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For all that everyone has been talking about nothing but the Torelli ball for the last week, Livia is finding the night to be a dreadful bore.
The ballroom is such a crush that there's barely room for the elegant line of dancers to twirl through their sets, and of course the current Governor believes that the night air is unhealthy, so all of the tall doors that lead out into the garden are firmly shut. There must be no breeze in the house in case the Governor deigns to honor the gathering with his presence. It makes the room stuffy and close, and very overheated. Livia grew up on the streets of Minrathous, which might as well have been a sweltering desert rather than a city, but that was a dry heat. She's used to that. This, however, is intolerable. If her fringe begins to stick to her forehead, she'll have to step out to one of the balconies, which is a waste of time that Livia can no longer afford.
She fans herself and sips at a glass of weak punch, which does nothing to cool the flush on her cheeks. It's not particularly visible against the color of her skin, thank the Maker, but she can feel it, even if no one else can see it. Livia gives a smile to the girl who moves into her peripheral vision and stops at the table of refreshments Livia is currently occupying. Her smile turns warmer when she realizes that it's Signorina di Costa.
Livia was ready to heartily dislike all of these vain and extravagant Society creatures, but it's impossible not to like Giulia di Costa. She's one of the wallflowers, but she's so nice, so kind, that she never has a harsh word for anyone. She's funny, too, which is an unexpected gift. If matches were made on kindness and humor alone, Signorina di Costa would be a Diamond. But to her misfortune, she's small and plain and dresses do very little to make her figure more appealing. Worst of all, she's poor. Her father lost everything in the Exchange and took the easy way out. To a matchmaking mama, Signorina di Costa has very little to recommend her.
"Signorina Mercar!" Signorina di Costa says in greeting. "You're looking lovely. That shade of cream is so pretty on you."
Livia smooths a self-conscious hand down her stomach. The dress is one of only three she could afford. The shell of it is very lovely, made of a cream satin that makes her skin glow. She has to change the trimmings between every ball to make it seem new enough not to be commented on. "Thank you," she says, smiling again. "And you, Signorina di Costa, are once again the brightest star in the room."
Giulia laughs, as Livia intended, and picks up a glass. "Your tongue might as well be made of silver. Won't you call me Juli? Or at least Giulia. Surely you can manage that."
Livia salutes Giulia with the glass in her hand. Before she can take a drink, Giulia taps her glass against Livia's. They both laugh.
"Oh, it is dreadfully warm, is it not?" Giulia sighs, turning back to the rest of the room. "Whoever decided that the Season must be held in Treviso? I don't suppose they're around anymore to have a quiet word with, but I do think there were other options. Isn't Antiva City lovely this time of year?"
"I wouldn't know. I've never been to the capitol," Livia says lightly. She moves away from the table to allow a pimply youth to possess two glasses of punch for whichever girl and her mama he wishes to impress, and Giulia drifts alongside her with tiny steps and perfect posture, the picture of well-bred innocence. Livia imitates her as well as she can.
"I haven't, either," Giulia confesses, laughing. "They're a scandalous lot there, I hear. Their intrigues are the stuff of legend. Why, even the princes – "
Livia tunes out the gossip, which she has heard before and will likely hear again soon enough. Antiva City and Treviso share a coastline and the rivalry between the two cities is fierce.
If she didn't have so many secrets that would doom her were they to be discovered, she would have gone there, quite probably. Antiva City would have given Livia access to the riches that she requires, sure enough. But those people are too close to true power. The Queen of Antiva is no ceremonial position, even if the Crows rule her, and any stranger coming within reach of her Majesty is probably scrutinized far more heavily than Livia can afford. Treviso holds less raw wealth, it's true, but it is also far less dangerous to her. Now, all she must do is seal the deal and bag a fortune before the Season ends and her window of opportunity closes.
She spent every coin she had getting here and outfitting herself in the clothes and trimmings and jewelry required of a young lady of her station. She even bribed a minor member of the nobility to act as her reference and her chaperone. She's nothing left. This has to work, or Livia will be back on the streets in a far worse position than she occupied the last time. She's too old now to make the unfortunate urchin role work in order to beg on some anonymous Minrathous street corner. No, she'll be dragged into a whorehouse before she can find the breath to scream.
