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It was a beautiful night. A light breeze meandered through the market, bringing with it a riot of scents from the spices, flowers, and other goods on offer. The lanterns and strung lights rivaled the stars, casting multicolored lights over the crowds. Everyone they passed seemed to be in good spirits, studiously ignoring the occupying Antaam. A quiet show of defiance - going about their lives as if an enemy army wasn’t lurking on the edges of everything they did. Lucanis walked at Rook’s side, positioned so she could keep her arm looped through his.
They hadn't broken contact since he'd offered her a hand out of her seat at the café. Since he'd smiled at her, relaxed and whole after speaking of coffee and demons and taking whatever they had found and being glad of it.
He looked at her with a small smile as they walked, meandering steps veering away from the path back to the Diamond and its hidden eluvian. “I would like to show you something,” he said.
“How mysterious.” Rook grinned, leaning into his side. “Does it involve Antaam? Crow drama?”
Lucanis led them around a corner, passing a line of decorative boats manned by gondoliers eagerly trying to lure in passengers from the evening crowd. “Only if we are very unlucky. It is my favorite place in Treviso.”
“Besides Café Pietra?”
“Besides Café Pietra.”
Their path was, Rook suspected, not the most direct. Sometimes at ground level, and sometimes over the rooftops and zip lines of the Crow’s Road above the city. Lucanis didn’t mention anyone following them, but Rook was pretty sure he always operated with the assumption that he was being watched. A lifetime of justified paranoia, a cold contrast with the obvious joy he took in being back home. Their business in the city had never taken them in this direction before - away from the waterfront and the canals, away from the markets and casino, the banks and old chantry and the drowned district. The meandering streets sloped upwards, taking them towards the hills that ringed the western edge of the city, businesses giving way to residential tenements and townhouses.
She could tell when they were getting close to their destination. Spite was excited, setting the energies in the area buzzing. Lucanis took them back to the rooftops and paused several times to check seemingly invisible somethings that Spite informed her were traps and wards protecting the perimeter of their destination, a stately older building that curled around a park. A final climb up a trellis and an easy drop onto a balcony brought them to the side door of an apartment that Lucanis opened with a key.
He hesitated a moment, running his hand through his hair, suddenly hesitant. “It isn’t much, but - this is home,” he said, holding the door open for Rook.
It was far grander than her quarters at the Necropolis had been. Humble, compared to the family Villa. The space was a study in contrasts, a testament to Lucanis and who he was outside the trappings of House Dellamorte. The sitting area was sparsely furnished with pieces that were practical but well made. The chairs were plain and unadorned, but the bookshelves were numerous and overfull. The walls were bare, but the kitchen had obviously been expanded with no expenses spared.
A small armory of knives and the tools needed to keep them sharp covered the table. A soft knitted blanket was draped over the back of the couch.
Rook took it all in, walking along one of the bookshelves and smiling as she spotted some familiar titles. “So this is your place. You mentioned moving out of the Villa when you came of age.” She turned back to Lucanis where he lingered by the door.
Spite grinned back at her, fully in control. “Yes. Cold and crushing. Lonely stone. Full of ghosts. Was never his.” Spite bounded forward, grabbing her hand and pulling her away from the bookshelves and towards the hall. “Lucanis promised,” he said. “Mine first. Rook needs to see.”
Rook allowed herself to be pulled, laughing. “Alright. What do I need to see?”
Spite stopped by one of the doors. “My room,” he said. “Lucanis isn’t allowed. No one. Without asking.”
Rook reached out and brushed her hand against the door handle. The metal was fade touched, something Spite could interact with even when he wasn’t utilizing the body he shared with Lucanis. The demon was currently watching her expectedly, crouched down and holding himself unnaturally still. “So, may I come in?” Rook asked him.
Spite glowed with approval. “Yes,” he said, grabbing her hand again and opening the door. “Rook can see.”
