Chapter Text
Throné stared at the small key in her hand, and still a sense of emptiness lingered inside her. Night had fallen, and she stood on the bridge outside Montwise, and ahead lay the path to that abandoned church. She closed her fingers around the key and let out a deep sigh. It was strange that something so small could feel so heavy, but alone it did her no good.
Father was dead. The man who raised her and taught her to steal and kill was dead. He had loved Throné’s birth mother and killed her too. Maybe Throné should’ve hated him for that. But she didn’t. Nor could she say she loved him. He was happy in his final moments, a brief peace she’d been able to offer him. Again she sighed; maybe this hollow feeling was grief, a different kind of grief than she had felt for Pirro, Scaracci, and Donnie.
Would she grieve for Mother? But with one key already in hand, she couldn’t stop now. Once she killed Mother and obtained the second key, she would finally be free, and then…
“So this is where you are, Throné,” came Agnea’s voice as she approached Throné.
“Agnea,” she said as she pocketed the key. When she’d returned from the abandoned church and clutching that bloody key tightly, Agnea had greeted her with a smile. “It’s rather late to be roaming about.”
“I could say the same to you.” Agnea smiled gently, that familiar smile Throné often found herself longing for. “May I join you?”
Throné simply nodded, and Agnea came beside her and leaned against the stone railing, and her warmth was appreciated on this chill night. She wore a different dress than usual, having brought it the first day the group arrived in Montwise. It was a deep red and clasped at the back of her neck, and it left her arms and shoulders bare. Naturally it looked beautiful on her, and Throné couldn’t help but notice how tightly it hugged her curves, especially around her breasts and hips. For a moment she wondered when she had begun to notice just how lovely Agnea was.
Yet she tore her gaze away and stared at the river below the bridge. She was grateful Agnea hadn’t asked about her confrontation with Father. It was an odd feeling, having requested Agnea to sing for her and then returning to Agnea after killing Father, still hoping that Agnea would smile for her again. The lyrics of Agnea’s lullaby lingered in her ears, but she couldn’t ask Agnea to sing for her again, not when the stench of Father’s blood stained her hands and settled in her lungs like rot. Agnea was no fool; she knew what Throné had come here to do, and perhaps there would come a day she could no longer be able to endure that darkness.
However, Throné was rather selfish, so until then she would not refuse Agnea’s company. She hadn’t frightened away Agnea just yet. Her eyes fell upon Agnea’s lips, and the lovely smile that graced those lips.
Agnea drew closer to Throné, their hands just barely brushing together, but even that light touch brought a blossom of warmth to Throné’s chest. When Throné followed Father to that church, Agnea had known that only one of them would return alive, and still she smiled for Throné. “Agnea,” she said carefully, letting the sound of Agnea’s name linger on her tongue, “where do you plan to head next?”
“Giselle told me my mother performed in Sai twenty years ago,” Agnea answered. “Maybe someone there will remember her.”
“Oh, yes, the head of that traveling troupe from Tropu’hopu.” Despite herself, a smile tugged at Throné’s lips as she remembered how frantically Agnea had searched for Giselle. “You were beautiful on that floating stage. I’m sure that Sai will welcome you with open arms.”
Much to Throné’s surprise, Agnea laid her hand over Throné’s. “I hope you’ll keep watching me,” she said softly, and her fingers around Throné’s were warm. “I mean, only if you want to.”
“I—” Throné tried to say, but a cloaked figure approaching her and Agnea caught her attention. A chill went down her spine, and she clenched her teeth as the figure showed no fear or hesitation. He stopped without speaking a single word, and Throné guided Agnea behind her and narrowed her eyes at the unknown person. How had she not sensed his presence? “Who are you?” she asked, brushing her fingers over the dagger strapped to her thigh.
“That necklace - you’re a Blacksnake, aren’t you?” came the man’s voice, low and dangerous. “The one who killed Bergomi…”
For a fraction of a second, Throné stood frozen - it’d been Father who killed Bergomi, flashed a thought through her mind - and the man charged forward, dagger in hand. Agnea shoved Throné aside, and the stench of blood filled her nostrils.
