The Queen's Champion

Chapter 12

The sound of waves break against his ears, rousing him from his sleep. The creaking of a ship as it rolls along the water, the gentle hum of its engines somewhere below. If he listens hard enough, he can hear a whalesong in the distance.

And in the room, someone is humming.

David doesn’t want to open his eyes. He feels more relaxed than he has in decades. Maybe his entire life. Perfectly at peace. He’d be content to lie here, forever. But something tells him that he should open his eyes, see what’s waiting for him. So he does.

What greets him is the most beautiful sight he can imagine.

Sabrina sits in front of him, perched on a high stool and wearing a white pea coat, with her untamed mess of hair tucked into the hood. Her dark eyes are looking away from him, humming a tune under her breath.

David’s mouth goes dry. She’s breathtakingly beautiful, but what more, she’s real. Her skin has a few more blemishes to it, bumps and zits that her make-up usually covers. Lines from age, years she would never see taking their toll on her face. Her hair seizing up with the humidity. This isn’t a memory. She’s really here.

“Sabrina…”

David raises his hand, slow and careful, as if the illusion will shatter if he moves too fast. But of course his fingers meet the warm, soft flesh of her cheek, and she responds to the sound of her name, the hand on her face. Their eyes meet, and she smiles. Brings her left hand up to press over his own.

“Sabrina,” he says, so drunk on euphoria that he can barely get the words out. “Am I done, Sabrina?”

She doesn’t respond. Only continues humming away, her thumb stroking his wrist. David tips his head back and watches her lazily.

Nobody was quite sure what happened when you died. Sure, there was the Void, but people couldn’t wander the Void forever. Only the Outsider.

Most thought that was really it. That once you fade from the Void, your consciousness fades with you. Energy flowing back into the ether, becoming nothing. It used to scare David when he was younger. As the years cut into him, and especially after everything with Sabrina, the concept of true nonexistence seemed more and more like a blessing. A relief. An absence in reality would also mean an absence of pain.

And if that’s what this is, if he and Sabrina are floating in the Void, steadily breaking apart and dissolving into nothing, well, he’s satisfied with that. There’s no more pain. And he was allowed to see her face one more time. That’s all he can really ask for, honestly. He has no regrets.

Joan would take care of Anthony. She’d finish the job David started, see Delilah burn and get Anthony on the throne. She would protect him. In time, they might forgive him for dying. But it’s none of David’s concern now.

“The dust has only just. Begun. To fall.” Sabrina’s voice brings him back, like waves sweeping out to sea. “Crop circles in the carpets. Sinking. Feeling.”

Her low, breathy voice brings another smile to his lips. She always used to sing little songs under her breath, occasionally drumming her hands to the beat she heard in her head. David would creep up on her to listen, because he knew she wouldn’t do it if someone was watching. She was self-conscious about it. He was never about to put into words that her small, husky voice wasn’t the reason her singing was so beautiful to him. It was her simple joy, the small moments where she allowed herself to have fun. He loved it.

“...close your eyes, the sun is going down…”

High, thin, almost mockingly sweet. That voice isn’t Sabrina’s.

David pulls his hand back and tries to sit up, wincing. His back still hurts like a b***h. Weren’t they supposed to be beyond pain, wherever they are? Maybe David’s not entirely dead yet. Maybe there’s still some connection to his body, his tired, broken heart still pumping aimlessly as Joan tries to keep him breathing, salvage his burnt flesh. But David has left his body behind, and he’s in no hurry to go back. Joan will give up. The last strings connecting him to his mortal shell will be severed. And David will be free at last.

They’re on a ship. Below deck, crammed with luggage and various cargo. David wonders if this boat is a ghost too, sunk out in the ocean and now Sabrina’s taken command of its memory, sailing it through the Void. Windows down, door shut. He can’t see what’s outside. But maybe that’s the point.

“You’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now…”

“Spin me round. Again. And rub my eyes this can’t. Be happening.”

Who else is singing? David tries again to push himself up. Whoever it is isn’t singing with Sabrina. Or rather, Sabrina’s not singing with her.

“Come morning light...” the mysterious singer twings. “You and I’ll be safe...and...sound...”

Sabrina sits hunched over at the waist, her right arm pressed into her stomach. Undignified, improper posture for an Empress. Behind her, a squarely-built man with a mane of black hair paints, wearing a long grey coat similar to Sabrina’s. His voice is low, nearly bellowing, and his accent thick with the manners of Tyvia.

“If you’re good if you’re bad, or somewhere in between,” he sings as he mixes colors on his palette. “No matter what you’ve done, no matter if you’re clean.”

So Anton Sokolov was dead after all. Figures. David hadn’t exactly held out hope for him-and truthfully, he hadn’t cared too much. He never particularly liked Sokolov. And he had other things to concern himself with than worrying about the old bat.

“Try to keep in the dark, you can’t hide from your past, so much wisdom to impart.”

Sabrina nods along with her own tempo, her eyes closed. “When busy streets. Amass with people would stop to hold. Their heads. Heavy.”

A burst of melodic notes, plucked strings and wooden echoes. Leaning out and looking around Sabrina, David finally spots her. Perched on a cargo crate, strumming a guitar. Two long red braids at both sides of her head.

“Don’t you dare look out your window darling everything’s on fire…” the girl sings. “The war outside our door keeps raging on…”

She looks familiar. David can’t place her.

Of course, not everyone agreed on what happened after your spirit was lost to the Void. Some older cultures liked to preach this idea, and many found comfort in believing there was an afterlife. Paradise.

“Oily marks appear on walls. Where pleasure moments hung. Before.”

David never put much stock in it. He learned very early in life that if something seemed too good to be true, it most definitely was.

But here he is now. On a boat, with Sabrina. Is this her paradise? All he wanted was to be with her, so his own paradise was easy to attain. He was more than content riding along with hers.

“Short tempers around, and sometimes far worse, fingers for a crown, or coin from a purse,” Sokolov bellows.

Of course, what was up with her chosen company? It’s not like David can complain-she’s taken him along, after all, and that’s all he can ask of her. But he was under the impression that Sabrina preferred to avoid Sokolov, and it was no secret that he loathed nobility. David wouldn’t have expected them to willingly spend their afterlives on a boat together.

And...where is his mother? If this was some form of afterlife, shouldn’t his mother be here? Unless she wasn’t dead yet. But David had always figured...she would have heard when he became Royal Protector, wouldn’t she? It’s not as if his name was common. And she would have known where to go to find him then. Why hadn’t she? The only explanation that David had come up with was that she had already passed away when Sabrina had become Empress, when their names were plastered over every newspaper from Karnaca to Wei-Ghon.

But why isn’t she here now? David has so many things he needs to tell her. Sabrina’s here. He wants to introduce them, show Sabrina off. He’s always known they’d love each other. Where is she?  

And who’s the girl in the corner? He knows everyone Sabrina’s ever talked to, and he doesn’t forget a face.

“Hold...on...to...this...lullaby....”

Well, he remembers her face. Vaguely. But when he tries to remember where he’s seen it, he comes up lacking.

“...even when the music’s gone…” The girl strums a chord. “...gone…”

He turns to ask Sabrina, but the words catch in his throat and she presses one long, brown finger to his lips. Concern, he can read in her eyes. Stay quiet.

