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The striking red leaves of the Coccineum nervia belle sitting proudly upon her desk was the first thing to catch his attention.
Heinrix was oddly familiar with the species of plant, recognising it instantly from where he stood in the doorway to her study. It wasn’t a particularly common plant, with its penchant to grow within harsh, arid climates making it a peculiar choice of plant to keep aboard a frigate. But the longer he pondered its appearance within her quarters, the more details he remembered; recalling its requirement for a remarkably small amount of maintenance.
A blessing – especially on a voidship as busy as the Atonement.
The Rogue Trader was tending to the aforementioned plant with a particularly gentle solemnity, standing over her desk as she hummed lightly to herself. He almost felt as though he was interrupting a sacred ritual, watching unabashedly as she separated the leaves, partitioning them in a formation that meant each stem would receive a fair share of growth supplement.
But the gentle way she gazed at it, considering the weight of each of the leaves against her fingers… it was as if the sight of the plant before her had pulled her back to a time that had long since passed, forcing her to remember the days within which she didn’t bear quite so much responsibility. A reminder of times she was desperate to remember, forever fearful of eventually losing the memory altogether.
Her gentle humming ceased, yet the wistful look in her faraway golden eyes told him that she was still lost within her memories. He couldn't imagine she had been granted much time to participate in horticulture, especially considering the responsibilities of her former life. But perhaps this was from a time before her career with the Rinkhals. She was voidborn, after all. Her dossier had not been generous in documenting her life before she had drawn the attention of the Inquisition on Scintilla.
Heinrix continued to stare from the shadow of the doorway, his subject illuminated by the gentle glow of the lumens in her study.
He dared not move from his observation post, unwilling to disturb the peace that he’d found her cultivating; stricken with a sudden wave of cresting thoughts that he would never, ever allow himself to address. But she was not a telepath, nor even a psyker; and so he knew he was in no danger of those borderline heretical thoughts being leaked into his reality.
Their reality. He was standing within her quarters, after all.
Oh, but to be the subject of such devoted attention… the recipient of such a tender, gentle caress; the cause of a cherry red lip to be pulled between teeth gold and white. She pruned the plant carefully, her thumb free of her glove, much like the rest of her hand. Glittering rings adorned her slender fingers; long, sharp dark nails at their tips. She checked over the stems once more, golden eyes roving over tiny new buds and red, dark-veined leaves. She was caring for it in a way he was entirely unfamiliar with. This side of the Lord Captain was hidden from both her crew and her retinue, masked by a calm, collected veil of power and authority.
Heinrix swallowed instinctively, throat inexplicably dry as he watched her. He was intruding. He had been standing there in the doorway for far too long to be comfortable announcing his definitely undesired presence. He had no choice now - he would be forced to wait until she looked up and noticed him on her own accord, lingering in the doorway like a straying servitor without a master nor a command.
By the grace of all that is holy – what is the matter with you, van Calox?
He swallowed again at the sudden shock realisation of his own ineptitude. Nothing. There was nothing wrong with him. He was an Interrogator of the Holy Inquisition, a professional; albeit a very, very sleep-deprived one. Even disciplined minds such as his were prone to occasional weakness. He had been assigned to travel aboard the Atonement for one reason, and one reason only – he had been given a job to do.
And this was no different to the countless jobs he had completed before.
The heel of his boot came down firmly against the carpet runner atop the parquet flooring, and Heinrix kept his eyes trained closely upon the Lord Captain as he crossed through the doorway, anticipating her reaction to the intrusion. Yet, she provided none; electing not to grace him with the satisfaction of having disturbed her. Her attention instead remained entirely focused on the plant she tended to, smoothing out the crinkled leaves as she peered through the tangled network of stems. She ignored the Interrogator entirely, even as he strode brashly across the expanse of her study towards her, stopping just shy of the steps before her desk.
Indignation slowly began to simmer beneath his collar. Her oft-nonchalant manner was regularly a cause of his irritation, but this time, he could feel the ire licking at his skin.
