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"Drink?"
A human serving boy pulled Teia from her quiet observations of the ballroom. She was leaning against one of the marble columns holding the vaulted ceiling aloft, an empty glass in one hand, the other brushing her lip as a sea of masked guests twirled on the polished wood. Visages of everything from demons to dragons stepped in perfect rhythm— all the pomp of an Orleisan affair but everyone knew that Antivans played their own game. A bloodier one.
It was a true Treviso masquerade. The highlight of Teia's calendar.
The servant held out a crystal glass. "This was sent by the gentleman over there," he continued, pointing to an older guest staring at her from across the floor. His wine-flushed cheeks were nearly as red as the ruby-encrusted mask that adorned his sagging face. Lord Gio, she noted. An upstart who had bought a title with slaver's money and then tried to cosy up to her House when he embroiled himself in a nasty land dispute.
Teia flicked her eyes to the side, recognising the Cantori fledgling under the serving uniform. "How much has he quaffed?" she asked, taking the offered wine.
"Two bottles. Not including the ones I found in his carriage earlier."
She flashed the lord a practised smile, lifting the glass to hide her moving lips. "Please make sure he makes it to the rose garden at the proper time tonight."
The fledgling nodded then slipped back into the fray. Teia kept her sigh hidden. It was the third contract of the evening and canapes had yet to be served.
Gold and sex were traded with equal fervour in Antiva, but the country's true currency was information— a masked affair was the ideal opportunity for all three. Gossip had run rampant in the preceding weeks, who was to be invited, the fashions on show, the bodies that might be found in the flowers come morning. There was a thrill to dancing in a sea of hidden faces, never knowing if a killer or a king was hanging off your arm. Only the knife at your back would reveal the truth.
Invitations bore no official seal, but the coffer that paid for it all was the most poorly kept secret of the evening. A year had passed since the Crows had banished the blighted dragon from their streets, so the new First Talon throwing a celebration was practically a formality. Teia was almost surprised that Lucanis had agreed to such a lavish event, though now she was sure it was all an elaborate excuse to pull Rook away from the Shadow Dragons and get her in an extremely low cut dress.
She watched him adjust Rook's mask from over her wine. His fingers lingered against her cheek, oddly careful like she might vanish if he looked away. Sweet. Teia had promised her a dance with the sole purpose to set some whispers aflutter, but for now she had her own business to attend to.
She twirled the drink in her hand and cut a deliberate line through the dancers. Eyes snapped to her like flies to honey, a very intended consequence of the outfit she'd chosen for the evening. Crows, or those pretending to be them, usually favoured darkness. Already the hall was awash with deep purples and blues, dresses and suits that sweeping like shadows across the dance floor. Even Rook had left her usual Tevinter greens for something shimmering and black.
Tonight, as with many many nights, Teia needed to stand out. Her mask was gold, the dress that hugged her body a deep crimson. The back dipped low enough to invite stares as well as blades, though the feathered mark that stretched between her shoulder blades was warning enough to stop either. She'd taken the arm of more than one smiling guest tonight, some for information, some for fun. Even the most elaborate masks did nothing to hide their desires and the sharp press of her fingers stopped anyone from daring to hold her like an accessory.
Teia let the weight of the stares wash over her. One in particular she'd ignored for a while, letting the anticipation boil like coffee left over a fire until she finally decided it was time to take it off.
She felt those eyes now. Narrow. Steely. She kept her pace even as their owner came into view.
As with most balls, Viago was hugging the wall. His arms were folded, lips tight, a scowl poorly hidden by the metal twists of his mask. It was painted black and silver, the little shimmering stars perfectly matching the pattern stitched into his gloves. Everything about him was neat and sharp from the press of his coat to the dark of his cravat— all hard angles to her softness. Ones she'd missed desperately these past weeks. Not that she'd admit that, to him or to anyone.
Something warmer spread in her chest when she noticed his curls had grown out a little more. Good. It was almost enough to wash away the bitter taste of their last fight, a rather spectacular one, even for them. She was equally proud and pained when she thought back on it— no one pulled the art of argument from her quite like Viago did.
Teia swept to his side and looped an arm through his. He remained stiff, but caught her hand as delved to the blade hidden at his hip.
"That was a poor attempt," Viago said, depositing her fingers back at his elbow.
"That was to get your attention," she smiled, following his gaze. It landed on where Illario was hovering by the fountain, every servant pointedly ignoring him. His mask was a sharp reconstruction of a wyvern's head, the jacket a vibrant mess of black silk and gold stitching. "Enjoying guard duty?" she asked.
