Chapter Text
Cyril stood in the middle of the stage. Eyes were on him, but the lights blinded him from most of the audience. There were murmurs of conversation as Orlesian nobles wined and dined. He was sure many deals were being made. Some might even eventually involve him. It was the way of Orlais. He never ran out of work in this country. The muscles in his throat strained as he projected his voice across the room.
Dans mon esprit tout divague, je me perds dans tes yeux
Je me noie dans la vague de ton regard amoureux
His voice was high and clear as he sang, each note flowing confidentially after the other. He had done this a hundred times, and would probably do it a hundred more. The violin accompaniment rose around him, harmonizing with him. He tried to pick his target out of the crowd, despite the lights. He thought he saw a flash of gold, but he couldn’t be sure. It wouldn’t be long now. His mask rubbed the top of his cheeks as he sang, a familiar friction from his years in Orlais.
Je ne veux que ton âme divaguant sur ma peau
Une fleur, une femme dans ton cœur Roméo
He delicately pulled at the Fade, lights of green and blue shimmering around him, eliciting a reaction from the crowd. They were always easy to please. You would think they had never seen a mage in their entire life. Another graceful wave of his hand, and the lights spread out among the partygoers, forming into glittering bands as they drifted their way through the crowd. It was almost time for the grande finale. And then, it was time to hunt.
Je ne suis que ton nom, le souffle lancinant
De nos corps dans le sombre animés lentement
His voice strained as he approached the final crescendo, but the tone remained clear. He reached out again, wrapping the Fade around him and forming it to his desires. His arms spread out as he hit the final note, and the glittering motes that had drifted among the crowd transformed, hundreds of tiny hummingbirds darting around. The oohs and ahhs of the nobles gave him no pleasure, however. He held the last note as long as he could, his lungs starting to complain for air. With a swift motion of his hands, the lights and his own illusions disappeared, plunging the room in temporary darkness the moment his final note ended. Applause erupted, but Cyril was already gone.
He nodded to his accompanist as he exited the stage. She nodded back, familiar with his quick departure after his performance. It had been a long night with many songs and his throat was feeling the strain. He would need a few days to recover before he could perform again, but that was no issue. This was his final contract in Orlais, at least for now. He had been called home to Antiva, and would be leaving in a few days time. But that was not quite yet, and currently, Cryil had a job to do.
He entered his dressing room, knowing he only had a few minutes before he needed to be at the meeting place. He sighed as he took off his mask and rubbed his face. He leaned close to the mirror and picked up his kohl pencil, fixing the bits that had smeared from the sweat. The lights were always warm. His lips were next, where he switched from the dark blue he used for his concert to the bold red he used for his clients. Or marks. It depended on which side you were on.
When he was satisfied, he placed his mask back on, turning away and grabbing both his coat and a small black case, which he tucked under his arm. The silver fur draped around his bare shoulders, falling all the way to the floor where it dragged behind him as he left his room. It was incredibly dramatic and a bit unnecessary, but a certain image was expected of him and he had to deliver. He made his way through the halls of the mansion, fairly certain he knew where he had to go. He had spent a full week mapping out the place, and his memory would not fail him now.
Servants glanced at him, his dramatic outfit and bright colors making him stand out. But he was not concerned about being noticed. He had a certain reputation among the nobles of Orlais that hid both his true identity and his extracurricular activities quite well. Cyril was good at what he did, and had perfected his methods over many years of practice. You would think that after so long someone would connect the dots, but the few who had were no longer an issue. He had made sure of it.
He spotted the room he needed, slipping inside without even bothering to check if anyone saw him. No one ever paid any mind to someone walking into a room, but they did if it was obvious they did not wish to be seen. The room was dark but with a quiet murmur, lights flickered into existence. He kept them low, the small orbs of gold light drifting slowly near the ceiling. He was always performing, and now was no different.
The room was well decorated, the Orlesian’s love for gold and finery evident in every corner. A table sat in a corner, a bottle of wine and two goblets sitting on it. Someone was expecting him, so he sat and poured the alcohol into each glass. Bringing it up to his nose, he inhaled, the familiar scent of a spiced red wine hitting him. It was not a cheap vintage either. They were trying to show off, it seems. He set his bag on the table and leaned back, glass in hand. He let his coat fall just so, exposing his collarbone on purpose. It always seemed to help matters, not that he understood why. Content that he had set himself up as best he could, Cryil waited.
It was almost time.
—————————
Cyril did not startle when the door opened. Instead he smiled, lifting just the corner of his mouth as he leaned back. The man shut the door behind him with a soft click, turning with the smirk of a man who thought he was in charge simply because he had the most money.
“You are not cheap, Petit Colibri.” Cyril smirked. He knew that. He was the one who set the price.
“You seem like you can afford it, Duke, if your wine selection is anything to go off of.” Duke du Bellay was a large man, both in height and from years of indulgence. He was draped in gold, every one of his thick fingers bearing some ring or another. He was a man who liked to show off his wealth and took great pleasure in the fact that he thought he was better than anyone in the room. Cryil felt nothing but disgust at the sight of him. His chuckle was low as he approached the small elf.
“You would be correct, I can.” Cryil had to crane his neck up to look at the duke once he was standing before him. He was sure it was on purpose. He gestured casually to the chair next to him, giving no hint that he was intimidated by their difference in size. Partially because he was not.
”Sit, my darling duke, and tell me what you would have of me. It’s not everyday I am bought by a man such as yourself.” The simple flattery did its job and he sat, picking up the other wine glass and taking a deep drink, smacking his lips with a sigh.
“You have come highly recommended by many.” He hummed and took a sip, crossing one of his legs so that both his coat and his green sequined dress fell, revealing his thighs all the way up to his hip. He watched the duke’s eyes follow the movement and look back at him. Cyril gave him a knowing smile and leaned forward.
