You’re going to buy me a drink.”
Illario looked over to see that the singer had taken a seat next to him at the bar.
“And why is that?” he asked, even as he motioned at the bartender for two pints.
A hint of her perfume—notes of bright bergamot and warm vanilla—wafted towards him as she leaned closer. “Because you’ve been watching me all evening, and I don’t think it’s just for my voice.” She grinned, brushing her long black tresses over her shoulder. “The name’s Selena.”
“Illario.” He found himself relaxing, his earlier resolve giving way to the moment. Maybe one drink with her wouldn’t hurt. She was clearly interested, and it had been so long since someone had approached him so directly. “You have quite the voice.”
“Oh, don’t flatter me.” She accepted the pint from the bartender with a graceful nod. “So what brings a handsome stranger like you to a place like this? You don’t look like the usual clientele.”
This was almost too easy. Beautiful woman, obvious interest, simple conversation. After the stress of today, maybe he deserved a distraction. “What gave it away?” he smirked, watching her lips press on the rim of her glass as she took a sip.
“You’re dressed like how one thinks a Vint should dress.” This time, she was the one looking him up and down, golden eyes slowly trailing down his body. “Not that it doesn’t suit you.”
Illario played it off with a laugh. It’s not like it’s the first time he’d heard that criticism—his cousin had been too keen to point that out on previous occasions. “You are too kind. Business is what brought me here, and the clients love it when I dress the part. Makes negotiations far easier.”
She caught the foam at the corner of her mouth with her tongue, and heat flared low in Illario's stomach.
“I meant,” Selena said, her voice dropping a register, “out of all the taverns in Minrathous, why this one?”
Because I wanted to get drunk, Illario almost answered bluntly. But he could sense the underlying insecurity in her question, the earnestness with which she awaited his answer. He mustered his best suave grin. “I was heading back to port when I heard the most beautiful voice, as if from a dream.” He gently grabbed her hand, bringing it up to his lips. “I just had to see if the appearance matched as well.”
A soft giggle escaped her, flush spreading to her pointed ears. “And? Your assessment?”
“Dreams pale in comparison.” Perhaps he was laying it on too thick, but something told him that wouldn’t deter her.
“And quite the charmer, to boot,” she grinned as she withdrew her hand, still holding his gaze. She tilted her head, her smile not quite reaching her eyes now, sending a distinct feeling of unease through Illario. “So, you sailed into Minrathous, then? You must be a merchant.”
Illario nervously cleared his throat. “Something of the sort, I suppose. Import and export.”
Her expression shifted, the warmth in her eyes cooling. She took a slow sip of her drink, studying him over the rim. “Import and export, eh?” she repeated. “That’s…. vague.”
“It pays the bills.” Having noticed the change in her demeanor, Illario kept his voice light. The flirtation was still there, sure, but it felt sharpened, a blade being honed.
“I’m sure it does.” She set down her glass with a thud. “Tell me, Illario—what about the import and export? Goods? Resources?” Then a lengthy pause followed by a deep breath. “…People?”
The accusation was unsubtle, a bucket of ice water being poured over him. “Careful,” he said, his own smile tightening. “You’re making incredibly dangerous assumptions about a man you just met.”
“Am I?” Selena leaned back slightly, her eyes never leaving his. “I’ve seen men like you before. The way you watch, assess, calculate. Always looking for something to possess.” Her voice dropped lower, more dangerous. “Tell me, what exactly do you trade in?”
Illario felt a genuine flash of anger at being so easily suspected, reduced to an archetype. “You think you have me figured out after one conversation and a drink?”
“Don’t I?” There was challenge still in her voice, but Illario caught the waver in her eyes—like she was hoping to be proven wrong.
“And if I was?” His hand started moving to the dagger he kept concealed. “What would you do?”
Selena pursed her lips, the silence stretching as they held each other’s gaze. Then she reached for her pint and drained it in one long pull, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand when she finished. She set down the empty glass with a decisive clink.
“Thanks for the drink,” she said, standing and smoothing her dress with an elegant grace, the same crafted poise she had held on stage.
Illario watched her prepare to leave, feeling something uncomfortably close to panic. This was supposed to be simple. A distraction. One drink, maybe more if the mood struck, then he’d forget her like all the others.
But he didn’t want her to leave.
“Wait.” The word escaped before he could stop it.
She paused, her hand already reaching for her small purse. She raised an eyebrow, a glint of amusement in her eye—like she’d been testing him, and he’d just given her the answer she wanted. “Yes?”
Illario scrambled for something, anything to keep her there just a little bit longer. “You never told me what you would have done,” he said almost breathlessly, “if I had been.”
