Chapter Text
Emmrich put down the rich, creamy paper, its elaborate seals and writing looking more akin to fine needlepoint than to what it was: a contract and missive. The Orlesian pageantry had drowned it in gilded wax and beautiful but hard-to-parse calligraphy.
"I must attend to a summons of the Mourn Watch," he explained to the plenum, the plenum being Rook, a slight frown on their face, Neve cuddling up with Bellara, Lace clomping closer in her clogs, a bowl in hand and a spoon in her mouth, Taash sitting on the grand library stairs and stretching, and finally Lucanis leaning closer to look at the writing. Davrin and Assan were still outside; the elf had taken one look at the seals and gold cord and excused himself to run drills with the young griffon instead.
It was a little much, calling everyone here for this minor announcement, but Rook insisted it was a good habit to share all information with everyone. All the time.
"A noble house of Orlais, de Chevin, request the services of a corpse whisperer to investigate an… accidental death."
"So not an accident, then," Taash interrupted. "Right?"
"The dead will tell us," Emmrich said smoothly. "I will be there merely to facilitate fact-finding, not to judge. But yes, it seems the circumstances are… unusual, at best."
Lucanis straightened and pursed his lips. "Very unusual. The Orlesian nobility usually keeps these things amongst each other. It's considered bad form to involve foreigners in the Great Game, at least in such an obvious way. If it wasn't, I'd have a lot more work."
Emmrich sighed. "To be fair, some Orlesians do consider Nevarra a kind of Orlais-but-not-right-now. But I, for one, do not intend to get involved in the politics."
"I don't like you going alone, though," Rook mused. "Where will you do the ritual?"
"There are rooms in the higher levels of the Necropolis meant for just this sort of inquiry, so I will be only a brisk fifteen-minute walk and an elevator ride away from an eluvian."
"Still," Rook looked around, probably about to say they would come with Emmrich, but Lucanis downed the last dregs of his coffee and shook his head.
"I'll go," he said calmly.
Emmrich half-turned to the Crow and couldn't stop himself from quizzically raising a brow. "Really?" he asked. "I was under the impression that the Necropolis was not much to your liking?"
Lucanis gave him a charmingly crooked smile. "I don't need to like a place to be able to watch your back there." He looked up at Emmrich with a disarming honesty that made Emmrich's core give a little traitorous tug, suspiciously close to fond happiness. A bad time for it, if there ever was one.
Emmrich cleared his throat. "In any case, I will probably not be able to explain why I'm bringing an assassin with me to meet the mourning nobles."
"I can be your assistant," Lucanis offered. "Crows do work clandestine jobs, too. Sometimes having everyone know who and what we are is part of the job, but it's not a requirement." He cocked his head. "Might need to get some other clothes though, I didn't bring much from Treviso. But consider it done."
Emmrich folded the missive and tucked it into a pocket of his robes. "I suppose I can spare Manfred on this venture. He'd relish the opportunity to spend more time with Assan, I'm sure."
"I'd feel better with Lucanis joining you," Rook said, nodding.
Taash snorted. "Bet he'll feel better, too," they said, then yelped as Lace clogged over to box their knee.
Lucanis looked over at Taash, a puzzled look on his face, then sighed. "Just tell me when to meet you at the eluvian," he told Emmrich. "I will be there."
Lucanis was punctual, probably an important virtue for an assassin, and was waiting for Emmrich at the eluvian in the attire of a nobleman's servant - dark breeches, waistcoat, jacket. There was even a cheeky little pin with the skull-and-scarab signet of the Mourn Watch clipped to his cravat.
"I wonder why you have that," said Emmrich, nodding towards the adornment.
Lucanis smiled, nearly grinning. "Trade secret," he said. "Let me carry that."
He took Emmrich's heavy bag - the Necropolis certainly had its own reserves of candles, metal bowls, golden needles, and everything else needed to facilitate the rite, but Emmrich liked to bring his own just in case. Some books, too, because traveling without books seemed a waste of time. Besides, you never knew when you would need to look something up.
"So you're my valet today," Emmrich remarked, not hiding his amusement.
Lucanis bowed, perfectly respectful. He'd bound his usually wild mane of black hair into a neat ponytail held together with a dark blue ribbon. It still slipped over his shoulder like a loose skein of silk. "At your service, messere," said the assassin, raising butterflies to flutter in Emmrich's stomach as Lucanis gestured towards the eluvian. "And after you."
The Necropolis welcomed them with cold winds and eerie howling in the deep chasms. Emmrich breathed in the brisk air and smiled, already feeling more centered and refreshed from his unprofessional fluster.
Lucanis, on the other hand, made a face and sighed. He rubbed his right eyelid. "Where is the elevator?" he asked.
"Do you not enjoy the melody of the spirits in these halls?" Emmrich could not stop himself from poking a little fun at his Antivan friend, who seemed to dislike cold with a professional intensity.
I do! Spite chimed in, silent until now.
Lucanis scoffed. "The melody of the spirits makes my eyes itch," the assassin confessed. "Most strong magic does; blood magic the most, but spirits are a close second."
"Oh!" Emmrich extended a hand. "Then let us move swiftly. A thousand apologies, my dear, I had no idea!"
"I usually don't tell anyone," Lucanis groused as he followed in Emmrich's wake. "It's a very good ability for a mage killer to have, and all the better if no one knows."
"Your secret is safe with me. But then, wouldn't it have made more sense for someone else to come?"
"As I said, not liking the place is no reason to turn down a job."
They crossed one of the windswept bridges; Emmrich's coat and Lucanis' hair fluttered angrily in the gale that stole any words they might speak. Once sheltered from the wind by a black basalt portal, Emmrich turned to his friend. "I wouldn't wish to make more work for you," he said gently. "While I very much enjoy your company, I had hoped this outing was more than a contract you had to fulfill. I could not ask you to do this if it's nothing but a job. It would be terribly inconsiderate of me, for one, and what's more," Emmrich allowed a wry smile, "I fear your hourly rate is well beyond my means."
Lucanis returned the smile, shaking his head fondly. "Please, Emmrich, it's no trouble. Besides, I keep feeling like this case has something strange about it, it sets me on edge. If I wasn't here, I'd just be keyed up and over-caffeinated back at the Lighthouse. You're doing me a favor, I promise."
Emmrich looked at the shorter man for a few more heartbeats. The assassin met his gaze with slightly hooded, dark eyes. Earnest. Or he might be a better actor than Emmrich had thought, but that was not what it felt like. Lucanis was nearly always composed, but his emotions often found cracks to sneak through. A sudden whoop of victory in a fight, a self-assured or even cocky grin, a heartfelt mierda when things went wrong, and the open, warm enthusiasm when he cooked for the rest of the Veilguard. Not an actor, not at all. Just someone who usually banked the fires of a typical Antivan temperament.
