The Queen's Champion

Chapter 20

People stare at him, slack-jawed, as David finishes his sentence. He folds his arms and stares down the table, wishing someone will start talking again soon so he doesn’t have to fill the silence-but also sort of dreading what they’re going to say.

“Excuse me, what?” Jerome sputters.

“You heard what I said and I’m not going to repeat it.”

“I was there for the last few years.” Rose’s hands are in fists at her sides, but she displays little else to show how tense she is. “If you wonder why I didn’t tell you all sooner, just look at how you’re all reacting now.”

Everyone just stares at her, in differing mixtures of disbelief, confusion, and disgust-aside from Vasco, who is busy examining his knees. The entire conspiracy team is present, all aside from Zhukov, obviously, and Eugene, who took Reed outside to play. And they’re all speechless.

It’s Thalia who finally leans forward with anger written in her eyebrows, pointing an accusing finger in Rose’s direction. “You lied to us!”

“I didn’t.” She blinks. “I mean, I had a lie prepared when we were hired. But you never even asked where we were from.”

Jerome raises a hand to his chest. “You said you were from the Old Port District...you lied to me.”

“...Yeah. Sorry.”

“David,” Trimble hisses, waving him over. David doesn’t budge and forces him to whisper loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Why is she here then? She should have been locked up the moment you knew.”

“Yes, why is she allowed to walk free?!”

“It’s a good thing you two don’t run the legal system.”

“Where the f**k would we of put her?” Joan throws her arms out. “This ain’t no prison. f**k, half our doors don’t even have locks.”

“We could have imprisoned her in one of my apartments,” Trimble plumps. “We could bring her over there now. She’ll be secure and comfortable enough until her trial and execution.”

Anthony, whose face has been worryingly blank thus far, ducks and hides in his hands.

“Okay, no, for one thing we don’t kill children or pregnant people.” David steps in between Trimble and Rose.

“She’d have given birth by the time-”

“And second, we don’t need a trial. Rose isn’t guilty of anything except being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Which is exactly what happened to David, by the way,” Joan interrupts. “Sound familiar?”

Well, David had been intentionally framed. Positioned at the wrong place to take the fall for the right people.

“I was a Brigmore witch because my mother was a Brigmore witch,” Rose states. “Reed and I never had a choice in joining. I hope you can understand why I lied about it.”

“I understand,” Lydia says quickly. “I understand completely.”

“I don’t.” Edgar glares at her, but quickly moves to glare at Lizzy, who stares back at him nonplussed.

Thalia begins to sputter. “But we, I, she could have given us the information we’ve sought! Why have we sent David and Catspaw all over the city when you could have just told us?”

“You never asked.”

David holds up his hands. “There’s no way she could have told us where Anthony was being held ahead of time-that information wasn’t available at her level. We may have been able to figure out Gardenia’s identity earlier, with her help.”

“But we went over that,” Paul interjects, seated in his usual spot between Thalia and Lydia. “It’s a real big ‘may have’. And come on, Trimble’s already started making plans to chop her head off, would y’all fuckers really feel comfortable coming forward about something like that? Homegirl got scared.”

Rose is rubbing her throat worriedly, and David has to push down the instinctual desire to reach out and lay a hand on her arm, shoulder, anything. Show her that, while he’s still not happy with her, he’ll still protect her.

But he doesn’t. He can’t look like he’s fallen under her spell.

“What’s done is done,” David says. “No point in dwelling on the past. We still have at least two more targets, and Rose has offered whatever help she can provide.”

Thalia snorts. “And what kind of help can you be?”

Rose’s expression doesn’t change, remains horribly blank as she stares down the table at Thalia. But there’s something, in her flat tone and the intensity of her eyes, that seems to focus in like a sniper’s bullet. “A minute ago you wanted me locked away for your own safety. Now you consider me powerless again. Is this how you see the world, Thalia? Where everyone is merely supporting character until they threaten your role in the show? I’d suggest you reevaluate your perceptions. I am no less powerful of an ally than I am as a threat.”

Thalia’s face cycles through three different colors, from flushed reds to the purple of indescribable anger when Rose addresses her by her first name, and finally ghost-white as she finishes and all the blood drains from Thalia’s face. David stays quiet as Rose stands there, staring, daring her to reply.

She reminds him, painfully, of his mother.

The table is silent for a long moment, and Anthony is the one to finally break it. “So how is she going to help you?” he asks quietly.

David steels his shoulders. “She’s coming with us to Brigmore Manor.”

Anthony snaps his head up, mouth open to protest, but Vasco holds his hand up. “It’s okay, man, let him talk. David’s not going to let her get hurt.”

“I’m not, but that brings up another matter.” David points at Lydia. “Lady Lydia, how important is it that you attend the Boyle Masquerade?”

“Um, very?” She blinks. “I understand this means Miss Rose cannot accompany me, and I harbor no ill feelings for that. Our mission here takes precedence. But I’m perfectly capable of attending without a companion.”

“That’s not the problem. Your association with Rose on the night Grim Alex attacked you both means Delilah has possibly made a target of you. We’re concerned your safety may have been compromised.”

“...Oh.”

“So. How feasible would it be to skip?”

Lydia looks down at her lap. “Not...very. I’m sorry, but if all three sisters aren’t present, there will be rumors. As it is, I might be able to dismiss reports of my presence in this district as mere gossip, but people will know I haven’t been home if I don’t attend the ball. It will surely get back to the Regent.” She shakes her head. “Not to mention Esma would have someone track me down. They’d find me, and all of us, here. Believe me, I’d prefer not to go, but I must at least make a brief appearance.”

“That’s fine.” David holds up his hand. “We formulated a plan in case of that. How do you feel about Paul accompanying you?”

Paul slaps his elbows down on the table, resting his chin in his hands and grinning at Lydia in delight. Lydia stares at him for three seconds before breaking eye contact to laugh into her hand.

“That...oh my, no, I have no objection to that.” She lets her hand fall away. “My sisters won’t have bodyguards though.”

“No one needs to know I’m guarding your body.” Paul drawls. “Wait, no, that sounds pervy. Forget I said that.”

“People will think you’re my date, unfortunately. Which I’m not allowed to have.”

“You can’t bring a date to your own f*****g party?” Joan asks, right as Paul snaps his fingers.

“Oh! I know what we could do!” He leans in, his eyes wide without a hint of sarcasm. “Can I wear a dress?”

“A...dress.”

“Yes! I promise I’ll shave my legs and everything!” Paul clasps his hands together, as if praying to her.

“That’s not-no one wears dresses anymore, Paul.”

“Uh, ‘scuse me.” Joan points to Rose. “And I’m wearing a dress to this mockery-masquerade thing.”

David raises a finger. “You mean a mockerade,” he says.

Joan just stares at him, expressionless. “No.”

“Well, then the assassin’s attention will be on me and not you.”

‘He’s been wanting an excuse to dress up as a woman for years,’ Sabrina giggles.

“I don’t even have any dresses you can borrow. I threw all mine out a long time ago-I didn’t think I’d ever need to wear another dress, except perhaps for the Empress’s wedding.”

“I hope you didn’t buy a dress for that,” Anthony interjects. “You would have been waiting for quite a while. She was never going to get married.”

“That’s nonsense, she had to have heirs. As will you.”

“Sabrina was just going to pretend that she made her kids all by herself and never tell anyone who their father was.”

“I mean, let’s be real,” Joan says. “If there was ever a woman capable of knocking herself up, it would have been Sabrina f*****g Stark.”

“See? No marriage required. That dress would have been a permanent resident in your closet.”

“Well, there are no dresses in my closet.” Lydia presses her finger to her lip. “But we can always raid my sister’s closets.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m talking about!”

“No guarantee we’ll find a dress, but we can look. We’ll have to get there a little ahead of schedule,” she says. “The sizing shouldn’t be too bad, we’ll just find something long and pad your chest.”

“I’ll need a wig.”

“Esma has wigs!” Lydia giggles. “You’ll have a mask on, but you’ll need at least some make-up...Esma gives me palettes literally every year for the winter solstice, hoping I’ll use them. I’m still not that good, I’ll warn you.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Paul slaps his chest. “I got that covered. It’s like f*****g Cinderella, I’ll be your lady friend until midnight.”

“So Paul will ensure Lydia’s safety during the Boyle party,” David says, fixing the two with a stare until they settle down in their seats. “Which will hopefully be a boring job. And with any luck, the Brigmore party will be too-for everyone except Breanna Ashworth.”

Anthony raises his hand.

“I know you don’t like this.” David huffs. “We know, Anthony.”

“I don’t, but I was going to ask how you plan to watch each other’s backs when one of you can’t fight.”

“For the last time.” Rose puts her hands on her hips. “I’m pregnant, not crippled.”

“You also said you’re not that good with a sword.”

“I’m...good enough.”

“That’s all irrelevant,” David waves his hand. “We’ll be operating on a pair system. Someone will be by her side at all times, and whoever’s not will be doing...other stuff. Together.” He doesn’t see what Lizzy’s doing with her hands, but he kicks her in the shin as a preventative measure. “She’ll have a knife and a pistol just in case, but if a situation arises where she has to defend herself, most likely all three of us are already dead.” He turns to her. “At which point you should retreat.”

The pair system was useful for another reason. They don’t need to explain to the others that large sections of Brigmore Manor will be inaccessible without the use of magic-and that the fact doesn’t impede David one little bit. Hopefully, Rose won’t need to leave the party floor much, but in case she does-whether it’s to help identify Breanna or just to help them navigate the maze of hallways and crumbling architecture-she’ll have a way to get there.

Because David isn’t going to give her the Bond.

In a way, he feels guilty about it. He’s taking her to the battlefront and giving her no armor, essentially. He doesn’t plan on even letting her be present for any fights, but he also knows he can’t control that. The Bond could save her life.

But the thought of passing the Bond to someone who bore Delilah’s Bond, that made his skin crawl. Hers has faded from Rose’s body, but there was no telling if there were still remnants of it in her bloodstream. If David might feel some of her energy through the magic still left. If Delilah might retain some sort of connection to her despite everything, if his magic touching hers might reactivate that. If she might recognize it. If she might know.

And truthfully? David just doesn’t trust Rose with the Bond. Not enough.

“I’ll get out of there,” she mutters. “Come back with a few tanks of whale oil and some matches. Burn it all to the ground.”

“No, you’ll be getting yourself to safety. Back to the boat.” David turns back to the group. “Also that, we’re taking Lizzy’s old river barge. The Undine.”

“That’s dead in the water,” Edgar says with a grimace.

“Not anymore.”

“What the f**k, you fixed it? Catspaw, if you could fix the boat, what’ve you been on my d**k for?!”

“For being an i***t, obviously.”

They didn’t really fix it-the only thing wrong with it was that it’s missing its engine coil, which they’ll be able to pop in after getting it from the engine room. But it’s smugly satisfying to see Edgar sputter, thinking they just rigged the engine working with sheer genius. So he doesn’t mention that part.

“Another thing-running that scrapheap is not a one-person job and these fuckers don’t know s**t about boats.” Joan points to him, Rose, and Galia in tandem. “So you’re coming too, Wakefield.”

“Not to the party,” David says. “You’re just there to steer and...whatever else Joan needs.”

“Wait, so I have to come and do Lizzy’s dirty work, and I don’t even get to party down?”

“Yep.” Joan grins. “Also you’ll be surrounded by three pretty ladies, and not one of them is interested in your dick.”

“Cunt.”

“Sucks to be you, don’t it?”

‘Jealous of her,’ Sabrina whispers. ‘You’ve made her a target.’

David waves his hand. “Trust me, when this is all over, you’ll see it reflected in your reward. So just shut up about it for now.”

He’s not taking Edgar into the party. Not trusting him with the Bond-not even with knowing about the Mark. But Joan is right in that David doesn’t know how to operate a boat. True, he figured out her skiff pretty easily, and he can always ask Sabrina for advice-she’ll take any opportunity to gush about boats. But he’s not about to test his bullshitting ability here. Galia is Watch, not Navy, so she has even less of a clue. And Rose has never piloted anything more complicated than a rowboat. Whether he likes it or not, they need Edgar.

“So.” David slaps his hands down on the table. “That’s the details. Anyone have any problems?”

