Chapter Text
“Get out—all of you.”
Though Viktor spoke softly, the order was received as though screamed in an outburst of unbridled rage. Attendees, members of the court, associates and servants vanished in the blink of an eye, their steps so silent it was as though they were never there to begin with.
Only Silco and Jinx remained.
The sound of his cane echoed against the stone as Viktor moved to stand over Silco. The count remained seated. He hadn’t moved since he had dismissed the visitors from Piltover. He didn’t even have the decency to look him in the eye. Silco rubbed his slender fingers against his temple, as though deep in thought, but Viktor knew better. He refused to be the first to speak. He half expected Jinx to break the tension, as she so often did (or add to it, if she were in the wrong mood), but she too said nothing, as if curious to see how things played out.
Finally, after an absurdly long moment, Silco rolled his eyes upwards to meet his expectant gaze.
“Well? Spit it out, Vik.”
“You invited Lycan into our home.”
“Nothing but a pack of pups lapping at my shoes for water. Surely you don’t see them as a threat. Tell me what’s really bothering you, love.”
Viktor shook his head. “You promised me. You promised you wouldn’t allow another conflict between the territories to reignite in our lifetime. You said we deserved better than that.”
Silco’s expression hardened. “And what makes you think I have broken my promise?”
“You haven’t—yet. But it isn't like you to be cordial to the Lycans either. Whatever happens to them will make it back to Piltover, and if the past has proven anything, the humans and Lycans will accept any perceived transgression as an excuse to inflict violence upon us.”
“Cool your jets, Vikie!” Jinx tumbled forwards off the edge of the window sill, bracing the impact in her bent knees before straightening. Envy, briefly, constricted Viktor’s chest at the ease with which Jinx moved, uninhibited by any restrictions or pain from her own body. She wrapped her arms around the back of the throne, wrists crossing beneath Silco’s chin. “What’s the big deal, huh? It’s like you said: Daddy hasn’t done anything—yet—ha!”
Silco affectionately caressed her arm, expression softening. Viktor huffed.
“I assure you, I will treat our canine guests with the utmost hospitality—I’ll be the perfect gentleman.” Silco’s words sounded sarcastic, even if his tone didn’t imply as such.
“Whatever your plans are, I want no involvement. I will remain in my quarters until the Lycans have left.”
Viktor turned to flee, but halted at Silco’s next words: “I’m afraid I can’t let you sit this one out this time, love. I’ll need both you and Jinx attending dinner this morning, as a show of solidarity and strength.”
He gripped the head of his cane. “You know how I feel about their kind.”
“As do we all. But they are our neighbours. If you want peace, sometimes you have to break bread with the enemy to maintain it.”
The tension left him all at once. There was no point arguing. If Silco wanted him to dine with the Lycans, then so be it.
“Fine.”
His hand gripped the door handle leading to the eastern wing when Silco added: “Oh, and dress sharp. Wear that lovely skeleton brace I gifted you for the last Red Moon. And keep your science talk to a minimum. We can’t have you boring our guests now, can we?”
Jinx’s laughter echoed in the hallway, even after Viktor had soundly closed the door behind him.
Viktor did what he always does when he was in need of a distraction: he studied. His pine-green antique desk had cracks and ink stains sprinkled across its wooden surface, beaten down from constant use. Sitting at it felt more like home to Viktor than any other place in the world. Metallic gadgets of different shapes and sizes were strewn about, some projects abandoned and others yet to be fully realised. Stacks of research papers were piled haphazardly off to the side, scribbled in writings akin to that of a feverish madman. But nothing brought him more joy than the smell of parchment, a full inkwell and an idea humming in his temple. Most of his scientific pursuits never amounted to anything, but not a single dead-end ever felt like a misuse of his time; rather, they were essential stepping stones to something brilliant that he had yet to conceive.
Tonight’s endeavour was sun cream. More specifically, cream completely resistant to the fatal UV properties that burnt through the flesh of Vampyres. It was not a unique concept by any means. Many scientists had previously conducted similar pursuits to address the Vampyre’s greatest adversary, but there was no harm in chasing the thread.
Sky’s rose gold pocket watch sat on the shelf, at eye-level with his seated form. His quill stilled on the page, the ink at the tip pooling on the tail-end of the letter ‘L’. There was a fine layer of dust coating it. When had he allowed that to happen? He snatched it from the shelf and cleaned it against his clothes. Because he was a glutton for pain, he opened the watch. He imagined it different from how it had been left: a clean surface, its ornate hands ticking away as a functioning clock ought to. Instead, a web-like crack splintered its glass surface, and the time remained trembling in place, stuck on the very time Sky had died.