"Yet again," he answered coolly. "Another favour for Lucanis."
Teia hugged Viago's arm tighter. "A favour from the First Talon is a precious thing."
He let out a sharp breath through his nose. "If owed favours were gold, my purse would be overflowing."
"More than it already is?"
Viago sighed in lieu of an answer, but his eyes still roved slowly over her outfit. She kept her smile soft as he awkwardly cleared his throat.
"You've certainly been busy tonight," he said.
"I'm busy every night, but I seem to have a spare moment now if you'd care to join me." She gestured to the dance floor and rolled her eyes when he shook his head. "Frown all you want, I know you have the ability."
"The ability and the desire are two different things."
"And hugging the wall like a particularly crotchety potted plant— is that because you have the ability or the desire to?" She stroked the little constellation stitched over his palms, felt the way his pulse jumped as her hand moved just over the cuff. "It's a shame to waste such a beautiful outfit."
The crack in his frown was better than the wine.
"I still have the lesser Dellamorte to watch, but the night is far from over, Teia." He caught her wrist again as it wandered back towards the hidden knife. "And I see the game is back on."
"I don't recall saying otherwise," she answered, her smile not faltering at his raised brow. "Although, considering the last time we talked, I can see why you would assume that. "
It was something simple they'd started after she'd purchased a pair of matching daggers from a shadier seller in Dock Town. They were hardly the beautiful blades she favoured, but were still small enough to hide anywhere on the body. Comments about how easy it would be to steal them turned to jokes, then to a challenge. Neither had been successful so far, but tonight she felt the tides turning.
Viago's eyes flashed beneath his mask. "And I don't recall much talking," he said, voice rich and smooth as velvet.
The warmth in Teia's chest spread somewhere low in her gut.
Viago's fingers lingered on hers, tracing the length of her glove. "These are new."
Teia slipped closer, felt the hitch of his breath against her hair. "Good eye." They were dark as shadow, the ends flaring like petals at her wrist. Another deliberate choice.
He cleared his throat just a fraction too loudly. "Not what I would have expected with such a bold choice of dress."
"Oh I know." She let her answer fall as slow and surely as blood from the tip of a blade. "They match what's underneath."
The heat that spread under his mask was her first victory of the evening. It was not quite a blush, but still a colour that only belonged to her. Maker how she'd missed it.
He turned her hand in a slow caress of leather on lace. "Is that so?"
She reached up and pulled one curl from his perfectly styled hold. A line tested. Pushed. The edge of another breath followed as her forefinger relearned the caress past his beard, his cravat, down to the centre of his shirt.
A laugh bubbled above the music, Rook's she realised, and felt the tension shatter like glass under her heel. Lucanis was dipping her awkwardly and rapidly losing his footing against the floor.
Viago set her hand back at her side. The feel of the leather still warmed there.
"Lucanis is going to propose," Viago stated, straightening himself.
He grabbed Teia's wine glass as her hand jerked in surprise. "Really? Now?" A proposal was hardly unexpected, but the fact he had not told her was. And doing it here was just foolish. As a Tevinter mage, half the guests already eyed Rook with suspicion, even with her being the one to lead the charge against the dragon attack and the blighted Gods. Getting on one knee in front of everyone only painted a bigger target on her back than she already had. Not to mention the wrench it threw the plans Teia already had—
"While Minrathous is still in pieces? No." Viago said. "But he wants her stay." He slowly rubbed the rim of the glass before handing it back to her. It was an absent gesture to most, but Teia caught the silvery shimmer almost imperceptibly dripping into the drink.
She chuckled at his eye twitch as she stopped the glass just a breath from her lips. "I think we all do."
"It would make everything so much more—"
"Fun?"
The hint of his smile returned. "Efficient."
The pendulum swing of Lucanis's patience fell in perfect sync with Rook's visits to Treviso. Teia always timed her more outlandish requests for the mornings after she arrived, when his cheeks were a little pinker and the demon was too distracted to butt in. Tonight, she'd already managed to secure new armaments for her fledglings somewhere between his third and fourth glass of wine.
“They're just perfect aren't they.”
The sound of Illario's voice hardened Viago's eyes to ice. The other crow sauntered between them, face painted with a familiar smirk. It was a smile he shared with Caterina, one corner quirking up like the point of a dagger. From her, it invited fear. From him, irritation.
"You're right about the wedding bells. I suppose I should buy myself another suit," he continued.
Viago's gaze swept over the gaudy ruffles of his shirt. “You should definitely buy yourself another suit.”
