The Queen's Champion

Chapter 9

They’re halfway back to Draper’s Ward when David makes the connection.

“Eliza Hat?!” he nearly yells. “You’re-you were talking about Mortimer Hat back there.”

Joan turns back long enough to roll her eyes. “Took you long enough to connect the dots.”

“The leader of the Hatters?” Anthony  asks, c*****g his head. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“He was my father.” Joan doesn’t take her eyes off the water. Behind her, David shakes his head.

“So the mill you ‘inherited’, that was the old Hatter base.”

“Don’t be saying it that way. Dad bought and legally owned that mill. What, you think Dunwall Tower wasn’t built with blood money?”

David curses and grumbles to himself. She’s right, of course. Every coin that passed through Dunwall had blood on it. The only difference between the Imperial reserves and whatever fortune the Hatters had amassed was who the law sided with.

Still, though.

“I can’t believe you’re Mortimer Hat’s daughter and you never mentioned it.” f**k, this felt way too familiar for David’s comfort.

Joan shrugs. “It never came up.”

“So let me get this straight.” Anthony  holds up a hand. “You’re the daughter of one of the strongest gang leaders in Dunwall? And you’re helping me now?”

“The Hatters are hardly a force to be reckoned with now.” She yanks on some lever. “Dad’s dead.”

“Oh.” Anthony  looks to his socked feet, thoroughly soaked through. “Well, I’m...sorry. I didn’t hear.”

“You wouldn’t of. Watch didn’t kill him. It was old age and bronchitis that did him in.” She takes out a cigar, sticks the end in her mouth, but she doesn’t light it. “Watch probably doesn’t even know.”

David leans over a bit to get a look at her face. “How old are you, Lizzy?”

“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady her age?” She turns and smiles, but the motion makes her wince.

David bites the end of his own cigar. “Good thing I didn’t just ask one.”

“f**k you, David. I’m twenty-six.”

She’s older than Billie, though not by much. The Emperor wasn’t exactly young when he had her-he would be nearing sixty now, were he still alive. Which was quite a bit younger than Mortimer Hat was supposed to be.

Anthony  seems to mirror David’s thoughts. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t Hat supposed to be, like-”

“A hundred years old?” Joan says. “Yeah, something like that. He was already an old fart when I was born. Dunno why ma let him knock her up. Probably because he had money.”

There was a story there; David could tell by her intense staring contest with the water, by the way she tensed at the mention of her mother. Sabrina had reacted similarly when her mother was brought up-the woman had beat Sabrina like a rag growing up, despite knowing she was the daughter of the Emperor. There was no love lost between them. David hadn’t understood it at the time-he would have given anything to be reunited with his own mother. But then he saw her scars, heard some of the things Sabrina had screamed at her as a child. He understood, after that. She had even once told David to imprison anyone who came to Dunwall Tower claiming to be her mother. If Lizzy’s mother was anything like that, he didn’t blame her for the animosity.

But on a boat on the Wrenhaven with a kidnapped Emperor was not the time and place for that conversation. So David lets it lie.

“So why were you going by a fake name,” David crosses his arms. “If you really are Hat’s kid?”

“Well, first of all, it wasn’t a fake name. Elizabeth is my name. It just so happens to be a stupid name with a lot of nicknames. It was either that or ‘Beth Hat’, and that doesn’t sound nearly as cool.”

She’s right; it didn’t.

Anthony  scoots up in his seat. “Who were you giving a fake- different name to? And why?”

Joan huffs and speaks without turning back to look at them. “I told David I led a different gang for a while. The Dead Eels. They didn’t...get along with the Hatters.”

“So your gang was enemies with your father’s gang?” David says very slowly.

She turns around then, just to glare at him. “It’s not like it was intentional. We lived in total peace and harmony, until Draper’s Ward shut down.” She keeps bringing her cigar back to her lips and putting it down, despite it not being lit. “Then there was a huge turf war. I didn’t fan the flames, but I...didn’t really try to stop it either, you know.”

‘She’s lost many friends, to both plague and gang violence alike. She wonders, when the drink wears off and her mind lingers on such things, if such a life is worth the thrill. But she knows no other way.’

“But anyway, we had to deal with some Hatters to get to you, Tommy-boy.” She mimics blowing smoke out of her mouth. “Don’t like ‘em, but there are worse fuckers you can do business with. They hold a grudge though, and they don’t remember Joan Catspaw fondly.” She drops the cigar in the built-in ashtray. “But they love Elizabeth Hat.”

“Well, thanks for telling me. And never call me that ever again.”

“What, Tommy? You can’t expect me to use that stuffy name all the time.”

“I do. Because it’s my name.”

David holds in a smile and trails his gloved finger over the water.

There’s people out to meet them at the docks. Gerald, Rose, Ricardo and the Dressmaker stand at the docks, while Galia Fleet stands at the top of the steps and keeps watch. They all stare eagerly as Joan guides Melusine in and docks it.

Anthony  stands up in the boat, his fingers dancing over each other and uneasiness written across his face. He makes no attempt to disembark. David sidles up next to him and offers him his arm.

It’s something he did for Billie, probably a thousand times. When she was younger, when she was being called ‘Lady’ for the first time in her life. When she had a thousand eyes on her and she was melting away under their stares. When she was fourteen and expected to be an Empress. Whenever she was overwhelmed or scared, David would offer her his arm and a small smile. And she would smile back. Link her arm in his, fitting together at their elbows. Sabrina didn’t need the physical support-she didn’t faint like so many other noblewomen seemed to do so often. It was about reminding her that David was by her side. That she wasn’t in this alone.  

And when Anthony  turns to him, David can tell he recognizes the way he holds his arm out. He smiles. And he takes David’s arm, and together they step off the boat and take the five or so steps forward.

“Lord Anthony . It is an absolute pleasure.” Gerald speaks for the group as the men all bow and Rose sweeps herself into an impressively low curtsy, nearly losing her balance in the process.

“Pleasure’s mine,” Anthony  says back, nodding his head in a slight bow. There’s a waver in his voice that someone unused to his way of speaking wouldn’t pick up. It’s probably been a while since he spoke to someone who wasn’t Timsh or his guards.

Gerald rounds his shoulders and puffs out his chest. “The masterminds behind your rescue are waiting inside, they-”

There’s a thud, and David turns around while Gerald continues droning on with barely a pause. Joan has stumbled getting off the skiff, and the Dressmaker rushes forward to help her up. She leans on him as she gets to her feet, but then she shoves his hands away. David sees how she’s favoring her left side.

“Can I meet them?” Anthony  hasn’t heard her fall, and he doesn’t notice Joan limping up to their side.

“Yes!” Gerald somehow straightens up even more. “Young Reed ran ahead and let them know you were coming-they should be waiting for us in the lobby.”

“Thank you.”

Galia has made her way down the steps by now, and she bows like a man as Anthony  nods, then sprints to close the gap between them and throws his arms around her. Rose comes forward, and it’s her that Joan leans on and allows to help her up the steps.

“Why are you all out here?” David says through gritted teeth to Galia. “I thought it was supposed to be dangerous out her in the daylight.”

Galia shrugs. “They told us to keep watch. I’ve been keeping an eye on everyone. No one was in any danger.”

But if there was, of course it would only be the servants who would be out here in plain sight. The important people were behind locked doors. The fact that Reed had been sitting out here bothers him even more. A child’s safety should have been prioritized. One Galia wouldn’t be enough to protect five people if they were spotted and attacked.

David pushes the anger down. He found Anthony  today. Nothing is allowed to ruin his mood.

Rose and the Dressmaker help Joan up the steps while David keeps pace with Anthony . Every time David stops to look over his shoulder, check on Lizzy, Anthony  hesitates and waits for him to catch up. Galia’s presence isn’t comfort enough for Anthony . He wants David.

True to their word, the entire conspiracy is waiting in the mall plaza, aside from Granny Rags who David has not actually seen since before he assassinated Luca. Including, strangely, an older man with a long, hooked nose and a checkered scarf draped around his neck like a tie. The entire group bows to Anthony  as he steps in, and the man steps forward.

“Lord Anthony . It’s an honor to have you here.” The man reaches for Anthony ’s hand and, to Anthony ’s clear shock, bows to kiss it before letting it drop back to his side. “My name is William Trimble. My cohorts and I have been working to see you freed for quite some time now.”

“Thank...you.” Anthony  just blinks. Trimble steps back and motions to the group.

“Allow me to make some introductions. This is Mister Edgar Wakefield-”

“Sup.” Edgar throws up two fingers. Next to him, Jerome squints.

“Right, a Navy man who worked with Miss Catspaw in the past. Jerome, who works tirelessly to supply us with the firepower we need. Over here is Lady Thalia Timsh.”

“I know my uncle was the one to hold you captive,” Thalia says, her fingers digging into the neckline of her blouse. “And I would like to sincerely apologize on the behalf of my family for everything you endured in his captivity. I do not reflect his ideals.”

“I understand.” Anthony  glances to his feet. “I wouldn’t hold you accountable. Thank you, by the way.”

Thalia seems to preen at this, and Trimble quickly directs the attention away from her. “And this is Zhukov.”

“Hello.” Zhukov doesn’t move, makes no indication that he spoke in the first place. Anthony  shifts under his red stare.

“And finally, Lady Lydia Boyle.”

