Hirik hunched over the table, a stick of charcoal smudging his fingers, stylus tucked behind one ear. He was trying - truly trying - to keep pace with the chaos that was his friends.
"So," Tai said, dropping heavily onto the chair across from him with a wolfish grin, "we need something that explodes. Something grand."
"No," Evie said at once, perching nearby, her voice dry. "We need something that doesn't announce our position to every Crow in the city."
"I can manage both," Hirik muttered, already scribbling across the parchment.
Kieran stood with his arms folded, the flicker of a smile at his mouth. "Subtlety wins battles. Devices that confuse, mislead, obscure."
"Fine," Tai said with an exaggerated sigh. "But can we not have one thing that explodes spectacularly? Just for the principle of it?"
Evie huffed a laugh under her breath. "Your mouth is loud enough, Tai. We don't need explosions as well."
Tai clutched his chest as if wounded. "Wicked tongue."
"Focus," Kieran said mildly, the sort of patience one reserved for difficult children.
Hirik flipped to a clean page. "All right. Priorities?"
"Smoke," Evie said promptly. "Fast, dense. Perhaps laced with something irritating but not deadly."
"Sticky smoke," Kieran mused. "Something that clings. Make pursuit harder."
Tai brightened. "And something to trip people! Spike traps, oil slicks-"
"Not obvious traps," Kieran corrected. "Accidents. Slippery stone, rotten step."
Evie tapped a finger thoughtfully against the table. "What about climbing gear? Hooks, retractable claws, anything to help us get out of tight places faster."
"I have a grappling hook design," Hirik said, a little defensive. "It just... doesn't always grab what it should."
Tai snickered. "Does it ever grab anything at all?"
"Sometimes it grabs the wall," Hirik said darkly. "Sometimes it pulls down half the building."
"I'll take it!" Both Tai and Evie had wide eager grins as they all but shouted it. The grins quickly faded as they turned to each other, likely wondering if they were going to have to fight over it.
"Neither of you can have it," Kieran said.
Hirik groaned and buried his face in his arms.
"We're not finished," Tai said cheerfully. "We need something for distractions too. Could you make metal insects that buzz around and confuse pursuers?"
"No," Hirik said into the table; that sounded impossible. "And if I could, they would probably catch fire."
"Better," Tai said at once.
Kieran shook his head, amused. "Signals. Silent ones. Coded flashes of light. Reflecting mirrors, or hand-held lanterns with shutters."
"And," Evie added slyly, "something to jam locks behind us. So when Tai trips an alarm, they can't easily follow."
"I do not trip alarms," Tai said indignantly.
"You just said you wanted things that explode," Evie pointed out.
"Controlled explosions," Tai amended with great dignity.
Hirik scrubbed a hand through his hair. "So. Spike traps, sticky smoke bombs, retractable climbing claws, coded light signals, oil slick sprayers, lock-jamming devices, mechanical distractions - maybe - and alarms that don't scream in the night."
"And a cup," Kieran said solemnly.
The room stilled.
Hirik stared at him. "A cup?"
"A cup that stirs itself," Kieran said, utterly serious. "Efficiency is survival."
Tai made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh.
Evie smiled, resting her chin on her hand. "Put it on the list, Hirik."
"At the bottom," Hirik muttered, already scratching grimly at the parchment.
"First in our hearts," Tai said, slapping a hand over his chest.
Hirik dropped his head back onto the table with a despairing thud. Evie reached over and patted his shoulder.
"We believe in you," she said encouragingly.
"Even if none of it works and we are horribly slaughtered," Tai added, beaming.
"Thank you," Hirik groaned.
-
The fields beyond Treviso were brushed with green and gold, the tall grasses swaying lazily under the spring sun. It smelled of wildflowers and earth, warm and living, far from the tight, suspicious streets of the city.