Teia's laugh was sharp enough for Illario's smirk to waver. Even with such misplaced confidence, she was certain he didn't have the stomach to try anything tonight— or any other night for that matter— him perfectly aware of the wrath churning under her serene exterior. Lucanis had been firm that his cousin's humiliation was punishment enough, an assassin's death wasn't a mercy he deserved. Teia kept quiet how she could kill him in several ways that no man would dare call merciful. Her revenge was something deeper and bloodier than any demon could fathom. The bastard stole Caterina from her house. Her house. She could still taste the anger, the grief, hot and bitter that she'd let it happen… and then he'd had the gall to try and comfort her.
One day Illario would know what that pain felt like. And she had all the patience in the world.
“Well, at least some of us remembered it's supposed to be a party.” Illario plucked the wine from Teia's hand and took a long sip, refusing to wilt under their combined glare.
"What do you want?" Viago bit out. The nettled tone was one she'd only heard when he spoke to errant fledglings or the man in front of him.
Illario made a deliberate show of finishing his drink. "Do you not hold my leash, signore?"
"Do you not have anything else to do?"
Illario inclined his head towards a noble woman in a dress the colour of fresh honeycomb. Teia recognised the airy lilt of her laugh— the bastard daughter of a Medici Merchant Prince. Word had spread that the line of succession was getting messy. Evidently messy enough for House Dellamorte to get involved.
"She'll be found with a blade through her heart at sunrise, so you can enjoy the pleasure of my company until the carriages arrive." He shrugged as Viago's frown deepened. "If you have a problem you can take it up with the the Vint and the abomination currently dancing over there."
They both knew better than to react. Clipped and caged, the only satisfaction such a disgraced crow could could claim was a flinch. Teia would rather die than acquiesce.
Viago's eyes narrowed behind his mask. "If it were not for them you'd be at the bottom of a canal right now."
"Well, the night is still young," Teia added.
Illario's mouth curled into a sneer. "Promises, promises."
"You know, I spent such precious time and money planning two Dellamorte funerals," she mused, fingers pressing a little harder into Viago's elbow. "It would be nice to finally have one stick." Third time's the charm was not the motto for assassins of their calibre but she knew both her and Viago would gladly make an exception this once.
Illario tutted, the wine on his lips shining like a bruise. "Well until my dear distracted cousin says otherwise we'll be seeing plenty of each other. Now, if you don't mind—"
Teia eyed the empty glass in his hand as he pirouetted around them and back towards the refreshments. "So, what did you give him?"
"Something a little experimental." Viago flashed a tiny vial from his pocket. Peace and quiet was scribbled on the label. "Three drops can stop the heart in moments." They both watched Illario stumble and slump into the nearest chair. Viago tucked the vial back into his coat. "But one should give us about forty minutes."
"Good." Teia grabbed his wrist and slipped behind the dancers into the service corridor. They hurried through the dark in practised silence, their reflection in the windows a shadow and a bloody ghost. No lantern was needed, she'd inked every inch of this place into her memory the moment the invitation had crossed her desk. When twirling elbow to elbow with the country's most well-paid killers, it would be a fool's gamble not to map out the shadier corners. Whether they'd be used for passion or poison depended on the Crow.
With Viago, it was usually both.
The office she bolted them in was innocuous enough— a bare desk, a few wall to ceiling bookcases and, most importantly, it was free of any incriminating documents that less passionate wanderers may come searching for.
The moon shone bright as a sovereign through the far window— an assassin's moon Teia thought. Perfect for the Crows out hunting tonight. Her gaze zeroed in on the sharp edges of the Diamond in the distance. Outside of the ball there had been twelve open contracts and by the time she returned, there should be none. The scars of the Antaam's occupation were still fresh and more than one blowhard with enough gold for a mercenary band was planning to take advantage.
"Stop that." Viago's voice cut softly from behind. Sweep of the room completed, his eyes were now focussed squarely on hers. "I know that look, and I didn't almost murder the First Talon's cousin so you could still spend the time thinking about work." A more devious smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was a small thing— the kind only seen in the moments before dawn or between her thighs.
Teia hid the growing heat in her face with a slow turn, pulling back the opposite curtain to reveal the ballroom. "Do either of us really have that luxury to stop?"
Below, their guests swirled like ink drops in a glass, oblivious to her stare. Every one she knew by name, by rank, by the amount of gold they'd given or how much longer they had left before a blade met their throat.
She counted the steps as Viago approached, letting the warm shiver wrack through her as his lips met her ear.
"For tonight," he whispered. "I'm willing to try."
