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“Do you think it’s a threat?”
The box lies open on the table, the dagger in its sheath gleaming on top of the violet silk lining. Black gems are set into the hilt, glittering in the light. Viago recognizes the blacksmith’s mark as the same as that on some of his finest blades, the ones his father gifted him when he chose the Crows over exile.
Teia lifts the knife out of the box, unsheathing it and turning it over in her hands. “Why would the First Talon’s grandson threaten you?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” Viago admits. “Maybe he thinks I’m going after her seat, like the Velardos.”
“Nobody thinks that,” she says. “Everyone knows you’re going to be Fifth Talon, and your houses have no bad blood between them.”
“But …”
“I don’t think he’s threatening you, Vi.”
She passes the dagger to Viago. His eyes are drawn to the intricate etching at the base of the blade, a delicate feather motif. “This thing looks nearly as expensive as my father’s crown,” he says. It’s an exaggeration, of course, but it’s an exquisite piece of craftsmanship. It must have cost Lucanis a small fortune.
“Exactly. Who would spend that much on a threat?”
“A Dellamorte might,” Viago says. The family’s wealth rivals Antiva’s most affluent noble families, and the First Talon’s power eclipses even the king’s. Maybe if Lucanis wanted to make some kind of point …
“Is there a note?”
Viago sheathes the blade and places it back in its box. He passes her the folded slip of perfumed paper, which holds just a few words scrawled in Lucanis’s looping script, followed by a signature. “It just says ‘This made me think of you.’”
Teia sniffs the paper, then turns it over, looking for any other mark, but there’s nothing. “Maybe he likes you,” she says.
“Be serious, Teia.”
“I am being serious!” she insists, gesturing with the note. She grins wickedly. “You’re cute, in your way,” she adds. The woman is incorrigible.
Viago shakes his head. “The man spends nearly every moment he’s not on a job at that brothel,” he says. Lucanis’s predilection for pleasures of the flesh is well-known among the Crows. By reputation, there are only a handful of courtesans left in Treviso he hasn’t bedded at least once. (More hyperbole; from what Viago has gathered, the other man’s tastes lean towards the obscenely expensive and exclusive.) Rumour has it that Caterina tolerates his appetites – even encourages them, despite the cost – because it keeps the heir apparent focused on his work. “He’s not interested in me.”
“So, what are you going to do with it?” Teia asks.
“I’m not sure. I can’t use it when I don’t know what it means.”
“You could always just ask him,” she suggests, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. But Viago has only spoken to Lucanis a handful of times; there was one job together, more than a year ago. Maybe it’s a thank you, he considers, but the timing makes no sense.
“No. Absolutely not,” Viago dismisses the idea outright.
“You could ask Illario. He might know.”
“I’m not asking Illario.”
An interlude:
Lucanis feels positively shy as he presents her with the box.
Rook opens it, her expression quickly shifting from curiosity to delight. “Oh,” she says softly, “Lucanis, it’s beautiful.”
The long dagger gleams silver beneath the glowing light of the aquarium. The ricasso is etched with a motif of crows and griffins, their wings outstretched. A simple crossguard is offset by a leather-wrapped hilt embossed with curling feathers. Next to it in the box, the sheath is crafted from blackened steel, inlaid in silver and gold with the same feathered design. It’s less ornate than some of Lucanis’s own blades, still striking but more suited to a warden’s utilitarian approach.
“Are those griffins? And crows?” she asks, though he hopes it’s obvious. “Did you have this made?”
“Yours broke,” he says. “And my blacksmith tells me this style has the ideal balance for a mage, and the alloy will conduct any element without growing brittle.” He’s rambling, he realizes.
She hefts it in her right hand, testing its weight. It looks natural in her grip, the slim blade almost an extension of her arm. “This is … Lucanis, this must cost more than the rest of my gear put together.”
He blinks at her. “We can buy you new armour,” he says. “What do you need? I can get something to match, if you like.”
She sheathes the blade, laughing softly, and swings her arms around his neck. She shows her appreciation with a kiss, and he smiles into her mouth, pleased by her gratitude.
Eventually, Viago forgets about the knife. He tucks in the back of a drawer, where it collects dust for years until Teia finds it when she’s tidying.
“You still have this!” she exclaims, showing him the box. “Did you ever ask him about it?”
He and Lucanis became better acquainted as they worked to end the occupation and defy the gods, and have worked even more closely together since Lucanis took the mantle of First Talon. The alliance between their houses is strong, and Viago considers them friends, though he would never say it out.
So finally, he does.
They’re drinking wine in the rafters of the Cantori Diamond, an expensive vintage Viago procured some years earlier to celebrate a successful job. They’ve been talking about reconstruction efforts in Treviso; although the city avoided the blight, the Antaam did damage. Lucanis seems relaxed, happy in a way Viago knows well; Rook and Teia are standing nearby, giggling about the warden’s failed attempts to learn to throw Crow marks.
“I have to ask,” Viago says suddenly. “That dagger.”
Lucanis looks puzzled for a moment, then there’s the spark of recognition in his eyes. “Oh, no,” he says. He blushes furiously, and Viago finds himself deeply amused by the other man’s obvious embarrassment. “I was under the impression we were pretending that never happened.”
“I just want to know why,” Viago says, and Lucanis momentarily buries his face in his hands.
“I … do not have my cousin’s gift for flirting,” Lucanis eventually concedes.
“Wait, really?” Viago can’t help but laugh. “That was you flirting?”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Lucanis says. “Illario teased me for weeks when you never replied.”
“I think I owe Teia a gold sovereign,” Viago says. “She said as much, at the time. I thought maybe it was a threat, or a warning, or …” he trails off.
Lucanis grins broadly, leaning back in his seat. The expression suits him, Viago decides. “A threat? Mierda, why would I threaten you?”
“I have absolutely no idea,” Viago says, gesturing helplessly, and both men begin laughing, quietly at first and then louder, until Teia and Rook look over with bemused expressions. Eventually, when he catches his breath, he says, “I never wanted to use it because I didn’t know what it meant.”
“Well, I’d be honoured if you did,” Lucanis tells him. Viago nods, smiling, and leans over to refill their glasses.