Much as she likes Signorina di Costa, this pleasant conversation isn't getting her anywhere. Time for Livia to gracefully extract herself from it and seek her targets elsewhere.
Livia gives Signorina di Costa a smile when the other girl pauses for breath. "I must beg your pa – "
A clamor by the ballroom doors catches her attention, and both of them turn toward the door and the sweeping stairs below it. Livia's first thought is that the Governor really is making a late appearance, which only interests her because after he leaves, the hosts will finally give the order to have all of the doors opened so they can have some air in this room, at last.
But the figure who enters is not the aging Governor. The murmuring around them swells to even louder heights. Livia was already struggling to hear the announcer and this is not conducive to her chances of understanding the man. Frustrated, she turns her head to aim her pointed ear at the man just in time to hear him call out the name of the newcomer.
"Lucanis Dellamorte, of House Dellamorte!"
Livia tilts her head thoughtfully. House Dellamorte is not unknown to her. They're one of the richest families in the city, so when her initial research granted her their name, Livia did what she did best and learned everything about them she could.
A small family, which is a drawback to some, but for Livia, that only means less people she has to fool; it's made up of the grandmother, Caterina, and her two grandsons, who are cousins to each other. The eldest is the heir and responsible for the family fortunes. The younger, Illario, is a wastrel who enjoys nothing more than a full wine glass and the companionship of an expensive whore. Only Illario participates in Society. Caterina and Lucanis keep to themselves.
She'd wondered whether she should dangle after Illario for her plan, for Livia knows very well that she has the skill to make him believe that the heart of a courtesan beats beneath the breast of a well-bred maiden, but he is rarely invited to these sorts of balls. He's considered not quite proper, a little seedy, and few of the mamas want him near their daughters for fear that he'll find some way to despoil them. Livia intends to lead the best life she's capable of after her marriage. She doesn't know if she enjoys Society and all its amusements, but she wants her options open to her once the pressure of survival is off. Who knows? Maybe a life of leisure is exactly the life Livia is destined to lead. If she were married to Illario, he would tar her with his brush. Her invitations would dry up.
Well. That was her position at the beginning of the Season. Now...
There's been a dearth of eligible men this Season, and despite Livia's ability to pretend to be anything a person could wish, the ones interested in marriage were snapped up by girls with fortunes or family connections to offer. Now, with only a month left before the upper crust disperses to frolic on their estates in the country, she is almost desperate enough to consider Illario once again.
But not yet. For the legendary Lucanis Dellamorte has emerged from the Dellamonte villa and arrived at what is suddenly the most interesting ball of the Season.
Livia's mouth curls into a sly smile.
Perhaps she's not out of options, after all.
———
It is very difficult to watch someone without appearing to look in their direction. Livia is an expert at it, of course, but she was forced to retreat to the wallflower's corner with Giulia and brave the dragon of her mother. Signora di Costa could very well be a real dragon; she's a large and formidable woman with a gimlet eye, whose only fault is loving her daughter too well. Perhaps Giulia might have had a suitor or two over the years had her mother not scared them all off with one hard look through her lorgnette. Who's to say?
Livia is only too glad to perch on the edge of a chair next to Signora di Costa and chat with her casually while keeping an eye on the man slowly circling the room. Lucanis Dellamorte stops to talk to more people than she might have expected. His choices are mostly men who have made their own money, she notes; these are people he must know from the family business, whatever that is. The true surprise is that he speaks to more than his fair share of the chaperones and wallflowers, too. Not for him the acclaimed beauties of the Season, but instead the girls with whom no one will dance for any number of reasons, many of them cruel. It's hard to tell through the crush and the people surrounding him, but Livia thinks that he signs more than one dance card.
She has to avert her eyes once the man works his way around to their corner opposite the stairs. It would never do for him to find her staring at him. Livia wants to feel him out before she lets him know that she's interested. He could be any sort of man, after all, and she's no taste for being bound to someone who might hurt her.