Lydia takes the few steps forward and holds out her hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’ll be handling your tutoring while you’re with us.”

“You are?” Anthony  seems to perk up at the mention of schoolwork. Nerd. “Have we met before? I believe I’ve only met Esma.”

“Yes, you were seated next to her for winter solstice feast last year, and she said you two talked for hours.” Lydia laughs. “She was quite enamoured with you. But no, I rarely attend those parties.”

David turns as the Dressmaker locks up the door behind them, and Rose ushers Joan over to a bench. Edgar is by her side in a flash.

“What the f**k happened?”

Joan punches him half-heartedly, but then her arm returns to her side. “Got shot. A little. M’fine, though.”

“You were shot? ” The Dressmaker comes forward. “Lizzy, that phrase is not compatible with being fine!”

His hands go to Lizzy’s coat buttons, and she’s quick to slap them away. “What the f**k?”

“I need to see how badly you’re hurt!”

“I’m not! You’re the one who made this stupid coat. That bullet never touched me.”

Rose just shakes her head. “You can’t go unbuttoning random women’s coats, my dude.”

The Dressmaker turns red at this, and turns away. Trimble steps forward. “That’s enough. Elizabeth, I told you not to strain yourself.”

“Yes, because this bullet appeared in my side because of stress,” she spits. “That’s a thing that happens.”

Trimble just sighs. “Come with us to my apartment. I’ll get a look at you after I show Lord Anthony  his quarters, I-”

“Anthony  is staying with you?” David interrupts. Truthfully, he hadn’t given an ounce of thought to where Anthony  would sleep. He hadn’t thought about what would happen after he saved him.

Joan snorts. “He is not staying with you.”

“Young lady-”

“Don’t f*****g ‘young lady’ me, Tremble.” Joan leans forward the best she can. “Dad had to live with you the last few weeks of his life and the misery literally killed him. You’re not inflicting that on the kid.” She leans back and thumbs in David’s direction. “Plus David here doesn’t even know you. Doubt he feels okay with that arrangement.”

He didn’t, but it wasn’t about David’s feelings at this point. He’d defer to what made Anthony  the most comfortable. He turns to him, mouth open to ask Anthony where he’d like to stay, when Edgar speaks up.

“Well, where the f**k else is he gonna sleep? We already shoved David in the attic.”

Jerome motions behind him. “There’s like, twenty stores in here that haven’t been claimed. There’s plenty of room.”

“That’s a security issue.” Trimble rubs his temples. “If we’re breached, it would be through the mall. We can close off access between here and the mill, and my apartment is out of the way. One of the last places they’d look.”

Billie’s voice breaks free above the cacophony of voices. She no longer has eyes, but David knows she uses his, and she glares at Trimble with a burning intensity he’s only seen from her a number of times.

“ Don’t trust him.”

David holds his hands up. “That’s enough,” he yells, and the argument quiets down, everyone looking slightly embarrassed with themselves. David lowers his hands and turns. “Anthony  is seventeen. He’s going to be making decisions for the entirety of the Empire soon, so he can damn well choose where he wants to sleep.”

Trimbles huffs, but he seems to relent. “You’re right, David. Of course.” He turns to Anthony  and smiles, his cracked lips stretching over his teeth. “It would be prudent of you to stay with me for the time being. The choice is yours, but I can offer-”

“I want to stay with David.” Anthony ’s voice comes out rushed, then he blushes and looks to his feet. “I mean, if that’s okay with you. I’d like to.”

David certainly didn’t f*****g mind, but Trimble turns his nose up at the suggestion. “It would be quite inappropriate for someone of your age and stature to cohabitate with a grown man in a single room.”

“We’re living in a goddamn textile mill, I think we can drop any ideas we have about decorum,” David grunts. f**k, he was going to lose it if they started in on proper behavior and s**t with Anthony . He had dealt with it with Billie, because in all fairness she was a teenage girl while he was a gruff, older and unrelated man, but it had driven him crazy even then. You can’t go into the princess’s chambers unaccompanied at night, never mind that assassins didn’t have a curfew. You can’t whisper to the Lady and make her laugh because anything said in such hushed tones was naturally dirty and inappropriate. You can’t hold the teenaged Empress’s hand when she’s nervous because then people will get ideas . f**k. He wasn’t doing that again. Anthony  was a man, but even if he wasn’t, David refused to handle him with gloves like people wanted him to do with Billie. The nobles wanted to pretend that they were fragile, but David knew Anthony and Sabrina were anything but. And they didn’t want to be treated like it.

“There’s two entrances to the attic,” Jerome says. “We can put up a divider or something, pretend like it’s two rooms, if you’re really worried about decency.”

“I think it would be good for Anthony  to be near someone familiar.” Lydia smiles. “It’s just for now, anyway.”

Trimble groans. “Fine, fine.” He turns away. “So that’s settled. Return to your jobs, everyone. I need to see Miss Elizabeth in my clinic.”

He would need to see Anthony  too, to look at his arm. But that can wait, for now. It’s been six months, and Anthony  didn’t appear to be in pain. David turns to him. “You’re trading one attic out for another, Anthony . Just to be sure you’re okay with that.”

Anthony  shakes his head. “It’s fine if it has a stove and a door that locks from my side. And as long as you’re there, I know I’m safe.”

David presses his lips together to hide his smile, and reaches up to brush the back of his hand across Anthony ’s face. “You will be.” Then he lowers his arm and glances down at Anthony ’s wet socks, his pant legs clinging to his calves. “You will need new clothes, though.”

He turns around and yells Rose’s name. She straightens up, looking slightly terrified. David motions back to Anthony , and takes care to lower his voice this time. “Do you think you can take Anthony  shopping? Find him something warmer to wear?”

She looks stunned for a moment, but then she grins and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” She turns to wear Lizzy’s sitting, still on the bench. “Can you make it to Trimble’s or…”

Joan bops her on the nose, waves her away. “I can f*****g walk, Rose-dew. Just…” She tries and fails to stand up on her own. “Just get...get me on my feet,” she wheezes.  

“Lizzy, shut the f**k up. I’ll take her,” David says to Rose, who nods and scampers away to Anthony .

The Dressmaker is still hovering over her like a nervous mother hen. “I don’t think you should try to walk, Eliz-Lizzy. Do you want me to carry you?”

“Try to pick me up and you lose every finger you touch me with.”

David rolls his eyes and grabs Joan by the elbow. “Then stop bitching and start walking.” He turns back to Anthony . “I’ll meet you later. Hang out with Rose for a little bit.”

Anthony  nods, and he waves as they both turn away. They’re already chatting with each other. If Rose can lose the anxiety she seems to have around certain people here, David has no doubt she and Anthony  will get along. It’s just what he needs right now. Someone his age, smart and equally snarky. A distraction.

The Dressmaker has been thoroughly shooed away by Lizzy, who is now taking the smallest steps imaginable towards Trimble’s apartment. “Yeah, love you too, Edgar,” she mutters under her breath. True to her word, Edgar Wakefield is nowhere to be found. Dipped out as soon as Trimble dismissed him, apparently. b***h.

“Lizzy, I respect your dedication, but if you don’t pick up the pace I will pick up your ass.”

She just shoots David the finger and continues trudging along. He’s not watching her suffer because he’s afraid of her-he knows Joan isn’t stupid enough to try and knife him. No, he just wants her to eat her words. She wants to be stubborn and make her way to the clinic in agonizing, completely avoidable pain? Fine. David wasn’t going to f**k with that.

Trimble is waiting for them, smoking a cigarette by his front door. If he’s surprised by David’s presence, he doesn’t show it. “Come with me. Mind the steps.”

Of course there were f*****g stairs. Narrow and steep, and Trimble’s feet echo between the cinderblock walls as he bangs up the steps. Of all places, David would think that the clinic would be the thing to put on the ground floor.

Joan grips the hand railing and cringes as she tries to take the first step. David finally just sweeps her up and carries her, minding not to bang her ankle against the rail. She doesn’t protest.

David puts Joan down on the cot Trimble points to, who then checks his watch. “I have an experiment I need to check on, excuse me. If you can get your shirt off for me, Elizabeth, I’ll take a look at your injury when I get back.”

‘He could have kept the old man alive forever. Would have, too. Despite his begging.’

Joan gets her coat buttons undone easily enough, but David has to help her sit up enough to slide her arms out. Her vest and thermal undershirt, then finally her chemise and bra. She makes a smart-ass comment about how easily he’s able to unhook her bra, but he smacks her in the head and declines to comment. He figures it wouldn’t do him any good to mention he’s had to do this for Sabrina whenever she got stuck in her dresses and formalwear. She never took to having female attendants. She made much better friends with her male guards. But an Empress couldn’t really ask them to help her out of a stubborn dress.

There’s no blood on her underclothes, but the bruise is already forming. Thick and dark purple, blooming from her left rib cage. f**k, it must hurt. Joan lays flat on her back and tries to breathe with her stomach. David’s gaze trails up higher.

“Uh, at the risk of sounding perverted…”

“Go ahead.” Joan waves her hand. “Ask. Everyone wants to know.”

“Okay. What the f**k happened to your n****e?”

Specifically the lack thereof. Her left breast was fine-he figured it was, at least. David hadn’t seen a great many pairs of breasts in his life, but from his admittedly small sample group, he can infer that Lizzy’s was relatively normal. Her right, however, had nothing but a few stitches and haphazard patches of darker skin in place of where her n****e was supposed to be.