"Very well," he said primly. "I wouldn't want you to worry. Come."
Lucanis smiled at that, a small and soft smile, like he'd made a point or won a silly argument with Taash over whether or not he could walk the whole length of the Lighthouse courtyard on his hands.
He could, as a matter of fact.
They took a meandering path through the Necropolis hallways and up a flight of stairs with beautifully carved banisters depicting acanthus leaves and skulls before reaching the central elevator. As the metal contraption clanked and wheezed up towards the surface, Lucanis hunkered down and opened the bag he had been carrying for Emmrich. "Tell me when to get what and how to present it or lay it out," he said.
"You don't need to actually act as my assistant," Emmrich began but the assassin looked up and raised a single brow.
"Humor me," said Lucanis. "It could be important knowledge."
Emmrich frowned. "Are you milking me for information so Crows can easier infiltrate the Necropolis?" he asked pointedly.
Lucanis hummed and smiled up through his lashes, almost flirtatious. "Oh, would you like to be the mark that unknowingly helps the assassin prepare for a job?"
Emmrich felt himself flush and coughed to cover it; the blasted butterflies had returned with a vengeance. "Well, I… here. Just let me show you."
Lucanis followed his instructions on what to put where and in which order with quiet intensity, nodding along before snapping the bag shut again just as the elevator reached its destination.
In contrast to the Hollow Belfry by the eluvian, the halls in the Upper Mortuary were much warmer and less drafty. The vaults and corridors were full of people moving and milling about - students, visitors, grieving families, skeletal attendants, guards, all of whom greeted Emmrich in his Mourn Watch robes with friendly respect.
Halfway to the Funerary Wings with their ritual parlors, Myrna passed them in the corridor, serenely gliding towards them and accepting a hug from Emmrich.
"Myrna! Good to see you," Emmrich greeted her.
She hummed happily. "It is good to have you home, Professor, even if only for a short time. Thank you again for your aid in this matter." Releasing Emmrich, she nodded at Lucanis, raising a regal eyebrow. "And welcome as always… Lucanis?"
"Just a humble servant, Messere Myrna," Lucanis said with another gracious bow. As if by magic, his rich Antivan accent had vanished without a trace; there even was a slight Nevarran burr to his Trade.
Emmrich whirled around and gasped in shock. "You!" he began as Myrna laughed.
Lucanis looked up at him, a nearly perfect picture of innocence. "Yes, Messere Volkarin?" he asked, in Nevarran now. To Emmrich's reassurance, there was at least a slight foreign lilt to his words.
"You mean to tell me the accent is… fake?"
"What accent?" Lucanis could not hide his grin as Emmrich spluttered. "Don't tell anyone," he said, still without his usual rolling r and warm vowels. "I wouldn't be a very good assassin if I was not trained to blend in wherever I go, and I am a very good assassin. But it is expected for a Crow to be Antivan, so around our clients, we… relax."
Emmrich glanced at Myrna, who seemed entirely too amused by the whole exchange. "I promise that we are here strictly to fulfill the family's request; I did not foresee all these cloak-and-dagger dealings."
Myrna sobered. "It may be that a little cloak-and-dagger is exactly what the situation needs. Our esteemed Orlesian guests seem ill at ease, and in a manner beyond that of a newcomer to these halls. They are in the Room of Gentle Mourning, off the Hall of Last Promise. Please, take care." She touched his arm softly, nodded once more at Lucanis, and moved on.
Emmrich fixed his friend with a glare, but it was without heat. "Stop catching me on the back foot," he admonished.
"Certainly, Messere Volkarin," Lucanis agreed amiably, in Nevarran once more. They walked the last bit in silence, the assassin two-and-a-half respectful steps behind and a little to the left, while Emmrich walked the halls the way he was supposed to - like he belonged here. And he did, he reminded himself, no matter how quickly the Lighthouse had come to feel like home. He was a senior mortalitasi of the Mourn Watch and his feet still knew the layout of the Upper Mortuary, much less inclined to spontaneous rearrangement than the Lower Halls. Not ten minutes later they stood in the doorway to the Room of Gentle Mourning.
Five Orlesians waited for them in the comfortable wood-paneled room, three of them in the ruffles, jewels, and fancy hats of nobility, all of them in masks. Eyes behind painted porcelain turned from their huddle by the fireplace towards them. By the wall waited a stone bier, a body laid out across it under a sheet embroidered with the skulls and scarabs of the Mourn Watch.
"The Comte de Chevin, I presume?" Emmrich began, walking towards the three by the fire. "Professor Emmrich Volkarin, and - please accept my deepest condolences for your loss." Emmrich inclined his head in a somber nod to cover his near-introduction of his "servant;" the nobles somberly nodded back. Lucanis slipped past him like a ghost, whisper-quiet even in his servant's buckled shoes, and put the bag down on a side table, busying himself with the implements of Emmrich's trade like he'd been doing it for years.
"We thank you for agreeing to see us, Professor Volkarin," an elderly man replied, his mask a dour gray with painted-on tear tracks in gold. "You are highly recommended by those willing to speak of these… matters. I am Cervan Michel Richelieu, Fourteenth Comte de Chevin. This is my daughter, Essaline Gildelise, and a dear friend of the house, Guy LeLaroux, Chevalier of the Marble Rose."
He did not introduce the servants, which made Emmrich all the more relieved at his restraint. His own "servant," having dressed and lit the candlesticks, now moved to put them down at the head and feet of the corpse. The Orlesian nobles ignored him, but the two people in simpler dress watched the preparations. There was a slight hum and then Spite muttered "Caaaandles."
"I am honored to make your acquaintance," said Emmrich, trying to suppress a smile. "And hope to help you lay your matters to rest. Are you familiar with the gift of corpse whispering?"
"Ah, mais non," admitted Cervan. "You speak… to the dead?"
"Indeed. Or rather, to a memory tied to the mortal remains. They will answer truthfully, if in life they knew the information we seek. I'm given to understand that the process can be a bit unsettling for guests from outside Nevarra, but fear not. It is entirely harmless."
"Très bien," mumbled Cervan and then half-turned to whisper something to his fellow nobles.
Lucanis had finished setting up and moved silently to stand next to Emmrich. "Mein sehr geehrter Professor," he began in Nevarran. Emmrich leaned down so the Antivan could whisper into his ear.
"Don't look. The servants are not servants," Lucanis breathed, still in Nevarran. Emmrich clamped down on the instinct to look up.
"You're sure?" he asked instead, as quietly as he could manage.
"Very."
The slight playfulness that had been shining through Lucanis' charade was entirely gone. He looked up at the necromancer with somber, dark eyes, trying to communicate something. A warning.
