mt-musings

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 17

Lorenz stared at the missive, the wind knocked out of him.

He’d known Claude had been lying to him about something, lying to him about Cecily, but never in a thousand years had he expected this. 

A wedding invitation from the Marquis von Vestra and Miss Cecily Leclerc. The date was scarcely a few weeks away. 

He stormed out of his chambers and to Claude’s study, bursting in without bothering to knock. Claude sat hunched over her desk, papers stacked all around him, his head in his hands. He looked up as the door banged into the wall before slamming back shut.

“Lorenz, what in the—“

“Did you know? Is this—is this one of your schemes, because I swear—“

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you know nothing about it? Then why did Cecily send you word from Enbarr? I swear to the Goddess, Claude, if you orchestrated this, if you put her in this much danger for one of your schemes—“

“What are you talking about? Please, speak plainly,” Claude said, shaking his head. 

Lorenz practically threw the invitation at him. Claude blanched, eyes going wide as he read it. 

“No—no, this can’t be. She said there was a trade, she didn’t say—she didn’t say this.”

“A trade? What have you been keeping from us?!”

“I—she sent word that Hubert had captured Yuri, that she was trading for his release. She said she was safe, that she would send word when she had secure lines of communication. She never said anything about marriage.’

“You knew that she was in trouble, and you didn’t even tell us? We need to put together a group, we need to rescue her—“

“Are you—Lorenz, you know we can’t. It would be as good as declaring war.”

“You’re planning on just leaving her there?”

“I—it’s what she asked,” Claude said, digging through his drawer and producing a scrawled letter. Lorenz snatched it, feeling nauseous. He read it five times before looking back at Claude, absently tracing the ‘X’ that followed the postscript with his thumb. 

“When did you get this?” He asked, voice sounding small to his own ears. Claude shifted uncomfortably. 

“About two weeks ago.”

“Two—two weeks? And you said nothing? After all she’s done for us—“

“I did as she asked, Lorenz. I don’t like it any more than you, but she asked us not to intervene. One misstep and Yuri would be in even more danger, they’d have a reason to invade Gloucester, invade Leicester. Hell, what if he hurt Cecily? How would you feel then?”

“What if he’s hurting her now? We can’t just do nothing, you are a Duke, it is your duty—“

“I understand, Lorenz, but we need to wait for more information. She’ll send word when it’s safe to do so. We just need time to plan something and know what we’re up against.”

“I’m not waiting,” Lorenz said, swiping his invitation back and stalking out. 

“Lorenz, be reasonable—“

“I’m the only one being reasonable!” He yelled, slamming the door behind him. He knew Claude was being cautious and pragmatic, but that didn’t change the fact that their friend was in danger, behind enemy lines and in the clutches of the very man who’s agents she’d been hunting down for four years. A man who suddenly wanted to marry her, despite the fact that he was a Marquis, that she was a commoner, a commoner who’d been working for his enemies, that she’d very publicly denounced him at the start of the war. 

What could he have done to force her to agree, why would marriage be his solution?

Lorenz swore, not caring that it was wholly ungentlemanly. 

~~~

Cecily stared in the mirror as the two ladies maids buzzed around her, one braiding her hair into an elaborate updo, the other carefully applying makeup. She did her best to stay perfectly still, to focus on her breathing, on keeping it even and regular. She didn’t want to look at the ring Hubert had given her the night before to serve as her engagement ring, didn’t want to think about how heavy it sat on her hand. 

She’d woken under a suffocating blanket of dread, her heart in her throat. She’d stumbled to the bathroom and was sick until there was nothing left in her stomach, but it had hardly made her feel better.  

She doubted anything would.

She thought of the some of the more haughty things Lorenz had said back in school about noble marriages, about securing equal value to one’s title, thought about Sylvain’s hundreds of not-jokes about girls only wanting him so they could have his Crest babies and the status that came with them. 

She’d wondered, at first, why Hubert would ever insist on marrying her as part of the deal. It hadn’t made any sense to her—she was a peasant, a criminal, she had no money, no status. She’d thought he was planning on blackmailing her into being one of his spies, that he’d want to use the abilities that had been such a thorn in his side, but instead he kept her caged and useless under the guise of having her gain back some of her health. 

But then she’d thought again about how closely the Agarthans worked with the Empire, how closely Hubert’s agents worked with the wretched scientists she’d killed and everything had fallen into horrifying clarity. 

Hubert didn’t want her for a spy or a soldier. He wanted her to produce heirs. House Vestra had no Crest, after all, something that put them at a severe disadvantage against the other Great Houses. She understood, now, why Sylvain had always been so bitter on the subject of heirs—it was a horrible feeling. 

Especially because she had loved Hubert. Perhaps it had been school girl puppy love, but she’d been foolish enough to let herself hope it could be something. That he cared about her. And maybe he had—maybe he still did, in some twisted way. After all, he hadn’t once been unkind to her, since she arrived, had made sure she had stacks of books and ate regular meals.

She wished he hadn’t. She wished he’d locked her in a cell and had been every sort of terrible. That she could handle, make sense of. But this—this had her all tangled up and confused and devastated in ways she hadn’t even known she could be. 

It took her a few moments to realize that the maids had finished with her and left. She looked at her reflection for the first time, staring back at a girl she hardly recognized. She wore a long sleeved, high necked ivory gown covered in crystal beads, every inch of it tailored to flatter her figure. Her hair had been braided into a sort of crown, tiny white roses and crystal hairpins woven throughout the stark white of it, a few strategic tendrils curling around her face. They’d made her into something beautiful, hidden her scars so expertly that she doubted anyone would be able to see them. Once, she would have been overjoyed by that fact, would have loved looking into the mirror and seeing the face she would have had, if her life hadn’t been torn apart by the curse of her blood. Today, though—

She wiped the foundation off each of the scars, wanting them to be on full display for all the vapid, vain nobles. Hubert could dress her in silks and cover her in crystals and roses, but it would never be enough to make her fit into his world. She would always be a Abyssian rat, and she didn’t want anyone assuming that the reason Hubert was marrying her was for her face. 

She looked up as the door opened again, revealing one of the guards and a chamberlain. She swallowed hard, clenching her hands in her lap to disguise their shaking.

They ushered her through the halls to the imperial chapel, settling her in a small side chamber. She ignored the sound of the door opening again, not ready for them to tell her it was time to walk, not ready to become Hubert’s wife—

“Magpie.”

Her heart lodged in her throat as she watched Yuri step inside and she nearly knocked over her chair in her haste to cross the room and throw her arms around his neck. He was dressed formally in grey and violet, his hair in his usual ponytail, effortlessly elegant as always.

“I missed you. I missed you so, so much,” she said, forcing herself not to cry. She couldn’t because she knew, then, she wouldn’t stop, just like yesterday. 

“I missed you too,” he said, voice strangely constricted. She stepped back, searching him for any signs of injury. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. What about you? He hasn’t done anything to you, right? If he so much as laid a finger—”

“He hasn’t. We hardly speak.”

Yuri nodded, though he looked unconvinced. He swallowed hard as he looked at her, absently tucking a stray hair back into place. 

“You look so grown up,” he said finally, pursing his lips. “It feels like yesterday I was teaching you how to read in that shithole apartment down by the market.”

“I owe you everything—“

“No. No, you’ve never owed me a thing.”

“Yuri—“

“I mean it. Just having you was always enough. I’m lucky to have you for a sister. Even when you drive me up the wall.”

“It’s good for you.”

“Oh yeah? According to who?” Yuri said, his teasing smile almost disguising the sadness in his eyes. He stared at her for another long moment before digging in his pocket for a small, flat box. “It’s nothing fancy, but it made me think of you.”

He handed it to her and she opened it, freezing when she saw the little hairpin inside, adorned with a magpie in flight. It was clearly old and a bit tarnished, nothing like the sparkling pins that had been put into her hair by the maids. It reminded her of her trinket collections, of the first few things she’d found on the streets of Enbarr to keep in their musty flat. 

It had been the reason he’d started calling her a magpie in the first place. 

“It’s perfect.”

He gave her one of his signature cocky grins, taking it from her and slipping it into her braids. “I know.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s probably time, right?”

“Oh, I was supposed to bring you down right when I came in. I’m sure everyone’s real antsy by now.”

She laughed as she took the arm he offered, giving it a squeeze as he shot her his best mischievous smile, one that almost hid the sadness behind it. 

“Are you sure about this? We can figure something out—“

“It’s the safest play, Yuri. You know it is. We’ll just—we’ll make it work. We always do.”

Yuri opened his mouth to say something but closed it again, clenching his jaw to disguise the slight tremble of his lip. She just hugged him, too tight, and willed herself not to cry.

They walked in silence towards the chapel where the ceremony was to be held, a harried looking attendant jogging to meet them.

“Where have you been? You’re nearly a half hour late,” he said, shooing them towards the door. 

“The bride can’t be on time, it’s bad luck. Don’t you know that?” Yuri said as if it were obvious.

“Just go, before the Marquis loses his patience completely,” he said, pushing the door open and signaling for music to begin. 

Yuri glanced over at her, ignoring the attendant’s signal for them to start walking. “Give him hell, Magpie.”

She nodded and he waited until she gave him the hint of a crooked smile before he finally started to lead her down the aisle. The chapel had been covered in flowers—roses and dahlias and asters and gardenias—so much so that it felt more like a greenhouse than a house of the Goddess, something she actually preferred. After all, she’d never been able to allow herself the same sort of faith Yuri held, not after everything she’d gone through. 

She didn’t recognize most of the faces and guessed they were nobles and Imperial advisors. There were far more than she’d thought there would be—she’d assumed it would be a small, simple thing, but there were probably over two hundred people, all staring at her.

“It’s alright, just smile, it’s a game, and you’re going to win it,” Yuri said, quiet enough that she knew only she could hear.

She couldn’t help but smile at that, even when she caught sight of Hubert at the end of the carpet, standing next to Edelgard at an elaborate lectern. She couldn’t quite make sense of the way he looked at her, his gaze intense, jaw tight. He was dressed stuffier than normal, but she’d daresay it suited him. 

He’d always been striking. 

She dropped her gaze to the floor, hating herself for the errant thought. Still, Yuri was right—it was all a game, the same game he’d been playing with nobles the whole time she’d known him. She’d just need to learn fast. She already knew how to play it from the shadows.

It would be okay. 

She looked up again as Yuri came to a stop in front of Hubert and Edelgard, a blinding smile on his face, one no one from the crowd would see the threat in. It softened when he turned back to her and pulled her into a bone crushing hug, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She blinked back tears as he stepped away, towards a chair in the front row next to Dorothea and Ferdinand. 

She took a deep breath before taking the step forward to stand beside Hubert. Edelgard motioned for them to face each other. Hubert held out his hands and she took them. He wore gloves as usual, something that struck her as odd considering she wouldn’t be able to slip a ring over the leather. She looked up at him as Edelgard began her speech, not really listening to the words. The sound of her blood was too loud in her ears, the weight of all the eyes in the audience constricting her chest. 

Hubert’s brow was furrowed in concern, lips pressed into a tight line. He gave her hands a brief squeeze. She wondered if it was meant to be reassuring. 

It was more likely to be a warning. 

It wouldn’t do well to upset him, not today, not if she wanted to see Yuri again soon, if she wanted him safe. She tried to listen to Edelgard’s speech about devotion and loyalty and love, but she couldn’t, not over the way her heart pounded in her ears. She nearly missed the signal to place the black metal band onto Hubert’s finger.

She gently pulled off his glove, pausing when she saw the blackened fingertips, the blackening veins. She could feel rabid darkness trapped under the discoloration, something about it perverted and wrong. She didn’t think as she slipped the ring on his finger, covering his hand with both of hers as she closed her eyes. Banishing shadows was always so much harder than bending them to her will and these felt stubborn, perhaps because they were still laced with the vestiges of dark magic. 

She heard Hubert suck in a sharp breath and stopped, pulling away her hands. Hubert’s hand was unharmed, though his fingers were no longer blackened, no trace of the darkness left in his veins. Edelgard paused, glancing at Hubert’s hand before Cecily slipped his glove back on, keeping her head bowed. 

She hadn’t meant to do it, it had been like a reflex. She doubted anyone but Hubert and Edelgard had noticed, but still—what on earth had compelled her?

Hubert reached out to slip the wedding band around her finger, hand trembling slightly. Had it hurt him, when she’d willed the darkness away? She’d never seen Hubert afraid, not even shaken before. 

She looked up at him as Edelgard declared them wed. 

The kiss was brief, but nonetheless sweet. She’d scarcely registered his fingers weaving into the hair at the base of her scalp before he’d stepped back, dropping his gaze to the floor to perhaps hide the slight pink tint that had set in his cheeks.

She stood frozen for a second before turning to face the crowd with him, eyes falling to the floor. She took the arm he offered, emotions rioting within her.

Why did a simple kiss set her heart hammering in her chest, make her feel lightheaded and unsteady?

Why did she want another?

He led her down the aisle and to a side door where he pulled her into a small, cozy sitting room that had been decorated with vases upon vases of flowers. He closed the door behind them and she felt her heart racing in her chest, beating against her ribs. She’d been alone with Hubert before, of course, but this felt different. There was a sort of urgency behind his movements.

“Shouldn’t we say hello to everyone?” She asked in a small voice, staying close to the door.

“We have a few minutes before everyone moves to the ballroom. I thought you might want a moment away from the crowd.”

She nodded, wringing her hands. 

“You—you never told me you learned healing magic. You must have talent, I was told it couldn’t be treated,” he said, glancing at his hand. 

“I’m sorry if I hurt you. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t, it was a relief,” he said, fixing her with an unreadable expression. She looked away, pretending to examine the flowers. “Last I saw you, you couldn’t cast a spell. Not even a simple one.”

She didn’t say anything. Hubert stared at her for another long moment before nodding to himself. 

“Thank you. I—as I said it comes with relief. I—“ he said, eyes sweeping over her form, “You look beautiful.”

She flushed at his words, that awful, tangled up feeling rearing in her chest, now all the worse for knowing what his lips felt like on hers. She hated that the sensation still had her heart pounding. 

“I believe it is time to return to our guests,” Hubert said, sounding almost disappointed. “It can be overwhelming, these sort of Imperial affairs, and most nobles are frankly exhausting to speak with. Should you become uncomfortable as we make our rounds just—just squeeze my arm twice. I’ll see that we can retreat back among our friends.”

She nodded, wishing it was but so simple. 

~~~

Hubert was struggling.

He hated inane noble small talk at the best of times, but it was insufferable when all he wanted to do was stare at his wife.

Cecily was his wife. 

His beautiful, radiant wife, a creature so ethereal he could hardly believe her real. He wasn’t the only person to note her beauty either, something that he catalogued with a cold sort of possessiveness that surprised him. 

He steered them both through the crowd, towards the tables he knew held familiar faces that would at lest be less irritating. He would have preferred something much smaller and less stuffy, but half the point was to to make it clear to as many people as possible that she was under his protection and make it politically disastrous for Arundel to go after her. It only helped that Cecily, unlike him, had a very endearing way she spoke to others, even frightened and half hiding behind him. Though everyone else he was sure just assumed she was just shy.

He had, when he’d first met her.

And perhaps she was, a bit, but she handled noble banter better than he ever had. Perhaps a large part of that was the fact that she wasn’t trying to actively frighten them off as he usually did, but she just seemed to know the right thing to say, small compliments and questions that weren’t invasive but still showed interest and deference to their positions, as if she didn’t now outrank all of them.

They were swarmed by friends as soon as they approached the high tables. There were congratulations and well-wishing, but mainly everyone wanted to swarm Cecily, seeing as they hadn’t seen her in four years. After all, he hadn’t let anyone see her before the ceremony. The last thing he needed was interference. Dorothea wrapped her in a tearful hug, babbling about how much she’d missed her, how she knew she’d come back. 

Hubert stepped back as the former Black Eagles bombarded her with questions, knowing she wouldn’t let slip their agreement or anything else that could put Yuri or any of the refugees from Abyss in danger. He glanced over at Edelgard, who’d stepped to his side, watching the reunion. 

“Your hand?” She asked, low enough that only he could hear.

“It appears completely healed.”

“How did she manage that?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t say.”

“Could—could that be part of the reason my uncle is so keen to get a hold of her?”

“It must be part of it. Not even the Imperial healers managed such a feat.”

“Perhaps it will work out,” Lady Edelgard said as she watched Cecily smile and laugh with their friends, though her mirth never quite met her eyes.

“What do you mean?”

Edelgard gave him a look. “This union. She cannot hate you as wholly as you believe if she chose to heal you.”

“Perhaps it was more akin to a reflex. Or perhaps she has too soft a heart to see others suffer.”

Edelgard raised an eyebrow at his pronouncement. He made a face. “What?”

“Somehow I don’t think that is it.”

“Think what you like.”

~~~

“Lorenz?” Cecily said, eyes going wide as she spotted him. He could only stand there dumbly for a moment, staring at the beautiful woman before him. Had she always been such a singular creature? She no longer appeared gaunt, her face clean and unbruised, her hair shining with the luster pearls wished for. Even with the scars on her cheek, he’d seen paintings of the Goddess herself that didn’t hold a candle to the woman in front of him. 

He’d always thought her pretty but he’d been so wrong. 

His heart hammered against his ribs, his throat tight. He’d scarcely been able to get a word out since she’d walked down the aisle, no matter how many times Ignatz had asked him if he was alright. He couldn’t explain the sick feeling in his stomach, the invisible vice that had locked itself around his chest. 

“Lorenz?” She asked again, a hint of panic rising in her voice. He shook himself free of his stupor. 

“Cecily—” He broke off, glancing at a gaggle of nobles that was not so subtly watching them. He saw Cecily’s eyes flick toward the onlookers, but she answered easily, as if she had no idea she had an audience. 

“Lorenz! What a wonderful surprise—Hubert hadn’t told me he invited you! It’s been far too long,” she said warmly, her smile bright, though he could see the worry in her eyes, even if she disguised it well. “I hope your journey here was easy, I hear the roads have become more treacherous along the Arymid.”

“It was no trouble, especially to see one of my dearest friends wed. It was—it was a beautiful ceremony. I’m quite sure you make the most beautiful bride. Speaking of which—where did Ignatz go?”

“You brought Ignatz?” she said, expression brightening at the mention of their friend. 

“Of course, I could only bring the most talented painter in all of Fodlan to do your wedding portrait.”

“My—Lorenz—“

“You can’t say no to a wedding present, my dear, it’s terribly rude. Of course it will take more than just tonight for him to finish, so I will have to deliver the finished piece in a few weeks.”

“I—of course. You’re always most welcome,” she said, smiling wide as she realized the true nature of his present—he knew she would care little for a portrait, but company, company and friends she needed. He’d heard from some of the other Enbarr nobles that no one had see her since her arrival, that she’d been sequestered to her apartments, something about recovering from a carriage accident. He was quite sure that Hubert had kept her entirely isolated since she’d arrived in Enbarr. 

“Ah, Lorenz, I was looking for—Cecily! It’s so nice to see you,” Ignatz said, appearing at his shoulder and looking more than a little frazzled. Lorenz knew he wasn’t used to recognizance work, but they didn’t have much of a choice. “I found a lovely place out in the gardens that I think would be perfect. For the portrait, I mean.”

Cecily’s eyes flicked to where Hubert stood with the Emperor, surrounded by a gaggle of nobles, and nodded, following swiftly behind Ignatz without any further preamble. Lorenz noted Yuri’s eyes following them, how he excused himself from his conversation with Dorothea and followed the three of them, at a distance.

Ignatz had indeed found the perfect spot, in the middle of the rose hedges, far away from prying eyes and prying ears. The moment they rounded the corner to the little bench where Ignatz had set up an easel and a box of supplies Cecily threw her arms around him pulling him into the tightest hug. 

“I missed you—how is everyone? What’s been going on? Has Charon fallen? Is Balthus still in Leicester? Have there been any more—“

“Cecily—are you okay? Has he hurt you? What happened?”

“I—he was—he was going to kill Yuri. I—I didn’t have a choice. I’m sorry,” she said, eyes welling up with tears. Lorenz panicked.

“No, no—you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m only—I’m worried for you. We all are, but Claude is worried to move against Hubert—“

“You can’t. It’s too great a risk. You know it is. I’m—I’m fine. It’s not ideal, but I will make it work for us, it will just mean delays—more than before.”

“I’m not talking about the information—I’m worried about you, I’m terrified—“

“He’s coming,” she whispered, eyes going wide before darting to Ignatz. “How do I pose?”

Lorenz stood frozen as Ignatz helped her to the stone bench in front of the garden bed, fussing with her dress for a moment before stepping back and starting his sketch, working faster than Lorenz had ever seen him. It was still a few moments before he heard the sharp rap of footsteps, a few more before Hubert appeared, face stony. 

“Lift your chin a bit, Cecily? You’re looking at the dirt,” Ignatz said, staring over the top of his canvas. 

“Like this?” She asked, raising her face. 

“Perfect, thank you,” he said, returning to the portrait without acknowledging Hubert’s entrance, though, Lorenz thought he saw the slightest tremor in his hand. 

“Cecily—I’d wondered where you’d run off to,” he said, eyes flicking between her and the portrait quickly coming to life on the canvas. 

“Lorenz commissioned Ignatz to paint a wedding portrait, wasn’t that thoughtful?” Cecily said offering him a smile. “We didn’t want to interrupt you and the Emperor, and Ignatz said sometimes it’s easier to start off with one figure first.”

“Would you like to hop in now, Hubert? I can get the sketch down and do the rest from memory. Cecily’s harder because of all the beading.”

Hubert stared at him for a long moment before before he nodded, moving to stand behind Cecily, left hand resting on her shoulder, showing off the black band on his finger. Hubert didn’t bother looking at any of them, instead just staring down at Cecily with an odd sort of look, his expression almost soft—or at least, what might have been considered soft for Hubert. 

Lorenz instead focused on Cecily, on the way the moonlight illuminated her face, the roses blooming behind her. The way she might have looked in his own rose garden, had they ever had the time to simply enjoy it.

He didn’t know if he wanted a name for the feeling rising in his chest, or if it would just make it all the worse. So instead he just stood, watching Cecily as Ignatz worked for a half hour more, until he declared that he’d gotten enough down and could finish the rest without them. Hubert offered his hand to Cecily to help her stand, which she took before turning back to him and Ignatz. 

“Thank you both for the most lovely gift, you are far too good to us,” she said, stepping forward to give them both a swift hug. She looked as if she wanted to say more, but stopped herself, forcing a smile. 

“It was nothing. A small token of appreciation,” Lorenz said schooling his face into his most charming courtly smile. 

“I should be able to finish it in a few weeks,” Ignatz added.

“Take as long as you need, Ignatz. Any painting of yours is a priceless treasure worth waiting for. I’m so glad to see you haven’t given it up.”

“Yes, thank you,” Hubert said, barely glancing at the pair of them. “We should return, Cecily. Emperor Edelgard has insisted on our opening up the dancing for the evening.”

“Of—of course, Hubert,” she said, and let him lead her back through the hedges to the party in the ballroom. Lorenz watched until she was out of sight, something in him he’d never quite been aware of starting to break.

~~~

Cecily followed Hubert back into the ballroom, her heart in her throat, glad that her shadows had informed her of his approach well in advance of his arrival. It was easy enough to get a few to cling to him, to hid in his own shadow and keep tabs as she needed. They'd been practically screaming for a workout as it was, the most she'd pushed them to spy on the night guard outside her door since her arrived. 

She hadn't thought he would have invited Lorenz, but then his family did publicly support the Empire. He didn't know that they become friends since the war, that they had been working against him since the attack on Garreg Mach. 

She hadn't realized just how much she missed her friends in the Alliance until she'd seen them. 

Hubert lead her to the dance floor, offering her a formal bow. She curtseyed back, purposely unbalanced--all these snotty Empire nobles saw her as peasant trash, dim and easily manipulated. She'd use that to her advantage. After all, the easiest way to figure out all their vapid little schemes was to make them think she'd be an easy pawn in them. Some of the dumber ones even seemed to think they could somehow win Hubert's ear through her good favor--as if he gave a damn about anything she had to say. 

But Yuri had been right--Court was a game, a nasty little game where half the time, it seemed, you only need wait for them to skewer themselves on their own egos. Which was not as fun as skewering them on the end of a dagger, but beggars couldn't always be choosers. 

"Are you ready?" Hubert asked, his quiet voice enough to pull her out of her reverie. She nodded and he gave a signal to the band before reaching out to take hold of her hand and waist. She took a deep breath, concentrating on following his lead. It wasn't easy, like it had been at the academy. She hadn't spent the month before practicing with Dorothea so as not to embarrass herself. She hadn't danced--properly danced--since the night of the White Heron Ball. Sure, she and Rook and Dove had gone down to the pub every so often when they had time and a bit of spare coin, but that was more enthusiastic whirling and stomping than anything that might resemble proper noble dancing. 

She couldn't help but scan the crowd, noting the faces, familiar and otherwise, ears pricked for whatever comments were made loud enough for her to hear. 

"Cecily," Hubert said, drawing her attention once more. She stared up at him, and for a moment she saw the young man she'd fallen in love with at the Academy, the young man who had gone out of his way to help her, whenever he could, who didn't find her odd for her interests in poisons and knives, who didn't look down on her for what she'd had to do to survive. She ignored the lump in her throat, instead forcing a smile.

"Yes, Hubert?"

He opened his mouth to speak but only shut it and shook his head. Something in her broke a little bit more as she fought back the urge to cry. She wanted to run away, wanted to run back to Leicester and her friends, or to Rowe and Yuri, but she couldn't--not just because Hubert had Yuri in his clutches, or the remainder of Abyss, but because she knew it wouldn't matter where she went. He'd hunt her down and anyone who got in between--they'd be collateral. 

Hubert had always wanted what was best for the Empire, for Edelgard. And what could be better than a gaggle of monsters he could mold himself, that looked and spoke like everyone else but could spear you with nothing more than a bit of your own shadow. 

