The Queen's Champion

Chapter 14

David continues to bang on the workshop door, trying not to be too obnoxiously loud. Other people are trying to sleep, after all. He shifts his cane, necessary because he tried getting out of bed and practically doubled over at the intense pain in his back, to his other hand and resumes banging again.

The metal door slides up, revealing a very sleepy Jerome still dressed in a nightshirt and pajama pants. He blinks, seemingly confused by David’s existence on his proverbial doorstep.

“David, what the f**k?” he says. “What time is it?”

David ignores him, ducking down under the door and into the shop. “Where are the dossiers?”

Jerome just watches as David hobbles to one of his filing cabinets, pulling out drawers at random. Screws in this one. Wires in the next-no papers. He knows they keep them in here.

“The files,” he repeats, not looking up. “Where are they?”

Jerome finally seems to hear and turns to pull the door down. His face flickers in the dim light, walking towards David with a pinched expression. “Are you...okay, David?”

He nods absentmindedly. “I’m fine. I just remembered...do you know who the Chief Alchemist is?”

“No?” Jerome blinks. “Isn’t...wouldn’t that be the Royal Physician?”

“Can’t be. Montgomery was hanged after the coup, and Galia says Kaldwin hasn’t instilled a new one.” Poor Montgomery.

“I guess witches never get sick,” Jerome muses, tapping his chin. After David nearly breaks one of his drawers shoving it back in, Jerome walks over and gently guides him away. “In the back. Safe with the blue paint on it.”

He’d seen Jerome’s collection of safes before while snooping. A half dozen of them, stacked neatly in one of the back rooms, all labeled with a streak of paint across the doors. He still has to act surprised though, so David makes a joke about him robbing a safe shop while Jerome cracks the blue safe open.

“Why do you need these?” Jerome hands the folders over, squinting his eyes in either confusion or tiredness. Probably both. “What’s up with the Chief Alchemist?”

“Just remembered something. Rothwild said it, about Gardenia talking to the Chief Alchemist.” David takes the papers back into the main room, where the light is marginally better. “They’d know which Ashworth it is.”

He sets the papers down and starts flipping through them, eyes scanning over translations and notes and whatever the f**k else some of this s**t is. Galia’s been adding to the intelligence, reports from her own spies and swiped notes from government officials. The letters run together, and David has to blink to get them to go straight again.

“Maybe it’s Sokolov.” Jerome muses. “I mean, I know he’s probably dead, but nobody really knows.”

“Hmph.” f**k, he hopes not. Basically another dead end. Sokolov would be harder to find than Ashworth. If the old bat was even alive.

David has a weird feeling about the Sokolov thing in general. The fact that he disappeared on the same day Sabrina died, then showed up in his dream...all evidence pointed to him being dead, but that didn’t seem right either.

Maybe he was stuck in between, like Sabrina is now. Maybe there’s some poor Academy asshole holding his grumpy spirit, trapped in a paintbrush or something.

“David?” Jerome’s fingers at his temple. “Did you sleep?”

He leans away. “I can sleep with I’m dead.”

“That’s going to be sooner than expected if, you know, you don’t get any.”

“I’m fine.” This revelation held an answer for him. He just felt it. He couldn’t stop to rest now, when he’s so close to a breakthrough.

“No. You’re not.” Jerome pries the papers from his fingers. “Your hands are shaking. When was the last time you slept through the night?”

It’s been months since the last time he’s been able to sleep in a stretch of more than two or three hours at a time. Before Sabrina was-before he went on his trip, even. David never found the rocking of ships calming in the slightest. Even before that, anxiety had colored his dreams and worry roused him on a consistent basis, thinking about his job and fearing for his Empress’s life. The last time he truly rested, that was when they were homeless.

His sleep last night wasn’t great. And he didn’t sleep at all the night before-couldn’t, with his spine on f*****g fire.

Jerome pushes him out of his chair. “Go. Crash in my bed for a spell. I’ll go through this shit.”

David shakes his head. “Don’t you need to be up in a few hours to pick flowers or something?” He can’t remember exactly what Anthony had said now, but Jerome just shakes his head.

“I can catch some sleep after that.”

“I-”

“Go, David.” Jerome starts spreading out papers. “You can take over for me in the morning.”

David stands there for a minute longer before turning on his heel, grumbling. He hopes the sound of his nightmares bothers Jerome. He wishes he no longer needed to sleep.

‘Why am I so cold?’ Sabrina’s voice echoes through the thin air. He stops short.

She’s cold.

Here he is, whining about having to sleep. Sabrina never gets to. Sabrina is always tired, always lost, always freezing cold and David can’t do a thing about it.

Sabrina first came to him covered in snow, soaked to the bone and teeth chattering so hard she sounded like rattling chains. He’d met her earlier in the day and offered her a warm place to wait out the oncoming blizzard, and she hadn’t taken him up on it until it was clear she’d succumb to the cold if she didn’t find shelter. Hands blue, lips purple, eyes that kept drooping closed until David slapped her and yelled at her to stay awake. He hadn’t known her name then. Wrapped her in his coat, put his own boots on her feet to warm her up. The exposure landed her with a terrible fever, but she was alive after it all. Lived for another eleven years.

“You’re cold?” he whispers, letting the Talisman form. “I don’t have a remedy for that. Sorry.”

She thrums in his hands, but says nothing more.

Now there’s nothing he can do for her. She’s freezing because it’s the Month of Ice, because she’s trapped in a tomb of stone that would never truly warm, would still retain a bit of chill even if the sun beat down on it directly, which it will never do. Because he allowed her heart to stop and her blood has run cold. He can’t help her now.

But David still tucks the Talisman into the shitty wool coat he’s wearing, presses it close to his heart and draws the coat tight as he lies down on Jerome’s hard cot. He knows the Talisman disappears when he’s not thinking about it, that she can’t really feel it, but…

Still.

Something patters against the roof, and she looks up curiously. Then Sabrina gasps and jumps to her feet.

“It’s raining!”

She runs to the window and drops to her knees, peering up to the rain streaking down the windowpane. David rolls his eyes. He doesn’t understand her obsession with the rain. He’s been stuck outside in too many rainstorms, soaked and freezing his ass off, to appreciate them. And he hates thunder. But Sabrina would run outside and stand under the water until it let up, if she didn’t know David would immediately yell at her to get her ass back inside.

Maybe, on some level, it reminds Sabrina of the seas she seems to love so much. But f**k, she’ll get sick if she keeps doing it. And that thought makes his stomach twist and his frown deepen.

He hasn’t known Sabrina that long, but he already can’t stand the thought of losing her. Of her getting hurt, or being taken away. Or...fuck no, he can’t imagine her dead. He can’t even remember what the hell he was doing with his life before he met her. What could have been worth it. He can’t return to that. And he can’t let something happen to her. He’d rather die.

He likes Sabrina. It’s weird. David is a loner and he’s always preferred his hobo-solo lifestyle. Kids are not compatible with that, least of all Sabrina. She’s brash and rude and has a temper like no other, and he loathes every night he has to go out to the black market or on jobs and leave her alone. She can take care of herself, but David likes staying in with her. He looks forward to seeing her when his work is done.

He can’t regret letting her stay with him. Even though she’s mouthy and annoying and expensive, he can’t bring himself to resent any of it. But taking care of her has awakened some dormant part of him that he could live without. Worry.

It’s not the nail-biting, window-watching kind of worry he’s associated with the feeling, but nervousness. Disturbed sleep, pacing, an unsettled, restless kind of anxiety that colors his thoughts now. He can’t shake the worries from his head, can’t stop pouring over them.

What if Sabrina does get sick? He got lucky last time, was able to stay in that abandoned store for two weeks, so he had a place to park her for the few days she was bed-bound. (or floor-bound, he doesn’t think she’s ever had a bed) He doesn’t know when he’ll need to move on from here. And he can deal with the lack of income from her pick-pocketing, but what if he needs to stay with her, take care of her? What if she needs medicine? A doctor?

What if he’s arrested, and she’s left alone? Would she go right back to starving? What if someone questions why she’s with him? He has no claim to Sabrina. She could easily be taken away from him, lawfully, sent to the orphanage or the mines, back to her mother. Still end up in the mines, then. Or the brothels. Or just dead in a ditch with all her clothes missing.

What if someone else approached her? Someone like David, but with less altruistic intentions?

The thought makes him purse his lips together.

David’s seen what monsters people can be, what they can do to children in the name of greed. He knows how they’d manipulate her. Give her food, presents, a place to sleep. Act like they cared. They’d win over her trust only to betray it. That’s what happened to him, but he got lucky. He was trained, used as a weapon. Most kids like him and her, they were tools. Cannon fodder. Pickpockets and thugs, whores in the shitty brothels that paid the Watch to look the other way.

People like that, they preyed on the trust children gave so eagerly. But it’s not in Sabrina’s nature to be trustful, and he knows that on some level, she still expects him to turn out that way.

She’s still afraid of him. That’s wearing away, each and every day, but he sees the apprehension in her eyes when he tells her to come over to him, the relief in her face when he comes back from wherever his work had taken him, the way she stiffens up and stares at him with big eyes whenever she drops something. He wants her to trust him. But he also thinks he wouldn’t trust him either, and Sabrina is probably better off, smarter off not trusting anyone who could hurt her.

Though David wouldn’t. He won’t. This is the first thing in years that’s made him smile and he’s determined not to f**k it up.

When he sees Sabrina, when he sees her smile and by the Void, when he feeds her? He loves giving her food. Loves watching her gobble it up, inhale it so fast it barely touches her tongue. He still saves for her the sweet tarts and the richest cuts of meat, because it’s better watching it pass her lips than tasting it himself. Sabrina was so skinny when he met her that he could count every one of her ribs, her joints bulging out and exhaustion in her eyes. Defeat.

Watching her eat, watching the food he gave her transform into fat and muscle that padded her bones, it was cathartic. It dug within him a sort of pleasure at the root of his stomach, the pleasure in filling hers.

Sabrina looks better now. She smiles more. And when he sees her smile, with that slight snaggletooth of hers, and when those smiles are directed at him? He feels invincible then.

But with the food he gave her came changes. She’s already getting taller. Her hair has stopped falling out, and her eyes don’t look so sunken in anymore. Her face is changing, maturing. And some of those extra calories he’s slipped her have gone to her chest: they’re small, but Sabrina undeniably has breasts now.

David doesn’t care. He likes that she looks healthier, that her body is no longer stunted by malnutrition. He could care less about the rest. She still has that smile, and she’s still cuter than s**t.

But David’s not the only one who’s noticed. Sabrina is used to being invisible on the streets, keeping her head down and weaving through crowds like a ghost. So she’s unused to looking out for it, to noticing how men have started staring at her. How they sometimes look at her face funny, like they’re trying to place where they know her, but also how their eyes sometimes drift down and linger on her chest. How they sometimes leer and even lick their lips.

David notices. He glares, hovers near her where the men will certainly notice him. Puffs himself up to make him look wider, more menacing, makes sure to show off the scarred side of his face and flash his gun or his knife. They always scurry away then, after realizing Sabrina’s not alone, and she goes on with her business none the wiser. Like she should be able to.

People will try to hurt her, take from her what she won’t give freely. She’s smart enough to avoid being lured in with candies and sweet drinks, but that’s only half the process. The other half is what David is for.

He’ll stand between her and the f*****g Void. Gladly. He’d weather it all if it meant Sabrina didn’t have to.

But he can’t protect her from everything. And if something happens to David, if they’re separated or he gets arrested or ends up dead in an alleyway, she’d be back where she started.

Sabrina’s gaining weight, getting bigger, but she’s still tiny. Short and skinny and weighs so little David could probably toss her around with one arm. Any adult could easily overpower her. She would never take the bait offered to her in the form of hard candies and cake, but someone could throw her over their shoulder and be off with her just as easily. The bribes are just a formality, a way to avoid causing a scene and the first step of breaking someone’s will.

David’s given her food and shelter, medicine when she was sick. New boots and a coat and fixed the holes in her existing clothes because she’s even more hopeless than he is with a needle. He’s started teaching her how to read, after she admitted she didn’t know how. He gives it all freely. He likes giving her things.

But it doesn’t seem like enough. She deserves more. David doesn’t want it to be all for naught if- when something happens to him.

“Sabrina?” he says softly, getting to his feet.

“Yeah?” She doesn’t turn away from the window.

He creeps up behind her, his footsteps light. David bites his lip before he leans over her. “Show me, what would you do if someone grabbed you like this?”

With that, he wraps both his arms around her midsection, pinning her elbows to her side and lifting her off her feet.

Sabrina immediately starts squirming. “David!” she yells, kicking her feet. “Put me down!”

“Show me how you’d get away.”

“No! Let me go!”

“If someone else did this, Sabrina, they wouldn’t let go just because you asked. You’d have to fight for it.”

Sabrina twists in place, kicking her feet wildly in the air. But she accomplishes nothing but tiring herself, and she soon stops short. Frozen in place. Shaking.

David feels guilty for doing this to her, and worries that he’s undone some of the fragile trust they’ve worked so hard to build. But she can hate him all she wants. This just might save her life.

“Sabrina,” he whispers, leaning in so his mouth nearly brushes against her ear. She flinches, her eyes squeezed shut, and some of her hair gets in David’s mouth but he continues anyway. “Sabrina, I am not going to hurt you. I’m going to show you how to make someone drop you if they have you in a hold like this.”

She doesn’t open her eyes, but Sabrina nods.