“Got your freak on?” Viktor didn’t flinch. Jinx had a habit of appearing out of thin air.
He calmly pocketed the watch, and said, “Just the mindless contemplations of a disturbed mind.”
Jinx leant over, her eyes flitting across his research. “Sun cream, huh? Real original.”
Viktor smiled softly at that, picking a stray gear up and toying with it between his fingers. “Maybe not. But anything that could help the betterment of our people is a cause worth pursuing, no?”
She slapped his shoulders and he flinched, grinning from ear to ear. The gear went rolling across the desk. “Come on, Vikie. Time to get dressed. You heard the old man—we gotta look nice an’ pretty for the mutts today.”
Swivelling in his chair, he realised Jinx was already dolled up and ready, save for the heels she left waiting to be worn by the door. Though she remained ghostly, gone was the smudged mascara and dramatic eye bags in favour of a more polished, unobtainable beauty so often ascribed to their kind. The magenta of her aristocratic dress complimented her eyes, with boisterous black bows laced into her body-length braids in a tasteful fashion. Perfume gifted to her for her fiftieth birthday by Silco wafted from her palms, a mix of smoke and spice that the Lycans, with their enhanced sense of smell, would find pleasant.
She knelt to ease him out of his leg brace. The soreness lingered when the metal relinquished bone and muscle, like bruises eternally imprinted into his flesh. His other brace came next, releasing its leather jaws from his back and midsection.
Dancing over to his wardrobe, Jinx wrenched open its doors indelicately and fished through his clothes, tossing articles onto his bed seemingly at random and without purpose.
“Remind me again what Dad got you for the Red Moon?”
Viktor pinched his nose. Honestly, the piece was so obnoxiously extravagant that he couldn’t fathom Jinx not knowing which one it was. “The skeleton piece.”
“Skeletons? In your closet? You can't make this shit up!”
She snatched it from its hanger, where it had remained untouched since Silco gifted it to him. Jinx ordered him to remove the rest of his clothing while she fished around for accessories; once finished, she helped him into the elaborate piece. Whenever Silco required their attendance at meetings or events (something that demanded more effort in the appearance department than usual), Jinx would help dress him. Like the flip of a coin, the sixty-five-year-old miscreant devolved into a child playing dress-up with her brother, giddy and unrefined. Their personalities often clashed, so Viktor indulged Jinx in these rare few memories they shared. Where it wasn’t about who was the favourite for once. Just a brother and sister, playing pretend.
Viktor sat on the edge of the bed as Jinx fiddled with the bolts and latches of the golden spine. The moment its jaws latched onto his back he struggled to breathe properly. She stood back, gnawing her lip in thought.
“Well?” he shifted self-consciously.
“It’s missing something.”
“Like what?”
“You’ve got a nice neck. It’s slender—like a goose.”
“Thank you, but I fail to see how that is related.”
Jinx shook her head. “No, no. What you need are dangly earrings. Something simple. Something understated.”
“I didn’t think ‘understated’ was in your vocabulary.”
Jinx rolled her eyes before fishing through his jewellery box. She returned, triumphant, placing a pair of gold earrings in the palm of his hand. They were understated. Just two thin, gold bars that hanged on delicate chains. He couldn’t even recall how they came into his possession. After putting them on, Jinx nodded to herself, satisfied with her work, before urging him up and situating him in front of the body-length mirror—his least favourite part of this whole shenanigan.
He refused to look straight ahead. Jinx grabbed his cheeks and told him to stop being such a baby.
When he finally did look at himself, his scrutiny fell to the usual suspects: his too thin, sinew frame; his gauntness and perpetual exhaustion; the lopsidedness of his hips. The outfit was nice, at least. The gold skeletal frame replicated the curve of his spine, fused on top of a skin-tight material to protect his flesh from its metallic embrace. It was further supported by a collar around his neck and shoulder straps. The fabric around his arms was loose and breathable, cinched at the wrists, and his pants were plain white—a risky colour for a Vampyre to wear, even if he was a miscreant.
“Can you stop looking like you just saw your kitten die? You look like an expensive fruitcake—exactly what the chef ordered.”
He recognised a Jinx compliment when he heard it. His gratitude lacked enthusiasm, but she did not let that deter her. After slipping into her heels, she winked at him over his shoulder and said: “See ya at dinner!” Glancing at the clock above his desk, he had twenty minutes until the inevitably uncomfortable affair.
