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Rook cradled her throbbing left hand against her chest, eyes focused on the back of Viago's head as she trailed after him through the Cantori Diamond. He hadn't said a word since pulling her out of that mess back at the seaport. A job that hadn't gone exactly to plan, admittedly, but she'd freed all those prisoners, hadn't she? A bunch of people who Maker only knew what the Antaam had planned for. Nothing good, she could say that much.
One thing that was clear—Viago was furious. He'd brought her to Treviso to get the lay of the land after the Qunari army had walzted in and taken control. Aside from a few tentative strikes, the Crows seemed to be doing nothing other than wringing their hands and spouting lines about freeing Antiva. Could he really blame her for taking initiative? She'd gotten wind of those prisoners being held, only to be ignored when she'd brought it up.
No, not ignored. It was worse than that. Viago had waved his hand, brushed aside her information, as though it was of no concern. He'd told her to keep her head down and behave, as if she were a child and not a fully-fledged Crow in her own right.
They reached the door to his room, and he fiddled with the lock for a moment as she stood there, watching. Seething. Finally, he wrenched the door open, then stood aside and gestured for her to go first, and—oh. He was glowering. The expression put her back up, even more so than it already had been. This was going to be one for the ages.
Lifting her chin, she strode past him, and he was instantly on her heels, slamming the door so hard behind them that it seemed to shake the room.
"How many times, Rook?" he demanded, sweeping past her, going to the windows. He yanked the curtains shut, drowning out the vista of Treviso on the other side. "How many times do I have to say it? You need to think-,"
"-before you act,'" Rook muttered in unison with the back half of the mantra.
"So it's not your ears that aren't functioning properly," Viago said, drawing the last of the curtains shut. As if he was making sure there couldn't be any witnesses. He rounded on her as she folded her arms over her chest, meeting him glare-for-glare. "You just don't care to listen to orders. I told you to keep yourself out of trouble while we were here."
"You can't just expect me to sit idly by and let the Antaam run roughshod over the city," Rook countered. "They had prisoners. Innocent people. Our people. And nobody was doing anything about it. Was I just supposed to ignore that, Viago?"
"Yes," he all but snarled, leaning over, gloved hands fisted on the surface of a table between them. "Yes, that is exactly what you should have done."
"But—,"
"We had a plan, Mirevas!" he snapped, cutting her off. "Weeks in the making. A larger operation that would have freed those people and dealt a blow to the Antaam. And now you've gone and kicked the hornets' nest. They'll be better prepared next time. All because you couldn't do as you were told!"
Instead of dousing her indignation, this new information had the opposite effect. "Well-! Why didn't you just tell me that?" she shouted, arms spread wide. "If you'd just said something instead of keeping it secret, maybe-,"
"Because, it was a secret. Only a handful of people knew. We couldn't risk the operation being compromised, which is a moot point now, of course." Viago pushed away from the table, stalking around the edge until he was standing in front of her. Rook refused to look away as he stared down at her. She'd never seen him quite this angry, not at her at least. But she wasn't about to back down.
"You should have told me," she insisted. "I wouldn't have said anything to anyone. You know that."
The angry crease between his brows only deepened. He wasn't going to admit that she was right, the stubborn ass.
"That is beside the point," he said, gesturing emphatically. "I don't understand. You are smarter than this. You just never listen, Rook. Perhaps it is partially my fault. I give you far too much leeway." Rook snorted, which refocused his glare. He jabbed a finger at her, and said, "You see that? I am Fifth Talon. If anyone else in House de Riva mouthed off to me half as much as you did, they'd be stripped and flogged and hung upside down from the city walls."
All right, he had a point there. Rook knew she was the favorite, but that didn't always make things easier for her. Case in point, this whole fiasco with the Antaam's prisoners. More often than not, being the protege of the Fifth Talon meant more scrutiny, higher expectations, and less leniency for fuck-ups.
"Vi," she said, exhaling slowly. "All I wanted was to prove that I know what I'm doing." Of course it had all gone to shit.
"Well, mission accomplished," Viago said with bitter sarcasm. Rook barely suppressed a flinch. For another long moment he stared down at her, a frosty regard that had her running through every breathing exercise she knew. She refused to fidget or to look away first.
With a ragged sigh, Viago turned away from her, stalked over to a chair by the table and sank down into it. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. Rook was on the verge of actually feeling remorse, when he spoke again.
"You need to go," he said.
