It hadn't taken long. Treviso wasn't a large city. Not in the ways that mattered. It wasn't the sprawling tangle of streets and towers like Antiva City, but it had its own currents, its own shadows. And the Crows, even with their recent struggles, still owned those shadows.
Lucanis barely had to ask.
A word here. A silver coin there. A favour called in. By the end of the second day, the name Evie was on half a dozen tongues. And on the third, a message came: The Silver Lantern, by the docks.
A rough place. Too rough for a girl like her. Which made it make sense. People went unnoticed in places like that.
He went alone. The tavern was a noisy, battered thing with low ceilings and cracked beams, the air thick with ale and pipe smoke. No one paid him any mind as he slipped through the door and claimed a seat at a small table, front and centre.
He ordered nothing, and he waited.
And then she appeared. She was smaller than he remembered, or maybe it was the stage making her seem slight. Flaxen hair loose around her shoulders, a pretty blue dress, pale throat exposed. The lute in her hands looked very fine and well loved and cared for.
She began to sing, and the world narrowed. Her voice was soft, a clear, aching thing that didn't belong in a place like this. It was a lullaby for a child who would never see morning. Every note curled through the air, turning coarse voices silent. Men leaned forward, rough hands stilled. Lucanis felt it hit him low in the chest.
Not just because of what it was, but because of what it meant. The bond stirred in his blood, in his marrow, a faint, ancient call.
And then she saw him. Her gaze passed over the crowd, casual, the way a performer takes stock of her audience, until it landed on him. A flicker, a stutter in the melody, too brief for anyone else to catch. But he caught it. She looked away so fast it was a blade drawn clean.
Lucanis smiled to himself, though it wasn't a kind thing. He watched the way her posture shifted, subtly angling toward the side exit, the glance toward the narrow hall near the back. She was hunting for exits. For an escape. From him. And it hurt, more than it should have.
She finished her set to light, scattered applause, offered a shallow bow, and made for the back of the room.
He moved, not rushed, not obvious. Simply a man rising to stretch his legs, to order a drink. But the space between them closed with every step.
"Evie."
Her name on his tongue felt too familiar, too intimate. But it stopped her. She turned, her expression already schooled into polite distance. But he was watching too closely now, and he saw the tension in her jaw, the too-quick blink.
"Hello," she greeted smoothly, her voice even and eyes wary.
"I was hoping we'd meet again." He let a ghost of a smile touch his lips.
She gave him a polite tilt of her head. "Fortune seems to favour you."
"I've found fortune favours those who don't wait for it."
She made a soft sound in her throat, not quite agreement, not quite derision. Lucanis let his gaze linger a beat longer than was strictly proper and then took a careful step closer. The scents of lavender soap and old woodsmoke clung to her.
"You left the market rather quickly the other day."
"I had pressing errands," she replied evenly.
"Odd," he murmured. "It almost felt like running."
Her lips twitched, almost a smirk, almost a grimace. "Perhaps you misread the moment, sir."
"I don't often misread things." His voice dropped, low enough to thread beneath the tavern's din. "But you're good at this. Very good. Enough to almost make me believe you weren't lying about your name."
The faintest flicker of something passed through her eyes. A ripple. A storm cloud at the horizon's edge.
"I told you my name," she said, chin lifting.
"You told me a name."
And then, without thinking, without planning, he reached out, catching her wrist. Just lightly. His thumb brushed the cuff that no doubt hid his name beneath it. Her barrier between them. He felt her pulse jump. The bond shivered. Faint, ancient, and inevitable.
Her breath hitched, just for a second. Just long enough for confirmation to crack open inside his chest.
He let her go. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The noise of the tavern surged around them, distant and irrelevant.
"I don't know what you're running from, Evie," Lucanis said quietly, leaning in so only she could hear, "but you cannot outrun this."
She said nothing, her jaw tight, the mask back in place. But he saw the edge of fear in her eyes now. Of what, he still didn't know.
And Maker, he didn't understand it. He didn't know why she would fight this, lie about it, hide.
Why she would make him chase her like a fugitive when he'd spent his whole life waiting for this.
He stepped back, forcing his voice light. "Until next time, miss."
Then, with one last glance, he left her standing there, the note of her voice still clinging to his bones.
-
Lucanis followed Evie at a measured distance, close enough to see the sway of her hair and the tension in her shoulders. It was late, and these streets were not safe. He told himself he was merely following to protect her.
His thoughts churned as he moved through the narrow alleys and backstreets with the ease of a man born to the shadow. Every step brought new questions. Questions that gnawed at him in a way nothing else ever had.
Why did she lie? Not just to him. To fate itself.
When Illario introduced her, the bond should have surged between them like wildfire. She should have felt it too, the pull, the ache, the recognition of a name carved into both their skins. Soulbonds were sacred. The oldest of Antivan traditions held that when you met your match, you spoke their name and let the bond claim you. No one defied it. No one denied it.
And yet she had.
When he asked if Evie was short for something, she hadn't hesitated - she'd lied. Evelyn, she'd said, with a calm, pretty little smile that had almost fooled him.
But now… now he knew. And still she ran.
He turned another corner as she ducked into a side street, his footfalls silent against the cobbles.
He shadowed her to the edge of the Drowned district near the crumbling old walls, where the city grew rougher and the light didn't reach the alleys as easily. She slowed at the foot of well-worn stairs, possibly even dangerously dilapidated.
Lucanis stilled, fading into the gloom, just watching.
The place was small. Run down. The kind of home where the boards creaked and the shutters hung crooked. Not what he would have expected for a girl like her. Not what his soulbonded mate deserved.
And then he saw them. A boy with dark hair and a roguish grin leaning in through the doorway, calling something inside. A tall, pale elf with sharp features and quick eyes perched in a windowsill like a watchful cat. A stocky dwarf clattering around in the kitchen beyond, the scent of stewed meat drifting into the night.
Three of them. Three men.
Lucanis felt the faintest stir of something sour and sharp twist in his chest.
Is this why you hide it, little liar? Is this why you won't claim me?
The old superstitions whispered through his head, stories of wayward soulmates who denied the bond, who let themselves be claimed by lesser loves. Tragedies, every one of them. Lovers torn apart, fates twisted, blood spilled for what could have been. He'd never believed them before.
But now…
Lucanis gripped the edge of the crumbling wall, forcing his fingers to loosen before he shattered the stone. Jealousy was a dangerous thing for a Crow. More dangerous still for a Dellamorte. It made men reckless and stupid.
He watched as one of the boys - the human - reached to tug a loose strand of Evie's hair, and she smacked his hand away, laughing. She was easy with them. Comfortable. Her guard was down in a way she'd not shown him. And that, more than anything, cut deep.
You were meant for me, the words bitter in his mind. Carved into my skin before either of us could speak. And yet you'd rather play house with a pack of outcasts.
He didn't understand it; he couldn't fathom it. To him, to his family, to the blood-soaked history of Antiva, a soulbond was holy. It was the only thing a Crow couldn't be ordered to betray. It was everything.
And she spat in its face.
He stayed there long after the door closed, his pulse thrumming, the ache of the bond a steady, insistent pull.
Why? Why did she deny it? Why did she lie? Why did she fear it so much she'd pretend it wasn't real?
And when he took her - and he would - she was going to tell him.
Every word.