Evie adjusted the strap of her satchel over her shoulder, careful not to jostle the canvas tucked under her arm. Beside her, Kieran carried the small box of paints and brushes, balanced precariously but somehow never at risk of spilling. His own satchel was slung casually over his shoulder, carrying books and some food, his posture was relaxed, at ease for the first time in a long time.
"It's almost strange," Kieran said as they crested a low hill, "how quickly it feels like the city isn't watching you anymore."
Evie smiled. "I'm not sure Treviso ever truly stops watching. It's just quieter out here."
They found a small rise with a view of a shallow valley, dotted with olive trees and the crumbling suggestion of an old stone wall half-swallowed by vines. The air was soft with buzzing insects and distant birdsong. Perfect.
"This is good," she said, dropping her satchel with a sigh of relief.
Kieran set down the box and immediately pulled a battered book from his satchel. "I'll be over there," he said, nodding to a shady patch beneath an old fig tree. "In case you need an admiring audience."
Evie snorted. "I don't think reading counts as admiration."
He gave her a look over the top of the book. "If you're dreadful, I'll lie."
"Such a faithful brother," she said, laughing as she unrolled the canvas and set up her easel.
They fell into a comfortable rhythm. Evie dabbed colours onto her palette, mixing them thoughtfully before laying the first strokes against the canvas. Kieran turned pages with the slow, deliberate air of someone savouring his rare leisure.
The minutes stretched, unhurried and golden.
"Do you think they got it?" Evie asked after a while, glancing at him without stopping her hand.
Kieran tilted his head back against the tree trunk. "I hope so. It's never easy finding someone willing to carry a parcel to Ferelden."
"It wasn't much," she murmured, "but Ben will like it. I doubt he's even seen those books before."
"He's fifteen now," Kieran said. "Practically a man."
Evie smiled faintly, her brush slowing. "Practically. I wonder if he's taller than me yet."
"Probably," Kieran said, a little too quickly.
Evie threw a bit of wadded-up cloth at him without turning. He dodged it easily, laughing under his breath.
"I miss them," she said after a beat, her voice softer.
"So do I." Kieran closed his book, watching the breeze ripple through the valley below. "Father... he'll take care of him."
"He always did," Evie said, her chest tightening a little. She added a fleck of gold to the trees in her painting, a glimmer of sunlight captured in paint.
They sat with the silence for a time, not heavy, just present.
Finally, Kieran asked, "What are you painting?"
Evie glanced back at him, amused. "If you were watching like a good audience, you'd know."
"I'm a patient critic," he said loftily. "I wait for the full piece."
Evie smiled to herself and turned back to the canvas. The painting was taking shape: a distant meadow, the wall of trees, pine mostly. A memory of safety, even if just for an afternoon.
"You're painting home," Kieran said quietly, after a while.
She paused, brush in the air, before setting it down with a faint clatter. "Maybe I am."
"You'll get back there," he said, certainty in his voice. "We both will."
Evie looked out across the fields, the distant shimmer of heat on stone.
"One day," she said. And then, lighter, she added, "If you behave, maybe I'll even paint your portrait."
Kieran groaned, pulling his book back up to shield his face. "Maker preserve me."
Evie laughed, bright and clear, and dipped her brush again into gold.
-
They lingered until the light grew slanted and golden, the long shadows of early evening stretching across the hills. Evie cleaned her brushes with lazy care, and Kieran tucked his book away, neither in any particular hurry to return.
As they packed up, Kieran caught her glancing back at the valley, at the painting now safely rolled and strapped to her satchel.
"You're thinking about starting another one," he said, grinning.
She huffed. "I could. If someone hadn't already stuffed everything back in the crate like we're fleeing a siege."
"You were looking for an excuse to stay," he said, slinging the crate over his shoulder again. "Admit it."
Evie smiled sideways at him. "Maybe. It's peaceful here."
It reminded her of playing in the meadows with Ben back home. They started down the slope together, their boots brushing through the long grass. For a time, the only sound was the faint chorus of insects and the warm rustle of the fields.