”My particular set of skills are highly sought after, yes. And it would be my pleasure to offer them to you.” The Duke eyed him hungrily, and Cyril knew he had him.
“Pleasure is what I am after. There is only so much to be had from a party such as this. My tastes are a bit more…exotic.” Ah, yes, that word again. He knew it well.
“Exotic is what I am known for, my lord.” He turned to the small black leather found case he had set on the table. He opened it with a click, revealing small vials of different colors. He ran his black painted nails over them, before looking back up at the duke with his well practiced seductive smile. Lips closed, corners up, head tilted down and to the side as he looked at the larger man under his eyelashes.
“Did you have a request? You had my entire stock at your disposal. And with the price you paid, I will grant any other request you might have.” The duke leaned forward, eyes intent on the seven glass vials nestled into the deep red velvet. A jeweled finger pointed to the one in the middle, a shimmering gold liquid that sloshed viscously in its vial.
”What is that one?” Cyril smiled wide.
”Ah, that is fine selection. One of my most popular and of my own creation. Andraste’s Light, it’s called. They say it will make you see the Golden City itself.” His lithe fingers extracted the bottle, holding it up to the dim golden light that still suffused the room. It glittered as it moved. Cyril had not been lying, it was very popular. Truly, if you made anything gold the nobles of Orlais assumed it had to be the best. He had been fairly sure that was the one he would choose.
“How long does it last?” Cyril shrugged.
“It’s a bit different for everyone. But an hour to two is the average. If you wish to extend it, we can discuss that as well.” The duke smiled, eyes intent on Cyril.
”At an additional cost, of course.”
“Of course.” He set the vial back into the case and shut it.
”And for my other requests?” Cyril tucked a short strand of hair behind their ear with a smirk, maintaining eye contact despite their dislike for the man sitting far too close.
“Yes, those as well. Except for one. I do not partake of my own stock with a client. Should you have a bad reaction, you will be grateful for that.” The duke nodded.
”Fair enough. So, what happens next?” Next came his least favorite part. He stood then, sliding into the duke’s lap. The only thing that kept Cyril from recoiling in disgust when his large hand slid under his coat to caress his bare back was his years of practice.
“Next, my dear, is that you find us somewhere private to retire to. Then I will give you a night to remember.”
—————————
“Will it hurt?” Cyril shook his head.
”Other than a small pinch as it’s injected, no. It will not take long to take effect.” He sat on the edge of the massive bed, practiced fingers drawing the liquid up and into the syringe. Once the vial was drained he turned back to the duke. ”Once I start to administer it, there is no going back. Are you ready?”
“You will be discreet?” Of course he would be. He would not have made it this far if he was one to talk.
“No one will know unless you wish to tell them, my lord.” He took the duke’s arm, starting to prepare it for the injection.
”And once it’s taken effect?” Cyril looked up at the large man in bed with a smirk.
”You will experience a night to remember, pleasure you have not yet imagined. I am very good at what I do.” The duke chuckled.
”I pity the fools who think you are a mere singer.”
“I only take elite clientele, my lord. It would not do to sell my goods and my time to someone unworthy.” He was lying, of course. He would sell himself to anyone he needed to, but the duke did not need to know that. Duke du Bellay was a man who thought he was superior, and Cyril did not need to break that illusion even though he wanted to. It would do him no good.
The duke flinched just a bit as the needle entered his skin, but that was all. Once given, Cyril placed his equipment back into the case and set it aside. The duke’s eyes were on him again, that hunger he so despised returning. Cyril knew what he wanted. It was what they all wanted. Cyril was under no illusion. It was not the drugs that drew his clients to him. It was himself that he was selling, a promised experience of pleasure with a hint of shame. The nobles of Orlais loved it, men and women.
“And now?” Cyril reached up then and removed his ornate mask and shed his coat, setting both to the side. His dress left little to the imagination, which was the point. Simple in design with dark green glittering sequins that shifted around him as he straddled the duke. Cyril saw the same look he always saw when he was fully revealed. The duke wanted to own him, even for just a night. A pretty pet to brag about to his close friends. One more thing he conquered with his money.
”And now we wait, my lord. It will not be long. Just a few minutes.” The duke’s large hands wrapped around his waist as he chuckled.
”We could get started a bit early, why wait?” Cyril shook his head with a smile.
”I think not. I will need my wits about me while it takes effect to make sure it goes smoothly. Do not be impatient, my lord. You will start to feel it soon.” And Cyril was right. He watched the duke’s face intently, looking for the tell tale signs the drug was taking effect. He required them to work quickly. He could only put off his clients for so long.
The duke's hands on his waist were the first sign. They fell limply to his sides as his eyes slowly started to turn glassy. Cyril waited a few more minutes, but the duke said nothing, starting up at something Cyril could not see. His face was dreamy, a lopsided smile forming. When Cyril was satisfied he was deep in his high, he moved off of the man, feeling relief. In general, physical contact was not something he enjoyed. Usually it meant he was on a job, and that did not garner feelings of warmth or trust in him.
He ran a hand through his hair as he sat in a chair in the corner of the ornate room. Luckily, this is one of the places he had suspected the duke would choose, so his escape route was already set. He just needed to be patient now. The hard part was over.
He pulled at the Fade then, wrapping it around him and forming it as he always did. Bright colors and shapes drifted in the air, swirling around and over the duke. Cyril watched with even greater satisfaction as the large man slowly raised his hand to try and catch a pink butterfly that was flying past him. His finger passed through it, where it dispersed into a shimmering shower of white. His mouth tried to shape words, but no sound came out.
Cyril relaxed in his chair, his magic needing little effort from him. He gently continued to feed the Fade to the colors, giving the duke a show. He had paid quite a lot of money for this, so it was the least Cyril could do. Time passed quietly as the duke fell deeper and deeper into his own mind. When Cyril was convicted he was well and truly gone, he stood once more.