Everyone is silent-save for f*****g Trimble. Because of course.

“I maintain-” He points to Rose with his pen. “-that she is a danger to us all.”

“Yes, she shouldn’t be allowed near Lord Anthony,” Thalia pipes up. “She’s a threat to his safety.”

“I’m right here,” Anthony says, a little louder than quiet.

“I’m just letting you know what-”

“I’m fully aware what your thoughts on the matter are.” Anthony pushes his chair back, rising to his feet and turning to look at her. “And I’m letting you know that I don’t care.”

Out of the corner of his eye, David sees Rose push her jaw back up.

“Is the meeting adjourned?” Anthony asks, turning to David. “Good. You’re excused, Lady Timsh. Mr. Trimble.”

About half the group meanders off as Anthony and Vasco shuffle around the table. Rose turns to him as he approaches, but looks at his shoes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“For the record.” Vasco raises a finger. “She was going to tell you tonight. Literally, this morning she was trying to gauge how angry you were going to be.”

“I’m not-” Anthony blows his bangs out of his face. “I’m not mad. I understand why you didn’t tell me. I’m just...sad about it. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.” Rose nods. “That’s valid. And it wasn’t about you-I didn’t want to tell anybody.”

“I get it. But...no more secrets?” He holds up his pinky finger.

Rose breaks into a smile, and joins her pinky with his. “No secrets. Promise.”

Vasco steps forward and digs his hand into Rose’s ponytail. “Okay, if you’re going to a fancy party, I cannot let you go with that rat’s nest for a head.”

Rose pulls her dreadlock back. “I’ve...never cut my hair before. My mother always told me my power was stored in it.”

“That…” Vasco blinks. “I don’t know much about magic, but that doesn’t seem right.”

“I mean, I know now that it was bullshit. She just wanted a daughter with pretty long hair, but didn’t want to bother showing me how to take care of it.”

Anthony holds his hands up, gesturing towards her hairdo. “What, so these aren’t meant to be dreads-they’re literally just sixteen years worth of snarls?”

Rose nods.

“I’m both disgusted and impressed. I was only allowed to wash my hair at Timsh’s like, once. My hair was so gross, I just wanted to shave it all off. I don’t know how you can stand it.”

“I’ve wanted to cut it since I left Brigmore, just...didn’t have the nerve.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Vasco says, pulling a few loose dreads back. “You’ll look awesome by the time I’m done with you.”

Anthony raises his hand. “Just don’t get ahead of yourself. We’ll be crashing the Boyle ball next year and all three of us have to upstage our present selves. That’s just how it works.”

David watches the three giggle over the stupid s**t, talk about hair and glitter and jewelry with no thought to their current situation. For a moment, they’re just kids. David watches and feels his heart swell.

Then Joan is leaning over, whispering in his ear, “Quit your creeping, you f*****g weirdo.”

“It’s not just going to come back, man, your hands-”

“Quiet you,” Eugene says through half a mouthful of pins.

Jerome groans and pulls away. “Tomorrow your hands are just going to hurt more and be stiffer than ever, and then I’ll have to do it for you anyway.”

“I can power through.”

“This is painful to watch.”

David sips his coffee. “Think of how painful it must be for him.”

“That’s my point!” Jerome gestures to Eugene. “This obviously hurts him, and he’s pretending like it’ll just go away if he ignores it.”

“I don’t think that,” Eugene says, removing a pin from his mouth and sticking it into what will be David’s dress shirt. “But if I practice enough, I’ll get used to how I need to move my hands, and I won’t notice the pain.” He stabs himself in the finger again. “Fu-fudge.”

David rolls his eyes. The shirt is red and won’t show the blood, and he’ll be covering it up with a jacket anyway. Eugene’s crooked stitches won’t be visible. So it’s just a matter of watching him torment himself-which David doesn’t enjoy, obviously, but he’s hardly one to lecture.

They stand in silence and watch Eugene, who seems to be doing his best to ignore them until he snaps, “Don’t you two have better things to do than watch an old man suffer?!”

David and Jerome exchange looks.

“Not really.”

“No.”

Eugene only mutters to himself, leaning into his sewing even more intently than before.

Jerome retreats behind his counter, busying himself with pulling supplies down from his shelves. “So how’s prep for the Brigmore job going, David? Ducklings been any help?”

“So much,” he breathes. “The maps might not be perfect, but we have a general idea of the layout of the place. And Reed drew us sketches of some of the witches-I didn’t realize how good of an artist he is.”

“Reed’s, like, weirdly good at some things,” Jerome says as he wipes down something cylindrical and metal with a rag. “I’m half convinced that he’s actually an old sage trapped in an eleven-year-old’s body. But then he comes up to me and asks what a hairbrush is? I just don’t know with that kid.”

“I wish I could say. He has an insane attention to detail, which is helpful, but he can’t tell us much about Brigmore at all. It feels like he’s spent most of his life in his own little world.”

“I just want to say again,” David almost rolls his eyes when he hears Eugene’s voice. “That I do not approve of you conscripting those children into this madness!”

“Rose isn’t even going to be close to the action, okay?” Jerome actually does roll his eyes. “And all Reed’s doing is drawing some maps and telling them about the ladies there.”

“You’re making him relive his trauma.”

David shakes his head. “I don’t doubt that Brigmore f****d him up in the head, but his brother and sister shielded him from a lot.”

“He was yanked away from his mother and treated like an object. I-” Eugene grimaces as he stabs himself again. “No child comes out of that unscarred.”

“I know that. Of all damn people-” David stops short when he sees Jerome look at him oddly, and he settles back down in his seat. “Reed will be fine. And I’ll protect Rose with my life, alright, don’t worry about her.”

“Oh, I’ll worry. I’ll worry until I see all of you home, safe and sound.”

“You’re adorable.” Jerome rolls his eyes again, turning back towards his shelves. “So where are the kiddies at today, David?”

“Apparently it’s spa day. Which means everyone’s getting their hair cut and-whatever else that means. Anthony and Vasco are there too.”

“You don’t want a haircut, I guess?”

“I’m done allowing people to hold sharp objects to my head.”

“...Guess I can’t blame you for that.”

“So you’re just going to sit here and antagonize me?” Eugene mutters.

“I’m going to sit here and tell you that you’re being an i***t, yes.” David’s fingers root around in his pocket. “Here, why don’t you take this? My back’s been feeling-”

“Get that infernal thing away from me!”

“It’s just a bonecharm.” David stares at him dully, clutching the charm Rose made to hang off his cane, which he doesn’t really need to use anymore. It’s just a little thing-a stub of bone and wire, she even painted it to make it look like a wood carving at first glance.

“You seriously still on that?” Jerome responds from behind the counter. “You know I have plenty of those, right?”

“I don’t care what you do. You and David can pollute your spirits all you want, but I will have no part in it!” He shakes his hand out again.

David rolls his eyes. “You know who made this for me, right?”

“And that’s another thing! You’re letting children play with powers beyond their comprehension, exposing them to corruption…” Eugene shakes his head.

“I can’t exactly keep them from it. What do you want me to do, take away Rose’s spellbooks?”

“I would. She’s too young to understand what she’s doing. They need to be protected.”

“You sound like the Abbey, man,” Jerome says.

“Don’t go that far. Shittake mushrooms.” Eugene sticks the tip of his finger in his mouth.

“I’m just saying. There’s nothing inherently wrong about magic.” Jerome shakes his head, then turns to David. “Can you imagine if magic was just like the other philosophies? Could study it at the Academy, people dedicating their lives to understanding how to use it better? Think of how much better we’d be off, science and magic together.”

“That would never happen,” Eugene says sourly. “Magic is unnatural.”

“And what, giant walls that turn people to dust with photons is natural?”

Eugene just mutters to himself.

“He has a point,” David says, motioning with his head.

“What, that magic is evil?”

“That you can’t hope to understand it.”

“See.” Jerome holds up something that looks like a spatula or a very odd, metal fly swatter with wires spilling out the bottom of the handle. “When people say we don’t understand something, they’re actually saying nobody’s figured it out yet. But we always do, eventually. Our ancestors didn’t know how fire worked, but we studied that s**t and experimented until we knew exactly what was going on. They didn’t know why the stars shifted between seasons or where fish went when it got cold-we know that now. f**k, twenty years ago they didn’t use whale oil for nothing but lamps, no idea what it could really do. Now we’re in a new era, thanks to it.”

“You can’t bring up whale oil,” David says. “Nobody knows how it really works.” That was something that incensed Sabrina. That was how her brain worked, always wanted to dive deeper, probe, ask questions until she understood. She liked taking off the cover and examining the gritty insides until there were no secrets left. The more she knew, the less she could be caught off-guard. She was loathe to accept that there was no explanation for the substance her Empire was run on. That people like Sokolov understood how to bend its properties to their will and didn’t give a thought to what it really was, were happy to charge recklessly ahead without understanding all that entailed. “You know, actually, whale oil is a great metaphor.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“No. Just a bitch.”

“Mother-butters.” Eugene wipes his fingers off on his pants. “Jerome, are you going to the market soon? I’m going to need a new pair of scissors.”

“I can go tomorrow.” Jerome ducks under the counter and comes up with a notepad. “Let’s see, hemlock, essence of nightshade, astrolite, not going to find that-here we go. Sciiiiissoooors.” His pen scratches against the paper. “You want me to put some thimbles on there?”

“I have not used a thimble in over forty years, and I don’t plan to begin again!”

“Whatever you say, buddy.” Jerome gives David a wink and starts writing on a new line. “Anything you’ll need, David? This is probably the last trip I’ll make before the big Brigmore job.”

“Elixir and sleep darts, as usual,” he grunts. “Same brand of smokes, if you can find them. And some whiskey.”

Jerome stops his writing and looks up at him, squinting. “Whiskey?”

David drums his fingers along the table. “A couple bottles of it, if it’s not too much to carry. Oh, and a bottle of rum. To replace the one I stole from Ricardo.”

He wasn’t the only person here David’s stolen from-just the only one he feels bad about. Edgar and Joan either haven’t noticed someone skimming off the top of their liquor stash or just don’t care enough to say anything, and Thalia certainly wouldn’t have noticed. Galia, she’s a major contributing factor to his constant headache, so David figures she owes him.

Jerome blinks and sets the pen down. “David, like...I know we’re not the type of friends who say this, but are you okay man?”

David just stares at him. “I’m never going to be okay again in my life.”

“And that is a totally valid standpoint. Nobody here knows how you do it.” Jerome shakes his head. “I mean, you watched your little girl get cut open. Then spent six months getting the s**t beat out of you and reliving it. I think most people would have just laid down and died by now and you’re still on your feet fighting.”

“I used to wonder how anyone survived losing a child,” Eugene says, putting down his sewing at last. “Then I watched my nephews die and realized you never really have a choice. David, I can’t fault you for whatever manner of coping you choose, but-”

“Literally everyone in this place drinks.” David rolls his eyes. “I choose not to and I get ridiculed, then I start and get a lecture.”

“It’s just a lot.” Jerome stares him down. “Anthony said you fell down the stairs last week, you were so drunk.”

“Blame Joan for that.”

“David-”

“It’s just been a while, okay, I forgot my tolerance. Just-” He holds up his hands. “I’ll be fine. Just buy me the whiskey. Do you need the coin upfront?”

“No,” he says quietly, scribbling in his pad. “You can give me the coin whenever. I know you’re good for it.”

“Great.” David settles back in his chair, but sits up again when he hears voices in the hallway. “Well, someone’s done with their beauty treatment.”

David pushes up the sliding door that walls off the window display from the store. He puts his knee on the display stand and leans forward, looking around.

Galia is standing at the far corner of the mall, chatting with Zhukov. David grimaces. Great. He’s back.

“Her haircut looks nice.” Eugene nods appreciatively. David can only shrug in agreement. Cut into her usual bob, the ends far more even and straight than they were this morning. It does look nice. But it’s the same haircut she’s had the entire time David’s known her. Just typical Galia.

“Damn.” Jerome raises his thumb to his lower lip. “Now why does a girl like her settle for a guy like that?”

David almost has to snort. “I highly, highly doubt the nature of their relationship is romantic.”

“You really think?” Jerome stands on his tiptoes to see better.