Joan rolls her eyes. “Found out the hard way to wear a f*****g bra. Long story-one that involves copious amounts of alcohol, waving my shirt over my head, and a guy coming at me with a garden hook.”

“He...tore off you n****e?”

“I assume he was trying to bash my chest in, but I never really asked.” She shakes her head. “I’m guessing that’s not really the smartest way to kill someone with a garden hook? But I wasn’t about to stop and give him pointers.”

David’s never killed anyone with a brush hook, but he did have to fend someone off once who had dressed up like a gardener and tried to maul Sabrina with one. They could do a hell of a lot of damage, if they had the opportunity to wind up and swing. Sabrina had gotten her knife into the crux of his elbow before he had even swung the hook all the way back. David would have gotten to him before he had the chance to bring it down on her head anyway, so it just hadn’t been a very good assassination attempt on many fronts.

Joan grins. “Good thing my t**s were already small. You can’t even tell they’re lopsided most days.”

David shakes his head. “I can’t say I noticed. So you’re just-is that okay? Like, healthwise, to just not have a n****e?”

“Are you using yours for anything, David?”

“That’s different.” David rolls his eyes. “Let’s just say if you did have a kid-”

“Oh, f**k, don’t even say that,” Joan groans. “You know, I told Edgar, back when we would f**k for fun, that if he knocked me up either he could take care of it or I would. And him taking care of it would mean me throwing the kid at him and never seeing either of them again. Me taking care of it would involve a coat hanger and some whiskey.”

“We’re talking the most hypothetical of hypothesis here,” David says, and he has to pause to ward off the smile. “Through some apocalyptic mean and a complete personality shift, you had a small human trying to chew off your nipple.”

“My existing n****e,” Joan corrects.

“Right, your one nipple.” He snorts then. He can’t hold in the smile. “But that’s the thing, there would be no way for them to, like, eat from your other one. So would it just swell up? Wouldn’t that hurt ?”

Joan laughs and shakes her head. “I dunno, would this boob even produce milk and s**t then?” She motions to her chest and makes a blowing-up gesture. “I’m just imagining one boob getting huge while the other stays completely limp, and-”

They can’t do it anymore. Both David and Joan dissolve into laughter, a belly-aching, tear-producing laughter that doesn’t stop for several minutes. Every time they start to settle down, they meet each other’s eye and just break into giggles over the absurdity of it all.

After a good five minutes of uproarious laughter, Trimble still hasn’t returned and David is still sitting there, wiping water from his eyes as Joan lounges on the cot. She reaches over, her face calm, and touches his arm.

“Hey. Are we...okay?”

David presses his palm over the top of her hand, pointedly not looking at her. Were they?

He still felt lied to. Deceived and betrayed. If Joan had thought him capable of killing Billie, what else did she think of him? What kind of person did she assume he was, and did she really like him, or that idea she had of him?

She had literally taken a bullet for Anthony .

“Yeah.” David means to say it louder, but it comes out barely above a whisper. He clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, I think we’re fine.”

“Good.” Joan squeezes his arm. “I know you better now. And I’m...sorry.” She pulls her arm back, staring at the ceiling. “Not about thinking you killed her. Just...I’m sorry she’s gone.”

David’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, and all he can think to say is that he’s sorry too. And that’s pointless. So he doesn’t say anything.

Trimble walks in after a beat, and he looks at David with a funny face. “You don’t need to look so troubled. I’m a family friend. Elizabeth knows me.”

“Heard you treated her father,” David says. Joan mumbles something, but then flops her head back down.

Trimble nods. “Yes, for the last few years of his life. He was in very poor health, oh, and he’d haunt me forever if I let something happen to his darling daughter.” He goes to Lizzy’s bedside and slides on his spectacles. “So you don’t need to worry. Elizabeth is in very good hands with me.”

If he’s trying to get David to leave, he’s only succeeded in making him dig in his heels even harder.

Trimble clicks his tongue as he looks Joan over, and she yelps when he presses his fingers to her bruise. “Your rib’s been re-broken. I told you not to go out in the field.”

“What the f**k was I supposed to do?” Joan throws her hands up. “We can’t all sit around with our thumbs up our asses, Bill .”

“Well, with your track record, soon you won’t have any thumbs left to insert up there.” He pushes himself up as Joan groans.

‘He hates her. He wishes the Hatters had succeeded in killing her.’ Billie’s voice is light and airy. ‘Old Hat need not to even know his daughter had perished.’

David gets to his feet to look over to where Trimble stood, mixing liquids together. Joan pipes up from the cot. “You’re not going to give me the shot, are you?”

“I have to, Elizabeth. Unless you want to lie here perfectly still for several weeks while your rib heals.”

She mutters under her breath. Trimble turns around with an absolutely enormous needle, and David holds his hand up. “What the f**k is that?”

“It’s a syringe.” Trimble stares at him over his spectacles. “It’s to encourage bone growth.”

“It hurts like a b***h,” Joan complains.

Trimble waves David out of his way. “Only for a minute, dear.” He grunts as he holds her hip in place. “Hold still.”

Lizzy’s face screws in the most absolute expression of pain David has ever seen on her. Her breath hitches and her fingers dig into the fabric as Trimble pushes the plunger down, and David does not try to hold her hand.

“David?”

David quickly squirrels away the bone charm he’d been examining. Anthony  stands at the end of the partition, a cobbled together mess of upturned tables and old looms that had been stored up here. Someone had hung sheets from the rafters to hide the gaps in the furniture. David had to give them credit, they did a pretty good job in dividing the room and giving both him and Anthony  some privacy. Completely unnecessary, and patchworked cloth dividers weren’t really befitting of an Emperor, but whatever made the kooks in charge feel better.

The place was almost cozy like this. David had pushed his tables up against the partition and laid his junk and weapons over them. His bones all stayed in a special desk with a roll-top that David had every intention of pad-locking as soon as Jerome found one for him. His little table with his rune and Billie’s coin in the corner. The stove was on David’s side, but it was right next to the gap in the partition, and Anthony  claimed the other side warmed up just fine. Rose had made up a bed for him by laying cushions over a low chest of drawers. They had still been up there together when David came upstairs, talking about bullshit and laughing to themselves. She must have left by now.

“Hey.” David gets to his feet as Anthony  walks across the floor. “I talked to Trimble. He said he’ll see you anytime you want. About your arm.” David motions when Anthony  looks confused, and he raises his arm in response. “It doesn’t still hurt, does it?”

Anthony  shakes his head. “No, it’s just...my hand doesn’t work as easily. I have to try harder to grab stuff with it.”

That certainly didn’t sound good. David frowns, wonders if he should just take Anthony  over now, if nothing else to alleviate his mind, but Anthony just shakes his head. “It’s not a big deal for now. Did...is Joan okay?”

David nods, sitting down on his bed. “She was already recovering from a broken rib-the bullet just didn’t help matters. She’ll be fine after some rest.”

That was all true. David had deposited Joan back at her quarters, left her with a bottle of gin and his laudanum. He had reminded her that the Bond would increase her healing, so she was facing maybe a couple days of bedrest tops, and she better suck that up because he wasn’t carrying her ass around during their next mission.

“That’s good. Good.” Anthony  nods. “She’s cool. I like Lizzy.”

“Mmm.” He’s stalling for time. David knows Anthony  too well, knows how he tugs his arms back so far his hands wrap around elbows, except today only his right hand does it while his left dangles uselessly at the small of his back. David shifts aside so Anthony  can sit down, if he chooses to. “What’s on your mind?”

Anthony  opens his mouth, then closes it again, gulps. He stares at the floor. “It’s just…” He looks up at David, his eyes already dull and disappointed.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?”

The question catches David by surprise. And he has to turn away, look away from Anthony ’s pleading eyes, begging him to tell him what they both knew was all a lie.

“Yes.” David says it to the floor. “Sabrina is dead.”

Saying it seems to open a physical wound on David’s chest, a pain so sharp flaring up he has to suppress the urge to reach up and press against his heart. His entire body suddenly feels impossibly heavy, and his stomach turns over like he’s about to puke. His hands shake, but David hides them between his legs so Anthony  doesn’t see.

To his credit, Anthony  doesn’t gasp or burst into tears. He makes little fists and holds them to thighs, his eyes shiny but as-of-yet dry. “They told me...but they also told me you…” His shoulders slump. “I hoped.”

“I know.” It’s easier for David to say it to Anthony ’s feet, but he knows that’s not how this should be done. “You didn’t hear the loudspeakers?”

Anthony  shakes his head. “The attic was soundproof. The most I ever heard was some murmurs when they led me down to…” He lets out a deep breath and falls back onto David’s bed. “I suppose they would have announced it, wouldn’t they? Did...did you go to her funeral?”

David shakes his head. “Anthony , you know I couldn’t be there.”

“Why not?” He turns to David, more beaten down than accusing. “You could have worn a disguise. She would have wanted at least one of us there.”

David opens his mouth to ask, if Anthony  even knew that David was in prison, but his next sentence sinks in and he slumps forward. Neither of them, the two people she was closest to in life, had been at her funeral. That...hurts more than David expects it to.