The queasiness in his gut intensified as he made his way to the guest dining room. As the name implied, it was a place only ever used when Silco was hosting guests at the Citadel. It was not their usual place of choice for a family meal. The guest dining room was also further away from the residential suites, adding to his sour mood.
Lycans at their doorstep. In their home. Sleeping in their guest bedrooms.
Where did that man—Talis—find the gall to march so unabashedly into Zaun, stare Silco in the face, and demand aid for an issue that was of no concern to them? He could sympathise. Plague, much like with many of nature’s misfortunes, was a stroke of bad luck. Nothing short of desperation willed Piltover to turn to them in their time of great need—that, Viktor was certain. Their demands were not unreasonable, either. However, he was, quite frankly, insulted that they even asked in the first place.
The last conflict between Zaun and Piltover happened when Viktor and Jinx were still children. He witnessed what Piltover’s people were capable of when they meant real harm against the people of Zaun. It was enough for Viktor to never wish for war between the territories ever again. Regardless of what matchstick promise Silco made to him all those decades ago, he was not naive. He knew that if Piltover provoked, Silco would have to act. As Count of Zaun, the privileges he was afforded could just as easily be taken from him. All it took was one action of weakness. A waver. A hesitation—and it would be over. Silco was always at a knife’s edge.
An exhausting position to be in.
Viktor did not envy Silco, nor Piltover for their situation, though for the briefest moment, he felt an inkling of retribution for all the wrongs Piltover had inflicted upon Zaun. He stamped down that feeling quickly. Innocents were suffering; they did not deserve this.
He is still of the opinion Silco should never have indulge Talis’s request for an audience in first place. Better to keep their distance. Better to let the humans and Lycan figure it out for themselves.
If word got out that they were hosting Lycans in their home, dining them, accommodating them…
He stopped shy of the antechamber where he knew Silco was waiting for him.
He just hoped Silco knew what he was doing.
The antechamber was a prerequisite, of sorts. Silco always had his guests seated first before making an entrance. The antechamber ensured Silco could enter alongside his children as a united unit.
Jinx smirked over her shoulder at Viktor, poking out her tongue and striking a peace sign as if to say: “Beat ya!” Ah, back to being Daddy’s Girl then.
Viktor sighed and assumed his position at Silco’s right.
Silco appraised Viktor. He ran his hand affectionately through Viktor’s hair in lieu of verbal approval, then patted his cheek.
“Behave yourself.”
“I’ll try.” But only if the dogs do.
Jinx giggled. “Speak for yourself!”
Silco led, and Jinx and Viktor followed. Their footsteps and Viktor’s cane bounced off the walls, announcing their entrance. Their guests were already seated at the elaborately decorated table, awaiting their arrival. Talis and his blue-haired companion stood in greeting. Jinx’s biological sister, Violet, didn’t so much as twitch in acknowledgement.
Silco assumed his position at the head of the table. Jinx shoved herself into the chair Viktor was reaching for. Her shit-eating grin was met with blandness. The only other appropriate available seating was next to Talis. How vexing.
Upon approach, Talis pulled out the chair for Viktor, his smile far too sincere.
He bit back a scowl.
“So,” Talis plucked his intricately folded napkin from the table and whipped it open, straightening it over his knee, “have you thought about the terms of our agreement?”
Silverware bracketed the fine porcelain plates set before their guests, and were notably absent for the Zaunite dining arrangements. Empty crystal glass chalices were placed in front of Jinx and Viktor. But not Silco, Viktor noted with trepidation. He glared at his father from across the table, and was pointedly ignored.
Silco sighed, entirely relaxed against his chair. “So eager to get to the point. The entrées haven’t even been served yet.”
“I didn’t think entrées were part of the Vampyre cuisine,” the blue-haired woman interjected.
“Astute observation. Kiramman, was it?”
“Caitlyn.”
“Cassandra’s pup, no doubt.”
“I’m not the only one making astute observations it seems.”
Talis rubbed his forehead. “With all due respect, Count Silco, I would really appreciate it if we kept on topic. I’d like to know what you want from Piltover in return for your appreciated involvement in our current… predicament.”
Silco’s gaze met with Viktor’s. Emotion stirred, but was so brief that Viktor had no time to fully grasp what it meant. Silco turned his attention back to Talis, almost bored.
“All in good time, Councilman Talis. Before we discuss the deal, I’d hoped you would share some knowledge regarding Lycan customs. Literature on the topic is hard to come by here in Zaun.” Jayce’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Viktor’s eyes narrowed. Silco continued: “There are many differences between Zaunites and Piltovians, but I was wondering if you could enlighten me on one custom in particular.”
