Chapter Text
“This is between us, Aelia. Leave Rook alone.”
Neve had made many mistakes in her life, enough to fill a dozen lighthouses with murals of regret. But she knew the moment the words left her mouth that this…this had been a dire, dire mistake.
Damas’ red glowing eyes fixated on Rook, his mouth twitching up at the corners as Aelia’s infernal voice twisted with delight.
“Rook…how intriguing. A new piece on the board. A new sacrifice for the queen…”
Damas suddenly burned with power, a flaming fist raised directly at Rook. Neve shot in front of her, icy hands already raised in defense. It took everything she had to hold back the inferno. Aelia was speaking and Rook was shouting but Neve couldn’t hear anything over the magic pounding through her body, draining away, threatening to collapse at any moment –
“Goodbye, Neve.”
With a flick of Damas’ wrist, she was gone. Neve felt Rook’s hands on her shoulders and suddenly realized she’d fallen to her knees.
“Neve! Are you alright?”
Rook’s eyes searched hers with an intensity that made Neve’s stomach jolt. She did her best to wave off Rook’s concerns, but she didn’t seem to have the energy to string a full sentence together. Rook took the lead speaking with Damas as Neve hung back, her head pounding with overexertion and one singular terrifying thought –
Aelia was back. She wanted revenge. And Neve had revealed the one person she cared about most.
This job was absolutely going to go sideways. And she’d have no one to blame but herself when it did.
* * *
“Neve, have I…done something?
Neve turned from her wall of clues to face Rook, trying to keep her face casual. Rook stood in the corner by the doorway, a far cry from their typically confident team leader.
“Done something?”
“Things feel…different. Since we found Damas. You’re always busy when I come by to talk. You haven’t updated me on Aelia at all. I heard…” Rook pauses briefly, the words failing to come. Neve can tell she’s thought through how to say this. She can tell Rook hopes to keep the hurt from her voice. The best thing Neve can do for both of them is pretend she’s succeeded.
“…I heard you asked Lucanis to go with you to Minrathous to follow up on a lead with the Threads. And I'd just like to know if there’s a reason.”
Neve gives herself a moment, considering her answer but mostly trying to stop her heart from hammering painfully in her chest.
“He’s a mage killer, Rook. Who else should I ask?”
She may as well have just punched Rook square in the gut. Neve felt the guilt rush through her as if she had.
“It’s up to you how you want to handle Aelia. But she worries me. I know you’re strong. You’re the strongest mage I know. And Lucanis is the best at what he does, that’s why he’s here. But we’re talking about a blood mage with a personal vendetta against you and the blessing of blighted ancient gods. I…I need you to know that I’m here for you.”
It was Neve’s turn to feel punched in the gut, the air leaving her body until she felt hollow. Like one more word could shatter her entirely.
Her reply was gentle. Delicate. “I know you are. I’ll come to you if I need you. Promise. But right now, all of Thedas needs you to be there for them. I can handle this one.”
Neve mustered a small smile before turning back to her clue wall, her body screaming at her not to look away, to move closer, to take Rook’s pain away and let her be there for her. But being there for Neve Gallus usually means dying for her. That’s not a price she’s willing to pay. Not with Rook.
* * *
She and Lucanis had been chasing leads for weeks when Rana handed them their best shot yet. Sanctum Lusacan.
As Lucanis and Rana updated each other on Venatori movements and the hunt for Zara in Treviso, Neve kept her gaze fixed on Brom’s light – dark and lifeless beneath the engraving of his name. Every time she wished that Rook was here, not only for her help but just for the sheer comfort of her presence, she remembered Brom’s name on this wall.
She hadn’t seen Rook once since that quietly pained conversation in her office. From what Lucanis told her, Rook had left the next day for Treviso to offer her services for as long as the Crows needed to find and kill Zara. Neve pictured Rook zipping over the streets of Treviso, scouring every corner of the city for signs of Venatori, sleeping on threadbare cots in Crow safehouses whenever her body forced her to rest.
Neve’s attention was pulled back to Lucanis and Rana when she heard Rook’s name.
“Rook’s clues all seem to point to a Venatori hideout near the market. She’s staking it out now. Once we know what we’re dealing with, we’ll plan our next move,” Lucanis said gruffly, leaving no doubt that his ideal next move involved the mass murder of everyone responsible for the loss of his grandmother.
Neve felt another, familiar pang of guilt for taking Lucanis away from Treviso. She knows Aelia and Zara are linked, two sides of the same blood-coated coin, and taking down one will weaken the other. But if she hadn’t asked Lucanis for help with Aelia, maybe he’d be closer to his own vengeance. Maybe…he’d be with Rook. Helping each other and looking out for each other the way Rook deserved.
As they made the trek back to the Shadow Dragon’s eluvian, Lucanis seemed to sense where Neve’s thoughts were drifting. Sometimes it made her wonder if Spite could read emotions. What a terrifying thought.
“I know it’s none of my business, Neve, but I feel like I owe Rook for all of her help in Treviso. And I’m not really one to talk on this subject. But...you shouldn’t push her away.”
“I’m not pushing her away. She just happens to be away. For a little while.”
Lucanis smirks, a pitying kind of smile that makes Neve's stomach squirm unpleasantly. “I may not be a detective, but I have eyes. Rook is throwing herself headfirst at Zara, and I know it’s not just for my sake. She desperately wants to help you and, for some reason, she thinks that’s the only way she can.”
It is the only way, Neve reminds herself. Zara is dangerous, but she’s not Aelia. She remembers the way Aelia spoke Rook’s name, slow and reverent and…hungry. Like Rook was a delicious treat, a prize to covet.
Neve shook the memory away. “If she’s able to help you, reasons don’t matter.”
“You don’t believe that.”
She was starting to remember why she never let friends get too close. The Demon of Vyrantium could see right through her carefully crafted shell of indifference, and she didn’t know where else to hide. As they reached the Shadow Dragon hideout, she found herself racing to reach the eluvian. At least at the Lighthouse she could hole up in her office, with only the wisps to sense her pain.
After they stepped through the eluvian, Neve found her composure, instructing Lucanis with her trademark professionalism. “You should go back to Treviso and see what Rook’s found. I’ll do some digging on Sanctum Lusacan. With any luck, the gods will be down two blood mages next time we see them.”
Lucanis nodded, and she silently thanked him for not pressing any further on the Rook issue. Ever since Aelia had reappeared, Neve felt like she was living life on a knife’s edge. Waiting and waiting to see where the blade will cut her this time. How deeply. If it will finally be the wound to do her in. But at least she could ensure Rook was nowhere near the knife when it happened.
Suddenly, the eluvian swirled with color. A figure dove through the rippling glass, sliding to a stop at Neve and Lucanis’ feet. They lay crumpled and motionless, blood slowly seeping to the floor.
“Bel!” Neve cried, falling to her knees beside the figure.
She assessed Bellara’s injuries. A stab wound. Not deep. That was the source of the blood. And burns. Magical. Nothing fatal. Just unconscious. Healing magic flowed through her hands into Bellara, a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity passing before the young elf coughed deeply, eyes fluttering open.
Healing magic was never Neve’s strength, she was much more comfortable with combat spells. Emmrich. She should run and get Emmrich. She was about to tell Lucanis to put pressure on Bellara’s bleeding wound while she was gone (not that she needed to, a Crow would know better than anyone how to handle a stab wound). But Bellara’s words, hoarse with distress, stopped her cold –
“It was Zara, she…she got Rook.”