Monsters just like her, chained by his leash.

~~~

It was well after midnight when he’d finally managed to slip away from the reception. 

Almost the entirety of the night had been insufferable, filled with meaningless chatter of nobles trying to win his good favor, trying to win Lady Edelgard’s by extension. Her plans for a new, class-less society hadn’t gone over well with most of the noble houses, though they were quietly trying to garner Imperial favor to cement their standings, rather than outwardly reject her vision. It was the safer play for them, though their efforts were wasted on him. 

He held no interest in noble power grabs, except how they effected Lady Edelgard and her goals. None of the players groveling around him tonight had any chance of proving a threat. 

Of course it did mean that he was forced to spend the vast majority of the evening at least pretending to entertain their drivel, instead of spending it with Cecily.

His wife.

It still hadn’t set in that it was real, that she had actually agreed. He’d expected more of a fight, more outlandish demands, a failed escape plan or two. 

But there had been nothing.

He couldn’t help but keep glancing over at Cecily as he pretended to listen to the men around him. She’d stayed at the head table for most of the night. Yuri hadn't left her side since the first dance. Lorenz and Ignatz had joined her there, along with Dorothea and Bernadetta, though the latter just seemed glad to be further away from the crowds of nobles. He watched her laugh at something Dorothea said, watched how it almost reached her eyes. He remembered how she had laughed at the Academy, how she’d throw back her head and wrinkled her nose. He remembered what it felt like to earn one of her laughs, to watch her eyes sparkle with mischief as she snorted at his jest. 

“It is a shame about the scars. Your wife would have made a beautiful bride.”

That broke him out of his reverie. He rounded on the man, a stout little eastern lord of no consequence with a mustache as thin as his hairline. 

“What did you say?” His voice was even, but anyone who knew anything about him could hear the edge of warning, the promise of danger in his words.

“The scars, they are a great shame. She truly would be a beauty without them. Especially for a commoner.”

“That is my wife. How dare you insult her, and to my face no less?” he snarled, too angry to revel in the man’s horror.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, I apologize, I’ve clearly drunk myself stupid—“

“Clearly,” Hubert snapped, glaring at the man until he ran off, the other lords following suit. He watched them go, gripping his champagne flute with enough force that it was likely to snap.

“Hubert—what’s going on? You’ve got your hackles up,” Ferdinand asked, appearing at his side with a look of concern.

“What is that fat little blond man’s name?”

“The one in the blue? That’s Count Barnabas’s second son.”

“He’s going to find himself at the end of a terrible accident.”

Ferdinand sighed. “Are you really planning assassinations at your wedding?”

“You didn’t hear what he said.”

“Why are you listening to anything he has to say? You’ve been practically ignoring Cecily since the ceremony.”

“I have not.”

Ferdinand just raised an eyebrow. 

“Shut up,” Hubert retorted, but there was no bite in his voice. Ferdinand glanced between his friend and the Count he was still glaring at.

“What on earth did he say, anyway?”

“He said she would have been beautiful without the scars. For a peasant.”

Ferdinand’s eyes darkened. “What a vile little man. Pay him no mind.”

“They’re all shallow, vain—“

“They’re inconsequential. You know that. Their opinions mean nothing.”

“I—I don’t want her to hear any of it. Court is…cruel.”

Ferdinand paused, staring at his friend for a long moment. “I thought you would be happier. Even with the war, with everything that has happened since the Academy, you still carried a torch for her. Most would have given up, called it impossible long ago. I had heard she wasn’t even in the Empire, that she’d been in Leicester—“

“She was in the Dukedom. At least when I tracked her down.”

Ferdinand glanced at him, brows furrowed. “I’m guessing it was not the serendipity that I had assumed that reunited you.”

“Not the sort you imagined.”

“Hubert—“

“I don’t want to hear it. I assure you, whatever judgement you wish to cast, I have already leveled worse against myself.”

“I was simply going to say I thought it a love match.”

“A foolish notion.”

“Is it?”

“We are at war, Ferdinand.”

“Oh, yes, silly me, I had forgotten,” he quipped back dryly.

“Whoever holds her controls the Savage Mockingbird and his spies. That is an asset we simply cannot allow our enemies to possess.”

“You speak of her like a chess piece.”

“We must all do whatever it takes to pave the way to Lady Edelgard’s victory.”

Ferdinand gawked at him, opening his mouth several times to speak before shutting it again. Hubert said nothing, even as the shame of his words burned in his stomach, instead just finishing his champagne in one last gulp. 

“Why, then, do you care if the Count insults her, if she is but a chess piece to you in this war?”

Hubert stared ahead, unable to meet his gaze. His response danced at the tip of his tongue but he bit it back. 

He was glad Caspar interrupted them then, glad he stumbled into a stack of empty champagne flutes, shattering them against the marble floor. He was glad for the distraction of the commotion, the break from Ferdinand’s scrutiny. 

By the time everything had been sorted and he’d let himself look back at the head table it was empty, nothing but a handful of empty glasses left where Cecily, Yuri and the rest had sat. 

He turned back to the group, pretending to listen to Caspar’s story of single-handedly flushing out a bandit lair, pretended to laugh with the rest, pretended he couldn’t feel Ferdinand’s concerned gaze flicker his way.

When Hubert finally entered his bedchamber he found Cecily asleep atop the covers, clad only in a thin silk slip that did little to preserve her modesty. There was a champagne glass on the nightstand, the bottle next to it empty. 

She must have taken it from the reception. 

He couldn’t help his eyes from roaming over her form, curled in on itself as if it were enough to protect her. She was beautiful, starlight itself—it only served to highlight his own darkness. Her scars shone silver in the moonlight, covering far more of her body than he’d ever guessed. Thin, incision-like scars and thick slashes, jagged lines of silver and the remnants of burns. 

His blood boiled at the thought of someone taking a blade to her, of someone daring to harm her. It seemed hardly an inch of her lay untouched, an inch free from pain and torment. 

No more. He’d ensure that she’d be safe, at least, by his side. 

He paused, eyes lingering over the delicate skin of her wrists, of her ankles, where thick scars encircled them, scars that—more, even, than the others—made his stomach turn. They were the sort of scars one got from shackles, from years of being bound by them. 

How long had she spent in Arundel’s clutches?

Then there was the thick scar that slashed down her breastbone, disappearing beneath the silk of her slip. It looked old, though he couldn’t help noting that it looked as if it had been quite close to being a death blow. It wasn’t shallow like most of the others, but slightly indented in her skin, like the claw marks across her cheek. 

He crossed to the bed and pulled the soft woven blanket from the end of the bed and wrapped her in it, taking pains to ensure she didn’t wake. He hesitated a moment before smoothing back a stray tendril of hair that had fallen in her face, ignoring how his hand trembled. He pulled away, crossing back to the sitting room, grabbing the decanter on the sideboard before crossing to the double doors that led to the private balcony looking over the Inner Gardens. 

He threw himself into one of the cushioned chairs, tossing the glass cork of the bottle carelessly onto the small end table and took a deep draft of the bitter amber liquid. He wasn’t usually one to drink, but tonight—tonight he wanted to forget. 

He wanted to forget all the snide whisperings of the nobles at Cecily’s expense, to forget the feeling of Yuri’s eyes burning daggers in the back of his head. He wanted to forget Cecily’s downcast eyes and practiced, reserved smile. But mostly he wanted to forget how beautiful she looked in that glittering ivory gown, how soft her lips felt pressed against his own. The way her eyes widened in something like surprise when he broke the kiss mere seconds later, as if she’d expected something harsh and domineering—

He took another swig of the cognac, focusing on the way it burned his throat, on the slight note of honey that lingered on his tongue. It didn’t dull the ache in his chest as he’d intended, but after a few more mouthfuls he found himself drifting to sleep. 

It would have been better if he hadn’t dreamed, hadn’t remembered her smile from back at the academy, crooked and unrestrained, her nose wrinkling as she met each one of his quips with a barb of her own. It would have been better if he hadn’t dreamed that she’d smiled like that at him when they’d shared their first dance as husband and wife, instead of the way her eyes kept darting nervously around the faces of the all the nobles around them. It would have been better if he hadn’t dreamed they’d danced like they had at the monastery ball all those years ago, like it was the most natural thing in the world. It would have been better if he’d never set eyes on her, if Edelgard and the professor had never suggested the Ashen Wolves join their class at the academy. 

It would have been better if he’d never had the chance to love her at all. 

#hubert von vestra #fire emblem three houses #lorenz hellman gloucester

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 17

“Sit still, Magpie, or I’m going to send you up Topside with half a face of makeup.”

“You’re poking my eye,” she retorted, squirming away from his eyeliner brush. He grabbed her jaw to hold her still.

“Suck it up. Beauty is pain.”

“That’s bullshit. I’d be the prettiest person in Fodlan if that was true.”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “You are pretty.”

“Pretty fucking ugly.”

“Do you want me to finish you makeup or do you want to have a pity fest? It’s one or the other,” he asked, brow raised. She slunk down in her chair, dropping her gaze to the floor.

“Makeup. Please.”

“Ahh, so you do have manners.”

“No thanks to you.”

He laughed at that, eyes glimmering with mischief. It was no secret that she’d inherited his foul mouth and rapid-fire retorts. She had enough sense most of the time to keep it in Topside, but everyone in Abyss knew to be wary of her tongue.

“I still don’t know why you’re putting in so much effort. It’s lame, as far as balls go.”

“But I’ve never been to one. And everyone else is going to be dressed up and there’s going to be dancing and champagne and—I don’t know. They always sound fun in stories.”

He tried to hide his grin, shaking his head.

“What?”

“You’re adorable.”

“I’m not!”

“Yes, you are. Are you going to dance with your Prince Charming tonight?”

“Fuck off.”

“Planning on meeting someone in the Goddess Tower?”

“Planning on cutting holes in your socks.”

Yuri snorted, pinning a stray piece of hair back. He took a step back to admire his work. Her hair streamed down her back in perfect waves, half pulled back into braids that encircled her head like a crown. The white didn’t look so stark with the lilac ends woven through, bringing out color in her face. He hadn’t done much in the way of makeup. She didn’t need it, despite what she thought. He’d merely disguised the scars on her cheek as much as he could and emphasized her eyes with a little eye liner and mascara and the smallest amount of shimmer. 

“Do I look stupid?”

“Do you think I would make you look stupid?”

“If you thought it was funny.”

“You don’t look stupid. I, as usual, am a genius. Go on, check in the mirror.”

He watched her expression as she took a deep breath, steadying herself before turning to look at the small mirror on his vanity. He watched as she gasped, turning to stare at how faint her scar had become, almost invisible but for the slight divot of the old wound, at how large and thick-lashed her eyes were. She pressed her lips into a thin line, her eyes welling with tears.

“Don’t go crying off all my hard work.”

“You—I—Yuri!” She stammered incoherently, nearly tumbling from her chair in her haste to throw her arms around him in a hug. He returned it easily, not bothering to hold back his laughter.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Magpie. It’s just a little makeup, I’ve been offering to teach you  for forever.”

“You made me pretty,” she mumbled into his chest.

“Made—Cella, do you really hate your scars that much?”

She didn’t answer, just hugged him harder. He sighed, pressing his cheek to the crown of her head. He’d have picked her up her own cosmetics long ago if he’d known seeing herself unscarred would bring her to happy tears. She’d always seemed so indifferent to fashion, to her appearance, he’d simply thought she wasn’t bothered by it. She’d always been more concerned with snooping about, with reading as many books as she could get her hands on, with tinkering and causing problems for a laugh. 

She glanced up at him, eyes still shining, grin cemented to her face.

“You’re the best.”

“You’re tolerable.”

She scrunched up her nose at that, smile widening. She stepped back and did a little twirl in her altered skirt, smiling at her reflection in the mirror. 

It wasn’t often that Yuri felt like he was truly a good big brother. He ran a gang after all, a gang he’d allowed Cecily to become and integral part of. Sometimes he forgot she was barely sixteen, that she was supposed to still be more of a kid than not. But watching her beam at herself as she did a happy little bounce of a dance made him feel like the best brother in the world. 

Blood or not, she’d always be his kid sister, and he’d always do anything it took to do right by her. 

~~~

Yuri had been right—the ball was terribly dull. 

He’d never been one for such occasions to begin with, but with so little to gain by mingling with his fellow students—it was practically intolerable. 

Or it would have been, if Cecily hadn’t been having so much fun.

She’d spent the whole evening dancing, with hardly a break since they’d arrived. He hadn’t the faintest idea where she’d learned—maybe she’d asked Dorothea for lessons. She always went to her for help with classwork. 

He’d never seen her smile so much, or laugh. She practically glowed, brimming with joy. It was like watching who she might have been, had she never been kidnapped and tortured, who she would have been had she never gotten mixed up in petty noble disputes. 

“Kid’s having a good night.”

Yuri glanced over to find Balthus drop into a seat next to him, propping his boots on the table.

“Looks like it.”

“She’s about the only one. Constance and Hapi already left. What say we follow and continue the night with some proper drinks down at the Wilting Rose?”

“I dunno. Maybe in a bit.”

Balthus followed Yuri’s eye line to where Cecily was dancing with Claude, laughing at something he was whispering in her ear. Balthus laughed, shaking his head.

“You hanging around to scare off any over-eager suitors?”

“Why would I do that? She can take care of herself.”

“I’m not buying that, pal. Worried someone’s going to whisk her off to the Goddess Tower?”

“Terrified,” he retorted, the word dripping with sarcasm. 

“Alright then, why stay? You hate these things.”

Yuri just shrugged. “I like seeing her happy.”

“She does look young when she smiles like that. She looks so serious all the time I forget she’s practically a baby.”

“You’re just old.”

“You’re not wrong, especially in this crowd,” he laughed. “Two more songs and you’re coming for a drink with me. You gotta let Little Birdie fly on her own someday.”

“Balthus—“

“Come on! What’s the worst that can happen? It’s a church ball. So she makes out with some kid in the back gardens, it’s a right of passage.”

“This is not a conversation I want to be having.”

“Then you should just agree.”

“I’m not—“

“Hey!” Cecily said, beaming. She came to a halt right in front of the pair of them, beaming, cheeks flushed from dancing. 

“Oh, great timing. We’re heading out,” Balthus said, grinning as he glanced sidelong at Yuri. Cecily’s face fell, though she quickly replaced it with a well-practiced smile that never quite met her eyes. 

“Oh, okay. I’ll just go say bye to Thea.”

“No, no, no—Yuri and I are leaving. You stay and have fun. Besides, you can’t leave your first ball early, it’s bad luck.”

Her eyes flicked to Yuri, never quite believing Balthus at his word when he used that tone. He sighed, giving her a crooked smile.

“Go have fun. I have to get this geezer back home.”

“Hey!”

“Let me know when you get back, okay? I’ll be up.”

“Okay!” She said and grinned, giving both of them a quick hug before darting back towards Dorothea and a handful of the other Black Eagles lingering on the edge of the dance floor.

“See? No harm no foul. She’ll be fine! Come on.”

Yuri grudgingly followed Balthus from the hall, glancing back to find Cecily back on the dance floor being twirled around by Hubert, who’s usual grim demeanor was replaced with something softer, something almost like a smile. He turned on his heel, ready to abandon Balthus in favor of ensuring it was their last dance of the night together, but Balthus grabbed him by the collar and practically dragged him out. 

“Leave her alone, she’s a good kid, she deserves some fun.”

~~~

“You look…very nice tonight,” Hubert said, the words careful and measured. He was wrong, of course—his assessment was severely lacking. She looked particularly beautiful—she’d done something to cover her scars, sure, but it was more in the way that her eyes glimmered with excitement, the soft way her hair had been braided back from her face. 

She beamed back at him. 

“Yuri did it for me. You look really nice too.”

He ignored the faint heat that rose in his cheeks at her words, her smile. Had he seen her smile, really smile, before? Never this much, he was sure.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to be so fond of balls.”

“It’s my first one. I’d read about them, of course, but they’re much more fun in person!”

“If you like dancing.”

“Well, that’s the best part! Don’t you think?” 

Never in his right mind had Hubert ever enjoyed balls, or fancy parties, least of all dancing—especially the stuffy Court kind. But as he swayed with Cecily in his arms he didn’t think it could be all that bad, not if it made her smile like that. 

“I—Yes. I daresay it is.”

She rewarded him with her biggest smile yet. “I wish we had more than just the one here at the monastery. I’d like to do it again.”

“There will always be more balls. Goddess knows the Season is bursting with them.”

“The Season?”

“The social Season, when all the balls and parties are set. There’s scarcely a weekend without one.”

“Oh, how lovely,” she replied, though he could see her smile slip, just a bit. It was an idiot thing to say—of course she didn’t know what the Season was, or how commonplace, really, balls such as this were. He’d wondered why she’d scarcely stopped dancing for ten minutes the whole night, why she’d said yes to everyone who had asked her, even those she didn’t particularly get on with, why she hadn’t followed her fellow Housemates back to their quarters. 

For her there would be no more balls, no more nights of dancing and laughter, of idle banter and string quartets. 

“If you ever find yourself in Enbarr during the summer I would ask you consider accompanying me to one. I could use an accomplished dance partner.”

She giggled, not in the cruel sort of way he’d grown used to girls laughing at him, but in the way that bubbled up with harmless mischief. “I’m afraid you might have to look elsewhere then. Dorothea only started teaching me two weeks ago.”

“I never would have guessed. You’re a wonderful dancer.”

“Perhaps I merely got all my toe-stepping out of the way earlier in the night.”

“Oh?” He asked, amusement creeping into his voice as he raised an eyebrow. She giggled again, the sound as sweet and bright as bells.

“I might have stepped on Lorenz’s toes. On purpose. Because he said I could be mistaken for having a noble air about me when I was dancing, and I couldn’t have that.”

Hubert surprised himself by letting out a genuine bark of laughter. She fought her own smile, though her eyes shone with it. 

She opened her mouth to say something else but the song ended and she shut it again, the mirth once more slipping from her face in favor of a practiced smile, shoulders drooping ever so slightly as she took a step back into a shallow, unbalanced curtsey. 

“Thank you very much for the dance, Hubert.”

He tumbled out the words before he had a chance to reconsider. “Would it be presumptuous of me to ask for another?”

Her eyes went wide for a moment before she gave him the sweetest, almost shy smile. She answered with mock seriousness, the glimmer of mischief returned. 

“Oh, most certainly, but I daresay I could forgive it.”

He smiled back without thinking. “Then I am ever so lucky,” he said, offering her his hand once more. She took it with the same hint of shyness she’d shown at his request, though it was without hesitation—they easily fell back into rhythm, Hubert depending on over a decade of practice while Cecily followed his lead as if it were as easy as breathing. He wondered, idly, when she’d found the time to practice so diligently with Dorothea—he still wasn’t quite sure how she found time to sleep between her late nights studying and her work with Yuri. 

He wished then, that his offer to take her to another ball, to have an excuse to spend an entire night at her side, with her in his arms, hadn’t been a functionally empty one. He’d meant it when he’d said it, meant every word—but the world would be a very different place in a few months, and Enbarr wouldn’t be hosting any balls any time soon. He quite doubted there would be many throughout Fodlan in the next few years, at least until Lady Edelgard was able to unite the continent under a new, Crestless society. 

Until then there wasn’t time enough to spare for such frivolity, for such pointless, selfish desires. He could simply allow himself these few moments, moments he—

“Are you alright, Hubert?”

“Of course. I apologize, I simply got lost in thought.”

She searched his face for a moment, her own unreadable. “It can be a treacherous endeavor.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Indeed.”

“Hubert?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“For what.”

“Being kind to me. Even when I know it’s been burdensome.”

He shook his head. “It’s never burdensome. I promise.”

She smiled at him as the song ended, letting the silence ring out a second before stepping out of his hold. 

“Thank you for the dances. I hope the rest of the night treats you well.”

“Are you retiring for the night?” He asked, hating the edge of disappointment that laced his words. 

She huffed a laugh, ducking her face to hide her blush. “Well, three dances and people would talk.”

“I didn’t know that you cared about what people thought.”

“I don’t,” she said, something sad creeping onto her face. “But you have to. Goodnight, Hubert.”

“Cecily—“ he called after her but she didn’t turn, disappearing from the ballroom without a second glance.  

~~~

Hubert surveyed the ring, the sick feeling in his chest rising. It was objectively perfect—a delicate platinum band with a large, marquis-cut center stone of shimmering alexandrite, flanked by a spray of smaller ebony stones on either side. The center stone alone had cost an exorbitant amount, but it resembled the peculiarity of her eyes so well that he hadn’t blinked. 

He thought of how under different circumstances he’d be nearly giddy at the thought of giving it to her. How he would have sat and prepared an entire speech, taken her to the rose garden, away from prying eyes, declared to her his ardor and devotion. 

He wondered if she might have liked it, had it not been a shackle. He’d never seen her wear any jewelry other than the silver cuff on her ear engraved with a band of foxglove. 

He sighed as he set the ring back in the box. He’d have to give it to her tonight—he wouldn’t be allowed to see her before the ceremony tomorrow, some sort of idiot custom he was supposed to adhere to. 

He stood stiffly before he could lose has nerve and strode to Cecily’s apartments, nodding at the guard at the door before stepping inside. She was sat on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, chin propped up on them as she stared blankly at the flickering shadows on the hearth. She didn’t look up or greet him, though her grip tightened as if it were enough to protect her. 

“I thought you should have this before tomorrow,” he said, though he didn’t move to hand her the box. It was another moment before she turned her head to look up at him and it was then that he could see her red-rimmed eyes. 

She’d been crying. 

His heart twisted painfully in his chest at the realization, but he shoved it down. She might have been crying, but her cheeks weren’t as hollow, her bones no longer as sharp under her skin. She was still too thin, but not in the utterly unhealthy way she’d been when she arrived. She was at least better taken care of in the palace, no longer starved and bruised. 

He hesitated a moment before sitting next to her on the floor, ignoring the childish indignity of it. He watched her brows furrow in confusion, all the more so when he pulled out the little leather box.

He handed it to her without preamble or explanation, choosing to watch the flames, rather than her face. She didn’t say anything for a long time, long enough that he thought she might not say anything at all.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s for you. I should have given it to you at the start of our engagement, but I admit that I hadn’t yet gotten it.”

She stared at it for a long moment, absently tracing the stone. Then she handed it back to him.

“I do not need a ring, Hubert, nor am I suited for one such as this.”

“It’s a gift, and it was made specifically to suit your features. You will be the Marquess Vestra tomorrow, and will need things befitting such.”

She didn’t say anything, but he watched as she wrung her hands, as she traced the scars that dotted her knuckles, that cut across the backs of her palms. Scars from fighting, from training and surviving. He thought of his own hands, less scarred, though discolored from years of black magic overuse. She’d never seen him without his gloves, no one had, save Edelgard, but she would, tomorrow. She’d have to, to slip his own black band onto his finger. 

Surely, if the faint silver scars on her own disgusted her, his hands would prove a horror. 

He pulled the ring from the box and reached for her hand, pausing just shy of taking it. 

“May I?” he asked, half expecting her to get up and lock herself in the bedroom, as she was prone to do the moment she became utterly sick of him. Instead she stared at his hand for a long moment before placing her own trembling one lightly in his. He was struck by how small it looked in comparison, how something so unassuming could cause such destruction, should she desire it. He slipped the ring on her finger, glad, at least, that he’d gotten the sizing right. He hated the involuntary rush of warmth at seeing it there, knew it had perhaps more to do with the connotation of such a piece than with his satisfaction with the design. 

She didn’t pull her hand from his right away as he’d expected, her face unreadable as she stared at it. He wondered if she’d momentarily forgotten her hand was still in his, though he’d be hard pressed to remind her, not when he could revel in the warmth of her touch for just a little longer. He was surprised by the urge to press his lips to her knuckles, the sweet gesture so absolutely out of character for him. 

She pulled her hand back gently, wrapping her arms back around her knees. He couldn’t help but glance at where it glinted in the firelight. 

“There is to be dancing tomorrow. I remember—I remember how you enjoyed it, at the Academy. I did—I did promise you another dance, in Enbarr.”

He didn’t know why he said it, why he brought up what had been such a happy memory. Maybe he just wanted to fill the silence. Maybe—maybe he wanted her to know that he still held her in the same regard, even now. Maybe he wanted her to know that he still remembered, that it hadn’t been an empty promise. 

He watched in horror as her face crumpled and she let out a choked sob. She buried her face in her lap, her breath coming too fast, her shoulders shaking with ragged tears. He sat frozen, unsure of what to do. He wasn’t the most comforting person at the best of times but he was worried now that he’d only make it worse. 

He had a strange, foreign compulsion to pull her into his arms and hold her, but he didn’t, instead forcing himself to stand. He poured her a glass of water and set it carefully next to her before taking one of the blankets off the couch and wrapping it around her shoulders. He didn’t want to leave her side, not while she was crying, but seeing as he was the cause he backed up towards the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

“I—I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m sorry, Cecily.”

She didn’t respond. He wasn’t even sure she’d heard him, through her tears. He lingered another moment before forcing himself to go, walking quickly to his own chambers to wallow in his own misery. 

~~~

Cecily sat on the roof of the ballroom, watching the light from the windows dance across the gardens. She’d cloaked herself in shadow so no one would be able to see her.

She knew she should just go back to Abyss. Yuri said that he’d be waiting up for her, something she’d most definitely want to avoid, especially coming back red-eyed with all the makeup he’d so carefully applied wiped off on her sleeve. 

It was her own fault, for being stupid. She’d forgotten that she was just a little Abyssian rat, just another orphaned urchin who’d gotten good enough at stealing and eavesdropping to keep herself in coin. 

Hubert would be a Marquis. He was the closest confidant of the next Emperor of Adrestia. He’d probably attended enough balls that the thought alone of this one had bored him stupid, meanwhile she’d made a fool of herself telling him she’d read about them in story books. 

She shouldn’t have come. She’d never belong to that world, never fit in the way Yuri so effortlessly could. 

It had been fun though, to pretend, just for a few hours. To laugh and talk and dance—by the Goddess she loved dancing. It left her giddy and breathless and she couldn’t think of anything that had made her so happy.

Unless it had been dancing with Hubert.

That had felt so utterly different, like she’d been floating, like it was just the two of them instead of a crowded hall full of their peers. And he’d smiled, and the softness of the expression suited him perhaps more than that devious smile that she favored, a smile that always meant something was about to get interesting. 

But he was the son of a Marquis and she—

She had never even met her father. He’d been some sort of scholar, back in Sreng, or whatever passed for a scholar there. He’d been learned enough try to kill her the moment he’d seen her eyes. 

If she was lucky she’d return the favor. 

Because that’s what she was—a murderous little monster with a penchant for spying and ruining other people’s plans. 

She swiped at a tear running down her face, hating herself for being so stupid, for forgetting her place. She was nothing more than a plaything to these noble brats, would never be anything more than a plaything when it came down to it. After all, she wasn’t pretty, like Dorothea, or scholarly, like Linhardt, or a fierce and tenacious fighter, like Petra. She wasn’t inventive like Constance, or strong like Balthus, or brave, like Hapi, or even half as wily and charming as Yuri. 

She was still just a silly little girl, a silly girl who still believed there was truth in story books. 

She leaned back on the roof, looking up at the stars. Yuri had always told her that heartstrings were what they tired the noose with, that they were made him so very good at what he did. He could make anyone fall for him, pour riches into his hands in the hopes that it would win them his heart. But it was a game—he’d always told her it was a game as long as you weren’t stupid enough to let anyone close enough to take yours. 

And she’d been particularly stupid—of all the people at the Academy she’d let herself fall for not only a noble, but for Hubert, who loved nothing and no one but her Majesty, Lady Edelgard. Who was perhaps even more rigid in his adherence to his noble duty than Ferdinand, but had the good sense to mostly shut up about it. 

He was kind to her and she was useful. 

Because she was useful. And that’s all they’d ever be. All she’d ever be.

Useful.

She didn’t bother wiping the fresh wave of tears, she knew they’d only just be replaced. 

She knew Yuri loved her, beyond her use, had loved her before he’d known, when it was only a burden to him. But beyond that—she’d been enveloped into the Ashen Wolves because of Yuri, rather than anything she had to offer. Balthus looked out for her because Yuri’s asked, Hapi would share a meal with her if they were both around, and Constance—Cecily knew Constance had a good heart buried beneath all that pompousness and inbreeding, but she still hadn’t gotten over the time she’d tried to bully her into being a test subject for one of her experiments and she’d had one of the worst panic attacks of her life.

And yet she couldn’t stop thinking about the way Hubert had smiled at her, how it had felt to have his hand on her waist, to hear him laugh, really laugh. The way he’d look at her when they studied together in the library with the same softened brow, how he’d help her even though it served no benefit to him. 

Or maybe it did and she was just dense. 

She scrubbed at her face until it felt like she’d wiped off the last of the makeup—she’d been stupid to ask Yuri to do it for her. She wouldn’t have, if she’d known just how much nicer some people would have been just because they couldn’t see her scars. 

If she’d known she’d have gotten a tiny taste of what her life might have been like if she’d been pretty. 

Surely, she’d have been insufferable, not a door unopened to her. 

It would have been nice.

Next

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #yuri leclerc #fire emblem three houses x reader #slow burn #friends to enemies to lovers

[mt-musings]

Inherit the Night - 16

Hubert glanced over to where the little Abyssian girl sat in the back of the classroom, hunched over half a dozen books and pages of scrawled equations. She’d remained in the same place since the professor had dismissed them for the day several hours earlier. 

She looked up as he leaned over her shoulder, a smudge of ink across her cheek. 

“Hubert? Do you need me to move? I can go to the library—“

“No, I simply wanted to see what you’ve been working on so diligently.”

“Oh,” she said, ducking her face to hide her flush. “Nothing really.”

“It seems you are struggling with your calculations.”

She flushed a deep crimson, dropping her gaze back to her papers. “It’s fine. I just have to tell the professor magic’s not really for me.”

“What exactly is it that you’re struggling with?”

“What?”

“What are you struggling with? Perhaps I might be able to explain it in a different way.”

She stared at him for a moment, brows furrowed. “Hubert, I couldn’t—“

“I’m not going to ask you again.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed. It was the first time he’d seen her look even a little bit frightened. 

“I don’t—I don’t know how to do math with letters in it.”

“These are quite simple—“

“I don’t—I’m just going to tell the Professor I can’t do it. I’m better at swinging a sword anyway.” She started closing all her books, shuffling her papers into her bag. Her face was beet red, her shoulders curved in on themselves as if she wanted to disappear. 

“Wait,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I—I could help. With the basics. You seemed to have some affinity for casting during training the other day. It would be a shame to see such talent wasted when it could benefit Lady Edelgard.”

“It’s okay Hubert, really. I have kitchen duty, I’ll see you around,” she said, flashing him a smile before shoving the whole lot of papers into her desk and scurrying out the door. He waited just long enough to be sure that she wouldn’t turn around and circle back before pulling the papers out she’d so hastily stowed away.

There were pages of scribbled out diagrams and equations, all written in a cramped scrawl that was, at times, hard to decipher. There were notes from class too, carefully copied from the board, though the notes she’d taken from lecture were riddled with spelling errors and scribbled out portions. 

“Why are you going through Cecily’s desk, Hubie?” 

He started at the sound of Dorothea so close next to him and turned to glare at her. She just ignored him.

“If you needed to borrow notes you could have just asked.”

“I—she was struggling with some basic equations and I wanted to see where she was going wrong.”

“Why didn’t you just ask her?”

“I offered my help, but she said she was just going to drop her studies and I couldn’t allow that.”

Dorothea cocked her head to the side. “Oh?”

“She has talent. Even if academically she’s a bit…behind.”

“She told you, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s never been to school before. Yuri only taught her how to read and write a few years ago.”

Hubert turned back to the pages, brows furrowed as he re-examined the pages. It was clear to him then that the spelling errors were phonetic, that she wrote the notes out as they sounded during class. He noted the careful, yet clumsy formation of the letters. At the way the notes copied from the board mimicked the professor’s slanting script. At the pages of scribbled out equations.

He had been perhaps three when his father had started him in lessons with a retinue of tutors. By the time he was seven he could read and write better than most twelve-year-olds. By ten he was learning advanced spell craft. 

He’d never much thought about the education of commoners. He had supposed they all learned how to read and write, for it was such a fundamental skill, just like arithmetic.

“Don’t be hard on her, Hubie. She’s trying hard enough already.”

“My intention is not to chide her for errors. As I said, I wished to offer my assistance.”

“That’s sweet, but I don’t know if she’ll take it. You know how she likes to keep to herself.”

“I am aware.”

“Just—perhaps it would be better to just let her be, Hubert.”

Hubert didn’t respond, instead returning the papers to their former place. He didn’t know why he cared in the first place.

~~~

Claude looked up at the slight knock on the door, brows furrowing as he recognized one of Cecily’s runners. She rarely entrusted her missives to the Alliance to anyone else, though she’d been sure to introduce him to any that she trusted enough to make the journey in her stead. It was just another one of her safeguards, one he might have made fun of her for during their time at the Academy, called her paranoid. Now he couldn’t express how much he appreciated such paranoia.

The girl who strode into his study was slight, with short-cropped black hair and deep, blue eyes. Cecily had sent her twice before, more than any of the other five runners she’d made him memorize. 

“Lord Riegan,”

“Lark.”

She dug through the lining of her jacket and produced a wrinkled, carefully sealed slip of parchment. He took it without any further preamble. 

It was all another layer of precautions, after all. 

“There should be a hot meal down in the kitchens and I’ll see that you’ve got more than enough supplies to make it back. Does she expect a reply?”

“I dunno, I wasn’t given it directly.”

Claude just nodded, doing his best not to betray his apprehension at her answer. He waited until she’d retreated and the door had swung shut once more before turning back to the letter. 

It was closed with her usual seal, one he knew to be disguised as a thick silver ear cuff that she rolled across the wax to make the distinct band of foxglove.

He broke the seal, unfolding the missive with apprehension. It was already a poor sign that she hadn’t come herself—injury hadn’t stopped her in the past, nor bad weather or skirmishes. It usually denoted some sort of upheaval in her little underworld operation—rival spies attempting infiltration, a cocky upstart hoping to seize the ring for his own.

It never went well for them.

Her handwriting was harried and messier then usual. She’d never had a neat hand, never quite mastering cursive or print, instead adopting a random amalgamation of the two. Combined with the intricacy of the code she sent everything in—it was practically illegible to anyone who didn’t have a very clear idea of what they were looking at. 

It took him longer than usual to translate, due in part to several portions where the ink had been smeared over in her haste. 

Plan went south, MB captured. HV insisted on trade. Ironclad, the bastard. MB will explain everything. Won’t be able to return to Derdriu for the foreseeable future. Couldn’t be helped. Will send word when I have trustworthy eyes and ears in place, could be a while. 

I am safe, do not intervene. Do not respond until route secured, will confirm in next missive. Watch your back, play neutral as long as you can. 

I’m sorry, I didn’t have a choice. Given one, it would have been you. 

C

PS, tell Lorenz he owes me money and I told him so. X

He stared down at the letter for a long time. He felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. He’d expected an outline of troop movement through Varley territory, perhaps an update on the skirmishes at the edge of the Tailtean Plains and the newly formed Fhaerghus Dukedom.

It had to be bad if Hubert had been the one managing the trade. 

The last line bothered him for some reason. It wasn’t the first time she’d included a message for another of the Alliance elite, though usually it was for Lorenz’s father, with whom she got on with surprisingly well, or Hilda and by extension Holst, whom she’d sometimes send messages from Balthus. It was nearly always something extremely important, like troop movements or supply shortages that effected their territories. Never simply a quick ‘I told you so’ or a joke. Especially to Lorenz.

It had to hold a double meaning.