Signore Dellamorte stops before them and bows. He's not a pretty man, but he is very striking, with swept-back hair the color of a raven's wing and melting brown eyes. She likes his thick eyebrows, too, she decides; they look fierce, but the eyes beneath are soft, his mouth sensual. She's no child to believe that she can understand someone's personality from their looks, but this is a face she wouldn't mind seeing over the breakfast table every day – and in her bed every night.
He greets Signora di Costa like an old friend, and then turns to Giulia and speaks to her with little courtesy but great familiarity, as though she's a cousin, or a sister. Livia glances at Giulia curiously, but she just smiles with a touch of mischief in her eyes and turns back to Signore Dellamorte. "May I introduce my dear friend, Signorina Livia Mercar? This is her first Season, and she was just telling me how beautiful she finds Treviso."
Livia rises to her feet, perhaps a touch too quickly. She lifts her hand for Signore Dellamorte to take, so that he may bow over it. She's entirely unprepared for the feeling of his warm breath on the back of her hand. No one else has gotten so close to truly kissing the back of her hand, and it makes her gasp, very softly. Her fingers curl around his in reaction.
Signore Dellamorte glances up at her along the length of her arm. There's a faint note of self-satisfaction in his eyes; he must have heard her gasp. Of course he's proud of himself for making her do it. Men. Livia yearns to box him around the ears – but that would never do.
"Delighted to meet you," he says politely. He releases her and retreats to a polite distance. "I am glad to hear that you enjoy our fair city. Perhaps I am biased, for it is my home, but I truly believe that there are none to match her anywhere."
"How like a man to refer to the city as a woman," she teases.
Signore Dellamorte laughs. "And how like a woman to disagree! I have never met a woman who believed they were beautiful, though they all are, each in their own individual way."
"I couldn't agree more," Livia retorts instantly, linking her arm through Giulia's to bring her into the conversation. "For instance, I believe that Signorina di Costa has the most beautiful heart I've seen in anyone I've ever met."
"Stop that," Giulia says, tapping Livia's hand with her fan, though she sounds vastly amused. "You'll give me a swelled head."
"You understate matters, Signorina Mercar," Signore Dellamorte agrees. He's trying not to smile – though perhaps he's not trying very hard. "And you seem to have forgotten to mention her very fine eyes."
"Not you, too!" Giulia cries. It would be a breach of manners for her to swat Dellamorte with her fan, too, but Livia can tell that Giulia would dearly like to. Livia glances at Signora di Costa, who's watching them with rare, indulgent humor. Signore Dellamorte must be a friend of the family for her to look like that rather than breathing fire at the man. Livia rather thinks that's to his credit. Signora di Costa is a good judge of character, all told, and if he passes muster with her, then he must be a good man, or very, very good at hiding his baser nature.
Livia turns back to the pair of them, who are chatting away about acquaintances she only knows by name. This cuts her out of the conversation, but she finds she doesn't mind. The chance for a breather from pretending is rare in these crowded ballrooms, and it helps. The circuit of ball to ball to dance to opera to ball is horridly exhausting sometimes. She doesn't know how the rest of them manage.
After a few more moments, Signore Dellamorte bends over her hand again, and then Giulia's. "Might I engage you for the supper dance?" he asks Giulia as he comes back up. "I haven't seen you for months, and I would greatly enjoy catching up." He cocks a fierce eyebrow at her mother, who nods permission.
"Of course. I'd like that," Giulia says as she offers him her dance card.
Then Signore Dellamorte turns his head to look at Livia. "And perhaps you have a dance free?"
She was ready for the question, for politeness dictates that he must ask her if he asked Giulia, but she wasn't ready for the anticipation to rise through her chest and settle in the base of her throat. She swallows. "I would like that, ser," she says quietly, and offers him her dance card. She has the next two dances free, and she's gratified to find that he chooses the very next dance.
Livia would like to think that it means he wants to spend more time with her. However, it could also mean that he'd like to get the obligation over with as fast as possible.
Either way, it's a chance. One she needs to seize with both hands.
With another bow, Signore Dellamorte takes his leave to continue on his way to speak to his friends and acquaintances around the room. Livia looks after him for a moment, and she's gratified to find that he's markedly less animated when he speaks to the next pair of men than he was when speaking to Giulia and herself. If nothing else, Livia is glad he enjoyed their company.