Emmrich swallowed with a dry click and then cleared his throat. "Ah, I'm terribly sorry, my lord," he began. "Unfortunately we seem to have forgotten an important bit of… " He faltered as he saw one of the servants move towards the door.
"Totenkranzdekoration," Lucanis chimed in, stringing Nevarran words together in something that, surprisingly, mostly made sense. He took half a step forward, putting himself between Emmrich and everyone but the servant at the door.
Guy LeLaroux snorted and pointed at the corpse. "But then you will talk to the dead man and find out what or who killed him," he drawled. "Is that not so, Professor Volkarin?"
"Absolutely," Emmrich tried to assuage him. "It will be but a moment, and then we may proceed."
The man's lips, the only thing visible of his face, curled up in a wry smile. "A pity," he said and flicked his hand.
Emmrich was flung backward by an arm hitting him in the chest with enough force to make him stagger a few steps, nearly taking an alabaster urn down with him. Lucanis had hit him! Emmrich's sudden protest died in his chest as the assassin turned his arm, revealing a glass dart embedded through jacket and shirtsleeve into his flesh, right where Emmrich's jugular vein would have been.
"Rude," said Lucanis, his Antivan accent back in full force.
"Corbeau!" hissed the fake noble while the two servants drew daggers; the actual nobles were turning their heads like this was a dramatic scene at the opera. The false chevalier made a little bow, like the opening of a fencing bout. "An honor to kill you, Serah Crow."
Lucanis snorted, plucked the dart from his arm and put it down at the feet of the corpse. "You may try," he said darkly and then vaulted the bier.
"Duck!" he yelled back at Emmrich, producing a knife seemingly from nowhere before hurling himself into a blindingly quick back-and-forth between him and the other killer, like a dance with deadly intentions - and Emmrich ducked, a thrown dagger now actually smashing the poor urn and dusting him with someone's ashes. The audacity! An attack, here, in the Necropolis!
Emmrich stood as Lucanis nailed the leader's arm to the wood panels of the wall with a dagger through the wrist, spinning low and stabbing upwards to catch one of the fake servants in the upper thigh and then the lower belly. Where had all the knives come from?!
But then Lucanis staggered slightly, prompting a laugh from the remaining servant. "What is your name, Serah Crow, that the House of Repose may claim your death?" he asked mockingly, toying with his dagger. Cervan de Chevin had dragged his daughter back and away from the fight, both of them still looking on like it was the most entertaining stage show ever while Lucanis' face had gone as pale as was possible with his bronze Antivan tan.
Emmmmrich, hissed Spite, voice weak and drawn out. Wrooonnnng…
At the fear and pain in the spirit's disembodied voice, Emmrich did what he was never, under any circumstance supposed to do: he acted without thought. A quick turn of his hand, a wordless call into the ether of the Fade and the spirits and necrotic energies surged around him, manifesting in phosphorescent clouds of writhing skeletal hands and leering skulls that picked up the Orlesian assassin and slammed him into the wall so hard that the wood paneling splintered.
"What have you done?!" Emmrich shouted, Veilfire wreathed around him. The man gurgled, unable to answer as his bootheels drummed against the wall, and Emmrich regained his senses, dropping him into an unconscious heap as shock settled over him. He had nearly killed the man, not in defense but in anger, anger for Lucanis and Spite, and his sudden fury left him feeling hollow and sick. He looked over to Lucanis, who had actually killed the man he'd stabbed in the groin. The Antivan made a little waving gesture.
"It's fine," he said. "Although it is a nuisance to be drawn into these minor squabbles." He fixed the de Chevins with a dark glare while he walked over to the pinned leader of the assassins. "Don't act so surprised that someone would be willing to take your playing piece off the board - you were cheating, were you not?"
"I-" began Cervan, then straightened his clothes and cleared his throat. "I am sorry that Professor Volkarin became a target," he finished, the Orlesian ennui back in his voice.
"Sorry?" asked Emmrich and realized his voice was at least an octave higher than it should be.
On the other side of the stone bier, Lucanis gripped the other assassin's chin and forced him to meet his eyes. "Where is the antidote?" he asked, tone level but firm.
The false chevalier smiled a bloody smile; Emmrich felt his own blood run cold with sudden dread. "I do not carry one."
Lucanis froze. Then he leaned in, the other hand grabbing the dagger.
"Hurt me, kill me - I do not carry the antidote. None of us do," the other assassin goaded. "The House of Repose does not halt death. It only assures it."
Lucanis stared at him for a few heartbeats more, then he nodded. "Amateurs," he spat before twisting the dagger in his grip and striking viper-precise at the man's temple with the pommel; the false chevalier slumped senseless to the floor, dangling from his pinned wrist like a broken marionette. Lucanis turned to Emmrich, shaking blood from his blade with a trembling hand. "Do I need to kill them, or will the guards here make sure they never leave? They must not tell anyone what happened." He was still pale with beading sweat on his brow, but he seemed composed.
"They will," Emmrich promised. There were already shouts from outside as several armed Necropolis guards rushed in, stepping gingerly around the bodies and broken urns, but Emmrich only had eyes for his friend. "Lucanis, are you-?"
Lucanis made a sharp, silencing gesture before sheathing his blade, calmly picking up the glass dart from the bier and wrapping it securely in a handkerchief. He held it out for Emmrich to take, hand shaking slightly. "Please, let's just go," he said quietly.
Emmrich nodded, exchanged a few words with the guards as he tucked the cloth into his waistcoat pocket, and then led Lucanis outside and down the hallway towards the elevator. "Talk to me," Emmrich begged. "What poison are we talking about?"
"A mix, I think," Lucanis said, walking quickly but slightly unsteadily. "Certainly magebane. I recognize the tang on my tongue - you can taste it even if it's in the bloodstream, like garlic. Never been dosed with it since I… got Spite. He's gone quiet."
Emmrich grabbed his friend's elbow when he stumbled; the Antivan hummed a wordless thanks and then, as if drunk, staggered onward. "Poor thing," Emmrich breathed, striving for normalcy and calm against the rising panic. "He is, essentially, made of magic. I have no idea what exactly it does to him, bound to you as he is, but it cannot be pleasant."
Lucanis nodded, then spoke with the tones of someone fighting hard not to slur his words: "A deathroot preparation, from the effect on musculature, and wyvern venom just to be an asshole. I think there might even be some adder venom in there too; the sting feels like the flesh is already… well. Don't look." He leaned into Emmrich, one foot getting caught on nothing but the floor, and grabbed onto his arm. "Sorry," he mumbled, now actually slurring, his accent thicker than ever.
"We need to get an antidote," Emmrich said firmly. "Treviso? Viago? The eluvian isn't far."
Lucanis looked up at him, his pupils blown wide. There were tiny red speckles forming around his lips and eyes. He seemed to search for something in Emmrich's face. "Yes," he then said. "Viago."