He stood, venturing to track him down and find out exactly what it could mean. She was always precise with her words, more so since the war—whereas Yuri could spin marvelous tales, could pull out a story for every occasion, Cecily could tell you one thing while her words said the complete opposite if you hadn’t the context to piece it together.

Perhaps that was why her and that elder Gloucester got along so well. He’d always had the suspicion it was merely to irritate him personally. 

He spotted Lorenz in the parlor, nursing a cup of tea as he went over a stack of reports. 

“Lorenz?”

“Yes? Ah, Claude, how are you doing this evening?”

“Why do you owe Cecily money?”

“I don’t—oh! That was a jest. We had a friendly wager about how many varieties of roses the Imperial gardens housed. I told her it was well over a hundred. She insisted it was forty-seven, not including hybrids.”

“Ah.”

“Why? Did she say anything else?”

“Nothing I can yet confirm.”

“Well, let me know the next time she arrives, I still have some of that floral tea she prefers set aside. She left before I had a chance to give it to her.”

“I—You got it.”

“Claude?”

“Yes?”

“Are you quite sure you’re alright?”

“I—yeah, of course.”

“Very convincing. My door remains ever open to you if you wish to talk.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Of course.”

He ducked out of the parlor, fighting the bile rising in his throat. 

She was in Enbarr.

She was in Enbarr and Yuri would explain everything.

She’d given herself in his place. She must have, if he was free and she was unable to return to Dedriu. Hubert had played the pair of them like a fiddle. Their one, glaring weakness was each other, it always had been.

How exactly she’d expected him to wait, to do nothing—he couldn’t just leave her in the Empire’s clutches. Then again—then again he could hardly mount a rescue effort in the heart of the Empire without completely forgoing any hope he had at remaining neutral, at least in visage. 

He shut his office door, too hard, and slumped back in his chair. He dropped his head in his hands, racking his brain for anything he could do to fix it, to bring her back. Not only was she an incalculably vital resource with both her and Yuri’s combined network of ears throughout Fodlan, but she was his friend, his drinking partner, his confidant. He trusted her, more than he perhaps trusted anyone else in Fodlan. Maybe because she’d made her trade in subterfuge and secrets but appreciated the truth more, in whatever fraction he could give it. Maybe because she’d long ago ferreted out his true heritage and never once used it as a bargaining chip, even though it could have been used to ruin him.

Maybe because she could nearly always make him laugh, no matter how infuriated he was by the roundtable meetings or the constant pressure on their borders. 

He’d wait, at least until he heard exactly what had happened from Yuri, to tell the others. It wouldn’t serve anyone to break morale. Lorenz in particular, he knew, would be devastated. For all their bickering at the Academy they’d grown close since the war. She’d often had to pass through Gloucester territory and he’d insisted she’d at least stop in for a proper meal every time one of her runs took her past his estate. He knew she’d changed her mind about him after seeing how the villages in his territory prospered, compared to those she’d grown up in in Faerghus, how, for all his pompous orating, he and his family did genuinely care for the common people. 

~~~

Growing up there had only been one person in Sylvain’s life that didn’t give a damn about his crest. One person that didn’t treat him with deference because of it or shirk away from his presence. 

One person who’d paid with their life for bothering to treat him like everyone else. 

Or at least he’d thought. 

The girl standing shyly next to the House Leader of the Ashen Wolves didn’t have the blue-black hair of his memories—hers was a shock of white that faded to lilac. But her mismatched eyes were the same, even under snowy lashes, as was the scar from the claw wound on her right cheek. She didn’t look at him, or indeed anyone as Yuri spoke animately with Professor Byleth, instead leaning against the window sill and pouring through a large book. 

She was so small. He would have expected her to be much taller, considering her mother had been fully six feet tall and she’d always been tall for her age. Was it from malnourishment? She looked far, far too thin, her face sharp when it had always been round and healthy. 

“Dimitri—that girl. Doesn’t she look familiar?”

“Yuri’s sister? Not particularly.”

“Doesn’t she look like Sersh?”

“Sersh?”

“The girl—remember the girl who broke her arm when you were visiting when we where kids?”

“The little kitchen girl?” Dimitri asked, not unkindly, but it irritated him just the same. To everyone else she was just a little servant girl but to him—she’d been his friend. If his father had had his way she would have been more, though that had only lead to her brutal death.

Or so he’d thought. 

“Yeah. She had eyes like that.”

“Sure, but she didn’t have any scars and her hair was black. And didn’t you say she died? It’s probably just a coincidence.”

“Probably,” he said, though he didn’t mean it. After all, Dimitri had met her before she’d gotten those scars, before she’d nearly died protecting him. Before any of the nonsense with crests or arranged marriages or murders in the night. 

She’d just been a little girl then. 

He waited until Professor Byleth and the boy finished speaking, waited until they’d walked away. The girl remained, still absorbed in her reading. He wondered if she’d even realized Yuri and the Professor had left.

He only hesitated a moment before striding up to her, heart hammering in her chest. 

“Saoirse?”

She froze ahead of him, every muscle tensed as if preparing to bolt. That was enough confirmation that he was right, that it wasn’t just some sort of sick coincidence. 

“Is it really you? I thought—I thought you died,” he said, voice shaking. 

She turned, slowly, to face him, all the color drained from her face. She stared at him with wide eyes, looking as if she might burst into tears.

“I might as well have. The girl you knew did.”

“Sersh—“

“Don’t call me that! I can’t do this, Sylvain, I’m sorry,” she said, taking a quick step back. He reached out without thinking and grabbed her wrist. She dropped her book in fright.

“I need to know what happened. You just…disappeared.”

“Let me go, now. Please—“

“Just talk to me, I need to understand.”

“The lady made her position quite clear, Gautier.”

Sylvain jumped at the sudden appearance of Hubert von Vestra. Cecily used his surprise to yank her wrist free, cradling it with her other hand as she took half a dozen steps backwards, eyes never leaving him. Hubert stepped in front of her, blocking her from his view. 

“Shove off, Hubert, this has nothing to do with you.”

“On the contrary, I believe you harassing a member of my House has quite a lot to do with me.”

“I wasn’t harassing—I just wanted to talk.”

Hubert raised a brow, his amber eyes boring into Sylvain’s, a clear challenge.

“Do you wish to speak with Sylvain, Cecily?” He asked without braking his gaze.

“No,” she said quietly. Sylvain’s heart sunk at the slight tremor of the single syllable. 

“You heard her. Best be off,” he said, staring him down until he turned to go. Hubert stooped to pick up the book and handed it back to her, brows furrowed. 

Sylvain glanced back before rounding the corner to see Hubert ushering Cecily away, one hand protectively at the small of her back. She wrapped her arms around herself before giving him a smile, even as her brows remained furrowed, anxiety clear on her face. 

But clearly not anxiety at Hubert’s presence as he watched her shoulders relax.

~~~

They’d fallen into a sort of mind-numbing routine. Cecily awoke at dawn after an hour or two of sleep, only to find Hubert already at the small dining table with breakfast laid out, the smell of coffee overtaking the space. He’d acknowledge her with a nod of his head before turning back to the papers in front of him. She’d pick at whatever was in front of her before retrieving a book, usually some vapid romance she’d had Issac, the day guard, pick for her from the library. It served a dual purpose—to disarm Issac and lull him into thinking she was a dull, silly girl, endearing him to her, and to annoy Hubert and keep him from getting any sort of read on her, something she knew bothered him to no end. 

She’d already gone through the entirety of the recommendations she’d received from Lorenz in the past few months. He’d used to lend her paperbacks to read once he’d finished them so he’d had someone to talk to about them. At first she’d thought it frivolous, but it had become a comfort, upon her visits, to enjoy a cup of tea and discuss  something that had nothing to do with the war before turning back to the horror. Claude had liked to make fun of them for it, but Hilda always enjoyed joining the discussion, recommending far steamier titles than Lorenz’s sense of propriety allowed, not that it stopped him from reading it.

Her heart hurt at the thought of her friends. Would she ever see them again? Had Claude gotten her message yet? Would Lorenz be able to attend the stupid wedding under the guise of Gloucester being pro-Empire? Would it be wise of him?

She glanced out the window, glaring at the sun shining defiantly in the sky. It would be hours until it was dark enough for her to sneak out again. She only ever did so after the lights in Hubert's apartments across the garden went out, usually around three in the morning. She turned her own lights off at varying times between eleven and one, careful to never be too consistent. She knew he watched her room, could see him, sometimes, silhouetted next to the window. 

When he was asleep, though, it was easy enough to cloak herself in shadow and climb to the roof. The guards were few and far between and easy to duck. She'd explored most of the roof, orienting herself from the map Peregrine had given her and noting any points of interest, what times the guards' shifts changed. But mostly, she found a quiet, secluded spot and watched the sky for an hour or so, and enjoyed a bit of wind on her face, the illusion of freedom. 

There were no big plays to make until Paloma and the rest were settled far from Arundel's lands, until Hubert got what he wanted, until she dug something up dangerous enough to renegotiate.

Of course it was hard to dig anything up when locked in a fancy little jail cell. She wondered where Yuri was, if he was safe. She missed him terribly. When would she be allowed to see him again?

She thought idly of running away for the hundredth time, knowing it was too dangerous--she couldn't risk Yuri's safety, and now she couldn't risk the rest of Abyss. 

She still hoped it was the right play. It got them away from Arundel, from the skirmishes, made sure they were fed and housed, but that was only if Hubert held up his end of the bargain. Which, of course he would, as it tightened the rope around her neck. But it kept them close, close enough to look after and far from the front lines, far from Arundel's agents that had been slowly picking them all off for four and a half years.

And it would let her set up another Roost, another outpost, another trusted group to gather and dispense information. It just involved biding her time, which she'd never been much good at. Even when she'd filled in for Yuri the first time he'd gone to the Academy, she'd struggled with the distance of leadership he so effortlessly maintained. 

No, even at thirteen, she preferred to work alone. At least she'd become better at delegating. 

It was about all she could do, now.

She sighed and dropped into one of the chairs next to the fire in the sitting room, dropping her head into her hands. She was not built for captivity, even if it was far more comfortable than the metal tables she'd been chained to as a child. Still, she'd been able to be patient then, to wait for the right moment. 

She'd just have to do it again.

~~~

He had not planned on being caught skulking around in Abyss, and certainly not by Cecily. She flashed him her usual warm smile, raising a brow. His eyes flitted over her clothes—not her usual uniform, but rather a ragged pair of men’s trousers and a loose tunic, both of which were covered in dirt and no small amount of blood. 

“What are you doing down here, Hubert? You’ll ruin your shoes.”

“You’re covered in blood.”

“Oh! Yes. It’s not mine. I had to deal with a rat problem. Are you looking for something? It’s easy to get lost if you don’t know the passages.”

“I’m not lost.”

“It seems you are. Students can’t just wonder through Abyss. It’s not safe”

She was still smiling, but there was something steely behind her mismatched eyes, something that made him doubt that the ‘rats’ she’d been dealing with were actually rodents. 

The Savage Mockingbird wouldn’t keep someone around simply because they were cute. 

He felt himself flush at the thought. He didn’t think she was cute—objectively she’d be very pretty if it weren’t for the thick scars on her face and if she ate regular meals but—She wasn’t—He didn’t—

“Are you okay? You look flushed. I hope you’re not catching a cold. Just come with me, I’ll take you back.”

“I’m fine—“

“Hubert, I’m telling you, it’s best if you return Topside.” 

I t wasn’t a request. He decided it was better not to argue.

~~~

Hubert sighed as he perused the unfamiliar shelves, wishing he had some semblance of an idea of what he was looking for. It had been easy in school—they’d read all the same sorts of things: books on poisoning and chemistry, thick histories and volumes on dark magic. She’d also favored books on botany and horticulture, but now—

Now all she seemed to read were the paperback romances. He was half convinced it was to prevent him from knowing any of her genuine interests, some sort of misguided attempt at convincing him she’d somehow become shallow and stupid in their time apart, no doubt to lull him into a sense of complacency.

Or perhaps she did simply enjoy them, needed an escape from what had become of her life. Which was why he found himself in the library’s romance section, which he hadn’t even known existed, with a list of the titles he’d seen her reading so as not to duplicate them. He’d thought of sending one of the pages to do it, as he had with his initial reading list and the ready-made clothes he’d bought for her to wear, rather than the rags she’d arrived in, but he’d decided to do it himself. Perhaps it would give them something to talk about, rather than wallow in uncomfortable silence. 

They hardly spoke, even though he made a point to have breakfast with her each morning and dinner when he could. He knew he’d hardly have the opportunity for such time after the wedding, once she’d be sequestered to the estate. He knew there would be a part of him that missed it, even with the lengthy, uncomfortable silences. He’d at least miss their chess matches over dinner, ever-silent, but nonetheless stimulating. Sometimes he swore he saw a spark of her old self over the board as she toyed with him, an echo of the perfectionist who reveled in competition, but it was always quickly buried when he tried to get a better look. 

He glared at the rows of books in frustration, not knowing where to begin. 

He’d known he would be a lousy husband, but he thought he’d at least be able to be competent in such base, simple things as choosing a book she’d enjoy. The least he could do was provide her with a comfortable cage, and he hadn’t managed to even do that. 

Perhaps she would prefer the manor. He was sure she’d prefer seeing him far less. 

“Hubert!”

He fought the urge to groan at the sound of his friend’s familiar voice. Instead he turned, not hiding his irritation.

“I never thought you were one for romances? Or are you perhaps looking for inspiration?” Ferdinand asked, a teasing edge to his voice. Hubert glowered at him.

“I assure you, I am not. I was looking for something suitable for Cecily. She has been favoring them of late.”

“Ah, well I find that far more believable, if I’m honest. She always struck me as a romantic.”

“How absurd,” he scoffed. Cecily was the furthest thing from a romantic. 

Ferdinand gave him a rather piercing look before snatching the list from his hand and scanning it. “Are these the ones you’re looking for?”

“The ones she’s already read.”

“She has excellent taste.”

“Does she?”

“Oh, Hubert,” Ferdinand said, shaking his head as he turned back towards the shelves. He scanned them for a few moments, pulling out a small stack and handing them to him. “Here. These are all well-plotted and similar to what she has been reading. I’d recommend this one in particular,” he said, and Hubert disliked the way he smiled as he said, it, as if there was a joke Hubert was not in on. Regardless, he accepted the stack without thanks.

“I have reports to finish,” Hubert said curtly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Say hello to Cecily for Thea and I.”

Hubert turned on his heel without saying anything else and stalked to his office, dropping the books on his desk before slamming and locking his door. He thought he’d feel better with Cecily at least safe in the palace, that it would be enough, knowing that Arundel couldn’t get his hands on her. Instead he was constantly reminded of the harm she’d suffered in the interim since the Academy, the hardships and pain, the fresh cruelty he’d inflicted on her in the attempt to save her. He didn’t think the guilt would weigh on him so heavily, that he was even capable of it after all the horrible things he’d done in the name of Edelgard’s dream, things he’d done without an ounce of regret.

Perhaps it was because it wasn’t in strict pursuit of her mission, but his own selfish desires. Perhaps it was because he knew himself to be at least partially responsible for the girl he’d inadvertently fallen for withering into this shell of a woman he hardly recognized. 

He dropped his head into his hands. He wished he was as heartless as others believed, as heartless as he pretended to be. Maybe then such things wouldn’t weigh on him in the wee hours of the night. 

He glanced at the stack of books, grabbing the one Ferdinand had singled out. He had no interest in reading it in its entirety, or much at all, but he wanted to know the reason he’d seemed so smug with his choice. Had it been Dorothea who’d suggested it he’d simply assume it was filth and she intended to embarrass him, but he doubted Ferdinand favored anything so risqué, even with Dorothea’s broadening influence. 

He skimmed through the description and the first few pages before tossing it aside in disgust. It was some sort of forbidden romance between a noble mage and a common apothecary from warring nations, their desire for each other superseding the conflict and their difference in station.

Ferdinand clearly thought himself clever. 

He wondered if it would appeal to Cecily. He found the whole idea of it to be trite drivel. 

Still, if it made her happy…

He pulled out the maps he’d been working on before his detour to the library, burying his pointless thoughts. He had a war to win and a new system of governance to help enact. He hadn’t time for such trivial matters of the heart, especially when their pursuit was doomed from the start.

Next

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #yuri leclerc #sylvain jose gautier #dorothea arnault #fire emblem three houses x reader #friends to enemies to lovers #slow burn

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 15

“I believe we may have found one more victim of Those Who Slither in the Dark,” Hubert whispered to Edelgard, eyes not leaving the newest addition to the Black Eagles class. She was slight to the point of being sickly, her waist-length hair a shock of white that faded to the same lavender as their leader, tied back with a fraying silk ribbon. But she gave the lot of them a sweet, shy smile, though he noticed the way she retreated back towards the two boys from her House. 

“Indeed,” Edelgard whispered back, eyes locked on the girl with something almost like recognition. Hubert felt that old rage rear its head, the rage at having failed in his duty to protect Edelgard, to protect the future Emperor. He felt only a detached sort of pity for the new girl, though he watched her carefully as she took a seat next to her House leader, noted the way they moved in tandem, like parts of a matched set. 

He mentally noted it to be used later for his advantage.

Hubert spent the rest of the class watching the newcomers, rather than paying attention to the lesson. It was remedial in nature anyway—basic offensive magic, the sort he’d learn at seven at his father’s knee. 

His mood darkened at the thought of his father, as it always did. He brushed the train of thought away before it could put him in a foul mood. 

He turned his attention back to the Ashen Wolves, most of whom had already allowed their attention to lapse. Only the youngest girl took notes, nose only a few inches from her notebook. 

Not a practiced magic user then. A shame, then, seeing as she was too slight to pose any threat as a physical fighter. At least on an even-set battlefield. But as leverage against the others—

He was getting ahead of himself. 

None of them had proven so far to be of any worth to Lady Edelgard. 

Still he found his eyes wandering to her. She was much quieter than the others, though it was clear from her gaze that she was intelligent, observant—those were skills in and of themselves that proved useful, especially in his line of work.

He made it a point to introduce himself after class let out. He expected her to shrink back in fear, perhaps shriek like Bernadetta, but instead she stuck out her hand in an endearingly common sort of way. He shook it, even though he usually wouldn’t have.

“And your name is?” He asked when she didn’t offer it.

“Oh, of course. It’s Cecily.”

“Just Cecily?” he asked, raising a brow. 

“Cecily Leclerc. She’s my little sister. I’m Yuri.” Hubert looked up at the older boy who’d cleverly inserted himself into their conversation, smirking at him. He certainly shared the same sort of striking, delicate features, though his eyes were the same lavender as his hair and hers were odd, one violet, the other palest blue. He wore a fair amount of makeup to accentuate his natural beauty, but she wore none, not even anything to disguise the three jagged scars that cut through her cheek, from her nose to her ear. She’d have been very pretty without them, but even so there was some sort of mesmerizing quality to her, even disfigured. 

“It is nice to meet you both. I’m sure you’ll prove assets to the Black Eagles. The professor spoke highly of your ‘house.’”

To his surprise the girl—Cecily—snorted, trying to cover up a laugh.

“And what exactly is funny about proving valuable to the Empire?” He asked, slightly annoyed.

“Nothing at all, though I hope you enjoy being disappointed,” she said, giggling to herself. Yuri smacked her lightly. 

“We’ll let you get on with your day,” Yuri said, dragging Cecily away by the arm. She gave him a little wave before following, still giggling to herself. 

There were two ways to interpret her little outburst. One—the one he’d been conditioned to leap to—was that she was plotting something, that she planned to make herself a significant thorn in his and Lady Edelgard’s side. The other, which seemed more likely, was that she found the idea of proving to be any use at all funny. 

She didn’t seem to be the daft sort, so it made sense that she’d be well-aware of her lack of available resources, he was sure she could tell from her first lesson that she was far behind the others in the class, and she was too small and too wispy to be of any threat on the battlefield. 

It was strange to see such cheerful, fatalistic humor from one so young. The professor had said the youngest of their class was barely sixteen and he doubted greatly any of the others were younger than her. 

He kept an eye on her in classes, mostly because her response had struck him odd enough to make her interesting. It didn’t help that she didn’t seem to find him frightening in the least. She’s give him a small smile whenever she caught him looking at her before turning back to her work.

She was diligent in her studies. She never spoke in class, but her quill never stopped scratching and she almost always stayed after class to keep working. He’d thought she’d be a disgrace on the training field, but he’d been wildly mistaken. Small or not, if given a sword she was quite dangerous, if given a bow she was deadly and the one time the Professor had let her mess around with a set of Dagdan throwing knives she’d been frightening. 

Perhaps it had been wrong of him to assume that she was useless based on looks alone. She had managed to survive well enough down in the tunnels below the monastery. 

“Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked, standing next to the table where she was meant to be eating, though she seemed to have forgotten about her food in favor of pouring over an enormous tome of what looked to be flora of the region. She looked up, eyebrows furrowing for a moment before she nodded.

“Of course, Hubert. But where is Edel—Lady Edelgard?” She asked, quickly correcting herself from addressing her informally, even though Lady Edelgard had insisted they all could refer to her as such. It left a strange sort of fond feeling in his chest. 

“She is dining with the Professor. I saw you here alone and thought you might like some company. You usually dine with your brother or one of the other members of your house, but I daresay I haven’t seen any of them since lessons concluded,” he said, sitting across from her.

“Oh, I think Baltie said something about another assassin, so I bet that’s where he and Hapi went. Constance is working on some new strange spell and Yuri—I’m not sure where Yuri went. Maybe to the market? I wasn’t paying attention much,” she said, marking her page before shutting her book, though he noticed before she did that it was turned to a section entirely on poisons. 

“An assassin?" he asked, rather taken aback by how blithely she tossed it out in conversation.

“Oh yes. Don’t worry, they’re never very good,” she said, turning back to her meal as if it were a perfectly ordinary thing to say.

Well, it might have been perfectly ordinary coming out of his mouth, but he’d never have guessed he’d hear it out of hers.

“Is this an often occurrence?”

“For Baltie or in general in Abyss? I mean, the answer’s the same in both cases.”

“That hardly seems very safe.”

She laughed, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, that’s adorable.”

“I’m being quite serious,” he said, unsure why he even cared. It wasn’t as if she’d proven her usefulness, nor had he known her for more than a few weeks. Still, the idea of her in the decrepit tunnels beneath the monastery, surrounded by every manor of vile criminal to the point where she spoke of them so casually made his stomach turn for some reason. 

She stopped laughing, looking nearly guilty. “Sorry. I thought—I thought maybe you were trying to be funny.”

She turned back to her food, shoulders slightly curved in on themselves. 

Perhaps he should have simply pretended he’d meant to be funny. He felt rather bad stifling her laughter. 

“Why are you researching poisons?” he asked nodding at the book. Once more, to his surprise she smiled. 

“Oh! I’m trying to figure out which ones are most effective when applied to a blade and which are most effective when ingested. I’d like to understand why, but I don’t have the basis in chemistry or biology, so the practical answer is fine for now. Linhardt said this would be a good book to start with, it’s very interesting,” she said. She spoke faster when she was excited about something, her eyes glimmering. It was the first time he’d seen her so animated.

“That is a very specific avenue of inquiry, for sure. I’m not sure if the library has a copy of Leticia the Younger’s manual for toxic herbology, but it might be of some use. If they don’t I could lend you my copy.”

“Really? That’s very nice of you to offer.”

“Yes, well, it is a useful line of inquiry. If you wanted to discuss it further—“

“Why hello there, Hubert, Cecily. What on earth has you both in such rapt attention?” Ferdinand asked, sitting himself next to Cecily without prelude. Hubert scowled at him but Cecily grinned, though he recognized a spark of mischief behind her eyes.

“We were talking about you, actually, Ferdinand. We were just saying what an admirable job you did in training today with the axe, considering you lack Lady Edelgard’s natural endurance and athleticism. It truly is inspiring.”

Hubert watched in amusement as Ferdinand opened and closed his mouth several times as he tried to formulate a response to her extremely backhanded compliment. He was sure he was mostly struggling because she’d managed to say it in such an endearing, nearly-awed way that it was impossible to tell if she’d meant to be mean at all. 

“I assure you, I shall surpass her in the axe, just as I will surpass her in all things.”

“This childish rivalry of yours is frankly embarrassing,” Hubert said, raising an eyebrow. “You need to learn your place.”

“My place is as—"

“Well, I’ll leave you to that. I have, um, errands to run. Goodbye,” she said, quickly packing up her things and grabbing her tray to return. She gave them both a little wave before scurrying off. 

Hubert couldn’t help but turn back to Ferdinand, annoyed that he’d managed to chase away the most interesting conversational partner he’d found, other than Lady Edelgard, of course, in under fifteen seconds. 

“She’s a rather odd girl, don’t you think? Very sweet, but strange. Perhaps it’s the way she speaks, it’s like she’s playing at being a noble,” Ferdinand said, watching her disappear towards the greenhouse. 

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“The formal way she speaks. It’s like she learned from story books. Maybe that’s what serves for manners down in those tunnels,” he said, shaking his head as he turned to his food. Hubert didn’t respond, instead turning his attention to his now-cold dinner. 

Detestable as it was to admit, Ferdinand was right about the odd way in which she spoke—it just hadn’t struck him as so until he’d mentioned it.

~~~

Cecily ducked into the Ashen Wolves’ classroom, dropping her book bag on one of the desks. Yuri looked up, furrowing his brow.

“Where have you been?”

“Library, then dinner. It’s free and dare I say palatable.”

“Well, that’s always an improvement on the usual,” he said, huffing a laugh. She dug in her bag and pulled out the small crockery she’d wedged on top of all her books and notes with an extra portion and set it down in front of him.

“You’re a delight,” he said, pulling off the lid.

“So what’s the plan?” she asked, dropping down into a seat and kicking her feet up on the desk. 

“I haven’t even decided whether you’re coming or not.”

She laughed, the sound dark. “It’s adorable you think you have a choice.”

He made a face. She knew he hated when she turned his own favorite lines against him.

“That doesn’t make me more inclined to take you.”

“I mean, I could handle it myself. We wouldn’t have any more problems—“

“No. I’m trying to limit bloodshed and any retribution we might incur.”

“Hard to plot revenge if they’re all dead.”

“Cella—“

“I’m just—well I’m not joking. I just think they got their chance and they shat on it, so now we put the lot of them down like vermin before anyone gets the idea that the Savage Mockingbird has gone soft.”

“We’re not killing them all. At least not tonight.”

“I’m free tomorrow.”

“Knock it off. You know I hate it when you’re like this.”

“What? Right?”

“Not everything has to be scorched earth.”

“And clever threats are heeded more readily when the promise of violence is inevitable when they’re ignored.”

“Leave it, we’ll see if Kolya comes through on his end of the bargain. One last chance, then we’ll talk what happens next. They’re worth more to us alive at this point?”

“As patsies?” she asked. He smiled.

“See? This is why we don’t immediately go to scorched earth when they can serve a purpose.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes, before digging out her book from her bag. 

“Are you still stuck on poisons?” Yuri asked. She nodded.

“I have a couple theories I was to work out.”

“You sound like Constance, I feel like I should be worried.”

“I won’t try them on you, I promise,” she said with a crooked smile. 

“I thought you were focussing on learning proper magic.”

“It’s harder than I thought. I didn’t realize how much math it would be.”

“You’re clever, you’ll figure it out.”

“You’re not going to offer to help?” she asked, half laughing.

“Why would you want my help? I’m fairly crap at it.”

“Well I’m definitely crap at it, so it’s a step up.”

“You should ask Dorothea.”

“Maybe.”

“You could use some friends.”

“I have friends.”

“Friends from Topside.”

“Why?”

“It would be good for you.”

She made a face, but didn’t respond, instead picking up where she’d left off in the dining hall. She got about two pages in before Yuri spoke again.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do about Sylvain?”

“Wait and see if it’s an issue in the first place. He hasn’t recognized me yet, so I doubt he will.”

“That’s because you duck him every time he comes within a hundred yards.”

“It’s working so far.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he said, and she chose to ignore the sarcasm in his voice. She didn’t want to keep bickering—it seemed like that was all they were doing lately.

At least since they’d started at the Academy.

She knew why of course. Yuri wanted to use it as an opportunity to push her onto the straight and narrow, to get her out from under the wing of his little birds. It was admirable, but the opposite of what she wanted.

She wanted more, wanted to lean into a larger role, show him just what she was capable of, that she wasn’t just a scared little girl he had to protect. After all, she was good at the work, better than any of his other little birds. They didn’t have her advantages, of course, but then again, no one did. 

She’d been born for the dark and the shadows.  

~~~

Hubert didn't knock before stepping into Cecily's sitting room. She looked up from where she perched on the couch, clad in rough trousers and a men's shirt, both of white were too big for her. She was flipping something over in her hands, something palm sized, with a familiar gold glint. It was a small cigarette case, one that he'd seen hundreds of times.

He was surprised by the flash of anger that filled him. 

“Where did you get that?” Hubert asked sharply, swiping the case from her before she could protest. There were new designs scratched into its surface, dozens of staring eyes, but the original, even disfigured, was still clear. 

Loyal to the Death.

She’d changed it, scraping at the ‘th’ to make a clumsy ‘d’ so it read Loyal to the Dead. 

Neither one had been true about its original owner. 

It had been his father’s, he had countless memories of him pulling out of the inside breast pocket of his jacket after dinner, of him standing next to the open window to smoke his imported Dagdan cigarettes in deference to his mother, who hated the habit. 

Why did she have it? How—he’d looked for it, after his father’s execution, in a rare fit of sentimentality. He’d meant to crush it up and toss it in the fire, but it hadn’t been anywhere. 

“Where did you get this?” He asked, voice harsher then he meant. She didn’t flinch back at his tone like he was used to.

“Corpse,” she answered, purposely unhelpful, eyeing him with the loathing he was becoming accustomed to.

“What corpse?”

“A warm one. One of yours.”

One of his agents had taken it? Of all the disloyal—“Where? Where did you find it?”

“The Ohgmas. In Varley. Can I have it back?”

“No,” he said, still staring at it and wondering why it left him feeling so unsettled.

“I found it, it’s mine, I want it back,” she retorted, attempting to swipe it out of his hand but he held it high out of her reach.

“No. I’ll get you a new one.”

“I don’t want a new one.”

“I don’t care.” 

She glared at him, teeth clenched. “At least give me back the cigarettes.”

“Fine,” he said, pulling them out and dropping them into her palm. She stalked back off to the door to the balcony and stepped out, slamming it behind her, hard enough that the glass rattled. He pocketed the case, spotting a worn book of matches on the side table. He was sure they were Cecily’s—no one in the palace would keep such a ragged, cheap thing, not even the servants. Of course the servants also had clothes that weren’t riddled with holes and didn’t look a few skipped meals from withering away completely. 