“The takeover. The sweeping insensitivity of this.” She still sings softly under her breath. “Still-life.”

She looks over her shoulder, her eyes wide with worry and her plump lips pressed together.

David reaches up and digs his hand into her hair. As curly as ever. The palace maids had bemoaned her unruly hair, were stumped as to how one person could have so much of it. He curls his fingers and marvels at the thickness. Anthony used to think she looked like a mermaid like this, with her hair grown out and spilling down her back. Empresses were virtually never allowed to wear their hair loose. Seeing her like this was a treat.

“Hide and seek.” Sabrina’s hand slides into his free one, but her eyes don’t meet his. She checks behind her once, twice, looking around as if something will emerge from the shadows. “Trains and sewing machines.”

He wants to ask her what she’s looking for. Why she looks so nervous. She shouldn’t be, not here. No more pain. No more fear.

“Blood and tears.” Her voice goes up and cracks, so harshly on the last two words that David barely understands them. Then she’s nearly inaudible. “They were here first.”

Sokolov continues on with his painting and singing, as if unaffected by whatever has Sabrina on edge. “Boots on the ground, guards and their hounds, they prey on the weak, the ill and the meek.”

What...is he painting? David tilts his head. The girl’s pitched singing breaks his concentration, as if he can’t look and listen at the same time.

“Just close your eyes…” She plays another chord, and lets the guitar go silent as she sings. “You’ll be alright…”

She picks up the tempo again, guitar notes bouncing across the cabin.

“Come morning light...you and I’ll be safe...and...sound…”

The girl continues to hum along, the lyrics fading off.

Sabrina breaks in, louder. “Hmm, that you only meant well? Well of course you did. Hmm, that it’s all for the best? Of course it is.”

David reaches up to touch her, but she turns away. Sokolov continues to paint in the background, unaware.

“If you’re good if you’re bad, or somewhere in between, no matter what you’ve done, no matter if you’re clean.”

The eye pierces him. A startling, impossible light blue, seemingly glowing from within. The face is obscured by bandages, wrapped like an old Pandyssian mummy. All but those lips, plump and red as blood. And that one eye.

It stares him down.

“Try to keep in the dark, you can’t hide from your past,” Sokolov continues in his Tyvian drawl. “So much wisdom to impart.”

He makes another stroke. “It’s the beating of the heart.”

“Hmm, that it’s just what we need. And you decided this?”

He decided what?

“Hmm, what did you say?”

The girl in the corner strums faster. Sabrina still doesn’t look at him, staring off in the girl’s direction without really looking at her.

“Sabrina?”

Sabrina only shakes her head, her eyes wide and far away. “Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth. Mid-sweet talk; newspaper word cut-outs.”

“Burning buildings, a life saved,” Sokolov timbers on. “Other hardships that are braved.”

The girl with the guitar picks up again. “Don’t you fret my dear…”

He tries to raise his hands to her face, but she seems so, so far away. Her name sticks on his tongue. The apologies.

“Speak no feeling no. I don’t believe you.” Sabrina shakes her head. “You don’t care a bit. You don’t care a bit.”

“Words from an Empress now passed,” Sokolov sings. “How long must the burden last?”

“It’ll all be over soon…”

The guitar gets faster, somehow. David doesn’t know what to focus on. The music. The painting. Or Sabrina’s face.

She twists around in her seat, as if going to speak to Sokolov, but she just continues to sing that last little refrain of her song in a soft voice. Over and over and over. You don’t care a bit. He doesn’t care a bit.

“I’ll be waiting here…” The girl sings, loud and drawn-out. “For you.”

The swaying and creaking of the ship, it’s too...perfect. Uniform. Predictable. It’s not right, somehow. It sets every nerve of his on edge. It’s wrong. This is all wrong.

Sabrina doesn’t move. All David can see is the left side of her profile, her lips moving in time.

“For you…”

He’s still holding her left hand, but her right is still tucked into her midsection. David reaches up, goes to take her other hand in his, get her attention.

Only he doesn’t find it. All his fingers find is the soft flesh of her belly, and he moves his hand on instinct. To grip her elbow. To find the rest of her.

His hands closes around a stump.

Sabrina’s arm ends right below her elbow joint, empty space where her forearm and hand should be. David blinks at it, his fingers running along the broken edges as if trying to make sense of it.

She isn’t right. She isn’t whole.

The guitar strums again. “Run, run, run away…”

Sabrina finally, finally turns her head. Stares at him impassively. As if daring him to say something.

Her right eye is gone.

There’s a black hole where warm brown should be, gaping at him. Her cheekbone fractured and uneven. Her flesh stretched over as if trying to smooth it down, to make it better, to trim the edges around that empty, empty hole.

David reaches for her face, but his movement is slowed. He hadn’t noticed that the ship has sprung a leak, the cabin filling with water, but now everything is filtered through the dark blue of the sea. Light plays at weird angles. David only has eyes for her.

Sabrina’s hair floats up in a cloud, stretched out and dancing. David can see the bubbles that leak from his own lips, but hers are still. Bloodless. Unbreathing.

David’s hands close around her face, willing his touch to breathe life back into her. For her lips to move again, for that one eye to do something other than staring, staring, staring. The blue eye of the painting meshes with hers, flipped and reflected, brought together in the most impossible and wrong way.

And then Sabrina...falls apart.

It’s all red and purple, bits of her flaking off like burnt paper and dissolving into the ether, because even this is unnatural. Sabrina stares and she comes apart at the seams, her very existence pulled apart. Sabrina stares and falls apart and David is left trying to catch bits on the water, keep her together, put her back together, but the glowing, dying embers slip right through his fingers and she’s lost forever.

Blood in his mouth. Deep, thudding notes reverbing in his skull. Pain.

He’s on fire again. He has to fight the water, bat away the flames, the waves wash him away and it’s taking him away and he reaches out with no clear intent in mind just that it’s red and there’s fire and he has to fight-

There’s a choking sound.

His hands around her throat. David is in bed. He can breathe. There’s no water. And the only red is of Rose’s hair, spilling down her cheeks.

Rose, who blinks at him with his hands wrapped around her neck, his thumb pressing against her Adam’s apple.

“David,” she says, and he can feel her words reverb through his fingertips. “Could you not crush my larynx, please?”

Shaking, David releases her. She looks rather calm, considering David just nearly choked her to death, but she does take a step back.

“What…” He wets his mouth, trying to make the questions come in an orderly fashion.

“You’re in Trimble’s clinic,” Rose supplies. “You were burnt pretty badly.”

So he’s still alive. How that fall didn’t kill him, David will never know.

Something cool at his lips. Rose slips her hand behind his neck and helps him to drink. It’s humiliating, but he can’t help but feel grateful. The water softens his tongue, though it’s still heavy in his mouth.

“What day is it?” he manages to get out. Rose sets the jug down somewhere out of his narrow view, smoothing her apron.

“Thirteenth, Month of Ice,” she states matter-of-factually. “It’s, um, nearly six in the evening now, sir.”

Just one day, then. Barely been out a day.

Rose turns her head towards the door, but then returns her gaze to David. “Joan brought you in late last night,” she explains. “Said you were caught in some explosion? She didn’t really explain-she just kept yelling at us to fix you.”

