Chapter Text
“The apartment’s beautiful, Caterina,” Lucanis says. He looks out the wide Orlais doors that lead to the balcony, showing a full view of the Nocen Sea from on high. “Thank you for getting me a view of the water.” Even if it isn’t the ocean he knows and loves, at least it’s something.
Somehow, she still knows, hears something in his tone that even he is ignorant of. “You’ll be fine, Lucanis,” she says, her voice firm as ever, the affection only an afterthought; he accepts it, anyway. “It’s best if you’re far away from this mess Illario’s made, anyway. It will keep you clean of it.”
He almost sighs, but that would mean this conversation will go on for another ten minutes. Illario. “I know. I just wish it had been anywhere but Minrathous.”
“Give it two years, and you’ll be back home. Let me worry about everything, and by the time you’re finished with your program, it will have been forgotten.” He hears something on her side, someone talking but too faint to make out. “I have to go, Lucanis. Let me know if there’s anything you need.”
“Of course.” She hangs up first, and he only sees the call screen a moment with “Nonna” at the top before it disappears. He lets out that breath he had been holding, and turns around. It hadn’t been a lie—the apartment is beautiful, tastefully made up by a team of interior designers Caterina had flown in from Antiva. But none of it feels like his, and he feels like he’s living inside of a set piece, and he has to take care not to mess with the factory seal.
It’s only two years. He has to keep repeating it to himself, and maybe it will help. The place doesn’t have to become home, not if he doesn’t want it to be. Probably for the best; his apartment in Treviso waits in all its comfortable glory. The bed, the bath, and the kitchen; those will have to become homey by necessity, but the rest he can leave untouched, if at all possible.
He checks the kitchen first, opening cupboards and making faces at the plain but expensive dishes. Four of everything, even forks and teacups. Why the fuck would I need a full tea set? It doesn’t matter, as it had been Caterina’s money to waste, not his. The fridge and pantry are even worse, and he suspects that whoever she had paid to fill it before his arrival had been local. At least it’s mostly staples, and very little of anything that could go to waste. He can make himself a couple of decent meals until he can figure out groceries tomorrow.
He shuts the door and stares at his warped reflection in the stainless steel. He doesn’t want to be here, not in this city, going to the school Caterina bribed to let him attend, and he especially doesn’t want to be in his apartment. There’s no running away from this. Damn you, Illario. Lucanis needs to clear his head, and looks over to the balcony. Fresh air would help, and so he crosses the space once again and throws the doors open wide.
There’s a woman on the balcony next to his, her long dark hair swept over one shoulder, and she holds a cigarette in one hand. She glances at him and then pretends not to look at him, and instead focuses on the blue ocean that glitters like diamonds where the sun hits it. “And here I thought that old woman who came to see the apartment would be the one to move in,” she says, her voice just as deep as he had expected. “She looked like the type to take the corner unit.”
He hates awkward small talk, but it can’t hurt to make friends with his only neighbor. “That was my grandmother. She picked this place.”
She bends to pick up an ashtray and holds it to ash into. “You’re Antivan.”
“And you’re not.” She laughs, deeper than her voice, and she shakes her head. Movement catches his eye, and his heart nearly stops at the sight of a scraggly black cat walking along the balcony’s narrow railing. “Spite, get down.” The cat hisses instead, wobbling as he walks the length of the rail. Spite hisses again as Lucanis scoops him up drops him to the ground.The woman’s voice is still amused, and Lucanis tries not to think too hard about the fact that she’s laughing at him. “You named the cat Spite.”
If it had been up to me, I would have named him Cabrón. He hadn’t wanted the cat, but considering he’s another victim of Illario’s fuckup, Lucanis thought it best if they stick together; no one else had wanted him, anyway. “He came with it, but it fits him.”
Spite yowls, and Lucanis turns around to head back inside; the woman’s laughter doesn’t follow him inside, small mercies. He shuts the door just as Spite leaps down, landing in an ungraceful leap onto the sofa. The cat flops over, staring at him with wide blue eyes. Lucanis sighs, wondering how he’s going to survive the next two years of whatever this is.
Rook lets herself into the apartment next door, unlocked and waiting for her to do this exact thing. At the kitchen table Neve sits with her phone in her hands, and she squints at it, frowning. “So what’s the emergency?” Rook sits on the other side of the table, feeling her muscles unknot as she comes to rest; practice had been particularly exhausting today. “Is the old lady next door actually living there? Mrs. Dellamorte or whatever her name is?”
“It’s worse. I think it’s her grandson Illario. You know, the one with a wife in prison for all sorts of interesting white collar crimes.” Neve shakes her bangs out of her eyes and taps the screen. “A man came out onto the balcony when I was smoking, said he's her grandson. I’m trying to figure out if it’s him, or if he was lying and she's stashed a lover here.”