“They...mentioned flowers,” David says, purposely not mentioning who ‘they’ were. “There were flowers, and a big long procession with horses and fanfare and all that s**t. And that people wept for her.” He leaves out the parts about her casket being nailed closed, because a waterlogged corpse that had its eyes and tongue plucked out by sea creatures was too unsightly. About how they had to wrap her in a shroud instead of just laying her down in her soft, velvet-lined coffin, because there was so little left of her. Because she nearly fell apart when the morticians tried to pick her up.

Anthony  almost laughs. “Better not have been carnations,” he says. “She hated carnations.”

That was true. She thought carnations were too frilly or something. Knowing Delilah, she probably covered Billie’s tomb with them. But the thought just makes David angry. He instead imagines the flowers she did like, tulips and dandelions and violets, clutched in her hands and laying over her. It’s stupid. Sabrina had never cared much for flowers. But it makes David feel better, just a little.

There’s a little hitch in Anthony ’s breath. He’s still staring at the floor, his fingers gripping his kneecaps and his eyes red and shiny with unspilled tears. And David is struck by the horrible, selfish desire for Anthony  not to cry.

It’s better for him to cry, David knows. Anthony  needs to mourn. He knows that, objectively. But there’s still the nagging voice in the back of his head, the voice that sounded like the Actor’s for so many years until David realized he couldn’t even remember the man’s voice, and that the one he had in his head only sounded like himself. The one that mocked Anthony  for daring to cry in front of David, for showing weakness in front of another. The one that wanted to scream at him to stop, to suck it up and move on with his life, because David hasn’t shed a single tear over her and Anthony shouldn’t be able to either.

But this is all illogical. Horrible. So David just stares at the floor while Anthony  breaks into full-on sobs. He puts his hand out and Anthony takes it, but David makes no move to squeeze, to comfort him. He’s never known how. And he has no energy to try and get it right. So instead he just waits as Anthony  cries, as he mourns his poor, dead, murdered sister.

After the tears have subsided and Anthony  has devolved into hiccups, David still doesn’t look at him, but he does speak. “When this is all over, when we’re back at Dunwall Tower, we’ll go down to the Imperial Crypt ourselves. To...to her grave. Just the two of us. And we’ll say our goodbyes.”

Anthony  nods. “Can we bring her violets?”

“Of course. We can do whatever you want.”

“Good,” he hiccups. “Good.”

They sit in silence for a long moment. David doesn’t allow his mind to ruminate on the subject, of how he’ll say farewell. He thinks of the Talisman, always at his fingertips and not. How much comfort it had brought him, and how much it’ll hurt to leave it behind. But he must. Sabrina must know peace. That’s something he’ll deal with when he gets to it, though. There’s no point in thinking, in hurting about it now. And after a while, Anthony  speaks up again, his voice quiet and scared.

“I have to be Emperor now, don’t I?”

David solemnly nods. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

Anthony  shakes his head, swipes the back of his hand across his eyes. “I thought about some of the other families, people who were actually related to the old Emperor…” He sits up straighter. “But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be Emperor, but...but I want to do right by her. I want to make Sabrina proud.”

“We’ll preserve her legacy,” David squeezes his hand. “We’ll make sure this wasn’t all for nothing.”

Anthony  would carry her memory in the way he ruled. He would continue her reign of justice, of countering corruption and draining the swamp that Dunwall politics had become. And Anthony  wouldn’t single-handedly take credit for any of it, David knew. Sabrina would always be the person he owed his success to, the person he reminded the people had originally stood and fought for their sake. He wouldn’t forget it, and he wouldn’t let them forget. In this way, Billie’s values would be immortal, even if she hadn’t been. They would remember her name and Anthony ’s for centuries, and owe the revival of the Empire to them.

“I’ll have to turn over a new court,” Anthony  says. “I don’t know how many people Lady Kaldwin influenced. I’ll have to find a good Spymaster-someone I trust who can root them out.” He looks to David then, his blue eyes round and trustful. “You’ll be my Royal Protector, won’t you David?”

David’s not stupid enough to say no outright. He wants to-wants to remind Anthony  that he had already failed, that an assassin had made it past him and killed one Empress. How could Anthony  trust him, after David watched him be stabbed and watched his sister die? He didn’t deserve it. Sabrina hadn’t gotten any second chances, and neither should David.

But really, who else could protect Anthony  better than David could? He was a superior fighter to every man and woman in both the Watch and the Navy-he had duelled many of them, supposedly the best of the best, and they had all come up lacking. And David had magic on his side now. He would suppress it, hide it in the interest of keeping Anthony  free from his heresy, but it was there if Anthony ’s life was really in danger.

“If you want me to,” David says carefully. “But I’d give it some thought before you make a decision.”

Anthony ’s face falls. “I thought you enjoyed being Billie’s Protector.”

He had. It had been a stressful job, but an important one. And he loved being able to spend so much time with her. He wishes he had cherished it more, now, when he had it.

“It’s not about what I want.” David shifts so he’s facing Anthony  on the bed. “But you have to think about problems from all sides now. Try to think of some issues people might have with me being your Royal Protector.”

“Who cares what people think?” Anthony  narrows his eyes. “It’s about keeping the Empress...keeping the ruler safe. Nothing else should matter.”

David had to agree with that. He had a similar argument when Sabrina appointed him her Royal Protector. (And, weirdly enough, she had asked him in almost the exact same way) The Emperor had objected, citing his inexperience with nobility and his murky lineage, his foreign birth. David had pointed out that even the Emperor’s own Royal Protector couldn’t beat David in a duel. And had reminded him that it was about protecting his daughter before it was a social position. Perhaps Anthony  is remembering that.

“Anthony .” David grabs his other hand, and makes a face before he can get the words out. “Anthony , I’m getting old.”

Anthony  side-eyes him. “You’re not that old.”

“Not now, but you’re young. You’ll rule for decades, with any luck.” If David had any say in it. “Do you really want to pick a Protector you’ll just have to replace in a few years?”

He’s not being entirely truthful. While it was true that David was getting to the age where he was supposed to be slowing down, the Mark had strange effects on him. David felt twenty years younger, quicker and sharper than he was even back when he met Billie. He doesn’t know how old he’ll be when he starts feeling the effects of old age again, but it could very well be a while. That was good from his point of view, but the problem was that people would expect him to tucker out, to have to retire. Most rulers went through two or three Protectors in their lifetime, even if they all lived to retirement age. David doubts he’ll ever retire, even if he didn’t have the Mark, but it would arouse suspicion if the Royal Protector was still flipping grown men over his shoulder at seventy.

It would be ten years, maybe fifteen before the court demanded Anthony  retire David and replace him with someone younger, at best. He was only three years older than Sabrina was when she took the throne, and her advisors had hammered in the point then. With how technology would progress, and provided she was kept safe and healthy, Sabrina could have easily ruled into her eighties. Anthony  was looking at five or six decades of being Emperor. He was better off choosing younger Protectors he wouldn’t have to replace so often, running the risk that one would prove untrustworthy.

David pulls on Anthony ’s hand, bringing his attention back. “And even after my name is cleared, I don’t think people are going to be too fond of the idea of me being the Royal Protector again.”

Anthony  blinks. “What do you mean, ‘when your name is cleared’?”

He didn’t know. That look, the look of utter confusion, confirmed it. David pulls his hand away and shoves in through his hair.

“Anthony ,” he says slowly, gently. “I’ve been in Coldridge for the last six months. I was...convicted of killing Billie.”

“What?” Anthony  breathes. “They...what?”

“Well, I guess convicted isn’t really the right word, considering there was never a trial.” David keeps his gaze firmly on the floorboards.

“But you didn’t…” Anthony  digs his hands into his hair. “I saw it. Lady Kaldwin and the others, they told me you hired that assassin, and that’s why you just watched. And then they had me kidnapped me back. But I didn’t believe them!”

“I know you didn’t, Anthony ,” David says, the strain in his voice coming out. “I couldn’t move. They-you know they were witches. It was magic. I couldn’t fight back.” Of course they had to spin a new tale to Anthony , who had seen the whole thing happen. They had to get him on their side somehow. And by the time they coronated him, David would be dead and even an Emperor couldn’t do anything about that. But Anthony  had seen through their act from the very beginning. They underestimated his intelligence.

David gets to his feet. He trudges over to the table where he’s piled his notes and books he’s pilfered from the bookstore. The wanted poster is still folded up neatly, in the same corner he had put it earlier when he shucked his coat. He hadn’t had the strength to look at it again.

He hands it to Anthony , who unfolds it and immediately slaps a hand over his mouth. He looks sick for a moment then he drops his head, lets his arm dangle and his knuckles brush against the floor.

“f**k. She’s really dead, then. She’s really dead.”

His voice breaks, and David steels himself for another bout of crying, for standing there and pretending he doesn’t see, but Anthony  just takes a deep breath and returns his eyes to the poster.

His eyebrows knit together and his lip curls, staring at the top. “I should have agreed to be their Emperor. To behave . Then I could have had them all killed as soon as I was crowned.”

There would likely be multiple problems with the plan, but David doesn’t bother pointing them out. Anthony  scoffs and throws the poster to the floor. “That’s sick. To suggest you would- sick . And you had to watch-we both lost her, and they had you arrested. By the Void, I hate them.”

David bends to scoop up the poster, nodding as he folds it back up without looking at the contents. He puts it back on his desk, neatly lined up with his other papers.