“Good. Make a fist with your hand-doesn’t matter which one.” She knows how to make a fist without breaking her thumb, at least. One thing he won’t have to show her. “You’ll want to bring your fist down on the groin. Use your arm as a lever. There you go.”

Sabrina performs the motion so gently he barely feels it, but he drops her anyway. She scrambles away, wrapping her arms around her midsection and looking anywhere but him.

“Are you okay?” he asks. When Sabrina doesn’t respond, he stands up straight and sticks his chest out. “You can give me one punch for that. A real one.”

“Seriously?” But there’s the ghost of a smile on her lips, and she lands a half-hearted punch into his stomach. It hurts, but only a little.

“Yeah. Seriously.” He rubs the spot on his belly. He deserved that. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Well, like, warn me next time!”

“I will.” David places a hand on her shoulder, eyes cast off to the side. “Sabrina, we need to talk.”

She freezes, leaning away from him with her eyes wide as dinner plates. “Are you kicking me out?”

“No, for the last time. Put that idea out of your head.”

He doesn’t even own this shithole they’re sleeping in. She has just as much right to it as him.

“I want to talk to you about fighting,” he starts slowly. “About fighting back when people try to hurt you.”

“I’m good at fighting back.” Sabrina puffs up her chest.

David smiles a bit, ruffles her hair. She makes a face that’s probably meant to be interpreted as threatening, though to David it’s just adorable as hell. “You’re good at throwing punches, I’ll give you that. But you can’t punch your way out of every situation.”

“Why not? Been working for me so far.”

It really hasn’t. Her agility and her sprinting ability has been her saving grace. But she can’t just rely on not getting caught.

“Sabrina,” he starts. “All I had to do was grab you from behind and you couldn’t punch me. I could have done anything I wanted with you from there. And you’d just have to accept it.”

She’s quiet. David takes a knee, looking up at her.

“I want you to be able to protect yourself.”

“I can!” she shrieks. “I’m tough!”

He bites down his chuckle. “Yes, you are.” He refrains from patting her head again, though he really wants to. “But you have to be more than just strong. Especially for you.”

“Why?” She huffs. “Because I’m a girl?!”

“Yes.” David grits his teeth. Sabrina goes silent, not expecting that answer. David moves his other hand to her shoulder. “Sabrina, being a woman doesn’t make you weaker. But it makes you a target.”

She’s silent for a long moment, but then she nods. “Yeah, okay. That makes sense.”

“Good, because there’s a lot I want to show you.” David stands up.

“Are you gonna teach me how to use your sword?” There, the sparkle in Sabrina’s eyes. The smile.

David laughs and ruffles her hair. “Not right away, but sure.”

“Boo.”

“You remember what I told you about reading, how we have building blocks of knowledge? Fighting’s kind of like that. You need to know some basics before you start building on it.” She still looks a little disappointed, so David leans in close. “I’ll show you how to shoot too, if you do well.”

That makes her grin.

“So can we start now?” She practically bounces. “Can you teach me that Tyvian chokehold first?”

“Uh, actually, dinner’s about ready. So after we eat.”

David rubs sleep from his eye as he steps out of from the storeroom Jerome’s claimed as his bedroom. The Dressmaker is already seated at the table, sipping tea and looking up at David in befuddlement.

“Morning,” David yawns.

“Um, good morning.” The Dressmaker frowns. “May I ask, why are you-”

“He came to me at f**k o’clock in the morning and I made him go back to sleep.” Jerome’s voice comes from another area of his workshop, behind a chalkboard and various bits of furniture. “Don’t go getting ideas.”

Right. This probably looked...suggestive.

“I was going to say,” the Dressmaker says, as Jerome walks back into view with a pot of coffee in hand. “Neither of you seemed...you know…”

“No offense to David, but he’s not my type.” Jerome pours himself a cup and sets the hot pot down on the scarred table. “Help yourself, David. Cups are on the green shelf.”

“Do you always color-code your s**t?” David grumbles, reaching for one.

Coffee in hand, David sits and tries to figure out where to put his cup down without getting any papers wet. Jerome clears his throat.

“Okay, so I looked through everything to see if there was mention of alchemists, but there’s nothing. Zilch. Nada. But,” he jitters, drumming his fingers along the table. “I remembered the Academy alchemists were charged with creating a cure, and someone has to be in charge! Perhaps a chiefly someone?”

“I think you’ve had too much coffee,” David grunts, sipping his own. Jerome nods excitedly.

“This is my fourth pot!”

“He’ll crash in another twenty minutes, don’t worry.” The Dressmaker sips from his teacup. “He’s been on and off for the last hour.”

“So these alchemists,” David says. “Do we have any names? Any ideas who the head of the department could be?”

“Unfortunately, no.” The Dressmaker shakes his head. David holds back the groan that wells up in the back of his throat.

“Couldn’t you ask your niece who the Chief Alchemist is?” David turns in his seat. “Wouldn’t she know?”

“Perhaps.” The Dressmaker stares at the table. “Likely, it would be whoever the head of the Department of Medicine is currently, but I have no idea who that is.”

“How do you not know? Isn’t your niece studying medicine?”

The Dressmaker pauses for another drink. “The Lady Regent has virtually isolated the Academy from the outside world. To allow them to focus on the cure progress, and to keep them from contracting the disease themselves.”

Well, that makes sense, as much as David hates to admit it. The researchers and students of the Academy are really the best hope for finding a cure for the plague before it kills everyone in Dunwall. If they fell to it themselves, there would be no hope left for the rest of them.

He doesn’t remember how Sabrina had dealt with the Academy. She was really hoping David would come back with better news. If it were a different situation, he’d have warned her against putting all her eggs in one basket, but he knew she didn’t do it willingly. She was running out of options, and she knew it.

“So you haven’t actually spoken to your niece lately,” David says slowly.

The Dressmaker shakes his head. “Not since...well before the Empress was assassinated, I’m afraid. We were-”

There’s the sound of babbling outside the shop, wafting in from the open doorway. The Dressmaker glances over, then whips his head back and jumps to his feet.

“What the f**k?” he exclaims before rushing outside. David blinks and stares after him.

“Um, is that legal?” Jerome leans forward, eyes darting between David and the Dressmaker’s retreating form. “Like, is he legally allowed to say that?”

But then the Dressmaker turns and David sees the reason for his outburst. Rose is standing in the hallway, her pregnant belly on full display.

“Oh.” David sips his coffee. “He didn’t know.”

Jerome does a double-take. “What the hell? She was born, like, five minutes ago!” He looks to David. “You knew?”

“Anthony figured it out. Don’t bug her about it. It...wasn’t her fault.”

“I...see.” Jerome taps his fingers against the table, staring off into the distance. “You know who the baby daddy is?”

David shakes his head. “She wouldn’t tell me. Probably because she knew I’d kill him if she did.”

“Rightfully so. Void…” Jerome scoffs, looking away. “Ugh. Who does that? How old even is she, for real?”

David sips. “Sixteen.”

“Seriously? I thought she was like...twelve…”

He must have a pretty quizzical look on his face, because Jerome raises his hands before he can respond. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m not that smart.”

David pushes himself up as Jerome goes to collect his coat and whatever else Jeromes bring on flower-gathering trips. The Dressmaker is still talking to Rose in hushed tones, hand on her cheek and his face shadowed. Rose just continues to smile sheepishly.

Anthony is sitting on a bench nearby, talking animatedly with Reed. He stops short when David looks their way, his smile falling off his face like all the leaves on the trees.

“David. Hey.” Anthony presses his lips together. His eyes flick up to the store sign over Jerome’s workshop, and under normal circumstances David might justify why he spent the night at Jerome’s, but he just does not feel up to it right now.

“Boys.” David nods. Reed stares up at him blankly and practically shrinks into Anthony.

He turns his back to them. Walks back to Rose, ruffles her dreadlocks to the best of his ability. “Good to see you on your feet again. How are you feeling?”

“About as good as expected,” Rose shrugs. “Had to find a new wardrobe. Couldn’t hide the bump much longer anyway.”

“You look nice. I didn’t know they stocked maternity clothes anywhere in here.” This was an upper-class shopping district, and it was mainly the wealthy who bought tailored maternity wear. The lower classes either wore larger-sized clothing or let out the seams in their existing clothes. But that wasn’t the type of thing rich shoppers would often buy out on excursions.

But Rose shakes her head. “They don’t. This is a man’s shirt.” She runs her fingers under the suspenders holding her skirt up. “And this is about five sizes too big for me.”

“Then why are you wearing it, then?” David asks. “We have...you know, pants.” He doesn’t even know where she found a skirt. Nobody wore skirts now, except for the most formal occasions.

Rose snaps the suspenders against her shirt. “Can’t!” she says brightly, and pulls her skirt and petticoats up. “I like to call it the torture device. Trimble’s making me wear it until I can get my stitches taken out, and there’s no way to get pants over it.” She drops the fabric and covers the thick, immovable cast covering her thigh, fluffing her skirts a bit. “Now I feel like this baby will come flying out of me if I sneeze too hard.”

David stares at her legs. “Won’t you be cold?” It was the Month of Ice, after all, and while Rose is wearing boots that lace up to her knees and socks that cover even more, he’d imagine she still felt the breeze...higher.

Rose shrugs. “The cold never bothered me. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, little minions!” Jerome announces brightly, exiting his store. “Hoods up! No one’s usually out at the ass-crack of dawn, but at least one of you is being hunted down by the Watch.”

“You can say it’s me, Jerome, we all know it.” Anthony sighs and pulls his hood over his head.

David forces his nerves to quell as he sits back at the table. They wouldn’t be venturing far from their stronghold-half a block away, at most. With someone armed. If he couldn’t stomach that, how was he going to deal with the decades ahead of guarding the Emperor of the Isles without driving them both mad?

“I can try smuggling another letter to Alex.” The Dressmaker’s soft voice breaks him out of his thoughts. He doesn’t look at David, scribbling on a piece of paper, bifocals pushed up his nose. “But I can’t promise she’ll receive it-or be able to send a reply.”

“They’re blocking mail too?” He supposes he can see the logic in that-nobody was quite sure how the plague was transmitted yet, so germs carried in on a parcel certainly wasn’t ruled out. But the same could be said for their food deliveries, or any of the supplies they require at the Academy. And they certainly couldn’t banish the rats.

But the Dressmaker shakes his head to that. “No, it’s...it’s something with Alex, specifically.” He carefully removes his glasses, fingering the edges of the frame. “She’s been...odd, for quite some time now. Avoiding her family, she ended things with this nice fellow she was seeing, classmate of hers...even when I did see her, she just seemed exhausted, and she had trouble remembering things.”

“Sounds like burnout.” David sips his now luke-warm coffee. He’d seen burnout plenty of times, usually on young, ambitious innovators and politicians, eager to prove their worth and save the world. Nobody could do that alone. He’d made it one of his duties to keep Sabrina from burning out. Take away her pen and lock her out of her office, forcing her to spend an afternoon training or boat-watching. Or just taking a nap. She never got enough sleep, after she was crowned.

“That’s what I thought to.” The Dressmaker’s hand at his mouth, staring worriedly at the rings in Jerome’s table. “But they...she missed her own mother’s funeral. My sister, she died in the early days of the plague. Her husband sent Alex a letter, but she never got it. She didn’t know her own mother was dead and buried until she came to visit me a month later.”

David watches the coffee stain the interior of his cup. “That’s awful.”

“She felt horrible. I don’t think my nephews ever forgave her.” He shakes his head. “She’d write to me and tell me about this important project she was working on, couldn’t go into detail but she was immensely proud to be selected-this was before Sokolov disappeared, so it wasn’t a cure.” The Dressmaker sighs, tracing one of the rings with his finger. “I received a letter, not long after dear Sabrina’s passing, telling me that Alex couldn’t afford distractions. Commanding me not to write her anymore. I’ve paid a few couriers to smuggle notes to her, but I have no idea if she ever received them…”

Well, that was all very...odd.

“Anyway.” The Dressmaker blinks, attempting a smile. “I’ll have another one sent, perhaps I’ll see if Galia knows someone who can sneak it to her, bring a response back...” He rubs at his eye. “And maybe she’ll come clean about whatever is ailing her.”

“I’m sorry,” David says. “You speak very highly of her. You must love her a lot.”

The Dressmaker smiles to himself, softly. “I never had my own kids, doubt I will now, but with my niece and nephews...it was everything I imagined being a father was like.”

‘This heart...such kindness is unparalleled. A gentleness that borders on naivete. A welcome change.’

Sabrina’s voice is like a breeze. Happy, almost. Gentle.

“I suppose the same way it was for you and the Empress.” The Dressmaker is smiling at him now, and David puts the Talisman away out of instinct.

“Oh, uh…”

“I remember her fondly,” the Dressmaker continues. “She was such a delight to work with. I mean, difficult because she never stood still, but it was hard to care when she made us laugh so. Such wit, in such a small package!”

“She was particularly witty,” he says, coughing. Witty wasn’t the term others had used for her. Uncouth, imprudent. David just found her funny. “I appreciate you telling me that.”

“She was so... special. And she loved you like a father.”

“Sabrina had a father,” David says sternly. Not the one she deserved, but better than him. “I know he didn’t act like it, but he was her father.”

“Didn’t act like it?” The Dressmaker blinks. “Are we talking about the same man? Emperor Stark adored her.”

“Always sour with her around,” David mumbles. “Annoyed. Like she wasn’t worth his time.”

“That’s not how I remember things...but I suppose, he was usually that way around you.”

David coughs. “Excuse me?”