Shoulders sagging, Rook bowed her head, some of her anger draining away. "Fine," she sighed. She'd take a ship back to Salle. Viago would probably follow in a few days, and by the time he caught up with her, his temper would have cooled. It always did. She could butter him up with a new pair of gloves, or a kit of poison darts, and all would be forgiven. Turning toward the door, she said, "I'll see you at home."
"No." His tone stopped her in her tracks. She looked back, saw him peeling his gloves off, reaching up to rub at his temples with bare hands.
"No?" Rook repeated.
"You cannot go home, Mirevas. You need to go. Leave Antiva."
Rook began to shake her head. He sounded so weary as he said it, but… he couldn't mean it. Before she knew what she was doing, she had crossed the room. She knelt beside his chair, gripping the arm rest and gazing up at him, imploring.
"You don't mean that," she said. "You're joking, right?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Viago asked, scowling down at her. "Tonight was a disaster. You have no idea how much worse you've made the entire situation. The other Talons…" He trailed off, turned his sights on the closed curtains.
A shiver ran down Rook's spine. "Come on. You can't really believe that they woud… retaliate?"
"I can, actually," Viago said. "And that's to say nothing of how the Antaam will react to your meddling."
Swallowing hard, Rook reached for his hand. He stiffened for a moment as she touched his bare skin, locking their fingers together between her two palms. "Vivi-" she began.
"Don't," he said, head snapping back around to pin her with his gaze. "You can't just bat your eyelashes at me this time and expect for the problem to go away. This is serious, Miri. Banishment is far less than you've earned. If you were anyone else, I would hand you over to the First Talon."
The thought of being at the mercy of Caterina Dellamorte chilled Rook to her bones. Heat burned against the backs of her eyes, but Rook would not cry. She couldn't even remember the last time she had—it wasn't the sort of thing she did to get out of trouble.
"But I… What if I said I was sorry?" she asked, casting about for anything. Any reason to convince him to let her stay.
"Are you? Would you do anything differently now, knowing what you know?" he asked. She finally had to look away, knowing he'd see the answer on her face. He heaved another sigh. "You need to be gone from Treviso by dawn. I will make sure you have enough time."
"Where am I going to go?" she pleaded. "Antiva is my home, Viago."
"House de Riva has safe-houses in the south. Val Royeaux, perhaps. When enough time has passed for tempers to cool, I will send word, but you must stay away. For my sake, if not your own." He gave her a look that brooked no argument, but there was a trace of something else there. Fear.
"You could say something," she said. "You could explain…"
"Explain what?" he asked. "Explain that I can't handle my own people? That you disobeyed me and I've decided that it's fine, actually? Weeks of planning undone by one rogue agent—my own protege, and you think I'll be allowed to let you off easy? You are a Crow. We have rules for a reason. You should know better, Mirevas."
Rook ducked her head. Pressed her cheek to the back of his hand, because she didn't know what else to do. She heard him shifting in the chair, felt his other hand on the back of her head, his forehead pressing into her hair.
"Is it sinking in?" he asked, softly. "Do you understand now? You could have been killed. You still could be. If you had just stopped to think about why I would be so evasive. That perhaps I had a good reason, instead of taking it personally."
Throat tightening, Rook pulled back. The disappointment on his face was so much worse than the yelling. He really wasn't going to change his mind. After all these years, everything they'd been through. Viago was all the family she had, and he was… he was sending her away, for one mistake. A big mistake, but there had to be something he could do. Something he could say.
"You're supposed to be on my side," she said.
"I am on your side," Viago said. "Believe me. I'm doing this for your own good."
For your own good, you mean. The resentful thought rekindled some of her anger. But another shouting match would only make things worse. Viago had made up his mind, and there would be no talking him out of it.
"I'll get my things, then," she said, voice barely above a whisper. She untangled her hand from his, and stood, backing and then turning away. All around her the world was spinning, but she put one foot in front of the other, determined not to falter. Maybe if she really left, took ship south, in a day or two he would come to his senses. He would begin to regret.
Somehow she found herself in her guest room. Smaller than Viago's but well-appointed. Rook hadn't brought much with her, a few changes of clothes, and whatever gear she thought she might need. It was all easily tucked away into a single, large pack.
When she reached for her spare stave-the other had been lost in the confusion at the port-her hand throbbed. She'd forgotten all about her bruised knuckles, about how she had punched one of the Antaam in his solid, square jaw. Normally Viago would have fussed and insisted on inspecting the injury, applying one of his own salves and wrapping it by hand. All while roundly cursing her for her carelessness of course.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She raced to open in, but there was only a servant on the other side. He handed her a slip of paper before bowing and hurrying away. Rook unfolded the paper, and saw there was an address written on it in Viago's neat hand. The location of their safe-house in Val Royeaux, written in their personal cipher. He couldn't even be bothered to deliver the message himself.