Eventually, after what seemed like an age of standing in silence before her, she glanced up from the leaves of the plant. The soft expression she had been wearing immediately grew harder, colder; even despite the small smile that remained on her lips, which twisted into a calculated smirk. She did not seem at all surprised to see him.
“It intrigues me to see you in my study, van Calox,” she mused calmly, her pointed tone gently breaking the silence. “Uninvited, at that.”
He cleared his throat, instantly assuming the formality of the Inquisitorial mantle. The burning irritation still smouldered.
“You already know why I am here, Your Ladyship. I am here to formally request the return of the confiscated pict-recorders.”
Runa smirked faintly at his imperious tone, her sculpted brows raising with mirth. “Confiscated pict-recorders, hm?”
The Interrogator exhaled firmly through his nose, a sudden chill crackling in the air around him. He would not lose his patience - not here.
“Yes. Confiscated pict-recorders. Seventeen of them. Each one the property of the Inquisition.”
The corner of her mouth twitched in what he could only assume was amusement. She glanced down to survey her desk, taking a moment to consider the rolls of parchment pinned open with the weight of several inkwells.
“Oh, van Calox…” she clicked her tongue softly. “You sacrificed that technology when you planted those pict-recorders within the engineering decks of my ship. My people rather spoiled your plans, didn’t they?"
She clasped her hands together in front of her. "They’re more perceptive than you gave them credit for.”
A muscle twitched in Heinrix’s clenched jaw. Despite the gentle yet clear condescension in her words, it was difficult for him to ignore the way she had tested his surname on her lips. She was right – he had clearly underestimated the lower deckers’ loyalty to their Lord Captain, and it was a careless mistake; one that he would never make again. In his defense, he had been expecting Runa – a former smuggling captain, a pirate, by definition – to be a woman with many rivals and even more enemies. But the brand new heir to the von Valancius dynasty had taken even the Inquisition – and by extension, Heinrix himself – by total surprise.
“Indeed.” The hand that he held behind his back involuntarily clenched into a tight fist. “Yet that does not negate the facts, nor does it undermine my request. I still require the pict-recorders.”
“Request denied.”
Her shoulders drew back, and she looked down at him from the bridge of her nose. His rather impressive height was stunted – albeit, only slightly – by his position at the bottom of the steps, bringing the Lord Captain almost to his eye level.
Heinrix closed his eyes momentarily, the heat of his sudden anger flaring, bristling beneath his skin. Frost crunched almost painfully within his gloves. If she were anybody else, he would not have even hesitated; subjecting them cruelly to the imperious and brutal will of the Inquisition. But, unfortunately for him, he was standing before one of the most powerful individuals on this side of the Koronus Expanse. If he intended to keep his blood on the inside of his body and his eyes within his skull, he would be forced to bend the knee and come to heel – at least, for the time being.
But the Interrogator would get what he needed. It was simply just another facet of his job; his mission. He was not going anywhere without the pict-recorders – as it wasn’t a request, not really. It was a demand.
Runa peered down at her plant once more, her eyes softening as she smoothed her thumb once more against a lustrous scarlet leaf. His request had been rejected - and so, he had naturally been dismissed. She studied the plant intently, and for a moment, Heinrix considered the consequences of remaining within her study and ignoring her dismissal. He was not in the habit of directly disobeying authority – especially not that of a Rogue Trader.
Yet, he still carried an Inquisitorial rosette. He was merely a messenger, delivering and exacting the Ordo’s plans. It was not his job to question their decisions.
But he was stubborn and relentless. He would not be leaving without what he came for.
“You intrigue me,” she began, just loud enough for Heinrix to be able to recognise that she was addressing him, and not the plant she was considering so fondly. “You skulk around the engineering decks and interrogate my people. Then, when they don’t give you what you want, you place pict-recorders around their quarters and their workstations. You demand their secrets. And you didn’t expect me to find out?”
A muscle ticked in Heinrix’s tightly wired jaw.
“I have never once subjected a member of your crew to an interrogation, Your Ladyship.”
Runa narrowed her eyes as she glanced back up at him, her gaze alarmingly cold. “You and I have a very different understanding of the word interrogate.”
