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Illario loved his cousin once. A lifetime ago. Everything was different when they were still young boys running along the canals of Treviso, all scraped knees and missing teeth, throwing rocks at gondolas and narrowly escaping the angry noblemen therein. Their world was smaller then; no invasion, no blood mages, no demons. The worst thing to fear was Caterina’s cane if she caught them sneaking out too late at night. In those days there was nothing he wanted more than to please Lucanis. He had seemed more important than all the house Talons combined, because what are great leaders of men in the eyes of a child? It wasn’t any of them saving him from alleyway bullies or picking him up after falling off villa trellises. No, it was only his cousin… the two of them against everything and everyone. But then the world got bigger. Living in Lucanis’ shadow fell too cold and all the love in the world would not make him warmer. Illario learned quickly it wasn’t actually love he needed. It was power.
Sentimentality had no place next to ambition in a time of gods and greed, and Lucanis therefore had no place in Illario’s life once he finalized his sights on the seat of First Talon. Giving him to Zara Renata was the hardest choice he’d ever made. He’d shed tears as he watched that ship go down through his spyglass far ashore. The deed was done, his grief complete and future secured. Until he came back. No, not quite . Until Viago’s stray brought him back. A fifth house street rat had managed to compromise everything, making his ultimate betrayal all for naught. Years of meticulous work with that Tevinter bitch hung in the balance and for what? For the so-called Veilguard to play pretend as heroes in the face of annihilation? The thought alone nearly made him ill with rage.
So now he had to play along, do the song and dance with his fellow Crows to “save the world” while putting on such a face that could mourn a deceased matriarch and rejoice in a reunited brotherhood at the same time. It burned to wear a fake smile as Lucanis went right back to being his usual faultless self as if nothing had changed. As if he wasn’t an unholy abomination who could turn on them all at a demon’s whim. As if it hadn't broken Illario's heart to choose between him and his destiny. And having Rook on his cousin’s heels only made things worse. For all the infamous subtlety of Antivan Crows, it was painfully obvious to anyone with eyes how desperately they pined for one another. Tragically tied together but kept apart by whatever star crossed nonsense they deluded themselves with. Illario had done Caterina a favor by handing her over to the Venatori when he did. Maker knows how scandalized she’d be to see her favorite grandson carrying on over some foreign-born zorra .
Yet somehow through all the deception and violence, Illario couldn’t help but feel jealous when he shared a table with Lucanis and Rook at Cafe Pietra for the first time since their return to Treviso. His cousin looked at her with unfathomable tenderness through that tortured gaze and she hung on his every word as if they were spoken in gold. She’d become the only thing Lucanis actually cared about, more than being First Talon and more than his own blood. He knows he can’t inherit House Dellamorte and let Lucanis live, but he also can’t stand the sight of the only person he ever truly loved pushing him aside for someone else either. It was hard enough to sacrifice Lucanis once. Losing him again to a de Riva peasant? Illario never could have predicted that it’d be easier to see him dead than completely devoted to a new companion.
Illario stares up at the canopy above his bed in Villa Dellamorte, now hours deep in his ruminations. What does Lucanis even see in that malparida ? Half the Crows in Treviso know how Rook very nearly got her entire house disbanded for insubordination. She lacks standing, reputation, wealth, refinement, and yet he worships that urchin like a princess. At least if she was some glamorous Antivan socialite it wouldn’t feel so humiliating to contend with a beautiful woman of great merit, but as it stands her entire lowly existence is insulting. Try as he might to close his eyes and finally find purchase in sleep, his mind refuses to quiet the jealousy and rage that torment his waking despondency. Finally Illario releases his resistance and lets the flames of hatred consume him. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before plunging into the vengeful fantasy that has lulled him to sleep so many nights before…
He’s walking through the Cantori Diamond in a pitch black hour of night. The air is thick with expensive hookah smoke and raucous laughter, but despite the celebratory crowd’s festivities all who see him dip their heads in reverence. It’s his first evening as undisputed First Talon. None of them have seen or heard from Lucanis Dellamorte in weeks, leaving the rest of the houses with no alternative than to accept Illario as Caterina’s heir apparent. A few of them still whisper discontentments behind his back (Teia and Viago chief among them) but he cannot be bothered to care. They will be sacrificed by Venatori priests for blood magic rituals in a matter of days anyway. All who stand against him will meet such a fate. All except one…
He finds Rook sitting at the very edge of the casino bar. Her face is still confidently cocky as ever, but her body language reveals her secret fear. She looks smaller than usual, more hunched and protective. Her fingers tap nervously against a barely touched drink. The rest of the Veilguard had been defeated by the risen gods, her companions either slayed by Elgar’nan himself or languishing at the hands of Ghilan’nain. With no Dreadwolf or Demon of Vyrantium to protect her, she had no choice but to crawl back to Viago. He cannot protect her either, of course, but she would learn that soon enough. She looks him dead in the eye as he approaches, her gaze heavy with venomous defiance. They both knew this moment would come sooner or later.