There had been no particular requests for this job, only that it was to be known how he died and who had killed him. Well, who as a collective. But that meant he would need his dagger, and not his magic. With a causal wave of his hand, the colors disappeared, so that the only source of light was the fire flickering in the fireplace. He started to hum to himself as he rustled in his coat, taking out a pot of paint from an inner pocket. There was more than one reason that his coat was so large. You could hide quite a lot in it.
Finding a bare patch of the wall, his strokes were sure as he applied the purple paint to the wall. The shape of a bird formed, a signal to everyone that even the most powerful in the realm could not hide from a Crow. His humming continued as he finished, setting the paint down as he found his dagger instead.
The duke never even twitched as Cyril slit his throat. It was quick and clean, a practiced motion he did not even have to think about. Cyril watched the blood run down him, staining his expensive outfit a darker red. He noticed the way it stained the gold he was covered in. Gold did very few people any good once they were dead, he had found. With a quiet gurgle, Duke du Bellay died. It was all rather anticlimactic, but that is how Cyril preferred it. If it was exciting, that often meant something had gone wrong.
Cyril did not hang around. He gathered his belongings, making sure to erase any sign that he had ever been there. He placed his mask back on his face, positioning it so it would not fall. It was a little bulky with his coat, but he managed to climb out the window and make his way to the roof. He stashed the garment in a pre-placed hide hole he had created. He would come and collect it in a few days before he left for Antiva, it was too large to carry over the roofs to where he had planned his exit. The gentry would have moved on by then anyway, occupied by the next scandal. The night had gone as smoothly as it could have. That was not surprising, of course.
Cyril was nothing if not a professional.
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Cyril sat in the chair in front of the mirror with a sigh. The journey back to his dressing room had been easy. He did not even receive an odd look as he had slipped back into the performance area. He looked at himself in the mirror, and did not recognize the person staring back. But that was nothing new, so he pushed the feeling aside. Light blue eyes stared back at him from the holes in his mask.
It was dramatic, that was for sure. But he was a performer, drama was expected. It was reminiscent of a bird, blue, green, and teal feathers carved out of light glass that shimmered when he turned his head. The nose was long and curved down, but left the bottom half of his face uncovered. It had been loosely based off of a hummingbird, his signature. He took it off with a sigh, massaging his cheeks where a few of the feathers had started to rub.
He pushed his teal hair back, half formed curls falling just below his ears. It was almost time to get it cut. But not quite yet. He started to remove his makeup, feeling relief as the colors smeared and then came off. He hated wearing it, but again, it was necessary. Eyes that were almost too large stared back at him, his cheekbones high and his cheeks hollow. Teal lines creating shapes and sharp lines were tattooed on his face which continued down his body. With an aquiline nose and patches of startling pale skin, he knew what people saw when they looked at him. He was exotic, it’s what they all said. Features extreme enough to be startling, but set in such a way it came off as otherworldly more than unnatural. He hated it. He had changed much about himself, but he could not change that.
Turning away from a face that was not his, he sighed again, rising to make his way over to the rack that held a few options he had considered for the night. He slipped out of his dress, carefully hanging it up to avoid creases. He grabbed his pants and shirt, feeling even more relieved as he put them on. His favorite part of the night was when he could change, remove every bit of Petit Colibri and feel like Cyril for just a bit.
He was more than ready to leave. It had been a long night and he was tired. Packing his bags, he set each one next to the door. He traveled light, for the most part, other than his wardrobe. Personal possessions were not useful to him when he was on a job, and he was usually on a job. So mostly he kept the tools of his trade. Slipping his black case into a bag, he stood. His dresses were the last thing. All three of them were placed in their bags, and draped over his arm. It would do no good to try and wow the Orlesian court with outdated styles or the same look every night.
After placing his mask into his bag, he grabbed his other one. Plain white and unadorned. The symbol of someone who was important enough to need one, but not enough to have one custom made. It was a popular choice amongst those who spent time among the upper class like he did. He was no noble, but he needed to maintain an air of mystery.
As he left the mansion, he didn’t look back. He ignored how the alarms were raised, shouts of guards and panic gradually making its way through the complex. He had already left the grounds before the gates were shut, locking in the unfortunate who had remained. They would be there for a while. As long as the few things he had hidden were not discovered, and he was certain they wouldn’t be, nothing would point to him. Cyril rubbed the back of his neck and sighed again.
Now, it was time to return home.
—————————-
Cyril knocked on the large wooden door. It was odd being home, if that is what you could call it. Was it really home if you had not returned in over five years? A lot had changed, the Antaam occupation leaving its mark. But it was still Treviso.
“Come in.” Cyril entered, shutting the door behind him before turning to Viago.
”Cyril, it’s been a long time. Was your journey home uneventful?” Cyril nodded as he sat in the chair across from Viago’s desk.
”It was. I was stopped by Antaam a few times, but nothing I couldn’t handle. They have quite a foothold in Antiva, don’t they?” Viago sighed.
”As much as it pains me to admit it, yes. And it grows by the day.”
”Is that why you called me home? I do not mind, but there was no shortage of work back in Orlais.” Viago nodded.
”I need your particular set of skills.” Cyril raised a brow.
”You do? My methods are not as useful in other realms. I rely a lot on reputation, and Orlais is where I have built that.”
“Petit Colibri is still well sought after then? You seem to have little trouble with the contracts I send your way.” Cyril nodded again.
“They are. A few copycats have popped up as well.” Viago smiled.
”Which I am sure you do not discourage.” Cyril quirked his lips in a half-smile.
”As long as they are not besmirching my reputation, no. It keeps the mystery alive, and Orleasians love a good mystery.” Viago chuckled and leaned back.
”Your methods are unorthodox, but surprisingly effective, Cyril.” He shrugged.