Anthony  bends forward, making the bed creak. “And you were in Coldridge? How-are you alright?”

“We’re not talking about me right now, Anthony .” David keeps his back to him. He’s not talking about Coldridge ever. Not with Anthony , not with anyone.

He was even careful when he took off his armor, made sure he had a long-sleeved shirt to change into when he went to bathe. David had scars from his youth and his career as a thief, some from palace duels or training with Billie. Those ones Anthony  has seen before. But he hasn’t seen the straight, even burns that line his arms that were so obviously deliberately inflicted. David has whip marks across his back, scars on the underside of his feet where they cut the soles and stab wounds on his thighs. He’s missing teeth, but thankfully they had started with pulling his molars at the back of his mouth, which had hurt more but weren’t visibly obvious. And those were just the things that left physical marks.

Anthony  would never see his scars, would never know what he had to go through in order to maintain the truth. David would never tell him. He’d kill Delilah and then he’d hunt down all the torturers, drown them like they nearly did to him so many times. f**k, there’d be records, wouldn’t there? Anthony  would find those. He would look, because he’d want to know. Would want to help him. David would just have to find them first, destroy them. Anthony was never finding out all that happened to him at Coldridge. There were some things David would take to his grave.

“If you say so, David.” Anthony  sighs.

David turns around and rests his butt against the table, crossing his arms. “You have other things to worry about now. Worry about your studies. Worry about what you’re going to do first on the throne. Let me worry about the rest.”

“I know.” Anthony  leans back, staring at the ceiling. “Things are going to be okay now. Now that you’re here. I know I can trust you.”

David takes the few steps back to the bed and, when he sits back down, surprises even himself by pulling Anthony  in for a bone-crushing hug. He strokes Anthony ’s hair, inhaling his scent. He would protect this.

Anthony  would never be hurt again. Regardless of whether David ends up his official Protector, he will keep him safe. He will work ten times as hard, twenty times as hard to ensure it. Nothing would touch him. And if something did…

No. He’s not even going to allow himself to entertain that possibility. Anthony  would outlive David, live to be an old, old man and an accomplished Emperor. And if somehow he didn’t, if he failed Anthony  too, then David would...then he’d find some way to die. But he didn’t need to worry about that now.

Anthony  shudders in his arms, whispers against David’s shoulder with a shake in his voice. “I miss her.”

“I miss her too.”

They stay like that for a good long minute, an uncomfortably long period of body contact for David with anyone who wasn’t one of his streetrats. Then Anthony  pulls away. “Hang on. I have something.”

David follows and watches him from edge of the partition with his eyebrows raised. Anthony  digs around in his pillowcase for a moment, casting out loose notes and scribbles onto the table before he finds it.

He turns around and presents it to David, whose mouth goes dry.

“Is that…”

Anthony  nods. “They made me change my clothes, but I hid this from them.”

David takes it, runs his thumb over the diamonds, cut to resemble petals. The long, golden curve of the clip. The hairpin Sabrina had been wearing, out behind the tower, the day she was…

Anthony  had put it in his pocket, right, because the hairpin kept falling out. And he had managed to smuggle it away, hide it through his months of captivity.

Anthony  digs his toe into the floor. “It’s not much. And she didn’t really like it anyway. But it’s...it’s all I had of her. It’s all we have.”

It was. And it would do.

David turns back to his side and motions for Anthony  to follow. They come back to the little table, with Billie’s rune and coin on display, and lays the hairpiece to the other side.

Anthony  seems to understand, at least. He scurries off and comes back with a single candle, which they light and push back into the far corner. David digs up the sword he used to break out of Coldridge, the blade shiny and cleaned, and lays it across the table. There was some bullshit symbolism there. He rearranges the display slightly, props the rune up with some books so it sits higher than the sword, rests the coin and hairpin in front.

David sits on the floor and watches the candle flicker. Anthony  drops down besides him. And they don’t say a damn word to each other.

He doesn’t remember where Anthony  was that day. Probably at lessons with his governess, or off playing with some noble’s kid. He didn’t need to be watched at the time.

David had been making laps around Dunwall Tower, which he did all too often back then to ward off the boredom. The idleness. He wasn’t used to having nothing to do. When Sabrina or Anthony  were around, it was better, but palace living had left David feeling useless and utterly bored.

He was on his third lap of the top floor, reversing direction this time so the maids didn’t think him quite so odd, when he heard about the attack.

Sabrina had to go to some event with the Emperor that day, something halfway across the city that both David and Sabrina knew better than to ask if he could accompany her to. They would travel there by carriage, accompanied the Emperor’s Royal Protector. She was supposed to be safe.

David doesn’t remember who had staged the assault, or even why. But they had cut the power to their railcar, stranding them in the middle of the street with the closest guard presence a good thirty yards away. And then bullets had reigned down on their carriage.

To the Emperor’s very little credit, he did push Sabrina down before hitting the floor himself. Neither of them were shot. If David had been told this by the maids he had cornered and aggressively questioned, he didn’t absorb it. He had just booked it to the infirmary.

The Emperor was there, looking frazzled but none the worse for wear, smoking down a cigar while he waited for his Royal Protector’s single bullet graze to be patched up. David had asked, frantically, where Sabrina was and how badly she was hurt, and if he had been allowed to continue on much longer he probably would have berated the Emperor for not being with her. But the Royal Physician had waved him away, told him that Billie’s worst injury was where her shoulder hit the floor of the carriage and might bruise later. She was fine. Sabrina was fine, and she had left the infirmary as soon as she was okayed.

David didn’t even bother checking her room.

He had found himself at one of the corners of Dunwall Tower’s top floor, in front of a fireplace that was never lit. Decorative, the servants had said. No chimney connected to it. As such, there was a trellis overgrown with ivy situated dangerously close to the hearth, or would be if it was a functional fireplace. As it was, it was just a pretty decoration, one that happened to easily hide any teenage girls who wanted to sneak through.

David winds the nonfunctional lightswitch to the right of the fireplace in the particular way that would trigger the back to rise, and he takes a quick look around to ensure no one’s watching before slipping behind the trellis and ducking under the mantle.

Sabrina has always been good at getting into things she wasn’t supposed to. He had learned very quickly not to bring anything home he didn’t want her getting her hands on, because there was no hiding anything from her curious eyes. And if there was a hidden door or passageway in Dunwall Tower that Sabrina didn’t find within her first month of living there, David still doesn’t know where it would be. But the secret room behind the fireplace on the top floor, seemingly untouched for a decade, that had quickly become her favorite, her retreat. And it’s here that David finds her, sitting on the military cot she’d dragged in and kicking her feet.

“Hey.” David stands up, already pressing the button to lower the secret door. “I heard about what happened.”

Sabrina doesn’t say anything. Just stares at the floor, continues to kick her feet. David feels better now, now that he’s seen her and knows she’s okay. She’s shed her fancy shoes. More like chucked them at the opposite wall, judging from the way they’re splayed across the floor.

David hooks his thumbs in his pockets. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sabrina vigorously shakes her head. Still the floorboards. Kick, kick, her socked feet not even reaching the ground.

David doesn’t waver. “Do you want me to go?”

She hesitates. And, much smaller this time, she shakes her head again.

David sits beside her on the cot. He watches her kick her feet, like she’s running without ever getting anywhere. But her legs soon tire. As they always do.

David keeps himself open to her, not direct but allowing her to make the decision herself. And eventually she accepts, crumbling into his side and burying her face in his chest.

Sabrina weeps. It’s the soft, muffled kind of crying that kids learn to do when they know they’ll get beaten for it, and even though they’re in a soundproof room in a palace where no one would ever raise a hand to her, Sabrina cries quietly like she’s always done. David wraps his arms around her and just lets her. He never knows what to say, how to stroke her hair in just the right way to soothe her. So he never does, and Sabrina takes what he offers.

Eventually her tears pewter out and she pulls away, her red-rimmed eyes still focused on the wood grains. David keeps his arm around her.

“They were trying to kill me.”

David nods. “I know. I heard.”

“I didn’t do anything to them.” Her voice breaks, but she just swallows and carries on. “I didn’t even know them.”

“It doesn’t matter. This wasn’t personal.” Well, to David it certainly was, because they had almost killed his Billie. But to them? She was just another Queen on the chessboard that needed toppling.

“But why ?” She turns up to him then, tears welling back up in her eyes. “I’m not even Empress yet. They don’t know what I’ll do. If they had just told me why they were angry, what their problems were, I could have helped them. I can’t help them if I’m dead!”

She starts shaking then, and David presses her against his side under she stops. And he knows it’s from fear, that it’s the middle of summer so she’s not chilled, but he takes his coat off anyway and slips in around her shoulders. It’s just reflex at this point. Making sure she’s warm. Sabrina draws the coat around her like a blanket.

“They wanted me dead.”

“Billie.” His fingers at her chin. “Billie, look at me.” Her round brown eyes, filled with such fear. And trust. “You’re going to be Empress one day. Hopefully not for a while, but someday.” He speaks slowly, not because he doesn’t think she’ll understand, but because he wants to be sure he gets the point across. “And some people are going to hate the Empress. It doesn’t matter what you do or who you help. You can be the greatest Empress the world has ever seen and somebody will still have a problem with you. They hate what you represent. Not the things you do.”