"Tell me the symptoms, whatever else you know," Emmrich insisted and walked as fast he could with Lucanis hanging onto him now, stumbling with every step. "Anything I can tell him!" And keep talking, stay awake, he left unsaid.
Lucanis smiled wistfully, his head wobbling to rest on Emmrich's shoulder for a moment despite their quick, weaving stagger through the halls. "Control over skeletal musculature is failing," he said, his vowels all turning into long, thoughtful hums, the consonants wobbly and imprecise. "Elevated heartbeat. Fever. Joint pain, headache, tightness in the chest, pain at point of entry."
His breath hitched and he pitched forward, but Emmrich caught him, heaved him up and leaned him against the cool wall. Lucanis' head rolled back and he looked up, strangely serene while the red splotches were blooming on his face and his eyes were staring off, unfocused. "Blindness," he said, calm but sad. "A pity."
"You're blind?" asked Emmrich, cold terror racing through his own veins like he'd been the one poisoned.
He had been the one who was meant to be poisoned, he realized. Everything that was happening to Lucanis had been meant for him. Over the Great Game, over Orlesian infighting. A dart meant for his neck, caught by his friend like one would catch a fly.
"Can't see you," Lucanis whispered. "Only dark shapes. Hard to talk. Hands and feet numb. I think I will… have to vomit in a moment, and then… pretty quickly afterwards… I won't be able… to breathe."
"What?!" Emmrich grabbed his friend's shoulders tighter, as if the strength of mortal hands could tether his soul.
Lucanis smiled a wobbly smile, looking off into the distance. "M' so sorry," breathed Lucanis. "No time. I…"
"No." Emmrich leaned down, bracing one arm behind Lucanis' back and one behind his knees, then lifted him like a sleepy child.
He winced as his back cracked audibly; Lucanis was shorter than him and still thin after a year in prison, but the assassin was a deceptively solid block of compact muscle and not as light as he otherwise appeared. Yet Emmrich's fear lent him strength as he half-walked, half-ran down the hallway as quickly as his legs could move.
In his arms, Lucanis hissed out a breath and writhed, stretching in a long and drawn-out shiver. "No," he mumbled. "Won't."
"We can make it," Emmrich insisted breathlessly, picking up speed. "Just hold on."
Lucanis turned his head with panicked strength and vomited up coffee and bile, heaving and crying even as Emmrich ran. Other Watchers had noticed their sprint and began to follow them, run towards them, but Emmrich only thought of the route to the elevator and then on to the eluvian.
"Emm…" Lucanis moaned. His arms dangled uselessly and his face was a map of bright red splotches of burst blood vessels.
"Yes, dearest?" Emmrich tried to keep his voice calm despite the madness clawing at him, running down black marble halls with his dying friend in his arms, a nightmare from deepest Fade brought to life.
Lucanis looked at the ceiling, eyes unfocused, a forlorn look on his face. "I think I love you," he confessed.
And as Emmrich looked down at him, stumbling as he parsed the words and they sunk into his harried heart, Lucanis stopped breathing. His chest stilled and his lips twitched for a moment, a slight moue escaping. Then nothing.
"No!" Emmrich cried and stopped, swaying with his unmoving burden, throat tight and heart thundering in agony.
With a clattering of sharp heels, Myrna shoved her way through lower-ranked Watchers as he dropped to his knees and laid Lucanis on the cold ground. His friend was entirely limp, head rolling like a doll's, eyes and mouth half open.
"What happened?" asked Myrna, her voice tightly controlled.
"Poison!" Emmrich leaned down, wiped Lucanis' lips clean, straightened his neck and pinched his nose to then breathe into his lungs. Nothing.
"The cleansing ritual!" Myrna touched his shoulder and Emmrich straightened, staring at her with burning eyes. Tears coursed down his pale cheeks.
"He's not breathing!" he wailed. "There is no time!"
Already Lucanis' lips were turning a dark purple. His eyes were glassy. Dying. Dead already. It had been mere minutes since he took that poison dart, the dart that had been meant for him! Emmrich bent to breathe again for Lucanis. It should have been him lying there, unable to breathe, his skin waxy and mottled with red spots.
"THE SPIRITS WILL PROVIDE," came a voice like an open grave. Emmrich looked up into the void-black swirls beneath the shrouded cowl of Vorgoth. They spread their arms and the assembled group of onlookers scattered with a shiver. A nearby door opened by an unseen hand to a side room meant for teaching.
Emmrich understood and lifted Lucanis again. He was dead weight in his arms; Emmrich bit down on his lower lip to not fall apart completely at the pliant heaviness of the lifeless limbs. He carried his friend over to a wooden table and laid him down.
Vorgoth leaned in and placed their gloved hands on Lucanis, one on his forehead and one on his stomach. With a whistling sound, Lucanis' chest lifted in a deep breath.
"Thank you, Vorgoth," Emmrich babbled, weak with relief. "Thank you, I had no idea…"
"IT IS LIMITED AND UNKIND TO THE BODY," explained Vorgoth. "BUT HE LIVES. BE SWIFT."
Myrna closed the door behind her and lit the Veilfire braziers with a flick of her hand, then moved the other tables and chairs out of the way. Emmrich leaned over Lucanis, who was now breathing steadily, but otherwise lay still as the dead. With slightly shaky fingers, he undid the buttons on the jacket, then on the waistcoat, then on the shirt and finally fumbled with the undershirt until Myrna leaned in from the side.
"Begging your pardon, Professor," she said mildly, cutting the fabric away with a pair of scissors from the drawer in the lecturer's desk. "We'll need a knife as well, to make the incisions for the cleansing rite."
"I'm certain he still has at least one," Emmrich said and began to pat down Lucanis legs and flanks. Within a few seconds, he'd found a thin stiletto hidden in a sheath under his left arm. Emmrich shoved the many layers of clothing to the side and tried to ignore that this was his dying friend, a friend who had used his last breath to- no, no, he could not bear to think about it. Instead, Emmrich concentrated on the correct placement of the cuts, remembering when, how, and which order the parts of the ritual had to take place.
Myrna fetched a golden bowl from the classroom's supply closet, setting it down next to him and pressing her fingers into his shoulder. "Calm," she said. "You will save him, I do not doubt it for a moment. I will assist."
"HIS SOUL REMAINS AWARE," Vorgoth interrupted them. "THE SPIRIT HE HOUSES IS BOUND. BOTH WEAKEN AND FADE. MAKE HASTE."
"He is aware?" Emmrich faltered, blade in hand. "Is he not unconscious?"
"THE POISON STILLS THE BODY, NOT THE MIND. HE HEARS AND THINKS AND FEELS."
"I can't-" Emmrich gasped briefly, breath catching at the terrible prospect of causing Lucanis more pain. He looked up at Lucanis' slack face; tears were brimming in his friend's dark eyes, quiet and caught in the half-closed lids.