”It would do the Crows no good if they were always predictable.” But he was not here to discuss the way he did his job, he was sure. “What need do you have of me?” Viago leaned back, fingers crossing as he clasped his hands together.
“I need someone seduced.” Cyril kept his displeasure at the news out of his face. He remained neutral as he replied.
”Who? It must be important to bring me all the way here.” His Talon nodded.
”A Merchant Prince. He’s aligned himself with the Antaam and is feeding them information. I need to know what before he is removed. That is where you come in. he is well guarded and we can’t get close enough to get the information.” Cyril sighed.
”It will not be quick. Can you get me close enough for an introduction?”
“Yes, that we can do. But after that, you are on your own.” That was fine, he worked better alone. It was what he was used to. But he had one other concern.
”Do you know how warded he is against my, ah, particular magic. You know my limits.” Viago sighed and Cyril knew the answer then.
”He is well protected from that, yes. You will need to find a way around it. I cannot help with that.” Cryil frowned at him.
”Viago-“ The other assassin shook his head.
”I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, Cyril.” He sighed. It was always important, wasn’t it?
”Very well, I will manage. Is there anything else?” Viago shook his head.
“No. Once I can set up the introduction, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, take this.” He leaned down to a drawer, rummaging through it until he found what he was looking for. He pushed a key over to the mage.
”You remember where the Crow safe house near the Drowned District is?” He nodded. “Good. You can stay there for now. Take some time off. Get to know the city again. I’ll get back to you in a few days.” Cyril rose, knowing the conversation was over. He headed toward the door.
”Cyril.” He turned back to Viago.
”Thank you. I mean it.” Cyril knew he did. He nodded one last time and left. But it really didn’t matter if Viago was thankful, not one bit. It was simply his job. Nothing more, nothing less.
It was really all he had.
————————————
Cyril hated Crow safe houses. He avoided them at all costs, but he had been told to go to one so there he was. He missed his mask, the anonymity of it comfortable. But this was Antiva, and it would have only made him stand out more. He ignored the looks of the few Crows that were also there as he set his stuff down on an empty bed.
It was not exactly his own choice that had set him in Orlais, but it had had its positives. He had never felt particularly welcome with the other fledglings and that had not changed when he had become a full Crow. He was not completely sure why, but it seemed he unnerved some of them. He had done his job, and done it well, but never made the attempt at friends.
Cyril was under no illusion as to how others perceived him. It was easy when he was wearing his costume. That was a carefully crafted persona he had worn for years now. It was not comfortable, but it was familiar. He knew how to act, how to talk, how to move his body just so to get the desired effect he needed. He abided by a specific set of rules, and as long as he did not deviate from them, he knew he would get what he wanted from people.
But when it was just him, just Cyril, the rules no longer helped. He wasn’t sure if it was the way he looked or the fact that he killed with magic more so than weapons. There were other mage Crows, of course, but they were not as common. Maybe it was the way his face moved. Maybe it was the way he spoke, soft and higher than expected. Maybe it was just something about him that people did not like. He had never put much effort into figuring it out.
He had never found much use in personal relationships either way. There was no room for them in Orlais. One slip up, trust the wrong person just once, and everything he had spent his adult life building could crumble. He could never risk it. And even if he could, he had never met anyone that interested him enough to try. In general, people were predictable. He didn’t dislike them, not at all. People were fine. He just didn’t have strong emotions either way about most of them.
He looked around, trying to find somewhere he could store his clothes. It was not always easy traveling with a full wardrobe, but he had little choice in the matter. Even when he was called away on jobs in other places, the way he operated only changed a bit. He was a specialist. It just so happened that the tools of his trade were bulky to lug around. Quickly realizing it was a lost cause, he sighed. He once again did not look at the others as he left, steps soft as he started to make his way out of the building once more.
“Hey!” Cyril stopped in his tracks and turned around. A young human was approaching him, obviously a Crow with the way she was dressed.
”Yes?” She smiled at him.
”You looked like you might need more room. It is pretty cramped in there. But there is a storage room right down the hallway that’s empty, if you need it?” He blinked, surprised, but nodded.
”Yes, that would be helpful.”
“Sure! Did you leave your stuff outside? That’s a bold move here.” Cyril gave a small smile.
”It is well warded. I would know if someone tried to take it. They would also find the experience unpleasant.” The woman tilted her head.
”You're a mage then?” He nodded again.
”Yes.”
“Well, come on then. I’ll help you with your stuff.” The kindness was unexpected, but not unappreciated. Cyril followed her out. “So, you don’t see a lot of Crow mages. And I don’t think I’ve seen you before. I’m pretty sure I would remember that.” He was sure she would.
”I spend most of my time in Orlais. It’s been quite some time since I have been in Antiva.”
”That makes sense then.” She looked at him and he could tell she had more questions. She seemed the curious sort. “Did your Talon call you back?”
“Yes. House de Rivia.” They had made their way outside where his numerous trunks were. The woman whistled.
”That’s quite a lot. You sure don’t travel light, do you?” Cyril shook his head.
”I would if I could. As much as there is, I couldn’t leave it behind. They are all needed for my contracts.” She glanced at him, seizing him up.
”You’re a specialist, aren’t you?” He was not surprised she noticed. She seemed observant. They both grabbed a trunk and started to wheel them inside.
”I am.” He offered no more details, but she didn’t seem put off.
”Would I know you?” Probably not. He was not one of the famous ones. His name was known among some, of course. But Viago was one to hold things to his chest, and Cyril was one of those things.
“I doubt it. If you spent a lot of time in Orlais, maybe. But I am not well known outside of that.” She grinned.
”So you’re not the Demon of Vyrantium?” He raised his eyebrows and then realized she was joking. He gave another small smile.
“No, I am not. I believe he is house Dellamorte, though I could be wrong. I also do not think he is a mage either.”