The small, well-trained orchestra is taking a short break between sets, so Livia and Giulia and her mother chat between themselves for a few more minutes; then two more girls show up, and then a few more. Soon enough, Giulia is surrounded by a great number of the eligible girls in attendance, the ones who don't see each other as competition but as friends. Livia smiles at Giulia and slips away to go speak to her chaperone, Signora d'Augustino. They have a plan for the evening, and Livia means to ensure that there's no mistake in carrying it out.
The heavy-set woman looks up at Livia with reluctance in her eyes, but despite her hesitation, in the end she nods all the same. She knows her job.
Signore Dellamorte finds her there and after he introduces himself to her chaperone, he offers her a gloved hand. "Shall we?"
Livia places her hand in his and allows him to draw her out to the dance floor. He delivers her to her spot and takes his place opposite, smiling at her with only his eyes as they wait for the music to begin.
This form of the quadrille allows them to speak only when they're brushing past each other to change sides, or when Livia rests her hand atop his to turn in place. Short exchanges are possible, however, and at first, Livia tries those: observations on the weather, the graceful arrangement of the room, how kind everyone has been to her as she finds her feet. Signore Dellamorte agrees with her in every case, and with a smile, but he never pursues the line of conversation at the next opportunity. It's rather rude of him. She's beginning to grow slightly frustrated when the figure they're dancing ends and the leader calls for a new one.
This figure calls for opposing pairs to advance and retreat and turn about one another, but the other pairs are left to bob to the music and speak between themselves. Livia seizes on the opportunity immediately. She leans toward him slightly so he can hear her more easily. "You dance very well, ser."
Signore Dellamorte laughs with a sheepish sort of pleasure. "Thank you. I was afraid I was out of practice. I don't make it a habit to come to these sorts of gatherings."
"What a shame," Livia says innocently. "I cannot imagine that they do not feel your absence most keenly."
"They?" He sounds amused, damn his eyes. Livia thought it was a good line, implications lying under innocuous words, but he's laughing at her. It's their turn to step across the square, between the other couple and around, and then Livia has to give him her hand so they can turn.
He is laughing at her, she realizes, when her eyes meet his – but he's laughing at himself, too. He's laughing at the spectacle, at these ridiculous rules that mean no one may say what's truly on their mind. The quirk of Dellamorte's mouth tells her so, and the soft, rich warmth in his eyes, and the cant of his ferocious eyebrows. When she recognizes that, her pique calms and then falls away, as though it was never there at all.
It is quite ridiculous, to be honest, which is a realization that Livia rarely gets to enjoy. His smile grows wider, wider, a rare and beautiful thing on a crowded dance floor.
They toss barbed bon mots at each other after that, making a game of nearly insulting each other masked under harmless and polite conversation, until Livia's cheeks hurt from biting them so she won't burst out into garish laughter. When the dance ends, Livia curtseys to him, Dellamorte bows to her, and then he offers her his arm to escort her back to her chaperone.
They cross nearly half the room and pass one of the sets of doors that lead out to the balcony and then to the garden. Livia hesitates, biting her lip, but...
She likes the man, but she needs him more than she needs his good opinion of her. It will hurt to give that away, but what choice does she have?
Livia presses her hand to her cheek, which really is quite flushed after dancing in this hot room. She turns her face up to Dellamorte and offers him a smile. "I'm sweltering," she tells him, letting her hand fall from his arm. "I need to step outside."
She turns away from him, as though she was planning on going out there all alone, and in the back of her mind, she's counting down the seconds. Two, she thinks – and she's pleasantly surprised when it's not even one. "But surely your chaperone will be worried," Dellamorte protests.
Livia glances at him over her shoulder. He's looking at her with naked concern in his eyes. "My chaperone is just there," she says, nodding at the woman. "I feel perfectly safe. You need not concern yourself. I'm sure you have another dance partner waiting for you."
She puts her hand on the doorknob and cracks opens the door, which startles him into speech. "You cannot mean to go out there all alone," Dellamorte says, sounding truly shocked.
Livia usually enjoys the feeling that envelopes her when she has a mark on the hook.
Not this time.