He sighed and grabbed the matches. He walked to the balcony door and pulled it open, finding her sitting on one of the lounge chairs with her feet propped up on the railing, staring into the garden. She looked so horribly out of place in her tattered peasant clothes, the garden around her lush and full of life while she appeared courting death. 

He handed her the matches wordlessly, jaw tight. It was hard to believe this frail woman was the one hunting down Arundel’s outposts, that she’d been capable of killing his agents, of doing anything more than surviving a day at a time. She had been such a lively creature at the Academy, practically bursting with life. 

He’d expected some version of that girl, viciously angry and out for blood, not this shell that seemed resigned to her fate. He wondered if it was the war that had broken her, or if it had been him, his threats.

It didn’t matter—it was for her sake he did it, even if she didn’t know, if she never knew. He could look after her quietly, while she hated him, atone, just a little, for the evils he committed in pursuit of a greater good. 

“I can bring you books from the library, if that would help pass the time,” he said as she lit a cigarette and took a long drag. 

“You could let me see Yuri.”

“He’s not here. The deal was he went into the Empire’s service and he’s allowed to see you. He’ll be back in time for the wedding.”

“Wouldn’t want him to miss that,” she said darkly, mostly to herself, as she took another drag. He sighed. 

“I have things to attend to. I’ll have food and books sent up. If you need anything else the guard at the door will see it brought to you.”

He didn’t tell her the guard at the door was there more to ensure no one crept in to her chambers, then to keep her confined. Cecily didn’t say anything, merely narrowing her eyes at his words, so he left. He stalked to his office, scribbling out a set of instructions which he passed along to one of his pages to be completed. He rubbed at his temples as he turned towards his list for the day, already developing a migraine at the thought of everything that had to get done. 

It only got worse when his door opened and a familiar, ginger-haired figure appeared. 

“Oh, Hubert! I assumed you’d be taking the day off.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” He asked as he began reading through one of the three dozen proposals on his desk to be deemed important enough for the Emperor’s eyes or not. 

“I was under the impression that Cecily had arrived unexpectedly and that she was—well. I just thought you would want to spend some time at her side catching up.”

“We are at war, there’s hardly time for such frivolity,” he said, tossing the proposal in the bin before starting on the next one. 

“The stablehand said she looked half-starved when she arrived and covered in bruises.”

“That was generous of him.”

“Aren’t you concerned? What happened?”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t been very forthcoming.”

“Well, I’m sure she needs time and gentleness. The two of you should come for dinner tonight with Thea and I. We can invite Edelgard and the professor and have a little reunion celebration. I daresay that would life her spirits.”

“Perhaps another time, after she gains some strength. For now she is recovering in her chambers.”

“We could always come to her—“

“Another time.”

“Of course, we should let her settle. I’m sure it’s quite the change, for both of you.”

“Is there a point to all of this, Ferdinand? I have things to prepare before the advisors’ meeting with her Majesty.”

“I was merely inquiring after our long-lost friend and classmate.”

“There is nothing much to tell.”

“So then you are not engaged?”

Hubert finally looked up, shooting him a dirty look. “Where did you hear that?”

“Edelgard told me. She thought perhaps you could use some pointers in the realm of romance.”

So, she was punishing him. He supposed he deserved it.

“I assure you, I’m quite fine.”

“Says the man buried in paperwork in his office as his long-lost love languishes alone in an unfamiliar place.”

“I think she can survive a few hours in a guest chamber. I had a selection of books sent over.”

“You’re hopeless, Hubert.”

“And you’re absurd. You needn’t meddle. Cecily and I have an understanding.”

“An understanding? By the Goddess.”

Ferdinand stared at him like he’d gone mad, shaking his head. He stared for another moment before turning on his heel and leaving without another word. 

Hubert sighed, tossing the second proposal in the bin after the first. Perhaps Ferdinand might have had a point if the whole thing wasn’t coerced, if they’d felt the same as they had before the war, if she didn’t so clearly loathe the very idea of him. Perhaps then he’d be on the balcony with her as he sorted through proposals, teasingly discouraging her from chain smoking at least until she put on some weight. Perhaps then he’d have been holding her hand as they both read, absently playing with the ring on her left hand.

He hadn’t gotten her a ring. 

He’d have to, before the ceremony, before he couldn’t fend off his friends’ requests to see her again. 

The rest of the day dragged in the most irritating of ways, his foul mood only growing with the hours. Edelgard shot him more than one searching look, which he ignored. He didn’t need anyone’s romantic advice and he certainly didn’t need her pity. He’d made his bed and he was fully prepared to lie in it.

He was surprised when Edelgard dismissed him at half-five—they usually worked well into the night, often without break.

“Go.”

“We have more battle plans to finalize, supply lines to reenforce—“

“Go have dinner with your fiancé, Hubert.”

“I’m sure she’d prefer her own company.”

“Go.”

He sighed and bowed, gathering up his papers before departing. He half considered merely barricading himself in his office, rather than facing her, but something in him, something supremely masochistic, longed to see her. 

She wasn’t in the small sitting room when he entered a few minutes later, nor was she out on the balcony. He could see where the books he’d requested had been left on the coffee table, a half dozen of them lying open throughout the room as if she’d gotten bored midway through them. He knocked on the bedroom door before pushing it open, wondering if her reluctant complacence that morning had been an act, if she’d somehow managed to shimmy down from the balcony and he’d have to spend the next six hours finding her in the city and dragging her back.

Instead he found her laying on the floor with her feet up on the wall, reading a paperback he knew hadn’t been on his list. All the curtains had been drawn, leaving the room in darkness, except for a lone shaft of light she was using to read. 

“What are you doing? Why are you on the floor?”

“What do you care?”

“You’re lying in on the floor in the dark reading—reading what?”

She sighed, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before dog-earing her page and tossing it under the bed, no doubt to make it so he’d have to half crawl under it if he actually wanted to know whatever it was that she’d wanted enough to ask the guard to have it fetched. 

He could almost admire that level of pettiness.

“What do you want?”

“I thought we could have dinner.”

“Together?”

“Obviously.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Then I believe it’s phrased, ‘we’re having dinner Cecily. Go sit at the table like a good little pet or I’ll kill your brother,’” she said, her voice light despite the harshness of her words.

Hubert stared at her as she got up and stalked past him, back into the drawing room. Was that what he was turning her into? A wild songbird locked in a gilded cage? 

He pressed his hands to his face for a long moment, squeezing his eyes shut. Then he took a deep breath before telling the guard to fetch them dinner. He took a few moments to move the books from the coffee table before he grabbed an old chess board from one of the cabinets. She watched as he set it up, black facing him, eyes narrowed. He motioned for her to take the seat across from him and she did, after only a moment’s hesitation. 

“Do you know how to play?”

She spun the board so she had the black pieces, giving him a dirty look. “Why don’t you find out?”

She could, in fact, and beat him soundly. He actually had to try, the second time around, but she still managed to out maneuver him at the last moment.

They didn’t fight, either, when they were playing, which he considered a small victory. He set the board aside when their dinner arrived. He’d requested one of the dishes he remembered her favoring at the monastery. She looked from it to him for the briefest second before turning back to her dinner, but didn’t say anything. They ate in silence until he broke it, trying for something neutral. 

“What other games do you enjoy?”

She shrugged.

He nodded, trying not to think of how forced conversation had become, how stilted her answers, when they’d used to bubble out of her unchecked when she got excited and she’d stop herself from rambling, or play clever and coy. 

“Did you enjoy any of the books?”

“They were fine.”

“I can find something more suited to your tastes if you tell me what you want. I was just guessing, based off some of the things you used to read.”

“I’d rather walk around the garden.”

“Perhaps we can after your bruises have healed.”

“How long am I going to be stuck in these rooms?”

“Until the wedding.”

“Then will I be locked in yours?” 

“Then you will have more freedom.”

Stared back at him through narrowed eyes, her lips pursed. She didn’t say anything, instead just pushing away her plate and dropping her head in her hands.

She’d hardly eaten half and it was a small portion.

“Cecily—“ he began, but she got up and crossed to the bedroom, shutting the door behind her, hard. He heard the lock click and sighed. 

~~~

Some people simply couldn’t be reasoned with. 

Which was why she was now attempting to sneak back to the entrance to Abyss under cover of night positively splattered in blood. She’d have Walked back if it weren’t for the fact that she’d exhausted herself painting Kolya and the rest of his upstarts across the walls. Yuri hadn’t been pleased, but he’d agreed it had been necessary. 

She paused, briefly, hands on her knees as she took a moment to catch her breath. It shouldn’t have taken that much out of her, not a dozen rival gangsters. She’d done worse without breaking a sweat, but then again she hadn’t had to be in such control—she couldn’t exactly give into her nature with Yuri stood at her side, not for fear of accidentally hurting him. 

She shrank into the shadows, deepening them around her as she heard footsteps approaching. The figure didn’t glance her way, instead making a bee-line for the gate. They were tall, though any other discernible feature was masked by the overlarge black cloak, hood pulled low. 

She had half a mind to follow them, would have, if she wasn’t stretched so thin. She watched them disappear towards the greenhouse before crossing the last hundred yards towards Abyss’s entrance. She nodded at the Abysskeeper at the entrance to the tunnels before making her way to the Wilted Rose.

She could use a drink, or four, and something warm and mildly palatable. 

“Hey, little birdie. What are you doing up so late? Don’t you have class in the morning?”

She turned to see Balthus lounging at one of the far tables, grinning at her. He had a black eye and his uniform was covered in dirt, but other than that he hardly looked worse for wear. Cecily put in her order at the bar, making sure to specify that Balthus was absolutely not on her tab before going to join him at his table.

“Shit, pal, what happened to your face?” he asked, examining her split lip. It had yet to stop bleeding.

“What happened to yours?”

He laughed before pressing his fingers to her wound. She felt the warm tingling of healing magic and then relief. 

“Thanks man,” she said, reaching up to feel the freshly healed skin. It didn’t feel like there was even a scar. Balthus gave her an uncharacteristically piercing look before turning back to his beer. Cecily took her own cup of spirits mixed with over-sweet juice to make it drinkable, and downed half of it in one go. It left her with a pleasant sort of warm feeling. 

“You keep that up and you’ll end up an old drunk like me,” he said, half-joking as he watched her scarf down the meal the innkeeper brought.

“That would mean I’d get old, so it think that’s something to work towards.”

He barked out a laugh just as the chair next to her was pulled out. Yuri dropped into it, looking just about as exhausted as she felt.

“That was ridiculous,” he said, stealing a sip of her drink and pulling a face. “Goddess, I can’t tell if Travis loves or hates you.”

“He loves me,” she giggled, swiping her cup back to finish it. 

“Let me see your face,” Yuri said, grabbing her chin and pulling her towards him. “I know they got a couple of good swipes at you.”

“Baltie fixed it. Stop being such a mother hen.”

“I wouldn’t need to be if you had a lick of common sense.”

“You’re welcome. ‘Cause I’m sure you meant to thank me for saving your butt because I was right.”

“You’ve created a monster,” Balthus said, laughing at the look Yuri gave her. She grinned at him as she joined in Balthus’s laughter, knowing that Yuri, more than anyone, knew exactly what sort of monster she was and had very little to do with her creation. He only rolled his eyes, shaking his head. 

~~~

Someone was killing his agents. 

It would be annoying if he wasn’t terrified that it meant someone was onto Lady Edelgard’s plan. He stared around the room at the total and complete carnage, the blood splashed across the walls, the floor, the ceiling, He almost thought he should check for fur, ensure that it wasn’t some sort of beast set on them.

But that wouldn’t quite explain the wounds either, not when it almost seemed as though they’d been somehow ripped from the inside out. He’d have to begin researching, see what sort of magic could accomplish such a feat—it had to be archaic or terribly advanced if he had no clue what it could be. He couldn’t even feel the wisp of lingering power, the magical sort of fingerprint left by the caster.

There was just nothing. 

Hubert turned on his heel, careful to ensure he tracked no blood out on the soles of his shoes, that there could be nothing that could tie him to the destruction of the moldering hideout. 

At least they hadn’t managed to get their hands on the most important of his intel.

Small blessings.

~~~

Cecily grabbed the paperback from under the bed with a tendril of shadow and flipped through the pages, pulling out a handful of loose pages. It took her a moment to rearrange them on the floor, brow furrowed. It was a map of the palace, incomplete, but far more detailed than she could have hoped. Peregrine got to explore much of the castle, working in the kitchens, and was a favorite of the head cook, which meant she often was chosen to deliver to those who lived in the suites along the Inner Gardens. It had been easy to give her a few notes to smuggle out, using a bit of candle wax to press the seal of her ear cuff into. 

She studied the map for a few more minutes before gathering up the pages and tossing them into the fireplace. It was enough for her to remember, enough that she could draw it out from memory if she needed to. 

She wasn't sure what the play was, yet. Hubert had put her in a uniquely difficult position. Never, in a million years, would she have thought he'd demand to marry her, though that just proved how stupid she was. House Vestra was Crestless and Hubert worked oh so closely with Arundel. He, no doubt, knew the power that lay in her blood, assumed it could be passed on and exploited. She was little more than prized breeding stock. 

She threw the paperback against the wall, sinking to her knees, head in her hands. 

Next

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #yuri leclerc #ferdinand von aegir #fire emblem three houses x reader #friends to enemies to lovers #slow burn

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 14

She cried in the carriage. She cried for the two days it took them to reach the city, until her eyes burned and she she had no tears left. The carriage driver never said a word, though she was sure he could hear her.

They were real tears, but usually she would have pushed them down, never would have cried in front of someone she hardly knew—now she’d use it as a pike. 

After all, she was sure the carriage driver would talk about the battered peasant girl Marquis Vestra paid to have delivered, a peasant girl who sobbed for the entire journey. And when she arrived with red-rimmed eyes and a dress that made her look even thinner than she was, the servants would whisper and soon everyone would be talking about the poor girl Marquis Vestra dragged to Enbarr. 

Hubert she would have to be careful with, but he’d spent the entirety of their time at the academy underestimating her—all she had to do was play into his preconceptions, his assumptions. 

He’d probably force her into his service, make her spy for him, assassinate rivals, pave the way for a new Adrestian Empire with blood and crushed bone. Then she could be selectively defiant, purposely incompetent as long as it was believable, just really gum up the works, all while hopefully funneling information out to her birds and by extension to the Alliance. 

Of course, that was assuming he didn’t just throw her in a cell to rot. For most people that would be a worst case sort of situation, but for her it might be best. It’d be easy for her to slip out whenever she wanted with her shadows, easy for her to case half the palace while she was at it. Even if they cast Silence on her, or put her in some sort of anti-magic cuff she’d be fine, because none of that worked on whatever it was she could do. She wasn’t eight anymore, she’d long since figured out how to break out of any bindings.

As long as he didn’t drug her unconscious and bleed her.

Then her power would drain away with her blood. 

The thought was enough to make her nauseous.

It was a possibility—Hubert was working with Arundel, after all, and he’d do anything to secure Edelgard’s victory and her blood would go a long way towards that.

Still, it was a chance she’d have to take. 

She really was a wretched thing, to know without hesitation that she would allow herself to be used for such destruction if only it saved her brother. But the world didn’t matter without him in it, wouldn’t even exist, for her, had it not been for him. 

She’d burn it all to the ground herself, if she lost him. Because she was a monster, the like of which even she didn’t yet know. 

~~~

Edelgard had warned him about his chosen course of action with the Savage Mockingbird’s lovely little dove. 

“She will not bow to the rules of your games so easily, Hubert,” she had said with a raised brow. “You would have much more luck pursuing her affection in a more traditional manner, lest she resent you.”

“I—I do not want her affection. I am simply mitigating a threat to the Empire and ensuring another ring of spies.”

“You could ensure the same without insisting on marrying her.”

“Perhaps. Though the issue of her bloodline would remain.”

“Or is it simply the fact that you can’t bear the thought of her with someone else?”

He hadn’t said anything to that, the answer plain even to himself. He’d convinced himself that he’d be fine with her hating him, as long as she was safe. Right up until her carriage pulled up outside the palace. 

She wore a simple, patched dress, half of her hair braided back from her face and tied with a ragged violet ribbon. There was a fading bruise on her jaw and and her face had sharpened in the last four years—judging from the way the fabric of her dress hung from her frame he’d guess she’d skipped more than a few meals. But she still had the same shock of white hair, the same mismatched eyes—eyes that burned with a barely concealed fury, red-rimmed from crying. 

She ignored the hand he offered to help her descend from the carriage, leaping to the cobblestone with little regard for decorum. 

She’d suffered, in the time they’d spent apart, and suffered greatly. It wasn’t unexpected, but it was hard to stomach the reality of it in front of him. 

She glared at him before turning to the carriage driver and thanking him, forcing a smile until she turned back to him, looking at him with the same sort of disgust as one might a cockroach. 

“If you have harmed a single hair on his head—“ she began, voice trembling as she spoke. 

“He is unharmed, as promised. I am true to my word, Cecily, in case you have forgotten.”

“Take me to him. I won’t agree to anything until I see him.”

“As you wish,” he said, leading her into the palace. He could practically feel her rage roiling off her, see it in every tensed muscle. He was quite sure she wished nothing more than to throttle him. 

She followed him silently through the halls of the palace, ignoring him completely as he carefully unlocked a door and held it open for her. 

Yuri sat on the narrow bed, his usual flippancy replaced with resignation.

She darted to his side as soon as Hubert opened the door. He couldn’t help but see the hopelessness in the other man’s eyes, resentment flashed his way as she threw her arms around him.

“Yuri! I’ve been so worried—“

“You shouldn’t have come, you know it’s a trap.”

“I don’t care. I could never leave you here—“

“He’s just exchanging one hostage for another. Cecily—“

“Don’t, don’t you dare. It’s my choice.”

“Cecily—“

“I won’t hear it, Yuri. Not after everything you’ve done for me.”

Hubert knew he deserved both their ire, had expected it, but he hadn’t expected the look of pure devastation that flashed across Yuri’s face as Cecily buried her face in his shoulder. He’d always been so good at schooling his expression, at keeping up his perfect little facade. It was the first time he’d seen it slip.

It was gone a moment later, replaced by loathing as his eyes flicked to Hubert’s face. 

“This is low, even for you,” he said, venom dripping from his words. Hubert stared back impassively, an art he’d mastered at an extremely young age. He felt it crack just a little as a ragged sob escaped her chest, the sound muffled by Yuri’s shoulder.

“I’ll give you ten minutes,” he said, checking his pocket watch. “Then we’ll talk terms.”

Neither of them answered him, so he stepped out into the hall, leaning against the wall. He should be listening to what they were saying, he knew, but he needed a moment to settle himself. 

He’d thought, maybe upon seeing her, that he’d realize that he’d made whatever affection he held for her larger in his head, that it was magnified by nostalgia. Or maybe he’d hoped. Instead, he found himself discomposed at the sound of her grief, a disconcerting fact considering the amount of traitors and spies he’d heard cry and beg for their lives and felt nothing but disgust. 

Having her near was dangerous, should anyone realize that she could be used against him, harmed in order to harm him. But the alternative would allow Arundel to capture her, torture her, do every awful experiment—

No, he could shoulder her ire, her hatred, her grief and hold it against his soul. He could prevent one atrocity, then, and she in turn could help him exterminate Arundel and his ilk from the face of the earth come war’s end. It was all for the greater good, for Lady Edelgard’s dream.

And perhaps a little of his own selfishness. 

He took a deep breath and turned back to the door, to the voices that had raised behind it.

“You can’t Cecily, you can’t, I won’t let you—“

“You’re not letting me do anything, it’s my choice and only my choice.”

“It’s not, it’s not, you know it’s not.”

“He said he would execute you, Yuri!”

“And you should have stayed far away! You know—you know who he’s working with, you know what they’ll do—“

“I don’t care. I don’t care, I could never leave you here, leave you here to die—“

“And what do you expect me to do? You expect me to leave and let them do whatever awful thing they have planned?”

“Yes! Yes, I do, because I can bear it. You know I can, and everyone needs you. I need you out there.”

“Do you think I need you less? You’re a damn fool—“

“Maybe I am. But it’s my choice and you won’t make me change it.”

“I’m not—I’m not writing your name in my book, Magpie, I’m not—“

“You know they don’t want me dead. Not right away.”

“There are things worse than death! What they’d done to you when I found you—“

“I survived, Yuri. I always do. Just—please understand. I have to. You’re the only family I have left. They’re not getting you, too. Please, please let me be selfish.”

Hubert pushed off from the wall, opening the door once more. They both turned to look at him, Cecily’s face slicked with tears. She’d always been so guarded with her emotions, hiding everything under a smile but now—there were breaking points for everyone.

He knew that better than most.

“I believe it’s time we ironed out the details. Cecily, if you’ll come with me,” he said stiffly, ignoring the murderous look Yuri shot him. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Cecily stammered, hugging him so tightly it must have hurt. “I promise, I promise everything will be okay.”

“Cecily, please don’t. Please—“

“It’ll be okay,” she said, stepping away, smiling at Yuri even as her lip trembled She turned away before he could see the fresh wave of tears rolling down her cheeks, the way her smile crumpled as she held back a sob. Hubert stepped wordlessly into the hall, locking the door after Cecily followed. She trailed behind him, silent, her head bowed, but he could hear her uneven, stuttering breaths, hear how she tried to force them to even out, how she held them when she couldn’t, until she needed the next breath. 

He’d done that. He’d done all of that. 

They thought he was going to hand her over to Arundel, that he was going to torture and experiment on her, possibly until it killed her, and she’d still agreed. She’d come willingly, without an ounce of hesitation. 

No wonder her eyes had been red when she arrived.

He led her to his office, shutting the door behind her before crossing to his desk and pulling out a sheath of documents. He slid them across the desk towards her along with a quill and a bottle of ink, pretending not to see her surreptitiously wipe the tears from her cheeks as she tried to compose herself. 

“I don’t intend you harm, nor do I intend to allow anyone else to harm you,” he said, keeping his eyes on the documents on the desk. “But you simply cannot be allowed to continue as you have. You’ve caused me quite the headache.”

She turned towards him, her face impassive even if it was still clear she’d been crying. She approached the the desk as if expecting to be struck, eyes scanning the documents. She froze when she reached the contract, her already pale face whitening. She looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

“You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking and you really intend to send me to the front lines. That you intend to make me spy for you. That you intend to lock me in the dungeon and forget about me.”

“I am not.”

“W-why?”

“Isn’t marriage how most political alliances are ensured? The Empire could use the Savage Mockingbird’s network of spies and I need you to stop with your little extermination project. In return they are spared criminal prosecution and you live in relative comfort.”

She made a face, before turning back to the documents, taking a shuddering breath. She stared at it for a long moment, though he could see she wasn’t reading it.

“House Vestra has no Crest,” she said evenly.

“I am well aware,” he replied, raising a brow. She searched his face, something about her expression unreadable, though there was a flash of something that passed too quickly for him to place. Then she turned back to the contract. 

She shook as she stared at the document, biting her lip. He didn’t think she was really even seeing it, not with the way her eyes seemed to stared through it. 

“And if I sign it, if I agree, then Yuri goes free?”

“He works for the Empire, obeys Imperial commands, checks in when he’s supposed to.”

“And if he changes his mind, after? You won’t hurt him—“

“If he falls in line he’ll be well-compensated and have relative freedom. If he deserts, I will ensure he never sees you again. Otherwise you will be able to see each other at my discretion.”

She made a face, staring off into the middle distance as she seemed to war with herself over something. It was a full five minutes before she finally spoke. 

“I—I want something else, if I sign. I want Yuri to go free and I want something else.”

“And what would that be?” He asked warily. He’d expected her to contest the terms, to want to secure herself money or property or some semblance of independence. She’d never been materialistic, but he expected her to lash back at him in any way she could. And it wasn’t as if it would be that different from any other sort of noble marriage agreement. 

She pursed her lips, curling and uncurling her hands into fists, looking as though she might burst into tears again. 

“There were people in Abyss we got out before you attacked the monastery. People who had nowhere else to go. Urchins and…war-orphans. My work paid for them, and if I can’t any longer—I want you to find someplace decent for them to live, far away from Arundel’s lands. I promised those kids they’d never go hungry. My last purse won’t cover more than two months, for all of them. I—that is my price, that you bring them to safety and keep them housed and clothed and fed.”

He was taken aback for a moment, a rarity. 

He searched her face, her agonizing and fear entirely explained. What she was asking—she was handing him a pronged collar when he’d simply asked for a lead, and she knew it. 

She’d always had a soft heart. It was a terrible trait in an assassin. 

He wordlessly took the contract and added a clause that he would personally take responsibility for the denizens of Abyss as the Marquis Vestra and that he would see them housed comfortably, clothed, and fed. He turned it back for her to read. He watched her eyes flick over it, check the wording twice before she nodded.

She stared at him for a long moment, something hollow behind her eyes, before she took a deep breath and signed the bottom of the document. 

“Is that all?” she asked quietly. 

“It should be sufficient,” he replied, putting the papers back into the drawer. “I’ll see you to your chambers.”

“M-my what?”

“The chambers that you’ll stay in until we are wed.”

“Can’t I go see Yuri? We barely spoke.”

“Your next visit will be based on how cooperative you both decide to be.”

“And what exactly do I need to do to be cooperative?”

“If you do as I say and do not create a nuisance of yourself.”

She stared at him looking so utterly lost. It made his chest ache.

Still, he motioned for her to follow him, leading her through a maze of halls. Usually guest chambers would be in the eastern wing, but he had secured chambers off the Inner Gardens, near his own chambers and far, far from where Lord Arundel stayed when he came to the palace. 

He unlocked the door and stepped aside to allow her entry. It was a small suite, as far as those along the Inner Gardens went, with only a small sitting room, bath chamber, and a bedchamber, but it was the most easily protected and out of the way enough that no one had any reason to even pass by. There was a small balcony where she could enjoy the gardens, though she had no access to them, with a pair of lounge chairs on it. 

Cecily stood in the middle of the sitting room, just staring, for a long time. When she finally spoke it was barely more than a whisper.

“Am I allowed to roam the castle, or do you intend to confine me to these rooms?”

“Until the wedding you will stay here unless you accompany me somewhere at my request.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Will my bag be brought up?”

“I will see that it is, along with some entertainment. If you are hungry I can have the kitchens send something up, otherwise dinner will be brought at six.”

She shook her head, still looking dazed. He frowned, but didn’t press the issue. 

“There will be a guard stationed outside your door around the clock. If you should need something, knock and they shall see it fetched. Do you require anything before I take my leave? I have important business to attend to elsewhere.”

She shook her head again, shoulders curling in as she continued to stare. Hubert left without saying anything further, locking her in before flagging down a palace guard to stand watch until his own agent relieved him.

He kept a brisk pace until he reached his office and closed the door, locking it behind him. He leaned against it, squeezing his eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

It would have been better if she’d stayed furious with him. He wished she’d screamed at him or tried to hit him or anything besides the resigned desolation she’d met him with. 

He’d broken her. 

~~~

He’d made sure he could see her rooms from his. She kept the curtains shut tight, but he could see her sitting on the little balcony, her feet propped up on the rail. He’d been watching her off and on for over an hour since he’d retired to his study to finish his reports as he usually did in the evening. She’d originally gone out to smoke, a habit she must have picked up since he’d last seen her, and she’d just sat on the railing itself, staring up at the black sky.

The city lights blocked out all the stars. 

She’d stayed, though, after she’d finished, occasionally shifting position as she stared into the darkness. He’d thought at one point she might have been reading something, but she’d left no light on in the sitting room behind her to illuminate anything, hadn’t even bothered to light the fire.

She hadn’t eaten, either. Her dishes had returned to the kitchen untouched. 

He’d address it if it became a habit. For now he’d let her be, let her adjust as best she could. He looked up at a knock on his chamber door, tearing himself away from his voyerism. He crossed back through his sitting room to answer the door, fully annoyed at being interrupted.  He swore if it was Ferdinand—

“Do you have a moment?” Edelgard asked.

“Of course,” he said, stepping aside to let her in. “I’ll make tea.”

She nodded, crossing to sit on one of the couches in front of his coffee table, directly in front of the white pieces of his chess board. He watched her consider the pieces a moment as he made tea before resolutely making her move.

They often played as they talked, something they had begun doing as children. They were evenly matched, simply trading victories when they didn’t end in stalemate. He enjoyed it, though they had been playing so long they both knew what the other would do practically before they did it. Somewhere around Edelgard’s thirteenth birthday the whole thing had become rather mindless, something to do with their hands, an excuse to sit for an hour in quiet conversation, conversation no one would expect was plotting revolution. 

“I heard Cecily arrived,” Edelgard said as he set the tea service down. He considered the board a moment before making his move and turning back to the service to make her cup—a splash of milk and far too much sugar. 

“She did,” he said, setting it by her elbow as she countered his pawn.

“And?” she asked pointedly. “What happened? How is she?”

“Half starved to death and covered in bruises. She agreed to the terms without a fight.”

Edelgard furrowed her brows. “That seems odd, considering her reaction in the Tomb.”

“She’d come under the assumption that I planned to give her to your uncle for further experimentation. So I suppose marriage to myself is preferable to indefinite physical torture, though only just. She did suggest I instead throw her in a cell and allow her to starve to death.”

“You know that I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I do.”

“She’ll come around. Did you explain anything to her?”

“She could hardly look at me. I considered it cruel.”

“Well, you did hold Yuri hostage.”

“Yes, but I expected her to be furious, not—“ he broke off, shaking his head.

“Not what?”

“She was desolate. Broken.”

“You threatened to kill her brother and she assumed you meant to imprison and torture her, Hubert. I told you it was a terrible idea.”

He said nothing, pretending to concentrate on their game. He could already see he would lose. 

“Have you at least tried to explain any of it to her?”

“She will only think I’m lying. If she will listen at all.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh? Did you forget what she did when the Church assigned us to hunt down Sylvain’s older brother?”

Both she and Miklan had been covered in blood by the time the Professor and the rest of the class had caught up to her. She hadn’t even bothered to unsheathe her sword, instead somehow leaping on his back and clinging on as she plunged one of her tiny throwing daggers into whatever flesh she could reach, so long as it wouldn’t kill him quickly. She hadn’t stopped when he’d plunged the Lance of Ruin into her shoulder and he doubted, had the professor not dealt the decisive blow that knocked her from his back, that she would have stopped until he resembled hamburger meat or transformed into a demonic beast beneath her.

“That was entirely different.”

“Because he’d actually killed her mother, rather than just allying with her murderers?”

“Because she hated Miklan.”

He huffed a laugh, utterly devoid of humor. “I can assure you, she loathes me.”

Edelgard appeared unconvinced. “If you only explained to her the reality of it then perhaps she would realize we are all of the same heart when it comes to my uncle’s ilk.”

“I think it best if I leave her be, for now.”

“You mean to leave her in those rooms without company?”

“I’m sure she’d prefer it to mine.”

“Or the solitude will drive her to desperation.”

Hubert flicked over his king, conceding the match. Edelgard gave him a piercing look. 

“This would all be much simpler if you only admitted your affection for her and explained the danger you’re attempting to mitigate.”

“Or she’d use it as a knife to drive into my back.”

Edelgard gave him a look, brow raised. “I think she’d at least have the decency to stab you in your front. She was sweet on you, after all.”

“That was a long time ago,” he said, trying not to think of the way she used to smile at him, crooked and unrestrained, her mismatched eyes sparkling with mischief. Not the hollow, tear-stained cheeks and dead eyes of the girl he’d seen today.

Next

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #yuri leclerc #edelgard von hresvelg #fire emblem three houses x reader #friends to enemies to lovers #slow burn

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 13

Hubert looked up again as the door opened, scrambling to his feet to bow as he recognized Edelgard. She shook her head.

“It’s absurd when you do that when we’re alone, you do know that?” she said, shaking her head before pulling the door shut behind her. Hubert muttered a spell under his breath to ensure no one could eavesdrop as she sat herself down in the comfortable chair across from his desk.

“I’m sure you have more of an idea than I why my uncle is currently on the warpath. Did you have something to do with it?” She asked as he sat back down.

“Two of his outposts in Hrym were decimated and I, unfortunately, was not the architect.”

“But you know who was, don’t you?”

“I have my suspicions.”

“As do I. What are we going to do about it?”

“Tell me what you want me to do,” he said, the words more effort than they ever should have been. He was Edelgard’s vassal, little more than a tool for her to wield as she wished. Trivial things such as his feelings should never amount to a moment of hesitation. 

“I fear if we continue to ignore it, my uncle will take his own action and we’ll be forced to support it or play our hand, which would be a shame, considering her skill set will be of particular use after the war.”

“So something that both stops her killing Those Who Slither and protects her from them until the end of the war.”

“You forgot that she has to agree to it without giving away our hand. And if not—“

“I know.”

“I’m sorry, Hubert. I truly am.”

“Whatever for, your Majesty?”

“You know what for, Hubert.”

He took a deep breath. “It has been a long time.”

“And yet I still see its weight. Hopefully—hopefully you will be able to have her see reason.”

He nodded, rather than trying to find the words.