“I don’t want to be Empress anymore.” Sabrina shakes her head, her curls bouncing against her cheeks as she moves. She buries her head back in David’s chest and David plays with her hair, not pointing out that she had never wanted to be Empress in the first place.

They sit like that for a while, until her breathing steadies out and the enormous clock in the library tolls beneath them so loud they can hear it through the floor. Then David sits her up and holds her at arm’s length.

“So what are you going to do about it?” he asks, looking her straight in the eye. “Are you going to cower and let them win? Or are you going to fight back?”

She steels her shoulders, and that angry, determined look in her eye that he’s come to love makes an appearance. “I’m going to show them what a great Empress looks like.”

That’s his girl.

“You’re going to be the best goddamn Empress there ever was.” David forces himself to smile. “You’re going to make them regret wanting you dead.”

Sabrina nods, but her face falls and she’s looking at the floor again. “I have to be alive to be Empress, though.”

David pulls her in again, more for himself this time.

After a minute, Sabrina leans back, wiping at her eyes. “Father...Father told me I have to pick a Royal Protector. He said he tried to give me time so I could get to know the guards, form an opinion of them, but I’m thirteen. The Spymaster wanted him to appoint me one right away.”

David had been told that the Emperor’s Protector could guard them both, that she was safe here. But he had known she would need her own. Rulers picked their Protectors at twelve, so Sabrina was already a year behind. It just seemed...fast. How was she supposed to know who she could trust? Who wouldn’t take a bribe to deliver the Emperor’s daughter to his enemies or, Outsider forbid, assault her himself? David didn’t trust any of them. David thinks she was safer on the streets.

“Sounds reasonable.” He brushes a stray curl out of her face. “I can vet your choices, if you want. Do you have any preferences?”

She swallows, looking up at him nervously. “You?” she says in an almost squeaky voice. “You’ll be my Royal Protector, David. Won’t you?”

He must have been expecting it on some level, because he’s not shocked. He just leans forward and mumbles against Billie’s forehead. “Of course.”

“Good.” She nods, her face hardening as her stiff, stern princess mask came down. “I’ll tell Father. He gave me a week to decide, but I’ll tell him I made up my mind. He’s not going to say no to me.”

She’s right. The Emperor never said no to her. Argued with her, sure, tried to sway her to his side, but he would never outright deny her anything. Besides letting her have coffee, which was apparently his hill to die on. It was probably a good thing she hadn’t grown up here. He would have spoiled her rotten.

She moves like she’s going to hop down, but David grabs onto her wrist. “Wait. I need to talk to you about something.” And Sabrina looks nervous, so much so that David claps his hands around her cheeks. “I’d be honored to be your Protector. And I’ll protect you with my life.” He already did that. “But I can’t be by your side every second of the day. You can’t only rely on me to keep you safe.”

“So what are you saying?” she asks, c*****g her head.  

“You liked the fighting lessons I gave you, right?” David pushes her hair back from her forehead, and she nods. “I think it’s time we resume your training.”

She breaks into a mischievous grin. “Father would hate that.”

“He can get over it.” David smiles. “You weren’t half-bad with a blade before, but by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be the best swordsman in the Isles.”

She actually giggles at that. And David isn’t trying to stroke her ego. She is good, incredibly good. She was beating grown men in formal duels within a week of learning the rules. She’d be toast within a minute of a real fight due to her current size of a jellybean, but she’s smart and talented enough to avoid a straight slugging match. And she’s getting taller everyday. She’d get stronger. Better.

“And I’ll requisition us some pistols,” he continues. “Work on your marksmanship. By the time I’m done with you, no one will be able to touch you.”

“I’ll be the safest Empress there ever was,” she grins.

“You’re f*****g right, you will be.” David ruffles her hair one last time before getting to his feet. “Also you made me miss lunch. You want to get something to eat?”

“Yeah.” She hops down, and bangs her shoulder against David’s side as they wait for the door to raise so they can creep out together. “Thanks, David. Really.”

Remembering hurts.

But when David dozes off, he’s shaken awake by a fear that takes hold in his gut. One that screams at him that Anthony  is in danger, that David needs to go find him, and even though Anthony is twenty feet away and David can hear him breathing if he listens hard enough, he still has to get up and check on him every time before his heart rate slows.

Remembering hurts less.

So David gives up on sleep. He tends to the fire, even though Reed had been up here shortly before bed and the stove would burn hot until morning. He needs something to keep his mind occupied, but he doesn’t want to light a lamp and risk waking Anthony .

The paranoia starts setting in, and there’s the urge to leave the attic, to make rounds across the mill. Make sure everyone’s safely in bed, check that all the access points are locked, look for people hiding in the shadows. He knows it won’t really ease his mind, that as soon as he finishes he’ll wonder if he missed something, or if someone broke in while his attention was elsewhere, and he’d start again. The same thing happened at Dunwall Tower, going between Sabrina and Anthony ’s rooms and checking to make sure the doors were locked, checking behind curtains and tapestries and every one of those goddamn windows on the third floor. It never helped, but he couldn’t sleep anyway. He still doesn’t want to leave the attic, because some part of him screams that when he comes back, Anthony  will be gone, spirited away again while David wasn’t with him.

David wishes he drank.

He sits on a broken chair with three legs, far enough away from Anthony ’s head that he won’t see David upon waking up, but close enough to placate his own nerves. He’d smoke, but the attic has poor ventilation, and Anthony  has always been a bit sensitive to cigar smoke.

Anthony  sleeps fitfully. Tossing about, his muscles clenching and his face screwed in discomfort. He mumbles, mostly unintelligible, but David catches Billie’s name on his lips more than a few times. Occasionally accompanied by a distressed ‘run’ and ‘no’.

‘He’s afraid. He clings to that which is familiar and pretends he isn’t.’

Sounds about right.

Hopefully this was just the same thing that happened when David took Anthony  in, and again when they moved to Dunwall Tower. He would have vivid nightmares, ones that left him crying and unable to sleep alone. David had asked one of the Tower’s physicians about it once when it got really bad, one of those kooky philosophers that studied children’s behaviors,  and they told him that Anthony ’s brain was doing a purge. That all his bad memories were getting dredged up and tossed away, that the bad dreams were just a side effect. Anthony had been through a lot in his short life, things David was not privy to know, but it was just as well if he didn’t have to remember them. The nightmares could be handled.

Anthony  was too old now to forget about what he suffered at the hands of Delilah and her cronies, but maybe it would hurt less. Maybe there were details that could slip his attention. Times he was better off not remembering.

‘They tried to bribe him with books and sweets. And got angry when he didn’t play along.’

Anthony  flops onto his back, grasping at his chest. He asks where David is. Jerks and breathes out Billie’s name. Then he relaxes again.

David would make Delilah pay for this. Not just for Billie, but for the fear she instilled in Anthony . For turning him into a pawn. There’s no death that can do her justice, but there’s plenty of other things David can do with his blade. He’d have to reign in the fury, keep himself from killing her right away. He’d draw it out.

‘We kill without thought or compassion. Our hands have been bloodied. We’re being lead astray by this path you’ve culled for us.’

It was for her. And for Anthony . All of it was for them.

He never felt guilt over the people who had to die for him to protect them. That was how the world worked. Some people died. Some didn’t deserve it. But he had to look out for himself, for his two streetrats. If he hadn’t, they’d have been cast under the wheels. Life was a fight. You had to win at all costs.

‘It doesn’t have to be this way.’

Yes. It did.

Sabrina had tried to change the world for the better. She had received a knife to the gut for it.

‘We will carry what was done to us through the end of time. No one asked if we wanted it. But no one asked them either.’

David sighs. His gaze again shifts to Anthony , sleeping ever-so-slightly more peacefully now.

‘He loves you. Even now, I can feel it.’

That was nice.

‘He’ll hide his fears from everyone except me. He knows where your loyalties lie, but he worries. He wonders how long you can keep this up. How long it will be until you meet someone like yourself.’

There was no one like David, not now. Even Delilah is no a match for him. He knows, with Billie’s voice in his palm and the thought of Anthony  in the back of his head, David can do anything. Can kill anyone.

‘Our names are always overshadowed by the whispers that follow them.’

Sabrina Stark, the Empress thrown to the Void, an offering to appease both the plague and a conniving witch. David. Once a name that instilled terror, the urge to safeguard possessions and stay out of back alleys at night. Then in admiration, a man that safeguarded the people’s beloved Empress, and only struck fear in the hearts of those who wished to do her harm. Now her killer, to most of the world. The Crown Killer. That name was cause for trepidation. Horror. Perhaps more so than the name of the Empress’s murderer, now.

‘If you hide from the world long enough, eventually no one remembers you. Then you’re left alone. Living with your choices.’

No one would ever forget her.

David wants to throw something. Not the Talisman, never that. But something.

People like him and her, they didn’t have choices. They survived. And they dealt with the consequences. There was no point in ruminating on them because there was no way to avoid them. What happened is what had to happen.

‘This city is a den of horrors. I can see it all. A child devoured by rats. A gang descending on a mother with an infant. Your hands, soaked in blood.’

“You don’t have to look,” he grunts.

“I cannot turn away.’

David sighs. He pushes back his hair, sweat sticking to his forehead.

‘It is not too late for you. For us.’