Eugene’s head turns, and he meets David’s eye for a brief second before smiling. “Jerome,” he says. “Am I detecting a crush?”

“Huh?” Jerome leans back now, blinking. “Oh, um...”

“David, doesn’t that seem like the case to you?”

“Oh. Sure.” David glances over his shoulder once more before stepping away. “Unless you...don’t?”

Jerome face is very pink, eyes darting from Eugene to David as if either of them are going to give him a reprieve. “I, uh…” Then his mouth stretches into a very goofy smile. “She’s just so hot, guys. Like-” He leans around David to see her again. “Think of how pretty our babies would be!”

“They’d be very blond,” David mutters. “You’d look like a postercard from Morley.”

“That’s thinking quite far ahead, Jerome.”

“It’s a joke, man.” Jerome straightens up again. “Though I’d totally be down for making babies with her now. You know, if she asked.”

“Have you actually done anything to court her?”

“Court her? What, like the noblepeeps do?” Jerome whips his head to David. “s**t, does she expect that? Because I, um...”

David snaps his fingers. “So you’re the one who’s been leaving her flowers.”

Jerome turns even redder.

“No, it’s cute. We thought it was Reed doing it.” David coughs. “You gave her lesbian flowers, though. I don’t know how, but violets are apparently gay.”

“I gave her purple pansies, which...are technically violets, damn.” He kicks the floor. “There were no blue ones, and blue’s her favorite color! Thought purple was close enough.”

“Oh, just explain it to her.” Eugene lands a hand on Jerome’s shoulder.

“No, you guys are right, she worked at Dunwall Tower and expects poetry and handkerchiefs, and-” His head pivots between the two. “I can’t write poetry! Whose handkerchief goes to who? Do we use the same one we blow our noses on? David, help me!”

“I am the last person you should ask for courting advice.”

“But you lived with those fancy rich people!” Jerome motions to the side, as if Dunwall’s aristocracy will materialize next to the door. “How did you court Anthony’s mom?”

“He wasn’t living at the Tower then.”

“Yeah, but he wooed a woman who banged an Emperor! She had to have high standards. David must have some mad game he’s not showing us.”

“Just-” David steps away, holding his hands up. “Just go talk to her. I’ve known Galia a long time and trust me, she doesn’t care about all that.”

“Really?”

“Really.” If anything, she thinks actions like that are stupid. Sabrina was much the same way. Her dislike for her suitors always grew the harder they pursued her.

“So you actually think I might have a chance?” Jerome’s fingers dance over each other. “She really might be interested?”

“I don’t f*****g know, is my name Galia?”

“But you know her. Do you think she might actually like me like that?”

Honestly, probably not. David knows she prefers women. But he doesn’t know if that stretches to a total distaste in men. Sabrina had told him, once, that she occasionally found some men attractive-she just found women more attractive. And that men tended to turn her off with their personalities.

Why did she and Galia hate each other so much again? For that matter, why do Galia and Joan hate each other? He feels like they should be kindred spirits. And it’s a weird thought, but he hopes that Sabrina and Joan wouldn’t have rubbed each other wrong like that. That they would have been friends.

“Quit asking me. Just do it.”

“Yes, go…” Eugene pauses, holding his arm out. “Er, what would a person do for a date here?”

“Don’t ask me. I don’t know what people do on dates in general.” David’s never been on a date. Unless he counted taking his courtesan friend out for dinner the night she took his virginity, but they were just hungry afterwards. Sabrina didn’t date or court the women she liked-she just had s*x with them. He supposes some of Anthony’s afternoons spent ‘hanging out’ with other male friends might have been dates, but if they were, he never told David about them.

“We could...I could ask her if she wants to take a walk around the canal! Actually, no, the smell of dead bodies isn’t really romantic…”

David resists the urge to rub his temples. “Just go up and tell her you like her. God.” He is so glad he never bothered with this crap.

“Okay. I can do that.” Jerome nods. “Now?”

“Of course now.”

“Maybe I should...this whole business with plague and kidnapping and regicide, it has a way of killing the mood, doesn’t it?” He shrugs. “Maybe I’ll just wait until after the coronation, you know, court her properly…”

“Do it now,” David says flatly. “We might all be dead tomorrow.”

Jerome looks at him for a moment, then turns back towards the door. “Okay.” He rolls his shoulders. “I’m gonna do it. My pants don’t match my jacket, but I’m going to do it!”

He ducks under the storm door, Eugene following shortly and bading David to come with.

They creep under the stairwell as Jerome tiptoes over to Galia’s side-which is, thankfully, Zhukov-free. She stands and adjusts her bracelets, not even looking up.

“Give me a moment, my knees aren’t what they used to be…” Eugene grips the side of the empty flower planter as he eases himself to the floor. “I feel like we’re schoolboys again.”

David crouches down, hiding himself behind the planter. “I don’t remember this part.”

“You never spied on a friend talking to a pretty girl? We did it all the time in secondary school.”

David watches Jerome shift from side to side. “I stopped going to school when I was eight or...ten, something like that.”

“Oh.” Eugene glances away. “You’re very well spoken, for someone with only a few years of primary education.”

“That’s more education that most people ever get.” That’s changing now, and would have changed faster if Sabrina had been able to get her education reform passed before she died. People like Eugene, born upper-middle class, had no problem with access to schools, but the poor often relied on their parents teaching them. Which was no use to people like Anthony and Sabrina, who had no one who could or no one who cared to teach them, respectively. People like them just never learned, which led to a literacy rate in the Isles that hovered somewhere around fifty percent. Their stories were far from unique-expected, even, for people of their class.

But David knew his mother went without quite a bit in order to pay his school fees. Wherever they moved, she was sure to find a school and enroll him immediately. She was always adamant that he’d work with his brain and not with his hands.

Now that he thinks about it, David’s not entirely sure which category his current work falls into.

“I’m just pointing it out. If you ignored your accent, you could pass for a nobleman.”

Did Eugene just...not hear his curse words or something? Maybe his brain just short-circuits when someone swears and all he hears is a beep.

David watches as Galia turns to acknowledge Jerome as he approaches, holding his hands up in a greeting. “How old is Jerome anyway?”

“Young enough that he could be our son. Not-ours together, of course, just in theory.”

“Right.” David nods. “I don’t think he’s quite young enough for that.”

He’s almost positive Jerome is older than Sabrina. David was eighteen when she was born, so Jerome would have to be around her age. Though, technically, it would still have been possible a little earlier. David’s mother was sixteen when she had him, fifteen when she got pregnant. It happens. Far too often.

Eugene glances towards him. “How old are you, David?”

“Forty-two. Birthday was in the Month of Rain.” The guards made a party of it. Invited all the inmates in the block. Shoved him face-first into the mud and kicked, stomped on him until he blacked out. Multiple times. Spat on him and cursed his mother for birthing him.

“So you were...twenty-five when you had Anthony, I see.”

He bites back a remark about doing basic arithmetic. It’s not even worth it anymore, to deny that Anthony is his son-if anything, people are more convinced when he tries to correct them.

“I always wondered,” Eugene muses, as they watch Jerome talk with exaggerated hand movements. “What ever happened to their mother, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Sabrina thinks she drank herself to death.”

“You don’t know?”

“I never met the woman.” A good thing too. After hearing Sabrina recount some of treatment she endured at that woman’s hand, David would probably reciprocate.

“...Oh.”

They watch the two for a moment. Galia’s back is to them, so David can’t gauge her reactions.

“I’m...I apologize, for my assumptions.”

“Don’t be. Everyone thinks it.”

“People like you are far too rare.” Eugene shakes his head. “Taking care of children you have no responsibility for.”

“Someone had to take care of them.”

“And they were very lucky that you decided to be that someone.”

“I don’t like to think like that,” David says, fingers itching for a cigarette. “Kids deserve homes and food, people who love them. That’s basic. The bar was on the ground and people dug down to avoid giving them the bare minimum. All I did was give them some of what they shouldn’t have been doing without in the first place.”

“I agree. But the world would be a much better place if there were more people like you in it.”

David can’t think of a more horrifying idea than a world full of people like him. A world where people cared about kids starving to death in the streets, maybe. Where no one preyed on the weak and abused those unable to fight back. That would be nice. That was the only part of David that didn’t make him want to shed his skin and step out of his bones. Maybe the only part of him that his mother wouldn’t die of shame when confronted with.

Jerome glances past Galia’s shoulder, over to their hiding spot. Eugene raises his two thumbs and smiles over the top of the planter. David half-heartedly gives a thumbs-up as well.

“What are you going to do after this?” David whispers, after Jerome’s looked away again. “After Anthony is coronated.”

Eugene shifts on his knees. “I haven’t given much thought to it. Plague does...funny things to your expectations of mortality, does it not? Feels odd to expect a future now. At first, I thought I’d take the Coppers in, until their mother was found or...just adopt them, if not.”

“You may have to fistfight Ricardo for that.”

“Oh, yes, he’s a good man. But Reed tells me they’re moving into Dunwall Tower, so I know they’ll be looked after. And I doubt Rose will need help with her daughter. Seems like there’s no shortage of people here just waiting to spoil that baby.” He clears his throat. “Obviously, now I plan to take care of my niece until she’s cured and able to care for herself. Then...oh, she’ll likely tell me it’s time to retire.” He laughs softly. “An odd thing, getting old. Seems like yesterday I was making little dresses for my sister’s dolls. Now suddenly, why, I could be Reed’s grand father. Seems like such a short time. Yet I am so tired.”

“I know what you mean.” David feels exhausted. And he quite possibly still has half his life left to go.

Fuck, he hopes he won’t live that long.

“Of course, I’m indebted to you and Anthony, my services will always be available to you. I just can’t imagine what use you’d have for a mad old man like me.” He chuckles.

“I’d rather just let you enjoy your retirement in peace.”

“What are you planning? I know that sounds like an odd question, but I heard you don’t plan to renew your position as Royal Protector.”

“That’s up to Anthony,” David says. “But no. I’m too old for it.”

“We both know that’s not the entire truth,” Eugene says gently. “David, if you are ever to make peace with the Empress’s death, you must understand that it was out of your hands. You couldn’t stop it. And you cannot blame yourself.”

David doesn’t say anything.

Galia’s laughter cuts through the air. Across the mall, he sees her shake her head, her lips move and Jerome’s face falls.

They approach as Galia is walking away, still laughing. Jerome still looks like the personification of a rain cloud, slouched over with his hands in his pockets, staring at the ground.

“Sorry,” David says quietly, when they get close.

Jerome just shakes his head. “You know what? You were right. We’re all dying anyway.” He stands up straight, pulling his hands out of his pockets. “f**k romance.”

David has to do a double-take when he approaches their table for lunch. He almost doesn’t recognize Rose, sitting there without her signature beehive.

“My head feels so light,” she giggles, fluffing the ends of her hair.

David reaches out and ruffles what’s left. “It looks great.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

The ends brush against her shoulders, clean and crisply cut. Must be nice, not to have all that weighed down with grease and dirt and dead hair. The red is actually a few shades lighter than he thought. Looks more wavy than curly.

“Obviously, we couldn’t save it all,” Vasco says, pinching the ends between two fingers. “We had to cut off most of it, but I unwound the really new stuff. Crazy, how much that shrinks up your hair.”

“What did you do with what you cut off?” David asks.

Vasco looks a little sheepish. “Well, I said we should burn it, just as a symbol you know? But, uh, it wouldn’t light. Whatever she’s been using has rendered her hair flame-proof.”

“We threw it into the Wrenhaven.” Anthony grins.

He’s gotten a haircut too, which is a relief. Anthony might have gotten away with pulling his hair back into a ponytail as just the Empress’s kid brother, but it wouldn’t fly once he was on the throne. His hair needed to be clean-cut, but not shaved like David’s is. f**k, he’s going to be like one of those nobles who has to get their hair snipped once a week, isn’t he? It’ll be obvious if he doesn’t. Sabrina went through her own troubles with her hair, but because of her curls it wasn’t immediately obvious when she’d gone a while without a haircut. And she was able to just pin her hair up if she didn’t feel like dealing with it.

“And your magic still hasn’t left you, has it?”

She shrugs. “I mean, I haven’t tried casting any spells, but I can still feel it.”

