Chapter Text
Viola was fairly certain she was being set up to fail.
A client in the morning and then another in the afternoon with only thirty minutes in between. The door to her room quivered open as she dropped her dress unceremoniously to the floor, kicked it into a corner, and pulled open her wardrobe to slip on something black and velvet.
“What’s this?” called a lazy voice from the bed opposite hers. Tomás was still asleep and it was nearly four in the afternoon. “Are we under attack?”
“I’m late for my next appointment,” said Viola, hopping on one foot as she fastened a heel to her foot.
“Late,” echoed Tomás with a groan, rolling over and pressing his face into the pillow. “Why must you insist on being so loud? Some of us had late nights, you know.”
Viola frowned, pulling on the second heel.
“Some of us can’t afford to be picky about clients,” said Viola, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she chose which earrings to wear. Something simple and silver to go with the black dress.
Tomás rolled one hazel eye in Viola’s direction.
“Is it Rosa again?” he asked.
Viola nodded and Tomás smirked.
“She likes you,” he said with a grin, stirring in his sheets. “Maybe she’ll buy you up.”
Viola sighed.
“Maybe,” she said as she pulled her curling brown hair into a bun at the back of her head. “We’ll see.”
Tomás hmphed from his bed.
“You could be more excited about it,” he said.
“I could,” agreed Viola, then carefully dropped the topic.
Viola dabbed a bit of rose perfume behind her ears and on her wrists. Then she tucked away the thin, silver ring she kept on a chain beneath the neckline of her dress. Old habits. Old pains.
Tomás snorted.
“Some of us dream of that life, Vi,” said Tomás. “Steady incomes and steady schedules. Crow or no Crow, I’d take it in a heartbeat.”
“Then I’ll give Rosa your name if she’s on the market,” said Viola. “Do I look okay?”
Tomás turned an appraising eye and scanned Viola over.
“Where are you going again?” he asked, sitting up a bit and frowning. “The opera?”
“Yes,” she said with a waver in her voice.
“Fine,” he said. “Elegant but not overstated.”
Viola gave a nod. “Good.”
“Though if you added a little more to the outfit-” Tomás started but Viola waved him off.
“Goodbye!” she called loudly, grabbing a beaded bag on the bed and hastening out. She heard Tomás blow a long raspberry after her, but she was in too much of a hurry to pull a face back.
Viola’s heels clicked down the narrow set of wooden steps and through an equally tight corridor to a side door that avoided the lobby and spat her out into the criss-cross of alleys around Treviso. Hitching up the train of her dress, Viola teetered her way to a gondola and sat down.
“The Antivan Opera, please,” she said, leg bouncing nervously as she sat down.
The ferryman nodded, slipping his oar into the waters, and the little vessel sailed away up the canal. Viola watched the passing scenery, the docks lining the canals morphing from quaint little shops and modest cafes, to bustling markets that smelled of rich spices and traded in the rarer wares of Thedas. The boat slid up to a wharf, and Viola slipped the man a few coins before stepping out, her sights set on the opera house at the top of a steady incline.
Viola was out of breath by the time she reached the top, her cheeks flushed, and she dabbed the sweat away with a handkerchief. Then dutifully, Viola waited by the entrance of the opera, trying not to remember the last time she'd climbed these steps as someone else entirely and carefully keeping her discomfort hidden beneath a polite and detached mask.
Five minutes later, Viola spied her client coming from the opposite direction. Rosa Valisti stood several inches taller than Viola, her dark curls framing a heart shaped face and ocher, hawkish eyes. She was dressed in a deep purple down and a feathered cape, as was the style for the Crows these days. Rosa was also not alone, the youngest daughter of the present Third Talon, joined by three others of her House, all brothers. Viola felt her heart quicken, and she hastily dipped her face so nobody would look too hard at it.
“Lady Valisti,” said Viola, curtsying with a smile. “Radiant as always.”
The woman laughed behind her hand.
“Why must I always tell you to call me Rosa?” said Rosa.
Viola, bowed her head and offered Rosa her arm.