"You ever think about just... not going back?" Kieran asked after a while.
She glanced at him.
"Not to Ferelden, I mean. Just... somewhere. Not Treviso either. Some little town no one cares about. Find a new name, start over."
Evie tilted her head thoughtfully. "What would you even do?"
He shrugged. "Open my own shop, maybe. Sell books no one wants to buy."
"You'd starve."
"You could paint," he offered. "Sell pretty things to tourists."
"Because that's such a reliable living," she said dryly, but there was a little smile tucked at the corner of her mouth. She was attempting to do so now, she made more singing in the markets. Maybe she should go back to that. Lucanis was already aware of the bond, and she ran into him often enough anyway.
Kieran bumped his shoulder lightly against hers. "We'd manage."
She thought about it, a quiet life, the weight of names and bloodlines falling away like an old cloak. No more Crows. No more legacy. Just… being. Of course she had thought about it before. Every time Kieran had suggested running. It was a beautiful dream. It was also a foolish one. But for today, it was nice to pretend.
"You'd hate it," Evie said gently. "You'd get bored inside a week."
Kieran made a thoughtful noise. "Maybe. But it's good to have a plan."
They crested another hill, and Treviso came into view at last, the walls of the city rising like a jagged seam against the sinking sun. Even from here, they could see the faint haze of smoke still drifting from parts of the city. Not as thick as it was, it had cleared up a lot; it should be gone by tomorrow or the day after.
The memory of the ledgers, the black lotus smoke, the safehouses, it all pressed in again, heavy and real.
Evie slowed, looking out over the city.
"Maybe we will," she said, very quietly.
Kieran turned to her. "Will what?"
She gave him a small, tired smile. "Find somewhere no one cares who we are."
Kieran bumped her shoulder again, gentler this time. "We'll earn it."
They stood there a little longer, letting the last warmth of the day wash over them, before turning back toward the city gates.
-
Lucanis spotted her, a flash of familiar golden hair, a shape he could pick out even in a crowd. She was just coming in through the gates. His steps slowed automatically, drawn like a magnet, before he realised she wasn't alone.
There was a boy with her. No, not a boy, a young man, tall and lean, carrying a heavy crate of what looked like painting supplies. He walked close to her, too close for Lucanis's liking, his stride easy and familiar beside hers. They were talking about something, laughing under their breath, relaxed in a way that tightened something low and ugly in Lucanis's chest.
He forced himself forward, slipping from the shadow of the archway, all pleasantness and idle charm.
"Back from your grand adventure?" He called, a mild smile curving his mouth.
Evie turned toward him, brushing hair from her cheek, the setting sun catching in her eyes. She didn't stiffen or withdraw, which he took as a good sign. The boy - the young man - looked over as well, sizing him up in a heartbeat.
Lucanis allowed himself a moment to return the favour: messy dark hair, clever golden eyes, lean and wiry like someone who lived more in his head than on a battlefield. No obvious weapons, but he carried himself with a quiet sort of readiness. Not a fool, then.
Lucanis drifted closer, casually, too casually, falling in step on Evie's other side. She gave him a small smile, warm but wary.
"Kieran, this is Lucanis. Lucanis, Kieran," she said, slinging the strap of her satchel higher on her shoulder. "My brother."
Lucanis almost stumbled mid-step. Brother? He blinked at Kieran, reassessing in an instant. Her brother. Not a rival, not a lover. The knot in his chest loosened, though it left confusion in its place. Brother. But Evie Mahariel's only known brother was the crown prince of Ferelden. And Kieran, he looked nothing like the stiff, golden-proud royal portraits Lucanis had skimmed as he researched her family. He was too sharp around the edges. Too self-contained. Her father had two bastards? Or did they share a mother?
Lucanis smoothed the moment over with a lazy smile, as if the revelation didn't shake loose a dozen questions in his mind.