~~~

Cecily leaned on the tavern counter, waiting for Briggs to notice her. She was dead tired and wanted nothing more than to pick up the mail she’d been waiting on and sleep for three days straight. 

The journey back to Rowe had been mostly uneventful—she’d sabotaged an Empire supply wagon she’d happened to run across, but mostly she just wanted to return home, to check on the birds. They should have been fine with Yuri away, but something sat heavy in her chest, urging her homeward. He should be home by now, anyway—she’d stayed longer in Leicester than she should have.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Sylvain, how serious he looked. So much different than the little boy who’d pelted her with acorns and helped her collect all the herbs for the kitchens, from the boy who’d spent his time at the academy chasing skirts and loafing about. About the boy her mother had always snuck an extra treat to when he passed through the kitchens and ruffled his hair, the boy who had sat at her bedside after they’d been attacked and read her all the picture books he owned to keep her entertained while she healed. 

About the boy who’s brother sold her to Arundel, who killed her mother in front of her for trying to stop the Agarthans from taking her. 

“There you are, deary. Do you want a pint before you go?” Briggs asked, handing her a small stack of envelopes. She shook her head, handing her a few coins before pushing out of the busy tavern. She flipped through the envelopes, there were less than usual, which wasn’t surprising considering they’d just lost a third of their routes with Brennius. 

She froze as she stared at the last envelope, at the seal she’d intercepted on more than a few missives, set carefully into blood red wax. She glanced around, looking for anyone watching her but found no one outside the usual crowd. She slipped into an alley, away from the main thoroughfare and slipped into the shadows, making it back to the Roost in record time. She didn’t stop and say hello to any of the others, just locked herself in the War Room, sliding down the door as soon as the lock clicked. 

She stared at the envelope for a long moment, her hands shaking.  Then she ripped it open, her blood running cold as a silver chain slid into her palm, a familiar pendent hung from it. She’d given it to Yuri when she was fifteen, had saved and stolen and bargained to be able to get him something actually nice, the sort of thing one of the nobles he schmoozed would have been able to get him without thought, even though it cost well more gold than she’d ever held at that point. Yuri nearly always wore it, tucked into his shirt, even though he had much nicer ones and it was tacky, considering the fact she’d picked a mockingbird in flight. 

Still, she knew he wouldn’t have given it up willingly. 

She choked back a sob, clutching it in her fist. If he wasn’t okay, if they’d hurt him, or—she forced herself not to think of the worst, couldn’t, because she couldn’t bear it. She’d kill them all, raze the Imperial palace to the ground, finally let the tether she kept on her power snap until she was nothing more than a beast tearing into flesh for the mere taste of blood.

She couldn’t lose Yuri, not the only family she had left. Not her best friend, her confidant, her brother. Not after everything they’d been through.

She unfolded the letter, her heart in her throat and read it with shaking hands, immediately recognizing the elegant slant of the writing. How many times had he scrawled across her page, correcting her calculations in the hope that she’d figure out how to cast a spell properly? How many notes had he slipped into her stacks of books recommending further reading, or highlighting something he thought would be of particular interest?

And now—no would it be a threat or gloating? Had he been decent enough to at least give her a chance to save him? He knew—he must know she’d do anything, absolutely anything, no matter how heinous or depraved, how agonizing, how extreme. If he wanted her to kill for him, if he wanted to kill her, there would be no hesitation from her. Even if he’d give her back to Arundel, she’d walk back into that hell with her head held high, knowing she’d finally paid Yuri back for taking her in all those years ago, for saving a broken, dying thing even after he knew it was a monster. 

Dear Cecily, 

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I have enclosed a memento to ensure you know that I am indeed quite serious and above any sort of bluffing. 

I am holding the Mockingbird in Enbarr. He shall be kept confined, comfortably and without injury, until I hear from you or a month has passed. 

My terms are simple: I shall release the Mockingbird unharmed into Imperial service should you come to Enbarr and surrender yourself to my custody. If you do not, he will be publicly executed in a month’s time. Any attempt at breaking him out will be met with immediate death for all parties involved. 

Should you wish to agree to my terms, there is a carriage at Whitmor Stables that has been hired to take you to Enbarr post-haste and that will be expected. Simply present my seal.

I shall await your arrival.

Yours,

Hubert

Cecily wanted to throw up. She wanted to cry and scream and rip something apart with her bare hands. She could feel her knees giving out and crouched down, rather than fall, pressing her palm over her mouth as she sobbed to muffle the sounds. 

There wasn’t a question of a choice—she’d go to the stables tonight and deliver herself to Hubert to be made into a weapon, the one thing she’d always feared more than anything. If she was lucky she’d burn out like a comet, the cost of her power killing her before she could do too much damage. 

Unless he wanted her blood. Then he could just chain her in a room and bleed and beat her like Arundel had, keeping her too weak to fight back, even with her shadows. 

Would he let her see Yuri one more time before caging her, let her say goodbye?

She buried her head in her lap, slumping down against the wall. She’d known something bad would happen in Enbarr, felt it in her chest. 

She should have done more to stop him, should of begged him not to.

Not that any of that mattered now. 

She swiped at her eyes, taking a few steadying breathes. Her crying would do no one good, at least not now—she’d have plenty of time to feel sorry for herself on the carriage ride to Enbarr. She crossed to the desk, to Yuri’s desk, and rifled around for some spare paper and a quill. 

She couldn’t just leave. No, she needed a lieutenant, someone who would step in until Yuri returned, someone who would step back down without issue, someone who would look after the birds and the Abyssians and not just run off with the gold. She had contingencies and plans and runs and everything to make sure nothing fell apart before Yuri got back. 

She took another deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut. She could do it, just one thing at a time. 

She picked up the quill and started scratching out her first letter. 

~~~

Yuri’s heart sank as Cecily shouldered her way into the room, eyes cataloguing the way her hair had been half-torn from its braids, the dirt and bruises that covered her skin, the blood painting her temple—he was on his feet before he could note the rest of the crew she’d left with filing in behind her, before he registered the thing in her hand.

A head.

Rhyder’s head. 

The room had gone deathly silent. Cecily raised the head, high enough that everyone could make it out for what it was. Then she opened her hand, letting it hit the floor with a truly awful squelching thwack. 

“Anyone else got a problem with management?” She asked, glaring at each of them in turn.

“What happened?” Yuri asked, fighting to keep his voice even, disinterested, even as his heart beat wildly against his ribs.

“Rhyder thought he could do a better job. Thought he’d ransom the boss’s sister to get him to step down. Thought he was reeeeeal clever. Any one else feeling clever? Go ahead, I dare you. Just know, you gotta get through me first. Rook, tell them how it’s going to work out for them.”

“Bad,” Rook replied, voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes were still locked on Rhyder’s head, though Yuri wasn’t sure if he was really seeing anything or just in shock. None of the other four that had been on assignment with them looked much better. 

Cecily clapped her hands together, her smile lethal. “Any takers? Anyone think they can do better than Dead Weight? No? Good.”

Yuri surveyed them all, brow raised, noting who avoided his gaze.

“Someone had better have that cleaned up by the time I get back,” he snapped, shooting Cecily a look. She followed him as he stalked out of the hideout, weaving through Enbarr’s narrow streets.

As soon as they were out of sight of the rest of the gang Yuri grabbed her by the elbow and started dragging her towards the safe house. She tried to yank out of his grasp but he didn’t let her. 

Once the door slammed shut behind them, he rounded on her, expression somewhere between panic and fury.

“You want to explain that little stunt?”

“I told you—“

“Why didn’t you run? Why didn’t you just come get me? Why did you drag his decapitated head into the hideout?”

“To make a point.”

“Cecily—“

“You can’t expect me to always come running to you with my problems!”

“A coup is not your problem. You should have gotten out and gotten me.”

“That would have made it worse.”

“It would not—“

“It would have just solidified to everyone that that was the right play. That that I was your weak spot.”

He couldn’t argue with her logic, as much as he wanted to. 

“Still—“

“No one is going to fuck with me after that! And they’ll assume whatever Dead Weight can do, Boss can do ten times worse. Besides, it would be expected for you to kill him. No one would have ever expected me to.”

“You’re not dead weight.”

“Well, now they all know that,” she replied, eyes narrowing. 

He swiped away the half-dried blood at her temple, healing the gash underneath with a flash of white magic. She still looked so young for her age, still too small, too fragile, even if he knew she could hold her own. 

“I don’t want you killing.”

“I’m good at it.”

“You’re a kid.”

“I’m a monster. And you were working as an assassin at my age.”

“I was fourteen. And you are not.”

He already knew what she was doing as soon as the lights flickered, watched the familiar way the shadows flocked to her, forming razor-sharp claws over her fingers, settling in a way that made her appear ethereal and skeletal and inhuman. She bared her teeth, teeth blackened with shadow and lengthened into fangs.

“Cut it out. I mean it,” he said, smacking her upside the head.

“Ow,” she cried, clawed hand cradling her cheek where she’d been struck, her voice strangely doubled. 

“Now.”

“Fucker,” she spat, shadows falling from her form like sand.

“Idiot,” he replied, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. He rested his cheek on top of her head, not caring that she smelled like sweat and blood and dirt, only that she was fine. 

“Ow!”

Fine enough.

“What else hurts?”

“Other than you smothering me?”

“Other than that.”

She paused a moment before holding up her left hand, three of the fingers very broken. 

“The rest is just bruises, I think.”

“You’re impossible,” he said, taking her hand in his. “This is going to hurt.”

“It’s fine.”

He always hated that flippant edge to her voice when it came to pain, an edge he knew she earned by enduring far worse for far longer. Sometimes he thought she almost relished in it, like something familiar, something she knew she could endure, like a badge of honor.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself before jerking her pinky back into place and setting it with another flash of white magic. She hardly whimpered, staring dead-eyed at the peeling paint on the far wall. He smoothed his hands over hers, half to soothe, half to make sure everything bent as it should. 

She pulled her hand from his grasp, squeezing it into a fist before wrapping her arms around his middle, burying her face into his shirt. 

“Magpie?”

She didn’t answer, just hugged him tighter. He hugged her back, smoothing back her hair like his mother had done for him, hoping she found it soothing like he had. 

~~~

She cornered Rook, pulling him into the dining room and shutting the door. He was nearly a foot taller than her and broad shouldered, with tan skin and chestnut hair he wore overlong. She’d known him since she was twelve and they’d moved back to Rowe from Enbarr. He was one of the few left from the original crew, the one’s she’d run with while Yuri was off playing heir, who’d followed them to Abyss after their disastrous run in with the Knights of Seiros. It had used to be the two of them and Dove, back in Abyss—the dream team, as they’d jokingly called themselves—but since Dove had died, they’d hardly worked together. They’d see each other at the Roost, trade notes, but they went on their missions alone, or helped the greener birds learn the ropes. 

She knew, more than anyone, she could trust him with what needed to be done and knew he wouldn’t cross her, if not for her sake, then for his own. He’d seen what she’d done to Rhyder at twelve when he’d turned on Yuri. 

“Um—Mags, you okay?” He asked, brows deeply furrowed. She was sure he could tell she’d been crying, sure she looked a disaster, not that it mattered.

“Something came up, I need you to make sure a few things get done.”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I need you to get Lark to bring this to Derdriu,” she said, handing him an envelope with her seal. “And I need you to bring these to Enbarr and give them to Peregrine personally, and tell her to sneak them to me as soon as she can.”

She handed Rook the pouch that contained all the remaining vials of her refined blood that she’d managed to track down. 

“Wait—if you’re going to Enbarr, why don’t you just bring them?”

“Because it’s a bit of a hostage situation, and I have to play it very carefully. I can’t risk them being taken from me.”

“What are they, anyway?” He asked.

“Poison. One that the wrong people can’t get their hands on. I need you to promise me you’ll get it there safely.”

“Yeah, yeah—just, can you explain exactly what’s going on?”

“They have Yuri,” she said, surprised she was able to keep her voice even, even though a tear dripped down her cheek. “I’m going to get him back.”

“Wait, who?”

She just stared back, watching his face whiten in realization. 

“No—you can’t go alone. I’ll go with you, Weaver can bring the poison to Peregrine, we’ll break him out, it’ll be fine.”

“No. I have to go alone. If we try to break him out they’ll kill all of us. If I go, nobody dies.”

“And what happens to you?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just—I need you to make these get where they need to go. And this one,” she said, pulling a third envelope from her pocket. “This one goes to Piper. Other than that, have Lark take over my runs to Derdriu, make sure she stays out of Charon, and somebody needs to take over Gloucester, someone with manners, maybe Robin? You’re going to have to manage the money until Yuri gets back, you have to make sure everyone from Abyss—“

“I know. I know, okay? Everyone will be fine here when you get back.”

“Don’t—don’t count on me coming back.”

“You said no one would get hurt, that means you too.”

“It’s a trade. Me for Yuri.”

“You can’t—“

“There’s no choice, Rook. If I don’t he’ll publicly execute him, you know what that means.  He wants me alive, that means it’s a long game.”

Rook just stared at her for a long moment. Then he shook his head. “He’s going to be furious with you, you know that.”

“But he’ll be alive. I’ll relish his fury if it means he’s alive.”

“What do you want me to tell the rest of the birds? To tell Paloma? To tell everyone?”

“Tell them whatever they want to hear. Whatever keeps moral up. I just—I have to. You know I have to.”

He nodded. “Just—just stay alive, alright? Stay alive, get Yuri out alive, we’ll figure out the rest.”

“Exactly,” she said with a smile she knew didn’t meet her mismatched eyes. 

“When are you—“

“Tonight. Now. Here,” she said, tossing him her coin purse with everything she’d made from Leicester. “Put it to good use. The twins need new shoes and Paloma needs a new coat. A good one.”

“I’ll see you again, okay?” He said, still weighing the coin purse in his hand. She wondered if he’d ever held so much. She nodded, throat tight, as she turned, preparing to leave the Roost for what would likely be the last time. 

It was just like any other mission.

She tried to convince herself of that as she packed.

It was a long game, not a slash and burn like she’d grown so adept at. Everything from the moment she stepped into that stable mattered. Her first priority, of course, was to get Yuri out and as far from Hubert as she could manage. As soon as she was playing only with her life she would be able to make moves. 

If she was clever it wouldn’t be hard to get the Court to play right into her hand. After all, Hubert was not well-liked among the other nobles and reveled in it. His cultivated villainous persona already put her at an advantage—she could be charming, when she liked. Not in the same way as Yuri, but charming nonetheless. 

It was a game, she thought as she traded her practical tunic and trousers for a patched dress from her trunk. It was a game and she was going to win it, and he was going to be sorry for ever crossing her. 

Next

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #yuri leclerc #fire emblem three houses x reader #edelgard von hresvelg #slow burn #friends to enemies to lovers

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 12

Saoirse stood surveying him, arms crossed, more stubborn than any eight year old had a right to be, especially with her blue-black hair braided into pigtails and tied with yellow ribbons. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Sylvain said, tugging on her wrist. Enough time had passed since King Lambert and Dimitri’s visit that his father had laid off of him about hanging out with her, which meant they could go back to fishing and mucking around on the edge of the property. Still, she seemed hesitant.

He knew it was because Miklan had scared her, when he’d grabbed her and dragged her back to the kitchens where her mother worked. She’d had a hand-shaped bruise on her upper arm for a week, something that had made his blood boil.

After all, she was just a little girl, the fact that she was a servant shouldn’t have given him the right to hurt her. Not that Miklan had ever cared who he hurt, especially if it hurt Sylvain. 

“I don’t want to go all the way down to the creek. Last time I had bug bites for a week and Mama made me scrub them with oatmeal and thyme every night,” she said, scrunching up her face.

“Don’t be such a baby, it wasn’t that bad.”

“I’m not a baby!”

“Then come fishing! Unless you’re too scared.”

“I’m not scared!”

“Sounds like you are!”

“Fine! But if I get bites again I’m gonna put worms in your soup!”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wanna bet? I’ll cut holes in all your socks too. That way you’ll never have warm toes.”

He laughed at her, grabbing the fishing polls and bucket of bait.

“Don’t laugh at me, Sylvain, I mean it!” She snapped, glaring at him. 

“Of course you do, Sersh. I’m just quaking in my boots,” he said, starting towards the back of the property. It’d take them at least a half hour to make it there on foot, but he knew she wouldn’t agree to go on horseback. 

She’d always been terrified of them.

“Maybe we’ll catch another Loach! That last one was huge,” she said, skipping to catch up with him. Her anger was usually short lived, giving way to her cheery nature. Sometimes he wished he could go around like she did, finding wonder in the smallest things, not having to worry about Crests or Titles or politics. She seemed much happier for it. 

“I know, I had to carry it back.”

“Well you’re bigger than me, it’s only fair.”

“Oh, is it?”

“Of course!”

Sylvain laughed, shaking his head. They fell into easy conversation—Saoirse packed her little basket with herbs and other plants as they went along and pretty flowers for her mother, yammering on about what she was going to make with them and asking him for stories from his lessons. He wasn’t sure that she quite understood they were history and not fairy tales, but she liked them all the same and it helped him to have a reason to pay attention to one of his duller tutors. He liked that all she ever wanted was his time, that she didn’t know anything about petty noble politics and didn’t care to learn, not when she’d much rather catch frogs to set loose in the pond by the stables or try and befriend the songbirds around the manor with stale bread. 

“Here,” she said, digging in her basket to pull out a fresh scone. “Mama and me made them this morning.”

“Your mother’s an artist in the kitchen,” he said through a mouthful of pastry. Everything Miss Niamh made was absolutely heavenly. They’d never had a cook that even compared before. 

“It’s a new recipe,” she said proudly. “I helped come up with it. They have raspberry and mint from by the creek.”

“Did you bring more?” he asked, already finished with the one she’d given him. She grinned and handed him another.

“Do you think they’re good enough for tea?”

“Are you kidding? They’re probably the best ones yet.”

She beamed back at him, then all the sudden her face fell. 

“Syl—Sylvain, what is that?” She asked, voice shaking.

He turned, only to see an enormous reptilian creatures a thousand yards away, with razor-sharp claws and thick ropes of saliva dripping from its massive, pointed teeth. Sylvain dropped the fishing rods to the ground as quickly as he could manage, taking the basket from Cecily’s hands and doing the same.

“We’re going to back up very slowly,” he said in hardly more of a whisper. “Maybe it hasn’t seen us. Just then the breeze changed direction and the thing’s head snapped towards the pair, letting out a bloodcurdling howl as it leapt towards them.

~~~

Miklan could hear the roar of the beast from his perch in the old oak, the echoing screams of his brother and the stupid little kitchen girl he’d insisted on befriending. They’d try to run, he knew, but the valley was a dead end, the walls too steep to scale, especially for their little hands. 

It would serve the little brats right. 

After all, without his little bastard of a brother around, his father would have no choice but to acknowledge him as heir. And as for the girl—

Well that’s what she got for hanging around with people well above her station. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been warned. 

He dug an apple out of his pocket, taking a bite as he listened to the destruction. He’d head over to the stables soon enough, spend a long, memorable time speaking with Enrille to make sure everyone knew that he’d been far, far away from the site of the unbelievable tragedy. Oh, how everyone would weep for the poor little lordling and his stupid servant friend—at least this way they’d remember her, for dying with his idiot brother. 

He leapt from his branch and landed lightly, striding back towards the house without hurry. It’d be hours before they even realized the pair was missing, even more before they’d find them.

If there was anything left to find, that is.

~~~

Saoirse gaped at the beast, her eyes nearly perfectly round in her fear.

“What are you doing? Run!” Sylvain said, grabbing her hand and pulling her forward. She stumbled, trying to keep up with his much longer strides, the beast tearing after them, teeth dripping with ropes of saliva, its hackles raised. 

He glanced back at her, gripping her little wrist as tightly as he could as he dragged her along, too fast for her legs. She kept running though, tears dripping silently from her eyes as she did her best to keep pace. 

If they could just make it to the end of the valley, perhaps they could lose the beast. Claw up the side of the ravine or find a cave too narrow for it to follow. Then they’d only have to wait it out long enough for it to grow bored, or for the knights to find them. Though it could be a long time before that—they didn’t usually patrol this far out from the house unless they had a special reason—

Sylvain tripped on a stray root, landing hard and sprawled on the hard packed earth. He felt stones tear into his flesh, felt his chin split at the force of his impact. 

The beast had only been a few dozen paces behind them, there was no way he’d be able to scramble up fast enough, claw his way up the sheer wall of the valley and to safety in time. 

“Sylvain, get up—“

“Run, Sersh, just get out of here—“

“You gotta get up!”

“Just run!”

She stared at him with wild, terrified eyes, little hand outstretched as if to try and pull him to his feet. “Please get up, it’s coming!”

“LEAVE ME AND RUN!” 

She stared at him like he’d slapped her. Then she stuck out her chin and clambered over him, squaring her shoulders as she faced the beast head on. 

He didn’t know what she intended to do. She had no weapon, not even a tree branch, and even if she did she was just a tiny little girl. 

It wouldn’t even need to chew her.

“Go away!” She shrieked at the beast, standing firmly in front of his prone form. It barely seemed to even listen, instead rearing back and striking out with one razor-sharp claw.

Saoirse screeched as the beast’s claws raked over her cheek, throwing out a hand. To Sylvain’s surprise the beast lurched away as if it had been struck. 

There was blood on its throat, if blood could be a sick sort of green, leaking out at an alarming rate. He glanced back at Cecily, at the hand she still held out, her own fingers tipped in blackened claws. The shadows around her had deepened, seemed to cling to her like a second skin.

That couldn’t be right. 

He shook his head to clear it as the beast turned and lumbered away. Saoirse swayed, her knees giving way a moment later and landed hard on the ground, smashing her head against a rock. She was still then, except for the shallow rising and falling of her chest. 

He clambered over to her side and shook her, harder than he meant to. She didn’t wake. He shook her again, crying out her name, but she still lay still. Blood was pouring from the wounds on her cheek, from the place her head had collided with the rock. He tried to swipe it away with his sleeve but it was too quickly replaced. 

He swore, his breath coming too fast, his heartbeat deafening his ears to anything but the pounding of his blood. She wasn’t dead, but she wasn’t waking and her blood had begun to soak the dirt beneath her head. 

He still wasn’t quite sure what he had seen. 

It didn’t make sense, shouldn’t—couldn’t be possible. Saoirse was just a little girl. She was terrified of flying bugs and cried when he teased her for it, she couldn’t carry the well bucket back without his help, she still refused to climb trees, even though it had been a year since she’d fallen out of the oak and broke her arm. 

And yet, the beast had run from her glare, had shrunk away like a frightened dog at the mere sight of her. It must have, he had to be mistaken in all the commotion and terror. He hadn’t actually seen shadows flock to her, seen her tiny fingers lengthen into claws with them, watched her pull darkness itself from the beast. It couldn’t be, it didn’t make any sense. 

He stooped, picking her up as gently as he could manage. She hung limp in his arms, her skin deathly pale beneath the shock of blood. 

He rushed as fast as he dared back towards the house, hoping he’d run into one of his father’s retainers sooner rather than later, careful, this time, not to trip over any roots.

~~~

Cecily stood three paces behind Claude, clad in nondescript black clothes, hood pulled low over her face. She kept the shadows darkened around her, ensuring no one would be able to make out any of her features, no matter how hard they tried. 

She was half furious at herself for letting her curiosity get the better of her, for letting Claude play her so easily. It was a bad idea to be around Felix with his temper and sharp tongue, and even worse idea to be around Sylvain—

It was always a bad idea to be around Sylvain. 

His hair was longer and perhaps a little darker, but he still had the same small scar on his chin from when they were kids. She was glad to see him alive and as well as any of them could hope during the war. She’d purposely avoided digging into lists of the dead in the Kingdom, afraid to see his name among their number.

He’d always been too reckless and self-destructive. 

“I’m not having this conversation with some coward present who won’t even show their face. For all we know you’re harboring an Empire spy,” Felix spat, glaring at her from across the oaken round table. 

“That’s…bold. Just walk in looking for aid and immediately accuse your host of working for the enemy,” Cecily shot back dryly before she could stop herself. Claude shot her a look, but Sylvain froze, staring at where he should have been able to see her face. 

“Sersh?”

She closed her eyes, making a face as she heard the familiar voice, tight with surprise and no small part worry. She felt a pang in her chest at the old nickname, a mangling of her birth name Sylvain had  come up with when she was three or four. 

A name she hadn’t heard in any form in almost a decade.

“Not quite,” she said and sighed before pulling off her hood and plastering her best approximation of a smile on her face. It was harder than it should have been. “Long time no see. Good to know Felix’s manners are still shit as ever.”

Felix shot her a dirty look but Sylvain kept staring, as if rooted to the spot. 

“Well, since we’re all acquainted, we might as well get down to brass tax—“ Claude started, but Felix cut him off. 

“She’s not a Lord of the Roundtable, she has no business sitting in on such affairs. And she hasn’t proved she’s not an Empire spy. She was a Black Eagle, after all.”

“Felix, come on,” Sylvain started but Felix cut him off.

“What, are we all going to pretend she wasn’t buddy-buddy with Hubert of all people? That none of the Ashen Wolves fought in the battle of Garreg Mach?”

“We saved your ass, you ungrateful swine,” Cecily snarled back. “Excuse me for not throwing myself head first into a lost cause for the sake of honor or whatever the fuck.”

The Ashen Wolves had lead the retreat through the maze of tunnels under the monastery, saving many of their classmates from certain death or capture from the second wave of Edelgard’s army after the vanguard attack. Claude had been surprised to see her hacking her way through the battlefield towards him after she’d told him she refused to die for any of their ‘petty noble shit.’ He’d asked her about her change of heart after, when they were all huddled around a fire in their makeshift camp and she’d told him to shut up and just be grateful. He knew she’d gotten into it with Dimitri later on, that they’d both left red-faced and furious, but he’d known better than to pry at the time and considering he was pretty sure that was the last time they’d spoken. He hadn’t brought it up since Dimitri’s death. 

“Brave words from a coward,” Felix shot back. Cecily glowered at him.

“Better a coward than a sanctimonious moron.”

“You’re a disgrace.”

“Alright, alright, just—come on, Fe. None of this is productive,” Sylvain said, physically stepping between the two. 

“I’m not talking with her in the room.”

“Fine,” she snarled. “Just know that as you sit on your high horse, fighting for the idea of a nation that died with its Prince, its peasants starve and their villages burn while their brethren rot, unburied, in the burnt fields that were meant to sustain them. Know that you abandoned the southern territories to this fate and know that the Empire cares for them even less than you. Know this from your fancy manor houses and your ivory war-boards and call me a coward for showing the same loyalty to the Kingdom that it spared for all of us low-born scum. I don’t give a fuck about your little game of crowns and titles and Crests, except for the misery it inflicts on the rest of us—the crippled and orphaned and ruined it leaves behind.”

She turned on her heel and stormed from the room, slamming the door so hard that it knocked a picture frame from the wall. Claude turned back to Felix and Sylvain, doing his best not to glare. 

“So, now that you’ve insulted and maligned one of my closest allies, you might as well get to the begging for aid, or whatever it was you came for.”

~~~

His father stared at him, ashen-faced. “What happened, Sylvain?”

He hadn’t run into any of the knights until he’d nearly made it back to the garden, his shirt soaked with sweat and blood that wasn’t his. After that everything had happened in a whirlwind of color and voices. He remembered Cecily’s mother’s scream as she saw her bloody and limp and so small in the knight’s arms. A scream like he’d never heard before, so raw and anguished and feral with misery. He remembered her being whisked away to the infirmary, remembered the warm sensation of healing magic sealing his chin, remembered his father’s face when he’d found him, still covered in Cecily’s blood, sitting outside the corridor that led to the infirmary. He remembered the way his father had checked him for injuries, swiping away patches of now-dry blood from his face, from his shoulder from his hands, before wrapping him in a bone crushing hug. 

He stared ahead, unable to meet his father’s eyes. 

“I—I made her come with me to go fishing in the creek. She didn’t want to, but I didn’t want to go by myself. And then this thing came out of the woods, like a giant lizard, I don’t know, but we ran and it chased us into the valley. And I fell and I told her to run, but she wouldn’t, she stood in front of me and it clawed her face and she fell and hit her head and stopped moving. Is she going to die?”

“What happened to the beast?”

“It just ran away.”

“Why did it run?”

He thought again of the shadows that seemed to cling to her, the blood that dripped from the injury at its neck. He just shook his head. “I don’t know. She yelled at it. I just want her to be okay. It’s all my fault she got hurt.”

His father pulled him into a hug and brushed back his hair soothingly.

“The healer said she would recover, but it will take time. He was able to save her eye.”

He felt a tear roll down his cheek but he didn’t bother brushing it away. 

“Can I see her?”