“And what custom would that be?”
“Marriage.”
The word hung heavily over the table.
Silco pretended not to notice. “You see, marriage varies for Zaunites, particularly between humans and Vampyres. Humans like to gather in their little chapels as ministers with dusty old books read a couple lines about love and trust and what have you—very sentimental things. The bond of marriage is a loose concept. Married humans still lie and cheat and leave their partners—some even kill them, would you believe. And they say we are the monsters… But for Vampyres, marriage is not a bond reliant on a mere promise to another. It is forged and eternal, an unbreakable companionship that, once made, can never be undone. Not by time nor mage magic. Hence, marriage is a rarity for Vampyres, but no less highly regarded.”
Talis shifted in his chair, cleared his throat, and answered honestly. “The same is true for Piltovian humans, though spousal homicide is statistically low. Lycan…”
“Yes…?”
Talis shook his head. “Lycan marriages are similar to Vampyre marriages, I suppose. They are bound by the magic of our people, and cannot be broken once the commitment is made. Though, from what you’ve described, marriage is more common in our culture than it is in yours.”
An unsurprising fact. While Vampyres prized independence and self-interest above all else, Lycans formed packs to emotionally, mentally and financially depend upon other like-minded individuals. It made sense that this discrepancy extended to notions of marriage as well. Although, Viktor imagined the meaning of ‘eternal companionship’ meant something very different to both species. Eternity to a Lycan was about three-hundred years. Eternity to a Vampyre was literal.
“What of the ceremony?”
Viktor’s glare intensified.
This time Talis didn’t skip a beat. He explained, in great detail, the formalities of a traditional Lycan wedding ceremony. By nearly all accounts, a Lycan wedding was the polar opposite of a Vampyre wedding. Receptions were typically small and intimate, conducted barefoot in a place of nature significant to the couple or the pack they were a part of. The ceremony took place on the day of a full moon, and the officiant was usually the pack leader (or if it was the pack leader’s wedding, someone nominated by the pack leader). While the ceremony itself was brief, celebrations continued well into the night, wherein the pack would shed their human forms and dance and howl to the moon’s blessing.
It all sounded horrifically romantic—at least how Talis described it, his eyes tender as he spoke.
The marriage was bound through a bite, mutually exchanged, between the couple. Biting had symbolic significance, specifically when it came to staking permanent claim over another. For Vampyres, the exchange of blood was what tethered them, interacting with their body’s chemistry irrevocably to create a union so profound it altered the very fabric of one’s personhood.
Silco was terribly interested in Talis’s explanation. Too interested.
“And do Lycans emphasise consummation to legitimise the union?”
To Talis’s credit, his blush only touched the tips of his ears. “They do.”
“With an audience?”
“Of course not!”
“How boring.”
“Such intimacy is only ever expressed privately in Lycan culture,” Talis said, disturbed by Silco’s forwardness.
Silco, on the other hand, was amused, like a cat observing a rat trapped in a maze. “Really? However would anyone know if the deed was honoured?”
Talis blanched. “Us Lycans take our customs and traditions very seriously. If they have integrity, they would honour the consummation, regardless of whether they felt conflicted on the matter. Though I can’t imagine why they would be. Marriage is an act of love in Piltover.”
“Is that so? Political marriages aren’t common then?”
Talis faltered. “I never said that.”
“Well, which is it? For love, or advancement?”
“It’s complicated.”
“As marriage so often is.”
Talis seemed on the verge of turning the questions back on Silco, which Viktor so hoped that he would, but was interrupted by the timely arrival of dinner. Jinx hooted and clapped her hands in excitement, while Violet and Kiramman sighed with relief.
The Lycans were served plates of rare-cooked meats, grilled vegetables and seasoned mashed potatoes. Viktor raised an eyebrow at the simplicity of it. Such a safe choice. A people pleaser—a dish commonly served in Lycan households. When it came to negotiation tactics, Silco appreciated the details of fostering an environment that made the other party feel slightly off-kilter. It was through topics of conversation designed to rile them up—yes, but also by serving food foreign or displeasing to the guest. Either Silco was switching tactics, or he genuinely wanted the deal to come to a harmonious conclusion.
The latter was so ludicrous that he snorted.
“What’s so funny?”
Talis smiled at him handsomely.
Viktor composed himself and shook his head, his eyes falling to his lap. “It’s nothing.”
