Chapter Text
So the de Rolo boy had survived after all.
It comes as something of a shock, but it’s nothing they can’t work with, Delilah thinks with a smirk. In fact, she’s rather thrilled with this new development. She had always wondered if he’d truly perished the way they’d all assumed or if he’d found a way to persevere.
She folds her hands primly in her lap and considers the next steps of her plan.
He’ll come after them.
Of that, she’s sure. She’s even counting on it.
With his sister already under their control, ridding themselves of the final de Rolo will be all they need to ensure their plan’s ultimate success.
It amuses her- if he’d only stopped to think instead of allowing his emotions to cloud his judgment, he might actually have had a chance of discovering their plans for Whitestone, but she knows him better than that.
He’s too filled with hatred to be rational. She saw it written across his face during the banquet when he’d challenged her story.
He’s allowed it to consume him, ultimately to their benefit and his own detriment, and with the sovereign firmly on their side, there’s not a soul who will question their motives.
It’s their word against dear Percival’s and, unfortunately for Percival, their word has a lot of sway.
Delilah taps one gloved finger delicately against her chin.
Yes, the boy will come after them. It’s not a question of if, it’s a question of when. After all the time he’s spent in their care, she knows him too well to suppose otherwise.
Then there’s the other matter that’s come to occupy her thoughts: the handsome half-elf they’d caught snooping in their chambers. He’d escaped from them, taking with him Delilah’s grimoire as he did so.
How… awfully inconvenient. She’ll have to steal it back.
She lifts the small vial in her hands, twisting it around to examine its contents.
It contains the blood of the half-elf.
He’d been a feisty little thing, throwing himself from the window the way he had at the first chance he’d got. She hasn’t seen such a fierce fighting spirit in a long time.
It reminds her an awful lot of Percival.
She’s actually quite impressed.
His blood had splashed her husband’s clothes when he’d torn himself away from him. Collecting it afterwards had been a very simple matter for her. It’s not much, but it’s more than enough for what she has planned.
She smiles to herself and the carriage slows before coming to a halt completely. Its weight shifts as her husband steps down. He opens the door for her and extends his arm.
She takes it, allowing him to assist her down the steps.
“How lovely.” She drinks in the sight before her- a cemetery, bleak and ill-tended. The gravestones are cracked and faded, patchy with moss and choked with vines. It’s exactly what she needs. “You always take me to the best places, dear.”
Her hands crackle with lavender necrotic energy when she plunges them both into the ground.
An unholy shriek fills the air a moment later as the wraiths awaken, dragging themselves from their graves.
They shoot into the air, circling over their heads.
She uncorks the bottle and waves her hand over it. A crimson mist emerges, twisting in the air like a snake. With a flourish, she sends it spiraling up towards her wraiths, where it’s quickly absorbed.
Delilah smiles and steps back, taking her husband by the arm.
“Go. Find the one whose blood this is,” she says. “Bring him to me. I want him alive.” He stole from her and she plans to make him pay.
Like bloodhounds, the wraiths will follow him to the ends of the earth and, once they find him, they will drag him back and throw him down at her feet.
Once she’s done with him, she’ll use him to bring his little herd of miscreants to heel- including the de Rolo whelp they should have killed years ago.
She plans on rectifying that mistake- but not before she makes him watch the life bleed slowly from each and every one of his newfound friends, starting with the handsome little half-elf.
The thought excites her, sending a tingle running up her spine.
She can hardly wait to sink her claws into him.