The Dressmaker doesn’t seem to react. “He was profoundly uncomfortable with you in the room. Likely because you always glared at him like you wanted his head to spontaneously explode...my assistants mentioned it to me several times.”

“I never did that.”

“I won’t argue with you.” The Dressmaker shrugs. “But I saw it a different way. I’d known the Emperor since his coronation, and I never saw him as happy as he was after he found out he had a daughter. She made his final months bearable.” He chuckles. “He always looked at her with this funny grin on his face, like he could scarcely believe his luck.”

“He thought he was sterile,” David says sourly. “To him, it was lucky that he got one heir out of his ballsack.”

“You’re being quite hard on the man.”

“He was a drunk who left his only child to be abused and starved for thirteen years.” David stares the Dressmaker down. “At that point, the best thing he could have done for Sabrina was leave her alone, let her live her life, and he couldn’t even do that.”

If Sabrina hadn’t been forced to take the throne, she would still be alive. Of that, David has no doubt. He trained her to fight, to survive, and it would have been more than enough on the streets. The crown came with a target, and eventually someone honed in on Sabrina in a way that she had no hope of countering. Of course it was the time David failed her as well.

“This is clearly a touchy subject, so I won’t bother you about it again…” The Dressmaker straightens the pens strewn across the table into neat little rows. “I just...I’ll be honest, I was absolutely terrified of you the first time I met you.”

“You will not believe how many people have said that exact sentence to me.”

“I believe it.” The Dressmaker nods. “We had heard rumors about the new princess, of course, and no one was quite sure what to make of you. They said you were extremely protective. You weren’t Royal Protector yet, so my assistant tried to usher you out so we could do her fitting, and the look you gave her sent her to tears.”

Well, that makes David sound like an asshole and a creep. He’ll own up to being the first one. He...it wasn’t like he watched her change. He kept his back turned while she was indecent.

“You just sort of stood there, angrily,” the Dressmaker continues. “But then Lady Sabrina called your name and...I don’t know how to explain it. You turned to her and your face didn’t change, but your eyes just...sparkled. Just filled with this special sort of kindness and I...I remember thinking she was going to be alright, if she had you looking out for her.”

David is silent. The Dressmaker coughs into his elbow.

“Goodness, I rambled...I’m sorry, I just...thought it might bring you some comfort.”

“Don’t worry.” David doesn’t look up. “It did.”

“Anthony was lovely but, of course, he still is. Sabrina...she was a special woman,” the Dressmaker says, getting to his feet. “The world is worse off for her absence.”

It really is. The Dressmaker turns to leave, and David holds his hand up. “Wait. I...” he trails off, unsure of how to really initiate the question. “Emperor Stark...gave you a lock of Sabrina’s hair once. Do you still have it?”

At this, creases break out around the Dressmaker’s face, hands dancing around each other and eyes looking everywhere except David. “No, I do not...and I’m loathe to disclose the reason why.”

David just stares. Leaves no room for argument. Finally, the Dressmaker sighs and sits back down.

“This is quite the long story…”

David has f**k-all to do besides pour over intelligence reports and rip his hair out.

“So when I was still able to work the needle, I had many clients among the nobles,” the Dressmaker leads in. “The Ramseys, the Brigmores, I knew Lady Lydia and her sisters as children. I also worked for the Kaldwins.”

That makes David lean in closer.

“Lady Delilah,” the Dressmaker says. “And sweet, sweet Catriona. Did you know her?”

“I may have met her once,” David mumbles.

“Lovely woman. Kind soul and a true beauty...I considered her one of my friends. Her life was cut short far too early.” He taps the tips of his fingers together. “Delilah, however, I fell out of contact with. She was the troublemaker, always running off...I think she personally took five years off their father’s life, with her worrying him so.”

Sounds fitting.

“She came to me, maybe a year ago.” And the Dressmaker’s eyes are far off, somewhere else. “Such a surprise to see her, all grown up. So serious...she was so charming as a child. I thought it was a cordial visit at first, but it turned... frightening.”

“What happened?” David’s voice is raspy, impatient.

The Dressmaker raises his hands, motioning around his head. “She made... things come out of the shadows. Long and grasping, I can...still feel the cold on my neck.” He shakes his head. “I sound mad, don’t I?”

“No.” David’s seen much madder things. “You know she’s a witch.”

“I know that now.” The Dressmaker nods. “At the time, I wondered if I was going insane. She...interrogated me, that’s the only word for it. Then she left me propped in the corner like a bolt of cloth. I couldn’t move for three nights, while she made these...horrid markings.”

“Markings?”

“I can’t explain them...just imagining them gives me chills.” The Dressmaker shakes his head. “She rooted through my drawers, and I told her where my valuables were...she never touched my safe. Instead, she stole my lock of hair from sweet Lady Sabrina.”

“I see.” David runs his finger over the grainy wood. “Is that all she stole?”

“Well, that, and a barrette that had belonged to her departed sister.” The Dressmaker shrugs. “Though I would have given it to her had she merely asked...Catriona had left it behind while visiting me, a few weeks before her death. I planned to give it back to her when I saw her again, but…” He shakes his head. “In my grief, I had forgotten about it, or else I would have returned it to the family...but once I found it again, time had passed and I felt it would be cruel to bring up. She was the same age as Sabrina was...always be that age, now. Lovely Sabrina, beautiful Catriona... damn that Stefan.”

The name send shocks up David’s spine. Stefan, Stefan. He’s heard that name before.

“These drawings,” David leads in, trying to suppress the uneasiness instilled in him by the name. He’d think on it later, but he can’t afford to be consumed by anxiety right now.

The Dressmaker, however, just shudders. “No, I refuse to speak one more word about them. You’ll just have to see them for yourself.” He begins scribbling on a sheet of paper.

“You never erased them?”

“I wasn’t going to touch them, evil things. I fled my home and stayed with my brother-in-law, when he was alive...I met Jerome and he helped me move most of my possessions out of my old apartment. I couldn’t be in there alone…”

“I understand,” David says, and takes the slip of paper offered to him. “Thank you, for telling me.”

“Thank you for understanding,” the Dressmaker says. “You...I’d do anything for Lady Sabrina, and that’s why I’ve never regretted joining this team. But you and Lord Anthony, you’ve done nothing but reaffirm that my choice was the right one. I wasn’t expecting that from you.” He smiles, not showing his teeth. “So thank you for proving a mad old clothier wrong.”

The air is different inside the Dressmaker’s old apartment. Heavier, and...wrong. Like everything has shifted just off its mark.

He doesn’t know if it’s like this in the rest of the building. David had Blinked straight onto the balcony, walked right in because who locked their balcony door? He hadn’t felt it outside, so probably not. Magic didn’t work like that. It was centered around a singular focal point, spitting out an aura as far as it can reach. Walls and floors did nothing to impede its flow.

‘There is a strange power here. Dormant, but potent.’

Dormant. David pushes down the trepidation and closes the door behind him.

The Dressmaker’s old bedroom is small, a chest of drawers and a double bed with a homely quilt. A book and a now-dry glass left on the nightstand. David roots through the drawers quickly, but it’s only clothes the Dressmaker had apparently deemed unworthy and left behind.

Stepping into the living room is like getting hit in the face with a bucket of water. It’s practically muggy, despite the chill, and there’s a strange smoky scent that makes it harder for David to inhale.

And the markings. Everywhere.

‘I will peel back all the lies and symbols,’ Sabrina says to him. ‘Cracks in the world, formed from the Outsider’s birth. And her own hand.’

She doesn’t elaborate, and when David aims her at one of the drawings, squeezes her tightly, there’s a sound so faint it seems to exist at the edge of his hearing. Like she is sputtering, choking. Nothing to say. And he doesn’t know if Sabrina can feel pain, however she is, but he can’t shake the feeling that he is hurting her.

David lowers his hand, but he keeps Sabrina clutched between his fingers. Just feeling her there makes him feel better. Stronger.

There’s no sign of squatters or looters here, or even pests. The bits of trash and droppings that come with the presence of rats are mysteriously absent, leaving the wooden floors cleaner than practically any other place in Dunwall. Even they’ve sensed something wrong about this place. David steps further in.

The Dressmaker’s living area had ostensibly doubled as his studio, as the room is littered with bolts of cloth and mannequins displaying half-finished projects. A sewing machine covered by a thick layer of dust sits in the corner, underneath a copy of a painting commemorating the Empress’s coronation. After the crown was placed on her head, the orb and sceptre in her hands, standing in front of her throne as whatever noble was in charge of it read her duties out to her.

David steps closer, pressing his lips together. He’s seen this painting before, but infrequently. And not since her passing.

Sabrina had worn a dress the Dressmaker had designed himself, so it would make sense he would have a picture of it. Off-shoulder, dark red with black tulle over the bodice and the train. The intricate embroidery on the skirt had to be rushed to have the dress ready in time for the coronation. Sleeveless. David remembers being annoyed by that, as she had been crowned in the Month of Darkness and David was not permitted to lend her his coat. She had shivered all day.

She had won the battle to let her wear her hair in her mostly-natural state, so her curls were neatly pinned back just enough not to obscure her face. It reached her mid-back then-the Emperor had liked her with long hair, and she had kept it like that for several months after his death. Eyelids painted gold and lips a deep red, rouge applied to her cheeks. They had finally found a foundation that didn’t make her look like she had flour dusted across her face. For so long, David didn’t know why her appearance that day made his so uncomfortable. But when he thinks back, that day was the moment they stopped dressing her like a little girl and more like a woman. Top padded to accentuate her chest rather than obscure it, heels to make her taller, make-up that made her look five years older. Red instead of the pinks and whites she wore as a princess.

But she wasn’t an adult, no matter how much they tried to make her look like one. She was an Empress, but she was also a fourteen-year-old girl who had lost her father a week earlier. The painting makes her face look stoic-bored, even. In reality, her eyes had been so wide he could see the whites all the way around, she had chewed her nails and rubbed most of the fancy polish off, and the reason she was gripping the sceptre closer to the middle than the base was because it had slid down her sweat-slicked palm. Her hands shook so bad she nearly dropped the orb-thing that David never truly understood the purpose of. She hadn’t cried that morning, but was so stiff and silent while the maids dressed her that David wondered if she had managed to faint standing up.

He wasn’t permitted to comfort her. Sabrina later said she didn’t even remember him being present.

He is present in the painting though, one of the men standing behind the Empress, in low detail. David’s role in the ceremony was to step forward and swear to protect the new Empress with his life. He remembers practicing his vow in the mirror, determined not to f**k it up when Sabrina was so nervous about screwing up hers.

She’s beautiful, almost as beautiful as she looked that day. David still hates it. She didn’t look like herself.

But he’s still glad Delilah hadn’t drawn on the picture.

Her drawings cover much of the living room, on the walls and streaked across the floor. Odd circles and eyeballs and harsh angles. A rune burns in the middle of one such drawing, and David plucks it from the wall. He doesn’t know how he hadn’t heard it before. Perhaps that was Delilah’s magic as well, silencing it.

The drawings are chalk, as he finds out, not blood like he had first assumed. They look familiar. David roots through the Dressmaker’s drawers, looking for paper to copy the images down. An old sketchbook, the most recent sketch dated several years back, leaving half the pages blank and ready for his pen.

‘He cannot purge his mind of the memory. He feels as if a cracked mirror, peering through the broken glass. The voices echo in his mind, and before he knew you, he was certain he belonged in an asylum.’

Poor guy.

David flips to a blank page, shakes his head to clear his mind as he copies the symbols down. He’ll have to track down Granny Rags. Ask for a lesson.

He’d seen Jerome and the kids earlier, while Blinking across the canal to the Dressmaker’s old apartment building, and they’re still out now. Anthony is standing at the edge of the canal, arms behind his back and his hands grasping his elbows. Hood down as he watches the water. Smiling.

David has half a mind to Blink down and scold him for not keeping his face hidden, but...the block is deserted. David knows it for a fact. And he’s in no hurry to see that smile on his face disappear.

Jerome and Rose are down the stairs, nearer to the water’s surface. He doesn’t know how many flowers they’ll get from the asphalt, but alright. He spots Reed maybe half a block away, scouring somebody’s front lawn.

David Blinks down behind Anthony, purposely making his footsteps audible as he comes up behind him.

“Hey.”

Anthony turns to acknowledge him, the smile diminishing a bit but not disappearing completely from his face.

“Hi.” He turns back to the canal.

David lights a cigarette and leans against a bit of railing a few feet away, so not to bother Anthony with his smoke-doesn’t lean too hard, as about half the railing around the canal has toppled over and this section looks like it’s still making up its mind about doing so.

“Got tired of picking flowers?” David asks. Anthony shakes his head.

“I’m just taking a break. I’m...not much help anyway.”

Right. One working hand. And it wasn’t like Anthony was used to working in the dirt anyway.

They’re silent for a moment. David smokes. Anthony watches the canal. Below them, Jerome laughs at something Rose says. David turns to check on Reed, but he’s still happily plucking away, filling his bucket.

Anthony speaks without tearing his eyes from the canal. He’s not smiling anymore.

“Why won’t you tell me what happened to you in Coldridge?”

David sighs and taps his ash. “Anthony-”

“I want an answer.” Anthony turns to him. “You don’t tell me anything anymore. I don’t keep secrets from you, so I really don’t think this is fair.”

He’s right. It isn’t fair. But David will never tell him that.

“I don’t want you thinking about me that way,” he admits.