“Where’s Joan now?” he slurs. “Is she okay?”

Rose stands up a little straighter. “She’s in the other room-she and Anthony made me promise to wake them as soon as you woke up. It was the only way they would leave and get some sleep.” She shifts on her heels. “I should go let them know you’re awake…”

“No, wait.” His hand doesn’t make it to hers, but she stops anyway. “Let them sleep a bit longer. Just...I need a moment.”

She smiles. “They’ll be furious with me.”

“Let me take the fall for it.” f**k, he already did that yesterday.

Rose complies though, sitting neatly in a chair near the head of his bed. “I’m not sure where Trimble is, but he’ll come check on you soon. Up your drugs, if you’re in pain.”

“I’m not,” he shakes his head, but the motion sends stars across his vision. David squeezes his eyes shut and breathes. “Sorry,” he says. “For almost killing you there.”

“I’m getting used to that. You were having a fit,” she motions. “In your sleep. I was worried you’d reopen your wounds.”

“My wounds,” he repeats. “How badly am I f****d up?”

He can move, which is a good sign. But doing so takes quite a bit of energy and hurts like a b***h to boot. Pain from where, he can’t tell. Everywhere.

“Uh, it’s not as bad as it looks,” Rose says, then slaps her hand over her mouth to cover her giggle. “No, it looks pretty bad. I thought it did, at least, but after you survived the first few hours, Trimble said you’d be fine.”

Dangerous words for a nurse. Tempting fate.

“But I’m no doctor,” she continues. “I just handed s**t to him, moved things when he told me to. You were burnt pretty badly across your back. You’re lying on, like, a bunch of agave sap right now.”

That must have been expensive. Agave plants grew in Serkonos. Though Trimble probably already had it on hand, if he was able to treat David with it.

Why was he lying on his back?

“You had some cuts and stuff too, big ones on your leg and your forehead, no, don’t touch it. You lost a lot of blood. We had to get you some fresh stuff. And Joan said you almost drowned, so you nearly died in about three different ways.”

“You gave me blood?” David says, the words feeling odd on his tongue.

“I didn’t, personally, but yeah.”

He’s heard about blood transfusions. The technology had been available to him before, him and Anthony and Sabrina, but David’s always been grateful none of them had ever needed one. It was rather dangerous. He knew philosophers were still figuring out what made some people’s blood incompatible with others, but there was still some guesswork involved.

“You have blood just...lying around?”

“We did, but not the kind, you know, that you needed.” Rose fidgets. “Your type is weird apparently? We all let Trimble test ours-” She wags her finger, wrapped in a white bandage. “-but nearly everyone was incompatible. Even Anthony didn’t have the same blood type as you.”

“That’s because Anthony isn’t...” David groans. “Who ended up giving me blood?”

“My brother.”

“What?”

“Reed did.” She shrugs, staring off at the wall. “He was literally the only person here who matched. Couldn’t tell you why. I don’t understand that biology stuff.”

“That.” He blinks. “You have different blood types? You’re his sister.”

“Half-sister,” she corrects. “I mean, not that it matters to us, but we do have different fathers.”  

Right. Of course they do. Rose didn’t know who hers was, and Reed is f*****g brown. Not as dark as Sabrina, but certainly too dark to be completely the same race as whatever his siblings are, who could both guide whaling ships if you shined a light on them.

David would have to thank him, when he could sit up properly. They owed a lot to that kid.

“Were you singing just now?”

Rose blinks. “Uh...what?”

“When I was asleep. Were you singing?” If it was just her, he could explain it away. Just a fever dream. Someone his mind cobbled together to make sense of the surroundings he was coming back into.

But Rose just continues to stare blankly. “No? I wouldn’t want to disturb you. I was just reading.”

There’s a knock on the doorway, and Rose automatically jumps to her feet. David shifts his eyes over-and f**k, even that hurts-to see Trimble standing there.

“Knock-knock,” he says redundantly, stepping into the room. “Well, good to see you awake, David. We thought you might be leaving us for a while there.”

“Thought I might be too,” David says, and he’d attempt a smile if it didn’t hurt so much.

Trimble stands over his bed, pinches his fingers to David’s wrist and purses his lips in concentration. Rose waits behind him, her fingers digging into the edges of her apron. Finally, Trimble releases his wrist.

“Heart rate’s good. On the fast side, but that appears to be normal for you,” he says. “What’s his temperature?”

Rose flushes. “I haven’t taken it yet…”

“Why in the Void not? Do it now!”

David frowns as Trimble moves away, opening a notebook on a nearby table and scribbling something in it. David looks at the thermometer Rose procures with disdain. “Why does she need to take my temperature?”

“It doesn’t matter. I told her to.”

“I’m wondering.”

“Ah. Well, injuries can contribute to fever,” Trimble says as he writes. “And a particularly high one can indicate infection, which you’re at risk for.”

David’s not too worried about infection. The Mark probably protects against that too.

The Mark. He raises his left hand, eyes darting to it. His fingers are pink and raw, but his palm and the back of his hand are wrapped. White, sterile gauze. Not the dark fabric he usually ties around his hand.

Fuck. Did Anthony see?

“David, I need you to open your mouth.” Rose stares him down impassively. She inserts the thermometer under his tongue.

“Did I ever tell you I once bit one of these in half?” he says, but it comes out half-intelligible due to the aforementioned thermometer in his mouth.

Rose still laughs, though. “Didn’t taste very good, I imagine.”

He doesn’t remember the mercury tasting like anything, but then, his mother had made him spit it out immediately. He had gotten cuts on his tongue from the broken glass. Wasn’t a fun experience.

Rose takes the thermometer out and surveys it with a frown. “Thirty-five-point-four. He’s still running cold.”

“Normal,” Trimble responds.

That seemed too cold to be normal, but David can’t f*****g remember what is normal. At Dunwall Tower, there were doctors to handle this sort of thing. If Sabrina or Anthony were sick, and Sabrina rarely was, he pretty much just let the doctors do their job and helped with giving them medicine or whatever. Before that, he didn’t own a f*****g thermometer. He judged their temperature by the old forehead touch trick. He knew what was too hot for them.

“How are you feeling, David?” Trimble is Starking over him again, staring down in false concern. “Any pain?”

“Is that a trick question?”

Trimble chuckles. “Good point. I’ll give you another shot of morphine.” He snaps his fingers. “You, girl. Go up to my lab and prepare another dose for Mr. David.”

“Yes, sir.”

David frowns as he watches her scamper away, her temperament melted away like spring snow. He thought they were past this. That she wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

“Now, I think it’s time we have a chat.” Trimble closes the door, speaking to the floor. “Just doctor to patient. No bars.”

“Aren’t you a nurse?” David asks, almost drunkenly. Trimble purses his lips. Well, he probably shouldn’t have said that. David doesn’t actually know what the difference is, but he remembers Trimble being called a nurse.

“Well, considering I’m the only person here who attended the Academy for medicine, I’m the closest we have. And that,” he says, taking Rose’s seat, staring into David’s eyes. “Gives me the knowledge to say, with certainty, that you are very lucky to be alive, David.”

“Hmm.”