“She’s with her mother right now. Maybe tomorrow when they’ve had time to rest.” 

Sylvain nodded, dropping his gaze. He wondered if Cecily would even want to see him when she woke up. He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. It would be the least he deserved for being so selfish and getting her hurt. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” His father stared at him intently, brushing his thumb over the bruise that had already begun to bloom across his cheek.

“I’m fine. I wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for Cecily.”

“Are you sure you don’t know why it ran away?”

Sylvain shook his head. “She yelled at it. Maybe it got scared. She should have just left me.”

“Would you have left her?”

“Of course not! She’s my friend.”

“Then I’d wager you’re hers.”

Sylvain just stared up at him for a long moment before burying his face in his chest, muffling the sobs he finally allowed to take over. His father held him tight, pressing his face to his hair as Sylvain shook with grief. 

~~~

It had been easy enough to pocket one of the blood-soaked pieces of gauze when he’d gone to check on the healer’s progress. 

The little girl’s face was truly a frightening sight, what with the deep gashes that had carved through to bone in places, with how close it had come to puncturing her right eye completely. 

It was a shame—she’d always been a very pretty little girl.

Matthias turned to her mother who hovered over the bedside, wringing her hands. 

She’d always been beautiful, but it was as if the last few hours had aged her more than the near-decade she’d spent in his service. She looked hollow, like she might faint any second.

“Niamh, let’s take a walk. You could use some air.”

“I’m fine, my Lord, I—I can’t leave her, not like this.”

“Just a short one to give Linas space to work.”

She glanced at the healer, still intent on staunching the blood and nodded, wrapping her arms around herself.

He held the door to the hall for her, easily falling into stride with her. He couldn’t imagine how she was feeling—even muffled through stone walls, her wails upon first seeing her daughter had been utterly heartrending. 

“How is Sylvain?”

He was taken aback by the question. Sylvain had returned with hardly more than a scratch and she was worrying over him, even as her daughter lay bleeding and disfigured. 

“Shaken up, but otherwise fine.”

“I’m glad,” she said, nodding to herself, and he knew she meant it. 

She really was a sweet woman. It was half of why he was always so insistent that Sylvain stay away from her daughter. 

“Linas will do all he can and I have sent a flyer to House Fraldarius to retrieve one of their healers as well.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“The knights are still out hunting the beast. I shall let you know when it has been slain.”

She just nodded, glancing back towards the infirmary, arms tightening around her chest.

“Sylvain said she refused to leave him when he fell. Even when he told her to. You have a very brave daughter, and for that I am very grateful.”

“She adores Sylvain. He has always been extraordinarily kind to her.”

He stared at her for a long moment, unsure if he should voice his suspicions about her daughter, raise the question of who her father might be, what house he might belong to.  

“Do you have any family? I can send a rider to retrieve them. Support in these times is ever important.”

She just shook her head. “It is only Saoirse and I.”

“Then I am at your disposal. Whatever you might need is yours. Just focus on looking after your daughter.”

She smiled at him, tears dripping down her face. “You have always been far too kind to us, my Lord.”

“It is the least I can do. I’ll not take any more of your time tonight. I’ll check back in in the morning.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

He watched her stride back to the infirmary, back ramrod straight, arms still locked around herself as if they’d be enough to hold her together. He nearly felt guilty for the square of gauze he’d stuffed into his pocket before she turned. For sating his curiosity before her daughter had been stitched back together.

Still, he turned back to his study, asking a passing servant to send Eitas to meet him there. 

The beast couldn’t have simply been scared off by the shouts of a little girl. A Crest, though, manifested in surprising ways, especially in children. It wasn’t unlikely that she could have unconsciously fended it off, especially if she carried one of the mages’ Crests. 

There wasn’t much text remaining on how exactly Macuil’s crest acted.

That sort of innate power though—if he had to guess he’d say it would denote a Major Crest. They were becoming more and more rare, especially in the Kingdom. 

He sat back in his high-backed leather chair, placing the scrap of fabric on his desk, just to the side of the most recent map from the Sreng border. Incursions were becoming more and more frequent, something he worried denoted another full-scale attack. He was well aware how reliant they’d become on their Crest to fend them off—without use of the Lance of Ruin they’d sustain innumerable casualties, fall victim to the sheer number of Sreng warriors. 

Introducing a powerful second Crest could mitigate that future. He knew the power of his bloodline was waning—they hadn’t born an heir with a Major Crest of Gautier in nearly seven decades, and those with Minor Crests had become more and more rare. 

He thought of the little girl, of how sometimes he’d watch her chase Sylvain about the courtyard beneath his study window, the pair of them in the midst of some game or another. How more than once the knights had dragged the pair of them back from the creek at the far end of the property, both caked in mud and grinning. It was clear the pair were fond of each other. Even if the girl would never be pretty after she healed, they could, at least, enjoy each other’s company. 

It was more than could be said for most noble marriages. 

He’d never have to worry about conflicting interests either, as she had no ties to any of the other noble houses. As long as he ensured her and her mother were well cared for, he couldn’t picture finding a more loyal daughter-in-law. 

He looked up as the door opened and Eitas ducked inside, giving him a quick bow. He was a thin man with a pinched face and hair the color of straw. Still, he was good at what he did.

“I was told you wished to see me, my Lord.”

“Can you determine a Crest from blood alone?”

“I—it is a bit more difficult, but yes.”

Matthias nodded to the bloody gauze on the desk and Eitas hesitated only a moment before snatching it up and crossing to the cabinet where the rickety old device lived when not in use. Usually it was only retrieved for family births, to determine whether or not the child bore a crest. 

He fiddled around with the dials for a few minutes, mumbling to himself. Then he paused, standing stock still for a solid minute before furiously re-adjusting the dials and starting over. He did this four more times before he finally stepped away, looking baffled.

“It’s like a Crest but nothing I’ve seen before.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s—it’s odd. It’s definitely not any recognized Crest, at least that I’m aware of. But there’s something there.”

“So the blood bears an unknown Crest.”

“There’s a few crestologists in Enbarr I’d like to compare notes with and see if they’ve seen anything like it.”

Matthias nodded, brows furrowed. “Let me know what they say.”

“Of course, your excellency.”

~~~

Cecily looked up to find Sylvain jogging towards her, face pinched in uncharacteristic worry. She fought the urge to turn and retreat, hide away in the shadows he could never hope to find her in.

She would have thought by now it would have gotten easier to look at him, that the raw ache in her chest would have lessened, but nearly five years later and it was still almost as bad as the first time she’d seen him at the academy. 

It wasn’t fair—but then again she’d never been fair to him, never given him a chance, not since they were both small. Sometimes she wished she could, wished she was capable of it. 

“I—just, how have you been?” He asked, the smallest tremble in his voice. He stared at her face, eyes unblinking as if he were scared she’d vanish if he did.

If only she could. 

“How do you think, Syl? It hardly took the Empire a month to take Rowe. Do we have to play this game? Just—just forget I exist, Sylvain. It would be better for both of us.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“Sersh—“

“Don’t call me that! Don’t you dare call me that,” she retorted, tears springing to her eyes. He couldn’t stand there and be nice to her and use the name her mother gave her, use the last remaining tether she had to her brief happy childhood. Why couldn’t he be angry at her for killing his brother, why couldn’t he hate her everything that happened?

Sylvain held up his hands, taking a step back like she was a dog he was convincing not to bite him.

“I didn’t mean—I’m sorry. I just, I’m glad you’re okay. That you’re around, I mean. I hadn’t heard anything and I thought—you know.”

She stared at him a long moment before she said anything. “What do you want, Syl?”

“Want? I don’t want anything—“

“Of course you do. Everyone wants something.”

“I just wanted to talk, to catch up. I mean, it’s been years,” he trailed off, looking at his feet.  She nodded.

“Yeah, I guess it has.”

“I—we could be friends, Ser—Cecily. Again, I mean.”

“Why would you want to be friends with me, Syl? I mean, after everything—how can you look at me? You know I was the one to deliver the killing blow—“

“I know. I know, but—how can I fault you for that, really? He got what he deserved.”

“I just—I can’t. We’re not kids anymore, we haven’t got anything in common. Haven’t had anything in common for a long time.”

“That’s not true—“

“You’re a lordling, I’m a criminal. The fact that our circles collide at all is only because of who I choose to work for.”

“Claude?” He said, managing to sound only the faintest bit bitter. 

“Among others.”

“You could work for me. Work for the Kingdom. Forget what Felix said, we could use all the help we can get. I mean, that’s why we’re here in the first place.”

She just shook her head. 

“I can’t. You know I can’t.”

She paused for a moment before she dug in her pocket, pulling an old, broken locket she’d found on the street out of her pocket. It was a pretty thing and real gold, something she’d meant to pawn when she got back to Rowe. She held it out to Sylvain. 

“Just—if you get a chance—“

“Yeah. I’ve left it all up there for her, just so you know. You could—I’d make sure my father didn’t know if you visited.”

She shook her head, blinking back a wave of tears. There was no way she could face her mother’s grave, not as what she’d become. Sylvain just nodded. 

“It’s—if you ever change your mind, it’s an open offer.”

“I—thanks, Syl,” she said, dropping her gaze to the ground. By the goddess, she wished she could hate him. It’d make it so much easier to just hate him. 

But how could she hate her first friend, especially when he’d never been anything but kind to her? How could she hate the boy that featured in nearly all of her happy childhood memories, hate the little boy her mother adored?

“About what Felix said—“

“I don’t care what Felix said.”

“You clearly do, and he was out of line. I know—I know you’re not a spy, I know you wrote Hubert off the moment you knew he served the Flame Emperor. Dimitri knew that—Goddess, he knew that.” 

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the mention of Dimitri, sweet, awkward Dimitri who’d all but broken at the revelation of Edelgard’s betrayal. The worst part was she understood exactly where he was coming from, they simply had wildly different priorities. 

He wanted Edelgard’s head on a stake. She wanted to fundamentally dismantle the shady cabal Arundel used to rule the Empire from the shadows and everyone in league with it. Unfortunately they hadn’t been able to come to a compromise. 

And then he’d been murdered. Him and Dedue. 

“How’s Yuri?” Sylvain asked, still searching her face.

“Alive. Laying low.”

“Good. I thought maybe—you’re too skinny. He should yell at you more. It seemed to work at school.”

She cracked the smallest of smiles. “He tries. It was—I’m glad you’re okay, Sylvain. I don’t want to read your name on a list of the dead. Just—just don’t be stupid. Some things aren’t worth dying for.”

“Same goes for you Ser—Cecily. And, if you need something, anything, just write. All you have to do is write.”

“I wish you wouldn’t be so nice to me.”

“I wish you would be meaner.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t. It’d be easier though, wouldn’t it?”

She shook her head. Sylvain always liked to play the ditzy, philandering cad, but he was often too insightful for his own good. She sighed, pitching the bridge of her nose.

“Do you have a map on you?”

“What?”

“A map.”

“Yeah, just—why?” He asked, digging through his pack to pull out a creased map of the continent. She swiped it out of his hand and unfolded it, holding it up to the wall as she dug a stubby pencil out of one of her pockets. She marked the three main Empire supply lines feeding into Faerghus and their key camps, along with where she last knew their munition storage to be. She tossed the map back at him shoving the pencil back in her pocket. He stared at the map for a long moment before turning back to her, mouth opening to thank her.

“Don’t, just—stay alive and you can owe me one one.”

She didn’t wait for a response, instead just turning on her heel and stalking away as fast as she dared. 

Next

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #claude von riegan #sylvain jose gautier #fire emblem three houses x reader #slow burn #friends to enemies to lovers

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night 11

Claude stared at Cecily for a long time as the others filtered out. Hilda and Lorenz had remained the longest, dramatically debating whether or not the heroine of their latest read should choose one love interest or the other and complaining about the wait for the sequel, something he knew Cecily would have usually been right in the middle of. He would have never pegged her as an avid romance reader, but he did enjoy her absolute buck-wild takes on whatever book they were discussing. They always involved too much murder and subterfuge and possibly the overthrowing of a small-to-medium sized kingdom, but she always made them sound endearingly amusing. Instead, though, she just stared into the middle distance, brows pinched together as she nursed a glass of wine. 

He couldn’t help but let his eyes trace her face, note—as he did every time she returned—all the differences, the new scars and bruises, the sharper jut of her bones beneath her skin. 

They were his fault, at least partially. Every injury gathering intel for the Alliance, every wound sabotaging the front lines to keep the Empire at bay, keeping the war from their doorstep. He remembered when she used to laugh, when her smile had been easy and warm, when sadness hadn’t hung so heavy behind her eyes. 

His stomach lurched uncomfortably as he thought about the way she’d stared at the food laid out for dinner, food that wasn’t out of the ordinary to anyone else at the table, besides perhaps Balthus. It was enough to make him realize that he’d never truly been hungry, not in the way she surely had. 

Lorenz had cornered him after she’d disappeared off to his laboratory, his face pinched in the way he was oh so familiar with from Roundtable meetings and their time at school. He’d known it was about Cecily before he’d even opened his mouth, had known it would be from the moment he heard him fussing over her as they came up the stairs to his study. 

He was quite sure Lorenz liked her more than a friend and also quite sure that, besides Cecily, he was the only one who hadn’t a clue. He might have found it terribly amusing that the most pretentious of nobles, who had most loudly and frequently declared that he needed a proper Lady wife equal to his station, had fallen for the peasant spymaster of a criminal gang. He might have, if he didn’t understand exactly why, if he didn’t see the way she viscously protected those she cared about, if he didn’t see how absolutely she devoted herself to whatever she deemed important, if he didn’t see how brilliant she was when she wanted to be. 

If a big part of him didn’t feel the exact same way. 

He knew that was why he’d offered her the advisory position in the first place—strategically, it was terrible. Sure, he could find other spies, he hadother spies, but none with the same far-reach, none had the same sort of initiative, none kept him so well-informed. Could he use her strategic mind in keeping the Alliance safe on the razor’s edge of neutrality? Absolutely. But that task would be made infinitely harder without her intel. 

Of course, if she’d take the job he’d know each morning that she was alive, that she hadn’t been murdered in the night at the hands of one of Hubert’s agents or while sneaking behind enemy lines. She wouldn’t be thin enough that he could count each of her ribs, that he could feel them, right under her skin. She wouldn’t come back with a dozen new scars and twice as many bruises. 

“She nearly died, Claude,” he’d said, jaw tight. “Loudon said had she not had the foresight to pack the wound with the rough antidote she made she probably would have, especially with how underweight she is. She was—I’ve never seen her cry, not in all the times she’s shown up bleeding at our doorstep, and she couldn’t stop herself until Loudon was able to give her a painkiller. She couldn’t breathe, would have suffocated if the wound was half an inch deeper and it fully pierced her lung. It’s not a jest, when I say that she needs to rest.”

He’d still thought then, perhaps Lorenz was exaggerating as he was want to. Until he’d seen the wound for himself. He was sure she’d meant to placate him by showing it to him—it was hardly two inches of stitches along her rib, after all. She might have fooled him that way, if it hadn’t been for the blackened veins spidering out from the wound, the deep bruising from the internal bleeding. Her nerves had been so fried from the toxin that she’d winced at the slightest brush of his fingers. Of course he’d also been taken aback by the sheer number of brutal scars that covered her skin. Scars that hadn’t been healed with magic. 

It was hard to believe she’d acquired so many, especially when anytime she’d gotten so much as a bad scratch at the Academy Yuri had always been quick to heal it. Maybe with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, but he’d always healed them, whether she’d asked or not.

She turned and caught him staring, furrowing her brow. 

“What? Why are you staring?”

“How about a nightcap?” He asked. Her face softened at that.

“The roof?”

“Of course.”

“Alright. See you there,” she said, and finished her wine and disappeared out into the hall. He waited a moment before he followed, stopping in his study to grab a bottle of liquor, something he’d been saving. He didn’t bother with glasses, though he did grab a thick blanket from one of the armchairs facing the fireplace so they wouldn’t have to lie on the cold tiles. She’d already beat him to the roof by the time he climbed out the window, head tipped back as she surveyed the stars just beginning to peek out against the dusk sky. 

He laid out the blanket and plopped himself down, uncorking the bottle as she scooted over to sit beside him. It wasn’t something he’d usually favor—he preferred bold, rich flavors, savored the burn of whatever liquor he happened to drink. This was delicate and floral, so smooth he could hardly guess it was alcohol at all, though he knew it packed a punch. He knew Cecily would drink whatever was offered—he’d tried the swill she’d drank at the Wilted Rose, had regretted more than one swig of the flask she kept at her hip—but he knew she enjoyed the subtle sweetness, knew she favored florals and bright citrus and would never pay half of what he had for the bottle. He offered her the first sip and she hummed appreciatively at the taste, passing it back to him. 

She seemed perfectly happy to sit in silence, eyes trained on the stars. There was something heavy hung about her, something more than the usual cynicism she carried with her from the front lines. 

“You’ve been really quiet,” he said, finally breaking the silence. It was another beat before she turned, taking a breath before meeting his eyes. 

“I’m fine,” she said, clever eyes narrowing slightly as she searched his face. It almost made him laugh. 

“I didn’t ask you if you were fine.”

“It’s what you meant. I know it’s what you meant.”

“And I know you’re not fine. Not really.”

She sat in silence for a long time, lips pursed, before she sighed, letting her head thud back to the roof. “I’m just tired. It’s been three years. I’m just—I’m tired, Claude.”

He sat up to look at her. She avoided his gaze, jaw tight. 

“Cecily—“

“I’m going to go to bed,” she said, rising quickly. She snagged the bottle from where it sat between them and crossed back to the edge, ducking effortlessly back onto the balcony and through the study window. 

~~~

He knew he’d been right to go through Shae, to pay her ridiculous finder’s fee to track down the information he needed. 

Yuri stared at the tome, eyes almost blurring with how fast he read. The whole thing seemed outlandish—farcical, even. A fairytale, an old myth, some half-baked legend—of course, three years ago he would have said the same about giant, near-immortal shape-shifting dragons. Still, the idea that Cecily could be some sort of apocalyptic harbinger of death and darkness, that she might carry in her the blood of a long-murdered god—

He should dismiss it as insanity, he wanted to dismiss it as insanity. Goddess knew he wanted to dismiss it. But he’d seen glimpses of what she could do, felt the raw power coursing just under her skin, knew what Arundel and his ilk were willing to do for a few vials of her blood.

Hell, he’d seen first hand the horrors they’d been able to inflict with her refined blood. 

It wasn’t a Crest. He’d known that since she was twelve, since he’d poured over every tomb on the subject in House Rowe looking for one that might fit her powers. It didn’t work like any of the other, didn’t even work like any magic he’d seen or studied, not even Faith magic—it didn’t take her force of will or belief, and certainly didn’t take any fancy equations or components. It came purely from herself, from something alien and innate within her.

And he was convinced it was killing her. 

More so than the constant runs and skipped meals, he was convinced using her power as she was was killing her. That it was chipping away at her very being. He couldn’t prove it, not with the stress of everything else on her shoulders, but he could see it when she returned. 

He’d hoped to find a solution, potions to brew, perhaps a spell or two to rejuvenate her, to work on replacing what had already been lost, what Arundel had stolen from her, but instead he was met only with horrors, with a mandate to destroy any and all perceived to be like her on sight, to burn their corpses and scatter them to the sea. That they were capable of nothing except death and pain and misery, that they needed it, fed on it to even sustain themselves. 

Yuri looked up as the door burst open, mages flooding the room. He grit his teeth at the familiar figure who stepped into the room last, taking the second before silence was cast over him to incinerate the book in his hands to ash. 

The last thing he needed was the Empire to have more motivation to track down Cecily, for them to know the true extent of her power, her capabilities. He remembered the tiny, broken thing he’d found in the tunnels of Rowe, remembered what they’d done to her when she was a tiny girl with a strange Crest. He couldn’t fathom the atrocities they’d inflict on her if they even suspected she carried the blood of a dark god, a god of endless night and shadow, a god that seemed opposed to the goddess in every way. 

The spell cost him his moment to spirit away, or at least his chance to try. There were seven Empire agents, including Hubert, and only one of him. Even he knew it would be foolish to put up a blatant fight under those odds. 

“Ah, the Mockingbird. How lovely to see you again, it’s been far too long,” Hubert said, the same sinister smile he’d worn too often at the academy plastered on his face. 

“Go to hell,” Yuri spat back. There would be no sweet-talking the Emperor’s right hand, no reason to resort to flattery. 

Not that he was convinced he could make himself, anyway, not when he could read Hubert’s intentions in his stupid, smug face. 

Next

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #claude von riegan #fire emblem three houses x reader #friends to enemies to lovers #slow burn

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 10

Cecily let her head fall back against the cold metal of the table, letting her eyes slip shut. She was so tired, so unbelievably tired, even though nearly all she did was sleep. She’d stopped fighting back months ago, after she’d broken the last wooden contraption she’d been bound to in one of her ‘outbursts.’ It was after that that they’d chained her to the stupid metal table, screwed manacles on to her wrists until they just barely started to cut off the circulation in her hands. They’d done the same to her feet, promised the next time she acted out that they’d tighten them until her hands and feet were nothing more than blackened dead things at the ends of her limbs. 

They didn’t need her hands for their experiments, after all. 

She heard someone fiddling with the lock on her cell but didn’t bother to look. She knew who it was by his gait, by the sound of his calf-leather boots, by the way he unlocked the door without letting the other keys rattle together. 

Arundel.

He was the foremost among her tormentors, the one who collected her blood with near-glee. He was mercurial in nature, equally likely to be unnecessarily cruel as he was to show flashes of almost tender care.

She loathed him, more than she loathed anyone, and she’d had a long time to work out the ranking in her head. 

First there was Thales, with his constant agonizing torment, his near glee at her agony, her fear. There were others he tormented too, she knew, for she could hear their wailing, their begging, until finally one day it would stop, fall into ringing silence.

It always stopped.

Then there was Miklan, for selling her to the beast in the first place, and for killing her mother in the struggle. For trying to kill her for befriending Sylvain. 

Third was Margrave Gautier for disowning Miklan for his lack of a Crest, for discarding him and ignoring his bitter, violent outbursts. For taking an interest in her after Miklan had failed to kill her, for his special treatment because he believed her to bear a Crest. Special treatment that had gotten her locked up in this rank dungeon and her mother killed. 

She was sure she could have added to the list, if only she knew the names of her other tormentors who prodded and cut and bled her. There was hatred for them too, but not the same sort of icy loathing that consumed her at the thought of the others. 

She liked to picture how she would kill them, when it got particularly bad. When the injections lit her veins ablaze and every nerve in her body shrieked for release. 

Margrave Gautier would be quick. He’d always been nice to her, even as he secured her doom. Perhaps she felt guilty, knowing it would leave Sylvain a near orphan, knowing the void it left.

Not that it would be enough to stay her hand.

Miklan she would rip apart. 

Slowly, if she could manage it, so she could watch the cruel light behind his eyes be replaced with fear and agony. So she could watch it dim and go out like she’d seen her mother’s.

Arundel she would unmake. Piece by piece until there were no bones, no blood, no ashes—nothing. Until it was like he’d never existed. Until there wasn’t even enough of him left to rot in the lowest pit of hell.

“Are you having sweet dreams?”

She hated the contempt in his voice, twisted glee. She opened her eyes just enough to glare at him, to catalog which torture implements he’d decided to bring today.

It looked like it would be another bleeding day.

It was preferable to the experiments, to the serums and horrid tonics. It meant she’d spend an indeterminate amount of time knocked out cold, which was time she didn’t have to spend conscious and suffering or locked in horrible nightmares. 

“What day is it?” Her voice sounded weak, even to her own ears. 

“Thursday.”

“The date.”

He surveyed her a moment, brow raised. She knew the tone alone was worth a solid backhand, the insistence worse. 

He laughed. The sound was cold and devoid of humor, but it wasn’t the cruel amusement that signified pain. 

“The 17th of the Red Wolf Moon.”

Her birthday. She was ten.

She wished she was dead.

Something must have shown on her face because he got a horrible twisted look on his face that could have been a smile. She could feel familiar dread fill her like icy sea water, feel it roiling under her skin like a living thing trying to burst free. Still, she kept her face impassive, her hands still, relaxed.

She knew it would be worse if she showed fear. 

“I have a surprise for you. Something new. Something you’ll enjoy.”

She didn’t look at him, didn’t dare glance at whatever new and horrid contraption he’d come up with. 

It started the same as any other bleeding day. He cut her, slicing longer and deeper than he needed, and placed the bowl under her arm to collect the blood. He did the same on the other side. Then he just stood there until she was right on the edge of slipping into unconsciousness. 

Then came the sharp bite of steel into her thigh, the feeling of something like ice being injected into her veins. Her eyes flew open, her whole body suddenly alight with something, something that didn’t make her scream out in agony. She stared at the dark, dank room, eyes roving over the shadows that clung to every corner, that sang to her.

It had been so long since she last heard such sweet sounds. 

She smiled, letting her head thud dully against the metal table, eyes still wide. He grinned, running his fingers gently down her face, across the scars left by Miklan’s ambush.

“Who would have thought just a little would leave you so docile? You’d never know you were the same creature who tore out their fingernails trying to claw down the door.”

She didn’t pull away from his touch, even when he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.  She just smiled and stared at the shadows, watched them dance and flicker, long after he’d left, locking her back in her cell. 

She smiled as the whispered to her, clearer than ever before. 

She smiled because Arundel had made a terrible mistake, and she would bury him with it. 

~~~

It was easy to make them think the drug made her placid. Easier still to act as if she were becoming used to it, that she needed more to be made mute and still. They didn’t remove the chains for a long time, but eventually it seemed silly to keep her chained to the table when she didn’t even move. They brought in a sturdy wooden chair, the sort with arms and a high back and sat her in that instead. She remained slumped and motionless, staring listlessly into the dark when the guards bothered to check up on her. 

When they didn’t she listened to the shadows sing to her, let them flock to her like butterflies to honeysuckle. She practiced shaping them with little more than thought—into a blade, a dart, a set of razor-sharp claws. She practiced sending them farther, first just under the gap of the door, then down the hall, then into the labs beyond, clinging to the shadows for her tormentors. She could hear them, beyond the walls of her cell, hear them laugh as they devised their cruel experiments, watched, somehow, from her tendrils of shadow as they worked. It left her exhausted, at first, but she soon became used to the strain, used to it until it was hardly any effort at all. 

She smiled as they sang her praises, at how clever she’d become. She promised she’d sate them with blood, promised to keep them well-fed. Her list was long enough—everyone who had hurt her, caged her, tormented her in this subterranean hell, everyone who had hurt her, hurt her mother. 

Everyone who had ever wanted her dead.

She’d see that they feasted. 