She shifted before his hand could touch her. "Did I not just see you poison a man with those fingers?"
Wordlessly he bit the cuff and dragged off his left glove. Maker, she was still waiting for the day that such a simple act didn't make her heart slam red and desperate against her ribs.
Her finger met the glass as his stroked her shoulders. Under the lights, Lucanis and Rook swayed slightly out of rhythm with the rest of the dancers. She could almost see the bubble he'd drawn around them, eyes caught in Rook's like she was the only other person in the room, the only thing that mattered. Teia knew that look and the risks it invited. She was certain that their dear First Talon did as well.
"Lucanis is going to do the one thing no other Talon has the stomach to," Teia mused. She brushed over both of them, gloves not leaving a mark on the pane. "Choose happiness."
Viago's hands stiffened against her shoulders.
"It's the nature of this life," she continued. "We choose security, loyalty, wealth. Happiness though? We wouldn't dare. There would be bodies everywhere. Probably our own."
"He seems plenty happy to me," Viago answered.
"I hate to disagree with you—"
"No you don't."
Teia sighed. It wasn't quite a laugh. "Lucanis has had a taste of what life could be like outside of all this— the work isn't going to come first again."
Distracted. That was the word that rippled amongst the other Houses like an adder in the grass. Tactful enough, but the bite underneath was venomous. Sharper comments were saved for the shadows they were foolish enough to think safe:
Abomination. Traitor. Eating out of the palm of a Tevinter mage. Teia and Viago had silenced plenty of loose lips before they could choke out another word.
"He's going to leave," she said, not taking her eyes off of Rook.
She felt the click of Viago's jaw. "Lucanis chose the title."
"Caterina chose it for him."
"All the more reason not to throw it away," Viago whispered, a little sharper.
Everyone felt the way that the black edges of power still clung to Caterina like permanent shadow. Her decisions were absolute and final, at least to those who valued their unbroken necks.
"Lucanis is family, Vi. If he chooses to leave I'm not going to stop him." Her hand tightened around the edge of the curtain. "Would you?" With Illario disgraced, succession was already a house of cards so delicate that the right breath could send it tumbling. What Teia suggested wasn't so much knocking it as torching the entire deck.
Viago stared at Lucanis through the glass. Something small flickered across his expression— something no one outside this room would dare to name it for what it was. Fondness. "It's ridiculous and it's selfish. But no."
"Selfish or not, I can be ready for what happens after." Teia pressed against the hard lines of his torso until his heart thudded between her shoulder blades. "For who will be left to pick up the pieces."
She almost heard the way Viago's gaze darted around the office again. There were no Kings here but the words were as good as treason. Every Antivan knew that a crown didn't bring power. Fear did. Blades did. A force that stopped any standing army taking root did. The day Lucanis walked away there would be little time to fill that chasm… and she had plans.
The red lips of her reflection pulled into a grin.
It was a treacherous thought. A heady thought. A thought that ignited the argument so venomous it banished Viago from her bed but not her dreams. Tonight, she needed to push it that bit further.
Teia's eyes found his in the glass, gold boring into steely blue. "How far does your ambition stretch, Vi?"
A moment passed. A breath. Then the slow saunter of his palms as they sought the curve of her hips. "Would you like to find out?" he murmured.
Teia closed the curtains. "You said we had forty minutes?"
"Thirty-four now."
"Well then." She carefully unlaced his mask, touch lingering over the skin he let himself bare to the world— his forehead, his cheek, the taut line of his throat. His breath snagged as she curled a finger around his beard. "I'd like to make the most of it."
A sharp tug and his mouth was finally on hers. Thirty-eight days since her last taste— time for all that anger to melt back into the desire she couldn't shake, even if she wanted to. Cut her open and it was probably red in her veins, etched onto the flat of her bones. Viago matched her fervour, lips parting on a breath under hers. Sugar and spearmint ghosted across her tongue, sweet and cool and not enough to blot the taste of whichever anti-venin he'd taken.
"You are aware that I personally vetted the staff for Lucanis?" she mumbled into the kiss. "Nothing going into those cups except the Château Margaux."
His fingers bit into her sides. "After everything you said? It is not the time to flirt with danger."
"I've seen what your flirting looks like. You'll be fine."
He nipped her lower lip just hard enough for her eyes to flutter open. "Place the right gold in the wrong hands and anything can happen."
"That's such a shame." She slowly licked the little indentations from his teeth, enjoying the blaze of his throat under her hands. "The wine is excellent."
"I brought my own."
"And I look forward to it tasting it."