A server approached with a pitcher full of artiblood, pouring the deep red liquid into his chalice. The same server went around to Jinx’s side and did the same for her. Silco was the only one who had yet to be presented with a meal.
No one reached for their chalices or their cutlery. All eyes were on Silco. Waiting. Anticipating.
Two humans entered, their scents undeniable in a room full of Vampyres and Lycans. They halted, just shy of Silco’s seat, a man to Silco’s right, and a woman to Silco’s left. From the mild undertones of ash and bitter moistures wafting from their skin, it was easy to deduce they were Zaunites, but appearance-wise they could have been mistaken for pampered Piltovian escorts. The kind you would see on the arm of a prominent politician or merchant.
“Tell me, Councilman,” Silco brought the attention back on him, “do you prefer the company of men or women?”
Talis frowned. “I fail to see how that’s your business.”
“Indulge me. You want to negotiate the terms of the deal, and I want to oblige. But before we do, I need to know the kind of man that I am negotiating with. Otherwise, I don’t see how we can walk away with a compromise that satisfies us both.”
Viktor’s hands curled to fists in his lap. Don’t answer the question. Don’t even entertain this line of thinking. It’s a trap.
“I…” Talis shook his head. “I suppose I see beauty in both men and women.”
His chest fell, air expelling from it all at once.
Silco smiled. “And if you were to marry either my son or my daughter, who would you choose?”
“Absolutely not!” Kiramman stood abruptly. “He’s not marrying one of your freaky little children. It’s out of the question. Your kind have no place in our pack!”
Talis put out a hand, silencing Kiramman. Violet grabbed Kiramman’s wrist and urged her back into her seat.
The hard line of Talis’s brow was drawn together, regarding the weight of the supposed hypothetical with the seriousness that it deserved.
Viktor’s ears were ringing. He couldn’t breathe. A part of him understood the line of questioning, knew what it was building towards, but didn’t want to believe Silco would go that far. Silco was many things. He was a traitor and a corrupt dictator to some; a hero and leader to others. What could not be contested was his affection for his own children. Despite being miscreants, defying the laws of what was natural, Silco took them in and raised them as his own.
To serve them up like this was a low Viktor had not known Silco was capable of.
He met Jinx’s eyes from across the table. For once, she wasn’t smiling maniacally.
The look in her eyes was not fear, though. Not the look of someone who might be ripped from the only home they ever knew and forced to marry an enemy. No, it was far more gut-wrenching, more devastating and harrowing than Viktor could have ever anticipated. It was…
Pity.
“I suppose if I were to choose, it would be your son, Viktor.” It was said almost like an apology.
Viktor snatched his cane and stood.
“A fine choice,” Silce purred.
The male human stepped forth and leant over Silco, baring his neck in offering.
The overwhelming scent of blood, violently spilled, chased Viktor out of the room as he retreated, but even such a temptation wasn’t enough to coax him back to the table. He could no longer sit through dinner. None of them had known—none but Silco—that the terms of the deal were being discussed from the moment they were seated. All that preamble was not to sate Silco’s curiosity. It was for Viktor’s sake. The ceremony, the bite, the consummation—all of what he would now expect to come from such a union with Talis.
What was even worse—what cut far deeper than being used as a pawn in Silco’s petty game of politics—was that Talis’s choice was an illusion. Silco already knew his answer. If there was even a slight chance that Talis might pick Jinx over Viktor, Silco never would have risked presenting the choice in the first place. Because Jinx was the favourite. Jinx was the perfect one. Born from love. And Viktor was the malformed one. Born from pain.
He returned to his room. In the back of his head, he knew he was being childish. The mature thing to do would have been to remain at dinner, witness the negotiations transpire, and then air his grievances to Silco in private. But there was no containing the emotions stirring inside him. They were suffocating him. He felt strangled, seized by the sudden desperation to be freed from the braces that held his body in place. He tripped over himself to reach the bed, hands flying to his weak leg before he’d even collided with the mattress. He removed the brace with ease. The back brace was another matter. The skeletal vice required a second person to help with the latches. He struggled for several minutes attempting to remove it, writhing, twisting and arching, until his legs were tangled in bed sheets and sweat dampened his temples.
He gave up.
He lay on his stomach, panting into the mattress.
Jinx found him in the same position an hour later. She huffed in amusement before collapsing onto the bed next to him. Viktor opened his eyes to glare at her, but he couldn’t maintain the look for long—not when she was looking at him like that.
“Keep your pity.” He squirmed to face his back to her with significant effort.