“Who is your date?” asked one of the Valisti brothers, eyeing Viola with some interest and a winking smile.
The man leaned in, offering Viola a hand to shake. She accepted with a smile, and he kissed the back of it. Rosa’s pleased smile turned into a hard frown.
“An old acquaintance,” said Rosa stiffly.
“Viola,” said Viola. “A pleasure. And you are?”
“Antoine,” said Antoine. “And my brothers, Cervantes and Marius. The pleasure is ours.”
Viola, of course, knew who Rosa’s brothers were, and who made up the rest of House Valisti as part of Viola’s trade.
“How long have you known our sister for?” asked Antoine casually as Cervantes and Marius walked ahead, clearly not as keen on introductions or their sister’s date.
“A few years,” said Viola as they mingled outside the opera house. “I met Lady Valisti in a bookshop. By the docks. We wrote letters for a while.”
Rosa laughed to hear her name said so formally again. All of it was true. The key to a good lie was to layer in as many truths as possible so the story didn’t become unmanageable. Their first meeting had indeed been in a bookshop by the sea, and Rosa had kept in touch by letter. This was Viola’s first public engagement with the Valistis, however. Viola tried not to read too much into it, though it was another line item in a growing list of evidence that Rosa might want to buy Viola’s contract.
“How charming,” said Antoine. Then his head twitched and he arched an eyebrow. “This might sound strange, but do I know you from somewhere?”
Viola felt her breast tighten. Rosa frowned at Antoine, something sharp in her eyes. Rosa pulled Viola a little closer, stepping between Viola and Antoine.
“My date, brother, not yours,” she said in a clipped tone. “Try that line elsewhere. Shall we find our seats, Viola?”
Rosa whisked Viola through the doors before there was even an opportunity for goodbyes. Viola noted the angry rouge tinting Rosa’s cheeks, the crease in her brow, and could practically see the angry thoughts swirling in the woman’s head. Viola turned her gaze to the atrium and gasped.
The atrium was chiseled in floor-to-ceiling alabaster marble. Golden chandeliers dangled from arched ceilings that carried sound to the heavens above. Rows of doors leading to the auditorium were propped open so guests could find their seats, and a staircase to Viola’s left led to the upper balconies.
“It takes my breath away,” said Viola, resting a hand on Rosa’s which held her arm. Viola felt the woman at her side relaxing as Viola nudged her mind away from her brothers and family politics.
“It is stunning, isn’t it?” said Rosa, breathing a sigh. “I apologize for my brother, Viola. He likes his games.”
“Such is the way of siblings sometimes,” said Viola carefully. “I can only imagine how difficult it must be.”
“You didn’t have any siblings, if I remember right,” said Rosa. Viola shook her head.
“No,” she said.
Rosa snorted.
“Lucky you.”
Viola lifted the hems of her dress as they ascended to the box seats on the second floor. They followed the curving wall, the sound of voices up drifting toward them. Viola felt Rosa tightening her grip again, hugging Viola’s hand to her rib cage.
They came upon two people standing in the corridor, one a tall man with eyes like Rosa’s - Third Talon Lera Valisti himself. The second was an elderly and severe woman, whose gray hair was pulled back into a tight bun that accentuated her high cheekbones, and her narrow, calculating eyes. Both their attentions snapped to Rosa and Viola as they approached.
“Ah, there is Rosa now,” said the woman’s father, gesturing with an open palm for Rosa to join them. Rosa’s face paled as her eyes fell on the older woman. Viola felt her own insides twist.
Caterina Dellamorte. The former First Talon.
Viola's stomach dropped. She'd seen this woman exactly once before, a little over two years prior, at a Crow gathering Viola had attended just after her wedding. Caterina hadn't noticed her then. Viola prayed the former Talon wouldn't remember her now.
Caterina looked down her hooked nose at Rosa, a tight frown on her face. She rested both palms, one over the other, on a cane, her back straight and stiff.
“My daughter, Señora Dellamorte,” said Lera with a polite bow of his head. Rosa followed her father’s example, while Viola dipped into a curtsy, keeping her head bowed. “She is the pride and joy of my House.”