“David.” Anthony’s eyes are wide with pity, and that just makes the rock in David’s gut harder. “All I think is how happy I am that you’re alive.”

Anthony says he didn’t believe Delilah and her cronies, when they told him David was dead. He’d constructed a fantasy explanation for everything, one where the coup failed and Sabrina was still Empress, where Delilah was lying to him about everything that had happened. Where Anthony was the sole casualty and there’d be a team of guards busting down Timsh’s door any moment, ready to spirit him back home where everything was okay. But still. There had to be a part of him that doubted himself. A part that believed David was dead and that Anthony was truly alone for six months.

He understands why Anthony preferred the fantasy. David sometimes wishes he could have had one too. But David’s never been good at lying to himself. And he saw her afterwards. He knew she couldn’t survive.

David stares at the still water, tries to commit the way the sunlight reflects off the surface to memory. “You don’t need to know.”

“I do. Let me in,” Anthony pleads. “If you don’t want to talk about it, at least let Joan tell me.”

“Joan doesn’t know anything either,” David mumbles.

“David, you’re the closest thing I have to family,” Anthony says, biting his lip. “And that’s never changed. It never will change. But you’ve changed. I want to know why, and I’ve been imagining…” Anthony shakes his head. “Just tell me the reality, so I can stop imagining worse ones. Please, David. I think you need to talk about it too.”

‘He clings to childish things, wishing back the security they gave him before. But they bring him only brief comfort.’

David keeps his eyes on the water. Smokes the last of his cigarette. Flicks the butt into the water and pushes himself away from the railing.

“Anthony,” he says, turning to face him. “Worry about your studies. Worry about what you’re going to do once you’re on the throne. Worry about all the bullshit you’re going to have to deal with then. Don’t worry about Coldridge.” David places a hand on Anthony’s shoulder and Anthony stares at it, tired. “And do not worry about me.”

Anthony doesn’t say anything. Then there’s the sound of footsteps behind them, Reed holding a bucket of flowers.

“Hi Mr. David,” Reed says through his bangs.

“Hey, kid.” David shoves his hands in his pockets. “What you got there?”

He raises his bucket. “Pansies.”

“We’re supposed to be looking for oxrush, Reed, remember?” Anthony lowers himself to the ground and dangles his legs off the side of the wall.

“But Jerome said the water swallowed them all up! I-I tried to look, but I thought-”

“Reed. It’s fine.” Anthony shakes his head. “Come over here. Show me how you do those daisy chains.”

“Okay, but these aren’t daisies…”

David hovers back a bit as Reed shows Anthony how to move his fingers to manipulate the stem of a purple pansy. The block is still deserted-Void Gaze picks up nothing, and even David’s advanced hearing can’t detect anything other than the five of them. And the rats.

“Mr. Jerome was really upset when he saw the water, Mr. David.” Reed’s started braiding flowers of pink and white into Anthony’s hair now, not even looking up at him. “Said it killed all the oxrush.”

David blinks. “Oh. Well, there will be more flowers. You found plenty.”

Reed nods, selecting a white pansy from his bucket. “I wasn’t mad. There was so much garbage down there. Now you can’t see any of it.”

“It’s still there, though,” Anthony mumbles. “There’s so much trash in the Wrenhaven…”

“But the river flows into the ocean though, right?” Reed says, plucking up another pink flower. “So it’ll all disappear. Like Empress Sabrina’s body.” David chokes. Reed turns his face back up to him, eyes wide and blank. “Is that why you turned the water back on, Mr. David? So you had a place to hide your bodies?”

David’s tongue sticks to the top of his mouth. Anthony turns as much as he’s able to, with Reed holding onto his hair. “No, there’s...why would you say that?”

Reed shrugs. “I heard David killed lots of people. Where is he putting them all?” He starts weaving in another flower. “You should kill Gerald next, Mr. David. He’s mean to my sister.”

“We don’t hurt our friends, Reed,” David says.

“Gerald isn’t my friend.”

“He’s our ally,” Anthony lectures. “All of us here, we’re allies. That means we’re in this together, even if we don’t like each other very much. So we don’t fight...we don’t hurt each other, and we certainly don’t kill our allies.”

“I saw Edgar push Galia into the wall the other day.” Reed blinks. “And she pushed him back. They were fighting.”

“They shouldn’t have been doing that either…”

‘Poor Reed,’ Sabrina sympathizes. ‘His childhood is lost.’

“So why don’t you make them stop?” Reed ties in another flower, though Anthony’s own hands have stopped their work. “Aren’t you the Emperor?”

“Not yet. And that’s not the kind of thing I’d have control over.”

“Why? You should have all the mean people thrown into the ocean.”

Anthony doesn’t say anything to that. David tries to intercede.

“Emperors are supposed to love their subjects. They don’t do that sort of thing, Reed.”

“Why not?” Reed doesn’t even halt in his flower-braiding. “That’s what mother said she did to my pa.” He shrugs. “But she also said she fed him to the pigs, so I dunno what the truth is.”

David’s saved from having to answer when Jerome greets him, helping Rose up the last step.

“How’s the oxrush search coming?” David says quickly, turning away from the boys.

Jerome makes a face. “Horrible. Oxrush grows best in muddy soil, so the canal was absolutely perfect before. Now I guess I’ll have to row out to the shore.”

“Because David drowned all the flowers!” Reed says excitedly. David looks down.

“I mean, the riverbed would have dried out soon anyway…” Jerome muses. “I just got spoiled, with it all being right here. I’ll have to go out by myself, though, it’s too dangerous for you sprouts at the riverfront.”

“You giving Anthony a new hairstyle?” Rose lightly pokes the petals on a light pink pansy. Anthony laughs uncomfortably.

“Who needs the Imperial crown when I have a flower one, right?”

“You need a royal color then! Reed, do you have more purples?”

Reed nods and starts digging through his bucket, then frowns as he pulls out a yellow flower. “I thought I squashed all of these.”

Anthony reaches out to take it. “It’s okay, we can-”

“No. I hate the yellow ones.” Reed throws it to the ground and picks up a nearby rock. Then he starts beating the flower against the asphalt, until the mangled petals fall off and all that’s left is a crooked, sad stem.

Due to having stitches in her thigh and currently carrying around an extra dozen or so pounds of baby-related weight, Rose is given a reprieve from her chores. Anthony invites her to sit at their table for breakfast.

She doesn’t comment on her brother’s behavior. David doesn’t know if he should push it.

The left side of Lydia’s face is a swollen, black-stitched mess and she winces whenever she smiles, but she’s lucky. Their assailant barely sunk their claws into her.

“I missed the meeting with my sisters,” Lydia says with a sigh, while David is nursing his coffee and Anthony and Rose are getting food. “I’m fine with not seeing them, truly, but I do miss my niece. And I was supposed to ask them about the Ashworth siblings.”

“Jerome and I think we have a lead,” David says, biting his lip. “We might know someone who works with them.”

“Really? Who?”

“The Chief Alchemist, whoever that is.” David tears his heel of bread apart.

“Can’t say I know.”

“We can’t figure it out either. The Dressmaker’s looking into it.”

The kids return at that moment with their plates in hand, and Anthony jumps to pull out the chair for Rose and helps her down.

“I feel very pampered. Having the Emperor mother-hen me.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m pregnant, not infirm.”

“You also have a gaping wound on your leg,” David points out.

Anthony playfully smacks her on the arm. “Just calm down and let people take care of you for a few days. We just want you to get better.”

She grumbles a bit under her breath, but begins eating without complaint.

“Anyway, what were we talking about?” Anthony asks, scooting his chair in.

Lydia sets her teacup down. “I was just talking about missing my dress fitting with my sisters. I won’t see them until the ball now.”

“Right. The Masquerade Ball is...soon,” Anthony says, looking at his lap. “You’re still going to it.”

“I must. It wouldn’t be complete, with only two sisters.”

“Hmm. Well, I hope you have fun.” Anthony frowns, digging into his own breakfast.

David is half-tempted to kick him and nip this teenage angst-fest before it begins, but the other half of him completely understands why Anthony is bitter.

Anthony wouldn’t be able to attend this year in any case, due to being presumed kidnapped and the like, as well as being underaged. He would receive an invitation next year, at eighteen-and he still will. But he will be required to decline.

It was a dumb rule, that the Emperor or Empress wasn’t allowed to attend the Boyle Masquerade. After all the f*****g bullshit they dealt with for these assholes, they could at least be allowed to party down with the rest of them. But no. There was never even a good reason given-David firmly believes the only reason the rule existed was because of Sabrina.

The annual Boyle Masquerade started during Sabrina’s father’s rule. Emperor Stark hadn’t liked parties as a whole, would rather get drunk and miserable by his lonesome, and had declined to attend almost every one he wasn’t hosting. Then Sabrina took the throne, and the Boyles couldn’t exactly not invite the Empress. The problem being that the Empress was fourteen years old. So Sabrina received an invitation, but was...strongly encouraged to decline.

Somehow, it became conflated with the idea that the Empress should never attend.

So year after year, even after turning eighteen, Sabrina was presented with the very first invitation to the Boyle Masquerade. And year after year, she got a sad look in her eye, and she ordered one of her assistants to pen her decline and send it back with the courier.

Was it a dumb, immature thing to get upset over? Yes, and Sabrina knew that. Sabrina did like music; she liked to drink. She did not like people. Sabrina did not like parties.

But she hated being told she couldn’t go.

Lydia waves her hand. “Oh, I’m dreading it. The last thing I want to do is spend an evening listening to everyone suck the Lady Regent’s metaphorical...ugh, don’t make me say it.”

“There’s no one you’re looking forward to seeing?” Rose asks. “No friends? Not even your sisters?”

“My niece won’t be there, and frankly, I’m enjoying this little break from my sisters.” She absentmindedly dunks a bit of her bread into her tea. “My friends are mostly Esma’s friends. Suffice to say I don’t exactly get along with many of them.”

“So why are they your friends?” Rose stares at her oddly. “Why not hang out with people that you, you know, like?”

“You clearly don’t understand how it works.”

David certainly doesn’t. He didn’t play nice with people he loathed. He was civil with them for Sabrina’s sake, but he certainly wouldn’t be calling them his friends.

Lydia pops the bread into her mouth and chews thoughtfully, then she lights up. “Oh, I know! You should come with me!”

Rose raises both her eyebrows. “Me? To the Boyle Masquerade?”

“Yes! I’m sure I-or Esma-has something you can wear. You’ll be wearing a mask too, so your mother won’t see you!”

“Isn’t there an age limit?”

“Oh, psh.” Lydia waves her hand. “We can pretend you’re eighteen.”

“I don’t know…”

“It’ll be so much more enjoyable if you were there, Rose,” Lydia practically gushes. “We can both wear black, pretend we’re at the funeral for all our bad ideas.”

They both laugh at that, while Anthony continues to eat sourly. David side-eyes him, and he at least makes the effort to sit up straighter.

Anthony would never be allowed to go now. It would cause a scandal if the Emperor was caught doing the unthinkable, going to a party he was invited to.

But...he didn’t have to go as himself.

David decides that here-in front of Lady Boyle herself-isn’t the best place to tell Anthony that he and Sabrina had crashed the Boyle Masquerade last year. That they had dressed up in red and black and donned wolf masks, Sabrina wearing a scarf and gloves to conceal her skin tone and a wig to hide her distinctive hair.

And he should tell him that the party was beyond boring. All small talk they’d heard a thousand times before, with the occasional troll coming out of the woodwork due to the alcohol and the anonymity, but they were usually convinced to move along before anything interesting happened. The food was alright for fancy rich people food, but it was disheartening to see how much they wasted. Sabrina had said that the wine was decent.

Sabrina and David spent the night whispering to each other and making fun of the other aristocrats, occasionally spilling a drink on someone they didn’t like-on accident, of course-and darting away before they could be caught. They gossiped with the maids a bit, who just seemed happy to be acknowledged. They even danced together, even though David hates dancing and Sabrina had two left feet. But nobody had their eyes on them, so they could muck up their footwork and improvise with silly moves all they wanted. And after Sabrina had a few glasses of wine in her, she was trudging her feet too much to continue stepping on his.

They had fun, but it was the kind of fun they could have had at any other party. Sabrina had thanked him for going along with her stupid plan, and said he never needed to accompany her to another Boyle Masquerade because you couldn’t pay her to go again.

Maybe he could risk that again, for Anthony. Show him he’s not missing anything. Next year.

Joan shows up to breakfast with a black eye and when David catches sight of Edgar across the main hall, he sees purple at his jaw and a swollen lip. Joan drags a chair over and pulls David’s arm off the table to make room. He declines to comment on the state of her face.

“So are we out about that now?” Joan points to Rose’s belly. “Everybody knows?”

Rose finishes chewing and nods. “If they haven’t figured it out by now, I don’t know how to make it any more obvious.”

“You knew?” Lydia raises her brow. Joan rolls her eyes and nods.

“Kinda hard to miss when I was undressing her, so Trimblefuck could fix her leg. What did I say to you, Roselia?”

“You asked if this was an ‘I’m a stupid teenager’ sort of situation,” she supplies.

“-Or the ‘Joan is going to have to kill a man’ kind, right.” She takes a bite out of her breakfast roll. “My offer on that still stands.”

“Between you, Jerome, and David, I think I’m covered, but thanks.”

“So where did you two go off to yesterday?” Lydia asks politely. “You were gone all day.”

“Oh, you know. Hidden orgy in the sewers. The usual.”

“We were training.” David glares at Joan. “Sparring, working on our marksmanship. Thought Galia and Paul could get some use out of it.”

