Chapter Text
It’s just after he’s put his blade through the Empress’s chest that it happens. Just after pulling it out and letting her fall to the ground. Just after the blood starts seeping into his jacket. In the breath just after, he glances at the man on the ground, now trying weakly to pull himself towards his bleeding Empress. For a split second, his eyes meet Daud’s. It’s only a split second, but it’s the most horrifying moment of Daud’s life. For that moment, and for an eternity, he sees. He feels the soulmark searing itself onto the skin of his forearm. When he’s finally released from the forces holding him in their grip, he turns and flees because he doesn’t know what else to do. The agonizing horror of it only follows him.
* * * *
Corvo had never liked dealing with Overseers, even before Jessamine had died. Before he’d become a “heretic” in their eyes. Most of them were self-righteous pricks at best--and an army of dangerous zealots at worst. Back when Jessamine was alive, interacting with them was a mere annoyance. Nowadays, it was downright dangerous. Unfortunately, however, along with being a heretic, Corvo was also acting as his underage empress’s Regent in all but title, so dealing with them on her behalf had become part of his job. Thankfully, it was a part that didn’t happen too often.
Emily was unhappily aware of the danger Corvo was walking into. She knew about the mark on the back of his hand, and she knew what the Overseers would do if they found out about it. She’d had a new pair of gloves crafted for the occasion, ostensibly for his birthday, to replace the strip of cloth he usually wore to cover the mark. He didn’t usually care for gloves because he preferred to have his fingers free. He could see why it was practical, however, and now just had to fight the urge to draw undue attention to them by fidgeting too much.
The Abbey had been embroiled in controlled chaos for several months. After the loss of two High Overseers--plus however many men they lost in the ill-fated attack on Daud’s base in the Flooded District, it had taken some time for them to get back on their feet. What Corvo had heard (both through rumors and from carefully keeping a watchful eye on them), indicated that they were working to completely purge corruption from their ranks. A man named Coleman had been named as High Overseer within the past four months. Corvo had never met him, but he had heard that the man was particularly devout--and expected the same level of devotion from his followers. It made them that much more dangerous. Whatever else Corvo could say about Teague Martin, he’d at least been fairly certain he wouldn’t have had him burned at the stake at the first opportunity.
The Overseer that had greeted him upon his arrival led him through the corridors to the High Overseer’s office. It looked considerably more spare than the last time he’d seen it. Coleman was a tall, regal-looking man who came out from behind his desk with a false smile and greeted Corvo with an overly-friendly handshake. “Lord Protector, it’s so good to finally meet you. It’s such a shame that it’s taken this long to arrange a meeting, the Abbey has been in such disarray of late…”
Corvo responded with a polite smile that was just as fake, though considerably less enthusiastic. “You seem to have things well in hand already, High Overseer. Pleased to meet you.”
He nodded. “I try. I only hope to follow the Strictures to the best of my ability and lead others through my example.”
“I’ve heard you’ve already rid yourself of many who were not following the Strictures to the best of their abilities,” stated Corvo.
“Ah, yes. An unfortunate business, to be sure. But we could not have them here--disgracing our good name. Examples had to be made.”
Examples. Yes, Corvo had seen the way Overseers made examples.
“I can see how that would be.”
“Yes, I imagine you can,” Coleman replied softly, eyeing him intently for a moment. Corvo returned the stare coldly until the other man finally changed the subject. “Well, enough with the pleasantries, and on to the business! Come and sit down, Lord Protector, we have much to discuss.”
* * * *
He puts off thinking about it as long as he can, and for a while it’s surprisingly easy. There’s a flurry of activity involved in getting everyone back to the Flooded District, getting those wounded by the Royal Protector’s blade to the makeshift infirmary, and debriefing the rest of them in his makeshift office. There’s a tense sort of quiet hanging over them at present. Even Billie doesn’t have a lot to say. Eventually, they all trickle out, leaving Daud alone to his thoughts. He fights the inevitable for a while longer before finally giving in.
He goes upstairs and strips out of his bloodied jacket and shirt. (He hadn’t noticed the stains at first. When he did--well, blood hasn’t bothered him so much in decades.) The soulmark lurks on the skin of his left forearm, about an inch above the wrist. He’s seen other’s marks before, all of them two interlocking circles of graceful Void Script, raised and pearly-white like scars against their skin.
He has to stare at his own broken mark for a few moments before any emotions register. When they do, it’s all he can do but to push them as far away as he can before they drag him down. He quickly grabs a new shirt and pulls it over his head so at least he doesn’t have to look at it anymore.
* * * *
The public has always presented the relationship between the government and the Abbey of the Everyman as one of benign partnership. In truth, the two had been in a constant power-struggle for decades. The Abbey constantly chafed at the restrictions the government put them under, while the government was always trying to tighten up their leash. Usually, this went on very politely, with both sides never quite happy with the results. When the rare occasions throughout history when significant ground had been given by one side or the other occurred, nothing good had come of it.