Trimble just continues to stare. “You have second and third-degree burns covering most of your back. You’d be in worse shape if your coat wasn’t fireproofed. They’re thermal burns, mostly, so you’ll likely keep most of your skin.”

None of that meant anything to David.

“Add to that two deep lacerations, significant blood loss,” Trimble continues to ramble. “Multiple spinal fractures, inhaling copious amounts of seawater, likely a concussion, David-” Trimble stares him down. “The fact that you’re conscious right now, a day later, is nothing short of a miracle.”

David stares back. “I’m a fast healer.”

“Indeed, you are.” Trimble nods. “One could even say super naturally so.”

David keeps his face neutral, betraying nothing.

Trimble continues the staring contest. Neither move for a long minute. Finally, David breaks the silence.

“That was a shitty pun.”

Which makes Trimble laugh, but not in the way that he actually found it funny. “That’s fair,” he says, getting to his feet.

David tries to crane his neck to follow Trimble across the room, but it hurts too much. His head drops back to the pillow. “Does Anthony know?”

“Of all things, that’s your concern?” Trimble walks back into frame, holding a different, smaller notebook. “No. No one saw but myself and Miss Elizabeth, though she didn’t react to it.”

“She already knew.”

Should he be telling Trimble this? He knows he can’t trust the man, but keeping too much information from someone could be just as dangerous as giving it to them. Starve a man and he’ll go searching for a meal, and all that.

Trimble nods to himself, paging through his little notebook. “I wondered about that. You two are awfully...close.”

“Is she not allowed to have friends or something?”

“I just find it a... peculiar choice.” Trimble shrugs. “I realize that she’s close in age to the late Empress, but they’re quite different in terms of appearance and anatomy-”

“I’m not f*****g Joan, and if you insinuate that again I will stab you through the eye socket with your own damn scalpel.”

“Forgive me.” He smiles in that predatory way.

David’s lip curls in disgust. “I can’t speak for you, but I don’t stick my d**k in people young enough to be my kids. And if that’s what you think about in your spare time, you need to reevaluate your life choices.”

“I understand, David.” Trimble raises his hand to dismiss him. “But back to what I was saying, I figured you had reasons for concealing your...abilities from your allies.”

He did. The biggest one being that he didn’t trust them.

“So I took the liberty of covering the Mark before allowing in visitors.” Trimble flicks his hand. “And you don’t have to worry about me keeping the secret. I’ll keep this under wraps.” He chuckles. “Literally.”

Well, that was a nice gesture, but David didn’t believe him. Doctor-patient confidentiality was f*****g fake, especially when you were playing with power. Trimble would sell-out in a heartbeat if it benefitted him.

Trimble continues to talk, still paging through his notebook. “I do wish you had told me, however. There should be no barriers between you and your physician.”

“I didn’t f*****g know you until two weeks ago.”

“That’s very true, I suppose.” Trimble says. “Still, your unique physiology means I have to make some changes to your treatment, and I’m still working out some of the kinks.” He flexes his long, spidery fingers. “Pain management, for example-you burn through opiates almost as fast as I can get them into you. You likely have an increased tolerance as well-I’ll be able to test this, now that you’re awake, and we’ll find a balance that works for your body.”

“Great,” David says. “But just to warn you, if you ever breathe a word of this to Anthony, I will end you so quickly you won’t even see it coming. Is that clear?”

“Oh. Crystal.” Then Trimble smiles, showing off all his teeth.

Rose bursts back in, holding a syringe. “Sixty milligrams, just as you asked.”

“Ah, good.” Trimble waves her over as he picks up his pen. “Administer it as I showed you. Get his pulse first.”

Rose gently pushes on his chin, trying to get to his neck. David grits his teeth and forces himself not to swat her away. Someone holding a sharp object to his neck aside, he’s always hated needles. Would rather be shot than get an injection at times. Anthony used to dislike them as well, but David thinks it was just a copy-cat phase, acting nervous because David clearly didn’t like getting them. Sabrina never cared.

He practically jumps as Trimble snaps his fingers. “Are you daft? You, girl, I said get his pulse first!”

Rose’s fingers fly to David’s wrist, but he’s quick to push them away, glaring daggers at Trimble. “She has a name.”

Trimble rolls his eyes. “She’s also not following direction.”

“David.” Rose’s alert, blue eyes meet his. “It’s not worth it.”

Yes, it f*****g was. David was the first to admit he wasn’t good with names, but he always tried. He learned the names of the servants at Dunwall Tower, asked if he couldn’t remember. He always made Sabrina and Anthony address their staff by name. Tried to instill upon them that their subjects were people, that they needed to respect them as such to be respected back. And it made a difference in how Sabrina had treated her staff, and how she ruled. David had literally overheard arguments between maids over who got to attend to the Empress that day. Not because she was low-maintenance or anything, but because there was some decency to her interactions. Some kindness.

“Her name is Rose,” David says slowly. “If you can’t respect her enough to call her by name, then you have no business giving her orders.”

Rose presses her lips together in a tight half-smile. “That’s...actually not my name.”

“Yes, yes, Rosalind, whatever.” Trimble waves his hand. “Just take his pulse so I can be done with you.”

David wants to respond, but Rose only pinches his wrist and rattles off some numbers that have no meaning to David. Then she injects him. The morphine spreads through David’s veins, uncomfortably cool. Rose stands up and wipes her hands on her apron.

“I should go wake Lord Anthony now…”

Trimble doesn’t look up from his writing. “Yes, you’re excused. Be gone, girl.”

Rose turns tail and practically runs out the door.

Trimble crosses the room to check David’s pulse himself, finger on his wrist and his eye on the clock. David swallows before he can speak.

“Am I your lab rat, Trimble?”

“You will have to be. Unless you don’t plan to ever require medical attention from me again.”

David would rather die than let Trimble treat him again.

“No one plans to get put in the hospital.”

“True, true.” He laughs.

David continues to stare him down. “I’m not here for your curiosity, Trimble.”

“Oh, I understand that. But you have to understand,” Trimble says, flicking his eyes up to meet David’s. “That you’re quite interesting for someone like myself.”

“Interesting,” David repeats flatly.

Trimble nods. “Surviving multiple injuries that no mortal man has any business living through, insomnia and anger management issues stemming from post-traumatic stress disorder, arcane abilities, David-” Trimble grins in a way that shows off his long canines without the smile reaching his eyes. “You’re a hot mess. And I find it fascinating.”

David can’t think of any way to respond to that. He ends up not having to when the door slams open a second later.

“David!”

A blur of blue and blonde comes rushing at him, and David barely has time to smile before Anthony practically jumps on top of him and throws his arms around his shoulders.

“Aiiii...”

Anthony is squeezing all the wrong muscles, torcing his fractured spine. David can’t make words come out of his mouth while the fireworks go off in his head.

“For f**k’s sake, Tommy, let the man breathe.”

Anthony is pulled back, his cheeks red and his hair sticking up in every direction. He just woke up. But he’s smiling so hard his face might break.

Joan has Anthony by the back of his shirt, giving him a good shake before releasing her hold on him. Then her eyes slide over to David and she smiles. “Hey, fucker. Nice to see you back in the land of the living.”