Viago walked them back until the pane of the other window pressed against her spine. Moonlight cradled his face, brightened every crisp line of his body down to the knife peaking at his waist. His gaze flashed cool and bright as the metal.
"Only if you win," he said, silencing her rebuttal with another kiss. He stroked her cheek with his ungloved hand while the other slipped through her skirts, seeking bare flesh.
The sounds of the world fell away and Teia let herself fall with them. For these moments, these black, warm, entirely too brief moments she could drop her title's armour, be nothing but sensation: the chill of the glass, the rustle of silk and leather, the weight of breath and silent curses held between her teeth.
Viago slowly dragged the pads of his fingers over her thigh. She pressed her hips down, a silent invitation for him to simply take what she was more than willing to give, but he made no move to hurry. She tasted his smile, subtle and thorny, growing as he inched between her open legs. Her skin burned under the maddening tease, circling, caressing, until she felt him pause at the blade strapped to her garter. The twin to the one at his waist.
Teia dragged his hand it back to her shoulder. "That was a poor attempt."
"That was to get your attention," he answered, smoothly echoing her words from earlier.
Teia fought the urge to bite him again and gently pushed him back through the shadows of the room. It was a graceless stumble, perhaps unbecoming of the country's best killers, nothing but hands and lips and impatient fingers under silk. His cravat fell somewhere. Buttons popped open and her mouth honed in on every patch of freshly naked skin. He caught her before she hit the desk and pushed her onto the smooth wood. Petals of lipstick curled over his neck like bruises— her claim written in red. Beautiful.
His groan whispered through the air as he stepped between her spread legs. The gloved hand found her neck and she waited for the other to toy with the places he'd learned so well. Such a good boy. She held that particular praise between her teeth for later, when he'd earned it and when she was ready to remember just how many shades of red he could flush.
No tease came. Instead, he carded his fingers through her hair, gently following the soft lines of her face with the care of a killer slipping through the shadows. They paused at her nape, stroking, searching, then unhooking the golden mask from her face. Heat bloomed in her cheeks and her cunt as he stared. It was a familiar look. One so removed from every steely edge that made him, sweet enough to burn as it grazed her skin.
Teia cupped the hand at her cheek, taking him in— one glove off, scarlet daubed over his throat, one curl hanging past his eye, everything about him undone just enough to be put back. Later, when she was between her own walls and sheets and darkness, she'd have him naked and spend hours taking him apart rather than the desperate minutes they'd stolen for now. Then she could finally get to the bottom of what he truly thought about the future of the Crows.
Maybe.
Laying atop someone was usually the perfect view under the mask. Lost in pleasure, every hidden emotion was laid bare… except with him. The only man who knew how to get under skin just long enough to stain. Aggravating and enticing in equal measure. She'd heard the stories long before she'd first smiled his way: iron walls, cut him and he bleeds venom— and still, she needed to taste.
Teia had spent years tangling her fingers in the threads of him and she wasn't pulling back until she'd finally unravelled that infuriating mind.
Kisses peppered her shoulder and the strap of her dress fell. Viago followed it, pushing the bodice down enough to reveal the black lace underneath. A perfect match to her gloves.
"Told you," she murmured, pushing the swell of her breast into his hand. Her eyes fluttered as he rubbed his thumb over her nipple. The bite from the lace was a maddening tease, just enough friction for her hips to mimic the movement.
Viago kissed her neck, her collarbone, then gently sucked at her other nipple through the material.
Heat pulsed between her legs and she swallowed back the syllables of her beg. The game was still on and he didn't deserve the satisfaction. Not yet anyway.
Through the soft haze of pleasure she felt his hand at her thigh again, the ghost of a touch making its way back to her knife. Strangely, he didn't try to pull it out. He simply plucked at the garter, then continued up between her thighs.
Any question about the game he was playing dissolved as he cupped her through her smallclothes. His tongue continued it's precise caress of her nipple. He focussed there. Sucking, teasing, his thumb tracing the length of her cunt through the lace.
She threw her head back. He knew the path of her body better than any. Nerves she didn't know she had came alight with him, burning like trails of smoke powder through her body, his fingers the match that set them.
She dragged his lips back to hers. There were no more words now. Just push and pull, kisses and lighting flashes of pleasure that drew them together. More of his buttons came undone. Her dress pooled over her hips. Lips followed well trodden paths along scars old and new— the tapestry of their work honing their claws to talons.
Teia paused at a fresher mark above his heart. It was small and jagged, clearly left by a serrated blade.
"I believe you described your last job as uneventful," she said, tapping it sharply.