"Pleasure," he said, extending a hand to Kieran.
Kieran hesitated, just long enough to make a point, before stopping and setting the crate down and clasping Lucanis's hand briefly. His grip was firm, his gaze steady.
"Likewise," Kieran said, polite but distinctly unimpressed.
Lucanis nearly smiled for real. The boy had spirit. Good. Still, he couldn't quite resist a jab, the territorial instinct not entirely abated.
"You're a patient man," Lucanis drawled, letting his gaze flick meaningfully to the heavy crate Kieran was carrying. "Most wouldn't volunteer to play pack mule unless they were trying to impress."
Evie gave him a look, unimpressed, clearly catching the undertone.
Kieran just shrugged, unbothered. "She'd have painted with or without me. I figured this way there was less chance of her wandering off a cliff while chasing the perfect view."
Lucanis snorted, despite himself, the edge of jealousy dulled by the boy's cool-headedness.
Evie rolled her eyes with fond exasperation. "He's exaggerating."
"Am I?" Kieran asked innocently, picking up the crate and the trio continued on, Lucanis inviting himself.
Lucanis chuckled under his breath. Evie groaned under hers and moved ahead of them toward the mouth of the alley, clearly deciding that walking faster was preferable to listening.
They lapsed into a companionable silence for a moment, weaving through the thinning evening crowds toward the quieter streets. Lucanis found his gaze drawn to Evie again, the way her hair had loosened from its style during the day, the faint smudge of blue paint at the corner of her thumb, the easier way she carried herself now, with her brother. He wanted to see her like that more often. Wanted to be the reason she could breathe easier, laugh more freely.
He shoved the thought aside before it could take root. They weren't there yet. Neither man hurried.
"Must take a thick skin to put up with it," Lucanis added, glancing sideways at Kieran with a slow, deliberate smile. "Or no sense of self-preservation."
"Or just some sense at all," Kieran returned easily. "Anyone with half a brain would know she's worth a few bumps."
Lucanis made a low, amused sound in his throat. "Half a brain seems about right."
Kieran arched a brow at him. "You'd know."
Evie, a few steps ahead, threw them both a sharp look over her shoulder, her cheeks pink. "Maker's breath, are you two seriously doing this?"
"Just making conversation," Kieran said innocently.
"Friendly," Lucanis agreed, voice smooth as butter. "You know. Like family."
Kieran's grin flashed, just this side of a dare. "If this is how you treat family, no wonder you spend so much time skulking around alleys."
Lucanis's eyes gleamed. "Better than getting dragged out to paint landscapes like a-" he paused, giving Kieran a long, considering look, "-wet nurse."
Evie gave a mortified little cough, burying a laugh in the back of her hand.
Kieran tilted his head, unbothered. "If she needs watching, better me than someone who still thinks lurking is a career."
Lucanis actually laughed at that, low and genuine. He couldn't even argue. Still smiling faintly, he closed the distance to Evie's side, letting the younger man trail a half step behind them.
"You picked a good day to escape," Lucanis said more lightly, pretending he hadn't just been fencing words with her brother like a territorial crow.
Evie shook her head, both fond and exasperated. "We tried to escape."
Lucanis offered her a brief, sidelong glance. "You didn't try hard enough."
She sighed, half smiling, half resigned. Evie slowed to a stop at the corner, shifting her weight. She could feel the heat of Lucanis's presence beside her, his attention steady on her even when she didn't meet his eyes.
"We should get these back," she said, lifting the bundled canvas in her arms a little. "Before someone decides they look valuable."
Lucanis smiled faintly, the earlier jabs with Kieran smoothed away, leaving something quieter between them.
"I'll leave you to it, then," he said, his voice low and almost...reluctant. Not enough to make her feel trapped. Just enough that guilt flickered in her chest. "Until next time."
She kept her expression steady, offering him a small smile, polite, kind, but still distant enough that he would understand. Please don't push.