“You must have exhausted them. They haven’t even arrived for breakfast.”

Galia usually skipped breakfast anyway, but Paul’s seat next to Thalia is also absent. Though David supposes Lydia could be right. The physical exertion aside, their heavy use of his magic so quickly after receiving the Bond could have very well caused them to crash. They’re both probably still sleeping it off.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were another leftie!” Anthony nearly claps in excitement.

“Hmm?” Rose blinks, holding her spoon. “Oh, yeah. A lot of twins are, actually. Like, we’re two or three times more likely to be left-handed than normal.”

“You’re a twin too?” Lydia lights up, but then her face falls. “But where’s your sister?”

“Brother,” Rose corrects. “And he’s fine. We have a meeting place planned for when this all blows over.”

Lydia nods to herself. “That’s good. So are you the older or younger twin?”

Rose preens. “Older.”

“Boo. Esma never lets me forget I’m her ‘baby sister’.” Lydia rolls her eyes. “She’s a rightie too. Traitor.” She looks down at the table again. “I didn’t know that about twins being left-handed, though. I wonder why.”

“Maybe because we’re all possessed by the spirit of the Outsider?” Rose can’t stop her laughter. “I mean, the Abbey’s said that about both multiple births and lefties.”

“Yeah, I had governesses try to tie down my hand to force me to use my right.” Anthony laughs, as if it was a funny memory. “I guess taking a knife to my arm is just the latest in the attempts to cure me of my devil left-handedness.”

“That’s such an outdated concept,” Lydia groans. “My mother apparently had a fit when she first saw me use my left hand to draw, but my father set her straight. He wouldn’t have allowed her, or a governess, to do that.”

“The women who did that were instantly fired,” David says, crossing his arms. Without the Emperor’s support, though he doesn’t add that. He was insistent that Anthony learn to write ‘properly’, if he was to be recognized as the brother of the Crown Princess. Sabrina had trolled him for weeks afterwards, using her left hand for all her tasks until the Emperor took notice. He dropped the argument after that. David doesn’t know if the man ever realized that she could use her right hand perfectly well. Sabrina was ambidextrous.

Rose twists and whispers something into Anthony’s ear, who immediately perks up with an ‘oh!’

“Lady Lydia, would it be alright if we postponed lessons for a half hour or so?” Anthony asks, batting his big eyes. David rolls his own.

Lydia finishes chewing before she responds. “I suppose, if you’re willing to work through lunch.”

“That’s fine.” Anthony finishes the last of his breakfast as Rose gets to her feet and starts trying to stack empty plates, which Joan practically bats out of her hand. They all stack their own plates in the middle, even Lydia, who looks rather confused at their actions until David makes to take hers. She lays her own plate on the top, her cheeks tinged with red, and Anthony helps Rose shuffle away from the table, giggling like idiots.

“They’re f*****g adorable,” Joan remarks, once they’re out of eyesight. David nods without really thinking about it.

“They are awfully cute.” Lydia sighs. “It’s a shame they’ll have to be separated once Lord Anthony is on the throne.”

“What do you mean?” Joan stares at her. “Anthony can be friends with whoever he wants.”

“Well, yes, but what will his future wife think?” Lydia waves her hand. “Ladies will already be turned off by a close friendship with another woman…”

“Uh, I don’t think anyone’s going to be turning their noses up at the goddamn Emperor because his best friend’s got a cunt,” Joan snorts. “Rose isn’t one to worry about, anyway.”

“Well, still. It would be a scandal he doesn’t need.” Lydia turns to David. “Has Anthony started thinking about marriage?”

“He’s seventeen. And he’s not even on the throne yet.”

“I realize that, but it’s important. Not as important as curing the rat plague,” she says quickly. “But especially after the scandal the Empress created when she refused to marry, I’d think it prudent.”

“She didn’t refuse to marry,” David says, even though she had. “She was twenty-three years old. Plenty of women aren’t married by then.”

“But she wasn’t a typical woman.” Lydia taps her fingers along the table. “If she-”

“And Sabrina had plenty of male friends.”

“Yes, and if she lived to have a child, what would the fallout of that be?” Lydia raises an eyebrow at him. “Rumors abound, multiple men with a claim to the heir, how would you even go about establishing paternity?”

Joan places her empty drinking glass back onto the table. “Would it even matter who the father of this mythical baby would be? Their mom would be the one with the royal blood. They’d be her heir no matter who shot the lucky load.”

David just sits there, wondering whether Lydia is trying to call Sabrina a slut or not.

“I suppose, but regardless, that’s not the situation anymore.” Lydia folds her hands. “David, people will question whether Anthony’s heirs are his, if he does not marry their mother.”

“The Emperor never married Sabrina’s mother,” he mumbles, though he knows their situation was special. Sabrina looked like the old Emperor. Her mother’s coloring, of course, but the Emperor’s features and his brown eyes were almost perfectly replicated in Sabrina’s face. And in any case, she would have been easily usurped if there were legitimate heirs, siblings or even cousins with more than a whisper of a claim to the throne. Older bastard half-siblings, younger ones if they made a case for themselves. Sabrina had taken the throne under a series of strange circumstances, and her claim would be flimsy if it wasn’t already the strongest one around.

Lydia stares at him with an expression that indicates she’s thinking the exact thing.

David sighs. “Anthony will make the right choice, for himself and his Empire. He just might...take some time realizing that it’s the right thing.”

“Well, it’s not like we’re pulling out his fingernails.” Lydia rolls her eyes. “He’s just picking a wife. He gets along with women fine-shouldn’t be excited?”

At that, David laughs. “Doubtful,” he snorts, taking a sip of his water. Seeing the looks on the girls’ faces, he sets the glass back down. “Anthony is gay.”

Lydia blinks. “Oh,” she says, eyes flicking down. “That makes sense…”

“f**k, David, are you a magnet for queers or something?”

At that, David has to shrug. “Apparently.”

“How do you know anyway?” Joan leans forward. “Because this is the first I’ve heard of it, and I’m usually pretty up on my homoerotic gossip.”

“He told me. Anthony was...twelve, I think.” David sips, trying to think back. “Told some of the staff, so there were no rumors, but they weren’t the type to care in the first place. Bi-the Empress never really came out, but I knew anyway. She was always more obvious about it.” Not that she was overt, or that either of them really tried to hide it. They were just...themselves. The only way they ever needed to be.

“Yeah, everyone knew about her.” Joan rolls her eyes. “But hey, so’s Rose. They can stay BFF’s because there’s no way they’re banging each other.”

“Is he planning to hide it once he’s on the throne?” Lydia stirs her tea. “He can’t exactly marry a man.”

Joan plops her face into her hands. “Why not? It’s legal.”

“It’s frowned upon. And what will the Abbey say?”

“They can talk until their stupid masks turn blue. Anthony can do whatever the f**k he wants. Who’s going to tell the Emperor what-no, who to do?”

Even David knows they couldn’t get away with that. Anthony might have been able to, as the Empress’s brother, but even then a same-s*x marriage would be met with hostility. As the ruler, no. It made Delilah’s fake version of events even more insulting. Sabrina had known it was better to remain unmarried than marry a woman. No matter how in love she thought she was, she never would have married Delilah.

“Well.” Lydia huffs and puts her teacup back onto the saucer. “There’s still the matter of children.”

“f**k, why don’t he and Rose just get married for fun?” Joan motions behind her, in the vague direction they had gone off in. “They can be each other’s beards.”

“As lovely as she is, she’s not befitting of the station.”

“And what, some drunk-ass b***h just off a boat from Pandyssia was?” Joan rolls her eyes, drinking from her flask. “Come on, my idea’s perfect and you both know it.”

“She’s already having a child.” Lydia deadpans.

“Hey, we could pass that off as Anthony’s kid too. See, then they don’t even have to consummate s**t. Got your heir, one and done."

David shakes his head. “I don’t think we’ll get away with that.”

“Why not? Everyone who’d know otherwise will either be dead or our ally anyway.” Joan turns to David.

“What if the kid comes out looking like neither of them?”

“Then this is the perfect couple to blame throwback genetics with.” Joan knocks back the rest of her drink, looking between the two. “Rosie’s sperm donor is a wildcard, right? Anthony had a dark mom. David, your mom was Pandyssian, so it’s just weird luck that you both inherited your dad’s coloring.”

“I don’t have a father,” David says tiredly. “And for the last f*****g time, Anthony isn’t mine.”

“Sure, David. Whatever.” Joan bats him away. “My point is, that kid could come out any color and we could just blame it on the grandparents. See? I’m a genius.”

“I don’t think genetics work like that.” David makes a face.

Joan just shrugs. “Well, whatever then. I still think Rose-a-rave’s a solid choice.” She sips from her glass thoughtfully. “Maybe they should have their own heir anyway. They’d make some beautiful blue-eyed babies.”

“They do both have very pretty eyes,” Lydia agrees. “I don’t understand why everyone raves about blue, though.”

“Me neither. Personally, I’ve always been a sucker for brown-eyed girls. But I am a huge narcissist.”

David’s never understood the whole allure of eye color. Maybe it’s a symptom of his work. You can only hold so many disembodied eyeballs in your hand before that’s all you can think about.

“It’s just a shame he’s not Gristolian,” Lydia sighs.

David glares at her. “He is Gristolian. Because he was born in Gristol.” Though David doesn’t actually know where Anthony was born. He could have been born in the Void, for all they knew. Blond hair and blue eyes is reminisce of the Morlean upper class, though Anthony lacks the build they’re known for. It was possible Anthony was brought over, even kidnapped like David himself was. But there was no way to know now, and David had never cared much about his ancestry. Anthony has lived in Dunwall for as long as he can remember. He considered himself a citizen of the city-before becoming heir apparent, that is. As far as David’s concerned, that made him Gristolian.

“Well, at least he looks the part.” Lydia waves her hand. “Not to insult the late Empress, but-”

“Boyles, it’s not going in a good direction if you start with that.”

David moves to take another drink and his hand closes around air where his glass was. He blinks in confusion.

“I’m not talking about myself,” she huffs. “You can say a number of things about my family, but we aren’t like that.”

She means it, at least. Her disgust is apparent across her face.

“No, I’m talking about all the lowlifes at the top of the social ladder with nothing better to do than insult the only woman above them in station,” Lydia says cooly. “If I have to listen to another inbred, privileged nobleman complain about a ‘Pandyssian street-waif not fit for cleaning our toilets’,” she rants, using air quotes. “Sitting on the throne, I am not responsible for what I do next.”

“People really said that about her?” David doesn’t know why he’s surprised. They’ve had plenty worse things screamed at them, insults hurled like knives as David pulled her through crowds, into motorcars, or just during petitioning hours when such hecklers made their way past security.

Lydia nods grimly. “That, and much worse. Half of them would turn and flirt with me in the same breath-like they hadn’t just exposed what vile creatures they were.” She shakes her head. “I feel a bit guilty for being relieved Anthony takes after his father more, but by the Void, if I have to hear that drivel again, I just might…” She pauses, then grabs a knife from their stack of dishes and cutlery. “To paraphrase Elizabeth here, I just might knife a b***h!”

Joan bursts into uproarious laughter. There’s a scrape over at the main table as Edgar stands up, a peeved look on his face. “What the hell is so funny over there?” Something vaguely bread-shaped slams into his face.

“Sit down and eat your oatmeal, Wake-dicks.”

David follows Joan in laughter as soon the shock wears off. Lydia titters the best she can without moving her face. And they laugh like that, three unlikely friends.

“Granny?” David’s voice seems oddly swallowed up by the room, yet it echoes uncomfortably against his ears. “Granny Rags?”

It occurs to him that he never did find out Granny’s real name. She doesn’t seem to like the nickname very much.

“Dear?”

Granny stands from a couch she’s blended in with so perfectly David didn’t even see her. She’s wearing the same coat, same boots and, oddly, a giant red boa.

“Is that my saplings?” Granny asks, mercifully shucking the boa before clucking her tongue. “No, no, you’re the other one. The one who’s always so kind to me. Won’t you come in, dear?” She motions, even though David is already standing inside her quarters with the door closed behind him. “You had your friend quite worried, last time I saw you.”

David hasn’t seen Granny Rags since the s**t at Rothwild’s went down, but he’s known she was still around, due to Jerome’s complaining of her nightly walkabouts. He rubs his neck. “I’m doing better now,” he mumbles. “I-Joan and I both thank you for your help.”

“Oh, don’t mention all that.” Granny waves. “What’s brought you to me today? Or have you just come to keep an old woman company?”

‘In her mind, she is fresh and young. Wearing a dress of velvet, on her way to an evening of romance.’

“I have a few questions,” David wets his mouth. “About some drawings I found…”

“Oh, you know my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be.”

Granny brushes past him, patting his chest as she goes.

“No, I wouldn’t be able to see, but I’m sure I have some old books somewhere, no good for me…”

David taps his foot as he waits, inching away from the rats whenever they get too close. They seem rather docile around Granny, but David’s seen too many people devoured alive to feel comfortable around them.

“You should join me and the girlies some night for lessons,” Granny calls back to him. “They’re such good students, my little girls. My husband is quite fond of them. Almost as fond as he is of you.”

‘Three of you watched, the Outsider satisfying curiosity and bestowing His favor. One in the past. One to the future.’

“Here, some texts I’ve found over the years.” Granny extracts a few dusty tomes from a chest, stacking them on top of each other. “Written by charlatans, so you’ll find I’ve made my own corrections in some places, back when my eyes were good. I have no use for them now.”