Viago pulled back in a slight daze. He glanced to the scar, his breath caught somewhere between her teeth and the back of his throat. "I'd hardly call that an event," he answered.
Teia stroked the little pink ridge. "I'll inspect the rest of you later."
He answered by slowly removing both of her gloves and pressing her warm palms to his chest. "Be my guest."
Teia smiled. It was such simple move and such a far cry from when she'd first welcomed him into her bed. She'd held him atop the sheets and wondered when he'd stop silently checking off all the places she could carry poisons— her lips, her tongue, the pads of her fingers, even when she'd taken his cock in her mouth for the first time. That preceded their first breakup. Maybe their second. After a while she stopped differentiating, aware of exactly what happened every time the words 'this is the last time' were bloody on her lips. On lonelier nights she could snap her fingers and secure pleasure enough…. then she'd blink and find herself in Viago's bed, or him cross legged in her office. Like a moth to a flame, though who was the moth and who the flame was an argument yet to be won.
"Love is a beautiful thing. But it makes you weak." Caterina's warning to a younger and bloodier Teia when she'd shown her every burned branch of the Dellamorte family tree. "Pleasure and death. Two sides of the same coin for us. Decide if you are ready to accept both." The words were all but branded on her skin. It was advice she was sure she'd never break for anyone, certainly not for a man who spent so long in a golden cage he couldn't see the bars anymore.
Teia traced the muscles of his stomach, dragging one hand down to palm his hard cock through his trousers. The angle was too awkward to unfasten, so she worked with what she had, feeling the shape, the warmth. His groan washed over her skin as his hand stuttered between her legs.
Teia rubbed harder, her other hand moving delicately under his coat towards the knife.
Viago caught her eye and quickly shifted away, sinking to his knees before her. His eyes softened as his lips touched the bend of her knee. "You're getting slow."
Her response died as his kisses trailed up her thigh and under the silky curtain of her skirts. Viago de Riva knelt for no one. Not his father, nor his half-siblings, nor the lords who were drunk or foolhardy enough to demand it. Teia had never asked, and still he fell to his knees for her. Just her. And the sight of him bowed like a supplicant at her altar never failed to make her blood burn.
His thumb traced her over the damp lace again. A breath. A pause. Then he firmly pressed his mouth there. Her nails scraped white little grooves in the wood as he kissed her just as he would her mouth.
His tongue rubbed her clit over the fabric, one flimsy layer away from where she burned for him.
"Vi, I swear to the Maker if you don't—"
He pulled the cloth to the side and pressed a gloved finger inside. His bare hand stroked her thigh, fingers mirroring the circles of his tongue as it found her swollen clit again. Dimly she felt another finger join his first, curling against the spot that blew stars behind her eyes. She dug her heel dug into his shoulder, desperate to cling to the red thread of pleasure drawing tighter in her belly.
Her hips stuttered, walls clamping around his fingers as he pushed her closer closer—
A canine scraped the inside of her thigh, the giveaway that his mouth had wandered and his teeth were now clamped around her garter. She caught his jaw between her palms.
"Almost. But not quite," she chuckled, brushing the dewy curve of his mouth. She kissed him again, tasting the fruit of her pleasure on his tongue. Feather-soft caresses met her ear, brushing the point until she melted against the gentler touch. With any other lover she'd have jerked away, fingers between her thighs or not. She was never some delicate thing and the world certainly never treated her as such. Tender touches could dig deeper than blades, rip out the things kept hidden and leave them red and slick on the floor before her. But, for now, she'd let herself be soft. For him.
Only for him.
Breath hissed between her teeth as Viago withdrew his gloved hand from her legs. She bit the leather tip, tasting her want, and let it drop between them.
She cupped his pleasure-slicked face. "Come here. We've only got about twenty minutes."
"Twenty-two," he murmured against her lips. A flick of his arm and everything on the desk clattered to the floor. She lent back, legs spread, heels at his back— Take me. She watched the shadows dance on the ceiling, felt cloth rustle, firm hands on her thighs, her underclothes being dragged down—
"Vi." A cry. A prayer as his cock pressed against her.
"Teia." He cupped her hips with the same care as he would his blades.
When he rocked inside she didn't muffle her shout. It was a loud, wet thing, vibrating hot and desperate between the walls. She slapped his hand as it went to cover her mouth.
Her sharp gaze met his— a silent goad. Go on. Let them hear.
Viago exhaled, meeting her request halfway by silencing her with his lips instead of his fingers. He slowly thrust in and out, swallowing each little groan as they bloomed in her throat.