A slow and wicked grin crossed her face. “I’d need a few more drinks than that if that’s what you want to know.”
He was already motioning to the bartender for two more before she’d finished speaking, draining the rest of his own pint in one quick swallow. The pattern wasn’t lost on him—or her, judging by her smirk as she settled back onto her stool.
When the fresh pints arrived, Selena took a generous gulp. Illario’s eyes traced the elegant column of her throat, watching it work as she swallowed, and felt desire coil low in his stomach.
“So,” she said, her tone lighter now, “what do you actually do? And before you say ‘import and export’ again, I need you to come up with a better lie.”
Illario couldn’t help but smile at that. “I work for a family business. Security, protection, that sort of thing.”
“Security,” she repeated, clearly not entirely convinced but willing to let it rest for now. “In Antiva, I suppose?”
“Among other places. We have interests throughout Thedas.”
“Sounds quite… cryptic,” Selena grinned. “And complicated.”
“It has its moments.” He took a drink, studying her in return. “What about you? You’re clearly not from Minrathous, originally. Your accent is hard to place.”
“Good ear.” She seemed pleased that he’d noticed. “I’ve moved around quite a bit. Settled in Minrathous for now, but I travel for work.”
“What kind of work requires that much travel?” he asked before quickly adding, “Besides singing in taverns that are beneath you.”
A laugh, genuine and warm, escaped her. “Who says they’re beneath me? Sometimes the best conversations happen in the most unexpected places.” Her eyes twinkled as she met his again. “As for the work—let’s just say I help people who can’t help themselves.”
“How mysterious,” Illario replied with his best debonair smile.
“Says the man who deals in ‘security’.” She raised her glass in a mock toast. “I think we’re both being appropriately vague.”
Despite himself, Illario found he was enjoying this. The verbal sparring, the way she matched him step for step, the fact that she clearly didn’t buy the persona he was putting on but was playing along anyway. When was the last time someone engaged with him like this?
They fell into easier conversation, trading observations about Minrathous—the way the city never truly slept, the endless rain, the best food stands open at the odd hours. She knew the city far better than he did, and her descriptions were vivid and often wickedly funny.
“You should see the magisters’ after their meetings,” she said, eyes sparkling. “All that dignity and propriety goes right out the window after the third round of wine.”
“Sounds like you’ve witnessed quite a bit,” Illario said, a slight probe into her past.
“I pay attention,” she scoffed after another swig of ale. “People reveal themselves when they think no one important is watching. A singer in a tavern? Might as well be part of the furniture.”
There was a note of bitterness in that observation, and Illario found himself responding before he could think better of it. “Their loss. You’re far too interesting to be furniture.”
She blinked, clearly surprised by the sincerity in his tone. Then her expression softened. “That’s… actually quite sweet.”
The conversation flowed more naturally after that. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being a game of verbal chess and became something else. After they both discovered they were orphans—a revelation that came with shared, knowing looks— Illario found himself telling her about growing up in Antiva, carefully leaving out any Crow-specific details but not the emotional truth of it. The sense of always being in someone else’s shadow. The weight of family expectations.
Which led, inevitably, to his confession.
“My future is more set in stone than I desire it to be,” Illario sighed, looking away from Selena lest she see a glimmer of real emotion.
“Nonsense,” Selena challenged as she gently tapped her glass against his. “You seem rather determined and capable. Why not take matters into your own hands?”
It wasn’t for lack of trying, Illario dryly noted, a slight shiver passing through him as the memory of his earlier encounter with Zara flashed across his mind. In the lull that followed, he noticed Selena waiting for his reply. “I want to inherit the family business,” he said, putting on his best wry grin, “but currently, my grandmother is in charge and favors my cousin for the position. The fool doesn’t even want it.”
The confession had barely landed before Selena leaned in closer. “Have you ever told your grandmother this? That you want the position?”
The earnestness in her question and in her eyes nearly pulled a laugh from him. “You don’t know my grandmother. That is not something one can simply ask. Especially someone such as myself.”
“Her own grandson?” Selena snorted, waving a hand in dismissal as she took another sip. “Okay, if she won’t listen, perhaps your cousin will. Since he doesn’t even want it.”
“I’m afraid he’s just as stubborn as my grandmother.” Illario peered into the foam of his drink, as if the answers awaited him there. “There’s only one way to get him to understand, and it would be far from a civil affair.”
“But you two are close, right? Why not choose kindness?”
Now that brought a laugh out of him. “I don’t think he and I are capable of such kindness.”