“Thank you.” David takes the books, sketchbook clutched between his thumb and the leathery spines, and tries not to cough as he inhales a cloud of dust. “I’ll make good use of them,” he says, and turns to leave.

“Wait!” Granny latches onto him with a strength someone with such snappable arms should not possess. “Don’t go! Let Granny Rags tell you a story!”

David halts in his steps, because he may not trust Granny one bit, but his mother told him never to make an enemy of a witch. He’s disobeyed her twice in his life and it’s never worked out well for him.

“Yes, yes, sit down.” Granny roughly shoves into a chair that’s altogether too hard and lumpy in the wrong places. David clutches the books to his chest. “I’ll make us some tea. Have ourselves a nice little visit.”

‘I knew her name,’ Sabrina whispers to him, quietly, as if Granny can hear her. ‘I know her. Skirts and jewels and glittering hatpins-what else? I think back and my memories are of smoke and dust.’

“Now, which story would you like?” Granny says as she carries the tray over. David meekly sets the stack of books off on the closest table that looked least likely to topple over, laying the sketchbook over top. “The story of the plague-bearer and the lady in white? No, no, that’s not it...what about the burned man of the great canyon? No, not right either…”

The teacup is empty. David summons up all his decorum and pretends to sip with all the grace of the Empress’s Royal Protector. Though he’s not putting his lips on that cup for anything.

“No, no, you want the tale of Empress Sabrina Stark.”

David stops short. Puts the teacup back on the table. Granny Rags doesn’t seem to notice.

“Good head on her shoulders. The daughter of an Emperor and a tree-trimmer who thought motherhood a quick ticket to queendom. She saw both sides of society and sought to make it fairer for all.”

Granny Rags sips from her empty cup as if nothing was amiss.

“Then,” she says, placing the cup back on the saucer. “Violently murdered, these seven months ago.”

David curls his fingers, trying to bring feeling back into his hands.

“Nothing’s been the same since her death.” Granny shakes her head. “The poor child...her spirit still lives!”

The sudden exclamation makes David jerk back.

Granny wags her fingers in that spidery way that makes David’s skin crawl. “They hacked at her and pulled her apart. Tore away what should never be separated, and now the splintered pieces of her are trapped. Misused! And for what? Selfish desires, abused to satisfy a greed that knows no end.”

The Talisman has formed in his hands, though David doesn’t remember calling for her.

“But you know what the worse part is?” Granny leans in, her milky eyes betraying no emotion. “It was someone she trusted above all others who did the deed! Someone she loved! Betrayed her and threw her own heart in her face!”

David’s mouth is dry. He couldn’t move even if he thought to.

“They say they’re in league with the Outsider, and that they won’t rest until everyone in Dunwall is dead!” Granny laughs, choking on her spit. “Dead! Dead and cold!”

She continues to chuckle and cough until the words fade from her lips, her lungs wheezing with misplaced air.

“Now,” she says, her sweet smile back in place. “Granny Rags has told you a story, so you can tell it to someone else later! Change up the ending a bit, if you want, hmm?”

David blinks. Stares at her, then gets to his feet.

“Thanks for the tea,” he says, gathering up his books.

Granny’s blind eyes follow him out of her shop with uncanny precision.

“David?”

David stops short, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turns on his heels. Lydia Boyle rises from her seat on the steps, linking her fingers together.

“Lady Lydia,” he says, casting a glance towards Jerome’s shop. He missed lunch then, if she’s done with lessons. Studying Granny’s texts had been more time-consuming than he thought. “Is there something you need?”

She glances towards the ground. “I was hoping to talk to you.”

“Is it something about Anthony?” He can’t imagine she’s having trouble with him. Anthony has always been a model student.

At that, Lydia waves her hands. “No, no, nothing of that sort. It’s a...personal matter. Are you available?”

He was going to go check Jerome’s notes on the dossiers, maybe bug him a bit when he wakes up, but none of that is urgent. He steps towards her. “What’s on your mind?”

Lydia presses her lips together, and her eyes flicker to David’s hands. Then she drops her arms to her side and rounds her shoulders. “I want you to train me.”

David blinks. “Train you.”

“To fight.” She glances away, but looks back. Meets his eye. “To defend myself.”

Ah.

“You trained the Empress,” Lydia states. “Everyone gossiped about it, but I thought it was great, that you did that for her. She didn’t have to rely on others for everything, I’ve...I’ve always admired that.”

That’s true. He taught Sabrina to be self-sufficient, that all her guards and fancy security systems and even David himself could be defeated. She was her own last line of defense, when all else failed. And then there would be nobody to help her. The only thing between her and the Void was her own hand.

And what good had that done? Even Sabrina’s prowess was defeated by a hard kick and a well-timed stun. One second, one opening, one stroke through her gut and she was dead.

“David?” Lydia peers at him with apprehension in her features. “Will you say something?”

David blows out of his mouth. “Is this about the attack a few days ago? Because that wasn’t your fault.”

But Lydia quickly shakes her head. “It’s not just that, I mean, that’s part of it, but…” She stops, closes her eyes. And breathes out.

“When we were ten, Esma and I still shared a room,” she starts. “Our parents employed a small number of officers to guard our home. One night, one of the elite guards used his key to enter our room. He went over to Esma’s bed, and he…” Lydia stares intently at the floor, her mouth moving as if automatically. “He passed me by. He went to her bed and he...he had his way with her.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” David hears himself say.

But Lydia shakes her head. “I pretended like I was asleep,” she continues, her eyes still on the floor. “Esma tried to keep her crying quiet, so not to wake me, but I was awake. The whole time. I watched it happen.”

She shudders a bit, brings her hand up to cover her mouth. After a moment, she pulls it away again. “Mother...the next day, when we were taking out music lessons, Esma told her what had happened. And our mother tore into her. Accused her of trying to ruin an Abbey-fearing man’s life. Beat her when she wouldn’t take it back.” Lydia shakes her head. “I never stopped playing my harp. Throughout the whole thing. Mother never even asked me for my version of events.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” David tells her. “She’d already made up her mind not to believe it.”

Lydia laughs hollow-like, and she turns back to David. “The thing is,” she says, with tears in her eyes. “After the way she reacted, if she had thought to ask me...I don’t know what I would have said.”

She wipes away her tears with her fingers. “Anyway. The guard was given a new assignment, to protect him from further accusations. So we at least didn’t have to see him again, but…”

“But he must have hurt other people,” David finishes for her. “Just like he must have hurt others before your sister.”

There’s plenty of things David could say now. Things he wants to say. Just like there were things he wanted to say and do when he realized the truth about what happened to Anthony.

But back then, Anthony didn’t need his anger. And Lydia doesn’t need it now.

“I’ve thought as much.” Lydia kicks a pebble away, watches as it rolls down the hallway. “I don’t remember his name, so I could never check to see if it caught up to him. I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. I had this all planned out.”

David pulls her gently under the stairs, away from prying eyes, where she can cry in peace. He hangs back, every so slightly, so he’s just visible if anyone were to walk by-and keeps his hands where she can see them.

Lydia breathes deeply, swiping the back of her hand over her eyes. “Rose has been such a good friend to me here,” she starts up again. “I know it’s not appropriate, with women of our stations, but it’s like that doesn’t exist with her. Both her and Jerome, really. They’ll laugh and tease me like we’re on the same level, then they’re so patient with me when I don’t know how to do something. I’ve never experienced something like that before.”

She blinks rapidly, folding her hands into her lap. “Rose is nearly half my age and with child, yet when I was attacked, she didn’t hesitate to risk her life to help me. Threw her shoe and screamed to leave me alone...I couldn’t do anything. All I had was a scratch on my face and I was absolutely paralyzed.”

“It was a bit more than a scratch…” David mumbles.

Lydia doesn’t slow down. “I could barely watch as they turned on her. I didn’t know how I’d live with myself if she lost the baby, or died herself. While I did nothing to help her. I was useless. And she kept fighting even with their claws deep in her leg. Pulled something out of her coat and smashed it on the ground. I wouldn’t have been able to do that. I wouldn’t have thought of it. But she knew it would make them flee. Somehow, in the midst of everything.”

Lydia rounds up, stares at him with newborn intensity. “That’s why I want you to teach me everything you know,” she says in a hurry. “I won’t be useless like that again. I want to be able to rely on myself instead of counting on others for everything.”

“Teaching you ‘everything I know’ would take years,” David says. And most of it would be useless to her, unless she was planning on becoming a cat burglar. “But I can get you started.”

And Lydia smiles, the best she can without aggravating her stitches.

David glances up to the skylight. “Looks like it’s going to rain,” he says. “So let’s start in here.”

“Now?” Lydia blinks. “We’ll have our first lesson right now?”

“Might as well. Did you want to change? You’ll want to wear something easy to move in. That you don’t mind getting ruined.”

“Oh.” Lydia looks down. She’s not wearing any jewels, typical for her, but her blouse could easily cost David’s monthly salary. Her pants were probably expensive too. But she just undoes the top button on her blouse, rolls the sleeves up. “I’m ready.”

David takes her down the hallway, where there’s open space for them to move. Lydia looks around, confused. “Aren’t we going to use swords?”

“No.” Despite his efforts, David laughs a bit. “No. You are not ready for that.” He doesn’t have a spare sword anyway-not with Anthony hiding one of his. “I told you, we’re starting with the basics.”

“Yeah, but…” she looks down. “A sword would help more.”

“Then you’re becoming dependant on a weapon instead of another person,” David tells her. “Likely, you’re not going to use what I teach you in the same setting I use it. Where are you most likely to be attacked?”

“Outside,” she says, her face screwing up in concentration. “But it’ll be safer once the plague...at social events, I suppose. I’ve been cornered before, but I’ve always managed to slip away.”

“And that should be your goal. Situations like that, you want to get away. Get help, if you can, but separating yourself from the danger is your first priority.” He guides her by the shoulders to stand directly across from him.

“But what if there’s no one around to help?” She sputters. “What if I want to take care of it on my own?”

“We’ll get to that.”

“It would be easier if I was armed. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about summoning help.”

David presses his lips together, then he takes his back-up switchblade out of his pocket, hands it to her. Hopes she doesn’t tell Anthony he has it.

“What is…” Lydia stares at it oddly until David leans forward and presses the button that releases the blade. She jumps back when it springs forward. “Oh.”

“You have a weapon,” he says. “I’m unarmed. Try to kill me with it.”

“What?” Her eyes flick up to him. “David, I don’t want to hurt you…”

“Really? Because I do.”

Before she can say anything else, David wraps his hand around her wrist and twists. The blade clatters to the ground, and Lydia turns to alleviate the pain. David grabs her other shoulder and kicks out one of her knees, forcing her to the ground. Hand off her shoulder, move to the back of the head, force it down to the floor.

“So this is two lessons,” he grunts, holding her down. “One, it didn’t f*****g matter that you had a weapon, because I knew how to get it out of your hands and you didn’t know where to go from there. You have to keep your cool, and roll with the punches. Two.” He moves off her and offers a hand up, which she takes with a blush at her cheeks. “You can’t wimp out on hurting people. If you can deal with someone without killing them, great, but that’s not your priority. Your priority is your own safety.” He grabs her by the shoulders and stares into her glassy green eyes. “You don’t care if it’s me. You don’t care if it’s your husband or your cousin or your best friend. If someone is attacking you, you do whatever it takes to walk away with your life.”

“I get it,” she says softly.

David bends and picks up the switchblade. “I’ll teach you how to use this,” he says, folding the blade back. “I’ll teach you how to swing a sword and shoot a gun, if you want. But you’re not always going to have a weapon on you. If you can take someone down with your bare hands, you’ll be that much harder to catch off-guard.”

“Is this how you trained the Empress?” She smirks. “No wonder she had such a reputation for being a firecracker. She broke my nephew’s nose a month before her death-fully deserved, of course. He tried putting his hands on her.”

He has to chuckle at that. Sounds like his Sabrina. He was more than happy to tackle creeps for her, but he’d always known she was more than capable of handling them herself.

“Well, we went through this part when we were on the streets,” he says. “So it went a bit differently.” Mostly in that he’d trained Sabrina to be an instigator instead of just a defendant. Kids like her didn’t get very far without being able to win a few street fights, and she would have gotten herself involved in them anyway. Might as well make sure she didn’t lose. “But the same basics apply. She wasn’t allowed to carry weapons, so she was limited to her hands.”

David stands square with her, shoulders even with each other.

“Eyes, nose, throat, groin, and knees. Those are the spots you’re going to want to go after,” he states, pointing to each area in succession. “So if I grab you like this, this is how you’re going to respond…”

David hunkers down behind the statue in the Empress’s throne room. On most days at this time, the lights would be on and there’d be a line of petitioners stretching out into the hallway, out the doors sometimes. And David would be standing behind his Empress, seated on her throne, watching dutifully for a threat to present itself. But not today.

Today is Sabrina’s sixteenth birthday.

Regular functions were suspended, in preparations for the celebration that would occur later tonight. Sabrina was supposedly getting her hair and make-up done, taking intermittent breaks for tea with acquaintances trying to suck up to her, but he knows she’s probably off hiding from her maids and advisors. Trying to get things done. That’s his Sabrina. No time for her birthday when she has an Empire to fix.

So the throne room is dark, barely enough light to see by, the throne itself unoccupied. Deserted. Aside from David.

And the four thugs he hired to kidnap Sabrina, but they didn’t know he was here.