“Suppose I have you to thank for drop-kicking me back here.” He holds his hand up, lets Joan grab onto it. She squeezes, briefly, then drops it.

She’s not in the best shape either. Bandages line her forehead, her chin, all down her bare arms. He can see tinged, pink skin peaking out in places. Her eyes have dark circles under them and part of her remaining patch of hair has been shaved away, but f**k, she looks better than he probably does now.

“I’ll leave you all to your reunion,” Trimble says as he packs up his notes. “Send Miss Elizabeth to me if you need anything, David. I’ll just be in my office.”

Anthony drops down on David’s bed, and David tries to stifle his moan when the bed dips down and aggravates his skin. Even his legs are burnt, apparently.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, biting his lip. “You look, like, way better than you did last night.”

“Loads better.” Joan drops into Rose’s vacated chair, wincing as her butt meets the seat. “Thought you were dead when I fished you out of the water. Had to keep checking to make sure I wasn’t bringing home a corpse.”

“Thanks, Joan. Your concern warms my heart,” David groans. “I feel about as good as you’d expect right now.”

They both have bandages wrapped around their fingers, the pointer on their right hand. Trimble doesn’t have one, but then, Trimble probably already knew his blood type.

“What happened, Joan?” David turns his head.

She plumps her lips and stares at him. “You got blown up, and fell like a hundred feet. And cracked your head on the rocks. Then you almost drowned.”

“I got that part.” David rolls his eyes. “I mean, what happened from there?”

“I saw you.” Joan tucks one leg under her butt. “Saw you take flight like a f*****g phoenix on crack. Kind of flipped out-jumped in the water and f*****g swam to you.” She snorts. “Forgot I had the boat.”

“Granny was in the boat,” David says, but then he closes his mouth. He can’t remember what else he was going to say about that.

“Yeah. Lucky thing, too. She steered the boat to us, so I didn’t have to haul you all the way back.” Joan shrugs. “You were dead weight in the water-was a b***h to keep your head above the surface. I mean, I can swim the distance,” Joan smacks her chest, then winces. “But this was, like, swimming on hard mode. Tons of wreckage from the slaughterhouse and-” She makes a motion like rolling her hand on the water. “-there was f*****g oil in the water, and you know what happens with oil?”

“It floats to the top when mixed with water,” Anthony states.

Joan just looks at him. “Well, that too. But that’s not what I meant.” She stretches and retracts her fingers, flashing her hands at them. “It f*****g burns. So the water is on fire. Let me stress that, the water is f*****g on fire, it’s practically boiling underneath and I’m swimming through this goddamn river of flames trying to get to your f*****g dad, who I’m not even sure is alive anymore. All the while the goddamn factory keeps exploding and making it rain flaming masonry. It was a b***h, is what I’m getting at.”

If anyone could have done it, it would have been Joan. David’s seen her swim-she’s like a mermaid, if mermaids were also known to carry knives and stab people. Cutting through the water like she does a Watch asshole’s chest, more graceful than she moves on land.

David’s bigger than Joan, and certainly has more muscle on him, but he knows she’s stronger than she looks. And the Bond gave her strength as well-did that even work, when he was knocked out like that?

In any case, it’s good she was with him. David can’t imagine Galia being able to keep his head above water and dog-paddle them both to safety.

“Granny was actually kind of helpful, surprisingly,” Joan continues. “Not with, like, getting you into the boat. That was a cunt and a half. But I had no f*****g clue what to do with you from there, so I steered the boat and she applied pressure to your bleeding bits until we got back. Got your coat off too. Probably saved most of the skin on your back.”

“I liked Granny.” Anthony pulls his feet up onto the bed, crossing them. “Everybody else said she was weird and a witch, but she seems nice.”

They have no idea how accurate that statement is.

Joan shakes her head. “She’s crazy, Anthony.”

“She’s old. Jerome thinks she’s senile, so it’s not like it’s her fault.”

“In any case,” David leans back and winces as his shoulder rubs against his pillow wrong. “Thanks for saving my ass, Liz.”

Joan smiles, showing off her dazzling, rotting smile. “Hey, you saved my ass. Life for a life, and all that fuckery.”

Anthony turns to her. “What did he have to save you from? You didn’t tell us how the mission went at all.”

“David was more important.” Joan waves her hand. “Aw, Overseer f***s. Had me cornered for a hot minute, but David stormed in and rescued me, like some cheesy opera. Pretty sure his shirt was blowing open in the wind.”

“It was way too cold for that,” David mutters. Details about the previous day are coming back to him in waves. The Overseers, Rinaldo. The Cardinals.

Anthony looks over to him with concern in his eyes. “Did you kill them, David?” he asks bluntly.

David attempts to push himself up, for this, but he doesn’t get too far. “Anthony,” he warns. “I do what has to be done. I don’t think it does you any good to hear about it, so I’d suggest you don’t ask me.”

Anthony presses his lips together, staring out the window past Joan’s head.

David frowns, and tries again. “So it turns out Rinaldo was our mole.”

“Escobar?” Anthony’s concern drops off his face. David nods.

“He was employed under a fake name. He’s gone now, went back to wherever he’s been staying and lying low for a bit.”

“That’s awesome.” Anthony smiles. “And his brother? Did he mention?”

“Rulfio is fine. He’s living with Misha, Fisher, for a while.” The names take a minute to percolate his mind. He’s finding it difficult not to remember things, but simply keep them straight. David hopes this is temporary.

“I take it you know who those people are?” Joan raises an eyebrow.

Anthony nods. “Yeah. Yeah, friends of ours. Employees, technically.” His eyes are far away. “Rinaldo and my sister were very close.”

“I kind of gathered that. He was a cool dude.”

That reminds David that Anthony still hadn’t been told the entirety of what happened after Delilah took over the Tower. He hasn’t seen Galia’s list of casualties. Some of his friends are on that list. He’s probably still looking forward to reuniting with them. David would break it to him. But not now.

“So, can I ask? Before the others come up for the official story?” Anthony taps his fingers along the sheets, his eyes trained on a corner on the far side of the room. “How did you get hurt, exactly?”

“We had to blow up the slaughterhouse, Anthony,” Joan says. “I told you that.”

“I know, but you had plenty of time to evacuate.” Anthony bites his lip. “What was David still doing there?”

“I was leaving, Anthony.” David winces as he shifts his position. “Was sitting on a walkway, looking for Joan. Stupid of me to not get clear of the place first.”

“He had to double back because Rinaldo was being a f*****g i***t,” Joan adds.

Anthony’s eyes bore into him, sad and accusing all in the same manner. “That’s really what happened?”

“Anthony, you know I’ve never lied to you.”

It’s not about lying, he knows. He can read the implications between Anthony’s words. Why he doubts David.

Anthony thinks David did this on purpose.

“Hey.” David tries to extend his arm, take Anthony’s hand, but another burst of pain flares through his shoulder and he has to drop it. “I’m sorry.”

Anthony blinks. “For what?”

“For breaking my promise.” David looks off to the side. “I said I’d be careful. And I wasn’t careful enough.”

“David, it’s fine.” He leans forward to grab David’s hand, squeezes it and smiles. ”I’m just glad you’re okay.”

David even manages a small smile back.