Selena’s eyes softened as she reached forward, touching his cheek. Illario stilled at the contact, surprised by how much he wanted her hand to stay there. “Just now, talking about your cousin—I could see how much you care about him. You have such kind eyes.”
The words sent a pang through his chest; this was treading dangerously close to completely honest territory. He took her hand in his as he chuckled, moving it from his face though he didn't release it. “I don’t believe anyone has ever told me I have kind eyes.”
She scoffed, shaking her head before smiling at him once more. “Well, I’m glad I got to be the first. Because it’s true.”
“Even if you thought I was a slaver?” Illario quipped, eyebrow raised.
Selena froze for a moment, then relaxed once she saw the look on his face. “I… may have judged you too quickly, I’ll admit.”
If only she knew the half of it.
The noise of the tavern seemed to suddenly swell around them—someone had started playing a badly tuned lute, and a group near the door had begun singing loudly off-key.
Illario couldn’t help but notice the way several patrons kept glancing hopefully at Selena, waiting, expecting. One man near the bar kept looking over hopefully, clearly wanting to request another song, and Illario found himself wanting to tell him to look elsewhere.
Selena seemed to notice it too, slowly withdrawing her hand from his. She glanced around the room, and her posture shifted—remembering she was on display here, that their bubble of privacy was an illusion that could pop at any moment.
She finished the last of her drink and set it down, but this time when she stood, there was invitation in her eyes. “This place is getting too loud,” she said. “Walk with me? I could use some air.”
It was a question and a test, and they both knew it. Illario should have said no. Should have thanked her for the conversation, paid his tab, and headed back to Antiva before anyone noticed his absence. He had plans to finalize, arrangements to confirm with Zara. Getting tangled up with this woman—this dangerously perceptive, impossibly beautiful woman—was a complication he couldn’t afford.
And yet he found himself standing, leaving coins on the bar without counting them. “Lead the way.”
They stepped outside together, and she began strolling down the street at an unhurried pace, her heels clicking against the cobblestones. The tavern’s music faded behind them as they walked past food stands and bright, iridescent signs, the cool night air a welcome relief after the smoke-filled stuffiness inside.
He held his arm close enough for her to take it if she wanted, but instead, she walked steadily beside him, their hands occasionally brushing, sending sparks up his skin each time.
This should have been simple. He’d seduced dozens of people before—targets, marks, occasional distractions when work became too heavy. They all blurred together eventually. Faces and names that meant nothing beyond their utility, beyond the momentary escape they provided. Just last month, a guard in Antiva City whose name he’d already forgotten. She’d been useful for information, pleasant enough in bed, and he’d felt nothing when word came that she’d been killed in some house dispute.
That was how it was supposed to work. Clean, uncomplicated, forgettable.
Yet Selena was already different, and that terrified him.
She’d looked at him like he actually mattered. Not like a Dellamorte, not like a Crow, not like some tool to be used and discarded.
“Planning on robbing me in an alley?” Illario asked, trying to inject some levity into the silence between them, trying to reclaim some of that casual distance he usually maintained.
She looked up at him with that same self-assured grin from earlier. “Maybe. Are you worth robbing?”
Even this teasing flirtation felt different. Illario was used to a practiced flirtation, going through the motions with everyone else and never expecting anything real. But Selena was genuinely enjoying the game between them for its own sake, not because she wanted something from him.
Or maybe she did want something, and he was just fool enough to convince himself otherwise.
She continued walking, leading him on a winding path through the city. Each turn took them deeper into quieter, more secluded areas. Illario recognized what she was doing, the deliberate path away from witnesses, the leisurely pace designed to build anticipation. He’d done it himself often enough.
The difference was, he usually led.
But tonight, with the memory of blood magic still crawling under his skin and the weight of his plans pressing on his shoulders, he found himself content to follow. To let someone else be in control, for just a moment. When was the last time he’d willingly allowed that? When was the last time he’d trusted anyone enough to turn his back on them?
The realization should have stopped him cold. Should have sent him walking back to the tavern, back to Antiva, back to his meticulously controlled life where he never let anyone close enough to matter.
Their hands brushed again, and this time her pinky finger hooked around his before releasing. The touch was so brief, so fleeting, but it sent heat racing through him. He realized he’d been angling closer to her as they walked, close enough that their shoulders bumped every few steps.
Finally, she stopped beside a narrow passage between two tall buildings. The alley was dark, lit only by the moon overhead and the distant glow of street lamps from the main road. She turned to face him, bringing them closer than they’d been even in the tavern.