She turned, and the severe steel heels of her boots came down remarkably softly, cushioned from the plush navy of the carpet runner. She rounded the corner of her desk leisurely, the glove of her left hand still held within her right. Heinrix’s gaze wavered unintentionally, dropping to the black leather of her tall, over-the-knee boots, lingering on the silver Aquilas that adorned the front of her ankles.
He glanced back up to meet her eye, stupidly hoping that she hadn’t noticed him observing her yet knowing that she most certainly had noticed it all the same.
The smirk began to grow upon Runa's face as she rested a leisurely hand within the pocket of her leather breeches, reaching the edge of the top step.
“You placed two pict-recorders in my study less than two weeks ago. Surely, you can remember what happened then?”
He could only watch as she descended the steps towards him. He held his ground; partially out of respect, but mostly out of stubbornness. His request for the return of Inquisitorial property was perfectly justified. Why should he ought to back down?
“I do.” Heinrix looked at her irritably, grey eyes narrowing in their resentment. “As I recall, you held a knife to my throat.”
Runa dropped down from the final step onto the parquet flooring, coming to a halt a metre before him. “And do you remember what I told you whilst I had you pinned against that wall?”
A sudden and indescribable heat rushed through him as he swallowed involuntarily, meeting her eye and attempting not to think of just how many times he’d replayed that scene in his mind. She’d remained remarkably calm throughout the entire confrontation, the very tangible danger of the softly murmured threat she’d uttered settling comfortably in the air around them. She harboured seemingly no fear of confrontation nor repercussions; even despite the Interrogator’s significant physical advantage.
And even so, a small, reckless part of him had dared to consider the challenge she’d presented him with, even whilst the iridescent blade of her knife had continued to press cold against his throat. What would happen if he remained silent? Uncooperative? He had been entirely at her mercy. How would she respond if he leaned in to goad her?
That part of him wanted to push her – to see what the Rogue Trader was capable of. How far would she go?
The more rational part of him was not particularly eager to push his luck any further than he already had.
The threat and the knife and her proximity had been enough, and she had released him without bloodshed, calmly dismissing him from her study as she turned to take a seat at her desk; as if intimidating a member of her retinue was a regular pastime. Heinrix had excused himself quickly.
That particular encounter with the Lord Captain had not made it into his evening report to the Lord Inquisitor. He would spare Calcazar his tale of humiliation.
Runa pursed her lips, seemingly uncaring that he had failed to respond to her question.
“I’ll remind you – I said that if you commit such a flagrant act of disrespect again, I’ll throw you out of an airlock myself.”
Heinrix could feel his biomancy flaring with a sudden impatience, and a soft crackling began to sound in the air, the sudden chill affecting the pressure in the room.
“You did not specify if that ultimatum applied to pict-recorders placed outside of your quarters, Lord Captain.”
Her eyes flashed dangerously, an approximation of amused intrigue in her face.
“My mistake.” She chewed at her lower lip and crossed her arms across her chest, tapping her chin with a varnished fingernail. “You really are desperate to spy on me, aren’t you, van Calox?”
She stepped forward, close enough now that Heinrix was able to recognise the heady musk of her perfume – the same one she had been wearing when she’d held a knife to his throat, her nose inches from his own. His stomach clenched uncomfortably as she gazed at him, seemingly peering directly through him; seeking the intentions of his very soul. The furrow of his brow deepened as he stared at her, determined to remain unaffected by her words and her proximity.
“I’m surprised you didn’t put them in my bedchamber,” she continued, not waiting for him to respond. “Or my bathing chambers.”
The Interrogator pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and straightened, ignoring the bait.
“That would provide the Inquisition with very little data. Be reasonable, Your Grace. I will not deny you your privacy.”
Runa blinked, seemingly at the new weight of his chosen honorific.
“It wouldn’t have provided the Inquisition with much, no.” She was standing directly before him now, close enough for her to pull her dirk from its scabbard and gut him from heart to liver if she so wished. “But it might’ve provided you with enough entertainment to keep you off my back for at least a week.”