“We’re going to be Anthony’s chief advisors.” Vasco grins at him. “Science and magic, working together! To build schools and, um, solve crimes! Stuff like that!”

‘He would hate public office,’ Sabrina says dryly.

Vasco is the only one who hasn’t received a haircut-but then, he has few hairs to cut. They’re just beginning to emerge from his head, already curling into tight little spirals. The shrinkage would be intense with him too. Sabrina’s curls weren’t quite so dramatic, but they still ate hair length like crazy. Her hair was just past her shoulders the first time the Emperor demanded she flat-iron it, and by the time the maids were done, she could sit on it.

“I think the Overseers would take issue with that,” David mutters. Vasco tosses his hand.

“Oh, psh, they’re no match for the Crown. Delilah’s already taken out a bunch of them. We can just get rid of the Abbey!”

“What’s this about taking down the Abbey?” Joan interjects from the side. “You know what, don’t care about the context. I’m in.”

She plops down her plate and is closely followed by Lydia, who still looks relatively unsure about doing things as mundane as carrying her own plate to her seat. They both sit, Lydia straightening her utensils and Joan picking up a heel of bread and biting into it before her butt’s even hit the chair.

“We’re not revolting against the Abbey, Lizzy,” David admonishes.

“Well, we should. Anyway, like my new hair?”

There’s not much different about it. From what he can tell, Joan is still shaving most of her hair, so the one patch is still the only hair left on her head. She’ll likely have to just shave that part off, when she decides to grow it out again. He’ll buy her a wig when that time comes.

“You look as ugly as ever, Lizzy.”

Joan rolls her eyes. She reaches up and threads her fingers through the strands, parting it and combing it over both sides of her head. “We’re gonna pin it like this for the ball. Make it just look like I have a hell of an undercut.” She drops her hands, letting her hair flop back. “Not that it matters. Been under a hood this whole time, wanted posters aren’t showing my hair.”

“I think you’ll look very nice,” Lydia says, sipping her tea. “It’s a shame I won’t be able to see you all dressed up.”

“We got all the parties in the world to make up for it, Boyles, once I have to take this asshole to every shindig that gets thrown down.”

Lydia has also very obviously gotten a haircut, though her hair is still as long as ever. She’s wearing it down, though, the first time David’s ever seen her go without a ponytail or bun. They’ve given her layers and trimmed the front quite a bit, making it look like there’s waves to her hair.

She places her teacup back, and it’s then David notices she’s wearing nail polish. All of them are, actually. Purple for Lydia, green for Lizzy, blue for Anthony, pink for Rose, and red for Vasco.

It’s cute. Even though David thinks the concept of nail polish is stupid.

“We did our toenails too!” Anthony grins, when he sees David looking at his nails.

“Nobody’s going to see that.”

“No, but it was fun.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask what else you all did.”

Across the table, Vasco shrugs. “Hair and nails, really, even got Reed to sit for a cut. Thought about whipping together a skin scrub from Rose’s ingredients, but-” He fixes her with a glare as she slides down her chair, hiding her giggle behind her hand. “-I was afraid I’d accidentally poison someone.”

“Just because I use those ingredients to make poisons doesn’t mean they’re all poison. You’re a chemist, come on, are you not going to drink that water because water’s a component in arsenic?”

“You use the same mixing tools for everything, that’s a cross-contamination risk! Also arsenic is an element and a metal.”

“You know what I f*****g meant.”

“I do! And I’m just telling you that what you’re referring to is called an arsenical.”

“I’m going to get some lunch,” David says, getting to his feet.

Lunch is fish, as always, and some very sad looking mashed potatoes without nearly enough butter. David immediately reaches for the salt and taps until Ricardo begins cursing at him. He shoves something vaguely green onto David’s plate and pushes him out of the kitchen. David nibbles on the green, stalky thing as he returns to the table.

“I’ve found that,” Vasco makes a face as he sips his tea, and dumps in another cube of sugar as David slides back into his seat, plate in hand. “Pardon me, I’ve found that I can usually guess the occupation of a patient by their hands. The wealthy always have good nails.”

Rose nods along as she takes a drink herself, resting her cup on the top of her stomach. “Right, and a gardener, say, would have broken nails, a tan-and you can never get all that dirt out from under your nails.”

“But that only works if you can see their hands.” Anthony frowns. “What if they’re wearing gloves?”

They’re acting like they’re from one of those dumb noir novels that Anthony used to eat up. What the f**k were they talking about?

He still has no idea what this vegetable is. Not celery or broccoli-asparagus, maybe? It’s browning quite a bit, but they can’t be choosy here.

“Only nobles wear gloves like that.” Rose pokes him good-naturedly. “Us common folk don’t have time for that.”

“Yeah, Anthony, your classdom is showing.”

“But a spy would. If the goal is to infiltrate the nobility, they’d likely wear gloves anyway to blend in.”

David shoves the rest of the green thing in his mouth-not asparagus, too bitter, he has no idea what he just ate-and glances at his own hands. He wears gloves when he works, but he never used to. Never realized he should be embarrassed by them. Now he wraps his knuckles to hide the Mark-both of them, to avoid suspicion. Anthony hasn’t questioned it yet, but David knows he’s noticed. He’ll start wearing gloves back at Dunwall Tower, as Spymaster. He’ll blame his scars if people ask. Outsider knows he has enough of them.

He looks down the table. Anthony, of course, has nearly perfect hands. Large palms and long, slender fingers, unmarred from manual labor. Vasco’s hands are similar, used to holding pens and turning pages, though there are a few nicks likely from working with laboratory equipment. Rose’s hands are the only ones truly scarred, rough from washing and gouges along her knuckles and fingers. The pink of her polish seems out of place on her fingers.

Those hands move as Rose looks down on them with a frown. “I guess.”

“You know what I usually do?” Anthony leans in to take a bite of his rice, and David smiles as he thinks on how his governesses would shriek at his table manners. “I look at people’s shoes.”

“And what, judge them on their shitty taste?” Rose snorts into her tea.

Anthony shakes his head. “Disguises exist, but people will always wear shoes meant for the job they’re doing. An assassin will wear shoes meant for running, even if the rest of their outfit is not.”

That’s very true. David never had to go undercover before this-everyone knew he was there to protect the Empress, and expected his clothing to be suited for that. Sabrina, on the other hand, had to dress like a typical noblewoman, complete with all the bullshittery that modern fashions came with. She refused the ridiculous hats, sparsely wore heavy jewelry that could catch on things or make her a target for thievery. But she had to wear the dresses, had to pin up her hair in elaborate fashions, had to dangle jewels from her throat on occasion. She got away with as much as she could, but there were certain practices even an Empress couldn’t avoid.

Her shoes, though? After she told one of her advisors that he could wear her heels if he liked them so much, Sabrina exclusively wore boots. Expensive boots, but definitely not the kind other noblewomen were buying. Laces instead of buckles, soft leather and thick soles. She wore them even under her dresses, draping her skirts just so to hide them.

David checks under the table. Lydia is wearing knee-high boots as well, but they’re shoes Sabrina wouldn’t be caught dead in. Shiny, tight, golden buckles at the side that could catch or come loose at any time. Couldn’t be very comfortable either. He himself is wearing walking boots, as is Vasco, albeit much more beat-up than anything Sabrina would have been allowed to wear. Anthony is wearing boots that lace up at the rim, because his feet are weird and abnormally large in comparison to his skinny legs and nothing else fits quite right. It was a b***h finding him shoes as a kid, until they moved to Dunwall Tower and had a cobbler on payroll. Rose has started wearing slippers to deal with the swelling in her ankles. Joan isn’t wearing any shoes at all.

Vasco leans forward, quirking his eyebrow. “That does make sense-but if you point it out, a spy would be aware of it and change their footwear.”

“Well, yes, but I’m just pointing it out to you two. I wasn’t aware either of you had plans of becoming spies.”

Well, David had plans for Rose, at least. He’s not sure about Vasco. Kid couldn’t put on a calm front to save his life. No, he’d be a horrible spy. David will probably pay for his schooling, as a way of thanking him for his help, but unless Anthony has something in mind they’ll really have no use for him.

Rose sips her tea thoughtfully. “If you want to look for something they can’t hide, look for their teeth.”

“Their...teeth?” Anthony makes a face.

“Yep. People who grew up in poverty, their teeth will be all kinds of f****d up. You rich people have your…oh, what do you call it? Your teeth doctor.”

“A dentist.”

“Right!” She snaps her fingers. “I’ve never been to one, obviously.”

“Let me see you teeth.” Vasco waves his hands in front of her face, and Rose turns to him with a silly grin to show off her smile. “Your teeth aren’t bad, though. Discoloration doesn’t mean they’re unhealthy.”

“You can clean your teeth pretty well by chewing reeds and basil leaves. Not as good as your fancy dentists, though.”

“My mother would have a conniption if she met you. She is a dentist.”

David draws his lips over his teeth and purses them together. He’s always been embarrassed of his teeth. Even before Delilah’s witches started pulling them, his teeth were horrible. Crooked, yellow and browning, chipped in places. He’d learned to smile and speak without showing them much. By the time he did have access to a dentist, it was really too late to do much of anything beyond saving what he had.

Anthony had a full set of rotting, crooked, completely f****d up baby teeth when David met him. He lost his first tooth literally the week they moved to Dunwall Tower. Together with access to dentistry, a better diet, and just cleaning his teeth, Anthony’s adult set grew in perfectly. David was immensely jealous-and religious about making Anthony take care of them.

Sabrina had her adult teeth already, but she was lucky. Born with good teeth. She had that snaggletooth, so slight you wouldn’t notice it if you weren’t staring at it, and honestly David found it kind of endearing. But princesses and Empresses couldn’t have crooked teeth. The Emperor wouldn’t allow a daughter with a snaggletooth. It had been fixed with a few months of having a band wrapped around her two front teeth, which Sabrina hated with a passion. But her teeth were straight by the end of it.

“I mean, it might not tell you everything you need to know,” Rose says as she waves a hand in front of her face. “But it’s useful for catching someone in a lie.”

Anthony fiddles with the crust on his bread. “Just because someone has bad teeth doesn’t mean they’re spies, Rose.”

“That’s not what I was implying, I-”

“What.” Joan stares at them in bewilderment. “The f**k are you guys talking about?”

The kids all exchange glances. David shrugs as he sips his coffee. “Don’t look at me. I’m just sitting here.”

“We’re discussing the best methods for catching spies!” Vasco says while spearing something leafy off his plate, his smile all too bright.

Joan scoffs and leans back in her chair. “You know what my method’ll be? First one I catch, I’m gonna make an example of. People won’t touch you after that, Tommy-boy.”

“That’s...not really the way I’d like to take care of things.” Anthony looks down at the table. “The Emperor-the old Emperor, he always said rulers should be merciful.”

“Didn’t he like…” Joan scrunches her nose. “Burn five guys to death on your front lawn?”

“...Once.”

“Five men who kidnapped his daughter.” David fixes her with a stare. It wasn’t their front lawn-they were out at their country estate.

Anthony holds up his hand. “Yes, and he hadn’t slept since she went missing, so for about two days by the time she returned. He wasn’t normally...like that. He was usually pretty laid back.”

Joan scoffs. “Well, look where that attitude got ‘im.”

“...He died in bed.”

“Wasn’t he poisoned?”

“No?” Anthony shakes his head. “I don’t know where you heard that, but he was really sick for a long time. And anyway, they always have charcoal and antidotes at the ready, at the Tower, so you’d have to try really hard to poison us. My sister was poisoned three times.”

“Well, maybe that wouldn’t of happened if someone made an example of the fuckers.”

“It’s the age old question!” Vasco detracts with a smile. “Is it better for a ruler to be loved by their people, or feared?”

Neither were infallible. He’d told Sabrina a thousand times-she could have been the best ruler in history and someone would still find a way to blame her for everything. You could make people afraid to try, but there will always be idiots who’d take that as a challenge. That was the problem with people. They all thought they were tougher, smarter than they were, and never took responsibility for their own shortcomings.

“Why not both?” Lydia brings her fork to her mouth with a smile. “The Empress was both.”

“People hated my sister.”

“Ignorant people did…”

Both, yes. Make it so few people would want to kill the Emperor, and make the remaining few who did too afraid to do so.