Caterina drew a long intake of air as if absorbing the whole of Rosa into her being. Caterina held Rosa in her gaze for a long time, saying nothing, and then turned her gaze just for a moment to Viola.
“Pride, you say,” said Caterina at length. “Picking fights with her brothers on contracts is a strange thing to be proud of.”
Rosa flushed scarlet, eyes dropping to her feet as she ground her teeth.
“She’s never failed a contract,” Lera asserted. Though Lera was at least a head and a half taller than Caterina, he seemed so small beneath her imperious gaze.
“No,” said Caterina, her tone hard and unimpressed. “Though I suppose all Fledglings must start somewhere.”
“Her last contract was to address the situation in-” Lera began in defense of his daughter, but Caterina cut across him, her tone demanding silence.
“I see her guest isn’t a Crow.” Caterina’s eyes combed Viola who kept her eyes downcast. “Is she so difficult to work with that no other Crow would escort her to the Opera?” Caterina’s eyes lighted, her mouth twitching.
“N-no,” said Lera, “Rosa has allies in all manners of places. I’m sure her guest will be no trouble.”
Lera turned a placative smile to Viola who dutifully nodded.
“Outsiders are always a liability, Lera,” corrected Caterina. “Do you even know who she is? What secrets she carries?”
“I-” began Lera, but Viola spoke up.
“I am nobody of consequence, Señora Dellamorte,” said Viola. “An acquaintance and nothing more. I apologize if my presence has offended you.”
Caterina narrowed her eyes slightly, her lined mouth tightening like the hand on her cane. Her eyes tracked over Viola like she was reading a contract.
"Offended?" Caterina mused. "No. Surprised, perhaps, that Lera would allow his daughter to parade a prostitute through the opera house so openly. How modern."
Rosa made a strangled sound. Lera stiffened.
Viola didn't flinch. Instead, she dipped her head in acknowledgment. "I dress to suit the occasion, Señora. If my presence reflects poorly on House Valisti, I will happily take my leave."
"Will you?" Caterina's voice sharpened with interest. "And lose your fee? Most would cling to a contract, regardless of the embarrassment."
"Most value coin over reputation," Viola replied carefully. "I prefer to maintain both, when possible. Lady Valisti has been nothing but gracious to me. It would be poor manners to remain silent when she is maligned."
"How very sensible and loyal of you," Caterina said. Something seemed to shift in Caterina's gaze - it wasn’t approval, but nor did Viola feel the same scrutiny.
Caterina turned back to Lera. "Sensibility aside, it is disappointing to see how House Valisti conducts itself. Do some pruning before you waste my time again with such frivolous matters. If this is the best that House Valisti has, then I worry for its current position. If you’ll excuse me."
Caterina walked away, leaving only a ringing silence behind her. Viola could feel Rosa trembling as Lera turned a cold eye to her daughter.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he hissed. “Get her out of here. I don’t need a scandal brought onto my House. We aren’t running a charity for every poor soul needing coin.”
Lera wrinkled his nose at Viola as if she was something disgusting he’d found under a rock.
Rosa choked on a suppressed sob.
“My apologies,” Viola said, unlinking arms with the silent Rosa. “I’ll see myself out.”
It took all the self-control Viola not to run. Thank the Maker she didn’t know anything of current Crow scandals or gossip, or Lera Valisti might actually have a reason to kill her. He might still kill her to save his House.
Viola hurried from the steps of the Opera house, eyes on the gondolas. She passed other patrons of the arts, slipping past them like a shadow, and jumped into the first boat available.
“You look troubled, señorita,” commented the captain as she told him the address.
Viola smiled weakly.
“Not as troubled as that place,” she said, gaze focused on the opera and trying not to imagine Caterina’s cronies chasing after her. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear with a shaking hand.
No, an attack from Caterina Dellamorte or one of her Talons would come subtly. A knife in the dark. A poison in the wine. Viola knew she didn't have the training to see it coming anymore. Once, she might have. Now she was just another target.