"You can, and you will," commanded Myrna, firm but compassionate. "Cleanse the blade. I will prepare the arm." She picked up the scissors again and cut, with quite some strength, through the left sleeves of jacket and shirt, obviously deciding that undressing her patient was too complicated.
Emmrich waved his hands through the eddies of the Fade, gathered Veilfire, and conjured the stiletto to float in the air before him. The fire, spirit-green and cold to the touch, ran along the steel, its necromantic energies killing anything that might lead to infection.
Looking down, Emmrich nearly faltered again. Myrna had bared Lucanis' left arm, the one that had caught the dart. Lucanis had warned him not to look, and with good reason. The flesh was swollen and reddish, huge blisters forming in a ring. At the center of the impact site, the skin was brown with the threat of necrosis, pus suppurating from a small hole. "Maker," Emmrich breathed shakily, steeling his resolve as he came to stand at Lucanis' side.
Myrna ran her hand, covered in Veilfire, across the arm from shoulder to wrist and then shook the flames off her hands like water. "We invoke the Rite of Tofana Abjura," Myrna's voice rang in the makeshift operating room like the toll of the Sunken Star, "for the cleansing of blood and the healing of body." She struck the golden bowl with the heel of the scissors, the chime setting a resonance into the warp and weft of the Fade surrounding them. "Begin!"
Emmrich made the incision; the steel was whisper-sharp, as expected, and sliced easily into the vein. Then a second cut, while blood began to bead in the first, a little higher towards the shoulder. Putting aside the blade, Emmrich lifted his hands and steadied himself. "Spirit fire of midnight suns," he whispered. "Through my spire of ill and ire, the wretched blood be bless'd, not mired."
Blood magic, so feared and hated across Thedas, the same magic that had been used to control and torture his friend for a year, would have to save his life. As Myrna murmured incantations and cracked a small vial over the golden bowl, the first thin thread of blood twisted up from Lucanis' wrist. There was a very, very faint keening in the air, like a distant bird's call. Myrna didn't react, but Vorgoth inclined their head.
"THEY ARE AFRAID," they said in explanation. "DARK MEMORIES STIR. DO NOT FALTER. WE HOLD THEM FAST."
Emmrich allowed himself one last look at Lucanis' face. Vorgoth gently closed the assassin's eyes; the gathered tears escaped, running down his temples freely. Then Emmrich steeled himself, set his jaw and drew on the blood with all the strength he dared to use. A ribbon of red rose gracefully and began to feed into a floating orb of blood. Myrna held up the bowl, now lit with silver, crystalline flames, and Emmrich carefully pulled the blood through the cleansing light. It was like dragging wool through a comb, filth and rot flecking off and burning in the silver flames with crackling and sizzling sounds.
Then, cleansed, Emmrich guided the blood back down into the second incision and let it settle, flowing back to the heart. He lost himself in the tides he created with the movement of a finger, with the hum of a syllable, holding his dear friend's life in his hands and drawing from it, bit by tiny bit, the death that had been meant for himself.
It took them half an hour until the reaction of blood and flame began to calm down. Then another, until it was nearly gone. Emmrich went on further, until Myrna put down the bowl and extinguished the silver flame. "The cleansing is complete. Nearly there."
Emmrich nodded, skin clammy and brow sweaty, and let the last thimbleful of blood return safely into Lucanis' veins. He ran trembling fingers over Lucanis' cool skin, blessedly free of fever, and closed the small incisions with a drop of creation magic, as gently as stroking a moth's wing.
"It is done," Myrna said softly. "You have done it."
Emmrich sighed, long and low, then barely caught himself on the edge of the table as his legs finally gave out.
Myrna rushed around the table and grabbed a chair, shoving it behind Emmrich so he could collapse backwards into it. "You did well, Professor. I had every confidence in you," she said warmly, then looked up at Vorgoth.
The eldritch being lifted their hands from Lucanis, slowly, like handling a fragile work of art. Long, dusky swirls of their own substance withdrew from under the pale skin. "HE BREATHES WITHOUT AID," they announced. "YET THE SOUL IS WEARY."
"But he is still aware?" Emmrich leaned forward and gingerly touched Lucanis' right hand. To his surprise and great relief, it twitched minutely.
"YES."
"I…" began Emmrich and Myrna helped push the chair closer so that he sat next to Lucanis' still, pale face. The horrible slackness had lessened and his eyelashes fluttered nearly imperceptibly. "Lucanis," Emmrich tried anew. "It is finished. I don't think there is anything more that can be done. We will send for Viago, and I still have the dart for him to analyze, but you should be out of danger." He gripped the hand tighter and there was a weak squeeze as an answer. Emmrich nearly sobbed with the weight sloughing off his soul.
Lucanis very slowly turned his head slightly to the side. His temples were encrusted with salty streaks and his eyes opened only halfway, the lashes wet and stuck together. It seemed to be a nearly impossible effort to move them at all. "… sorry…"
Emmrich stilled and listened, but that was all. "You fool," he breathed with a teary smile. "You dear, darling fool." He bit down on his lip. There were a lot of things he wanted to say, and even more things he needed to ask, but right now it would not only be cruel to insist on laying it all on Lucanis, it was useless. The man was holding onto consciousness with the last thread of the dogged tenacity he brought to most things he set his mind upon. "You should rest," said Emmrich, carding his free hand gently through the soft hair at Lucanis' temple.
"As should you," Myrna chimed in. "We will bring you both to the closest dormitory. There are guest suites available, and you both need sleep and nourishment. Vorgoth, if you please?"
"CERTAINLY."
The entity leaned down and carefully lifted Lucanis. Against the swirling, black emptiness of the being's broad figure, the assassin in his cut-open livery seemed even smaller and paler, the only color to his skin being the burst blood vessels speckled across his face and torso. Lucanis made a small sound of protest, but his eyes were closed again and his right hand only managed to twitch just enough to catch one of the arms holding him, grabbing onto the black cloth like a child with a blanket.
Myrna helped Emmrich to his feet and steered him out of the room and through a few hallways to the dormitory, shooing away curious onlookers with nothing but a stern gaze. The small suite they brought them to was chilly; after Lucanis had been laid down on the bed in one of the adjoining rooms and Emmrich deposited in a comfortable chair next to the kitchen nook, Myrna clapped her hands and conjured flames to fill the fireplace, only then bothering to put actual firewood down. The warmth seeped into Emmrich's tired bones.
"Now that no one is imminently crossing the Veil," Myrna began and sat down next to him. "What actually happened?"