Anthony would be well-loved, of that David has no doubt. Smart with a good heart, and won’t have to deal with the bigotry Sabrina had. He doesn’t have to be fearsome, though. The people will love Anthony. They will fear David.

“I was quite surprised when I came to Dunwall and heard all the negativity about her,” Vasco says as he stirs in another cube of sugar. “I grew up in Clemente Landing, which is...you know, mostly immigrants like my parents, who came to Karnaca with nothing. We celebrated in the streets when she was crowned. It felt like an actual person was leading us for once. A real citizen of the Empire.”

Sabrina actually wasn’t a citizen. She hadn’t been since she was formally declared her father’s heir. The Crown can’t exactly be their own subject.

“You mean the festivals?” Joan asks. “There’s always festivals on coronation day. Everyone’s happy because they hand out free beer. You were probably too young to remember.”

“I was nine. And people were legitimately celebrating her, not just the alcohol.”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t like that here.” Anthony’s spoon bangs on the side of his teacup as he stirs. “Would have been nice. All I heard was bitching from Parliament about her axing their tax cuts.”

Lydia raises her hand. “To be completely fair, the taxes levied on the upper-class adds up to quite a lot of money…”

“You have a lot of money.”

“I think that’s the wrong question to be asking in the first place,” Rose declares, setting her teacup on the table. “You shouldn’t be putting the burden of the question on them. Focus on how you want to rule, and that decision will reflect how you truly want your people to see you.”

“Holy f**k,” Joan says, after a pause. “Did you just become a fortune cookie or something?”

“Oh, a fortune cookie.” Rose pats her stomach. “That sounds soooo good right now.” She slouches down in her seat. “I should probably get up and get back to work, but the depression of realizing I can’t have a fortune cookie right now has made me suddenly too weak to stand. I think I need to extend my break another few minutes.”

Lydia raises a finger. “That is a perfectly valid reason!”

“Also if Gerald yells at you, tell him to talk to me,” Anthony sniffs. “He’s not carrying around a bowling ball in his gut, so he shouldn’t be able to yell at you so much.”

“Oh, by the way, we have questions?” Vasco points to Rose’s stomach, looking at David. “About that? How are you going to hide that at Brigmore?”

David stares at him, deadpanned. “Very carefully.”

“Aw, don’t worry so much.” Joan throws her napkin on the table. “We’re strong women here, we can protect ourselves! We don’t need men!” Then she turns to David. “Except him. I mean, we don’t need David, but he makes the job interesting.”

“I’m touched.”

Anthony raises his hands. “Just him?”

“Yeah, what are we? Salted hagfish?” Vasco chimes in.

Joan rolls her eyes, then points with three fingers at once. “No, actually, all men suck but you. You’re the only three good men in Dunwall.”

Her eyes are drawn up to Paul, standing roughly behind Anthony and holding his arms out with a squinted expression on his face.

“Hey, buddy!”

“Is that supposed to be an insult, or am I supposed to take it completely differently?”

“You take it whichever direction you feel, baby.” Joan slides an elbow onto the table, plops her chin in her hand. “The f**k you want?”

Paul rolls his eyes. “Came over here for David,” he says, handing him a scrap of paper. “Lady Thalia is returning home in a few days and requests that you add anything to the list that you want her to buy while she’s out with-” He raises two fingers. “‘Civilized company’.”

David shows him the paper. “This list is empty.”

“The f**k does she mean by ‘civilized’?” Joan half-yells with a mouth full of bread.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” David tries to hand the paper back. “Jerome’s going to the market tomorrow, and I already gave him my list.”

Rose twists around in her seat. “She’s shopping for ‘us’ now? Usually she just sends Gerald to buy shit.”

“Shopping from those fancy-ass merchants. She wants to know if there’s anything you need for the Brigmore party.”

Ah.

David settles back down in his seat, his hand still outstretched for Paul to take the paper. “Just tell her to stock up on elixir, then. We’ve been lucky so far, but I don’t want to take chances.”

Paul gently pushes the paper back. “She said she wanted you to write it down.”

“...It’s one thing, Paul.”

“Just do it.” Paul’s face screws up in something between sorrow and annoyance. “Please? Just to make my poor, servant life a little easier?”

David rolls his eyes, but he places the paper down on the table and clicks the pen. They want him to write? Okay then.

He scratches on the paper for a moment, adding food that wasn’t rice, fish, or something that they picked off the bushes outside, and copper wire because he knows Jerome can never find enough of that stuff. Soon he hears the telltale creaks of Lizzy’s chair as she leans forward.

“What,” she says, pointing to the tip of his pen. “Is that.”

David stares back. “My handwriting.”

Joan picks up the page, pinched between her fingers and held far away from her face like it held a particularly bad smell. “No, seriously, what the f**k is this s**t?” She flicks it onto the center of the table. “Like, this is some bullshit a turtle might have s**t out while running away from a seagull.”

“David...what’s…” Lydia says as turns the page towards her, sheer politeness keeping her smile as mild as it is. “What’s this first letter here? Are you writing in code?”

David kicks Anthony under the table when he fails to muffle his laughter.

Vasco tilts his head to see better. “Void, as a doctor, I’d be proud to write this.”

“It looks like some abstract art I’d see at home!” Rose says, pointing. “Maybe we should put it in a gallery. See how much Bunting appraises it for.”

“All of you can f**k right off.”

“What’s going on?” Thalia comes up besides Paul, a hand clutching her necklace. “Is something funny about my request?”

“No, no, just-” Joan pauses to snort. “We’re just laughing at David’s s**t-ass handwriting. Like, we could of dipped a rat in some ink and let it run across the page for better results.”

Anthony is openly laughing by now. David kicks him harder.

Paul picks up the paper and hands it to Thalia. “This,” he points. “Is f*****g illegible.”

“I tried to warn you!”

“How can anything you said be vaguely interpreted as a warning?!”

“But-” Thalia presses her lips together, then angrily brandishes the paper in their direction. “Lord Anthony, can you read this drivel?”

To his credit, Anthony is able to swallow most of his laugher. “Uh, if you give me an hour and a scrying glass?” He shakes his head. “I’ve never been able to read his writing.”

“Because you’re a traitor.”

“No one can read what you’re trying to scratch out, David. I’ve been telling you this for years.”

“Well!” David folds his arms and, forgetting his original response, resigns himself to grumbling about it.

Anthony hides another giggle behind his hand. “Seriously, the only person who has ever been able to read his handwriting with any degree of proficiency was Sabrina. And I’m not convinced she didn’t tap into some divination ability when she did so.”

It made sense, even though David will continue to give Anthony s**t over it. He was still teaching Anthony to read when they moved to the Tower, having him sound out words from newspapers, whaling trawler manuals, whatever David could get his hands on. They hadn’t moved onto the whole ‘forming your own letters’ part yet. Anthony learned that from a palace tutor using fancy fountain pens and fresh paper, and he has the script to show for it.

Sabrina, however, hadn’t known her alphabet at twelve. Once David started teaching her, she picked up reading pretty fast-the action wasn’t quite automatic until she was nearly an adult, still had to make the conscious effort to read the words in front of her, but she had learned well and was very proud of herself. She didn’t take to writing the same way. Her hand and brain just didn’t seem to communicate as well for a task that wasn’t either swinging her fists or some sort of manual labor. To make matters worse, she was stuck trying to copy David’s shitty hand motions, scribbling in between the lines of a book he stole with worn down pencils dug out of the trash, only done at night before their candle nubs burnt themselves out. Penmanship was the last of David’s concerns-her tutors had nearly fainted when she proudly demonstrated that she could write. She got better, in time. But she tried to avoid writing anything besides her name on most documents.

Which was a practice David has always been happy to mimic.

“Then how-” Thalia holds it away from her face, her nose pinched up in an annoyed expression. “Haven’t you needed to write down orders, or...notes? Something?! How has this not been a problem before?”

“I used a typewriter, like a modern man.” He stares at her. “Or an audiograph machine. Or just asked one of the Empress’s scribes to write for me.”

“That seems like quite a lot of effort going into not improving your penmanship,” Lydia titters at him.

“This is the nineteenth century. We have options now.”

Thalia huffs at him, and makes to turn away. Anthony reaches his hand out. “Wait, the rest of us haven’t gotten a chance to write. I have a few things to add.”

She makes a dirty face but, probably realizing she was about to give a dirty look to Anthony, turns her head so she’s just glowering in the direction of the wall.

“Just...sign your names, so I know who's asking for what.”

“You mean so you’ll know who to ignore?” Rose mutters. Thalia stops in her tracks.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, my lady.”

Thalia stomps away, and Paul just shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t know what’s crawled up her ass. I’d say why she’s cranky, but I know for a fact it’s not that time of month for her, so I really have no idea.”

“Man.” Joan shakes her head. “She is really salty about not being able to go to those parties, huh.”

“The mockerade.”

“Shut it, David.”

“She knows the Brigmore party won’t be any fun, right?” Anthony asks. “You guys will be working. It’s going to be dangerous.”

Lydia chimes in. “And she’s not old enough to be invited to the Boyle Masquerade, really! She’ll receive an invitation next year.”

“I mean, you did wave the rules for Red-Roses over here.” Joan points.

Lydia huffs. “That’s different. I actually like her. She’s not a…” She presses her lips together, staring at the table in frustration.

Joan leans forward, a smile already creeping across her face. “Not a what?”

“Come on, you know you want to say it,” Paul says. “We’re all thinking it.”

Lydia covers her mouth.

“Naw, bitch.” Joan pushes her hands down. “f**k etiquette. f**k being a lady. Speaking your mind is good for the soul. Come on now, say it with me. Thalia Timsh is a…”

“Do it, do it, do it,” Paul begins chanting, and soon the others chime in. Even Anthony, which David thinks is royally unprofessional, but he figures Anthony has precious few of these moments, these opportunities to be immature left. So David sips his coffee and hides his smile behind the rim.

Lydia slaps her hands down, leaning forward with fire in her eyes. “She’s a rancid little cunt!” she hisses, and the table bursts into cheers as she covers her mouth and laughs.

Flowers. Salty sea air mixed with the stink of the Wrenhaven. The heat stifling David in his expensive coat. White stones beneath his boots.

This f*****g again.

“Your hair is so difficult…” Anthony puts her hair up, again, like he does every night. Just once a night? It feels like more now. Feels like he’s run this hundreds of times, in between his nightmares about Coldridge and deaths in the past and future, and the returning ones about the Actor. Feels like he’s so busy dreaming his body doesn’t remember to rest.

Feels like there’s nothing left to try. And he’s tried everything. Getting onto the goddamn roof of the gazebo, calling attention to themselves-they pushed Sabrina off and she broke her neck. Held one of the Cardinals hostage, demanded they all surrender-another shot him, freed the Cardinal and the Crow Queen swooped in to cut Sabrina’s throat. Pushed Sabrina down, sliced his own belly and rubbed his blood on her to fake her death-they checked, with a knife through her eye. One particularly odd train of thought had him picking her up and, ignoring her shrieks and demands to know what the f**k he was doing, throwing her over the wall, trusting she’d survive the fall and could tread water until he sent a boat out to retrieve her. She might have-if an unnatural gust of wind hadn’t sent her smacking into the clifface, her blood streaking down the side of the rock like dripping paint.

In his weaker moments, he wants to beg. Not to spare her, but to kill him first. Because every night he wonders if he has the strength to watch her die again. Every night he wonders how he finds it. But the betrayal weighs on his tongue, and to beg would be to admit he lost. That she was beyond saving through his own power. So he fights. He fights until the last possible moment. Every night.

Every goddamn night.

Sabrina and Anthony yelp in surprise as he grabs them by the arm, pulling them backwards. “Behind me. Now.”

For Sabrina. He’ll find the strength. No-he’ll win.

Don’t bother with shooting his pistol in the air-summoning more guards makes the Cardinals nervous, and the guards are never a match for them anyway. They just make it harder to keep track of Sabrina. Same for sending Anthony away-they pick him off first, knocking him out and absconding with him before he can even reach the gate. Really don’t bother with moving them all out of the area-the only person they can get to fast enough is Rulfio, and he makes no difference in the fight.