Attending meetings as Jessamine’s shadow had showed Corvo that no matter how routine the meeting, the Abbey would almost always try to gain ground in this little tug-of-war. He’d had the feeling that Coleman was going to be particularly adamant about it. He wasn’t wrong. The new High Overseer was far more motivated in his arguments than Corvo ever remembered Campbell being.
Coleman was particularly focused on the restrictions on the Overseer’s ability to investigate nobles for heresy. The current laws heavily favoured the nobility in these matters, preventing random searches of their homes and possessions and regulating the Overseer’s ability to capture and interrogate suspects. If Corvo had his way, all citizens would have those rights, but that wasn’t likely to happen.
Corvo had never been formally trained in diplomacy. Everything he knew, he’d learned from observation. Jessamine had surprised him when she’d sent him out to get aide for Dunwall during the rat plague. (The argument about being sent away was still burned on his mind. He’d begged her not to send him--his job was to protect her and Emily. He couldn’t do that from across the Empire. Of course, it had turned out he couldn’t do it when he was here, either.) In the past, intimidation had worked in his favour, and nowadays, he unsettled people without trying. (He could see why every time he looked at himself in the mirror.) Unfortunately, High Overseer Coleman seemed singularly unaffected by this. Actually, he seemed to sense that Corvo was trying to intimidate him, and in response, was doing everything in his power to show that it wasn’t working. Corvo had other tactics, though. By the time Coleman called for a break, though, he had a headache threatening just behind his eyes.
“I think we are need of some refreshments for the moment, if that is okay with you, Lord Protector?” asked Coleman. His voice seemed somewhat clipped, the fake cheerfulness almost gone now that it hadn’t gotten him anywhere. He called in a servant who left and quickly returned with a bottle of wine and a platter full of fine-looking fruit. He poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Corvo. He offered a toast, saying, “To our young Empress, may her reign be prosperous!”
Corvo clinked glasses with him politely and responded, “To our Empress.” He watched the High Overseer drink from his glass closely while pretending to take a sip from his own. He didn’t think the man was out to poison him--not at the moment, at least--but he’d been wrong before. He didn’t trust anyone anymore.
Coleman sighed and set his glass on the table, once again studying him with his shrewd gaze. Calculating. “What is it that I can do to convince you that the Abbey needs more freedom and more resources, Lord Attano? The heretics pose more of a threat than you can see. They are dangerous, and will bring this empire to its knees, given the slightest chance. Perhaps you need to see what it is we face. Would you allow me to show you exactly what type of people we are protecting the city from?”
Corvo didn’t particularly like the sound of that, but with some sinking suspicion he raised an eyebrow as he set his glass on the table and said, “Very well, High Overseer. If you think it is necessary, show me what it is I need to see.”
* * * *
Half-marks are uncommon. Those that bear them are often treated worse than plague victims. They are shunned. Cursed. The Overseers treat them like they’re barely half a step up from heretics. It is the general opinion that if you are half-marked, then you clearly have done something heinous to be deserving of such a curse. Before this point, Daud hadn’t really believed that. Before, he’d only ever felt a vague sort of pity for those forced to walk through their lives with a one-sided bond staring them in the face every day. Now, though? He isn’t so sure.
Daud sits on his bed and decidedly does not look at his arm. He does not let himself think of the man his mark binds him to. The man whose life he just ruined. He had worked to suppress the worst of his emotional reaction. He’s settled into a numb sort of shock. He doesn’t know why he would be shocked, though. If there was anyone that deserved a curse, wasn’t it him? Now he has a single circle of Void script on his arm to remind him of that. Perhaps that is the universe’s version of justice.
* * * *
The last time Corvo had wandered through these halls, he’d been sneaking up along the pipes and maintenance catwalks near the ceiling so it took him a minute to get his bearings and realize that they were headed towards the interrogation room. Even before they were close enough, his mind provided him with a litany of tortured screams to bounce around in his skull. The seemingly endless nightmare that had been his six months in Coldridge prison had never left him--he wasn’t sure how often he awoke in a cold sweat thinking he was back there.
Coleman whispered something to one of his underlings, who ran ahead, presumably to inform the torturer that they were coming. The room was not sound proofed. The doors may have been closed, but the vents above them were still open, and Corvo flexed his hands uncomfortably in his gloves as he heard the anguished yell coming from within. The ancient music was also playing--not loudly or strongly enough to cause any damage, but still enough to dampen his powers and for him to feel the pressure in his skull. He had a bad feeling about this.
“We captured this one several nights ago in one of the abandoned areas of the city,” Coleman said and opened the door for Corvo. “I do believe it may be the highlight of my career already.” He was covering it with false humility, but Corvo could hear the excitement in his voice.
Corvo entered the interrogation chamber warily and saw, with little surprise, exactly who it was that the High Overseer was so gleeful to have finally caught--the assassin Daud.