"Assassins. Well, assassins apart from Lucanis, that is. The House of Repose, as I understand, had been hired to… to kill me, as the de Chevins using my gift contravened the standards of the Great Game." Emmrich drew a deep breath and clasped his hands together to steady them, rings clattering against each other. "Lucanis noticed something was off, that several of their number were frauds. We were about to leave and flag down the guards when one of them tried to kill me with a poison dart."
"And your friend caught it."
"He did." Emmrich let his head hang. It was heavy and strangely empty at the same time. "He did indeed."
Myrna hummed softly and ran her hand from his shoulder up and down his spine, the gesture soothing. "I'll bring you both some food and tea myself, to be safe, and station a guard at the door," she said. "And we will see to these assassins. The Orlesian court knows full well that the Grand Necropolis is forbidden to their useless games and contracts, but every few years someone new tries our patience."
Emmrich barked a laugh. "That is certainly one way to put it."
"HE SLEEPS," Vorgoth interrupted his spiraling thoughts. "BODY, SOUL, AND SPIRIT WILL FULLY RECOVER, IN TIME."
The entity kept a companionable vigil over Emmrich as Myrna left for the closest staff kitchens. Her return startled Emmrich from his half-doze by the fire, the Keeper of the Seals bearing a tray with dark bread and a hearty broth, accompanied by tea sweetened with milk and lumps of brown sugar. With kind insistence, Myrna oversaw Emmrich as he ate and drank mechanically, put the lid on the pots for later, and gently herded the exhausted man into the bedroom before excusing herself and Vorgoth with a quiet murmur.
The guest bedroom had two beds, one of which was occupied. Emmrich stood for a long moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of Lucanis' chest as he breathed easily, face relaxed in peaceful sleep. Moving silently, Emmrich placed two long fingers to the tender skin on the inside of Lucanis' wrists and counted the heartbeats, steady and strong, trying to banish the icy memory of Lucanis gasping and choking and falling silent and still in his arms.
Lucanis was alive, and he would be well again. That was enough for him.
Sighing, Emmrich folded into the empty bed next to Lucanis; nearly the moment his head hit the pillow, the mage was fast asleep.
Emmrich woke to the clinking of glass in the adjoining room and sat up, vague panic rushing through his limbs. He looked around, recognized the guest room, and nearly fell out of his bed in his hurry to check on Lucanis.
The Crow slept. The red starbursts on his face had darkened from bright vermilion to a brownish chestnut color and his tan had returned. The horrific swelling and blisters on his left arm were down to almost normal sizes, the wound covered in a healing salve and a bandage. Lucanis lay on his back, but his head had fallen to the side, black hair fanning out on the pillow and his lips slightly parted to let the tiniest of snores escape.
So neither the attack and poisoning had been a dream - nor the cleansing ritual and the healing.
There was another small, tinkling sound from the main room and Emmrich remembered that Manfred had not come with him. So who was working with glassware?
He opened the door that had been left ajar and saw Viago de Riva staring at an assortment of flasks and dishes on the dining table as if they were about to attack him. The Talon's gloved hands hovered over the portable alchemical laboratory, the glass dart resting in a cushioned box like a rare gem.
"Good morning, Professor Volkarin," he greeted Emmrich without looking up. "Congratulations are in order. You are the first known individual in history to cure a full dose of La Piqûre de Trahison."
"A dose of what?" Emmrich's brain was slow in catching up, but then it followed up with a translation. "The Sting of Betrayal?"
Viago nodded and closed the box with the dart. "The House of Repose are fond of rather florid names. But if you can administer the full dose, it is essentially a guaranteed kill. This one was also combined with a high concentration of magebane, as it was intended for you." He said it very matter of factly, but he looked up to meet Emmrich's eyes and there was a bright, finely honed anger in his gaze.
"I…" Emmrich cleared his throat. "It happened faster than I could react."
"Certainly. I am not angry at you, Professor. If anything, I am upset that such amateurs got into a situation with Lucanis at all. It must not be known that they got so close to killing a Crow, let alone of his status."
"Lucanis said something similar," Emmrich admitted, still groggy.
Viago snorted. "At least he knows better." He sighed. "Dying on a contract would be bad enough. Captured and held alive as he was, in prison, for a year? Incredibly bad for his House's reputation. But dying in an assassination meant for someone else? An unprecedented disaster; the Crows would never overcome the shame."
"Excuse me?" Emmrich was suddenly awake and furious, angrier than he had felt in a long time. "That is what you take from this? Not that Lucanis nearly died protecting someone?"
"That is not his job," Viago said crisply. He straightened his gloves. "I mean no offense, Professor, but the correct course of action would have been to either stop the attack with less risk to himself or let you die and make sure he kills the three assassins."
"But he didn't," Emmrich insisted, "and it makes him a better man. A stupid one, maybe, but a better man than the one who would have let me die. Even beyond my own admitted interest in staying alive."
Viago sighed and began to clean up his alchemical test set. "A soft man, Professor. One who acts before considers the repercussions. I don't need to tell you what happens to soft Crows."
"They die young, I assume?"
"Yes."
Viago hesitated, then nodded to himself. Again he fixed Emmrich with his eyes - icy blue like sapphires. It was like being stared down by an angry dragon. "It has been a steady struggle," the Talon began haltingly. "With Lucanis. He took his first kills hard. He is picky with the contracts, writing endless dossiers, only going after the worst of the worst. He stops mid-contract to free slaves. Caterina had to reign him in, hard, again and again. We are assassins. Not freedom fighters."
"I see nothing wrong with what you're describing-" Emmrich began, but Viago interrupted him.
"You are not a Crow! You cannot understand. Lucanis has gotten himself nearly killed, again and again, because he made a statement, because he did too much, because he decided to help someone else before the contract was fulfilled. This was very, very close, and is just another instance of his soft-hearted foolishness!"
Viago's voice grew louder and louder until there was a rustling from the bedroom. Emmrich turned and saw Lucanis sitting up, wiping a hand down his face and staring off into the middle distance. Viago stopped himself with a pinched expression, like he had bitten into something sour.
"Hello, Viago," Lucanis said without a glance at the Talon, his voice hoarse and crackling. "Thank you for coming."
"Tch." The other Crow just shook his head with a frown.
Emmrich walked the few steps back to the bed and sat down on its edge. "Lucanis…" he began, but his friend canted his head to look slightly past him, avoiding his gaze.
"I am sorry," Lucanis said softly. "I put you in a terrible situation. Please disregard anything I said." He then reached out, hesitated, and put his hand on Emmrich's knee. "Thank you," he whispered with a gentle squeeze.
Emmrich decided to take a deep breath first and not dig into any of this while Viago was right there, putting away the tools of his trade and making no secret of eavesdropping. "How are you feeling?" he asked instead.
Lucanis snorted. "I've been better," he admitted. "But overall, I'm fine. Spite is very quiet, but I can still feel him. I think he's shaken. Remind me to never get dosed with magebane again."