“Damn it…” the man muttered, drawing back his bloody dagger. Regaining her balance, Throné dashed forward and jabbed her knee into the man’s crotch, knocking him to the ground. He groaned and tried to stand, but she stomped on his knife hand, digging the heel of her boot into the flesh. He snarled and made to seize her ankle, but instead she kicked him across the face. Anger flared within her, and she drew her own dagger and knelt to stab it into the man’s throat, almost severing his neck as blood flowed freely.
Twice in one day she had killed. Even in the moonlight the blood glistened, as if mocking her, and Agnea had witnessed it all. Likely this man had been a Snowhare, out for revenge, and she’d killed him without a second thought, like the Blacksnake Father had raised her to be.
She seized the dead man’s arms and mustered her strength to drag the body to the edge of the bridge, and with a mighty heave pushed it over the railing and into the water below. A callous action, she knew, and maybe Agnea would fear her for it, but as long as Agnea was safe…
“Throné…”
She turned, and her blood ran cold as that stench grew stronger. Agnea was on the ground, clutching her side, and blood gushed profusely between her fingers. She quickly knelt beside Agnea and put Agnea’s arm around her shoulders, and Agnea out a painful moan. “I need to get you to Castti and Temenos,” she said firmly as she stood with Agnea, fighting back the urge to vomit.
“Are you… hurt…?” Agnea forced out, and her face was dangerously pale.
“Don’t waste your breath. We need to move.”
“The bleeding… won’t stop…”
Fear gripped Throné’s heart, and she couldn’t breathe for a moment. This was just like what happened with Donnie. An ambush, and fear and hesitation, and then the four of them running for their lives while Donnie was bleeding out, and still Throné couldn’t forget the sight and stench of all that blood. But no, things would be different this time, she told herself. She couldn’t fail again. Gritting her teeth, she helped carry Agnea back into town, and tried not to think about how shallow Agnea’s breathing was.
(What if the dagger had pierced an organ? What if it had been coated in poison? What if— What if—)
For once, Throné was glad of the darkness of night, so that no one would see how she and Agnea were covered in blood. Yet the inn still felt so far away. Agnea tried to keep pace with Throné, groaning painfully, but her strength was quickly failing, and she leaned more of her weight against Throné. With a grunt Throné readjusted her grip on Agnea, and took another step forward, and then another. “Hold on a little longer,” she muttered. “We’re almost there…”
Agnea tried to smile, and Throné hoped that those lips appearing unusually red was simply her fearful imagination. “Throné…” she moaned weakly.
Throné was nearly dragging Agnea by now, and soon the inn came into view. The hooting of an owl almost startled her, but then she spotted Mahina circling above them. Ahead, Ochette and Osvald rushed toward them, and Throné found herself more thankful than ever for Ochette’s heightened sense of smell.
“Aggie! Néné!” Ochette cried. “I smell so much blood! Are you two—?”
Throné thrust Agnea against Osvald. “She needs medical help right away.”
Osvald nodded wordlessly as he took Agnea into his arms, and Throné saw that her chest still rose and fell, if only barely. They quickly reached the inn, and Ochette summoned Mahina to catch the innkeeper’s attention so that he would not ask about a large man carrying a young woman covered in blood.
“What the - an owl? Shoo! Shoo!”
With the innkeeper distracted, Osvald and Throné rushed up the stairs, and Throné was glad not to encounter any other guests. The group’s two rooms were at the end of the hallway. Temenos and Hikari were just exiting their room, and both their gazes went wide upon seeing Throné and Agnea in Osvald’s arms.
“Castti, please,” Throné said breathlessly. Fortunately, the door to the women’s room was unlocked, and as she and the others headed inside, Castti immediately stood and strode over to Agnea. Temenos raised his staff and cast a quick healing spell as Osvald gently laid Agnea on the nearest bed, and she had finally lost consciousness.
“I won’t lie, this looks bad,” Castti said, kneeling and pressing her fingers to Agnea’s neck to feel for a pulse. “But I will not allow myself to fail. Partitio, Ochette, fetch some clean water and cloth!”
“On it!” they said in unison, and Throné nearly jumped out of her skin, not having sensed their presence behind her.
“Hikari, Temenos, you two stay with me. Throné, Osvald, wash that blood off yourselves.”