Joan coughs. “Well, as heart-warming this is, I gotta break it up.” She jabs her thumb towards the door. “We do kind of have to tell the others that David is awake and whatnot.”

“Already?” Anthony pouts. “David just woke up. Maybe we can hold off until morning.”

David’s in no hurry to see the rest of the f***s he works with, but he knows if he puts the briefing off it’ll just hang over his head. “No, let’s just...get this over with…”

He wheezes as he tries to sit up, a burning pain in his lung preventing him from taking a full breath. Anthony jumps up and hovers over him.

“Are you in pain?” he asks, and David would respond sarcastically if he could get the air to talk. “Nurse Trimble said he’d take care of you.”

Joan snorts. “And you believed him?” She stands up, shooing Anthony away from David. “Go. Tell Trimblefuck David needs more drugs.”

David just got drugs; he can still feel them under his skin. It’s an odd feeling. He’s been on morphine before, and he’s never been so acutely aware of its presence in his veins. It is working-it’s just not enough to even touch David’s pain.

“I can do that!” Anthony says brightly, then scampers away. David suppresses a smile, the irony of Joan practically ordering the Emperor of the Isles around not lost on him. But Anthony likes being helpful. Always has.

Joan plops back down in her chair and tilts her head back. David watches her, notes the purple under her eyes and the piece of gauze she has shoved into her ear canal, spotty with blood.

“You know, David, Joan Catspaw does not get scared,” she says, holding up a finger. After a moment, she points it at him. “But you, yesterday? You f*****g freaked me out, old man.”

“Didn’t realize you cared,” David tries to tease, but he quickly turns somber. “Couldn’t you feel me through the Bond?”

Joan shifts, an uncomfortable expression crossing her face. “I could. Like, it was still there, and I could feel you-” She motions between them. “But you were dead weight. Like your grip on it had gone totally slack. I kept pulling and got nothing.”

“About that,” David says. “What the hell was that, when you were with those Overseers?”

“What was what?” Joan blinks.

“You...I don’t know, called to me. Told me you needed help.”

Joan looks confused, but she just shakes her head. “I didn’t yell for you or anything, so f**k if I know. Cool feature, though.”

Right. Joan would never have willingly called for help. It was unintentional. Fine, but he hopes she doesn’t try to suppress it in the future out of pride. He doesn’t give a s**t if she’s embarrassed-this was literally his job. Sabrina was one of the strongest people he’d ever met and even she needed protecting sometimes.

He wasn’t strong enough to do that either.

“But back to you.” Joan waves her hand. “If you ever f*****g die on me, for real, I hope you know that I’m just going to storm into the Void and drag your ass back. Don’t think you’re getting out of this that easily.”

“Joan, I wasn’t trying to f*****g kill myself.” David rubs at his eyes. “You know I was going back for Rinaldo. I didn’t intend to get caught up in that.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Joan kicks at the floor, brushing the underside of her foot over the planks. She doesn’t believe him.

“We’re seeing this bullshit through, Catspaw.” He reaches out and grabs her wrists, making her look him in the eye. Brown, a hint of hazel. Not quite as dark as Sabrina’s.

He and Joan communicate much in the same way he and Sabrina did. There was an understanding between them that went deeper than words. Some things didn’t need to be said.

So Joan knows what David is really telling her. Asking her to see it through for him, if he can’t himself. Put Anthony on the throne. He already figured Joan would pick up the torch, if something happened to him, but he needs to know for sure now. He needs her promise.

Joan stares at him for a long moment, then she rolls her eyes. “Fine, but you made Anthony a promise. You gotta make one to me too.”

“What?”

“Don’t,” she jabs her finger at his chest. “f*****g get yourself killed, you dumbass.”

David manages a laugh. “I’ll do my best.”

“I mean it,” she huffs, folding her arms. “You die, there goes my magic powers. I don’t want to go back to walking everywhere like some sort of peasant.”

They’re both quiet for a moment.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” she whispers out of the corner of her mouth, which is about as close to ‘you’re my friend and I like you’ as Joan will ever get.

Everyone crams into David’s little hospital room, staring at him with expectant faces. David barely acknowledges all the well-wishing. They could care less about his health, as long as he can still swing a sword.

Anthony is back on his cot, scooted down a bit so he sits at David’s feet. Thalia all but kicked Joan out of her seat, and is now sitting prim and proper as if she’s already a f*****g queen. Joan stands by David’s head, arms crossed and glaring at anyone who gets too close to him.

Edgar stands behind Thalia, exchanging a few heated hand signals with Joan before huffing and looking away. Galia stands next to Anthony, while Zhukov Starks practically in the doorway. Trimble sits at his table, scribbling away and pretending not to exist. Like they could ignore him.

Lydia and Jerome are the only people who seem genuinely happy to see David alive. Lydia backed away from his cot after a particularly withering glare from Galia, but Jerome just plopped down on the floor next to his head, chattering away about new ways to fireproof his armor. David has no intention of being on fire again any time soon, but he appreciates the thought.

“While we’re very glad you’re feeling better, David,” Thalia says flatly. “I’m afraid we must get down to business. We need to know the details of your mission.”

“Like why you two decided to blow up Rothwild Slaughterhouse,” Galia says, her eyes darting between him and Joan, who huffs and rolls her eyes.

“It got the job done, Miss Officer.”

“It also has the Regent royally pissed off. And you, David-” She whips her head to him, laying in a hospital bed. “You took out half a city block. What happened to stealth, old man?”

“Same thing that happened to your manners, evidently.”

“This isn’t a joke, David,” Edgar says, arms crossed over his chest. “Kaldwin is out for blood. Run another sloppy job like that, you’ll lead her right to our doorstep.”

David waves his hand. “What trail did I leave? The factory is gone. If anything, I erased-” He coughs, painfully. “...evidence. For all Delilah knows, the strikers blew the place up.”

Joan raises her hand meekly. “Actually, uh, they know it was us.”

David eyes her. “How, may I ask?”

“You know that thing you wrote when you killed Timsh, ‘The Crown Killer is Watching’? Yeah, Rin and I painted that on the wall right next to the entrance. Wanted to, you know...leave our calling card.”

Anthony purses his lips, but that’s all the indication he gives that he’s displeased. David sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“You could have told me that.”

“Oh, when would I have done that?! When you were on fire? When I was trying to paddle you back to the boat through f*****g armageddon-”

“That’s enough.” Trimble doesn’t even pause in his note-taking. “So Lady Kaldwin knows the Crown Killer destroyed the warehouse. There’s nothing we can do about that now, so let David explain the rest.”

“Yes, explain.” Thalia turns back to him. “Why is the slaughterhouse a crater now? What could you possibly have gained from that?”

“We struck a deal with the leader of the worker’s union,” David says. Joan scoffs, but she adds nothing.

“Ames, right?” Jerome raises a finger. “Papers mentioned it. She’s one of five people unaccounted for after the whole place blew-including Rothwild himself.”

“Rothwild is buried under the rubble,” Joan says.

Five people-Abigail would be listed as missing now, as she’s in hiding, but David knows she got out. There was Rothwild, and the three butchers he had killed inside the slaughterhouse. Nobody else died in the explosion. The knowledge takes a weight off David’s lungs.