"I'd prefer if you didn't get poisoned at all," Viago said testily, "but nugs would sooner sprout wings and fly. I would settle for you carrying more general antidotes on you."
"I wouldn't need to if the Orlesians followed protocol and carried their own!" Lucanis scoffed. "It's opera rules for Repose - once you've taken it, it's all over but the crying. Useless dramatists."
Viago nodded along and Emmrich looked back and forth between them, disbelieving. "I gather that there is not much love lost between the Crows and House of Repose?" he asked.
Both Crows instantly bristled and talked at the same time, Lucanis starting in with "Unprofessional hacks with no style" and Viago giving a loud "Ha!" before elaborating on stolen recipes and methods. They both stopped themselves at the same moment, Lucanis chuckling as Viago huffed.
"They are what stupid people think assassins should be," he then said decisively and snapped his travel chest closed, all his glassware and reactants put away. "Overly flashy and elite, only for hire by the Orlesian nobility."
"Whereas we discern by wealth, not by birth," Lucanis added. And then, with a wry smile: "And we sometimes do pro bono work if it is in the interest of Antiva."
Emmrich held his tongue about the flashiness and the elitism of some other people he knew and calmly patted Lucanis' hand. "Thank you again, Viago," he said instead. He nodded at the bandages around Lucanis' arm. "I suppose this is your work?"
"Of course it is. I administered doses of cleansing agents and antidotes to deal with the lingering effects, and I will leave more with the necessary instructions." He picked up his box and nodded primly towards a small chest full of glass vials.
"You are very welcome to stay-"
"No, I have business in Treviso. A Talon cannot afford to go off for days on end. But thank you, for the invitation." He inclined his head gracefully and headed for the door. Since he had his hands full, Emmrich quickly stood and hastened to the door to open it for the Antivan.
"Goodbye, Lucanis. See me soon," Viago ordered and then stepped out into the dormitory hall, where he hesitated one more moment. "Don't let him fool you," he then said softly. "He is still affected. Thank you for… saving his life, Professor. I trust you will take care of him, or find someone discreet otherwise. A Crow may not show weakness, a Dellamorte even less so. For that reason, please keep it under wraps that he is impaired."
"I will ensure that Lucanis makes a full recovery," Emmrich promised, before catching onto the very vague formulation. "Impaired how?" he asked.
Viago raised one arched eyebrow. "His blindness, of course," he said, then gave the tiniest bow. "Good day, Professor Volkarin."
Emmrich closed the door and turned around slowly. "When," he asked as calmly as possible, "were you planning to tell me you were still blind?"
Lucanis winced and looked to the side - without seeing, Emmrich now realized. "As late as possible?" the assassin joked, then sighed. "It is a known complication. My sight should return, with time and the right potions. And I'd bet Viago already marked all the vials with wax so I can tell them apart by touch."
Emmrich looked over to the small open box left on a side table; indeed, all the vials had markings made with wax drops along the necks. "He did," he said. "So this is just a normal occurrence to you?"
"Not normal. But yes, I've been blind before, and orientation and movement without sight is part of Crow training." Lucanis swung his legs down from the bed, stood with a wobble and then clicked his tongue a few times. He frowned, peeled off the remains of his shirt and jacket, and then moved out of the bedroom with just the slightest touch of a fingertip to the doorjamb.
"You should stay in bed!" Emmrich protested.
"I should go to the bathroom," Lucanis countered. "Which way?"
"To your left." Emmrich deflated a bit in his righteous disbelief as Lucanis nodded, clicked his tongue again and moved with slow but deliberate steps. He touched a chair, halted, moved it out of the way and then kept going with little hesitation.
"Do you need help?"
"Please, no," Lucanis said with a shake of his head, blushing as he stopped in the doorway. "I… I have burdened you with too much already." And then he closed the door on those words, leaving Emmrich alone in the main room.
"Burdened?" Emmrich asked the closed door in a small voice. There was no answer.
The mage slowly lowered himself into a chair and put his hands on the table. He tapped his little fingers, then his ring fingers, middle fingers and so on, back and forth, while concentrating on the movement. He managed to keep his breathing even, but he wished for Manfred so he could have a decent cup of tea without making it himself. The instinct to bite down on his knuckles and nails was great, but he refrained, nodding to himself and then suddenly standing again to pace the room.
His heart, the foolish old thing, was still adrift in a sea of fear and uncertainty and also preliminary sorrow for a loss that he had barely been able to prevent by the skin of his teeth. The fact his system was overtaxed and all his magic drained didn't help; like with any great stress, it set the parts of his mind alight that rang the alarm over every tiny thing. His elevated heartrate - what did it mean? The flutter to his fingers, the unsteadiness of his eyeline, was something terrible starting to show its ugly head?
He paced faster, trying in vain to order his thoughts. His dear friend, sure he was about to die, blind and unnaturally calm about his fate, had confessed he "thought he loved him" and now apologized for- for burdening him. Burdening him with what? For mistaking his feelings? For speaking them? For putting them onto the wrong person, at the wrong time? For withdrawing them?
Emmrich stopped in front of the wall and put his hand against it so he wouldn't hit it with a fist, shivering with cold sweat. He hadn't eaten, hadn't cleaned himself up; he had to be a mess, he realized giddily. That must be why everything felt off, surely, why Lucanis didn't want his help. He wasn't himself.
Or else he was himself and the put-together Professor Volkarin, that was the mask and fake person and he had fooled everyone for quite some time but now they could see - even a blind man could see. Emmrich whirled around and stalked over to the table, set the chair at a precise angle, moved on to the kitchen nook and stared at the boxes of tea.
He'd wanted something, hadn't he? Tea? No. Someone here to talk to. To unmake the last day. The energy to wash and shave and put on fresh clothes.
Safety from pain and death.
He pressed his forehead against the tea cupboard and bit down on his lower lip, his whole body shaking now and a distant part of him understood: it was happening again. His old friend and enemy, the ever-looming, never-weakening fear that just waited for a moment of weakness to pounce. A tired morning. A wrong word at the wrong time. A dropped porcelain cup. Being left alone.
The door to the bathroom opened and Emmrich flinched with a soft gasp, slowly turning. Lucanis frowned at nothing, then clicked his tongue again. "Are you alright, Emmrich?" he asked, his voice less crackly, but still low and slightly husky.
"No!" Emmrich wailed, then got a grip of himself - literally, he gripped the dangling ends of his vest and held on tight, as if the linen would hold him together against forces that would rip him apart. "You nearly died, Lucanis, for me! And then you said…" He breathed in, held his breath until his temples flared with pain, and only then let it back out. "My apologies," he mumbled, but Lucanis honed in on his voice, moved the few steps over and held up a hand to make contact with Emmrich's arm. He held on, then moved in closer.
"I upset you," Lucanis stated matter-of-factly.