Have Anthony hand his sword over to Sabrina-don’t bother giving him his gun. He’s overly hesitant to use it and it makes the Cardinals more likely to panic and injure him in their capture. Then he has those mournful puppy-dog eyes at feeling so vulnerable, so have Sabrina trade him her little knife because the Cardinals apparently don’t feel threatened by that.

Stay in the pavilion, drastically reduces the amount of angles to approach from. Face the waterlock, Sabrina and Anthony at his back. Ready.

The first wave appears.

He practically has this fight memorized by now-when they’ll swing, when he needs to dodge. When he needs to intervene on Anthony’s behalf. Every misstep, he remembers it the next night. And he doesn’t miss again.

Every night is a well-rehearsed dance, a choreography that David is learning count by count. But there’s always that verse that David doesn’t know the footwork to, a punch to his ribs or a distraction at just the right moment. Something that throws him off, and the dance ends.

But no song can go forever. David will learn the rest of the dance. And he will still be dancing when the music stops playing, when the assassins are dead and his Empress is safe.

First wave gone. Check if they’re both alright-Anthony usually is, and Sabrina always says she’s fine whether she’s hurt or not. Neither are injured tonight, good. The second wave comes soon.

He figures they send in the second group after they realize he’s Marked. That the method they originally used to kill Sabrina wouldn’t work like this. They’re trying to incapacitate, or at least distract David so they can finish her off.

But David’s rehearsed. He knows this stanza, knows every step they’ll take and how to counter it. Fight them. Push them back. And watch Sabrina and Anthony, watch for one of their eyes to go dim, to start wandering away into the arms of a kidnapper or an assassin’s blade. Then he yells for the other to grab them, hold onto them, and he has to work extra hard to defend them alone, but his weeks of rehearsal have paid off and he nails the refrain, every time.

In the midst of it all, she appears. Like a goddess of death, she melds from the air and the Cardinals scatter, not wanting to get in her way. Then she moves in for the kill.

This time. This time he’s ready.

The Crow Queen warps in, already making a beeline for Sabrina and ignoring David, trusting he’s still absorbed in his fight with her underling. By the time he realizes she’s here, Sabrina will have a knife in her gut and there’s nothing he’ll be able to do about it then.

Not tonight. He’ll beat her. She’ll live.

He barrels into the Crow Queen at full force, sending her backwards and scrambling to right her feet. Sabrina startles, flipping her sword into a defensive position. She backs away, like she should, trusting David to take care of this and putting her own safety over his.

This is the bridge, the part where the dance gets faster and faster and the penalties for a wrong move grow higher. He has to take cues from his partner because she’s not in sync with him, changes her tempo and throws in steps from another dance just to trip him up. But this is what David is trained for-what he’s been preparing for.

Attack. Block. Parry. Kick out, circle around, don’t let her get closer to Sabrina. The dance is fast and a normal man wouldn’t be able to keep up, but David is far from normal. Push back. Away from the Empress. She attacks, block it and let her fall back. Attack her.

She fights well, but she wasn’t expecting this. Wasn’t expecting him as her opponent. Didn’t rehearse for that.

The Crow Queen brings her sword down on his arm, but he holds on tight to his sword. She fakes to the right, moves left and kicks him and-

He stumbles. He missteps.

She begins to move forward, move towards Sabrina. Taking the brief second he’s stunned to take her out. And David can’t.

He pulls her back by the stupid straps on her mask. She paws at him, surprised, then thrusts his arm away and jumps back.

David steps forward with his sword out. Slashes her from shoulder to hip.

She stumbles. Hands reaching for her chest in confusion.

Then she dissolves into grey.

David stands there, staring at the spot. Blinking.

She’s gone. Retreated.

Left him and his Empress alone.

He blinks again.

It didn’t seem possible. But they’re here. David beat her. Sabrina is safe.

He did it.

“David?”

He turns to look at her- really look at her, not just the glances he’s stolen before his legs can give out and his chest feels like bursting. She’s every bit as beautiful as he remembers-more, even. Because even his memories can’t recreate the exact way the wind tousles her curls, the way her fingers and hands twitch constantly, the way her eyes focus so intensely yet still always seem to stay on the move. Because she’s alive.

This feels off. Unrehearsed. He never thought about what actually happens now.

Anthony steps forward. “I’m...going to get the guards.” He takes off sprinting for the gate.

Sabrina watches him, her eyes wide and nervous but still bright. She doesn’t drop her sword as he approaches, but then, he taught her not to until she knows she’s safe.

“Are you alright?” He watches her lips make the movements, and he reaches out for the side of her face. His hand hovers over her cheek, not daring to touch it. “David, you look upset. I’m fine. We beat them off.”

“I know.” He has to pause to wet his lips. “I’ve just missed you so much.”

He touches her face. Cups it. And she doesn’t shatter like glass.

She lets herself relax for exactly half a second, then looks down. “We should get you to Montgomery,” she says.

“In a minute.”

“David, I think you may have suffered a blow to the head. You’re acting odd.”

“I’m fine.”

She shakes her head. “I’d like you to get checked over, just...in case.”

“I told you, in a minute.” He runs his thumb over her cheekbone. “I just...want to enjoy being lost with you for a moment.”

That’s the line that makes her roll her eyes. “Getting all poetic on me now?” she mutters. But she’s still smiling. “Probably not much to do on that boat but write. But I thought you didn’t have the patience for poetry.”

Void, she’s just so...herself. This is just another day for her. Another failed attempt on her life. Nothing noteworthy. Nothing different. Just a single day like many before, and many she’ll have again.

“It’s a long story.” David wets his lips again. “I have so much I want to tell you.”

She nods. “I have...a lot I need to talk to you about too,” she says. “But we have all tonight to talk. Can we...start moving?”

He nods, then wraps his arm around her shoulders as they turn away. Descend the stairs, step over the garden path. Him and his Empress.

He hopes her words are true. David knows this isn’t a reset-as much as it may feel like it, he knows this isn’t real. But what a fantastical, beautiful thing that would be.

It’s a ridiculous thing to hope for. He knows better. So David only hopes the dream will give him this. A few hours, alone with his Empress. So he can talk to her about everything that’s happened. So he can tell her all the things he was never able to tell her before. So he can say goodbye.

“A lot’s happened while you were gone,” Sabrina says. “I wrote some of it down, the things I wanted to tell you. Now I’m...forgetting them.” She smiles dimly, tight-lipped and staring straight ahead. “I’ve been doing that.”

“Doesn’t sound like you,” he says. “You never forget things.”

“I know. I think it’s been the stress, with you being gone and with Delilah being herself, and the plague and the city and Parliament and Delilah and you-”

“You already said that.”

“It’s just sucked, that’s all.” She pauses, turning to him, and he slides his hand to her other shoulder. “You do so much to keep me sane. And I’m a fool who never realizes what she has until it’s gone.”

“You are the farthest thing from a fool.”

“I feel like it sometimes.” She does that half, embarrassed smile again. “We’ll talk about it all. Like what you did. Back there.” Her eyes flick to the gazebo. “I have some questions about that.”

“I’ll answer them.” He has to keep from grinning, because that will weird her out. And he doesn’t want to explain it right now. He just...wants her like this. Normal. For a moment.

Maybe he won’t tell her about all that. Maybe he’ll allow himself this. A few hours to pretend. And then talk about the grisly stuff while she sleeps, knowing that whatever’s left of Sabrina is certainly listening. Lean over and whisper his goodbyes into her hair. Let that be his final image of her, his Empress laid down to rest.

Sabrina fidgets. “Talk about that, and your trip. Some matters I need to go over with you. And...some things I need to apologize for.”

“What in the world would you ever need to apologize to me for?”

“I know, I know, you always said not to waste breath with apologies when you can fix it with actions.” She huffs, rolls her eyes to the sky. “There’s nothing to fix. I just...feel bad.”

He shakes his head. “Sabrina I could never be mad at you for anything.” Not really, at least. She knows this.

Sabrina nods. “I know, and you’ll probably brush this off too, but I’ll feel better getting it off my chest. Just another thing I needed you for, to talk. Always feel better after we talk.”

“I’m here now.” He moves his hand to her face again. “We’re together again.”

She smiles. David drinks it in.

And then the strings pull tight.

The hand in his head, fingers inside his skull and pushing his eyeballs from the windows, making room for another set he has to look through. Strings wrapped around his neck, his feet. His elbows and fingers and hands.

Close around his sword, still clutched in his fist.

Sabrina notices it before he can swing out.

She jumps away, eyes wide but not raising her own blade, for some reason. David itches to open his mouth, to scream at her to use her training, to fight back, that it’s not him, but his lips have been sewn shut. So he watches and hopes something gets through the lens, that his eyes convey the message he wants her to understand.

Her eyes jerk to his hand. Then she slowly slides them up his body, shock giving way to puzzlement. Then cold understanding spreads across her face.

The strings guide him forward, raising his hand again. This time, Sabrina responds properly and blocks the blow with her sword. Feet apart, elbow at a perfect angle. Just like he taught her.

“I can’t believe it.” She shakes her head, scurrying backwards. “She was right. Oh my god, she was right about you.”

This isn’t right. He shouldn’t be able to take over David’s mind like this. The Mark kept him from it-he’s never been able to before! Not even in a dream.

Void, please let this be a dream.

No. He can fight this. Fight against the strings. This is his body. The Rat King has no place in it.

Sabrina is reciprocating now, responding with her own jabs and doing her very best to stun him. Fighting for her life. “And here I was defending you,” she grunts, her teeth grit together. “That you’ve known me since I was twelve! That you don’t see me that way! I felt bad for even thinking it!”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t. He doesn’t want her to think this. He can’t let this be how it ends. He pulls on the strings harder.

“Or is that even it?” she snarls, circling around one of the gazebo pillars. “Or were you just jealous? Did you resent having to come here? You know-” She moves out, aiming to stab him in the abdomen, the strain evident in her voice. “You could...have...said...NO!”

He didn’t want to! He would live in the stuffiest palace and deal with the most insufferable people imaginable if it meant he could stay with her. Her resented the circumstances, not her. Never her.

Yank the ones on his feet. If his feet can’t be controlled, Sabrina can get away.

“f*****g say something!” she yells. “I deserve that much! Why have you hated me all these years? Why are you trying to kill me now?” The force of her parry sends him back half a step, leaning on his back leg. And instead of taking the opportunity to run or finish him off, Sabrina steps forward and kicks him in the thigh. “Answer me!”

He can’t.

The strings pull his hand up, coming down on her shoulder. Splintered bone and blood pooling in her collarbone, soaking her blouse as he separates the blade from her flesh with a sickening crack. Sabrina drops her blade, and a quick swipe of his sword has her jumping back, unable to pick it up.

“Should I have figured it’d end like this?” She laughs, bitterly, cradling her shoulder as she shuffles away. “Once gutter trash, always gutter trash, and all trust will get you in the back alleys is a knife to the gut.”  She tries to kick out his knee, but the Rat King sees and controls David’s leg away. “Funny, you even told me not to trust you. Should have listened. Should have f*****g listened to you, old man.”

Either the blood loss or the pain from the injury is slowing her. She’s not trying to get away-David really doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s pride, not wanting to be rescued from her own Protector. But if she’s remembering all that David taught her, she should remember that pride has no place in a fight for you life.

No. It’s not going to end like this. She’s biding her time, and David will do the same. Soon the Rat King will be unable to keep his hold over David’s head. He can take her to Montgomery, heal her. Apologize and explain, or just let her have him executed. David doesn’t care.

“You know what else you told me?” She limps, smiling in spite of everything. “That people like us burn hot, then burn up. Should have seen this coming, then. You always meant to take me with you.” She leans back to dodge another swipe. “From the day we met, you’ve been dousing me in whale oil. Got enough tinder, old man? A whole damn Empire of it.” She shakes her head, glancing around. “And now you’re going to do it. You’re going to set me on fire and let the both of us burn.”

His sword catches her in the side. She twists and avoids taking the full brunt of the blow, but it’s deep enough. Her hand drops from her shoulder, moving to grab at her injured side.

Her free hand makes a fist and she punches his face, but when she turns and runs she only makes it a few feet away before she stumbles. Falls to her knees. And hasn’t the strength to get up again.