She looks over her shoulder at Signore Dellamorte with a bright smile. "You must do what pleases you, ser, but I confess, I would be glad of the company."
Dellamorte hesitates, glancing to his right to look at a group of girls and their mothers who are chatting amongst themselves and wielding their fans to great effect. They look so unconcerned with what's happening around them that Livia knows they must be paying very close attention indeed.
He turns toward the corner where her chaperone is still perched in the chair pushed up against the wall. "Allow me to summon your – "
No. It is no part of Livia's plan to allow Dellamorte to summon anyone to his assistance.
She pushes the door open decisively and goes out of the ballroom and onto the terrace, letting the door swing freely behind her, the curtain a tempting, fluttering fascination to attract Dellamorte's attention. She keeps moving forward, taking tiny steps in order to make sure she doesn't go too far, waiting to hear the sound of someone behind her –
For a moment, nothing happens. Livia closes her eyes, praying to a Maker who would doubtless condemn her to the depths of the Void for every part of tonight's plan. Please, she begs him. Take pity on me, for once.
As if in response to her prayer, the door behind her opens wider with the creaking she'd wished for. She opens her eyes, but holds her breath – it could still be one of the other girls, following her lead to take a breath of fresh air, or perhaps Dellamorte did the smart thing and sent one of those fine ladies after her instead of coming himself.
"Signorina Mercar," he says behind her, his deep voice sliding along her skin and making her shiver.
Livia finds that she can breathe, after all.
She doesn't turn around; instead, she takes a moment to compose herself and to center herself in her character. This is the most important performance of her life. She has to be note-perfect. Men like Dellamorte are warned against allowing girls and their matchmaking mamas to put them in compromising positions. Undoubtedly Dellamorte has heard all of the stories and knows all the tricks. Therefore, it can't be a trick. She'll have to watch for the opportunity and seize it with both hands – if she can. If she doesn't tip her hand by acting too soon, or miss an opening because she's terrified or because she likes the man.
Livia didn't expect to like him. She doesn't want to. It would be so much easier if she could use him with no regard for his gentle humor, or his warm eyes, or the kind and empathetic way he'd paid the most attention to those the rest of Society chooses to disregard.
But she can use that, instead; it's very hard to dislike a person if they are openly and obviously enjoying your company. It's not flattery, nor obsequiousness. It's just the nature of people. All sorts of people, whether human or elf, Tevene or Antivan, man or woman. It doesn't matter. People are people, deep down, and Livia knows how to manipulate them all.
She moves forward to the edge of the terrace, to the railing that separates the wide and graceful expanse of it from the gardens surrounding the hedge maze in the distance, and rests her hand lightly on the marble. It's nearly evening, and the sky is slowly darkening before her eyes; there's a wisp of dull orange lining the bottom of one of the clouds nearest the horizon, but from there the sky runs the gamut from navy to bruised purple to a purple so dark that it might be mistaken for black, had not true blackness come pressing in behind it. The stars are out tonight, too. Livia turns to look at them crowning the top of the house, a faint smile on her face.
It really is a lovely night.
It's cooler out here, much to her relief, and Livia isn't feigning anything when she takes a deep, deep breath and lets it out again in a sigh of pure bliss. There must be jasmine in the garden behind her, because its sweet and heady scent is heavy on the breeze, which clears her head wonderfully. She lets her eyes drift closed.
"No fan could imitate this," she says to her silent audience.
Dellamorte chuckles with an indulgent note to it that makes her smile. "I'm glad you seem to be feeling more yourself," he says.
"How do you stand it?" she demands, opening her eyes once again and appealing to him. "I swear I would have fainted, had I been in that room for another moment. Oh!" Livia turns her back on him and leans over the railing, as though searching for more breeze.
When Livia was still facing him, Dellamorte could stand by the door and still hear her; but now that she is not, he will have to risk either being unable to hear her and possibly offending her, or move closer.
Dellamorte's footsteps behind her confirm his choice.
"I do not often choose to attend these functions," he says to her. From his voice, Livia thinks that he's perhaps a foot behind her. Close enough... for now. "Luckily, my position insulates me from some of the disapproval I would otherwise face, though my grandmother chooses to make up the margin daily."