She’d be here soon. David had a message sent to her telling her to meet him in the throne room for her present-already, she should be suspicious. David didn’t make a show of giving presents. He had already left hers in her room while she slept.

But though Sabrina’s smart, she’s also a teenager. Hormonal and very sure of herself. She’ll come, even if her gut tells her not to, because teenagers all think they’re invincible. And even though David stole all her holdout weapons out of her room, so she’s walking around her palace unarmed.

He supposes she could go down to the armory and requisition some weapons-though he did tell the f***s manning it today not to provide to the Empress, and they hadn’t questioned it due to his murder face, but Sabrina could also be very scary when angered. And she could probably sneak in and take what she wanted anyway. ‘Stark’ was a hilariously befitting name for her, one he’d find more humor in if it didn’t come with this job.

No matter. If Sabrina’s managed to arm herself, he’ll find another place to have her ambushed.

The double doors open, and he sees the shadowy outlines of the thugs get into position. The Empress steps inside, puffed white blouse and her hair in a curly bob. She’s probably overjoyed that skirts are so out of fashion by now that she’s been allowed to wear pants to her own birthday party. David is relieved as well. He could go without seeing a panty shot today.

Sabrina pauses, eyes flicking around the room, and stiffens when she hears the doors swiftly close behind her. And lock, just as he paid the doormen to do.

She knows what’s coming. David leans in closer.

One of the thugs steps up behind her, hands poised to grab her by the shoulders. Sabrina waits, listens. Then at the last moment, she whirls around and plants her fist in the man’s stomach.

His lungs audibly deplate of air, and Sabrina takes advantage of the moment to slam her knee into his groin. Then she hits the man with the heel of her palm directly in the solar plexus, sending him sprawling backwards into his friend, who was coming up behind to assist. Both men tumble to the floor.

She turns. No weapons-good. She’ll have to do this bare-handed. The thugs are armed with stun-batons, but they won’t use them until she’s already beaten. They were instructed to make it hurt. Which David really shouldn’t have done-it gave her time to work them over, yes, time she wouldn’t have if they were real assassins. She should be capable of avoiding the sparky end, because she’d be toast if it were a blade. If she fails this time, he’ll tell the next group not to hold back. Teach her a lesson.

The other two thugs round on her. She fakes to one side, runs and ducks between them, sliding on her heels. Their arms rush to grab her and meet air.

Then Sabrina does a stupid thing. She stops, turns to face the thugs, and punches one in the face.

The thug staggers, but doesn’t go down, and his friend catches Sabrina’s fist as she brings it around to hit him. Twists, pulls her in and turns her around, grabs her other elbow. Then releases her hand and slides his arm under her armpit. The punched thug makes a fist and reciprocates, driving his knuckles into her nose.

David grimaces as he hears it crack.

Sabrina doesn’t give them time to hit her again. She drops, forcing the man holding her to double over to keep his hold, and she manages to get one arm free in the process. Hooks her foot on the backside of the other man’s knee. One pull and he falls. Sabrina tucks her leg back under her and grabs her captor by the forearm. Lifts her body, pulls his arm, and rolls the man over her shoulder.

He slaps against the floor. Sabrina delivers a swift kick to the side of his head to properly concuss him.

The other two have gotten to their feet by now, the third just starting to gather his bearings. David doesn’t know if they’ll try and stun her-they have to realize by now that they are not dealing with a pampered noblewoman. That Sabrina isn’t the helpless Empress they thought she was.

Fortunately, and because David didn’t pick these guys for their intelligence, they still seem to think they can subdue her without stunners.

 One punches out. She ducks. Doesn’t go for the hit to his stomach-smart, the other thug is right behind her. She side-steps his outstretched hands and backs away.

Then the first thug drops his fists and bum-rushes her. Sabrina digs in, stands her ground, but even with her latest growth spurt the thug still has a good sixty pounds on her. Sabrina is knocked right off her feet. She should have dodged. He’ll have to take points off for that.

A boot slamming down on her stomach, another driven into her side. Sabrina wheezes, trying to regain her breath. The third thug has gotten to his feet by now and is approaching the apparent blanket party taking place. One thug at her legs, one foot between her splayed legs. The one closer to her upper body takes a half step back to bring out his stunner and activate it.

That half step away is all Sabrina needs.

The thug poised over her raises his knee for another stomp. Sabrina kicks the man’s single leg out from under him and grabs his head as he falls, slamming it against her knee in one smooth motion.

She flips him over so the thug’s body trips up his friends as she scrambles to her feet. David has to give her a nod of appreciation. He didn’t expect her to recover from getting knocked flat on her back like that.

One thug jumps over his friend’s body, a hesitation in the knee she kicked out. The thug with the stunner rounds closer. Sabrina dances between the two, dodging blows but not reciprocating. Then the stun-thug goes in for a stab, which Sabrina deflects by literally just pushing his wrist away, winding her arm around his until her fist is underneath his elbow.  David hears a crack. And the thug’s arm bends in a way it is most definitely not supposed to, allowing Sabrina to shove his arm down and force him to taze himself in what looks like the nutsack.

Well, bonus for creativity. Though it makes David physically cringe.

That’s three thugs incapacitated, moaning on the floor in various states of consciousness. The fourth is still poised like a cat ready to pounce, but he has to know it’s over. Sabrina has already beaten him.

Sure enough, Sabrina comes at him before he has a chance to activate the stunner in his hand. He automatically brings it up to strike her with, despite it not being electrified, and Sabrina diverts his blow and uses her other hand to throat-chop him. The stunner clatters to the floor, Sabrina turning the thug around and catching him in a Tyvian chokehold. Her grip relaxes, her hands on his shoulders just long enough to push him to the floor. Then she plants her boot right in the juncture beside his shoulder blade, and the thug’s head clunks against the hardwood floor.

Then she stands there. Huffs. Gazes over the stunned and likely concussed men as if deciding what the hell to do with them.

David figures she might actually kill him if he does his slow clap, so he just shifts off to the side and reaches for the light switch.

Sabrina jumps as the room is illuminated, and David gently smoothes the tapestry back down.

“I’m impressed,” he says with a straight face. “Really. I’m amazed, actually.”

“David.” She glares at him, blood dripping from one nostril. “Would you care to explain how my Royal Protector allowed a group of assassins to not only breach our home, but my throne room?!”

The exclamation makes her grimace and sends her hand to her nose, touching it delicately. David sidesteps her and knocks on the door, once and then twice. The doormen throw them open, as agreed earlier, and pay no attention to the bleeding Empress. David wordlessly extracts his pocket square and hands it to her, which she immediately presses against her nose. David leaves her be while he directs the Watch officers that have flooded into the throne room and are making their arrests-these men did take a contract to kidnap the Empress, after all.

Sabrina is seated on the steps of the dais that holds her throne by the time he turns around, head tilted back as she holds the bloody handkerchief over her nose. The ruby-studded throne waits open for her, padded seat and backrest that she’d surely be more comfortable in, but she makes no move towards it. David knows she doesn’t prefer to sit on her throne.

“Don’t hold your head back like that,” David says as he walks back to her. “You’re supposed to let it drain.”

“And let it ruin my nice party clothes?”

There’s a visible bootprint at the stomach of her shirt, and blood already smattered over the ruffles. Hers or the thug’s, he doesn’t know. A tear at the left shoulder. The shirt’s unsalvageable. For what she pays for her clothes, they should be a little more resilient, but Sabrina’s luxurious silks and satins seem far more fragile than clothing picked out of the trash, mended a dozen times over with David’s shitty needlework.

“Be more grateful.” David stops short of the steps, staring down at her. “You’re alive.”

Sabrina groans, rubbing her neck. “Barely.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” He rolls his eyes.

“I think my nose is broken.”

“Probably.” It is. “They did pretty well then, I suppose.”

“They did…” Sabrina’s eyes slide over to him, blinking. Then the anger. “You sent them?!”

“The office of the Royal Protector cannot confirm or deny those rumors.”

“Outsider damn…” She jumps to her feet then, checking to ensure her guards have all departed, steps forward and plants her fist right in his gut. “f**k you, David!”

David wheezes, bent over at the waist. She’s either not nearly as mad as he thought she’d be, or she’s so tired she can’t punch with her full strength.

“I should have you thrown from the top of Dunwall Tower!” She yells, and more blood drips onto the floor. She quickly shoves the handkerchief back to her face. “Care to explain why my Royal Protector is sending assassins after me? Goddammit, David. I could have been killed!”

“No, you couldn’t have.” David draws himself up. “I was watching the entire time.”

Sabrina glares at him with an intensity that makes him shift on his feet.

“I didn’t hire them to kill you, Sabrina. Just kidnap you. Rough you up a bit.”

“Just.”

“If you failed, they’d have just taken you to the docks for transfer,” David continues. “Naturally, I’d be there to collect you. But thank you for making that part of the plan obsolete. I wasn’t looking forward to going out in this cold.”

“I am going to order you to jump into the Wrenhaven and freeze outside until your d**k falls off.”

“I’m trembling at your might, oh Empress.”

“Outsider’s...balls, is this why I couldn’t find my pistol this morning?” Sabrina says in a nasally voice. “This is why Rinaldo got sent out on a goddamn scavenger hunt! Dammit, we were going to jack a boat and eat breakfast out on the water.”

David waves his hand. “You can do that tomorrow. He thinks he’s buying you presents, so don’t take it out on him. Also you have more presents coming; don’t be sour.”

“Oh yes, a new fur coat will make me forget all about my Protector arranging a f*****g assassination attempt on me.” Sabrina kicks the floor. “Where did you even find idiots thick enough to take a contract to abduct me? From my own Protector?”

“Spymaster Martin arranged it.” David waves his hand. “He was rather amused when he heard what I wanted to do.”

“And what,” Sabrina says into the handkerchief. “Pray tell, was that.”

“To see if you could stand your own.”

It may just be his imagination, but he thinks Sabrina stands up a little straighter.

“And I did.”

“You did.” David nods. “So that punch?” he motions. “Sloppy. Unnecessary energy expended, and it left you open to counter-attack.”

“I think I already learned my lesson there,” Sabrina mumbles.

“You stood your ground when your opponent had the physical advantage, when you should have either turned his weight against him or avoided him altogether. And that move with the stunner was risky. It could have come down on you just as easily as you brought it down on him, and then you’d be out for the count.”

“Not like I had much of a choice,” Sabrina shoots back.

“You always have a choice,” David says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “But the rest of it? Flawless. A display like that would put the fear of the Outsider into any assassin.”

“But not my own bodyguard, apparently.” But he can tell Sabrina’s pleased with herself. As she should be.

“I did it for your own good.”

“And for your own good, you better sleep with one eye open for the next month.”

“Fair enough.” David turns and pulls her towards the doors. “Let’s get you to Montgomery. Then I think you’ve earned a hot bath and a quiet night.”

“What about my birthday guests?” Sabrina laughs uncomfortably. “Was this all a ploy to get me out of my party?”

“Let’s say yes. Anthony will entertain your guests. They’ll be more than understanding that you couldn’t attend, as you’re currently recovering from an attempt on your life.”

Sabrina rolls her eyes. “This doesn’t make up for my broken nose and ruining my shirt. I still don’t forgive you.”

“What if I bring you birthday cake?”

“Hmm.” Sabrina considers. “Maybe. If you bring me a piece with a frosting flower.”

“I think I can manage that,” David laughs, ruffling her hair. “You did very well. I’m proud of you.”

“f**k you, David.”

Stopping short, he checks to make sure no guards are around. Then he pulls Sabrina in and, ignoring her eye rolling, presses his lips to her temple. “Happy birthday, Majesty.”

“I found violets at my window this morning.”

David stops and looks up at Galia with the most neutral face he can muster. “And?”

She huffs, uncrossing her arms. “Well, you two are the only guys here who might have left me flowers…”

“Nope, Fleets, sorry. You’re not my type.” Paul slurps up more of his soup.

“I didn’t think it was like that,” she grumbles. “Just thought you might have been feeling gentleman-like…”

Paul interrupts her with a burst of laughter.

“Sorry, Galia, but neither of us left you flowers,” David says as soon as he’s no longer in danger of laughing himself.

“Well, who did then?!”

“What are we talking about?” Anthony turns around in his seat.

“Somebody gave Gails violets and she’s getting her panties in a knot about it.”

“Oh, Reed was picking those earlier this week,” Anthony supplies, then turns to Rose on his other side. “Looks like your brother has his first crush!”

Rose snorts. “Doubt it. I don’t think Reed knows there’s a difference between girls and boys. But anyway, violets are the lesbian flower. So maybe try Joan.”

Galia’s nose wrinkles. “Ew.”

“Or Lydia!” Paul supplies, raising his glass. “You ladies have a plethora of options available here. The same cannot be said for me.”

“Oh, you poor soul.” Rose rolls her eyes and pushes away from the table. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

“Don’t stress yourself too much,” Anthony calls after her, prompting Rose to wave him away.

“Have you seen Ricardo baby me? I’ll be fine. Quit worrying.”

It’s in Anthony’s nature to worry, so David doesn’t have high hopes.

Speaking of the devil, Joan takes that moment to appear and slides into her usual spot next to David. Edgar also shuffles in, though he does so with considerably less commotion.

“Kay, we’re here.” Joan leans back, arms crossed over her chest. “What’s this meeting you called about, Fleet?”

Galia rolls her eyes. “I need to discuss something with Jerome before we start. Excuse me.”

“It must be a pretty big deal,” Paul says after Galia’s left the table, leaning in. “Thalia had me go get Trimble for it. You know the man never leaves the lion’s den.”