David is trying to peel the wax from his eyes. To push the Rat King out. But his body doesn’t so much as twitch in response as his legs move in orbit around her, watching.

She stares at him with narrowed eyes as he paces. “You’ll look me in the eye when you kill me,” she seethes. Her lip curls, and her eyes burn as she screams. “Look me in the eye, you bastard! You owe me that much! If you’re going to do this to me, give me the respect of looking me in the eye!”

He walks forward, eye contact all the way. David hopes something of him shines through, that Sabrina sees. Understands. But there’s only hate in those eyes.

“No, should have known we’d end like this.” She never breaks his gaze. “People like us, there was no other way this would end. No long days in the sun. This is how it always ends. It’s our nature.”

He leans down, and that hand darts out. Wraps those fingers around her neck and draws her up.

David can feel her like this. Even through the marionette strings separate his will from his body, he can feel the heat of her flesh against his. The movement in her throat when she swallows in anticipation. Her pulse, steady and strong against his fingertips.

She glares as he shoves his sword into her gut.

Sabrina might have wanted him to look her in the eye, but those eyes roll back into her skull when he pulls his sword out-and feels the drag on his blade, oh god, somehow worse than the paperlike, squishy resistance when he pushed it in-and her blood spills between then. Her mouth yawns open, twitching and making little gasping noises. Her body convulses once, twice.

His hand around her throat feels her heart get slower. And slower.

And David feels it stop.

Only then do the strings release. Sabrina falls from his hands, her eyes dull and dead. Her body stiff as her legs buckle under her, falling until her knees hit the ground and she pitches sideways. Her shoulder meets the pavement, then her head with a thick, meaty thud. He stares.

Her blood on his hands. And Sabrina is dead at his feet.

A single, sudden jerk is all that wakes David out of his sleep. His heart beats so hard he can feel the shape of the muscle and the blood it’s pumping through his chest. His limbs stuck to the bed, frozen, David a prisoner in his own body as he stares up at the dark ceiling. His head sending signals to his muscles to move, but he can’t and it’s just a restlessness that crawls like bugs under his skin.

He can’t breathe.

Soon, he regains control of his airways. He focuses on that, counts the seconds as he breathes, and once his heart starts to calm the tingling, racing feeling in his muscles fade. And he can move again.

David sits up and puts his face in his hands. Rubs his eyes, applies pressure to the lids. It doesn’t work. The images are still there.

He swings his legs out, planting his feet on the floor and leaning down as if to touch his toes. Instead, he reaches under his bed, moving aside the books to get to one of the bottles of whiskey he has stashed there.

David sits back up. Uncaps the bottle. Takes a long drink and stares at the wall.

He drinks. He watches the dark. It’s better than sleeping.

Only half the bottle left. David would have to open another at some point.

Enough. They’re leaving for Brigmore today. No more sleep for him tonight. He has plenty to do-last minute preparations, reviewing plans, working out, just... practicing. Anything he could be doing. Sleep is a waste of time.

The boat’s packed. Their costumes and supplies, enough food and fresh water to last them a few days. Elixir and a medical kit, just in case.

They’ll leave at dusk. Easier to move through the water unnoticed, and David wants time to scope the place out. They’ll arrive near Brigmore around dawn, and have the whole day to watch the manor and prepare.

Anthony comes down to send him off, eyes darting around nervously and tapping the tips of his fingers together.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” he says. David rolls his eyes.

“You’re really doubting my abilities now?”

“I don’t doubt you, David. But these are witches. They can do things that you can’t hope to counter.”

Internally, David snorts.

Vasco steps forward and puts his hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “Anthony, trust me on this. David can handle himself.”

“I know, but…” Anthony bites his lip and looks away.

To his side, Galia huffs and examines her nails. They’re the last pair to go-Lizzy’s been at the ship for hours, ensuring it’s river-worthy and chatting with the Eels still wandering around the area. Edgar escorted Rose over about an hour ago. Best to do it that way. A bigger group would bring too much attention to them, which is something they can’t afford.

David turns, and Jerome is there fussing over his hood and his handkerchief, ensuring as much of his face is covered. As a final touch, he shoves a pair of sunglasses on David’s face.

“Now remember!” Jerome holds a finger to his nose. “You are blind. Galia is your seeing-eye person and you can’t step away from her.”

“People will still wonder why the rest of my face is covered.”

“You’re blind because you got your face ripped off by a monkey. Oh, no! Set on fire! So your head’s all scarred up too, that’s why you’re wearing the hood.”

“How did a burn render me blind?”

“That was unrelated. You lost your eyes in a monkey accident.”

David rolls his perfectly functional eyes. He highly doubts anyone at the market would question them in the first place, but it doesn’t matter. He and Galia aren’t planning to walk through the marketplace. They can just go over it.

“So be very careful,” Jerome continues, straightening out David’s lapels. “Your party clothes aren’t as good protection as this coat is. And anyway, I don’t know how to armor against magic.”

“I’ll make do.”

“I know you want to look for intel, but take care of Ashworth first? Then you can dip out whenever things get hairy.”

“I’ll take care of Ashworth as soon as I know who she is. Now are you done hovering over me like a mother duck?”

“Right.” Jerome steps back, wiping his hands on his pants. “This is just...the most dangerous thing you’ve done so far. But you’ll be fine.”

Behind Anthony, Vasco makes a face like whistling exasperatedly.

“I will.” David stares at him, then pans over to the boys. “We will all be fine. We’ll return the morning of the fourteenth-midday, at the latest. Lydia and Paul should get back before us.” He already had this talk with Paul. Told him what to look out for, how best to protect Lydia. David knows he’s leaving her in good hands.

“Great.” Jerome pulls his arms back and grabs his elbows. “It’ll all be great. I believe in you. Good luck, David.” He turns to Galia, who looks up from her nails to stare passively. “Um...bye, Fleet.”

She rolls her eyes as he walks away. After a few feet, Jerome stops and hisses to Vasco, motioning him over. Vasco makes an O face and hurries away from Anthony’s side.

Anthony stares at him, the skin between his eyebrows wrinkles and his lips set together.

‘He doesn’t think you’ll come back.’

David steps forward, pulling his handkerchief down. “I know how to avoid them,” he says, putting his hands on Anthony’s shoulders. “I can deal with them.”

“I know you can.” Anthony glances away.

And this is what makes David want to break his promise to himself. To tell Anthony. That he shouldn’t worry because David’s magic rivals theirs-is stronger, even. That he is every match for Breanna Ashworth.

But he can’t. He just has to leave Anthony here with vague promises. And Anthony will worry over all of them for nearly two days, will only stop when he sees everyone file through that door, safe and sound.

David draws him in. Anthony reciprocates and squeezes him tight.

They hold the embrace for a long minute. And when David begins to pull away, he brushes his lips over Anthony’s temple so lightly Anthony doesn’t even notice.

“You’ll protect her, right?” Anthony asks, before he’s even released David’s arms.

David nods. “Of course I will.”

“She can’t fight like this. Really, you can’t expect her to. She’ll die.”

“One of us will be by her side the whole night. She won’t be alone a moment.”

Anthony nods as he pulls away. “I know I can trust you. But please be careful.”

David reaches out and brushes his knuckles over Anthony’s cheek. “I will.” He steps backwards. “I’ll see you soon, Anthony.”

Anthony doesn’t say goodbye before Galia closes the door after them.

They scale the buildings easy enough. Galia has gotten much better with Blink, and is now almost as confident as Joan is. He has no doubt she’ll do fine at Brigmore.

“So,” David says, as they perch on a building and check down the deserted streets. “What’s going on between you and Jerome?”

Galia scoffs. “He asked me out a few days ago and I turned him down. That’s all.”

“Is there a concrete reason you turned him down, or just not interested?”

“Why would I be interested in him? He’s a freaking wimp.”

David presses his lips together. “You don’t have to be rude about it.”

“Are you seriously doing this, David?” Galia turns to look at him. “Since when are you the dating police?”

“I’m not saying you owe him a date. I’m saying you owe him common decency.”

Galia rolls her eyes and looks away.

“Look, he’s not perfect, but-”

“David, stop trying to hook me up with your friends, mmmkay?”

“I’m not.” David blinks. “Jerome approached you respectfully and backed off when you rejected him. You can turn him down for whatever reason you want. I’m saying you have no right to be rude about it.”

Galia stands up, still watching the streets below. “You know, let’s just get to the damn boat before Edgar breaks it again.”

The next few minutes of their journey are blessedly silent. They make it to the edge of the marketplace, squatting behind the parapet of a nearby building.

David examines the surrounding structures, looking for the best way across, but his eyes drift down to the people milling about. It’s been...a while since he was able to do that, been months since he was able to talk to anyone outside their small group in the mill, or wasn’t actively beating and spitting on him. David’s never liked crowds or people in general, but he...is looking forward to not being a wanted man again.

A bright light grabs his attention, and David jerks his head to see a watchtower perched on top of a half-crumbling building. A working watchtower.

David hisses and jumps down as the light passes over them. “Fleet, what the f**k?”

She just stares at him, blankly. “What?”

He raises his hand over the wall to point. “That.”

“It’s a watchtower, David. You know what those look like.”

“Why is there one here?!”

“Oh, right. You don’t come shopping with us.” She stares out for a bit.

“I can’t,” he spits. “I show my face and I’ll have a dozen people crowding around to draw and quarter me.”

“Only if they caught you. No, these guys took a watchtower apart and dragged it over here. Neat, huh?”

Now that he looks, he sees that the base is missing pieces, hence being mounted on an already-existing structure, and is reinforced with pieces of plywood and one boat stood up on its end. The top is lacking a few things like its rain cover, but it’s operational. Amazing.

The light pans over them again, and David hits the floor.

“Relax. They have it rigged to only fire on people wearing Watch uniforms.”

Good concept, but easy to exploit, David thinks as he pulls himself up. If the Watch figured that out, all they had to do was strip off their coats. And the Watch was hardly the only threat to the people here-the Overseers, for one. And he knows that a lot of people living here were Hatters or Dead Eels themselves, but this area would also make a good target for another gang. There are kids here. A dozen or so former gangsters wouldn’t be able to fend off a real attack.

“Biggest threat here are the rats,” he mutters.

“They’ve been doing pretty well against the plague. But-” Galia points. “They’ve been herding the weepers into the garage over there. Whole group locked in.”

“They’re just...leaving them there to die?”

“Well, what else do you do?”

End their misery. It’s a far kinder fate than leaving them to suffer.

‘The waves break against the shore and threaten all they have built,’ Sabrina whispers as he holds her out. ‘They cower, fearful, and try to halt the tides.’

“Over there.” David points to a pipe that overhangs one of the boathouses, on the other side of the docks. “We’ll have to go around, but then we should just be able to Blink straight onto the boat.”

Once they’re on the other side, both David and Galia hunker down again as he tries to figure out the logistics of getting onto the pipe from their position, Galia still examining her nails. Two people he can only guess are former Dead Eels, judging by their aquatic-themed tattoos and cool colored clothing, chat nearly and David does his best not to eavesdrop.

“You think the Outsider ain’t real?” the woman hisses, garnering David’s attention. “What’d I see Joan do, then?”

See Joan do what? Oh, that girl was going to make David lose the rest of his hair.

The man just shrugs. “Sure it was just a magic trick or something. I’ll ask her how she does it.”

“No!” The woman grabs his arm. “I’m telling you, something’s not right about her.”

“Are you on this again? For f**k’s sake, Tina, she didn’t actually die! That was just a rumor Edgar started to call off the war! Even Joan Catspaw can’t come back from the dead.”

“Maybe she can’t. But who the f**k knows what the Outsider is capable of?”

He is going to f*****g kill her. David doesn’t like the amount of people who know about his Mark already, but he doesn’t even know these people. If she’s being so careless as to allow people to see her Blink, David is going to rip her stupid tuft of hair out and cram it down her throat.

“And what the f**k is she doing now?” The woman motions to The Undine, anchored in the bay. “She won’t tell us anything about what she’s doing, where she’s going and with who…”

“She’s with Edgar!”

“And some weirdo who’s always over here buying weird plants and s**t!”

“Yeah, she buys from Jamie. He says she’s cool. Lives over in the mall.”