“Rook,” he states smugly as he crosses his arms across his chest in triumph.
“First Talon,” she deadpans. “Congratulations on your… promotion.”
He chuckles at her attempt to save face even now.
“Ascension would be a more appropriate choice of words,” he chuckles and grabs her by the roots of her hair.
No one dares to say a word in protestation as the whole room watches him drag her away. Not even the Fifth Talon raises so much as a finger to save his favorite pet. ‘Viago, please!’ he can see Rook mouth as she struggles to break free of his grasp, but her mentor simply turns his head in shame. It pleases Illario that she’s still too proud to scream for help or beg for mercy in front of so many other Crows who already see her as a pathetic failure. There would be no satisfaction in crushing an already broken spirit. She fights him every step of the way from the Diamond to the Villa Dellamorte spire. Each futile pull she makes against his grip only builds his salivating hunger. She deserves this. She’s deserved it from the moment she stepped foot in the Ossuary and stole his cousin away. By the time they reach the top of the stairs her face is flushed with exertion and her chest heaves exhaustedly. She topples to the ground when he unlocks the door and throws her to the splintered floorboards.
“Rook!”
Lucanis cries out in panic as he lurches forward against the blood magic restraints that hold him in place in the empty attic. She does not see or hear him, though. No one but Illario can. It was already risky enough to choose to keep his cousin alive, but his Evanuris-granted power was more than strong enough to place a proper cloaking spell over his prisoner in case one of his sympathizers caught wind enough to stage a rescue. Illario wanted him close enough to taunt, and high enough to watch Treviso bend to its new master. What better place than the villa itself? His dark eyes flash purple as that wretched demon fights furiously to take control.
“Hurt her. Kill him with our bare hands. Or teeth,” Spite growls.
Usually Illario likes to keep his cousin’s menace of a spirit under lock and key when he checks in on him every few days. Its irrational outbursts are often nothing but a distraction from the bigger game at hand, but if it has taken a liking to Rook as well then who is he to begrudge an extra set of eyes in the audience.
“Don't fucking touch me again,” Rook wheezes through a few gravelled coughs, still none the wiser to her beloved’s presence. “Or I’ll-”
“You’ll do nothing,” Illario interrupts and gives her a hard kick to the chest to knock her onto her side. Her hiss of pain tears another enraged sound from Spite that is like music to his ears. He strikes her once more to hear it again.
“For once in your miserable life you will do nothing but what you’re told.”
Despite writhing in pain at what is most likely a broken rib or two, Rook still claws her hands toward the open door. He lets her crawl for a few moments, allows her to reach for some shred of imagined hope that never was, before latching his hand around her throat to force her back to him again. The terror in her eyes is so delicious it takes all his self control not to devour her immediately. Instead he settles for a violent kiss that makes Lucanis and Spite howl with fury.
There is nothing Illario finds remotely appealing about Rook. She lacks even the most basic tenets of traditional Antivan beauty and her extranjera accent alone is enough to be off-putting. He would not have spared her a passing glance had they met under usual circumstances, much less sully himself with such an intimate touch. But this is not about her. Not really. She fights back against him, fruitlessly thrashing like a cornered animal. He squeezes her neck harder until she falls into whimpering pliancy. Any good Crow knows exactly how much oxygen a body needs to be deprived of to drift in and out of consciousness without losing it entirely, and Illario is a very good Crow. He takes advantage of her limpening state to cradle her cheek in his hand and snake his tongue between her lips, a deliberate mimicry of affection for Lucanis to suffer. Rook tastes perfectly of hopelessness; cheap wine, bad coffee, and sour bread. Likely a far cry from what his cousin was used to, and the thought delights him. He wants every part of her corrupted. Every part of her body and soul that Lucanis ever touched to be his.