The moonlight caught her golden eyes, making them glow, and Illario felt his breath catch. She was stunning. That much had been obvious from the moment he’d seen her performing. But here, in the hushed dark, with the way she was looking at him—like she could see past his mask to something true underneath—she was breathtaking.
And more than that, she made him want to be seen.
That was the difference, he realized with a sudden clarity. Everyone else wanted the seductive Crow, the charming Dellamorte, the rake who always knew what to say. They’d been content with the performance.
Yet Selena had seen the contradiction in him and didn’t look away.
She took a step closer, closing what little distance remained between them. Illario felt the heat radiating from her body, could smell the vanilla notes of her perfume mixing with the humid air. Then, with fluid grace and unmistakable intent, she backed him against the rough wall of the alley.
Illario let himself be moved, his back hitting the cool stone. The reversal should have bothered him. He was used to being the one in control, the one doing the pursuing. But somehow, with her, it felt right. Thrilling, even.
Selena’s hand came up to rest on his chest and he briefly wondered if she could feel his heart racing beneath.
“So,” she murmured, tilting her head back to look up at him. Her other hand rose slowly, deliberately, fingers trailing up his chest, his neck, before settling beneath his chin. With gentle pressure, she tipped his face down toward hers. “You calling me a thief, then?”
The challenge in her voice, the feel of her touch on his skin, the gleam in her eyes—it all made his head spin.
He'd spent the entire day with Zara, bargaining away his cousin's life. Had smiled and nodded while she described the details and hows and whens, all of it. Had felt the blood magic seeping into his skin like poison.
He deserved one moment of something that didn't taste like betrayal.
“Only if you admit you’re stealing from me, little thief,” he managed, his voice rougher than he intended.
Her smile turned devastatingly wicked. “And what exactly would I be stealing from such a handsome mark?”
Everything, he thought. His control, his distance, his ability to forget.
But what he said was: “I suppose we’ll have to see.”
She held his gaze for a long moment, her fingers still cradling his chin, keeping him exactly where she wanted him. “Then let’s find out.”
The words had barely left her lips before Illario’s lips crashed against hers. The kiss was desperate, hungry, loneliness and stress and blood magic melting away in the heat of her mouth against his.
She pulled him closer, fingers digging into his back and that was somehow worse. That she wanted this too, wanted him, despite how little she actually knew about him.
His hand came up to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading into her dark hair as he kissed her deeper, tongue softly sweeping into her mouth, tasting the lingering sweetness of ale mixed with her, every soft sound she made shooting straight through him.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Selena looked at him with something that went beyond desire—almost like wonder, if he didn’t know any better. Her lips were swollen, her hair slightly mussed from his fingers, and she’d never looked more beautiful.
“I’m not a good man,” Illario heard himself say, the confession spilling out. A warning. A chance for her to walk away before this went any further, before he inevitably disappointed her the way he disappointed everyone who bothered to believe in him.
Her hand came up to his face, soft fingers tracing his jaw. Her eyes searched his, taking in whatever she saw there—the truth he was trying to tell her, the plea he wasn’t brave enough to voice. The moonlight only seemed to amplify her tender expression, a soft halo around her face.
“I don’t believe that,” she said softly, and the certainty in her voice cracked his chest open.
He didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve her. Not when he’d just spent the evening plotting murder, planning to betray the person he loved most in this world.
But when she reached up with both hands now, tipped his chin down toward her—when her golden eyes met his, glowing with warmth, with belief, with something that looked dangerously close to affection—
Illario felt his gaze being forced up, fingers gripping his chin with none of the tenderness from before. Selena—no, Rook—held him there, but this touch was nothing like that night in Minrathous or the nights after. No warmth, no belief, no gentle promise of something more.
What had been said? He’d only faintly remembered Lucanis saying something about not knowing what to do with him.
Was it foolish for Illario to hope Rook might speak on his behalf? That some part of her remembered those nights too, remembered the way she'd looked at him like he was worth saving?
“He tried to kill you and got you imprisoned. And kidnapped the First Talon. And made a deal with the Venatori.” Rook dropped her hand, and when Illario looked into her eyes, searching for any hint of the woman who'd once looked at him with such faith, he found nothing. Her golden eyes had gone cold and dark, the sun finally set.
She turned and walked back to Lucanis without another glance, and Illario felt something in his chest crack at the finality of it.
“Too much to forgive,” Lucanis agreed as Rook reached his side. “But he’s still all I’ve got. Viago, lock him up.”
Mierda. He'd gambled and lost everything tonight—his power, his freedom, his cousin's trust.
But watching her turn away without a second glance, he realized none of that hurt as much as losing her.