Emmrich laughed wetly. "It is stupid," he begged off and tried to move away. "Forget that I-"
"Stop." Lucanis held on and looked down, the tips of his ears turning red. "Now you're doing it. Just… give me a moment, please. It's not easy for me." They stood like that together for a moment until Lucanis nodded. "I want to apologize for saying what I said when I said it. I thought… I thought I was dying and I just wanted someone to know. I… oh, Hacedor ayudame, this is hard."
Lucanis swallowed, shifted his weight, then nodded again. "I feel happy and safe when I'm with you, Emmrich," he continued. "I look forward to spending time with you. I had hoped… it was silly, but I wanted to impress you. Show off a little. I'm not… I mean, I am a killer, certainly, but that is not all I know how to do, and…" He trailed off, seeming lost.
"You silly man," Emmrich chided him. "Everyone knows that."
Lucanis seemed taken aback. "They do?"
"Pardon the figure of speech, my dear, but even a blind man could see that you do so many other things, with passion. Cooking, teaching, literature- Maker, even knitting! At this point it's only Davrin that says anything about giving the 'hired killer' grief, and only because he thinks it's funny."
Lucanis grinned, a little lopsided. "It is funny, most of the time," he admitted. "But. Well. This is it. I have fallen in love with you, and I regret that I threw it at you like a dagger. Please… don't make it anymore awkward than it already is. I just want you to know that you can trust me to remain professional in all our dealings." His dark eyes were downcast as he patted Emmrich's arm before letting go, Emmrich immediately mourning the loss of warmth. In another moment, Lucanis would turn around and it would be over, and Emmrich would be alone to chew on these words. Once again, as usual, he would just… let it happen.
Until he didn't.
"Yes," said Emmrich, his voice surprising even himself. Lucanis raised a brow, his lips opening to ask something, almost in the shape of the softest pout, and Emmrich quickly put a finger on his mouth to hush him. The assassin moved back an inch, seeming both unsettled and a little amused at the gesture. "Yes, to… that is to say… Let me begin this again." Emmrich cleared his suddenly dry throat. "This is certainly not the ideal moment to be talking about this, and Maker knows it is not quite as romantic as I would have preferred, but… yes. Yes to the thing this may or may not be."
Emmrich let his hand drop. "Specifics can wait, of course," he hurried on, a little uncertain now. "The fear of death and strong emotions not being conducive to clear thinking or grand decisions, and-" He cleared his throat again with a glance down; Lucanis was standing bare-chested mere inches away and, even with the red and brown starbursts from the poisoning marring his skin, Emmrich was a bit embarrassed at how large a part of his consciousness was doing little but ogling the view. (Though what else could he do? For the time being, at least, he was but flesh and blood.)
With no small effort, Emmrich forced his eyes back up to meet Lucanis' unseeing gaze. "And I confess that it would be easier for me to think if you were wearing a shirt," he finished, a little self-consciously.
Lucanis' eyes tracked to where Emmrich's lips were, blinked, then he made an aborted gesture that ended up being a quick check of his bandages with his right hand.
"A shirt," he repeated then. "What is wrong with…" He began to run his hands over his chest and shoulders; Emmrich nearly groaned with the sudden stab of earthly longing.
"I am entirely too tired and upset for this," the mage confessed. "I fear my heart will give out any moment. This is entirely too much for one day, and…"
"Cálmate." Lucanis put his hands on Emmrich's shoulders. "You are shaking."
"I am indeed," Emmrich noted. "It… it happens, from time to time. I'm afraid my mind is as frail as my body, easily overwhelmed."
Lucanis snorted. "Easily? I suppose anyone would feel a little out of sorts. Would you like to lie down?"
"I very much would."
The assassin nodded and then gently shoved Emmrich towards the bedroom. "So would I. Please do not make me admit how weak my legs still are."
"I'd never!" Emmrich let himself be steered - by the blind man! - to his bed before sitting down and letting his head hang with lingering fatigue.
Lucanis sat down heavily on his own bed and then slumped over, as if the effort to stay upright was beyond him. "I was afraid, too," he confessed quietly. He held out an unseeing hand and Emmrich moved to perch again on the edge of Lucanis' bed, taking it gently. "When I understood what had happened, and that they didn't carry an antidote to their own poison, I knew it was over. I knew. I went through the motions to not upset you, and I still ended up frightening you horribly. But I don't know what else I should have done."
"Viago said you should have let me die." Emmrich spoke the words without anger. They hung in the air between them, heavy and gray like old cobwebs.
Lucanis squeezed Emmrich's fingers and shook his head, his dark hair fanning out on the pillow once more. "I could not. You're… you are someone who makes this world better. It was a simple decision, it was no decision at all. Just like some people need to die to make the world better, you need to live."
"That is not your decision to make," Emmrich protested.
Lucanis shrugged. "I was there, and I made it. I do not regret it." He closed his blind eyes and sighed. "Though I do not look forward to whatever time I'll spend in darkness."
Emmrich turned to face him further, taking up his other hand and gripping firmly. "You won't be alone for it, I can promise you that. I will gladly help in any way I can, as will Myrna and Vorgoth. The Mourn Watch does not take these things lightly - attacks on the grounds of the Grand Necropolis and the protection of one of their own. We are at your disposal."
"Better here than Treviso, I guess," Lucanis grumbled. "Viago bickering, Teia hovering, Illario… I'm not actually sure what Illario would do, but I don't intend to find out." He frowned. "We should let the others on the team know, though. I may be out of commission for some time. Finding my way through a room is one thing, but no matter what Taash thinks, not even Crows can fight blind."
"We will," Emmrich promised. "And we will talk, and find out what is going on, and attend to Spite, and anything else that needs to be done. But those will be tasks for later; right now I fear I can't even make myself a cup of tea without panicking."
Now it was Lucanis' turn to grab his hand tighter. "It happens," he hummed. "Fear is a strong enemy." He curled up on the sheets, tucking his legs beneath the blankets. "But I know you're stronger. It just needs a little time, like my eyes."
"That… thank you, my dear." Emmrich looked down at their hands and, through the cold and static and gray fuzziness of near-panic, felt a sudden spark of warmth and wonder. "Time. Sleep. Rest. The great healers."
Lucanis smiled, eyes still closed. "And royal elfroot," he added.
"Silly man," Emmrich chided him. "Sleep now."
He watched as Lucanis' breath evened out before slowly letting go of the hand in his own, pulling the comforter up over the assassin and returning to his own bed to lay down himself. And as the walls threatened to close in on him and the world became heavy and dark and overwhelming, Emmrich looked over to the tired face slack in slumber, breathing easily though slightly parted lips, dark lines of black eyelashes like a study in ink, and felt the weight lessen.
Safety from pain and death.
Right here, with him, asleep.