Throné opened her mouth to protest, but stopped herself. She understood Castti’s reasoning; Temenos’ healing magic would keep Agnea stable while Castti treated her wound, and Hikari was the best of them at remaining calm under pressure and thus was best suited to assisting Castti right now. As shaken as she was now, Throné knew she would be of no help. “Thank you,” she said softly, and left the room with Osvald.
“You can use the bath,” Osvald said to Throné as they stepped into the group’s second inn room. “Only a little bit of blood got on my shirt. I’ll ask Ochette you get you a clean set of clothes.”
Throné only nodded, and inn rooms with private baths were a small mercy to travelers such as themselves. Once inside the bath and the door shut, she filled the small tub and peeled off her clothing. She went through the motions without much thought, and as she submerged herself in the warm water, she let out a deep sigh.
She drew her knees to her chest, and her body began to tremble. She had killed again, but not a swift and neat death. It’d been messy and painful, out of anger because that man had dared to hurt Agnea. The water quickly became a faint shade of pink, and the scent of blood clung to her. She’d killed and disposed of the body so callously, and once again she didn’t even know the name of her victim. Worst of all, Agnea had seen her kill so cruelly.
That man had wanted to avenge Bergomi. Had he followed Throné all the way from Winterbloom? How had she not noticed she was being tailed? But no, she knew why. She’d been too frustrated by Father’s taunting to be cautious, and Agnea had nearly paid the price for her carelessness.
Agnea was still in danger, her life barely hanging on by a thread. Every second counted, and what if Throné had condemned her by not killing that man quickly enough? Had she needed to kill him in the first place? Maybe she could’ve simply incapacitated him and gotten Agnea to Castti sooner. She sighed again; she’d seen the hateful determination in that man’s eyes. He wouldn’t have given up his pursuit of revenge so easily. If someone had killed Mother or Father, would she desire to avenge them, whether out of duty or pride? When she finally had both keys in hand, would another Blacksnake hunt her down for revenge?
She splashed water on her face, and still her hands trembled. She’d killed Father for a key. She’d killed that Snowhare man out of fear and anger, and Agnea had seen. Now Agnea hovered between life and death, hurt by protecting Throné. If only she hadn’t been so easily distracted… If only she hadn’t allowed Agnea so close…
At some point Ochette entered to retrieve Throné’s bloody dress and left a nightgown in its place, but although Throné saw the worry on Ochette’s face, neither spoke, and soon enough Throné was alone again.
When she closed her eyes, she saw Father smiling as blood dripped from his lips. When she closed her eyes a second time, she saw that man’s face, twisted in fear and hate, and her dagger plunged halfway through his neck.
She touched her side, but there was no scar. Father’s dagger hadn’t intended to maim, only to frustrate and humiliate her. He had raised her to be a weapon, meant to someday kill him. Had he given any thought to her future afterwards?
(Vaguely she remembered him saying something about her birth father - was he a member of the Blacksnakes too, as her birth mother had been? But that wasn’t important right now.)
Her skin cleaned of blood, she soon got out of the tub and dried herself. Warm baths were a luxury she had rarely allowed herself to enjoy while living among the Blacksnakes, not wanting to leave herself vulnerable. At first, she’d been reluctant to bath with the other women of their group while camping in the wilderness, but now it was nice not have her guard up all the time. The way Agnea sometimes stole glances at her and then shyly turning away made her heart feel warm.
“What am I thinking…?” she muttered to herself, and she touched the collar around her throat. Baring her scars to Agnea had left her vulnerable in a different way, one she didn’t quite understand.
Once dressed in the simple nightgown Ochette had left for her, Throné exited the washroom. Partitio had also returned, pacing nervously while Osvald sat on the edge of one of the beds. His cleaned shirt lay drying on the other bed, and he had his scholar’s coat draped around his bare shoulders. Ochette sat on the floor as she scrubbed Throné’s dress in a bastion of cold water; as a hunter, she knew best how to clean blood from clothing. She smiled as she spotted Throné. “I finished cleaning Pops’ shirt, and I’m almost done with your dress. He really needs to get something better than those prison rags.”
Throné couldn’t help but chuckle, weak as it was. “I’ve been telling him that since we left Conning Creek.” She sat across from Osvald, who only frowned and pulled his coat tighter around himself.
However, the somber air quickly returned over the four of them, silent save for Partitio’s pacing. Mahina perched beside Throné, hooting softly, and absently Throné laid a hand on her feathered head, and how soft those feathers were was a small comfort.