And if she ran out of tormentors? There were plenty of wicked in Fodlan. Enough that they’d never go hungry.  

~~~

The door was opening, her shadows whispering as they retreated from the light of the hall and the blade was already in her hand as she twisted and launched it towards the intruder before she’d even managed to wake properly and open her eyes, adrenaline coursing through her veins. 

“I told him you got to wear armor to go in there and wake you up,” a familiar, deep booming voice laughed to itself. She sat upland stared at the figure in the doorway for a moment, watching as he pulled the dagger out of his leather armor, before launching herself at him.

“Baltie! Oh, I didn’t know you would be here!” she said, hugging him around the middle. 

“Me neither! I ran into Holst and Hilda on their way over here and thought I’d tag along,” he said, hugging her back, too hard, as always. Normally she didn’t really mind, but it pressed into the wound at her side in a way that made her cry out before she could stop herself. 

“Oh, shit—sorry pal! Claude did say you got a bit banged up on your last run,” he said, quickly setting her back on the ground. 

“It’s fine, really,” she chuckled, rubbing at her side. “How—how are you? I haven’t seen you in months, I was starting to get worried.”

“Oh, you know, I’m hanging in there. Been taking work up by what’s left of the Kingdom mostly. Debt collectors aren’t so keen on making the trip up there.”

“Fuck, man, that’s nuts,” she said, wide eyed. She didn’t even go that far north anymore, never mind her birds, not since the tales of a marauding sadistic vagabond indiscriminately killing his way through the old Blaiddyd territory had been so viscerally confirmed. 

“That’s rich, coming from you, pip-squeak. From what I hear, the Savage Mockingbird isn’t the only bird around with quite the reputation. Eh, Magpie?”

“Can it, it’s not the crowd,” she hissed back, glancing around for any prying ears as they walked towards the dining room. Balthus laughed and mussed her hair affectionately. She punched him in the arm, hard enough that it would have hurt most people, but he didn’t even flinch. 

“I’m serious, Baltie, not here.”

“Alright, alright, can’t have your fancy friends in on all your secrets, I get it. Speaking of which, how’s Yuri?” he asked as she fixed her hair. She shrugged.

“You know, keeping a brave face. More worried than he lets on.”

“Yeah, that’s about what I figured,” he replied, making a face. “You doing okay? You look scrawnier than usual.”

“Real nice,” she shot back, rolling her eyes. He grabbed her arm, pulling her to a halt before they made it to the hall that lead to the dining room.

“I mean it, kiddo. You look like you’ve seen better days.”

“Haven’t we all?”

“Come on, you know what I mean! You got a lot of new scars, pal.”

“Yeah, yeah, you sound like Yuri,” she said, brushing him off as she strode towards the dining room. Her stomach rumbled at the delectable scent of roasted meat and fragrant spices and she realized just how hungry she was. When was the last time she’d eaten? Had to have been breakfast with Lorenz and his family and before that—before that she couldn’t quite remember. 

“Are you calling me a nag?”

“If the shoe fits.”

“Ah, there you are! We were just about to send out a search party,” Lorenz joked as they strode into the dining room. He already had a glass of wine in his hand and from the slight flush in his cheeks she’d wager he, Claude, and Hilda had had a glass or two before the meal. 

She envied them in how easily they were able to disconnect from the reality of the war. She supposed it was easy, when none of their territories had seen actual battle, nor they any real fighting.

Sometimes she wished for such innocence. It had been an awful long time since she could claim it.

“Hey, the old man’s slowing down in his elder years, have some respect,” Cecily shot back, ducking the half-hearted smack from Balthus. She giggled, slipping over to the empty chair Claude kicked out next to him while Balthus went to go sit next to Holst. 

“Sleep alright?” Claude asked as she plopped down, grabbing a roll from the basket nearest them without ceremony. Her mouth watered at the sight of all the food laid out before them and she could think of little besides how hungry she was. She could go days without eating when she needed to on a run, but the moment she was faced with anything warm and halfway decent she’d get the worst sort of hunger pangs. 

She nodded, staring at the roast pheasant and potatoes and vegetables and every other delicacy that lined the table. She focused on the little game she played in her head, the game where she tried to reverse-engineer the recipe for each in her head from just sight and smell, the game she’d come up with after Yuri had saved her and she’d begun trying to recreate her mother’s meals from memory. It was distracting enough that it helped her to mind her manners just long enough for the meal to be properly served and for Count Gloucester to offer thanks to the Goddess for the food. 

She tried to pace herself, but it was too good and she was too hungry. It was probably for the best that noble portions were always small, lest she make herself sick with just how fast she inhaled everything on her plate. 

That, and she couldn’t exactly eat much in one sitting anymore. It must have been a by-product of too many lean years, a curse and a blessing, depending on the day. Today, as she eyed the spiced potatoes topped with fresh rosemary butter and cracked sea-salt it felt very much like a curse.

“You can have more, you know,” Claude said, reaching over to spoon some more onto her plate, but she shook her head. He gave her a look but nodded, adding them to his own instead. 

She sat back and just enjoyed the chatter of the table, the familiar, nearly predictable banter of her friends, wine in hand. It was easy, here, to forget about the price of such a dinner, easy to pretend they were simply back in school and that the worst they had to prepare for was the Battle of Eagle and Lion. It was easy to pretend that this was normal, that every day could be this, that she wasn’t the Magpie, that she needn’t be, that she could just gush about novels with Lorenz and Hilda and pick Holst’s brain about whatever weird mushroom was his latest find. She wanted to go out drinking with Balthus like they had back in school and wait for whatever hilarious disaster was bound to arrive, she wanted to bake with Hapi again and talk about constellations—hell, there was a part of her that even missed Constance’s self-important monologues. And Claude—

She didn’t know what she wanted from Claude, but she knew it was a dangerous sort of ache, that he was as deadly as any blade. She just knew that it felt good to be around him, that somehow he made the nightmare of reality retreat, just a little. That he made her laugh, really laugh, and part of her wished that was enough to make her forget both of their machinations, that it was enough to leave them with something genuine underneath it all. But if he was the sun, hopeful and bright and unrelenting, then she was insidious as night. He would be King of Almyra and she—

She’d be lucky to make it through this war. 

She doubted she would, really. She wasn’t stupid, she knew she was running herself ragged, knew she was being more and more reckless, knew she was hurtling closer and closer to an early grave with every cull, every side job. Of course, judging from what Lysithea had said about the damage caused by the mages’ experiments, she was guaranteed one anyway. Sure, she’d never ended up implanted with a double Crest, but after what they’d done to her, what they’d taken, the amount of blood alone—

She doubted she’d make it to the other side of twenty-five. Whether it was her body simply being unable to deal with the stress she put it through channeling the shadows or whether it was a blade to her gut, she’d guess she had five years, tops. Five years to exterminate Arundel and his ilk, five years to ensure Abyss would be okay, that its children would have sunlit paths, if they wanted them. Five years to ensure Yuri would be set, that he could give it all up, if he wanted, that he and his mother would be safe and taken care of, repaid in the most minuscule way for their kindness.

She knocked back the rest of her wine before dropping her gaze to her lap, hating the wave of emotion that constricted her throat, hating the way she needed to check and be sure her hands remained whole and unbroken in her lap, hating the fact that merely thinking of what was to come, what had to be done, was enough to make her want to curl up and sob in Yuri’s arms like she had when she was a child. 

It wasn’t as if she wanted to die, after all. She just didn’t see another path forward, not for her. And though she might leave with crimson hands, her soul blackened and twisted beyond recognition, she would leave the world a better place than the one she’d been born into. 

And was enough. 

It had to be. 

Next

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #claude von riegan #balthus von albrecht #lorenz hellman gloucester #friends to enemies to lovers #slow burn #fire emblem three houses x reader

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 9

“Stop hovering, Lorenz, I’m fine,” Cecily said, shooting him a glare as they climbed the stairs towards Claude’s familiar study. Both he and his father had insisted she make the journey to Derdrui for the Roundtable meeting with them in their carriage and hadn’t allowed her to refuse. It had definitely been the smart decision to accquiess, considering she still felt weak and feverish in the wake of the poison, the color yet to return to her face. The wound itself ached terribly, but she was used to dealing with that sort of pain.

Arundel had at least ensured that.

“Must I remind you that you were just stabbed and that the wound was poisoned to prevent healing magic from working?”

“Do you think it’s the first time I’ve been stabbed? Or poisoned?”

“Is that argument meant to aid your case? If so, it’s woefully misguided—“

“It’s part of the job, Lorenz.”

“You should have gone to the manor before clearing out—after all, it’s mine and my father’s responsibility, seeing as it was on our lands.”

“Your father pays me to deal with problems, Lorenz. It was simply a careless error on my part.”

“An error you wouldn’t have made had you come directly to the manor and rested.”

“I don’t want to keep speaking of it, what’s done is done. Loudon said it will heal fine on its own.”

“With rest. He was very specific that you needed to rest.”

“What do you call lounging about in a carriage for the past six hours?”

“I would hardly call the five hours you spent decoding the documents you found lounging.”

“Yes, well I also started the book you recommended. The one your father referred to as filth.”

“Oh, believe me, I noted how you made sure to tell him it was I who leant it to you and that you had no idea what it was about. I’m sure I’ll get a lecture now about how inappropriate it is to be lending out salacious books to ladies.”

“Good thing I’m not a Lady then,” she said, fighting a smile. It wasn’t the first book Lorenz had lent her, nor the first rather steamy romance. He’d been rather pleased to find out they shared the same guilty pleasure, especially when it meant they could discuss their latest reads. 

She was glad to have an outlet completely separated from the war. 

That, and she did enjoy Lorenz’s company, now that he’d laid off the constant monologues about the duty and merits of the nobility. It helped that at least he and his father actually followed through with all their talk of duty—commoners in Gloucester County were much better off than she and Yuri had ever been in Rowe or Enbarr. They didn’t starve like they had, nor were swaths of the territory left in abject squalor for their inhabitants to suffer. He was still a noble brat, but at least he did some good.

“I was not speaking of titled Ladies and you know that,” he shot back.

“It’s very good so far, though I’ve yet to reach any of the filth.”

“It’s a slow build. Though I must beg you to read something else on the journey back.”

“I’ll be making my own way back, so don’t worry.”

“Don’t be absurd, in your condition—“ Lorenz began as he pushed into Claude’s study without knocking, something that she would have thought he’d consider much too rude, but perhaps he was too preoccupied mollycoddling her.

“And what condition is that?” Claude asked, looking up with raised brows. 

“I’m pregnant. It’s yours. I had something much more sentimental planned, but Lorenz doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut,” she deadpanned, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. Lorenz turned bright red and started spluttering, though Claude cut him off. 

“Well that’s certainly inconvenient. I doubt I’ll have much use for a pregnant spymaster, though if it’s enough to finally convince you to accept the advisor position, I might insist you keep it,” Claude replied blithely, taking her nonsense in stride as usual. They had a terrible habit of building upon each other’s ridiculous, boldfaced lies for sport. 

“Oh, for the love of—she was stabbed, clearing out a nest of Imperials on the edge of Gloucester and the blade was poisoned so Loudon was unable to heal the wound with magic,” Lorenz said, shooting her a look.

“Which poison?” Claude asked, quickly becoming serious.

“Doctored Hell’s Tooth,” she replied. Claude swore. 

“Exactly,” Lorenz said, glad for some sort of vindication. “Which is why she needs to rest, as our healer instructed.”

Cecily rolled her eyes, ignoring him. “How long before the rest arrive?”

“Margrave Edmund won’t arrive until the morning, but everyone else should be at dinner.”

“Usual time?” She asked. He nodded. 

“I’ll be in the laboratory, in that case,” she said, crossing to his desk and pulling out a stack of blank parchment, a fresh quill and a pot of ink. It was terribly familiar of her, not that Claude ever minded, though Lorenz’s brow furrowed. He wasn’t aware of the extra trips she’d made to Derdriu to make additional runs for Claude—not even Yuri knew, or he’d have ripped her a new one, at least if he knew where she’d been going.

The trip to Almyra was a dangerous one at the best of times.

She waved goodbye to both of them, leaving without another word.

~~~

The laboratory was brightly lit and in a constant state of organized chaos. Cecily thought that was probably by design, considering all the questionable components he kept. She dropped her supplies on the end of the bench, digging her notes out of her bag and wincing as she tugged on her stitches. She wanted them copied and re-coded into her own cypher as soon as possible, something that could be accomplished while a few of her concoctions refined. 

She found the process soothing, at least when making things so familiar to her. Perhaps it was because it was similar in some ways to cooking with Yuri and her mother, and it involved intricate knowledge of flora, something she’d been interested in for as long as she remembered, collecting all sorts of wild herbs and medicinal plants around the Gautier manor nearly every day the grounds weren’t buried in snow. Creating new concoctions was satisfying in a different way, but didn’t allow her mind to wander. 

Part of her deal with Claude allowed her use of the laboratory and its contents. She was pretty sure he’d have allowed it if she’d only asked, but that was a favor, and she didn’t trade in those, and certainly not with him. However much she considered him a close friend, she also knew he was a pragmatist and would use each and any advantage he had to come out on top, something she was counting on in the final act of the war. She just had to make sure he never found out the extent of advantage she provided, nor the possible uses of her blood. She knew he wouldn’t lock her up and bleed her as Arundel had done, but she also knew he’d press her to use her power, to possibly experiment on her blood freely given.

She didn’t look up at the sound of the door opening. She knew he’d be by sooner or later. 

“Hey,” Claude said, dropping into one of the stools next to where she worked. She could feel his eyes on her, knew he was searching for signs of weakness, of pain. Lorenz had no doubt given him a dramatic rendition of her arrival at Gloucester manor. 

“So how bad is it, really? Because according to Lorenz it’s grievous and you nearly died.”

She sighed, finishing setting everything to run before turning to him. She pulled up her shirt to show him the wound, little more than a two inch line of stitches along her lowest rib. It was deeply bruised, though some of the color might have been the remnants of the damage caused by the Hell’s Tooth, considering the nearly black striations that spidered out from the line of stitches. 

“It’s nothing, couple of stitches. Didn’t get anything important.”

Claude furrowed his brow, surprising her by reaching out and swiping his thumb over the wound, tracing the demarkation of the bruising, expression dark. She did her best not to wince, the area still overly tender from the effects of the Hell’s Tooth.

“They must have mixed it with Vetrenia. It would explain the damage to the veins surrounding the wound. Which means Lorenz wasn’t exaggerating.”

She didn’t answer, avoiding his gaze. He knew his poisons, unlike Lorenz, so she couldn’t bullshit him. He still had his hand along her ribs, his fingers calloused and warm. He let it linger another moment before letting go, gently pulling her shirt back into place. 

“It would take time, for this much damage. What happened to the antidotes you made last time? Did they not work?”

“I had birds that needed them more. I thought I’d be fine to wait to restock until I got back here.”

He stared at her, displeasure clear on his face. He was good at masking his emotions, just like Yuri, which meant he wanted her to see it. He’d always been insistent she keep a full set of antidotes with her at all times for the usual culprits, something that had struck her as odd. 

At least until he’d opened up a bit about what it had been like for him growing up in Almyra.

She’d figured out his true origin easy enough at the Academy—it was practically second nature from her work with Yuri to go digging into people’s backgrounds for information, for leverage, and Claude had piqued her interest. At first it was on principle, considering the fact that he was the sudden mystery heir to House Riegan, but then she spent enough time around him to realize just how strange he was in comparison to the other noble brats. She’d been surprised more people hadn’t put it together, considering the basic deductions she’d made from the old stories of Tiana von Riegan’s disappearance from Fódlan and his mysterious appearance some eighteen years later bearing her House’s Crest. 

He’d expected her to blackmail him when she’d found out. She’d just been happy to know there was someone else that wasn’t from Fodlan, that knew what it was like to listen to the people of their homeland spoken of as if they were beasts. 

Not that she’d ever gotten around to telling him she was from Sreng. Or indeed that she wasn’t Yuri’s sister by blood. Only Sylvain and a few of his childhood friends from Faerghus had any idea of her true origins and they’d mercifully had the decency to keep it to themselves. 

“It’s a wonder you made it to Lorenz’s,” he said, sighing as he dropped back down on the stool, running a hand through his hair.

She crossed to where she’d hung her jacket on the back of one of the chairs and pulled out a carefully folded sheath of parchment from the hiding pocket in the lining. She handed it to him without a word, turning back to her chemistry. 

She heard him unfold it, and pursed her lips as she worked. It wasn’t good news, though it was rarely was anymore.

“How recent is this? He asked, nodding to the diagrams she’d transposed for him detailing the troop positions along the south side of the Myrddin. 

“Four days. They haven’t secured their supply lines yet, it’s stretching them a bit thin with the incursions into the Kingdom. A couple of accidents here and here,” she said, pointing out two strategic camps, “Would impede their establishment considerably. But I’d need more Dragon’s Breath, I used my last back in the Empire, so I’d need to take a few days in the laboratory to prepare.”

“This I understand,” he said, pointing to the encampment just south of the Great Bridge of Myrddin. “But this—it’s not as if they can cross the river there, unless it’s exclusively fliers.”

“It’s where they’re storing munitions. They have a stockpile of black powder from Dagda. One spark will wipe out half the camp.”

Claude whistled. “That would do it.”

Cecily snorted despite herself before turning back to her work. With the amount of munitions they had there it would leave a six foot deep crater in the earth. All she needed to do was leave enough shit behind to tie it to the Kingdom and they’d be good to go. After all, at least half of the operations that happened along the front lines were her, or Yuri’s birds, rather than the Kingdom resistance, not that the Empire had any clue there was a very distinct difference. 

There was a reason they hadn’t joined the Kingdom forces, even though nearly all the birds were originally from Kingdom territory. It made very little sense for any of them to join Faerghus army when they’d only be funneled into the infantry to serve as canon fodder and paid fuck all since they were all just ‘uneducated peasants.’ Especially when they were all highly skilled and could do more squeezing individual Kingdom nobles to pay for their services.

That, and the Alliance paid way better, not to mention treated their commoners better. So, they took whatever they could, as long as it served to fuck over the Empire. Whatever they said about elevating the common man, everyone understood that the price that promise came with was far too high, especially when it was more than likely empty. 

Everyone knew the Alliance was their safest option. The Kingdom and the Church would only ever uphold the status quo as it stood and the Empire—

Her birds, at least, knew what the Empire was capable of. 

“How long can I convince you to stay?” Claude asked, breaking her out of her reverie. 

“Why do you want me to stay?” she asked, furrowing her brows as she turned to look at him. 

“Do I need a reason?” he asked. She only continued to stare. Claude always had a reason for everything he did, some step in one of his endless intricate schemes. 

“Do I need one, other than the necrotizing wound in your side?”

“Ooh, someone’s been digging through the medical dictionary again,” she said, her voice lightly mocking. He rolled his eyes. 

“I just thought you might want to stick around and see some familiar faces.”

“Everyone will be at the Roundtable tomorrow. I know Lorenz probably put you up to it, but I’m fine, Claude, really.”

“Do you think Lorenz is the only one who cares when you show up beat to hell?”

“I think Lorenz doesn’t understand the scope of what I do and what it requires, and I know that you do.”

Claude gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher before digging into his pocket and handing her a slightly crumpled missive. She froze at the sight of the seal for just a moment before flipping it open. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said as she scanned the request.

“I know, that’s why I thought you might want to be here for it.”

She stared at him for a long moment before turning back to the letter. “Do the others know?”

“Hilda and Judith know, I was planning on telling Count Gloucester and Lorenz once I have a handle on what exactly they’re looking for.”

“It has to be money, I’ll bet they want you to bankroll the resistance in Galatea. They were poor before the war started, I can’t even imagine now, especially since losing access to the Royal treasury.”

“It’s obviously for money, but it has to be something more considering how isolationist their policy has been the past three years,” Claude replied, adjusting the temperature on one of the burners. 

“Are they coming themselves, or are they sending representatives?”

“I know the same amount as you,” he said, nodding at the envelope. She swore profusely. 

“I suppose that answers my next question.”

“Of whether or not I wanted to meet with the Margrave of fucking Gautier?”

“And Duke Fraldarius. But more likely Felix and Sylvain.”

“Who in their right mind would send Felix on a diplomatic mission?”

Claude snorted. “Maybe they think we’ll be more generous to our old classmates.”

“It’s not like we’re openly fighting a third of them or anything,” she mumbled under her breath turning back to her work. It was effort to conceal the roiling emotion in her—it was always effort, when it came to Sylvain. 

He’d been her first friend, after all—hell, she’d gotten the disfiguring scars on her face leaping between him and a demonic beast when they were kids. But his brother had also killed her mother and sold her to Arundel in the first place and it was hard to forget two years of constant torture, not to mention watching her mother murdered in front of her by a man who looked so similar to the boy who had been her very best friend. 

None of it had been fair to Sylvain, not what happened or how he blamed himself, or how she treated him at the monastery, especially since he’d still been nothing but kind to her. 

She didn’t feel bad about a lot, but she did feel bad about that.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you and Sylvain? Because it doesn’t seem like his regular scorned lover thing.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly not, you make the same face every time I bring him up and you look murderous every time his father’s brought up.”

“His father is a—it doesn’t matter,” she said, shaking her head. He was baiting her, she knew, trying to get her riled up so she’d let more than she wanted to slip.

Or he was being genuinely caring and a good friend. Sometimes she couldn’t tell the difference. It sort of came with the territory of being so utterly fucked in the head. 

“It’s got to do with Miklan, right?” Claude probed, though his voice was softer than usual. 

“Something like that,” she said. It wasn’t like she could explain it to him without explaining everything else, explain why Miklan had sold her off, why Arundel would want to buy an injured eight-year-old girl, explain why Miklan didn’t want her hanging around his younger, Crested half-brother. She’d have to explain the labs and the torture and the thing she’d been when Yuri had found her and nursed her back to health, how she’d spent years hiding from Arundel’s ilk, how she now spent any and all of her free time and resources hunting them down.

“You might feel better if you talked about it, you know.”

“If killing him didn’t make me feel better, I doubt talking about it will either,” she said, voice dry. Claude huffed a laugh. 

“I guess that’s fair enough. So then, will you stay?”

“Perhaps. It would give my ribs a chance to heal. And I would be interested in what specifically the Kingdom is looking to request.”

He flashed her a smile. “Good. You know I can finish these up if you want to have a lie down before dinner. You look like you could use it.”

“Are you saying I look like shit, Riegan?” she laughed, raising a brow.

“I was trying to be nice about it,” he shot back, the familiar teasing glint back in his eye. She much preferred it to the serious set of his brows that was becoming more and more common. She thought about refusing the offer, but then she thought of the feather bed in the guest wing waiting for her. House Riegan’s beds were somehow even more comfortable than House Gloucester’s and miles more comfortable than the dirt floors she usually curled up on when traveling.

“Thanks,” she said, slowly standing and gathering her things. Claude smiled back at her in response.

“Don’t mention it.”

She climbed the stairs to the guest chamber and found her rucksack already in her usual room. She set her coat aside and pulled off her boots before crawling into bed, not even bothering with the covers. She was asleep moments after her head hit the pillow. 

Gods, she loved having a pillow.

Next

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #lorenz hellman gloucester #yuri leclerc #claude von riegan #slow burn #friends to enemies to lovers #fire emblem three houses x reader

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 8

Erwin waited a solid five minutes before crossing to the door to ensure Lorenz was not waiting outside to eavesdrop. Once satisfied he returned, eyeing Cecily with a new sense of wariness. He’d never much noted her appearance—she would arrive consistently filthy and bruised, much too underweight to be considered pretty, even if it hadn’t been for the thick scars that overwhelmed the right side of her face. 

Perhaps the shock of white that was her hair should have raised his suspicions. Or her barely concealed hatred of the Empire, even though Lorenz had mentioned her complete distaste of the nobility as a governing system. 

“They’re working with them. The mages that killed those children. There’s been other experiments, mostly in Hyrm, but in some of the more rebellious villages on the edge of the Dukedom as well. They no longer seem interested in having survivors.” 

Cecily still hadn’t looked up, though she’d stopped her careful arrangement of the war table. 

“How old were you?” 

She took a shuddering breath, knuckles white as she clutched the edge of the table. “Eight. Until I was nearly eleven. They were trying to build on what they’d learned in Ordelia. There were others there, I could hear them, but they never lasted long. They’re becoming more brazen, now that they’re under Adrestia’s banner. They’re stockpiling strange weapons, mobilizing small squadrons, but I haven’t been able to figure out the plan. If they invade the Alliance, our only chance is to overwhelm them with sheer numbers. We don’t have the weaponry, not even with half a dozen Hero’s Relics.”

She looked up at him then, mismatched eyes wide—frightened. He’d never known the girl to be frightened, not when appearing half-dead on his doorstep, not when fighting off ruffians along the edge of his territory.

“Is Claude aware?”

She shook her head. “No. Not of the troop movements or my…connection. I came straight here. They set up in border regions first, so I wanted to ensure you could prepare.”

“This is what you’ve been doing, when you disappear for weeks? Why you’ve been suffering more and more injuries? Because you’ve been infiltrating them?”

She shook her head. “Infiltration is easy. I’ve been hunting down outposts, thinning the numbers. Though there is information I’m seeking I have yet to find.”

“Alone?”

She didn’t answer, which was answer enough.  

“I should bring this to the Roundtable.”

“If you do, you didn’t hear it from me.”

“So no one can try and stop you?”

She gave him a crooked smile, her eyes heavy with fathomless pain. “You were always quick, Count Gloucester.”

He stared at her, at the broken slip of a girl that stood behind his war table, defiantly smiling, even in the face of all the horror forced upon her. A kind, clever girl turned biting and brutal in the hands of a vicious and uncaring world. 

~~~

Yuri hadn’t been to Enbarr in the four years since the war.

It was strange how everything remained the same, from the canals to the open air markets to the tenement buildings he and Cecily had squatted in what felt like a lifetime ago. He’d taught her to read in Enbarr, nursed her back from the horrible skeletal thing he’d found in the tunnels of Rowe back to a little girl. 

She’d learned other things as well, despite his trying to prevent it. She’d learned to fight and steal and sneak about, how to be a good little bird and ferret out what he needed. It helped a great deal that she had experience as a servant in a noble house, that she was able to pass unnoticed. 

He passed one of the stalls where he used to buy the fabric dye they’d used on her hair to make it the same color as his, smiling to himself at the memory. They’d done it in case the mages sent people with her description, her shock of white hair memorable and immediately noticeable. It also helped them to pass better as siblings, especially since her violet eye resembled his lavender ones.

Once, she had followed him to the opera. He’d made it very clear that she was to avoid the whole area, though he hadn’t told her why. He wasn’t sure how she’d gotten past the ticket collector or the ushers in the faded tunic she wore, her hair still pulled back in the braids he’d done before he left. She’d pushed into the box he’d been sharing with several particularly vile, particularly well-connected nobles and made a bee-line straight for him.

He hadn’t realized before then just how much she’d picked up from watching him.

“Brother, I’m sorry, I know you told me to stay home and do my schoolwork, but the man in the flat next door got really drunk again and started beating down the door and I was so scared and he wouldn’t go away and—and—“ she grabbed his hands at that and he could feel the slip of paper she’d pressed into his palm, even as her lip trembled and her eyes welled up with tears, “I crawled out the window. I didn’t know what else to do or where to go. I’m sorry—I’m sorry—“

She’d managed to make just enough of a scene to allow him to hastily check the note in his hand and find a single word scratched almost illegibly onto the paper: bad. 

She clung to his arm as the nobles in the box fussed after her and she spun some tale about how their mother had died when she was five and how he’d taken such good care of her, how he’d gotten her into lessons even though they didn’t have very much money at all, how he all he wanted her to do was to study and didn’t make her work in the lace mill like all the other kids in their tenement building had to.

“And what is it that you are studying, child?” One of the particularly unsavory nobles asked, leering at her from beneath a curtain of thick black hair. Yuri had been sure that would be the unraveling of the whole story, hadn’t even known she’d been able to scratch out the singular word on the piece of parchment he’d already stowed in his sleeve. 

He’d only started teaching her her letters a few weeks ago, after all.

He’d already opened his mouth to concoct some story he hoped would be enough to fool them when she lifted her hand and murmured something unintelligible. A rippling illusion appeared in her hand, a tiny songbird that almost appeared to be made of shimmering midnight water. He did his best not to look surprised, as if this was a common occurrence. 

“How marvelous. That is quite the talent for someone so young,” he’d replied, seemingly satisfied, though Yuri didn’t trust the way his pale eyes lingered over her. 

He’d tried to usher the pair of them out, to deal with whatever was ‘bad’ enough to send Cecily running to find him while he worked his marks. Unfortunately his patrons had insisted they both stay for the show, that his poor little sister deserved such a treat after such an awful fright. He spent the entirety of the opera on alert, making sure that she suffered none of the wandering hands he endured, even as Cecily became enraptured by the show, her anxiety and urgency melting away as she watched the divas below sing. 

When they finally were able to duck away, gold in hand ‘to stay at a proper inn until their neighbors could be dealt with,’ she informed him that one of their safe houses had been raided by guards, but she’d managed to stuff everything of real value into a burlap sack that she’d hidden under the lip of the canal by the market. 

He just nodded, his stolen stash of B-grade magical trinkets the least of his concern. “I didn’t know you could write.”

“I’ve been practicing, when you go out.”

“What about that illusion?”

“I don’t—I just, wanted it to happen. I don’t know. I thought it would be enough to convince them but not, you know—“

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Goddess damnit all, this isn’t good.”

“Do you think the other safe houses will be next?”

“I—no, that’s not what I meant. I don’t want you getting mixed up with nobles, I don’t want—“ he broke off, looking away.

“Don’t you just tell them lies and they give you money?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, instead pulling her into a hug and pressing his face to the crown of her head. 

“Yeah. But they’re dangerous. You know that,” he said, watching as she dropped her gaze, face turning stormy. 

She knew better than most just how dangerous nobles could be. 

After that it had been nearly impossible to keep her out of his work, even though he tried. She begged to help and he let her because she was goodat it.

A decision he still regretted. 

He wound through the maze of the market towards the edge of the theatre district and the slums, making for the familiar tavern. Shae had operated it well before Yuri and Cecily had ever fled to Enbarr, a titan of the underworld before he’d even been born. He wasn’t even quite sure how old she was—she had one of those faces that didn’t age, not in the conventional sense. She was dangerous—far more dangerous than it was worth to seek her out, for most things.

But this wasn’t most things. 

Yuri knew there were things Cecily hid from him, even now. He also knew there was a whole host of things about herself that even she didn’t understand. And he’d seen, over the past four years of the war, the toll her power had begun to take, a toll he knew she didn’t see, or at least didn’t acknowledge as a problem. 

It wasn’t a Crest. That much he knew for sure. And left unchecked he was scared it would consume her.

So when Shae said she had information on the sort of power Cecily wielded, he’d had to go.

~~~

Hubert raised an eyebrow, delighted by his own luck as he spotted a man with familiar lavender hair winding his way through the market. It was longer than last he’d seen it, but unmistakable. He abandoned his place in line in favor of trailing him, ducking slightly to disguise his height. Yuri moved with the confidence of someone intimately familiar with the city, something that struck him as odd. 

Still, Hubert knew the city better than anyone, knew every alley, every canal, every bridge. It wouldn’t be hard to pin him, especially since he’d turned towards the slums. 

If he couldn’t track Cecily down, he certainly could get her to come to him.

Next

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #lorenz hellman gloucester #yuri leclerc #slow burn #friends to enemies to lovers #fire emblem three houses x reader

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 7

Cecily ducked into the kitchen door of Gloucester manor with little heed of decorum. She had one hand pressed to the wound in her ribs, all of the effort not spent staying upright poured into forcing as even breaths as she could manage. She could feel the poison spreading, feel her lungs seizing from the toxin—Hell's Tooth, if she was right, and she had better be, considering the time it had taken her to get to the manor. 

She ignored the gasps and shouted questions of the kitchen staff, instead pulling herself into the hall towards the stairs she knew would lead her to the infirmary. She stumbled from shadow to shadow, not caring anymore if anyone saw her strange teleportation—all that mattered now was that she get an antidote as fast as possible. She half tumbled into the infirmary, crossing to the apothecary’s bench without bothering with any of the candles—she didn’t need them, had never needed them. 

She’d always seen better in the darkness than in the light.

She grabbed ingredients, tossing them in the mortar with little care for the jars she knocked over in her haste. She ground the mixture roughly, fear beginning to properly seize her as her fingers began to lose strength, a sure sign that the Hell's Tooth was taking hold. Soon she’d lose the ability to move her extremities before the rest of her muscles failed and she suffocated as her lungs ceased being able to inflate. 

She dug out a glob of the barely-ground antidote, forcing herself to choke down the vile concoction before tearing her ruined shirt over her head and forcing the remainder of the antidote into the still-bleeding wound. She didn’t care that she was only in her short stays and trousers, couldn’t care less for modesty’s sake, not when considering the alternative. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood but didn’t dare stop, jamming all that she could into the stab wound to negate the effects of the poison. She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks as she slid down the cabinets to the floor and held it in place, not able to muster the strength to search for gauze to secure it. 

She tried to focus on her ragged breaths, on the feeling of the poison halting in her veins, on the warm, welcoming night of Gloucester manor. She’d never known a place with shadows so particularly pleasant, though it wasn’t hard to guess why—the place was beautiful, tranquil, and they seemed the sort to feed on starlight, rather than blood. 

It was an agreeable change. 

They murmured of footsteps before she heard them, not needing to be told whom the familiar well-polished boots belonged to, not when she could hear the oaken heel of them even through the plush carpet that lined the hall. 

Carpet she’d no doubt dripped blood all over.

She didn’t move as the candles flickered to life with a wave of magic, nor at the sound of a gasp, still trying her best to keep her breathing steady. While she could feel the antidote had halted the poison’s progress, the clumsy, unrefined product was taking far longer to reverse the effects of what had already taken hold. 

“I—I’ll ensure everything is c-clean and replaced,” she choked out, the words and the breath the required a special sort of agony. 

She hated Hell's Tooth. Or at least hated when it was used on her. That’s what she got for thinking she could wait to replace her antitoxins until she got to Derdriu. 

Idiot.

She wondered if Yuri would be happy she heard the condescending condemnation in his voice. 

“What on earth happened? By the goddess, someone wake Loudon—“

“It’s fine, Lorenz. I only need a moment,” she said, cracking open her eyes to see him standing in the doorway in shocked horror. He bristled at her words, striding to one of the cabinets and grabbing a handful of gauze.

“You must be delusional, if you think this is fine,” he retorted, kneeling at her side to pull her hand away and instead staunch the wound with the cloth. “If Josephine hadn’t noticed the blood on your hands when you stumbled in no one would have known to get me. What happened?”

“Bastard coated the blade in Hell's Tooth. I hadn’t—I hadn’t replaced my antidote. Stupid, I know,” she said, each word punctuated by a heaving breath. She let her eyes flutter shut, preferring the darkness of her eyelids over the flickering warmth of the candles. It hurt worse now, if only because the antidote was working, filling her chest with the feeling of piercing needles, of tiny, razor sharp teeth.