The room was small. Rook assumed it was intended as a storage space or a small bedroom. A magpie assortment of items were laid across the floor and along the shelves lining the far wall, obviously ordered in some manner though the particulars of the system would take some time to suss out. Fade touched rocks and feathers, a broken knife and every kind of writing implement Rook could imagine plus some she had never seen before. A mask, a bit of tooled leather, empty glass bottles, and an elegant carving of some fanciful creature that looked like it was missing its head. Candles, scented soaps, and dried flowers. Mundane oddities and magic touched treasures, all displayed with equal levels of care. The walls had been papered over and covered in writing and drawings. Rook recognized Spite's work from the bits Lucanis had shown her in his journals.
“Mine,” Spite said, pleased and proud. “All mine. Not shared.”
“I love it,” Rook said, squeezing his hand. “When did you set all this up?”
“After our new deal. Moments between. Space to make a space. Caterina kept it. A mausoleum. Dead and still. Meant to be a home. We fixed it.”
Rook could feel the contentment radiating from Spite. The sense of grounded peace strong enough that under other circumstances she would be looking for the associated spirits lingering nearby. “I'm glad you two have worked things out. That you are making space for each other. Does this mean you won't be moving things around in the pantry anymore?”
Spite leaned into her conspiratorially. “Need to. Keep Lucanis on his toes.”
Rook laughed, making a careful circuit of the room and asking Spite about some of the items that caught her eye. It was fascinating, hearing how he described things and his reasoning for his selections. A spirit learning how to make sense of the physical world in which he was trapped, one trinket at a time.
Spite froze as they went back out into the hallway. Rook looked at him questioningly. It reminded her of the times Lucanis spoke to Spite in his head, but the demon was obviously still in control.
Spite smiled slowly, looking further down the hall. “No,” he said. “Not done yet. Not your turn.”
He tugged on Rook's hand again, leading her to another door. “Lucanis. Wants you to see. Doesn't want to show you. Too soon. Thinking and rethinking. Overwhelmed. What if she doesn't want.” Spite rolled his eyes. “Rook wants. Lucanis needs to stop thinking.”
“If Lucanis doesn't want me to see whatever you want to show me, then you shouldn't -” Rook froze as Spite flung the door open.
Lucanis had carved out a space for Spite in his apartment. He had also made one for her.
Rook walked in slowly, feeling like the floor had dropped beneath her feet. Or like she was fast asleep and far afield in the Fade. A lute sat on the floor, a carved stand for holding sheet music behind it. One of her favorite collections of poetry sat on the desk next to an elegant tea set and a writing box that was in much better shape than the one she had at the lighthouse. The chair behind the desk reminded Rook of one she had admired at the Diamond. A plush and overly ornate thing that was dangerously comfortable. A Nevarran banner similar to the one she had on display at the lighthouse hung on the wall side by side with an elven carving that Rook remembered discussing with Bellara when they saw it in an art dealer’s display across town. A wardrobe was against one wall. Rook peeked inside, running her hand over the cascade of ridiculously fancy materials in some of her favorite shades of purple and green and blue. The dresses were keeping company with what looked like a backup set of her leather armor.
“I don’t…” Rook looked at Spite, utterly at a loss for words.
“Treviso is home.” Spite said smugly. “So is Rook.”
Rook’s eyes stung, her chest tight. With a snap of energy, the purple light faded and it was Lucanis reaching for her, his face falling. “Mierda. You’re upset. I told him not to. I apologize, I shouldn’t have - ”
Rook cut him off with a kiss, her thoughts drowning in an echo of home. Of being welcomed and wanted. Foreign concepts that simultaneously sat like stones in her stomach and chiseled away at something sharp that she always carried.
“Not upset, then?” He asked softly after she broke off the kiss, sliding his hands down her arms and carefully searching her face.
Rook shook her head, surreptitiously wiping at her eyes. “No, not upset. Just…you made literal room for me. In your home.”
Lucanis still looked slightly confused. “Yes? You can do what you like with it. Or with the other rooms.” Lucanis shrugged slightly.
Rook slid her arm around his back, resting her head on his shoulder and holding onto him like a lifeline. Home was a fraught concept. And this was a lot. She still hadn't shaken the unreal sense of dreaming that lingered around her. “Why?” she asked.