Livia turns to the side, though she knows full well that he is not standing at the railing with her. Whether unconsciously or no, Dellamorte moves forward so that she can see him. She smiles gratefully at him. "Do you not enjoy these amusements, then? I can think of a great many reasons you might not, but those are only guesses, not the truth; and no one of my acquaintance would admit to such a thing for fear of abruptly failing to receive any invitations at all. I'm fascinated."
Dellamorte leans against one of the narrow columns and shrugs. "I am a Dellamorte, and that means something in this city. There are few ways I could become persona non grata, so long as my grandmother continues to back me as the heir."
His cousin Illario has found one of those ways, Livia understands, though she ought not know any such thing and in any case, Dellamorte would never dream of mentioning his wastrel ways to the gently bred young woman Livia is pretending to be.
He's silent for a moment, gazing out over the gardens as they continue to grow shadows in the lee of every shrub and flowering bush lining the walkways. "Would you believe, Signorina Mercar, that I am shy?"
Livia turns the rest of her body to face him, leaning against the railing, much as he is, and allows herself to look at Dellamorte with more scrutiny now that he's given her an opening. The light from the ballroom lines the right side of his face, leaving the left side in shadow, a cipher without a key, one that may never be fully understood; but perhaps the sum of his character may be understood with one's heart, rather than one's head, in the way that some songs never quite make sense but touch one regardless.
"I would not say that you are shy, ser," she says thoughtfully. "Rather, I would say that you choose your company wisely, with care, and according to your wishes, instead of obeying Society's dictates."
"I am to be individualistic, then?" His teeth flash in the low light. "That is not a virtue, Signorina Mercar."
"Not to most," she agrees softly. She looks him square in the eye, in a way that many women are taught never to do for fear of appearing mannish. Livia must be different. "But virtue is defined differently by each person who hears it. What may be wicked sin to one can be particularly desirable to another. And I am not most people, Signore Dellamorte."
"I believe I am beginning to understand that," he says, just as softly.
The air between them has turned intimate. Personal. His attention is fixed on her, not the garden or the door behind them. That's the first step: interest. Now she needs to kiss him, or to maneuver him into kissing her. Livia is not particularly hopeful about convincing him to kiss her; he's been very respectful of her person so far. She doesn't think that he's the sort. Up to her, then.
Livia smiles at Dellamorte, all hesitant and appealing, very nearly shy. He tilts his head, smiling back; the light from the ballroom gives him and his thick eyebrows a slightly sinister cast. "Surely your chaperone will be wondering where you are," he murmurs.
With a thrill of excitement, Livia realizes that he's leaning toward her.
She lets her eyes drop to his lips and then back up, quickly, as though she forgot herself. Dellamorte doesn't back away. "Let her wonder," Livia breathes. With one swift movement, she pushes up on her toes and touches her mouth to his.
For an endless, terrifying moment, Dellamorte doesn't react at all. Livia wonders if he's about to push her away – no, no, she's not ready yet, she's not done –
And then his mouth comes to life under hers.
He doesn't touch her. There is no hand on her cheek, nor in her hair or crushing her gown, which part of Livia would like very much as visible proof that she is compromised. Instead, something about the gentle slide of his lips against hers is reminding her of what a kiss is meant to be: a connection between two disparate people, one that goes beyond the physical. A good kiss both gives and takes in an endless well of pure feeling. And this kiss is very, very good; Livia feels it from the ends of her curls to the tips of her toes safely hidden in her slippers, excitement racing through her whole body and making her press closer to Dellamorte.
He still has his eyes open. They are less soft, now, than they were, and oddly watchful.
Livia begins to feel the first stirrings of unease as the door bursts open behind her and Signora d'Augustino screams, just as she and Livia planned earlier in the evening. Livia breaks the kiss with a gasp, her eyes wide, watching Dellamorte for the reaction that must be coming. He knows what has to happen now. He must. They have left him with no other options.
But Lucanis Dellamorte isn't angry or confused or ashamed –
He's laughing.
"What an interesting game you are playing," he tells Livia, ignoring the screaming woman in the doorway entirely. "Perhaps we could speak more in private?"