“No, you’re right. It’s fine, it just won me five gold. I told him he was crazy. Why would the Demon of Vyrantium be held up in a safe house with us?” So it was information she was after. Cyril didn’t mind, he knew he was a curiosity to the average Crow. And he supposed there were worse things than being thought to be one of the most famous of them all. They seemed to have reached their destination, the younger Crow opening up a door to a small room that held only a few cleaning supplies. He wished he could hang his clothes up, they fared better that way, but this would do.
“So you’re here for a contract then?” He nodded as they both shoved a trunk in the corner.
”Yes.”
“And if I ask for who, you won’t tell me, right?” He nodded again with a slight smile.
”Yes.” She sighed but didn’t seem too upset.
”Figures. I’m just terribly curious to know what a specialist’s contract looks like.” Cyril shrugged.
”I doubt it’s much more different than yours. Just for a specific type of mark.” She grinned again.
”And if I asked what type of mark you go after?” She was nothing if not persistent.
“I fear you would again be disappointed.” She laughed, still completely unbothered.
“Fair enough. And I promise not to lockpick your trunks to find out.” he shrugged again.
”Feel free to. I don’t think you would appreciate the results, but I won’t stop you.” He had spent far too much money on his clothes to let them be touched by someone who had no business doing so. “I appreciate the assistance. I should be able to get the rest.” He was ready for the conversation to end. She was pleasant enough, but it had been a long day and he was still feeling out of his element. She shrugged.
”Sure. You know where to find me if you need me.” She held out her hand.
”Aria.” He took it.
”Cyril.” She left and Cyril went back outside to grab the rest of his things. It took a few trips, but he didn’t mind. He had wanted to check and make sure everything made the journey unharmed. He hoped they did. He had no idea where to find a tailor or a jeweler here any longer. He could locate them, he was sure, but he was hoping he could finish this contract sooner than he thought. He was already itching to return to his normal routine. Once he was satisfied everything was up to his standards, he made his way back to the common room. He needed to grab a few things, and then he would leave. He was not particularly interested in any company at the moment.
”He was a little odd, sure, but pleasant enough.” Cyril stopped, pointed ears twitching to pick up the words better. He was not far from the door and the voices were only a little muffled. He recognized Aria’s voice, but not the man who spoke next.
”Come on, Aria, there has to be more than that. You said he was a specialist?”
”Sure, but he didn’t give any details. You know how that lot is, tight lipped about almost everything. If you think you can do better, you’re welcome to try.”
“Ugh, no, he gives me the creeps. I don’t think I saw a single emotion on his face the entire time he was in here.” Cyril’s jaw tightened but he didn’t move.
”Be nice, Matteo, he was fine when we talked. He just seems quiet.”
“Quiet doesn’t mean harmless. You said he was a mage, right?”
”Yeah, but it’s not like he’s the only one. And I didn’t call him harmless. You don’t become a specialist by being harmless.”
“How do you think he kills them? Blood magic? Possession? Enchanted poison?” He heard Aria snort.
”Possession? Really, Matteo? You’ve been reading too many of those novels again.”
”All I’m saying is that I will breathe easier once he’s gone.” Cyril had heard enough. He was tempted to turn and walk away, forgetting the things he needed. But his orb was in there and he didn’t like the idea of walking the streets of Treviso with just his dagger. So he reached out and opened the door.
The pair jumped, and Cyril wondered how long they had been Crows. They needed to work on their reactions. It’s no good for a Crow to be startled just from someone entering a room. Aria had the grace to look a bit guilty, though really she had not said anything harmful. Being called a little odd was the least of his concerns, and she was not completely incorrect.
The man who he assumed was Matteo simply stared at him, and Cyril stared right back. There were a few moments of silence before Matteo looked away. Cyril suppressed the smile that threatened to form. He was not easily shaken, unlike the other man. Really, he must get better at that if he wished to survive this life.
“I just need to grab a few things.” Aria nodded and he made his way over to the bunk he had claimed. Grabbing his back and the small black orb next to it, he turned again and headed to the door. He tried not to, he knew he should leave it alone. But he had had a long day and was feeling a little bit testy. He paused right before he left the room, eyes finding the other man’s once more, face still void of any expression.
”We wouldn’t want you to struggle with your breathing for too long.”
There was no response as he turned and left.
————————
“Come in.” Cyril was not able to turn and see who had entered. He was painstakingly applying the kohl around his eyes, and it would not do to be distracted. Viago appeared in the mirror behind him.
”Are you almost ready?” He didn’t respond at first, taking the time to finish his line. Setting down the pencil he turned to Viago.
”Does it look like I’m almost ready?” His makeup was half finished and he had yet to choose his outfit for the evening. Viago shrugged.
”Honestly, I have no idea. I don’t know how you have the patience for all of this.” Cyril shrugged as he picked his pencil back up and leaned close to the mirror once more.
”You get used to it. Besides, it’s part of the job. I wouldn’t be very good at what I did if I didn’t have the patience for it.” His hand didn’t shake as he drew the line under his eye, swooping it up in a sure stroke. He repeated the movement with his top lid and then carefully filled in the wings. He leaned back again to admire his work. It was perfect.
“What can you tell me about the Prince?” He opened his bag that held his lipstick, rummaging through trying to decide what color should go with. He sighed and shut it. He stood, wrapping his robe around him to walk over to his clothing rack. He had told Viago he needed a dressing room if he had any hope of completing his job and the assassin had delivered. He had given Cyril an entire apartment for his use. It seemed extravagant, but it was necessary. If he had to bring someone back here, it needed to seem real.
”He’s on the lower end of the totem pole, but do not underestimate him. His family is old, and while not incredibly wealthy, they own most of the vineyards in the south. Prince Madraso is his name. I have heard his tastes are peculiar, but little else beyond that.” Cyril hummed as he carded through the different options. He didn’t have as much as he would like in the Antivan style.