“Scandalous.” Neve taps again, angrier this time. “Are you plotting his demise already?” From what Rook had gleaned from Neve’s previous research, she doubts Illario will be a quiet neighbor.
“I’m trying to figure out if this could be the man I saw, but all the photos are so grainy.” She turns her phone around to show a blurry photo of a bearded man in sunglasses. “She has another grandson, but good luck finding a photo of him. He’s like a ghost as far as Antivan paparazzi are concerned.” Neve groans and sets her phone down, rubbing her eyes. “It only makes sense for her to send Illario away, not the other one. I can’t even find out his name.”
Bellara’s hummingbird voice comes from the kitchen. “Tell her to stop spiraling, Rook, she’s been at this for an hour and a half.”
“You’ve seen Illario,” Neve says before Rook can stop laughing long enough to reply. “Tell me if you think he would ever grow a beard to hide his identity.”
Rook leans back against the chair and pulls out her phone; she barely remembers what he looks like, to be honest. Handsome, sure, but also clearly aware of how pretty he is, nearly ruining the whole effect. Almost. Rook pulls up an article with his mugshot for scrutiny. “I mean, maybe? Depends on if he’s actually trying to hide in Tevinter. Isn’t he also on trial?”
“I’m not sure. Some of the articles say so, but others don’t.” Neve sighs and picks up her coffee, swirling it around to make the ice clatter. “I should have picked up Antivan as a second language instead of Old Tevinter. Or third, however you want to count it.” Neve mostly only knew Old Tevinter curses, which are arguably the most important part of any language.
“You didn’t know you would need to investigate your neighbor who might be the grandson to an Antivan billionaire.” Time to change the subject, and Rook breathes deep, stretching her arms. “What’s for dinner, Bel? It smells great.”
“Just a little something I invented. I hope you guys like it. I know Dalish isn’t everyone’s tastes.”
“We’ve had dinner with Professor Shathann before, I’m sure it will be leagues better than that,” Neve replies, gentler than usual. Then she smirks, and Rook knows what’s coming. “Speaking of that, Rook, where are your roommate and Taash?”
Ah, that. The real reason Rook had come over as soon as Neve texted. “They’re taking a shower before coming over. Lace fell into the Nocen at practice. So we’ll see them in a couple hours.”
“Which means we can paint our nails in peace,” Neve says. “Want to join me for a smoke first? Maybe we’ll catch a glimpse of maybe Illario again, and you can give me your opinion.”
She can’t smoke during the season, but she can certainly keep a friend company while they do. “You know, we could just ask him his name.”
Neve smirks. “What’s the fun in that? Plus, what if it makes him think I’m interested and I decide I’m not?” She stands. “Come on, or we’ll miss watching Davrin and Assan jog past for the first time.”
As if he wouldn’t pass by three more times after, hoping to get a whistle and a wave. “That would be a tragedy of the highest order.”
On one end of the hall, Lucanis’ groceries sit in a haphazard pile by his open apartment door. On the other, Spite sprawls, rubbing himself against the carpet. Lucanis stands in the middle, hands on his hips, calling the cat every curse he can think of. Every time Lucanis starts to approach, Spite retreats, refusing to return to the apartment. I never should have agreed to take this damn cat. “Spite, come here. Do you want a treat?” He doesn’t have any, but Spite has no way of knowing that. Does he even know the word “treat”? Lucanis could ask Illario, but it doesn’t matter, because all Spite does in response is blink slowly at him. “Spite!”
A door opens, two apartments down from his own, and a woman pokes her head out, a cloud of curly hair pulled into a ponytail follows it. She smiles at him, dimpled and a little crooked. Her face is wide, freckled, with a nose he thinks is a little too large to be conventionally attractive; it fits her regardless. “Do you need help? You’re the new neighbor, right?”
“Yes, but it’s just my cat. He won’t come back inside.” Is everyone on this floor going to learn that he can’t control this creature? How embarrassing.
She turns her head, looking directly at Spite. She crouches and reaches toward the cat, clicking her tongue. Spite, the traitor, immediately stands and trots over, sniffing the air as he approaches. He lets her run a hand over his back, and then he puts his front paws on her knee. “He’s usually much more difficult.”
The woman scoops him up, and Spite flops against her shoulder, his purring audible even from where Lucanis stands. “I have a way with animals,” she says, grin curling at the corners.
Lucanis realizes as she stands that it appears that she’s wearing only an oversized sweatshirt, any shorts she might have on hidden underneath the hem. “He wasn’t supposed to be mine, but I’m stuck with him.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll warm up to you.” Spite kneads the air as she scratches between his ears, and he catches a flash of gold and blue nail polish. “I can carry him back for you, that way you can pick up your bags.”