With one strong hand, Dellamorte seizes Livia by the upper arm and forces her to march ahead of him away from the open door and into the gardens, which by now are a dark and mysterious place; perfect for a murder, Livia thinks with no small amount of hysteria. She tosses a terrified look over her shoulder to Signora d'Augustino, who meets her eyes for only a moment before she turns back into the ballroom and shuts the door that leads to civilization and safety.
Dellamorte propels Livia past the first bank of flowerbeds and into an area with young fruit trees, rich with the scent of orange blossoms and pomegranate flowers. He yanks Livia around with the hand on her arm and shoves her, hard, until her back hits one of the trees.
Livia takes one look at Dellamorte and freezes, her panicked breathing harsh and heavy in her throat.
His eyes are flaring with an unearthly purple light.
Unconsciously she tries to retreat and only succeeds in pushing herself even further into the tree. She'll have scrapes tomorrow, some small and distant part of her realizes. If she lives.
Livia is from Tevinter. She knows what those eyes mean.
Abomination.
"I'm sorry," she manages, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry, I'll – I promise, I'll just go, no one needs to – "
Dellamorte lunges forward, his hand wrapping around her throat and applying carefully judged pressure to her windpipe. He's not cutting off her air, but he could. Livia knows that she's meant to notice. She stops talking instantly, swallowing again, wincing when his palm presses harder against her windpipe.
"You smell... like lies," Dellamorte whispers, his head tilting like a bird's, too quick for any human. There's an unearthly timbre to his voice that resonates in parts of Livia's brain she doesn't want to think about.
She's so afraid that her knees are shaking and her fingernails dig into the bark of the tree behind her. Only his hand is keeping her on her feet. Her mouth trembles, aching, heartsick; suddenly she feels very young. "I'm sorry," she whispers again.
He leans closer, his nose no more than a quarter of an inch from hers, so that he may look directly into her eyes. From this distance, the purple is mesmerizing, inescapable. "You are Zara's."
Livia blinks. "Wait. Who?"
With a roar of anger that nearly deafens her, Dellamorte leans even closer and growls directly into her face. "What... plan? Where... is... she?!"
"I don't know," she gasps, clawing at his hand. "I don't, I don't know who that is, I don't, please – "
There's no reason he should believe her – she has no proof, and he's obviously a madman and probably irrational with it and the demon lodged in his head, so she doesn't honestly expect him to listen to her; but Dellamorte pauses, his head tilting again, this time in the other direction. And he lets her go.
"She's not lying," Dellamorte murmurs, the pitch of his voice rising higher in true surprise. She drops her head back against the tree, looking up at the night sky through the branches.
She hadn't expected to nearly die this evening.
She milks the moment as long as she can, but Dellamorte fails to go away and leave her in peace. He clearly wishes to speak to her about her behavior. With an internal groan of mortification, Livia sighs and looks at him again, raising her eyebrows in silent question.
"That was the truth," Dellamorte says slowly. It's a statement of fact. She wonders if the... if the demon told him that. "You don't know Zara. You're not working for her?"
"I'm not working for anyone," Livia snaps.
He folds his arms across his chest, making him look like an angry and slightly confused wolverine liable to bite at any moment. "If you're not working for Zara, then what was your plan?"
"You cannot be this thick," Livia says in disbelief.
Dellamorte scowls at her. His eyebrows look more threatening at this angle, in the dark, casting heavy shadows over his eyes. The glowing purple flames have retreated until they're flickering at the edges of his pupils, but Livia feels as though it's a silent threat; if she says something he doesn't like, the demon comes back. And this time he may not be so generous.
Livia takes a short, irritated breath through her nose and blows it back out, hoping to avoid the question. Unfortunately, when she's done, Dellamorte is still waiting for her to answer. "I need a husband, and you seemed like a good candidate," she admits.
He raises both of his eyebrows. "Truly?"
"Well, not anymore," Livia bites out.
"A demon in the bedroom seems as though it might be a sticking point," Dellamorte agrees, his mouth curling into a sarcastic and bitter smile.