She lost herself for a while again. The ball, their game, the cloudy future of the Crows— all gone. Her world was nothing but the perfect drag of his cock inside her and her fingers digging little bruisy stars into his neck. She fell into the feeling drawing tighter between her thighs, biting his lip as he pressed down on her aching clit with each stroke.
"Cazzo." The curse was sweet on her tongue.
Teia tipped her head back, softening her grip on the back of his neck. Sweat glistened over his brow. She wiped it away, almost absentmindedly, caught up in the rise and dip of his pleasure. Eyes half open, lips swollen, beard still glimmering from his ministrations under her skirts— that mask he wore every day finally shattered.
"You're beautiful." The words fell from her lips without full permission. Viago slowed slightly, brow wrinkled as if what she said was not such an obvious thing. She knew there was little chance he was oblivious to the handsome features chiselled across his countenance. It was the kind of beauty hewn from a guilded life, a diamond cut into shape one blade edge at a time… or perhaps one razor's edge at a time considering how long he spent on his facial hair in the mornings. Sometimes she wondered if there was something else that gave him pause, perhaps that the mirror showed more of his Father than he wanted.
"I mean it, Vi," she continued, deciding to push a little more.
"I believe such a compliment belongs to you—"
"I've heard that plenty tonight, from those who mean it and those who think me so easily swayed." She cut him off, stroking his cheek. "You know my words... and for as austere as the world sees you, I know that you are capable of being so much more creative."
A sigh played across Viago's smile. "Perhaps you draw it out of me." There was that tit for tat she loved, even when he was buried between her legs. He kissed her again, gentler, longer. "Teia, you are unparalleled."
She smiled back into his kiss, dragging him closer. There were a thousand other things she could say, things he already knew, as obvious as the lipstick painted over his neck. There was one they both always swallowed back, hot and sharp behind every argument and kiss.
He'd said it just once, when dead Venatori lay in piles and blight-soaked Minrathous was quiet but not still. They'd tangled together in the least destroyed room the could find, blood in her hair, heartbeat in her mouth, nothing between them but breath.
"I love you."
She'd let the words hang for a moment, grounded herself by counting the scars on his back. Finally he'd given this a name, and with it power, teeth. Caterina's warning had rung in her ears and for the first time, she'd ignored it.
A God's corpse had fallen to the street. Rules meant little. So did her fear.
She'd closed her eyes, exhaling against his cheek. "I love you too."
Teia dragged herself back to the present by tugging his hair, eyes rolling as he fucked her harder against the desk. The wood shuddered, groaned in time with her. A few silver hairs glimmering like threads of starlight at his hairline. She twined them between her fingers, remembered the first time she'd seen them those months ago, how she'd fallen into that brief foolish fantasy about what it might actually be like to grow old.
She turned the thought over, knowing what Caterina had burned to keep her power for as long as she had— Queen of Crows and ashes. Whether that was what she wanted too was a question she'd been picking over again and again until the idea was bloody and bright.
"You can say that you want it," Teia gasped, waiting for him to look up again. "First Talon. You can say it."
"Teia—" Viago's words caught as she snapped her hips in a faster rhythm.
Her fingers dug harder into his skin, pinching, desperate for the truth. "Go on. Tell me what you want."
A curse caught between his teeth. He stood up straighter, brought her down harder against his cock until her goad dissolved into white hot want.
"Viago— Tell me." The rest of her words faltered as she hurtled towards the edge. Tell me that you want to do this with me. Tell me that you're more than just my lover.
Tell me there is a future with us.
His forefinger rubbed over her clit and she shattered, crying her pleasure into the shadows, legs choking his waist as he spilled between her thighs.
And there, in the gasping aftermath, the words hung.
"I want it."
It took Teia a full second to realise that she'd been the one to say it. A confession more blasphemous than any heard in the Chantry tonight— her secret. Her plan. And she needed to know who else would fight her for the chance, no matter how close.
Her eyes shot to Viago's. She searched for anger, wariness, the tells he'd convinced himself he didn't have but that she'd inked into her mind long ago.
"First Talon Cantori," he whispered, still fully sheathed inside her. "Dangerous pillow talk."
No immediate ire, she thought. Good. Teia shifted onto her elbows. "Admit it, there is opportunity here, one we're unlikely to see again," she said, caution to the wind. "And I do not plan on taking this on alone, not unless I have to."
Viago's eyes flicked to the window then to the locked door again. "Are you suggesting—"
"You. And me."
"That is… unprecedented," he answered after a long careful moment.
"So was every idea before someone dared to try."