“Mahina says not to worry,” Ochette said. “We’ve been through this kind of thing before.”
But the waiting never got any easier, Throné thought to herself but did not say out loud. She had spilled enough blood and taken enough lives to know how fragile life could be. She wanted to believe in Castti’s skills and Temenos’ healing magic, but death had always hovered like an uninvited guest among the Blacksnakes. She knew that, and still wished to draw closer to Agnea.
Partitio finally stopped pacing and knelt beside Throné. “What happened?” he asked her, worry clear in his voice.
Throné inhaled deeply; she’d feared that question, but had to answer honestly. “We were attacked by a Snowhare. He wanted revenge for what happened in Winterbloom. Agnea… shielded me.”
“Of course she would.” Partitio smiled grimly. “But I ain’t one to talk, am I? Um…” His smile vanished, and he watched Throné carefully. “Did you…? Is that man dead…?”
Throné nodded curtly. “I dumped the body in the river.”
“Then we should be safe for the time being,” Osvald said calmly.
“Mister Osvald, that’s…” Partitio tried to say, but then simply shook his head. “No, you’re right, that was the best choice to make.” He sighed, but that faint smile returned to his lips. “I’m just glad you’re safe, really.”
At times, Partitio and Agnea could be too understanding, Throné thought. Neither she nor Osvald made secret of their intentions to kill another, and still Agnea and Partitio wished to support them. (Of course, Throné could understand Osvald’s desire for revenge against a bastard like Harvey.) Hikari had also killed during his time as a soldier, and was resolved to kill his own brother if the need arose. Their journeys were never going to be free of pain and bloodshed. Throné knew that all too well, but selfishly she was glad of Agnea’s company. In hopes of distracting herself, she asked Osvald, “Professor, will you be investigating the library tomorrow?”
“Perhaps, but I have no intention of pursuing Harvey until I can be assured of Agnea’s recovery,” Osvald replied, and Throné caught how his clenched hands trembled.
Partitio sat beside Osvald on the edge of the bed. “You sure, partner? You’re so close…”
“…Harvey has waited this long already. He can wait a little longer.”
“Master Juvah says hunting while distracted can get you hurt or killed,” Ochette said, her hands still deep in the basin of water as she washed Throné’s dress. “You’re making the right choice, Pops.”
Throné leaned her head back, and Mahina nudged her hand. Again her thoughts drifted to Agnea, and Agnea’s radiant smile. Maybe Agnea could only smile at Throné because she was still naïve, still had faith in the goodness of this world. But the same could be said of Castti, Hikari, Ochette, and Partitio too. Even Osvald and Temenos had begun to let down their guards around the others. In this moment, they all worried for Agnea, just as they had worried in the past when another in their group was injured. She still sometimes forgot she was no longer with the Blacksnakes.
Maybe she was a naïve fool too, believing she would someday be free of this cursed collar. But Agnea would say that was simply hope, she knew.
Ochette soon finished cleaning Throné’s dress and after she laid it out to dry, she sat beside Throné and looped her arm through Throné’s. Her beastling ears tickled Throné’s cheek as she rested her head against Throné’s shoulder, but Throné didn’t mind. Partitio laid a light but comforting hand on Osvald’s arm, and Osvald gave him a brief nod, and the silence lingered.
Throné thought of how she and Agnea first met, when Agnea had confronted those two thugs to save a puppy. She’d charged recklessly into danger, and that same sense of recklessness had led her into the seedy backstreets of New Delsta and befriending Gil. Maybe it was only out of pity that Throné had joined Agnea, figuring she could use her skills to protect this naïve, ignorant girl. Yet when she watched Agnea dance upon that tavern stage, warmth had blossomed in her chest, a warmth she’d never felt before. In Tropu’hopu, when Agnea danced upon the floating stage, that warmth only grew stronger. But snakes were drawn to the warmth of the sun, after all.
She shut her eyes a moment, and again saw that man dead at her feet and Agnea bleeding profusely, her skin dangerously pale, and heard Father’s mocking laughter.