“Peculiar tastes is what I specialize in, Viago.” He pulled two dresses from the rack. One was a silk silver piece, cinched at the waist with a plunging neckline and slits on both hips. The other was a midnight blue, mostly sheer except for just enough of a slip underneath to cover his lower half to his upper thighs. He turned to Viago.
“Which one?” Viago pointed to the blue one and Cyril nodded. “I was thinking the same but I have not been following Antivan fashion lately.” Viago turned around as Cyril slipped off his robe and into the dress. Once it was settled in place, he returned to the dressing table. Looking into his lipstick bag again, he found his black one and pulled it out.
“Your wardrobe must have cost a small fortune.” Cyril shrugged again.
“It’s the price I have to pay to play my part. Besides, I charge quite a lot for my time when I’m in Orlais.” He leaned close to the mirror once more, applying the color to his lips before reaching into his bag again and pulling out another stick. This one applied a thin layer of black glitter to his lips. Wiping a bit that had smeared off with his ring finger he turned to Viago again.
“Do you have a carriage for me?” He nodded, leaning against a wall and crossing his arms.
”It’s waiting outside. You’ll need to meet up with the contact once inside. A Mistress Bellante, she will introduce you to the Prince. You’ll know her, she’s hard to miss. Do you plan on returning tonight?” Cyril nodded as he applied his eyeshadow, a matching dark blue.
”Until I can figure out a way around his wards, yes. And I find most men prefer a good chase, so I will give it to the Prince.” Viago shook his head.
”Your gift for both seduction and manipulation is to be admired.” The praise meant very little to Cyril, but he nodded his head in appreciation regardless. It was what was expected of him.
“It’s my job.” He was almost ready. He ruffled his hair, watching as it fell just so. Opening a drawer of the dresser, he found the jewelry he had set aside for the evening. He slipped the earrings in, linking the silver tear drops to the multiple cuffs he placed up his ears with delicate silver chains. Finally, a thin silver band of metal he clipped around the base of his throat. There was something about collar-like pieces that he had found particularly effective. Slipping into his heels, he grabbed his black case and his large fur coat.
”I’m ready to go.” Viago nodded and held the door open for him.
“You look nice.” Cyril raised a brow at him.
”I sure hope so. I wasted quite a lot of time if I do not.” Viago smiled as he helped Cyril into the carriage.
”Worry not then, your goal has been accomplished.” His smile faded. “I wish I had more to give you, but I do not. You’ll be on your own. If you get into hot water, it will be difficult for me to pull you out. I will try, but I can’t promise you anything.” Cyril settled into the seat, placing his case next to him. He looked at Viago.
”Don’t worry about me Viago. It’s not the first lion's den I have entered alone, and I doubt it will be the last. I would not have lasted as long as I have if I couldn’t improvise.” Viago nodded.
”I know, Cyril. You’re a good agent. One of my best. Only you can pull this off. I’m counting on you.” Cyril gave a small half-smile.
”I will not disappoint.”
”You haven’t yet.”
—————————-
The gala was crowded, but Cyril was unperturbed. He had grown used to moving among the nobility as if he belonged. He scanned the crowd, searching for his contact. It was odd not being the one on stage for once. But he was not Petit Colibri here. But he was not Cyril either. He was a strange mix of the two. He could adjust, though.
He felt eyes on him as he slowly made his way around the edge of the party. He needed to find his contact soon. A lone person that looked like he did was going to draw attention he did not want. He needed to look like he belonged, and he could only do that if he was wining and dining with the rest of them. He grabbed a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter, taking a small sip.
“What a pretty little thing you are.” He turned, but found he was not looking at a person. He was face to face with a woman’s chest, barely covered and dripping in pearls. His eyes moved up, and then up some more. A large qunari woman looked down at him, an amused smile on her lips. She was lavishly dressed, jewels and more pearls sewn into every place possible. Viago had been right, he did know Mistress Bellante when he saw her.
“Mistress Bellante, I assume?” Her smile was wide.
”No need for such formality from a friend of Viago’s. Just call me Miss Belle. Tell me, my dear, how is he? I am still put out with him for missing my last exhibit. You simply must tell him he needs to make my next one.” Cyril smiled.
“He is well. And I promise to scold him the next time I see him for missing what I am sure was the event of the season.” She threw her head back and laughed loudly.
“Oh, you are a treat. If only more of you Crows were so delightful. And fashionable. You must tell me where you got that dress, it's stunning.” Cyril bowed his head in thanks. He was not worried about being named a Crow out loud. The gala was probably filled with them. It was Antiva.
”I worried I would be out of fashion. I have not attended an Antivan gala in a long time. I have been out of the country until recently.” Mistress Bellante waved a fan in front of her face, looking intrigued.
”You’re growing more interesting by the moment, little thing. You are one of Viago’s, yes?”
“Cyril de Riva, at your service.” She laughed again.
”Truly, how precious you are. I was worried when Viago requested an introduction to one of the Princes. They are a picky bunch, not everyone can turn their heads. But you will have no problem, I think. Viago said you are here for Madraso. He’ll love you. You’re right up his alley, if you don’t mind me saying.” Cyril smirked.
”I am up most men’s alley, they just don’t always like to admit it. But that works in my favor quite a lot. Shame is a wonderful aphrodisiac.” She fluttered her fan in front of her face, an agreeing smile forming.
“I am going to insist Viago bring you to my next salon. You are a breath of fresh air, my dear. I’ve never met a Crow quite like you.” Cyril shrugged with a half-smile.
”There are no other Crows like me, madam.” She gave him an appraising look.
”Yes, you will do well, I think. When Viago told me he had to wait for his operative to return before making a move, I wondered if you would be worth the wait. I see he was right.” So she did know more than she had let on intitally. Cyril tucked that bit of information away for later. He could use it if he needed to.