Rook crushed the slip of paper in her hand, channeling fire. A moment later she dusted the ashes away.
She had visited the casino often enough to know the lesser used passages. Sneaking out at night to seek out her own entertainment was… different. Vacating the premises like this, avoiding being seen by anyone she knew, it made her guts turn. Again, her eyes swam, burning with emotion, but she blinked it back, gritted her teeth. Not here. Not where she could be seen.
It took time to navigate down to the lower levels. Through the walls, she could hear music being played, and the sound of many voices. The patrons of the casino, enjoying their evening, unaware or perhaps not even caring about what had transpired down by the port.
There was an exit nearby that she knew of, a side door used for deliveries which would be unattended this late at night. Rook turned a corner, and saw the door at the end of the hall.
"I hope you weren't planning on leaving without saying goodbye."
"Shit!" she hissed. "Teia, don't do that!"
"You ought to pay better attention," Teia said, stepping out of the shadows of an alcove. "You can't afford to let your guard down now."
"I've been… compromised," Rook admitted, unable to meet Teia's eye. The Seventh Talon made a small noise of sympathy. Rook wasn't expecting her to step forward, to embrace her. Still, she shivered and then dropped her pack, returning the gesture. "Aren't you angry with me, too?" she asked, when she finally stepped back.
"Oh, I'm absolutely furious," Teia said. She reached up, patted Rook's cheek. "But… I understand. And I know how hard this must be, for you and Viago. You've been as thick as thieves for as long as I've known you."
Rook swallowed past a lump in her throat. "Will you…"
"I'll keep him from biting anyone else's head off," Teia promised, offering a smile. "And… There might be an opportunity for you. Something better than sitting on your hands for however long it takes things to cool off."
"A contract?" Rook said, brows raised.
"Something like that. Go on," Teia nodded down the hall. "See for yourself. I'll make sure Vi knows."
Rook bent, picked up her pack. "Thank you, Teia," she said. Teia only nodded, reached out to give her arm a squeeze, and then she was gone. Rook inhaled a shaky, bolstering breath. Then she headed for the door.
Outside, the air felt crisp. She thought she could smell smoke on the air. The door swung shut behind her, and then she sensed it-there was someone else out there with her. Spinning on her heel, she spotted him. A dwarven man, leaning his back against the wall of the casino, fiddling with a rather large crossbow that laid across his arms.
"I remember you," she said. "You're one of the prisoners I sprung from the Antaam holding cells."
"Good eye you got there, kid," he said, pushing away from the wall. Rook wrinkled her nose at the nickname as he put the crossbow up, slinging it over his back. "Varric Tethras, at your service. Or rather, requesting your services. I'm told you're with the Crows."
"I thought I was," Rook muttered, a pang shooting through her chest.
"Sounds like you're in need of a new line of work, then," Varric said.
"So I heard," Rook said. Her chest felt like it was being crushed under the weight of a hundred bricks. Her only family had decided to send her away, like she was a problem that couldn't be fixed. "What's the job?"
"Ever hear of Fen'harel?" Varric asked.
Something pinged in her memory, something she hadn't thought about in years. Sitting in her mother's lap, listening to her tell the old stories. Drifting off to sleep with images of the elven gods dancing behind her eyelids.
"Isn't that some old Dalish fairy tale?" she asked.
"Not just a fairy tale," Varric said. "He's as real as the nose on your face. Some friends of mine and I have been looking for him. Dunno if you've noticed the Veil being out of sorts the past few years, but he's the root of the problem, and he wants to make things worse. I need more people, expert hands. A trained assassin might be just the right kind of person to help track down the Dread Wolf before he can follow through on his plans."
"You realize how crazy that all sounds, right?" Rook pointed out. It was a wild goose chase. Possibly an utter waste of time. But… she had noticed strange phenomena. Unusual dreams. Magic not working the way it was supposed to.
"Believe me, I've been told I'm off my rocker plenty of times," Varric said. "But I've got proof, if you've got time."
Rook glanced back at the casino door. There was a big, empty safe-house in Val Royeaux waiting for her. A house where she would have nothing to do in a city she didn't even like. What was worse-languishing for months, wallowing in self-pity and anger at the injustice of it all, or running off on this batshit job with some old dwarf she'd never met before?
Which option would piss Viago of worse?
"All right," she said. "Varric. Sounds like we've got work to do."