“What would you have me do, Billie?” he asks, holding the Talisman up to his face, gripping tightly with both hands. “Name it. I’ll do it. Everything I’ve done is for you.”

‘Father, we are becoming everything I ever fought against.’

David can’t breathe. Over on his bed, Anthony  mumbles some more.

‘Vengeance is a double-sided knife. Anger is a hot coal. It fuels us. We run hot and light the world. But all we are is burning.’

Silently, David bades Sabrina to talk about something else. He needs to think, and he needs to hear her voice.

‘My mother had hair like ash, and eyes that followed me like a panther. Hungry, and hateful.’

Not what he was asking for, but something. He presses again.

‘Their fates rest in you. On the strength of your hands. And that of your heart.’

‘I cannot feel the sun on my face. There is salt water in my veins, an icy fog over my head. I am so, so cold.’

Every whisper rebuilds his heart, and every word breaks it. But still, he cannot stop. He watches Anthony  and listens to Billie’s confused, dead voice, allowing himself this small comfort and punishing himself all the same.

‘This city is built on the bones of the great ones. I have seen them all, in the mud and under the streets. It all shudders and writhes.’

‘No matter how many throats we slit, someone else will just crawl to the top of the pile. Take that as you will.’

‘There is hatred and evil at work in my city, and goodness and love here as well. But your sword knows not the difference. It will drown the kindness and cruelty alike in blood.’

They fall into a familiar, if not comfortable routine over the next few days. David trains, either alone or with Galia. Joan is still laid up and Thalia bitches whenever Paul steps away from her, so there’s no one else to spar with. He shoots things with his wristbow. When no one’s looking, he Blinks over the roof of the mall and runs laps around Draper’s Ward, learning it like the back of his hand. There’s hardly anyone about now-there’s a camp by the waterfront, filled with what looks like ex-gang members and random citizens. Jerome has mentioned trading with them. But other than that, the district is nearly empty.

He takes Anthony  to Trimble. Glares at the man the whole time. There’s nothing they can do for his arm at this point other than give it time. David sees Anthony  cringe when he picks something up, how he avoids touching things with his injured arm. He writes with the wrong hand now, his letters clumsy in a practiced way. Trimble gives him some medicine for the pain, but it only does so much. David worries there’s nerve damage. The Academy might have something to help him, but not until they’re back in Dunwall Tower.

Meanwhile, the ‘bosses’ twiddle around, trying to determine their next move. They couldn’t go after Delilah right away, they told David. There were reasons she was able to seize power. They had to find the names of those reasons, remove them from play or else they risked someone else rising up and taking Delilah’s place. David wants to point out that they could try as they might, but there was only one Delilah. She was the worst of them all.

David placates himself with the idea of Delilah watching as her little empire of lies crumbles and burns. Feeling the supports beneath her feet rot and unable to do a damn thing about it. David would just slip her the noose and watch her hang herself.

Anthony  and Lydia have taken over a table on the mill floor, pushed into a corner and overflowing with books. He studies with Lydia in the morning and spends his afternoons goofing off with Rose. Anthony  was unlike Sabrina in that he didn’t necessarily have trouble making friends of the same s*x, but for some reason his close friends always seemed to be girls.

Though it wasn’t like David was in any position to judge. He made friends with children more easily than adults.

David takes to sitting in on Anthony ’s lessons while he eats, listening to the two talk without really paying attention to their words. And it’s here they sit, finishing up their own lunches while David meekly slides into his predetermined seat, when Rose comes over with his plate and darts away before Gerald can b***h at her about taking too long.

“She’s pregnant.” And Anthony  says it like it’s the most mundane thing in the world, ripping off another chunk of bread and popping the morsel into his mouth.

Lydia chokes. “Pardon me, what?” She puts her glass down. “ Our Rose? Did she tell you that?”

Anthony  shakes his head. “You can tell by the way she walks. Shifting her balance from side-to-side instead of forward and back.” He mimics the motion with his fingers and takes a sip of water. “And she wears the baggy shirts to hide the bump. There’s plenty of clothes in the mall that would fit her better. She wouldn’t try any on when she helped me pick out new clothes the other day.”

David narrows his eyes and watches as Rose stands in front of the kitchen counter, listening to Gerald, before moving into the kitchen. f**k, he’s right.

“That’s…” Lydia stares at the grain in the wood. “She’s not married, is she?”

“That’s the last thing to be concerned about,” David grumbles. Like Lydia was one to judge. Her own sister wasn’t married. “How old is she? She can’t be much older than you, Anthony .”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never asked.”

Lydia straightens out her blouse. “Well, that’s some very nice detective work, but it isn’t really proof .”

David shakes his head. “No, Anthony  is usually right about this kind of thing. He’s got a knack for deduction.”

If she had lived, Sabrina had planned to make him her Spymaster once he was twenty. Anthony  would have been a great fit. As it was, those skills would serve him well as Emperor. But still.

“So what, should we do something?” Lydia leans in close. “ Say something? Lady Thalia and Zhukov, they should know so they don’t overwork her.”

“Maybe that’s her intention,” David says into his glass. Lydia gasps and hits his forearm.

“David! That’s a terrible thing to say!”

“I’m just…” David puts his glass down. “Does her brother know? There has to be a reason she hasn’t said anything.”

“Shoot, I didn’t even think about that.” Anthony  looks troubled for a moment. “Can we just keep this between us then? For the time being?”

Lydia bites her lip. “A woman in my mother’s employ miscarried once. She...there was so much blood.” She blinks, not looking to either one of them. “There are so few children being born now.”

“I’ll talk to her. Just don’t spread rumors.”

She doesn’t look happy about it, but she nods and sips from her tea. “I suppose the anonymity of being here is working in her favor. She can make up a suitable story once the plague breaks.”

David holds back his snarky comments on the state of her priorities. He’s more concerned over who the f**k made her pregnant than what people will say about it.

It’s possible she had a husband. But unlikely. If there was anything David liked about Dunwall, it was that kids generally didn’t get married. It was much easier for people, women especially, to find work outside the home, jobs that didn’t look down on young women for either being unmarried or being married and not at home, popping out babies. Most people waited until their twenties to marry, versus out in the sticks where girls were frequently married off as young as fourteen to take advantage of her child-bearing years. But Rose doesn’t wear any rings or necklaces that would indicate she’s married or engaged, and even more telling, she’s never mentioned it.

Still. Lydia was right in that there were almost no new babies in Dunwall. Both infants and expecting mothers were especially susceptible to plague. If it wasn’t the sickness, it was starvation and violence. Even the stress of living in this doomed city did away with most children while they were still shadows in their mother’s bellies. It all just added insult to injury. Along with large swaths of their population dying off, birth levels couldn’t hope to replace the dead. Even if the city survived this plague, there would be an entire generation missing. A scar to remind Dunwall for decades to come what had happened.

There would be one child. Another human being’s survival relying on his success. Another person to protect. David should resent it, but he doesn’t. It’s a spark, a promise of new life. Like a dandelion growing from the asphalt. And it gives David hope that Dunwall will survive.

The announcement speaker fizzles, and everyone snaps their heads to listen.

“Attention Dunwall Citizens. The Ascending Circle has chosen Teague Martin as the new High Overseer. Let us praise their choice. The Dance of Investiture will take place without delay."

Everyone quickly returns to their business, barely caring about who held the lofty title. David, however, sits there blinking in confusion.

“Why does that name sound familiar?” Anthony  says, tapping his pen against his lip.

David recovers and reaches for his tea. “He was the Spymaster when your sister was coronated, Anthony .”

“That was the same Martin?” He narrows his eyes. “Is that allowed? For an Overseer to be Spymaster?”

“Guess they would know better than us.”

David mulls this over. He hadn’t liked Martin...but he hadn’t disliked him either. He had been the one to find Sabrina in the slums when all he had to go on was a face that looked vaguely like the Emperor’s. Even David had to admit that was an impressive feat. He still held some resentment for how Sabrina was treated when they were trying to determine her paternity, how roughly she was handled and how nobody gave her any information, just let her stew in confusion and fear. They hadn’t even told her of their suspicions until the Emperor was literally in the lobby of their hotel, waiting to meet her.

But Martin had apologized for the ‘miscommunications’ that occured. He had always been kind and patient with Billie, and he always had a pocket stuffed with candies he’d slip to Anthony  when he thought David wasn’t looking. He knew it was all a kiss-up act, but as far as kiss-asses went, Martin was far from the worst in Dunwall Tower.

He had resigned from the position two years into Billie’s reign. David remembers he hadn’t endorsed Delilah. Sabrina had listened to other advisors though, and selected her. A decision that had sealed her fate.

A door slams open.

“What’s up, my bitches?!”

David rolls his eyes before he even turns to Lizzy. She’s carried in by Jerome, her feet dangling in the air and a newspaper in her hands. Jerome looks both tired and annoyed.

Edgar practically sprints across the room to take Lizzy, who kicks at him in response. “I’m fine. Jerome can plop me down right here.”

“Couldn’t come soon enough.” Jerome dumps Joan in her usual chair without a hint of grace, causing her to rub her butt and glare at him. Jerome just shrugs. “You’re the one who insisted on coming.”

“What’s up with that, Liz?” Paul tips back in his chair. “Thought the doc ordered you on bedrest.”

“Well, I’m feeling much better now,” she says, catching David’s eye and giving him a wink. David just crosses his arms.