Their previous argument had ended fiery and sharp before she could explain it fully. Now it was all laid before her, cradled in the damp crumpled space between their bodies. It had been easy to realise what she wanted, a stronger tonic to swallow was just how squarely he sat in her future plans.
Time was short and she was not going to let them dance around it any longer.
Viago leaned over her again, face striped in shadow. "Ideas and practise are two different things. Even if Lucanis leaves—"
"When," she corrected.
"Fine. When," he continued, eyes closing. "You want to dive headfirst into the bloodbath. No, you want to start a bloodbath."
"I want to control it." She drew him closer. "Do you truly think me naive enough to make a move before studying the board? Or without asking the person on the other side if they would like to concede rather than casting all the pieces to the ground? As I said, Lucanis is family… like Rook now. Like you. And if he knew that there were at least two people who wouldn't draw a target on his back for wanting to leave, two people who may even help him, I'd be poised to take the mantle first." She spoke in precise whispers, hand soft on his face. "So we spend the meantime gathering allies, drawing the plan, reinforcing power before any of the other Houses even realise. Then any strike against us would be foolish."
She saw the temptation flutter across his face. The call of power, his only weakness besides her. And here she was wrapping the two together in the country's most dangerous gift.
"And what about the inevitable target that's then drawn on both our backs?" he said.
"That would only be a problem if someone was not already convinced that death was lurking around every corner," she answered smoothly. "When power changes hands, some get bloody. But usually it's the hands that are unprepared."
Another long beat of silence. "You truly have considered this," he uttered, eyes dark and sobering as he opened them again. "And what of Caterina? What happens when Lucanis throws everything she's given him in her face and she pieces together who helped him."
"Nonna," she murmured. Her name twisted like a tiny splinter in Teia's side. "There is no way this does not hurt her, but there are still two answers there. One, we are Crows. So we're damned good at hiding things. Unless you would like to tell her of this?"
Viago failed to hide the flash of terror that tore across his features. "And the second answer?"
She sat up and pressed her thumb to his lip in a sweet, gentle tease. "She likes me a damned sight more than every other Talon."
A cheer echoed somewhere below, warm and tipsy. Viago turned to the curtain again, then back to her before brushing the sweaty curls from her mouth and laying a soft kiss there.
"That, at least, is unarguably correct."
They readjusted themselves in a comfortable silence. Both hidden daggers were still safe in their sheaths, the countdown they were supposed to be adhering to long forgotten.
"The future is changing," Teia said, wiping Viago's spend from between her legs with his offered handkerchief. "The Crows are too."
He hummed as he readjusted his cravat.
Teia looked at both their masks still laying on the desk, the shields they'd have to put back up when they descended back into the real world. She left them where they were and slowly closed the space between them. "If you agree with what I proposed, then we need to be prepared."
"How much more prepared?"
She took a deliberate breath and grabbed both of his hands. "Well, we should probably get married."
His cravat instantly fell to the floor.
Teia cocked her head, doing everything in her power to hold back a laugh. Viago de Riva speechless. Now that was a sight.
"Or maybe…" She squeezed his hands one last time before quickly jerking to his side and snatching the dagger. "We need to prepare for more devious tactics coming our way."
Viago's wide eyes bounced between her hand and her face at least half a dozen times before he sighed. "I cannot believe you."
"Too easy," she laughed, twirling the stolen blade between her fingers. "Oh if I could paint a portrait I would."
He shook his head. "That… was low."
"I forgot, we never fight dirty in our line of work. And to the victor got the spoils."
He ran his hands through his hair but his smile didn't falter. "Which are?"
Teia pulled back the ballroom's curtain a little. The quartet in the corner had switched to playing their later evening pieces, slow and dreamy as the clear night skies outside. Caterina had retired somewhere, Illario was slowly rousing from his chair and Lucanis and Rook still swayed slightly off-centre, smiles pink and clear even from here. Teia pulled Viago to the middle of the room and placed both his hands on her waist.
"Dance with me," she said and gently tucked his blade back at his side. A game for another day. "I'm sure I'll think of something after that."
Viago slid one hand up her back and pulled her into a smooth waltz, their feet in perfect silent rhythm against the floor. He dropped another kiss against her ear, words the lowest they'd been all evening. "Then I will be waiting."
We should get married.
Her tease still rang in her ears. One day she might tell him that it was perhaps only half a joke or that she wished she could say such a thing without the pretence of a game. That sometimes, just sometimes, in those brief moments between death and duty such a fantasy did not seem so foolish.
Until then, they had this. Until then she'd hold onto every fragmented delight she could.