Jinx snuggled closer, a hand on his arm, her chin digging into his shoulder. “Do you wanna know what happened after you left, or are you just gonna keep feeling sorry for yourself?”
Viktor scoffed. “That’s easy for you to say.”
“You’re right. It is. If things were reversed, I would’ve set the whole damn room on fire before I let myself be sold like a prized dairy cow.”
“I feel so much better.”
Jinx giggled. “That’s what I’m here for. But listen to this—this’ll make you feel better—the look on those mutts’ faces when Dad started feeding. Thought that council guy was gonna puke all over himself. But that’s Dad for ya—get ‘em all upset so they’ll agree to just about anything to get the hell outta there.”
Viktor sighed and Jinx helped him sit up. Her dexterous fingers began loosening the latches of the back brace. As she did, she recalled the dinner post Viktor’s dramatic departure. Piltover would lift the blockade barring Zaun from trade routes to other territories, allow Zaunites unrestricted travel to Piltover, provide monetary compensation for water and air pollution caused by Piltover’s industrial factories, and appoint a Zaunite consultant to the council to advise on diplomatic affairs (Jinx speculated that Sevika would be chosen for this role). It seemed Silco finally found solutions to issues he’d been grappling with for decades. For Zaun, these terms were more than reasonable, though Viktor wondered if Piltover would feel the same.
“The guy didn’t even negotiate. He just… rolled over.”
“Like a dog?”
Jinx snorted. “Yeah. Exactly like a dog. What an idiot.”
No, not an idiot, Viktor thought. Just a man desperate to save his own people.
But there was one term of the agreement she was skirting around.
“What else…?”
She hesitated, nails clicking against the gold brace. “You’re gonna get hitched to the Talis guy—and soon. Sorry, Vik.”
“How…” Viktor swallowed and closed his eyes. “How soon?”
“Couple weeks at most.”
“I see.”
The brace snapped opened and Jinx eased him out of it, muscle and bone aching from the release. She hugged him from behind, ankles interlocked at his front, and nuzzled her face into his bruised spine. Viktor tensed, then relaxed.
“I’ll miss you.”
There was a knock at the door. Silco entered. Viktor couldn’t bear to look at him.
“A moment of privacy, Jinx.”
Viktor missed her warmth the moment she left him, shouldering Silco roughly as she went. They both cringed when the door slammed shut behind her.
“She will forgive you… eventually,” Viktor said softly.
“Will you?”
“That would depend on how things go in Piltover.”
Silco leant against one of the bed columns, rare uncertainty clouding his scarred face. “I wouldn’t have married you to him if I suspected for even a moment that he would mistreat you. Talis is naive and easy to manipulate. You can mould him however way you please.”
Viktor rubbed a thumb into the palm of his hand, transfixed by the pale black veins that shifted beneath heated flesh. “You wouldn’t have married me off at all if I were Jinx.”
The awkward silence was all the confirmation Viktor needed.
“You will have Councilman Talis’s ear and serve the interests of Zaun. With time and a little bit of cunning, Talis will rely on your advice and insight—think of how invaluable you’ll be.”
“You will already have a consultant on the Piltover Council acting in our interests.”
“A misdirection—a mere ceremonial position. The council members will be so wary of my consultant that they won’t consider the threat you pose.”
Viktor frowned. “I would hope not to be a threat at all. Just what are you hoping will come from all this?”
“To restore Zaun to its former glory.” Their gazes finally met, and Silco had that look in his eye that instantly placed Viktor on edge. Silco moved around the room, pausing at Viktor’s desk and plucking a stray gear that Viktor fiddled with when lost in thought. “An empire doesn’t fall overnight, but crumbles under tiny cracks that coalesce over time. Our direct involvement in Piltovian Council affairs will weaken them and strengthen our hand. All you have to do is sweeten Talis to you until his unwavering loyalty supersedes any obligations he might feel to his own people.”
“I’m not a politician. I do not manipulate others for personal gain.”
Silco placed the gear in his palm and closed his fingers around. His touch was bone-chillingly cold. “I wouldn’t expect such a thing from you, Vik. Talis’s attachment is an inevitability. He’ll come to value your opinion over all else in due time. You two have quite a bit in common, after all.”
Viktor bowed his head, his grip tightening around the gear, its grooves digging into the flesh of his palm. Silco cupped his neck and placed a kiss to the top of his head.
Silco spoke softly into his hair, “No matter what transpires in the coming months, you are a Zaunite and my son. Never forget that.”