“And why did you have to kill him?” Thalia rubs her temples. Joan just shrugs.

“He was dead when we got there.”

“Catspaw-”

“No, I’m being serious.” Joan pops her tongue. “We got him in his nice little interrogation chair, then Ames went f*****g psycho and stabbed him before we could weasel anything out of him. Then David here decided to play peacemaker with Miss Stab-Happy to get her to comply. That’s why he blew the place up.”

“Because she asked you to?” Galia raises an eyebrow at him. “Why would she do that? More importantly, why would you bother appeasing her?”

“f**k if I know.” Joan shrugs. “David wouldn’t let me use the chair on her. You can blame him for that.”

Lydia makes a scandalized noise in the back of her throat. “You were going to torture her?” she gasps. “Elizabeth-”

“I will f*****g break the fingers of the next person who calls me that.”

“They did that to David.” Lydia’s eyes are wide, and her fingers come up to brush against her lips. “Did that not occur to you?”

David pulls his hand out of Anthony’s now-iron grasp, careful not to look his way. “For the record, I was never electrocuted,” he says, weakly, but they’re not even paying attention to him.

Edgar flicks his eyes to Lydia in disdain. “s**t’s not always pretty in the underworld, Boyle. Catspaw knows what she’s doing.”

Lydia just shakes her head. “So what, we’re just torturing people to play them as our puppets now? How is that any different from what Lady Kaldwin was doing?”

“Don’t f*****g compare us to Kaldwin,” Joan snarls. “Don’t compare it to what they did to David. I didn’t make her watch someone she loves die! I didn’t torture her for a murder I committed myself.” She raises a finger. “So if you ever f*****g suggest that I am anything like that witch, I swear on the Outsider’s ass, I’ll-”

“Stop.” Anthony says it rather quietly, but it carries the weight of an Emperor’s order. “Just stop. Please. Not now.”

Joan puffs up once more, but she blows out a long breath and deflates. Lydia looks to the floor, her cheeks red.

Jerome raises his hand. “Just for the record, Lydia does have a point.” He ducks his head. “I mean, we are supposed to be the good guys here.”

“Good and bad are relative terms, my dear Jerome.”

No one really wants to acknowledge Zhukov, who’s still hanging in the doorway like some cryptid ghost. So he’s at least good for moving the conversation along.

“Anyway.” Galia blinks, taking care not to meet anyone’s eye. “So you destroyed the building for Ames. Did you at least find out the identity of Gardenia?”

“I did.” David pushes himself up. “She only knew of the family name, though. And I can’t say I’m familiar with it.”

“Let’s hear it, then.” Thalia straightens up. “Lady Boyle and I will undoubtedly know who they are.”

Of course they would. David resists the urge to roll his eyes before opening his mouth. “The name she gave me was ‘Ashworth’.”

There’s a pregnant pause, then the curse comes from an unlikely source.

“Fuck.” Anthony blows the word out of his mouth like air, low and long.

David doesn’t reprimand him for the profanity-he cursed so much himself when Anthony was a child that it’s a wonder the kid ever learned any non-swear words. He’s never given much of a s**t-Outsider knew Sabrina cursed enough to put dock workers to shame. He’s pretty certain she came out of the womb dropping f-bombs and knowing multiple curses involving the recipient’s mother. But they all had to learn to censor themselves at Dunwall Tower, and what more, Anthony had never cursed nearly as much as David and Sabrina did. He almost never swore like this.

It’s all the indication David needs to know that they were very, very f****d.

“What?” Joan stares at him. “I’ve never f*****g heard of them, so they can’t be that bad.”

“It’s not-” Thalia shakes her head. “It’s not that they’re a particularly powerful family. It’s just…”

“There’s five Ashworth siblings.” Lydia presses her lips into a thin line. “And if you don’t know which one it is, then our next step will be difficult.”

“Well, let’s try narrowing it down!” Jerome says brightly. “They’ll probably be around the same age as Kaldwin, right?”

“They’re all the same age.” Thalia waves her hand. “Two sets of twins. The original Lady Ashworth had five children in three years.”

“And then she promptly died,” Lydia says, looking sad for a moment. “Lord Ashworth remarried, but their only daughter was stillborn. Quite sad. I believe they still live in the Estate District?”

“The elder Lord and Lady, yes, I believe so.” Thalia straightens out her collar. “I’m unsure about their children.”

“Galia and I can do some digging, find some leads.” Jerome nods his head in Galia’s direction, who doesn’t look too pleased with the concept. “Should we look into all five of them, or can we eliminate some choices?”

Thalia taps her finger against her lip. “Well, Gardenia is a feminine name…”

“They’re flower codenames,” Galia says bluntly. “They all sound feminine. There’s several girly one we’ve found attached to male witches. f**k, Abele was Daffodil. That’s a stupid way to rule names out.”

“I’m just trying to help.” Thalia turns her nose up.

Jerome doesn’t seem at all phased by their argument, pushing himself into a standing position and playing with his fingers like he does a lot when he’s trying to think. “Alright, well, Kaldwin and Gardenia had a thing going on, so along those lines, wouldn’t it actually be a one of the male Ashworths?”

Lydia hums as she thinks. “It would be much more convenient if it was the other way around. There’s four Ashworth brothers, and only one Ashworth sister we’d be ruling out.”

“Says who?” Joan pipes up. “Delilah’s bi as f**k. She had a relationship with the Empress, remember?”

Thalia rolls her eyes. “That’s a peasant’s rumor. Defamation of the Empress, at best.”

It was defamation to say Sabrina was gay? That was just the truth.

“No it ain’t. Kaldwin romanced the pants off Empress Sabrina. Like, literally.”

“She appealed to the Empress’s…” Thalia pauses to consider her words. “Unconventional preferences for political gain. I highly doubt they ever consummated the relationship.”

“They did.” Anthony stares at the floor. “I’ve walked in on them.”

David’s lip curls in disgust. Next to him, Joan makes a dramatic gagging sound. “Well, if it were anyone else, I’d say you were a lucky duck. But with your sister, f**k. Sorry about your eyeballs, kid.”

“When the hell was this?” David hisses. He tries not to acknowledge the lump in his stomach, but he still thinks on it anyway. Should he have noticed? He didn’t pay much attention to her romantic life, mostly because he didn’t want to know, but he usually at least knew who was visiting her at night. He had never seen Delilah slinking into her chambers. And if he believed her, Delilah and Sabrina had been involved for a while.

Sabrina was sixteen when she appointed Delilah her Spymaster. At that age, puberty had hit Sabrina like a railcar-she went to bed one night with her short, vaguely-boyish figure and awoke the next morning with full hips and thighs and muscle definition he’d rarely seen on women. She was suddenly taller than him, a fact she never let him live down. And she was stuck in a constant state of completely pissed off. For about three years, Sabrina was a tightly-wound ball of anger and hormones, ready to rip David’s face off for looking at her wrong. He didn’t hold it against her-he’d probably been an asshole at that age too. But he got to go through that without an Empire looking to him for guidance, and picking apart his every action. And he didn’t have grown-ass people looking to take advantage of his puberty-induced stupor. Well, none that did so with such lofty aims.