Heinrix blanched, a cold, creeping chill flaring at the back of his neck as he stared wide-eyed at the Rogue Trader before him, rendered suddenly speechless at the ludicrousness of such an idea. Never had he considered the implications of placing pict-recorders within her study outside of his responsibilities as an agent of the Inquisition. He was gathering data by any means necessary. The idea that he would otherwise be using that data for his own personal reasons was preposterous.
Runa grinned, pale cheeks suddenly pink at the genuine humour she seemingly found in his reddening embarrassment.
“Those pict-recorders you want so badly.” She smirked, cocking her head to one side. “I already arranged to have them delivered to your quarters. Three days ago, in fact.”
The Interrogator’s frown deepened even further at her words. He had received no such delivery – of that, he was certain. Very few people bothered to disturb him after he had retired for the day – he wouldn’t have considered himself particularly well-liked by the crew.
“You are lying,” he stated flatly.
“Oh, now that reaction means I did an excellent job of hiding them.” Her grin grew wider still, the bright gold of her canine tooth glinting in the light of the candelabra and catching his immediate attention. “Now, now… the golden question. Did I hide one within your bedchamber...? I can't quite recall.”
Heinrix’s brows pulled taut as he realised the depths of the Rogue Trader’s treachery. Yet again, she was one step ahead, just like the last time he’d attempted to gather data with those very same pict-recorders. She had been aware of his intentions even before he had acted upon them.
He growled in irritation, exhaling a hiss through his teeth; but he did not make a single movement. She would not win this stupid little game. And despite how much she tried his patience, constantly fraying the edges in order to pull him further apart, he had the advantage of decades of experience on his side. He was a professional.
A truly exhausted professional, who didn’t have the time to be pulling apart his entire chambers in order to find seventeen pict-recorders that had been set up three days prior. A sudden unpleasant shiver coursed through his limbs as he realised in cold horror the absolute possibility that he had been observed whilst he slept, whilst he bathed, whilst he dictated his reports into a data slate.
It was what he would’ve done to her.
Suddenly, gloved fingers closed around the chain of his rosette, yanking him abruptly out of his thoughts as she pulled both links of the chain together firmly. He had no choice but to grit his teeth and hold fast, glaring at her through narrowed grey eyes as he resisted the pressure of the chain at the back of his neck.
She would not win this game. She would not.
“Do not play games with me, van Calox - I will meet you at every angle.”
He stared down at her from the bridge of his regal nose, watching with hard eyes as her free hand ghosted along the line of his neck, gently trailing the tip of her painted fingernail along the underside of his jaw. The musk of her perfume filled the frozen air, crackling with the chill of his biomancy. Runa, to her credit, pretended not to notice; even as her breath condensed into vapour between them.
“And if you’re to continue your tenure aboard my ship, there's one thing you ought to get used to."
He could feel the heat from her body against his, and he reacted to her before he could even comprehend his own actions, his eyes suddenly drawn to the deliberate way she ran her tongue against her lower lip. A part of him wanted to respond, to clarify what exactly it was that he needed to get used to – as if he was a willing participant in the trap she had laid out for him.
But he didn’t need to ask.
“I will always win.”
Heinrix wasn’t sure when exactly he’d begun holding his breath, but for a moment, he swore he could see her expression momentarily thaw as she considered him, the briefest flicker of curiosity in her gaze. But then, it was over before it had even begun, and she had released the chain of his rosette from her grasp, stepping backwards.
“Now, go.” She touched the side of her bare finger to her cherry-painted lips, miming a hushing gesture. “I will keep your secrets, but I expect you to respect mine in return.”
The Interrogator inclined his head out of habit, thoroughly and utterly bewildered as he turned to leave at once, not wanting to spend even a moment longer within the Rogue Trader’s study. Could she be bluffing, or was there a possibility that she was telling the truth? A very, very small part of him couldn’t help but admire her fearless tenacity. She was used to playing dirty - that much was obvious. It would make completing his reports difficult.
But Heinrix would not accept failure.
He closed the door firmly behind him, the empty corridor silent, the flickering lumens casting great shadows along the panelled walls. His face still burned from the heat of her attention. If there was one thing he was certain about, it was that he absolutely did not trust her.
Especially considering he now potentially had seventeen pict-recorders to locate.