She could feel Lucanis still against her, a breath held a moment too long. He shifted slightly, his lips brushing the top of her head as he spoke. “I never got to spend much time here. Contracts. Business at the Villa or in other parts of Antiva. But it was important to me - knowing it existed. A safe place. Something that was mine. I wanted…I want to share that with you. I want to be that for you, though I don't know if I am capable of it.”
Rook turned to face him. His smile was rueful, uncertainty coloring his expression. “I am not sure I'm explaining this well.”
Rook placed her hand on the side of his face. He turned into her palm, kissing it gently. “This wasn't actually part of your plan for tonight,” Rook said.
Lucanis huffed out a laugh, his eyes sliding to the side where Rook could sense Spite was currently manifesting. “No. There is a training school on the other side of the park, for the opera house. The musicians like to show off in the evenings when the moons are full. My plan was wine and tapas and listening to them, out on the balcony. But you are still - if not upset, then - ”
Rook looked around the room. There were so many things she could say, about growing up without a real home. About the institutional separation she always maintained with her space in the Necropolis, even after she had accepted that was the only place where she could imagine being permitted to exist. But that wasn't something she needed to voice here, now. Not when Lucanis was looking at her like she held his heart in her hands and he feared she might drop it. “I’m not used to people making space for me,” she said quietly. “I think I would like to get used to it, though. Especially if it's you.”
This time it was Lucanis who leaned in for a kiss, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Rook could feel his smile and the shift of tension released as he relaxed against her.
“You know,” Rook said, her lips still brushing his, “people around here are going to think I’m a kept woman.”
The shift in conversation was intentional. Rook knew Lucanis could tell. He was gracious enough to follow her lead, smirking as he traced the lines of her jaw and rested his forehead against hers. “Only until they meet you. Then they will understand it is so much less than you deserve.”
Rook closed her eyes, biting her lip to keep from grinning. The way he slid into earnest sincerity was ridiculously endearing. Even when they were teasing each other. “Just - The lute is an Almaviva, isn't it? They’re ridiculously expensive.”
“It is,” he muttered. “It is an investment for Spite too. You know how he loves to hear you play.”
“And the chair…”
“You were effusive about how comfortable they were. And the supplier already works with the Crows.”
Opening her eyes, Rook blinked at him innocently. “Of course. And who picked out the lace negligee in the wardrobe?”
“Ah.” Lucanis pulled back a bit, looking at the ceiling. “The intention was to make sure you had a spare outfit or two here. I made the mistake of asking Teia to recommend a dressmaker and she took some liberties with the order.” He looked back at her, his posture shifting, the hand resting on Rook's waist tightening slightly. “Though it had occurred to me that perhaps we could stay here tonight. If you want.”
Rook took a moment to absorb that. “Oh.” She smiled slowly. “Not in a hurry to get back to the lighthouse?” She asked.
“I wouldn't mind having you to myself for a bit,” Lucanis said, his voice pitched low in a way that promised all sorts of interesting things. They had been slowly testing those waters together, exploring new avenues to connect with one another. “Without any interruptions.”
Rook matched his tone, though she knew her face was probably bright red. “And would this be with or without the lace nightgown?”
“That is up to you.”
“And if it were up to you?”
“I am not sure I would have the patience to watch you put more clothing on,” he said simply, placing a lingering kiss on the inside of her wrist.
Rook hummed, holding onto his hand and leading him out of the room. There was still something surreal about all of this. Playing house with her assassin, in his cozy apartment in an occupied city while blighted gods plotted their demise. “We might need to test that theory. Teia has excellent taste. But first, I recall you mentioning wine.”
“And tapas. I was hoping you would assist me in the kitchen.”
“Brave man.”
“I have faced many horrors, Rook. You in the kitchen is just another,” Lucanis said, laughter laced through his words as he squeezed her hand.
Rook smirked, turning to steal another quick kiss as they walked towards the kitchen. Absolutely a dream. Strange and impossible and beautifully mundane and something Rook had never really dared to want. Something she still wasn't sure she deserved. A hand in hers and space in someone's heart, music and wine and a quiet night and promises of things to come.
Home.
She could hear music already drifting in from outside as Lucanis started laying out the ingredients they would need. Treviso, stealing a moment of joy, thumbing its nose at the darkness. She resolved to do the same.
Whatever this is or could become, she’d take it.