Lucanis can’t imagine anything more embarrassing than trying to peel Spite off this woman’s shoulder—he’s drooling on her now, eyes closed in what appears to be absolute bliss—so he nods. “My name’s Lucanis.”
“You can call me Rook, most people do. I’d shake your hand, but it might upset the baby if I stop petting him.” He makes note of the fact that she didn’t say it was her name, but he lets it lie for now. He has no right to go prying into her business at the moment, anyway. “Let me grab my keys and phone.” She disappears into her apartment, arms still full of Spite. Maybe I shouldn’t let a stranger take my cat into their apartment. But Rook reappears only a moment later, clutching her things in one hand while her other holds Spite steady against her. “Lead on.”
Rook looks even more out of place in his showroom of an apartment than he feels, standing barefoot at the entrance with Spite still curled up against her chest. It strikes him how much he hates the place in all its sterility as she waits for him to set the groceries on the kitchen island that demarcates the line between the kitchen and the dining room. To her credit, she doesn’t rubberneck as she waits, and he hears a series of soft pops as she kisses Spite. He shuts the door, and they stand there a moment, an awkward tension in the air.
She bends over; Spite climbs onto her back and settles on her spine. Rook laughs, and it saves him from wanting the floor to open up and swallow him whole. “I’ll get him.” Spite hisses as he approaches, and she only laughs harder as he leaps off, still growling. “Spite, please.”
“Some cats take time to warm up to new owners. I’m sure he’ll learn to tolerate you, at least.” When she rights herself, he can see the front of her sweatshirt clearly; it’s for the women’s rowing team of the university Caterina had picked out for him. “Well, I’ll leave you to your afternoon.”
Right, of course; she had only come over to help with Spite, after all, not to visit him. They don’t know each other like that. He opens the door and stands aside. “Thank you for bringing him inside.”
“No problem.” She passes by, and then stops with a little noise. Her chin tilts down, and she laughs. “Spite, sweetie, get inside. I have to go home.” Spite sits just outside the apartment like the world’s tiniest sentinel, blinking at her. Rook glances at Lucanis. “Maybe you can distract him with a toy.”
Lucanis sighs. “He doesn’t play with any of the toys he has.”
“You don’t like to play?” When she bends over and clicks her tongue, Spite trots back inside, arching his back to meet her hand. The moment she rights herself, he dashes back to the open doorway, walking in circles to deny her escape. “Do you have any suggestions on how to end my standoff with the little guy?”
Give him up for adoption. Not that Spite should become someone else’s problem—Lucanis had agreed to take him in, and he can’t abandon him now, even if he doesn’t know how to care for a cat. If he’s good at nothing else, Lucanis knows how to be a host in an uncomfortable situation—there are plenty of opportunities for those living in the Dellamorte villa. “You can try to wait him out, I’m sure he’ll get bored eventually. Do you want a cup of coffee? Something to eat?”
“You don’t have to go through all that trouble, but if you’re making coffee, I’ll take a cup.”
She eats the small bowl of olives and slice of bread with oil and vinegar despite her protest, and he puts the rest of the groceries away as the coffee percolates. “Are you a student at Minrathous University?”
“Good old Min U. Yes, I’m in the physical therapy program.” Her eyes are bluer than the ocean outside, bright and inquisitive as she follows him around the kitchen with her gaze. It should make him uncomfortable, but there’s not a trace of unfriendliness in it. “How about you? What’s brought an Antivan to live in grand old Tevinter?”
He considers the meaning behind her words as he pours her a cup. Those keen eyes light up as he hands her the mug, their fingers brushing; her hands are warm. “You speak as though you’re not from here, either.”
Her grin matches the curve of the mug’s rim as she takes a sip. “The fact that you’re saying this means I’ve successfully hidden my accent at last.” He snorts, shaking his head as she drops the common accent for a distinctly Rivaini one, and now her features make sense. “But you’re not answering the question.”
She’s disarmed him so quickly with nothing more than a friendly grin and easy manner. This isn’t a contract negotiation, just neighbors talking. Clearly, the Illario debacle still has him on edge. “The same as you, but I’ll be at the business college.” Another one of Caterina’s choices for him, but this one is…fine. Lucanis has to inherit the business, so it only makes sense that he should have the education to do so. He sips his coffee, if only to have something to do.
Rook copies him, and he wonders what she thinks, but there are no quips forthcoming. Instead, she closes her eyes and takes another sip. “I’ve been using a drip filter for so long, I’ve almost forgotten what good coffee tastes like.” She sets her cup down and leans on a hand. “Are you planning to use the train to get to campus? If so, you could come with me and I’ll show you the way.”