“Exactly.” ‘Tina’ points. “No one’s lived there since FuckFace McHat croaked! Everyone says the place is haunted! I’m telling you, Lizzy’s fallen into some sort of black magic cult or something!”

The man strokes his beardless chin. “I...yeah. She does seem really off. Actin’ all dodgy, yelling at Edgar...like, not how they usually fight, she’s just vile. Somethin’ different in her eyes. And she’s lost weight.”

“Naw, b***h, that part’s the same. She’s always been that skinny.”

The man leans in closer. “You think we should tell the others? What’s left of the crew?”

“Uh, no. We tell ‘em Lizzy’s doing magic, they’ll think we’ve gone funny and lock us up with the weepers. Ain’t worth it. Not even for Lizzy.” She shakes her head, turning to look out at The Undine’s silhouette. “Wonder who she’s waitin’ on.”

“You don’t think…” The guy leans forward. “s**t, you think she might be in with one of those magic murderers? Oh, f**k, what if she’s friends with the Crown Killer?”

“Oh, come on now. Don’t get crazy on me.”

The two walk away then, and Galia pushes herself up, grinning sourly down at David. “Well well well. Looks like our little golden girl’s done f****d up.”

“Excuse me?” David stares at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You heard me. Your favorite got careless. Let herself get seen.”

“That’s not-” David rubs the area around his outer eyes. “I don’t have a favorite.”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay, you know what, I do have a favorite.” David rises to meet her. “His name is Anthony. And that’s who I’m focusing on, not some stupid feud between you and Catspaw.”

Galia rolls her eyes. “She’s a liability, David. She’s going to get us found out.”

“I’ll talk to her. It won’t happen again, and those two aren’t going to risk their hides saying anything.”

“Oh?” Galia raises her eyebrows then, abruptly, turns on her heel. “I should get rid of them, just to be sure.”

“Galia!” he hisses as she walks away. “What’s the matter with you?!”

She stops and holds her arms out. “Relax, I’m not going to do anything. I just want to see where they’re going, you know. In case.”

David blows air out of his nostrils, turning to face the water. He can feel the singing in his head, Sabrina thrumming at his hand, but he needs to wait. Just a few more minutes.

A sound not unlike one of his Bonded Blinking catches on David’s ears, and all the hairs on his neck stand straight up. He turns to look.

Right as the witch turns to look at him.

The woman cycles through two phases of surprise and David can see it across her face. First the shock of just finding someone up here, on a rooftop no one could possibly reach without the use of magic or a ladder. Then the realization that it’s David she’s looking at.

David reaches for his sword, but his hand is just on the handle when someone silver draws across the witch’s throat. Then there’s red, dripping down her snowy, pale skin. She coughs once and pitches forward.

Galia is standing right behind her.

She stares down at the witch’s body. David blinks a few times, then runs his tongue over the top of his mouth and drops his hand to his side. “I could have handled that, but thanks.”

“Yeah.” She doesn’t break her gaze.

David steps forward. “This...probably isn’t a good sign,” he says. “If they’re searching the district.”

That seems to break Galia out of her slump. She kneels down, turning the dead witch on her back and opening her flowered jacket. David keeps watch for possible friends as Galia rifles through her pockets.

“Find anything?” he asks when he doesn’t hear anything from her for a moment.

His answer is a scoff. “Don’t worry, she’s only a scout,” Galia says, standing back up as he turns around. “One of a couple districts she was supposed to search. Or maybe she already did. Well, it’s not getting done now.”

She looks back to the paper. David taps his foot.

“Well? Do they know we’re here?”

They shouldn’t. Joan told Delilah they were hiding out in the Flooded District. There was no way for Delilah to comb the entirety of Rudshore. She should still be looking.

“No, they’re just looking for the ginger bitch.” Galia rolls her eyes, folding up the paper and sticking it into her breast pocket. “I told you, David, she’s going to bring trouble to our doorstep.”

David runs his tongue over his teeth, stepping forward. “Alright, we need to talk,” he says. He raises his finger and pokes Galia in the chest, hard. “You need to drop the attitude.”

Galia raises her eyebrows. “My attitude?”

“Yes. The name-calling, the hostility with our allies, it-”

“Our f*****g-”

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking.” David holds his finger an inch away from her nose. “You’re out of line. I’m running out of patience.”

“You never had much of that to begin with.”

“No, I did not, but I’m doing a hell of a lot better with what I have than you are!” David looks her up and down. “You know, you were my first choice to pass the Bond to.”

“Besides Lizzy.”

“I work with Lizzy.” David hold his hand out in the direction of The Undine. “It made the most tactical sense to give it to her.”

“Whatever you want to believe, David.”

“Don’t talk to me that way.” David purses his lips together, and reaches out to grab Galia’s shoulder when she turns away. “I gave the Bond to you because I thought I knew you. But this isn’t the Galia I thought you were.”

“Kay.” Galia says. “Guess you don’t need me for this, then. I’ll just return to base.”

“No!” David grabs her, again. “You made a commitment!”

“That was when you respected me.”

“This isn’t about me or you.” David jabs her in the shoulder. “This is about Anthony.”

“Using Anthony isn’t fair.”

“Do you want to see him on the throne or not?”

“Ugh!” Galia throws her arms out. “Fine! I’ll lay off, but I’m not apologizing to stupid Lizzy!”

With that, she disappears. David follows, swinging the witch’s body over his shoulder and watches Galia nearly tip off the pipe and eat cement, but she regains her footing. They creep forward, onto the boathouse nearest to The Undine. David throws the dead witch into the water, on the side facing away from the dock and marketplace. Hagfish will eat her, with any luck-if any of her does wash up to shore, there would be no telling where she was originally dumped.

“You sure we’ll make it?” Galia says. “David?”

“Huh?”

“Onto the boat. Because I really don’t feel like getting wet.”

David waves his hand. “It’ll be fine. Go on.”

“Um...aren’t you coming?”

“I have something to do first. Seriously, go on without me. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Wait.” She peers at him suspiciously. “I’ve only seen you do that with your head once. Down in the sewers.” Her eyes widen. “Oh! There’s a shrine nearby!”

“Doesn’t mean it’s a shrine. I can hear normal runes and bonecharms, you know.” It’s a shrine. Right under his feet, and the noise is driving him crazy.

Galia grins. “But if it is, He might come talk to you! I could see Him!”

“No, you can’t.” David sighs. “Other people can’t see it.”

“So no harm in letting me come with, right?”

“There’s no door,” he says, shutting off Void Gaze. “You’d have to get your hair wet.”

“A sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“No, Galia.” He whips her around and pushes her in the direction of the boat. “Go on ahead. Tell Joan I’ll be along shortly.”

Galia turns around to give him a dirty look. But then she disappears.

Thank the Void.

David counts to three before diving into the water, taking quick note of the hagfish nearby before turning in the other direction. This is...getting harder to do, he’s realizing. Not just the physical act of swimming, though that’s plenty difficult with his back being the way it is. But the simple feeling of holding his head underwater, not being able to breathe.

Even taking baths are something he has to work himself up to now. And David’s pissed about that. He enjoys his baths. He didn’t have his own bathroom at the Tower and Sabrina just let him use hers instead of making him use one of the communal ones. David wasn’t one for luxuries, but he took full advantage of her bathtub. Now, he thinks of relaxing in that big tub and the scented bath salts and his lungs tighten instinctively at the thought of all that hot water touching his skin, being submersed in it.

It doesn’t make sense, he thinks as he pulls himself out of the water. If it was because of what the witches did to him at Coldridge, it should have been like this from the start. But his aversion to water didn’t crop up for another few weeks.

Stupid. He’s not going to drown now.

Standing up, David takes in that mystical, annoying glow. The chorus of the runes on top of the shrine. The purple lamps and fabric draped over the table.

He really doesn’t want to do this.

Biting his tongue, David snatches up the runes and waits for the black-eyed bastard to show up.

He smirks when he does, standing atop His stupid altar and staring down at David with some sort of patronization in His gaze.

“Look at you, making your way across this shuddering city,” He smirks. “You know, you keep surprising me, David. Not long ago I watched you slaughter dozens in your quest to rescue your son, cutting down men for merely standing too long in your way. But this is a...gentler side of you. A side that nurtures children and strives to make those around him feel safe. A bit of a headspin, isn’t it David? I have to wonder which side is the real David.”

David opens his mouth to retort, but...there’s nothing. He’s moving his mouth and he can feel the air move through his throat, but nothing leaves his lips.

Bastard.

David folds his arms and glowers.

The Outsider just grins harder, somehow, without so much as quirking His lips. He disappears in a flurry, appearing again sitting on a shelf nearby. “You saved Hypatia, there’s a twist. You know, the Queen and King thought they were saving Dunwall from a monster. Just like they thought they were ridding the Empire of an i***t leader who would kill the city with her incompetence. But I suppose you already drew the parallels, hmm? That’s why you’ve given her a chance. Rescued her and her little assistant from Delilah’s clutches, what a philanthropist. Did you save two people, or did you release another terror onto the world?” He adjusts His position, waggling His adorned fingers. “Perhaps the simpler solutions were safer? Rothwild dead and his slaughterhouse burned to the ground. Clean, and memorable. Even the Empress couldn’t boast of a funeral pyre so grand.”

He fades again, and returns on His stupid shrine, folding His legs like He’s the Empress speaking to a petitioner. “You’re almost ready to go upriver.” He holds out His hand, in the direction David imagines is north. “You’ve always been canny, a spider in the web of the city, and I can see nothing’s going to stop you from reclaiming your beloved daughter’s throne. But you’ll have to out-do yourself on this little adventure.”

David continues to glare. If he unclenches his fists, he might not be able to stop himself from ripping out the black-eyed bastard’s tongue.

“ You know,” He continues. “It's been glorious, watching you throw your will against the machinery you set into motion. All things burn to ash, and you, my friend, burn bright. But this softer touch you’ve acquired, it’s an interesting turn. Perhaps your new-found skills will lead you in a more empathetic direction, and you’ll make use of that diplomacy you’ve learned from all your years serving the Empress. Or maybe not. In the long view, a smoking ruin makes as good a monument as any.”

He leans forward, almost nose-to-nose with David. “Let me ask you, David. Are you hoping your actions will change the way things will work out? The song's almost over. And when the music stops, we all fall down.”

He disappears, filling the room with silence. David purses his lips.

Joan doesn’t look up as he approaches her at the helm. “Hey, fucker, I’ve been waiting on you. Got-” She raises her head. “Um. Why are you soaking wet?”

David flicks water off his gloves. “Because.”

“Right. You do you, buckaroo.”

David keeps her gaze, then his eyes wander around the cabin. “So. This is The Undine.”

“Yep, this is my baby.” She pats the dashboard. “She’s an old b***h, but she’s hardy.”

“Are you sure it will make it to Brigmore?”

“She, David. Don’t misgender my boat. And don’t doubt her. Bad luck to question it at the start of a voyage.”

David turns to the safety railing, looks over the deck. “Is everyone here?”

“Yeah, Edgar’s over there-” Now David can see the lump in the corner, covered in blankets, is breathing. “-taking a snooze. He gets to take over for me in a while, he’s getting his naps in while he can. Galia’s somewhere on deck brooding, and Rose is below knitting or something, I dunno.”

“Great.”

“So you ready to go?” Joan checks her various meters and pulleys. “Just been waiting on you.”

David watches the red sunlight melting into the water. “I’m ready.”

“f**k yeah!” With that, Joan reaches up and grabs a rope connected to the ceiling. She pulls, hard, and an ear splitting horn sound rips through the air.

Edgar startles right out of his makeshift bed and onto the floor, and David slaps his hands over his ears.

“Catspaw?! What the hell?”

“It’s go time, bitches! All aboard!”

David’s ears are still ringing. “Everyone’s already aboard, Lizzy!”

“f**k off, I haven’t gotten to do this in a while!”

Edgar, his nap apparently unredeemable, wanders away grumbling. David stands and watches Joan push her buttons and whatever else you do to steer ships. There’s a jolt, followed by Joan clutching the wheel and repeating encouragements of ‘come on, baby’ while something in the vague direction of the engine whines. Then there’s a pop, and another jolt. And the boat begins moving away from Draper’s Ward.