Exhaustion came over Partitio first, and he fell asleep against Osvald’s shoulder, and Osvald remained still, patiently obliging him. Throné’s hands had begun to tremble again, and Ochette laid a hand over hers. Ochette tried to smile, a smile tinged with both reassurance and worry, and Throné inhaled a deep breath to calm herself. The scent of blood didn’t seem as strong now.
The door opened unexpectedly, and Temenos staggered into the room, leaning on his staff. “Temenos!” Ochette exclaimed as she hopped to her feet to help steady him. “How’s Aggie?”
Temenos allowed himself to be guided toward the bed, and he fell face-first onto the sheets, startling Partitio awake. “Stable,” he answered weakly. “Goodness, how stressful that was. If we’d been a moment or two later…”
Throné’s heart nearly stopped at those words, and again she couldn’t help but remember what happened to Donnie. “And what of you, Detective?” she asked, perhaps a touch too flippantly.
“Aelfric’s blessing takes a lot out of me, but I’ll be fine.” Temenos let out a feeble laugh, one less guarded than Throné expected. “You know, without that new spell granted to me by the altar of the Flamebringer, we may not have been able to save Agnea’s life. To think I simply visited the clerics’ guild on a whim…”
Throné remembered that whim; as the group made their way through the Crestlands toward Montwise, Temenos had suddenly exclaimed he wished to visit the clerics’ guild, and though she had thought it odd, given that he wasn’t exactly pious, no one had seen reason to refuse his request. “Thank you,” she said softly.
Perhaps it was only her imagination, but Temenos’ cheeks seemed slightly pinker than usual. “Save your gratitude until after I’ve properly rested,” he muttered.
Ochette took Throné’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, let’s check on Aggie!” Ochette said, and Mahina hooted in agreement.
Throné could only nod, and she and Ochette left Temenos in the care of Osvald and Partitio as Mahina followed them out of the room. Ochette’s hand in hers trembled just slightly, Throné noticed, or perhaps it was her own hand that trembled. She could no longer tell. Carefully she pushed open the door to the other room, and Castti and Hikari turned to face them as they cleaned blood from their hands. Bloody sheets lay beside Castti, and on the bed was Agnea, still unconscious and the sheets pulled to her chest, but color had returned to her skin and her breathing was even. Throné might’ve slumped to her knees if Ochette had not been standing beside her.
“The bleeding has stopped and her fever finally broke,” Castti said. “I can’t say she is completely out of danger - we’ll need to watch for any signs of infection - but I am confident enough to say she will recover.”
“We could not have done this without Temenos’ healing magic, though I fear he may have overexerted himself,” Hikari added. “Both he and Agnea will need to rest for several days.”
“Well, we weren’t planning on leaving Montwise just yet,” Throné said with a sigh of relief. “Thank you all, truly.”
Castti’s expression grew grim. “Throné, could you tell us what happened?”
Throné explained to Castti and Hikari what she had said to the others earlier, again choosing her words carefully, and neither Castti’s expression nor Hikari’s betrayed their thoughts.
Hikari frowned. “That I did not notice such a presence following us is inexcusable. My deepest apologies.”
“Sorry, I didn’t sense anyone either,” Ochette muttered, her ears drooping, and Mahina cooed sadly as well.
“Don’t blame yourselves - that’s what a thief is trained to do,” Throné said, and immediately winced at how callous she sounded.
“You cannot blame yourself either,” Castti said firmly.
Throné bit her lip, swallowing hurtful words that threatened to burst free. If she’d not been so single-minded in her pursuit of Father, if she’d not been selfish enough to indulge in Agnea’s company, then Agnea wouldn’t have been hurt. Thus guilty thoughts tormented her, over and over.
Castti’s expression relaxed as she patted Throné’s shoulder. “You did well in bringing Agnea to me as quickly as you did. Now, I am in need of a bath myself.” To the other two, she said, “Hikari, could you check on Temenos? And Ochette, can you clean the blood from these sheets and Agnea’s dress?”
“I shall,” Hikari said at the same time Ochette exclaimed, “Of course!”
Numbly Throné took the chair beside Agnea’s bed as Hikari left the room and Castti headed to the bath, and immediately Ochette filled a basin with cold water to wash the bloodstained sheets and dress. Carefully Throné laid her hand on Agnea’s forehead, and it was cool to the touch, and Agnea didn’t stir. Agnea appeared as if she was simply dreaming, and not that she had been fighting for her life only minutes ago.