He nods; Caterina had bought a car and garage space for his use, but it seems too much of a hassle to drive every day to class. “That’s very kind, thank you.” She unlocks her phone and taps the screen, turning it around once she’s opened a new contact. Something about it makes him feel a little lightheaded, almost panicked, but it’s too late to back down now. He takes her phone and adds his information.
Spite is nowhere to be seen as Lucanis sees her out once she’s finished her coffee. They talk of idle things, though she does give him some excellent tips on the area. He shuts the door behind her before the cat attempts escape again. That went better than meeting the woman on the balcony. Perhaps it won’t be all bad here in Minrathous, and maybe Spite isn’t just a nuisance—after all, without him, Lucanis might not have met Rook, and that seems to be a sliver of a blessing in the weekend.
They’re all lined up on the sofa, watching her as she returns to the apartment. From left: Bellara, squirming with barely checked energy; Taash and Harding, with the latter sitting on the former’s lap; last is Neve, the only one not staring at the door, waiting for her triumphant return. She’s on her phone instead, tapping away. “You can’t do that to us, Rook,” Bellara says. “Leaving cryptic messages in the group chat.”
It can’t last, but her only defense is to feign innocence. “I was just letting Lace know where I went. I had to leave in a hurry and left the rowing machine out.” She walks through to the kitchen on a quest to grab her abandoned protein shake; it sits on the bar, the powder partially settled in the bottom. “His cat escaped, and I helped herd it back home.”
“Bullshit,” Neve says, still fixated on her phone. “If you wanted to tell Lace, you would have texted her directly. You liked the drama of it. I bet you were hoping I would have information on him by the time you came home.”
“Well? Do you?” She flops onto the ottoman and sits cross-legged on it, facing her panel of judges. “I’ll tell you what I learned in exchange.”
“You first.”
It could be penance for her crimes against the group chat, or simply that Neve has yet to find anything substantial on their handsome new neighbor. “His name is Lucanis like I said, and he’ll be attending the business school. I offered to let him come with us to campus. And—“ She holds up her phone and shakes it. “I got his number.”
“Great job, Rook!” Bel offers, and they high-five. “So, what’s he like? Is he as handsome as Neve claimed?”
“No, no, Bellara,” Taash says suddenly. “Laidir’s not allowed to flirt with anyone until the season’s over. No distractions this year, you promised.”
Damn it, of course Taash remembers. “Oh, come on, I can talk to a guy, just no dating and definitely no one night stands. He’s just a nice guy who lives next door and can’t control his cat. No flirting. Yet.”
“But you got his number,” Neve drawls, and the others giggle. “You might be a world class flirt, but only when you mean it.”
Too true; she finds him rather handsome, scruffy beard and general dour demeanor besides. And kind, and she’s a sucker for that. Rook shakes her drink and takes a swig. “Fine, no more flirting. He didn’t seem all that interested, anyway. But enough of that—Neve, are you done stalling?”
Neve tosses her phone away with a disgusted noise. “I guess it’s been long enough and I can confess I can’t find anything on him. No socials, and the only news article I found referred to him as the presumptive heir to the Dellamorte fortune. As far as the internet is concerned, Lucanis Dellamorte doesn’t exist.” She sighs. “It’s just so damned odd. I don’t like any part of this situation.”
“You make it sound like he’s one of your conspiracies, Neve.” Harding laughs, a chiming little thing that always throws Rook off—she’s too used to Lace barking orders at the team. “Maybe he’s just private, that’s not a crime.”
Neve shakes her head. “The heir of one of the wealthiest people in Thedas moves in next door, has zero public information available, and you’re not the least bit curious?”
“It’s like a story!” Bellara is giggling. “Oh, this is giving me ideas! I should go.”
After everyone leaves, with Neve and Bel back in their apartment and Lace and Taash out for a date, Rook takes a beer from the fridge and walks out onto her balcony. She’s alone, and it’s just her and the beginnings of sunset. The Nocen gleams in the distance, the briny scent of it carried on the breeze to her. It still smells like full summer, though she knows rationally that fall is waiting just around the corner.
As she drinks, she thinks about Lucanis again—as if she had ever stopped—and feels that same little tug on her heart. He looked so lost when I asked why he was in Minrathous. Maybe that’s why she had let her accent slip through, so he knows he’s not alone in being settled close to the wrong seashore. Rivain is a toothache for her, cropping up here and there with needling pain with a reminder of her own inattention and lacking care. She’s grown fond of Tevinter and her friends, but this will never be the place she wants to call home, at least not forever. It will have to do for now.
She had the rowing team back then, same as now, but Lucanis seems to have been dropped here with nothing but a cat that hardly acknowledges him. She can’t fix everything, but maybe she work a little magic, and she knows just the person to ask. Rook smiles to herself and leans on the railing to enjoy the sight of the inky black sea. It’s beautiful, even if it isn’t hers.