He does more so now that Anthony is here, David thinks. It’s all about attracting the Emperor’s attention. He has no doubt Trimble gets informed of their proceedings in some other way.

“So why aren’t you over there telling him about the meeting?” Joan drops her chin in her hands.

“Because I don’t f*****g want him here!”

‘He’s hiding things,’ Sabrina says, making David perk up. ‘But it is beyond my abilities to reveal them. He may tell you in time.’

“So what are you going to tell Lady Timsh, when she arrives?” Anthony motions to her empty seat.

Paul shrugs. “That he’s taking a nap, I dunno. I’ll deal with the fallout when it comes. Just be glad we don’t have to look at his face.”

“Speaking of people we’d rather not talk to,” Joan says. “Has anyone seen Zhukov? In like, days?”

Everyone shakes their head. She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “If he got himself captured again, I am not going out to save his ass.”

“You didn’t rescue him last time, Catspaw. I did.”

“Oh, so now it’s a turn thing?”

“Yes!” Anthony stands up to be seen over David’s head. “So when I get kidnapped again, it’s your turn to save me!”

Joan stares him down. “Kid, if you get kidnapped again, I will burn this entire f*****g city down.”

‘Not enough blood on her blade. She longs to feel another heart still beneath her fingers, see their eyes go blank. Never too many dead witches, that’s what she thinks.’

Paul is quick to detract. “He’s been gone. Completely. I’ve been visiting Galia’s room to, uh, practice some of the moves you taught us, David-” His eyes slide over. “-and he’s never been there.”

“Would he be, though? I mean, does the fucker even sleep?”

I’ll go ask Rose,” David says quickly, standing up. “She usually knows what’s up, and Zhukov likes her.” Why, he has no idea. Zhukov also likes Granny Rags, so it might be a witch thing, but he doesn’t seem too fond of Reed or Jerome, who both dabble in magic, or David himself. So Zhukov is, as always, a complete f*****g mystery.

Rose is seated on a high stool as she works, cutting something green. David taps the counter so she’s alerted to his presence without being startled.

“Hey, you. What’s up?” She smiles at him, genuine.

‘She loves snow, but loathes the cold,’ Sabrina giggles. ‘Yet she sees images of Tyvia and feels a longing within her, this place she’s never seen. Like the snowy mountainsides are where she truly belongs.’

Now, why couldn’t Sabrina tell him more things like that? That’s a happy secret. He liked hearing about it. She was amused by it-in a good way.

And, f**k, David can do something with that information. He’s only been to Tyvia a handful of times, but he thought the land was beautiful, and he’s sure to have to accompany Anthony there again at some point. He’ll have to bring her along.

“We were wondering where Zhukov ran off to this time.”

At that, Rose rolls her eyes and shifts in her seat. “Oh, him? He went on another one of his supply runs.”

“Supply run?”

“Yeah, he up and leaves in the middle of the night and is gone for days.” She shrugs. “Always tells me, for some reason. Ever woken up to a six-foot man decked out in black looming over your bed?”

“But what is he getting?”

“f**k if I know. I-”

She stops short as a salt shaker bounces off the side of her head.

“Lingua!” Ricardo yells, extending his fingers and wagging them. Rose tosses the shaker back and he proceeds to salt whatever he has simmering in his pot.

“By the Void, Ricky, people can curse.”

“Bambina! You are small child! Tieni la lingua!”

Rose scoffs and turns away. “Whatever. You’re not my dad.”

A shadow falls across Ricardo’s face, and David almost feels bad. He’s had this exact conversation with Sabrina before, except David never bothered with censoring her speech.

“But anyway, yeah, I have no idea where he is,” Rose tells him. “He said he’d be gone for a few days though, so rejoice.”

She moves to jump down from the stool and Ricardo is behind her, his hands poised to steady her. Careful, as if she’ll break, and even though she rolls her eyes Rose allows him to do it. Beneath his mustache, Ricardo is almost smiling.

‘He is one of the immune. He had to accept it after holding her body for four days, and the sickness still hadn’t taken.’ Sabrina’s voice is grim. ‘If he survives to see the end of the plague, Ricardo plans to climb to the top of Kaldwin’s Bridge and throw himself off.’

“f**k, Sabrina, can we stay on a positive note?” David groans as he returns to the main hall.

“So where is he?” Joan asks as he approaches. David throws up his hands.

“I don’t know, off being weird. He’s gone.”

“Ugh, just don’t ask Gails about it,” Paul groans. “She gets, like, weird about him. Just don’t mention anything to her, she’ll be easier to deal with.”

“Also, hey, why are you on Zhukov’s ass for being gone?” Joan leans closer to Paul. “You f**k off all the time without telling anyone where you’re going.”

“It’s embarrassing, Joan.”

“Oooh, tell me.”

“I bird-watch.” Paul smiles. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Wait, like the real birds, or the Granny Rags-style birds?”

David waves over the Dressmaker over, who looks confused until David leans in and whispers to him. “Did you hear back from your niece yet?”

“Oh.” His eyebrows raise, then droop back down. “N-no, unfortunately.” He wrings his hands. “I fear my letter was intercepted yet again.”

Perfect. Well, that couldn’t be what this meeting was about, then. What the hell had Galia found?

Galia returns to the hall followed by a very sullen looking Jerome, who slouches into his seat and doesn’t respond to Joan’s teasing jabs. David watches him out of the corner of his eye, how he shoves his elbows on the table and buries his face in his arms.

“So the other day,” Galia leads in, taking Zhukov’s spot at the head of the table. “David informed Jerome and myself about a second person the witch Gardenia was in contact with. The Chief Alchemist.”

“What?” Thalia Timsh puts down her teacup. “David? Why weren’t we informed of this?”

David rolls his eyes. “Are you in charge of intel? No. I told who was relevant.”

“Yeah, but you still need to tell us,” Edgar grunts, folding his arms. “We’re in charge here!”

‘The seeds have been sown,’ Sabrina whispers in his ear. ‘They’ve taken root. And you tend to them, water them with blood.’

Joan stands and points over David’s head. “Actually, he’s in charge. This kid over here with the crown? Hello?”

Thalia stares at her with a pinched expression. “You know well what we meant, Elizabeth.”

“No, explain it to me. Please.”

“I will not, there are infinitely more important matters to give attention to. Matters David should have presented to us as a team, including Mister Wakefield and myself. And where is Doctor Trimble?”

“So the Chief Alchemist.” Galia stares the table down, daggers in her blue eyes. David nearly shivers in spite of himself. He’s never seen Galia like this. “I’ve had my spies looking into it, and you’ll be glad to know I have a name. A full one, at that.”

“Their real name?” David leans forward. “No codenames, no tricks? We know who they are?”

Galia nods solemnly. “The Chief Alchemist is a student at the Academy. A woman, by the name of Alexandria Hypatia.”

There’s a choking sound. And the Dressmaker drops his teacup, coughing and sputtering until Lydia slaps him on the back.

“That’s…” He chokes, coughing once more to clear his throat. “That’s my niece!”

The only sound at the table is a non-committal grunt by Joan as she sips from her cup. “Your family doesn’t do things by halves, do they? You’re all a bunch of f*****g weird-ass savants.”

“She’s still a student!” he shrieks. “Shouldn’t the professors be handling those jobs? She’s only twenty-five, how can she be Chief Alchemist?!”

“They must have had reason.” Anthony tries to smile.

The Dressmaker picks up his dropped jaw and nods to himself. “Yes, yes, I always knew she was brilliant. A prodigy in many ways-she learned how to read when she was two, if you can believe that.”

“I can. Esma was three. She’d pull down books from our father’s study and read them aloud to me.”

“But if she’s the Chief Alchemist…” The Dressmaker stares at his palm. “Then she’s been associating with witches...with the Regent directly…”

Galia nods. “She’s apparently quite important to Kaldwin. She’s allocated an entire platoon of Watch officers to guard her night and day.”

“She’s in danger!” The Dressmaker tugs on his shirt collar. “From people like us, or...if she displeases the Regent...”

“Calm your balls, my dude.” Joan at least tries to hide her eyeroll. “We’re not gonna hurt your girl.”

‘Unless she’s been corrupted as well. Then we will tear her open and let her blood purify us.’ Sabrina’s voice is like a starving wolfhound’s in the moments before receiving a steak.

The Dressmaker puts his head in his hands. “Oh, Alex, where are you? What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Wouldn’t she be at the Academy?” Anthony asks, tilting his head. “That would be the most logical place to research a cure…”

David remembers that Anthony wanted to gather the doctors and alchemists at Dunwall Tower, let them exchange ideas and work freely on the cure. The Academy had closed doors. The Crown could have provided more resources, better equipment.

But the Dressmaker just shakes his head. “I’ve been turned away every time I’ve gone looking for her, told she’s living off-campus but never telling me where. I...have no idea where Alex is.”

“I do.”

Everyone turns their attention back to Galia, standing straight with her shoulders back.

She looks down her nose at the Dressmaker. “I had one of my spies tail the courier you paid to deliver her letter.”

“But it never reached her-”

“No, because I had it intercepted.” She says it like she was mentioning what she made for dinner.

The Dressmaker sputters. “You...you kept my letter for her?!”

“We couldn’t have it blowing our cover. Really, you should think about things like this. Fallen into the wrong hands, it could have put us all in danger.”

“I didn’t write anything incriminating…” he mumbles, leaning back in his chair. “All I said was-”

“I don’t care what you think you said!” Galia slaps the table so hard it shakes. “Things like the district you’re living in is confidential information!”

“I lived here before-”

“And she could have very well tipped Delilah off that we were looking for the Chief Alchemist! What then? We’d be f****d, that’s what.”

“Alex wouldn’t give us up like that.” The Dressmaker shakes his head. “I don’t know why she’s working for the Lady Regent, but she...she wouldn’t.” He looks down at his lap. “I’m her only family. She wouldn’t betray me like that.”

‘How does a heart so laden with sorrow continue beating?’ Sabrina muses. David holds the Talisman tighter and wonders the same.

Joan raises her hand. “So wait, Dressers sent that out last week. How did you know it was Hypatia then?”

“I didn’t.” Galia’s face goes blank. “I, uh, actually just had her smoked out in case we needed to use her. If I couldn’t find out who the Chief Alchemist is, we could have interrogated Alexandria.” She shrugs. “But it worked out great because the next part of the equation was finding out where the Chief Alchemist is.”

“Where is she?” The Dressmaker leans forward, chewing on a nail.

“You won’t believe this. They have her working out of Anton Sokolov’s old lab, on Kaldwin’s Bridge.”

Wasn’t that poetic.

“Well, guess that’s another notch in the ‘Sokolov is f*****g dead’ belt.” Joan takes a drink. “Kaldwin either had him killed or he died in her custody. How else would she justify using his apartment?”

“The city can seize properties for the most inane of reasons now,” Thalia says dryly. “Why do you think I’ve had to appear in public since my uncle’s death? If I were presumed missing, our assets could be considered forfeit.”

“That’s dumb s**t, ‘Imsh. And if Sokolov’s not dead, he’s gonna be right pissed when he comes back and finds his apartment has been taken over by Watch dickbags and nerds.”

“So I suppose Joan and I are paying Kaldwin’s Bridge a visit?” David asks. Galia nods, her eyes trained downwards as she leafs through her papers.

“Yes. She’s been conducting research there. She also has an assistant-a relatively fresh student, by the name of Bartholomeus Vasco. He’s only eighteen, but he’s apparently brilliant or something.”

“Would have to be sharp, to keep up with her…” The Dressmaker shakes his head.

Galia turns back to David. “If Hypatia proves unwilling to cooperate, you may want to consider talking to him. He’ll certainly know things, and he might be easier to persuade.”

“You mean easier to intimidate.” David stares her down.

Jerome sighs and stands up, the first move he’s made since the meeting started. “Good thing I just finished fixing David’s coat. Come on, David, let’s make sure it fits properly before you leave.”

“We’re not leaving yet!” Joan practically shrieks. “Lunch first! Whatever Rick-man is cooking up in there smells f*****g amazing.”

“I’m not hungry.” David tousles her hair as he walks by, prompting a smack to his arm.

“Wait!” The Dressmaker practically trips over his chair getting up. Out of the corner of his eye, David sees Anthony lean over and whisper something to Joan, who then nods solemnly.

“Don’t worry, kid. I’ll take care of him,” she says in a low voice.

“David.” The Dressmaker is out of breath, grabbing David’s hands in his and squeezing. Over his shoulder, David sees Jerome hurrying away without looking back. “David, I don’t know what Alex has gotten herself into, but this is not like her, believe me.” He presses his lips together, and his eyes shimmer. “You have to bring her back with you.”

“We can’t be taking in a new person every other week.” Thalia glares from the table. “It’s hard enough maintaining a low profile as it is.”

The Dressmaker ignores her. “Please. She’ll be safe with me, and I can get her to come clean about whatever it is she’s doing. Just please, don’t let any harm come to her.”

“I won’t.” And David lets his hands squeeze back. “I’ll bring her back.”

“Promise me.” The Dressmaker’s face is set, as stony and serious as David’s ever seen it. “Please.”

“I swear on the Empress’s grave that I will bring your niece back, safe and sound.”

The Dressmaker wasn’t expecting that. Truthfully, David hadn’t either.

But then there’s relief, spreading over the Dressmaker’s face as his stony facade crumbles. A tear runs down his cheek. And he throws his arms around David’s shoulders.

“Thank you.”