Livia has been carefully concealing her crisp Minrathous consonants for the last six months. She hardly sounds civilized, to her own ears, but when in Treviso... Now, however, she relaxes the chains on her tongue and allows herself to speak with the accent of her birth. "I'm from Tevinter," she tells him. "Do you think I've never met a functional abomination before? You are the problem, not that thing. You can clearly control it, if not yourself."
Dellamorte's eyes grow very wide, almost round. It makes him look younger, with an edge of naïveté she could scarcely have imagined an hour ago. He chuckles, shaking his head. "You are a constant surprise," he says.
"So are you," Livia returns. She realizes it's true even as she's saying it. She bites the inside of her lip and considers him, her eyebrows drawing together. "We have a problem," she says reluctantly. "To those people, I am now compromised, and they are expecting an engagement announcement as soon as we go back inside."
"On the contrary, they are probably expecting you to disappear," Dellamorte says casually. "I am the First Talon of the Treviso Crows, after all. If there is anything I excel at, it's making the body vanish into thin air if I wish it."
Livia bites her tongue until it hurts. How had she missed that?! "You're a Crow?" she asks numbly. She is no longer surprised that he has a demon inside of him, or that Signora d'Augustino allowed them to go off alone. Livia is rather surprised that she's still alive.
Before her baffled eyes, Dellamorte laughs, his body language relaxing until he seems nothing more than the gentleman he'd appeared to be before. "You are possibly the only person in that room who did not know it," he says, flush with his amusement.
Livia covers her eyes with her hands. "Just leave me to die here," she groans.
"That would be such a waste of a clever tongue," he teases.
She pauses, her hands dropping as she looks at Dellamorte. She's having an idea, one that might get them both out of this mess, though she's not sure whether it's brilliance or madness that inspired it. "You said her name was Zara?" she asks carefully. "Is she your enemy?"
The laughter drains slowly out of his face, leaving him looking more dangerous than ever before, even when the demon was on him; the wild purple flames gather thick in his eyes, lighting his face with eldritch fire. "Zara Renata is the one who did this to me," he growls, gesturing at his eyes. "Tevinter blood mage, Venatori, murderer: none of these are sufficient to describe her crimes. I will kill her with my bare hands and when it is done, I will laugh."
Livia winces. He has good reason to want the woman dead, she acknowledges, but there is something raw and ragged about the depths of his rage that scares her. And yet... The streets scare her more than the man before her and his demon, she realizes.
"I need a husband," she tells him. "You need someone who can get to Zara. You've seen me. I am a very, very good liar. I can be anyone. I can be someone who gets you to Zara. Then all you have to do is..." She waves an airy hand, dismissing the whole matter as though it's beneath her when really she doesn't want to think about it. "Deal with her in whatever way you see fit."
She might be imagining it, but Livia would wear that there's the faintest trace of a smile on his face that wasn't there before. "You would still marry such as me?" Dellamorte murmurs. "Even now? Even knowing what I am?"
"You think an awful lot of yourself," she says with a scoff. "I told you. I saw scarier things in the Minrathous sewers every day. You wouldn't believe what the magisters threw into the sea, assuming that the ocean would carry it away never to be seen again. They were always wrong."
"They often are," he agrees, amusement laden in his voice. He reaches out to take one of her hands, lifting it to his lips and watching her the whole time from under those ferociously thick eyebrows. The thrill that storms through her is not fear, not entirely; it is not desire, either. It's some mixture of the two, impossible to separate, thrilling and electrifying and terrifying all at the same time.
"It promises well, I think," Dellamorte murmurs against her hand with a grin. "Very well. If you can bring me Zara, then I will give you the protection of my name. Agreed?"
Livia hesitates; for all that it was her idea, suddenly she's not sure that it's a good one. If she agrees to this, she won't be able to throw Dellamorte over and marry someone else without being labeled a jilt.
Not that she could, another, more logical part of her mind argues. She's already ruined. Signora d'Augustino saw to that, just as Livia paid her to. Livia is quite stuck with him. And he with her.
She gives him a smile that trembles around the edges. Hopefully he won't notice, though she rather thinks that hope was doomed from the start. "I would be honored," she tells him.
Lucanis laughs, his breath curling warm around her hand. "I rather think the honor is mine. No matter. I'm looking forward to fighting about it later."
Maker help her, so is she.