Edgar scoffs. “Just last night you couldn’t walk two feet to fetch a new bottle of whiskey.”

“You’re crying in the rain, Wakefield. Get fucked.” Joan holds up the newspaper. “No, Jerome got his hands on the latest off the printing press, and I told him I had to be here to show it.”

Lydia has come up besides David, mimicking his posture. “The presses are down. There haven’t been any new papers since…”

She stops, and everyone shifts uncomfortably.

“Since the Empress died.” David has to finish her sentence.

“...Yes.”

David catches a glimpse of Anthony  as he turns around, stares at the wall.

The newspapers have been shut down for well over a year. Not enough workers, and it wasn’t worth the cost in raw materials. Few people were left alive to buy them anyway. If there had been ground-breaking news that couldn’t be covered over the loudspeakers, Sabrina could have always delegated some of her own staff to write, print, and distribute an edition. There had been a plan in place to do so to give the people some sort of instruction, for when they had the cure that David had been sent away to find.

Figures Delilah would utilize that. To let everyone know that Sabrina was dead and Delilah was in charge. That David was at fault for it. Of course that would have been her utmost priority.

Jerome shakes his head. “Like, not publicly. But there’s been underground papers going around. I snagged a copy from some lady selling junk down by the docks. Take a look at this!”

Edgar is the first to snatch it from Lizzy’s hands. He whistles, high and loud. “s**t. This your work?”

“All David’s.” Joan beams.

David rushes to his side. There, taking up half the front page, is a mildly faithful reproduction of Timsh’s murder scene. They got the pattern of his wallpaper wrong, and the angle of his desk is ever so slightly off. There’s shadows falling across where David had left Timsh’s body, making it obvious what it’s supposed to be without being overly gory. But it’s bloody enough.

And the words, the words are clear as day.

“f**k me!” Edgar slaps his knee. “‘The Crown Killer’. I like it! It’s got a nice ring to it.”

“Poetic.” Lydia nods in approval, looking over David’s shoulder. “Symbolic. Reminds the world of the woman we’re killing for.”

Paul reaches over and takes the paper from David’s numb, still hands.

“Well, that will definitely put fear in the hearts of our enemies,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “But, I dunno, is that really the best way to do it? I mean, this-” he strikes the paper with the back of his hand. “-this has got style, sure. But there’s a difference between making an impression and painting a target on your own back.”

Joan snatches the paper back and hits him in the arm with it. “Oh, shove off Paulie, you’re ruining all the fun.”

“Don’t you have someplace to be, pretty boy?” Edgar puts a hand on his hip. “Where’s your mistress? We should see what she thinks of all this.” He cups his hands and bellows in the direction of the main staircase. “THALIA!”

Paul practically vaults across the table to rip Edgar’s hands away from his mouth. “Shhh! I’m hiding!”

“Oh, better hope she doesn’t hear that.” Joan laughs. “She haaaaates being away from you.”

“What’s she gonna do, fire me?”

They all titter at that. Thalia Timsh wouldn’t last a day in Dunwall on her own.

“But seriously,” Joan says as Paul sits down. “Aren’t you supposed to be with her? That is kind of your job.”

Paul shrugs. “We’re practically in lockdown. The scariest thing in here is David.” He points, and David instantly feels the need to crumble into himself. “Even if someone got in, his face is a much better deterrent than mine.”

There’s a quip about David being offended over that, but David’s not listening. He turns back to where Anthony  was standing and finds the spot empty.

“But David, man, people are spooked.” Jerome brings his attention back to the table. “People are talking. There’s so many rumors floating around that I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Rumors?” David raises an eyebrow. Jerome just looks uncomfortable.

“Like I said, there’s a ton. But people are pretty evenly split over whether the Crown Killer is killing for the crown, of if the crown’s the target.”

“Delilah’s wearing no crown,” David says flatly. “I’m killing for it.”

“Right, right.” Jerome raises his hands. “I know that. But they wonder if you’re the one behind the Empress’s assassination. Not you-like, the David you, but the Crown Killer.”

“So they think the Crown Killer is a conspiracy, not a person.” Lydia nods to herself as she reads. “They don’t suspect David is involved in this, do they?”

“A bit, but that theory isn’t too popular. A lot of folk saw the state he was in beforehand. They agree he shouldn’t of been able to get very far. Most people think he just...went off to die on his own.”

Edgar punches him in the arm. “Guess your ragged-ass look paid off.”

David shrugs it off. “That’s fine.” He taps the top of the newspaper as Lydia reads. “But we need to make it clear that we’re killing in the Empress’s name. The Crown Killer was born of the Empress’s death, not for it.”

Lydia eyes him over the paper. “Well, of course we need to make it clear that Delilah ordered the assassination, but-”

“But nothing.” David slaps his hand on the table. “The Crown Killer wasn’t responsible because I didn’t kill her .”

Everyone glances away, unwilling to meet his eye. Joan leans back in her chair, making it creak. “Yeah, we know that,” she says, pointedly glaring at anyone who met her eye. “But Delilah herself’s got an alibi. Everyone knows she couldn’t have stuck that blade through the Empress’s heart.”

Sabrina hadn’t been stabbed in the heart. That would have been merciful. Faster. She had been run through the stomach. Gutted and torn open, left to drown in her own blood. Then drowned properly, because she wasn’t dying fast enough for their liking.

But he’s not going to get into that here, so he just exhales and waves his hand. “I know. That’s why she hired the Crow Queen to do it.”

There’s a crash from the kitchen, and Gerald immediately lets loose a string of verbal abuse aimed at Rose. People turn to the commotion, but lose interest after a moment.

“Dude, seriously?” Jerome’s eyes are wide, his body still tilted ever so slightly away from David. “s**t, is that why she’s gone awol?”

Lydia nods, tapping her finger against her chin. “That fits. She’s supposedly Marked. She would be one of the only people in Dunwall capable of carrying out such a murder without leaving a trace.”

“But wouldn’t, like, Anthony  know it was her?” Edgar still eyes David suspiciously, who shakes his head.

“Anthony  was knocked out almost immediately after he taken away. He doesn’t remember anything.” Which was true. From what Anthony  had described, it sounded like he had been sleep-darted and kept unconscious while he was handed over to Timsh. He had recounted it to David one night, after a round of nightmares woke them both up. It has been nothing but pure confusion from Anthony ’s standpoint. He was stabbed, watched his sister be assassinated, and was promptly transversed away. He had screamed and struggled as his captors tried to tie him up, then he felt a prick at his neck and the next thing he was aware of was the ceiling in Timsh’s little prison. He had been too overwhelmed- scared -to really notice anything outside of that.

Edgar clearly doesn’t buy it. “How...convenient.”

David’s not playing this game now. He shakes his head and peers over Lizzy’s shoulder, who now has the newspaper and is thumbing through it. “What else does it say about us?”

“Mmm.” She doesn’t look up. “Not much else, but they have connected the Crown Killer to Abele’s murder. Also to a few others, so that doesn’t leave me too impressed with their investigation skills.”

“Including Sokolov’s kidnapping!” Jerome says brightly.

Joan throws her hands in the air. “I know! Like, where the f**k did they make that connection? That was way back when the Empress died!” She returns to the newspaper and flips the page. “That’s about it for us, but there’s some more s**t on the Butcher. ‘Parently Horace Millhouse got his face ripped off.” She makes a face. “Literally.”

The picture is startlingly graphic. Probably because it wasn’t front-page, less likely to shock people as they passed by. Right, because David made the front page instead of this.

“Long as they don’t confuse us for this monster, I’m cool,” Joan mutters. David is inclined to agree. He has enough blood on his hands that he shouldn’t really be able to talk, but the Butcher was...something else. Vicious. A par above the normal assassin or bloodthirsty killer.

Something about it deeply unsettled David. Left an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, in a way that was unlike anything he felt while investigating other criminals for Billie. There were plenty of disgusting,  morally reprehensible people, but David never felt...really anything when dealing with them. Anger, if they had made his Empress a target, but that was it. The Butcher was different.

The loudspeaker crackles to life so suddenly that everyone jumps.

“Attention,”

It yells, as it always does.

“Dunwall Tower has been assaulted. Rebels have bombed the carriage station, vandalized the water lock, and attempted to assassinate our esteemed Lady Regent.”

No. No, f**k, this isn't happening. Delilah was David’s. He would kill her. No one was taking that away from him.

“Her assailants have been swiftly executed at the hands of her security force. Citizens will be overjoyed to know that Lady Delilah Kaldwin was not harmed, and in fact invites any would-be assassins to ‘come and try harder.’

Overjoyed. Right. Well, David was happy, at least.

“The rebels have been identified as a fringe group of Overseers. High Overseer Martin has assured that this small group does not represent the views of the Abbey of the Everyman and has such expelled the dissenters as heretics. Several former Overseers have escaped the scene and are now wanted for high treason and attempted regicide. The wanted men are as follows: Jameson Lanchester, Yul Khulan, Nikola Massey, Milton Morley, Liam Byrne, and Ariel Dowling. Be advised that these individuals are considered armed and dangerous, and it is a capital punishment to aid them. Anyone who sees these criminals are required to report to the City Watch immediately.”

There’s a burst of static, and the speaker goes quiet. The group stares at each other for a long moment, as if trying to process the information.

“Well,” Edgar says. “Fuck.”