Just as she’s about to slip into darkness, Illario loosens his grip on her airway and lets life surge back into her lungs. She shutters in his hands but is too weak to return to her previous level of combatance.
“What you’re told,” he reminds her once more, but this time bites down on her lip just enough to draw blood.
“Illario, don’t!” Lucanis’ voice is his own again.
His cousin’s plea is too little too late. The small wound is all he needs to pulse blood magic through her veins. Tendrils of darkness creep from the corners of Rook’s mouth up to her eyes until the irises whirl with red haze, snuffing out any light of resistance or free will. Now that she lays perfectly still, a malleable doll to his every command, he turns his attention directly to Lucanis.
“What should my new zorrita do first, cousin?” Illario asks as he languidly traces a finger along Rook’s jaw. “Surely you know her talents better than anyone.”
Unlike Rook’s utmost unremarkability, Illario is glad that even bound and neglected Lucanis looks as darkly handsome as ever. He wants him to look as close to how he remembers him the day he finally said out loud that he would take up Caterina’s mantle, the day Illario realized he had to die. Of course he’s notably older now, face more worn and gaunt from imprisonment and war, but that is nothing a touch of magic can’t fix down the line. Another time. He’s so intoxicated with finally having everything he ever wanted all in the palm of his hand that it’s hard to not be overwhelmed with possibility.
“Let her go, Illario. Your fight is with me, she has nothing to do with this,” Lucanis tries to urge, his insistent tone edged with desperation.
He scoffs and pulls Rook by the collar up to her knees without so much as a squeak.
“Don’t try to play me as a fool, cousin. What more could I do to you that Zara didn’t try already? You and I both know this whore is the only thing you have left.”
Rook doesn’t flinch as Illario rips open the front of her doublet, exposing her bare chest to the chilled night while buttons scatter softly on the floor. Something like static hums through the air and he is made acutely aware that the demon is trying with everything it has to tear his way through the barriers that hold him back. He throws a wicked grin to Spite as he brings one hand to cup her chin.
“Open,” he commands and she obliges immediately, her lips parting ever so slightly. “More.”
She mindlessly tilts her head back and slackens her jaw until her whole tongue is on display. He rewards her with a softly purred “ buena chica.”
“Break his fingers! Tear off his skin!” Spite roars. “Rip out his heart! Now, Now, NOW!”
“Teach your pet some manners, Lucanis,” Illario warns. “I’m still deciding whether I want to fuck her throat or slit it. You don’t want his temper to influence my choice.”
The amethyst torrent of demonic influence blinks back to let Illario finally see what he has wanted for years… utter powerlessness in Lucanis’ eyes, sitting frozen and desperate within a nest of fear. The favored grandson. The faultless professional. The famous Demon of Vyrantium. All finally brought low before him. He pauses to savor this moment, drinking it all in like a fine wine. He commits to memory every inch of his cousin’s thoroughly demoralized face, completely stripped of any lingering pride or authority. The boy he grew up loving and the man he admired were gone, this time in an entirely better sense than what Zara promised. Perhaps as the years pass, long after Rook's usefulness has expired and her corpse rots in a canal somewhere, they can start again. One day when Illario has cleansed him of any last memory of the Ossuary and the Veilguard and his de Riva slut, he will be a blank slate that can be rebuilt into something unspoiled again.
As he finally takes Rook, it’s not her mouth that brings him to finish but the delectable sound of Lucanis begging for death.
Dawn begins to peek its faint golden rays through the uncovered windows of Villa Dellamorte and the gentle wash of light draws Illario’s eyes open. Had he fallen asleep or simply been whisked into a trance? Either way, the lingering traces of bliss makes him feel more refreshed than he has in days. He swiftly discards the clothes he still wore from the night before, tossing away the indecent remains of his violent imagination for servants to clean later. Any day now Lucanis and Rook would be on Zara’s trail and he has to be prepared to make his next move so the Magister can't lead anything back to him. He smooths back his hair and smiles as he catches his reflection in a mirror. One more day, one more step closer to Rook on her knees, Lucanis in chains, and every Antivan Crow under his command. Nothing could possibly stop him now.
…
…
…
(Until they did.)