Did their affair start back then? The thought curls like smoking anger in his stomach, but guilt winds its way around and washes it away. He’d tried to give Sabrina space. Told himself it was out of respect, but truthfully, he was profoundly uncomfortable with the entire idea of her being sexually active. He knew she was and didn’t mind-she was a grown-ass adult and could do what she wanted. He just didn’t want to think about it.

He should have noticed. He should have protected her, from her own dumb, hormone-fueled decisions. He should have stopped it.

Anthony rolls his eyes. “Sabrina forgot to lock her door-your imaginations are running too wild, guys. They were asleep, just...in bed together.” He frowns somberly. “At the time, I thought it was kind of cute.”

“You hated her.” David blinks. He’s not mincing words-Anthony found Delilah overbearing and invasive. He would have hated life as her husband and puppet. But now, Anthony just shrugs.

“She made Sabrina happy. I thought Delilah loved her.”

“I don’t think there’s enough left in that shriveled heart of hers to love anybody,” Galia snorts. “But okay, Kaldwin likes both ladies and gents. She’s definitely screwing Gardenia, so they could be either one.”

Delilah was screwing all sorts of people. If Sabrina were still alive, David would make her get tested.

“Which one would be most likely to take up witchcraft?” Lydia taps her chin in thought. “I’m afraid I don’t know the individual siblings as well as I do others. My sisters might know more.”

Jerome just shrugs. “We can all take a few days to gather information. Not like David’s going anyplace any time soon.”

Fuck if David’s going to be trapped in here with Trimble for weeks. His back would recover quickly, whether it wanted to or not.

‘I mean,” Joan raises her hand. “We could just go total-liquidation on them. Process of elimination and all that s**t. If all five Ashworths are dead, we must have gotten the right one, right?”

“Joan.” Anthony stares at her, unblinking. “That’s barbaric.”

She smacks her lips. “I’m just saying-”

“No, I’m saying we’re not doing that.” Anthony shakes his head. “I’ve been leaving this to you and David because I trust him and, frankly, you both know more about this kind of thing than I do.”

“Don’t go ordering Catspaw around.” Edgar stares down at Anthony, arms crossed and his nose turned up in the air. “You’re not Emperor yet.”

Anthony yanks his hand away from David’s, curling into fists as he jumps up. “You brought me here to be your Emperor, and now you have the nerve to tell me I have no power?!”

Nearly everyone jumps back in surprise at the outburst, all aside from David, who merely raises an eyebrow and had no room to recoil anyway.

“My sister was an Empress,” Anthony states, shoulders back and standing tall. “I watched her rule for ten years, studied and learned everything I could so I might one day aid her in running her Empire. Now I’m expected to step into that job, to paint a target on my back and shoulder responsibility for everything that happens under my rule, but I’m not even allowed to demand we limit casualties? Deaths which, by the way, were committed in my name, and ones I will take the blame for when I’m on the throne!”

“Anthony…” David would try to reach for his hand, but leaning forward to do so is out of the question, thanks to his bandages.

Anthony rounds on Joan, whose eyes are wide open in surprise. “I’m putting my foot down at that, Joan. That’s an order. We’re not slaughtering innocents.”

“Nobody’s innocent.” David doesn’t realize he said it out loud until Anthony’s head whips towards him.

There’s a million things in that look, all sorrowful, ashamed. And David doesn’t want to know what Anthony would think of him, if he knew the truth about David.

Anthony straightens his back, sitting back on the cot stiffly without looking at anyone. “I will condone killing Gardenia. But we are not making marks of their siblings to make our jobs easier. That’s not how I plan to rule.” He slides his eyes over to David, not quite looking at him but making it undeniably clear who he’s addressing. “That’s not how Sabrina would have done it.”

How the f**k would he know? Anthony is remembering an idealized Sabrina, the Empress who cared about her subjects and the sister who loved him unconditionally, cherry-picking memories to only carry the best parts of her. He forgets her rage. He doesn’t know her pain, her anger over her manner of death. David knows these things because she lives in the palm of his hand now, watching him draw blood in her name and seeing only the worst of people.

Even if Sabrina would have acted in the same way, how did that end for her? She’s dead. David is trying to prevent the same from happening to Anthony.

“Alright.” Joan’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “You f***s heard him. Kid’s got the last word.” She nods. “So I guess y’all got some reconnaissance to do? David and I will just kick back while Gails and Jerome look into the Ashworths.”

“I can do some poking around too.” Lydia raises her hand. “I’ll be visiting home in a few days anyway-I can ask Esma and Waverly what they know. But, you know.” She snaps both her fingers. “Subtley.”

“Guess that’s all we can do now,” Galia grumbles. “Well, unless you two have any more riveting news you need to tell us…”

“Yes, yes, all of you out.” Trimble stands up, snapping his notebook closed. “David needs to rest, and I-”

“Wait.” David holds up a hand, stopping everyone in their tracks. “I...do have something else I need to mention. Unrelated to Gardenia, but...I think it’s important.”

“Oh f**k, is that whale murder weighing on your conscience?” Joan rolls her eyes. “Hold on to your nips everyone, David’s about to confess to mercy-killing a whale they were torturing.”

“f**k off, Joan.” David glares at her, but then turns his head back. “No, it...I had a run in with a few Cardinals.”

About half the group sucks in air through their teeth, while the other half look confused for a moment before Jerome mentions the Black Cardinal name.

Anthony grabs David’s hand, his past anger melting away. His mouth opens, but no words come out.

“You mean the group that was supposedly behind the Empress’s assassination?” Thalia says boredly.

Anthony turns to her with fire in his eyes. “They did kill the Empress.”

Trimble tries to step in. “Young Lord Anthony…”

“No, don’t say it like that! The Crow Queen murdered my sister. I saw it. So don’t try and convince me my own two eyes are lying now.” He turns back to David, the flames dying down and leaving only concern in their wake. “Did they hurt you?”

“Would have been a drop in the bucket, compared to this.” David snorts. “No, the thing is, they weren’t trying to kill me. They got a bag over my head. Tried to put a sleep dart in my neck.” They succeeded at that, but David would have to bring up the Mark if he explained. Without the Mark, he would have been rendered unconscious. David would be the Crow Queen’s prisoner right now. Joan and Rinaldo would probably be dead.

Galia curses. “They’re getting ballsy. They don’t normally kidnap people.”

“Could it be they’re getting desperate?” Jerome asks. “I’ve heard some rumors about the Crow Queen being dead-the gang might be in its death throes.”

“Or just under new management.” Galia shrugs. “By all accounts, the Rat King is quicker to kill, but he might have approved some things the Queen didn’t.” Her eyes flick back to David. “I highly f*****g doubt he would have let you walk away, though. Either of them.”

“I figured.”

“You didn’t tell me this, bitch.” Joan slaps his shoulder, and it takes everything in David not to yell out in pain. “When the f**k was this?”

“While you were getting beat up by Overseers.” David rubs his shoulder. “Oh, right, Joan ran into some Overseers too. That happened.”

Edgar makes a sound of protest when they swiftly move on from that, but Joan ignores him completely. “So wait, were they trying to capture David, or some random asshole waving a sword?”

David shakes his head. “They knew who I was.”

“Well, f**k. You think they just caught a glimpse of you, decided to cash in on that bounty?”