Lucanis only nodded once, a soft look in his dark eyes, and turned away down the street without pressing her.
Evie exhaled slowly once he was out of sight, adjusting the strap of her satchel across her shoulder. She hadn't wanted to hurt him. She never did. But she could already feel the silent tug of the bond in the pit of her chest, a steady thread she dared not touch. Kieran gave her a look she couldn't quite read.
They made it two streets toward home before he finally said, tone light but edged, "He's awfully comfortable with you."
"We've had a few encounters," she said quietly. "Nothing serious. Just...crossed paths."
Kieran shot her a look. "A few? How many is a few?"
Evie flushed, tightening her grip on the canvas. "I don't know. A few. Once he even...he kind of...let his grandmother ambush me."
Kieran nearly stopped walking. "His grandmother?" His voice pitched higher in disbelief. "You met his grandmother?"
The First Talon? The leader of the organisation they were trying to crumble?
Kieran shook his head, incredulous. "And you didn't think that was something you should maybe mention before now?"
Evie slowed her steps, looking down at the worn cobblestones. The crowds around them blurred into a dull hum. "I didn't tell her anything," she said quietly. "I didn't give them anything."
"That's not what worries me," Kieran said. His voice was lower now, threaded with real concern. "I've told you how Antivans are about soulmates. How possessive they can be." He shook his head. "I didn't think someone like him could be this patient, but, Maker, Evie, how much longer do you think he'll stay that way? Especially if he thinks he's getting closer with you."
The words hit harder than she wanted them to. Not because he was wrong. But because she felt like she was getting closer to him too.
"I don't know," she admitted. Her throat was tight. "But I'm not...leading him on. I'm not promising anything."
Kieran exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not blaming you. I'm just-" He broke off, frustrated.
"It must be difficult," he said after a long pause, voice low. "Trying to deny it."
Evie hugged the canvas tighter. The words scratched at something raw inside her.
"It is," she admitted. "No one ever told me how hard it would be once... both sides knew. Once you felt it, and it woke up."
Kieran was silent for a few steps, giving her the space to speak if she wanted to. Evie tilted her head back, blinking up at the sky, as if the words would come easier if she weren't looking at him.
"I feel guilty," she said, so quietly it barely carried. "It hurts him when I keep putting up distance. I can see it; I can feel it. And it-" she shook her head helplessly, searching for the right shape to her feelings. "It doesn't sit right. Hurting him."
She looked down at the cobbled street, scuffing the edge of her boot against a loose stone. Her voice was rougher when she added, "And he doesn't even seem like a bad person. He can actually be... funny."
Kieran quirked a brow but said nothing, letting her talk.
"He's helped me a few times," she went on, voice soft. "When I was too scared to take my painting to the gallery, he encouraged me. Sat there and made it sound like the most obvious thing in the world, like of course they'd want me. And when Tai sent me shopping for vegetables and herbs, he-" She laughed under her breath, almost embarrassed. "He helped me pick everything out. Taught me how to tell when something was good or when it had been sitting out too long. Well, tried; I've already forgotten most of it."
Kieran's mouth tightened slightly, but he stayed quiet, listening.
"I know it's because of the bond," Evie said, a little sharper now, as if she had to say it aloud before he did. "It's pulling at him. Pushing him to care. If it weren't for that-" She broke off, shaking her head. "It wouldn't be happening. And even knowing that, it's... it's hard."
She hugged the canvas closer to her chest.
"If it wasn't him," she whispered, "it would still be someone. There's no path I could take that wouldn't hurt someone."
Kieran's expression softened and he sighed.
"I made my choice," Evie said. "Tai and Uncle Zev, of course. I just wish it didn't feel like...I'm kicking a puppy."
Never mind that he was an assassin with quite a fierce reputation and had been dubbed the Demon of Vyrantium. When his eyes softened on her just so, when she saw that flicker of pain before he smothered it, she felt like a monster.