“You don’t need to worry so much, Néné,” Ochette said unexpectedly, and beside her Mahina peered closely into the basin of water. “Aggie is strong, you know.”
“Yes, I know that,” Throné replied. “To be honest, it frightens me how fearless she can be.”
“Fearless, huh?” Ochette held up Agnea’s dress, eying the gash in the side. It hurt Throné’s heart to see, and she was glad it wasn’t the dress that once belonged to Agnea’s beloved mother. “Well, if Pops hasn’t scared her away, I doubt there’s much that can scare her.”
Despite herself, Throné chuckled; the eight of them did make for a suspicious group at times, and someday she would convince Osvald to wear literally anything else besides those prison rags. “How does it look?” she asked, motioning toward the dress.
Ochette frowned. “I can get the blood out, but I’m not sure even Aggie’s dad could fix a tear like this. Good thing it wasn’t her mother’s dress, at least!”
Throné could scarcely imagine Agnea’s heartbreak if her mother’s dress had been so badly damaged. It was merely on a whim Agnea had decided to buy a new dress in Montwise and wear it today. Perhaps Throné would find a new dress for Agnea to replace this ruined one, she thought to herself. Maybe when Agnea was recovered, the two of them could shop for a new dress before they left Montwise. Maybe she would still smile for Throné. As she often did these days, Throné touched the dark collar around her throat.
“Hey, Néné,” Ochette said carefully, and she now worked on washing the soiled sheets, as leaving them bloodied would not endear the group to the innkeeper. “You really care about Aggie, don’t you?”
“Snakes are always drawn to warmth,” Throné muttered darkly. “That’s all.”
“Aggie isn’t frightened of snakes either,” Ochette replied, more harshly than Throné had expected. “And the way you smile around her, it’s… it’s really beautiful.”
Throné clicked her tongue, but otherwise said nothing more. She touched Agnea’s sleeping face, lightly tracing those lovely lips with her thumb. Her hands were covered in blood, so what right did she have to touch one as kind as Agnea? Yet still she fantasized, of herself holding Agnea close to her and feeling that gentle warmth against her skin, of Agnea whispering sweet words of love in her ear. Before she resolved to kill Father and Mother, she would never have dared to entertain such dreams.
Castti soon returned from the bath, dressed in her own nightgown, and although exhaustion was still clear in her eyes, she did appear a little more refreshed. “It’s late, so we should all sleep now.”
“I’ll stay awake to watch over Agnea,” Throné said. “You said she’s not out of danger yet.”
“Not all night you won’t,” Castti replied with a sigh. “But you’re right, we can’t let down our guard just yet. You watch Agnea for the first half of the night, and then wake Ochette for the second half.”
Both Throné and Ochette nodded.
“If there’s a change in her condition, don’t hesitate to wake me.” Castti sat on the edge of the other bed. “Goodness, what a long day.”
After the candles were put out, Castti and Ochette settled into the other bed while Throné remained at Agnea’s bedside. Moonlight seeped in through the window, casting a faint shadow over Agnea’s sleeping form. Often Agnea said she felt stronger at night when Throné was by her side. Throné’s eyes fell upon Agnea’s lips, and she swallowed dryly. If she could steal Agnea’s heart, would she finally feel satisfied? How would such a treasure glitter in her hands? Or it would simply crumble to dust when touched by hands stained in blood?
She was a thief, stealing both possessions and lives. Creatures of darkness such as herself weren’t meant for love. Father had loved a woman once, and then murdered her. Throné had friends once, and one by one they had killed each other, until only she remained. She could take over the Blacksnakes, as Pirro had dreamed for himself. But that wasn’t her dream.
Her hand lingered over Agnea’s, letting their fingers lace as she brought Agnea’s hand close to her lips. She was a selfish woman; she still desired freedom, no matter the cost. The Blacksnakes could rot for all she cared. Until she was free of this damned collar, she had a reason to travel with Agnea. Maybe someday the stench of blood would become too overwhelming for Agnea. Maybe tomorrow would be that day. Thus Throné could steal just a bit more of Agnea’s presence as she watched over Agnea tonight.
“Sweet dreams, my star,” Throné whispered as she pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Agnea’s hand. “Smile for me just a little bit longer, please.”