“Viago often is, though don’t tell him I said that.” She chuckled.
”I wouldn’t dare. Now come, we have chatted long enough. You have a job to do. Are you ready for your introduction, darling?” Cyril nodded.
“It would not do to keep the Prince waiting.” She offered her arm, and Cyril took it. He was sure they looked an odd pair, just from the height difference alone, but he was not worried. He banked a lot on his own ability to stand out.
Mistress Bellante led him confidently through the crowd. Everyone parted to give her space and she took it as if it was owed. Cyril watched her, studying. He could learn something from her, he was sure. But his attention was soon drawn to where they were heading. A group of men stood off to the side, chatting as they held ornate cups. They were obviously important, each had their own attendants off to the side to fetch whatever they may want. Mistress Bellante leaned down to speak quietly to Cyril.
”You want the man second to the left. That’s Madraso. You won’t have long to catch his attention. He decides very quickly if you are worth his time or not. So be swift and be sure. And do not hesitate to go in for the kill the moment you get any opportunity. Metaphorically, of course. We need him alive for now.” Cyril nodded and plastered on the confident smile.
”How do I look?”
”Stunning, my dear.” The pair approached the men, who turned at the sight of the qunari. The man in the middle smiled at her.
”Ah, Miss Belle, how good it is to see you. I must thank you for your recommendation on the caterer. He was exactly what I was looking for.” She laughed, fluttering her fan with a smile.
”But of course, my dear Gajardo. I would never lead you astray. I am just glad he met your exacting standards.” Cyril didn’t look at his target, attention turned to the Prince in front of him. He couldn’t acknowledge him until they had been introduced. The rules of nobility were not to be trifled with.
”Have you come to make an introduction? I can’t help but notice your companion.” It was the man next to Prince Gajardo, not who Cyril was here for. Cyril tilted his head and looked at him with a smile. He had already caught one, it seemed.
“Oh yes, you must meet my friend here. Cyril of House de Riva. A dear friend of mine. He is simply delightful. What did I just call you, darling? A breath of fresh air.” Prince Gajardo raised a brow with a smile.
”Introducing a Crow to us, Miss Belle? What a bold move. We may think you are up to no good.” Finally, Cyril spoke, the rules of engagement satisfied.
”If you wished to avoid Crows, my lord, I would recommend Fereldan.” The men laughed, and Cyril glanced at Madraso. He was of middle height, thin and stern looking with greying hair slicked back. He didn’t look the type to be interested in Cyril, but he knew from experience that meant very little.
He could tell the Prince was seizing him up, and knew he would have to make his move soon. But he needed Mistress Bellante to do so first. He should not have worried, however. She turned to Madraso with a simpering smile.
”Madraso, my dear, how has the harvest been? I heard the rains were plentiful this season.” He nodded, but he continued to glance at Cyril. That was a good sign.
”Very well, Mistress Bellante. We were very fortunate.” Cyril smiled up at him, craning his neck a little more than he actually had to. Important men were simple creatures. They liked to feel large.
“Miss Belle was telling me you are in charge of the southern vineyards, yes? I’ve always been fond of the wine from that region.” The Prince’s eyes never left him as he replied.
”You have good taste. My house controls most of it, yes.” Cyril smiled bigger. He was sure he almost had him. Mistress Bellante was right. It hadn’t even been hard.
“You simply must give me a good recommendation, my lord. There are so many vintages to choose from, I find myself overwhelmed at times.” The Prince finally smiled at him. Cryil knew the look well. It was the look of a man who had decided he must have something. He heard Gajardo laugh.
”Careful, Madraso, he looks like a dangerous one.” Cyril shrugged one of his uncovered shoulders, drawing attention to the bare skin with the teal markings cutting through it.
”I would be a poor Crow if I was not dangerous, my lord. Anyway, sometimes the danger is half the fun, isn’t it?” He flicked his eyes over to Madraso before looking back at Gajardo with a smirk. The man chuckled.
”I can see why Miss Belle likes you, Cyril de Riva.” Mistress Bellante patted his arm lightly.
”Isn’t he such a treat? But we must be going, I promised him I would show him the gardens. Can you believe he hasn’t seen them yet?” The men bowed in goodbye. Cyril turned with the large woman and left. But he glanced over his shoulder as he did. He made eye contact with Madraso, who was staring intently at him. Cyril smiled at him and then turned away.
”Quite well done, my dear, if I do say so myself. You are truly a professional.” Cyril looked up at her with a smirk.
”You were right. He was quite taken with me, wasn’t he?” She laughed.
”I have full confidence you will have him eating out of your palm in no time.” He was sure she was right. He should have felt a sense of accomplishment, but there was none. He had never doubted he would pull it off. This was just what he did. Which was why he was not surprised when an attendant soon approached the pair, who then bowed.
”I come bearing an invitation, my lord and lady, from Prince Madraso. A private wine tasting to be held in three days. He humbly requests your presence.” Cyril doubted that man had ever humbly requested anything in his life. But he smiled at the man.
”I would be honored.” Mistress Bellante gave a dramatic sigh.
”Oh dear, you must give the Prince my deepest regrets that I cannot attend. I will be in Rialto visiting a friend.” The attendant nodded and turned his attention back to Cyril.
”A carriage will be sent for you.” Cyril dipped his head in thanks.
”I look forward to it.”
————————————-
Cyril made his way through the crowded Treviso night market. It had been some years since he had been here, but he found it largely unchanged. He had been too busy the last week and a half to stop by. The Prince was quite enamoured with him and his social calendar had been full. But he couldn’t put off his visit any longer. He needed to find the amulet he needed.
It had taken him some time to track it down, and even more time to get the money for it. Most of his funds were back in Orlais, so he had had to go to Viago. The man had raised his brow at the cost, but when Cyril had told him what it was for, he relented. Viago was the only person who knew Cyril’s true scope of talents. And he also knew what Cyril refused to do.
But if he did not break through those wards soon, it would all be for naught. He would either need to disappear without the information, or cross a line he had avoided his entire life. And Cyril de Riva did not fail his contracts. He pushed back his hood as he rounded a stall and entered the small building behind it. The door swung shut, locking with a click. He was not concerned. He was a mage, he was never unarmed.
”You finally made it.” Cyril blinked at the man in the corner. He was an older elf, feet propped up on a stool as he read a book.
”You were expecting me?” The older man shrugged.
”I was expecting a Crow, and you sure look the part. Viago said you were coming.”
”I apologize for how long it took me.” The man waved him off.
”You are a busy lot, and this cost a pretty penny so I was happy to wait. You have the coin?” Cyril nodded, pulling out the large purse he was carrying. The man held out his hand but Cyril motioned for him to wait. His fingers ran over the bag as he muttered a few words. It glowed for a moment and then returned to normal. That was when he handed the bag over.
”I didn’t want to risk it falling into undeserving hands.” The elf smiled.
”Clever one, you are. That’s a nifty warding spell if I do say so myself.” Cyril shrugged.
”It’s not my first time in Treviso.” The man laughed as he walked over to a cabinet. He rifled around in it for a few moments before pulling out what Cyril had been looking for. He placed it in Cyril’s waiting hands. Cyril twisted the Fade, pushing it into the amulet and letting it soak it in. It was hungry it seemed, but that was no matter. He looked back up to the man who was watching him.
”This will get through the wards?” The man nodded.
”Like they were never there. And you only need to use it once. After that, they won’t be a problem.” Cyril placed it around his neck; it was the safest place for it.
”Thank you.” The man shook his head.
”You didn’t get it from me. It’s a dangerous thing you are playing with, kid. Even for a Crow.” Cyril was unbothered. He had done this many times before. Magic was just magic, as long as you knew how to use it.
“This is not new territory for me. And do not worry, if there is one thing I can be, it is discreet.” The man nodded, returning to his chair and his book. Knowing the transaction was finished, Cyril left. He spent time wandering around the stalls, admiring the products on display. If anyone had been watching him, he wanted to make sure they lost interest.
When he was satisfied he was not being followed, he made his way out of the market. He needed to be getting back to the apartment. The Prince had requested his presence that night, and Cyril was sure he knew what was expected of him. So first, he had to dress. He was making his way through the streets when he heard a gruff voice call out.
”Elf! You there! Halt!” Cyril sighed internally. He didn’t have time to be waylaid by Antaam. But still he turned to the two approaching guards, a fabricated look of nervousness about him.
”Yes, sir?” The Antaam to the left laughed loudly.
”Did you hear that? Sir! What a polite knife ear.” The derogatory term had no effect on Cyril. It was not the first time he had heard it and it would not be the last. They were just words, and words could not hurt him. The other Antaam leaned down a bit,
”Let us see your papers.” Cyril produced the requested documents, placing them in the large waiting hand. The Antaam studied them for a moment before glancing back up at Cyril.
”It says male here, but that can’t be right. You’re far too pretty to be a boy.” Cyril had to tamp down the sparks that threatened to crackle at the tips of his fingers. So maybe some words hurt.
“Th-Thank you, sir.” His voice was high and nervous, exactly what the Antaam expected. The left one turned to the other.
”Have we hit the quota yet? There is no use taking him if there isn’t any room left.” They were speaking as if he wasn’t right there, watching them. Such confidence. But Cyril couldn’t risk a confrontation. Not right then, not right there. But if the Antaam tried to take him, he would have little choice.
“We don’t need him, turn him loose. The ship is leaving soon anyways.” Cyril knew better than to be curious. But he couldn’t help it. He wanted to know what they were talking about. The Antaam shoved Cyril’s papers back at him, causing him to fall back a step.
”You can go.” Cyril turned and fled, ignoring the way the Antaam laughed as they watched him. But the moment he had turned the corner, he stopped. What had they been talking about? Why were the Antaam taking people? And where were they going? He knew he should leave it alone. He was in the middle of a job. This was not the time to be going off poking around where he shouldn’t be. If he was caught, the entire mission would be compromised.
But something was telling him he needed to follow them and see. And Cyril had learned a long time ago that his instincts rarely failed him. They were his one constant in his life. He groaned to himself as he started to follow the Antaam, knowing he was going to regret trailing them. It wasn’t hard, however. People with too much confidence never bothered to check for a trail. He was dressed inconspicuously for once, so no one paid him any mind as they led him through the streets. When they finally found their way to the docks, Cyril ducked behind a few stacked crates. His ears twitched forward as he tried to make out the conversation.
“The transport leaves in an hour. You have all of the prisoners?”
”Yeah. A few of them gave us trouble, but nothing we couldn’t handle.”
”And the gold for them, has that been secured?”
“Not yet, it’s on the ship that should arrive soon to take them.”
That didn’t sound good. He looked over to the ragtag bunch of civilians huddled together and obviously terrified. He felt sick. Whatever fate awaited them, it was no good. But he couldn’t help them. He really couldn’t. He was one elf against what seemed to be twenty Antaam. And he was being picked up in an hour, there was no time. Maybe he could let Viago know. It was too late for these, but it could prevent future occasions, he hoped.
Cyril turned, about to leave, but glanced over his shoulder one last time. Someone was looking at him. He had been spotted, but not by the Antaam, but by one of the prisoners. It was an older dwarf man, rugged but oddly beardless. They looked at each other for a few moments. Cyril didn’t think he would raise the alarm, it wouldn’t make any sense to. He should go. He really really should go. He couldn’t do anything. The dwarf grinned at him and Cyril closed his eyes and sighed. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. But the decision had already been made, it seemed.
He was going to free those prisoners.