The only fucking antidote that hurt nearly as bad as the poison it counteracted. 

She let another handful of tears slip down her cheeks, too focused on the pain to care if Lorenz thought her weak for it. She was surprised by the feeling of a thumb swiping them from her skin, the feeling of a hand gently combing back her filthy hair from her face. She looked up at him in almost uncomfortable surprise—it was the sort of thing her mother would have done when she was small, or Yuri, after he’d taken her in. She didn’t knowhow to handle that sort of comforting touch from anyone else, especially a fussy noble like Lorenz. Part of her would rather get stabbed again than muck through the wave of complicated feelings it dredged up. 

At least she knew how to handle that. 

They both looked up as Loudon nearly skidded inside, eyes wide as he took in the scene—the mess she’d made of his work bench, the blood on the floor beneath her, the way the gauze Lorenz held to her ribs had already soaked through. 

“By the goddess, you do know how to keep me busy, Miss Cecily,” he said, shaking himself from his initial shock and gathering a handful of supplies which he placed next to the examination table. “My Lord, if you wouldn’t mind helping her up.”

“Of course,” Lorenez said, lifting her with greater ease than she would have guessed. She couldn’t help the pathetic whimper she made when he moved her, no matter how she tried.

“Sorry,” she managed as he placed her gently down on the clean linens. “Sorry.”

“Don’t,” Lorenz retorted, brows furrowed. “Tell me what happened.”

“It’s—it’s nothing. I got sloppy. The presence across the Airmid is growing and with it comes a certain contingency of…friends I’ve made over the years,” she said, knowing better than to go into the absolute shitshow that was the underworld at the moment. It was barely controlled chaos at the best of times but with the war raging—every upstart gang and shadowy cabal were trying to get their hands on whatever power they could sink their greedy little fingers into, and that wasn’t even accounting for the shadow war being fought beneath the surface between the Empire and everyone else, and that was before taking into account that the Empire had sided with the monsters that had bought her as a child, that experimented on countless innocents in order to create weapons and whatever else was of use to them. 

She suspected the agent who’d stuck the knife between her ribs had been one of Arundel’s, though she hadn’t had enough time to make sure. He could have just as easily been one of Hubert’s. She doubted very much that he’d taken kindly to the ‘gift’ she’d sent him. 

She didn’t know why she hoped it was Arundel’s. 

“Some of them made it across the river, set up a m-minor operation on the border of Gloucester and Müller. C-cleaned them out, but you’ll want someone t-to stay and sit on the house for runners,” she stammered, her chest seizing painfully with each breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth. 

“Loudon, isn’t there anything you can give her for the pain?” Lorenz asked, sounding frazzled.

“Not until the poison is purged,” he said, voice tight. “Hell's Tooth?”

She nodded. He sighed and hurried over to the apothecary bench. She closed her eyes and curled into a ball on her side, wishing Lorenz wasn’t watching her lose any sense of composure. She’d worked hard to be taken seriously, to be looked at for her value, not her low birth within the Alliance, had mastered the noble detachment and double-speak and here it was, all falling to the wayside because of a little pain. 

A lot of pain.

She fought the urge to wretch, tugging her knees tighter to her chest. 

“Sit up, sit up, sit up. Take this. It was very clever to pack it with the antidote, but it’s going to hurt even worse when we flush it,” Loudon said passing her a vial of brackish-looking liquid. She choked it down as he forced water into the stab wound, flushing out the ground herbs with a syringe full of water. She let out a pathetic whimper before she could bite it back at the lancing pain of the concoction being forced out, of the poison and the antidote lighting her veins aflame. She dug her fingernails into her forearms, trying to force her breathing to remain even. 

“Just one more.”

She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut, surprised when her fingers were pried from her skin and looked up to see Lorenz dwarfing her dirty, scarred, blood-smeared hands in his pristine ones, staring at her, ashen-faced. She couldn’t help but squeeze them, too hard, as Loudon flushed the wound again, this time somehow worse than the first. Then she felt the familiar sensation of healing magic, though something was off.

“Damnit, I was worried about that,” Loudon swore, flitting off back to the cabinet of supplies. He returned with a needle and thread, manhandling her onto her side. 

“Lorenz, you’re going to have to hold her still. This will sting,” he said and she tried not to think of the indignity of it. She’d have preferred it had been anyone else but Lorenz—Claude would at least have the decency to make fun of her to lighten the tension and Hilda’s complaining would be a welcome distraction. But Lorenz looked at her so seriously, with such pity in his gaze and she hated it. 

She held as still as she could, forcing herself to ignore the stitching as best she could. She was no stranger to stitching herself up, had had to do it more than once while on runs. Still, the Hell's Tooth lit her nerves on fire, making everything ten times more painful. She hardly noticed when Loudon finished, dressing the wound in clean linen, so focused on holding still and staying silent. 

“Here, this should help with the pain. It might be diminished, something in the poison is preventing magical intercession,” Loudon said, handing her another vial. She thanked him softly before downing it, curling back in on herself. “I’ll check on it again in the morning. It might just need time.”

“Thank you, Loudon. I’m sorry for waking you—“

“No, no, none of that. I’ll get you settled in one of the guest rooms—“

“I can handle that, Loudon,” Lorenz said quickly. Loudon nodded and left without another word, face stony. “I’ll fetch something for you to cover up with.”

“I have a spare shirt in my bag,” she said, making to get up and cross to where she’d discarded it next to the apothecary bench. 

“I’ll get it,” Lorenz said, darting over to root through it before she could stop him. He held up the shirt in question, her only spare, already stained with blood and soot that hadn’t washed out completely and made a face. “This absolutely won’t do. I’ll find something suitable.”

She watched him tear off, feeling utterly mortified. She waited until he’d disappeared down the hall to haul herself off the bed and painstakingly make it to her bag, picking up the discarded shirt and pulling it agonizingly over her head. She didn’t bother with the buttons at her collar like she usually would have, the pain in her side too overwhelming to raise her arm. 

Still, she pushed out of the infirmary, half supporting herself on the wall as she slowly made her way to the War Room. She wanted to update troop positioning while it was still fresh in her mind, wanted to notate what she’d learned at the safe house on the edge of Müller for Count Gloucester before it was made fuzzy by the painkiller.

She pushed into the familiar room, wiping her hands on her shirt before approaching the table map and surveying the positions of troops marked. Those in the Empire hadn’t been moved since her last visit, something that was unsurprising considering how few spies House Gloucester employed. 

She focused on moving them where they needed to go, on laying out everything she could think of, rather than concentrate on the pain of the poison still lingering in her veins. 

She should have cleared the entirety of the house before she started rooting through drawers, knew better than to assume the coast was clear. It was what she got for flushing them exhausted after her journey and after sending her very pointed message to Hubert.

Hopefully he’d know well enough to back off now. 

She hated how close his agent had gotten before Jay had caught him skulking around and dragged him back to the cells, hated that it wasn’t just her that it put in danger but the rest of the birds and Yuri and they people they’d managed to settle out of Abyss. 

If it was a fight he wanted he could meet her out in the open, where he wouldn’t have access to hostages. 

She knew he wouldn’t be above using them.

She looked up as the door opened and Lorenz entered, irritation clear on his brow.

“What on earth are you doing? You should be lying down, you were just stabbed,” he said, brandishing a clean nightgown she’d bet was his sister’s. 

“I just—let me focus for a moment,” she said, readjusting the pawns in Arundel territory. 

“Absolutely not, you must get out of those filthy clothes and rest.”

“Don’t mollycoddle me, Lorenz,” she retorted, though she could feel exhaustion tugging on her limbs. She railed against it, focussing on her work. 

“It’s hardly mollycoddling—Father! Good, perhaps you can make her see sense! Loudon ordered her to rest.”

She gave a bow in the direction of the door without looking up, instead continuing her arrangements with new fervor. She needed it done before she slept, before she forgot anything. 

She felt the little box of pawns tugged from her hand. She looked up then to find Count Gloucester giving her a piercing look. She ducked her gaze again, altering the lines in Hrym. 

“You’re shaking, child.”

“She was stabbed,” Lorenz supplied pointedly.

“I’m fine really, and I’m nearly finished,” she said, reaching out for the box of pawns. Perhaps it was bold, but she wouldn’t be able to relax until it was done, until someone else saw the worrying way in which the the formations were shifting to flank the Alliance. 

She hadn’t expected him to give her back the box, had expected him to show the same sort of indignation as Lorenz, but he did, brows furrowed as he surveyed the map.

“Do you know the reason for the concentration of troops in Arundel?”

“Are you familiar with what happened to the Ordelia children after the fallout of Hyrm?” Cecily asked, carefully rearranging the troops in Rowe. Count Gloucester stiffened, gaze turning sharp. 

“Lorenz, leave us.”

“Father—“

“Now, Lorenz.”

Lorenz made a face but did as he was told. 

Next

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #yuri leclerc #slow burn #friends to enemies to lovers #lorenz hellman gloucester

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 6

Yuri looked up as the War Room door opened and Cecily stalked inside, a handful of papers in her hands. Rook looked up from where he and Yuri had been going over a new route through Bergliez and whistled. 

Cecily hadn’t bothered cleaning up, blood splattered across her face, her hair. He knew she did it on purpose, that she wanted the rest of the birds to see what exactly she did, what she was willing to do. 

Not that it was necessary anymore. Everyone in the roost knew what she would do to protect the birds, to protect the people they’d managed to smuggled out of Abyss. They were loyal, not just to the gang and to him, but to her, because she’d proven, time and time again, that she was someone worth being loyal to. 

She just didn’t realize it. 

She was always ready for a knife in the back, for a bitter betrayal, to be used for what she was, for her blood, her power, her ties to others. 

“Fun morning, Mags?” Rook asked, grinning as his gaze flicked over the blood. No one within the gang knew her as anything other than the Magpie, his childhood nickname for her, which mostly just got shortened to ‘Mags.’ Most of the birds went exclusively by nicknames, something that made it safer for everyone.

“It was productive, at least,” she said, tossing him the tightly folded bits of paper. He unfolded them, ignoring the bloody fingerprints. It laid out half a dozen other agents, details about the palace, efforts to infiltrate the Alliance, and a few of the Empire safe houses in the area. Yuri nodded, tucking the paper away for further perusal. 

“So are you hanging around for a bit? Weaver and Robin are back, we were going to go dancing down at the Rusty Quiver. You’re invited too, Boss, obviously,” he said, giving her a lopsided grin. 

“Maybe next time, I’ve got to head out,” she replied, voice dull. 

“I thought you weren’t leaving until the end of the week,” Yuri said, brows furrowed. He was looking forward to spending some time together and he was hoping she’d go out with her friends, go drinking and dancing like he knew she loved.

She hadn’t, since Dove had been killed. Even though Rook asked her every time, just like he’d used to. 

“Yeah well, I have to deal with that,” she said, motioning to the papers in his pocket. “Best not let it wait too long.”

“Makes sense,” Rook said good-naturedly. “You’ll know where we are if you change your mind. I’ll see you guys later, I gotta deliver some things to Paloma.”

He left with a wave, pulling the door shut behind him. Cecily was already pouring over the map, memorizing the new route.

“You should go, tonight,” Yuri said as he watched her brow furrow in concentration. “It’d be good for you.”

“Maybe next time. Imperials managed to set up a safe house on the edge of Gloucester, got to shut that down fast.”

Yuri nodded. “Just—just be careful. Don’t flush it out yourself, at least get Lorenz to go with you and some of the knights.”

“It’ll be fine. I should go pack.”

“Stop back, before you leave, okay?” He asked, knowing she’d prefer to just slip out without saying anything. 

He hated it. 

She rolled her eyes but agreed, disappearing back out the door. Yuri sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. Sometimes it felt like he was watching the light slowly die behind her eyes. She hardly laughed anymore or joked, was no longer interested in annoying him for sport, or in much of any of the things she’d used to revel in. Dancing had been her last respite from the war, the nights spent drinking and forgetting what awaited them the next day. 

Now she just poured over notes and schematics and plotted and counterplotted, or messed around in the makeshift lab she’d put together, making poisons and whatever else he pointedly did not ask about. Nothing mattered except her war on Arundel, on the mages who’d imprisoned and tortured and bled her, who were using her blood to commit atrocities. Every death, every loss weighed on her like stones around her neck and with it she grew more stoic, more jaded and paranoid, more brutal. 

It made her an especially efficient little bird, but it broke his heart every time he saw more and more of his little sister slip away.

Maybe it would be good for her to spend some time in Leicester, away from the Empire, the frontlines. She had friends there, had distance from the horror, the suffocating sense of duty she forced on herself. She usually returned in better spirits and better fed than any of her routes through the Empire. 

He turned back to the map, hoping the new information put then closer to being done with this damnable war. 

~~~

Hubert looked up as one of his spies entered, looking more frightened than he would consider to be normal in his presence. 

He bowed quickly and handed him a note. It bore an unfamiliar seal and there was a puncture through the pages, as if it had been tacked to something with a knife. He turned it over before opening it, noting the smudges of blood on its edges, the scrawling hand that spelled out ‘VESTRA’ in all caps. 

Whoever it was was bold at least, if entirely lacking in manners.

He turned back to the seal—a simple, geometric impression, nothing associated with any noble family or group he knew of in Fodlan, which was a feat. Perhaps it wasn’t a true seal at all, but simply something at hand at the time. He doubted they’d willingly give up a seal they used with any frequency. He popped it open, pulling out the folded page without ceremony.

It held only two lines, the page smudged with dried blood. 

I would not go hunting if I myself were easy prey. Perhaps a lesson you should impart on your subordinates. —c.

He stared at the writing, at the once-clumsy letters in a hand he now scarcely recognized. She’d struggled with spelling, still, at the academy, her handwriting childish and unrefined. It had made sense for a person who’d only learned four years previous, but now her hand was confident, letters well-formed, even if they were a seemingly random mix between cursive and print. The tone of the threat was familiar too from their school days, but it too had been refined, spoke less of an urchin living amidst a street gang. 

“Where was this found?” He asked, keeping his voice neutral.

“In one of our safe houses in Arundel close to Barnabas.”

“Were there any survivors?”

“Lennox, but he was doing reconnaissance in Charon.”

Hubert sighed, and nodded. “You’ll tell no one of either the letter or what happened at the safe house.”

“Understood, your Grace.”

“You’re dismissed.”

The spy gave a curt bow before turning and leaving, clearly more than pleased to be doing so. He just stared at the letter, at the concrete proof that she still existed at all. He should be furious, he knew, had lost six agents, plus, he assumed, Karter, whom he’d sent to flush out any trace of her in Rowe. Her should be furious that she seemed to very clearly to be toying with him, that she had the gall to insinuate his agents to be amateurish. 

But he wasn’t. He felt only a numb sort of relief knowing that, at least as of two weeks ago, she was alive, that Arundel hadn’t managed to hunt her down, even though she foolishly lingered about his territory.

It was the first time in four years she’d directly targeted one of his outposts, rather than Arundel’s. He’d lost agents to the crossfire, but she hadn’t managed to track down any of his safe houses.

Or so he thought. He knew this was very direct retaliation to him sending Karter after her, that it was meant to show him that she could start after them any time she liked, that she’d been choosing not to. 

And he still didn’t know how she was managing it, or why, precisely, Arundel wanted her so badly. He knew she’d been in Rowe, but he would bet she’d picked that safe house to cull in order to throw him off to her real location.

Sometimes he hated how clever she could be, how calculated. He’d gotten rare, fleeting glimpses of it in the academy, mostly because she had a nasty habit of purposely downplaying her own abilities in order to seem average and uninteresting. It was only on missions, real missions where life and death came into play, had he seen an inkling of the schemer that lay beneath the facade. 

A schemer he might dare to say could be his equal. 

He’d have killed to have had her join their side from the beginning, to have her and Yuri’s network of resources, their expertise in the underworld at his disposal. And now, it seemed, he’d kill to ensure her safety, her preservation. 

He told himself it was because she would be an invaluable resource in the wake of the war, that she was the most successful person at hunting down and killing Those Who Slither in the Dark that he’d ever met, her track record unparalleled. 

He knew it was more so a case of damnable sentimentality. He should want her dead just for that, for presenting an opportunity for weakness in his vassalage to the Emperor.

He wondered if Lady Edelgard would see it as an affront, should she know. 

Perhaps that was why he’d been so dutiful about keeping it from her. 

He stared back at the page, memorizing the script, the hurried hand. He wondered if any of the blood was hers—the thought raised an unpleasant feeling in his chest. He gave the letter one last once over, idly tracing the ‘c.’ 0f her signature before he tossed it in the fire. 

It wouldn’t do for anyone else to find it, to go digging into who ‘c.’ might be. 

Even if he’d have preferred to keep it as some sort of sick memento. He swore, turning away from the flames rather than watch the paper curl into ash.

Next

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #yuri leclerc #friends to enemies to lovers #slow burn

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 5

Cecily didn’t look up as Yuri sat next to her in the makeshift dining room, mouth full as Piper detailed the estate. She hadn’t technically informed Yuri of the mission she’d sent her on, something he was sure to comment on once they were alone. 

Still, he listened in with interest, watching her point out different things on the hand-drawn map at her elbow. 

“I mean, I don’t know how useful it really is for me to stay. He’s hardly ever at the manor and when he is he’s just locked up in the study.”

“I’m more interested in who else comes and goes, what’s brought in, and when. You still don’t know where the rest of them went?”

“No one talks about it. They’re frightened to. I don’t blame them.”

“No, I don’t either. Don’t press, it’ll raise hackles.”

“I know.”

“When are they expecting you back?”

“I’ll leave tonight. They gave me six days, which was more generous than I expected.”

“Well, your sister is on her death bed.”

Piper snorted. “I can’t believe you went with being trampled by a horse. You could have just said she was sick.”

“They might not have let you go then, she could have been contagious.”

“I guess that’s fair. It was still melodramatic.”

“And yet you got six days out of it. I’d say that’s pretty good.”

Piper just shook her head and pushed the papers over to her before getting up from the table and disappearing down the hall to wash her dishes. Yuri raised an eyebrow, glancing around the room to make sure they were the only ones left in the dining room.

“You had Piper infiltrate House Vestra?”

“It seemed prudent.”

“Why not the palace? It’d be more useful with less risk, especially since Peregrine’s already there.”

“You’d think, except for this,” she said, flipping through to another page full of hand-drawn maps detailing a sprawling sub-basement. She pointed out a line of cells, what Piper had assumed was some sort of laboratory, and a tunnel that lead to hidden entrance at the edge of the property, where the garden had been allowed to grow wild. 

“That’s bold,” Yuri said, furrowing his brow.

“That’s generational paranoia. Piper says there are at least a half dozen people that go in and out with some regularity. Looks like House Vestra doesn’t trust the Imperial spies, which is to be expected, but useful for our purposes. Peregrine already has descriptions, so we’ll know who they’re trailing in Enbarr, I’m guessing that’s primarily where he has them working.”

Yuri nodded. “It’s a good play. Just—just tell me next time, alright? I don’t know why you wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Just because it’s Hubert doesn’t make it a good play.”

She nodded, thumbing through the rest of the pages, memorizing the descriptions of each of the agents Piper had noted. “If you’re seeing Shae anyway you should pass these along. You know she gets everyone.”

“I was thinking that too. Be nice to flip one.”

“I certainly wouldn’t complain,” Cecily replied. “Speaking of, when are we starting on the snoop? He’s dockside, right?”

“Who said you were coming?”

She gave him a look. “I’m better at it than you.”

Yuri considered for a moment before making a face. “Fine, but you follow my lead.”

“You should just let me do it.”

“I don’t even like the fact that you’re involved.”

“You’ll get over it,” she said, sweeping up all her paperwork into a pile before standing. “I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

~~~

She was a ghost. 

He couldn’t find a traces—no contacts, no addresses, no bank accounts, no new friends since the Academy, not even a favored tavern.

It was as if she’d stopped existing the moment they marched on Garreg Mach. 

Logically she was somewhere in Leicester, tucked safely away from all the fighting. He knew she’d been from Faerghus, though he doubted she’d return to Gautier. She and Sylvain had never seemed able to move beyond whatever strain Miklan had caused in their relationship, or at least Cecily seemed unable to. 

He knew she hadn’t settled back at the monastery, had checked Abyss himself for anyone dwelling in the old tunnels—it was entirely deserted, everything left where it had been when they’d fled from the battle. He’d even checked the rat-infested broom cupboard she’d called a bedroom, the stacks of pilfered library books and shelf of useless, broken trinkets the same as he’d last saw them, except for the thick blanket of dust. 

He stared at the markers he’d laid out on his map, looking for any sort of pattern. He’d marked all the Agarthan outposts that had been culled and destroyed, every dead agent he had reason to believe she’d killed, every instance of sabotage he suspected she committed. It was far more extensive than he’d originally believed, more extensive than he would have thought one woman of little means would be able to accomplish. 

But then again, he had a poor habit of underestimating her.

There should have been some semblance of a pattern, or at least a comfort zone in which she operated, but if there was it was too spread out to be useful. She didn’t work around roads or waterways, didn’t have a favored route through the Empire. She’d killed six of his Imperial agents, though four of them had been at the outposts at the time. Of the other two, one had been sent to infiltrate Gloucester but had been killed before Myrddin and the other had been assassinated in Hrym. She’d also killed two of his own agents, one in Arundel and the other most recently in Varley. There had at least been a body for another agent to find, though it had told him very little considering the whole of the torso had been torn open by one of the mountain beasts. 

It wasn’t even as if he could extrapolate her next move from whatever he assumed she was stealing from each of the outposts she hit, since she burned each one into oblivion. He could try to track down whoever dealt in Dragon’s Breath, considering it was wildly illegal, rare, and expensive and try and wring some information out of them, but he had the sneaking suspicion she’d figured out how to make it herself. 

That or she got Claude to make it for her. He was a talented enough chemist and had made more than a few noxious concoctions in his room during their time at school. He and Cecily been friendly enough at the Academy—friendly enough to spend at least a half-dozen afternoons in detention with Seteth for various childish misdeeds. He’d never understood why she bothered, considering it was the only time she got in trouble. 

Still, if she was in Derdriu he would have heard something about it by now. He had spies within the city guard, was informed of anyone of interest who came or went. 

So, that left him with Yuri, who was nearly as hard to track down.

Yuri had ties to House Rowe, had been adopted as heir for a time, but Rowe had been one of the first Kingdom territories to fall. It would have been asinine for them to remain in what would be enemy territory to them, to operate firmly under the nose of the enemy without arising suspicion. 

Which was why he’d bet money they’d done just that.

It was somewhere to start, at least. 

He folded up the map, carefully stowing it in the hidden, locked compartment in his desk. He’d found himself wondering more than once in the weeks since Lord Arundel’s proclamation why he spent what little free time he allowed himself trying to find her. He didn’t know why he cared, considering she’d turned her back on the Empire, on Lady Edelgard. She was just a girl, after all, a girl he’d known for barely more than a year. 

But then he remembered the way she’d smiled at him, achingly sweet, remembered the way he could sometimes make her laugh, what it felt like to hold her for a few all to brief moments at the White Heron Ball. He remembered the way she looked at him them, like he was something worth looking at, like he was something rare and precious and she was worried he’d disappear. 

No one had ever looked at him like that. 

And now she loathed him. He’d made her loath him, for his Emperor, his duty. Part of him thought if only he’d been able to explain she would have understood. Part of him knew it was almost entirely wishful thinking, that there would have been no way she’d have ever worked alongside Those That Slither in the Dark, not after what they’d done to her. 

He couldn’t bear the thought of her being put through it again.

~~~

They kept their own cells far away from the base itself, in what had once been a rather extensive wine cellar by the abandoned dockyard. It had been an old Scorpion base before they’d settled in thee tunnels, though they’d long cleaned out that nest.

It was one of the few times Yuri hadn’t objected to her insistence that they just kill the lot of them and be done with it, nor had he objected to giving her the reign to do it. She and Yuri and the rest of the birds might all be criminals, but they had a code. The Scorpions reveled in their lack of one, in their cruelty, basking in the fear driven by their reputation.

She’d made sure they died screaming.

There was still blood spattering the walls, no point in getting rid of it, considering its current purpose.

Cecily sat in the corner of the smallest cell with her feet propped up on a spare chair, carefully watching as Yuri questioned the man tied to the chair. The white of her hair was disguised by the black of her hood, pulled low over her face, the shadows deepened around her to ensure there was nothing noteworthy to see. Yuri, of course, wore his usual singularly garish attire, something that irritated her to no end, as he wasn’t exactly someone you’d be likely to forget even if he wore unassuming clothes. 

She glared at the man bound to the chair, hoping the weight of it made him uncomfortable. He was greasy and rat-faced, with ashy brown hair and red-rimmed eyes. He’d yet to say anything, though Yuri had barely begun to push.

He’d always been prone to playing with his food. 

She and Yuri already had an inkling of who he worked for, what he’d been trying to find—they’d been in the business long enough to spot a professional, and the Empire produced the best.

Still, they were easy enough to spot in if you knew what to look for, too well-trained, too well-fed. She wouldn’t call them soft, by any means, but they didn’t rise to their posts through their need to survive in the same way she and Yuri and the other birds had to. There was a more regimented, militant edge to their number, making them predictable, almost. It was something that made them easier to break—they didn’t often possess the same rabid loyalty to their number that the birds did.

Of course, Cecily had made sure that any birds that didn’t met a swift end. 

Yuri didn’t like it—he’d never liked it—but it had to be done. It was too dangerous to have loose ends, even more dangerous to have loose lips. She knew he’d prefer to do it himself, keep her out of it entirely—he’d tried, ever since Rhyder—but he’d stopped after he’d gone to the Academy the first time, since she’d been left to more or less run things while he schmoozed noble brats. He might have felt the same as before, but he couldn’t exactly undermine the role she’d slipped into, not if he wanted her to remain his second, and more importantly, his enforcer. 

No matter how he hated it, he couldn’t deny the results—the birds she’d ran with at that time were still their most loyal, most dedicated. 

Of course, some of that was fear. 

But it was a healthy sort of fear, the sort that came with knowing the consequences that came with disloyalty, with arrogance. And it perpetuated itself to new recruits without effort—she wasn’t one to be crossed, though no one had tried in a very, very long time. 

“You’re awfully quiet for someone in your position,” Yuri said, nodding to the bindings that held the man’s wrists and ankles to the chair. The man said nothing. 

“What were you looking for?” Yuri asked, cocking his head to the side. The man narrowed his eyes but didn’t answer.

Cecily flicked her wrist in the familiar fashion, calling a blade of shadow into existence with little more than a thought.

It was practically a reflex. 

She flung it so it buried itself in the back of his hand, fading back to inanimate shadow. He howled in pain, wrenching against his bonds. Yuri turned and gave her a look.

“What? I’m just speeding it along,” she said, forming another to flip back and forth between her fingers, a bad habit she’d developed at twelve. 

Or at least it had been until she’d gotten good at it. 

Now it was a fairly effective threat when used correctly, though more often she found herself mindlessly doing it when bored and scouring paperwork. 

He didn’t reply, instead just turning back to their captive. “My associate tends to be much less patient than I am. Now why were you skulking around, huh? What was it you were looking for? Or do you want to tell us about your master first?”

“I’m not—I’m not telling you anything.”

“Wanna bet?” Cecily asked idly, sounding bored. 

Truth be told, she was. 

She hated the little dance before they got talking, the pointless back-and-forth. Yuri never liked to start out of the gate with overt violence, merely the threat of it, but she found it to be a good motivator. 

Maybe she was just bloodthirsty. 

She couldn’t deny there wasn’t a sort of sick satisfaction in it, that the beastial part of her didn’t delight in it. Perhaps it was the hungry edge of her power, the shadows whispering for restitution, for revenge, for the wicked to be punished. 

Or at least those that threatened those she cared about. Wicked was rather loosely defined, all things considered. 

“What is it you were looking for?” Yuri asked, iciness slipping into his voice. The man spat at him and Cecily was on her feet, the man’s left pinky and ring finger severed before Yuri had a chance to wipe the saliva from his cheek.

“Do that again and I’ll make you eat them,” Cecily snarled, brandishing the severed fingers at him, dragging them up the side of his face before dropping them in his lap. It always surprised her, how quickly the rage in her rose. It wasn’t anything like how people wrote about it in books—no red hot, fiery anger. It was calculated and cold, so cold it burned.  

“Magpie,” Yuri said, a warning edge to his voice. She stepped away, though she stayed standing, right behind Yuri’s shoulder. 

“Answer him,” she said, glaring.

“I can’t—“

“Are you worried your employer will kill you? Who is it? Vestra? He’s efficient, and much too busy to be dragging out the inconsequential death of someone like you. I, on the other hand, have far too much time on my hands. It allows for such creativity.”

She carefully formed a shadow blade in front of him, exaggerating its creation before using it to pick the dirt from underneath her nails. 

“Who are you working for?” Yuri asked. The man gulped, eyes never leaving the blade in Cecily’s hand.

“M-Marquis Vestra.”

“Why?”

“I can’t—“

Cecily sunk the blade through the flesh of his palm, in-between the bones. She let him stare at the blade for a long moment, let the impossible-ness of it settle before she twisted it and let it fall back to nothing more than formless shadow. 

“Witch,” he spat and she laughed.

“Oh, much worse than that.”

“Are you feeling more cooperative, or shall I let her continue?” Yuri asked, brow raised. The man gulped.

“I—I was supposed to search for information about a woman.”

“What woman?”

“Leclerc. Cecily Leclerc. He said she worked for the Savage Mockingbird. I was supposed to find whatever I could on her current whereabouts and return.”

Cecily furrowed her brow, processing the revelation. She hadn’t doubted the agent was one of Hubert’s—they had almost a smell about them, an air. It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected Hubert to take notice of her work—after all, she did much more than clear out nests of mages in order to be an irritant in the Empire’s side. There were food supplies contaminated, fields razed, gunpowder reserves destroyed, her little experiment up in Gideon with the hallucinogenic fungus she’d taken to growing which had been very easily dissolved in a regiment’s water supply. If anything had done it, it had probably been that, considering two other regiments had to be diverted to their care while they lost their minds for a day and a half. 

In small doses it was a rather delightful thing, but she’d given them enough to meet the devil. She might have felt bad if it hadn’t been mostly Arundel’s men and mages, if they hadn’t been burning villages as they went through, villages full of innocent peasants just trying to survive. 

“And what did you find?” Yuri asked, voice cold and scathing, as if a switch had been flipped. She glanced at him, noting the carefully restrained fury on his face. 

He’d always been protective, always treated her like she was his little sister by blood, not mercy, and he turned vicious when she was threatened. She remembered the incident that had landed them in Abyss in the first place, when Yuri had been ordered to clean out a nest of bandits with the knights at the Academy, but it had ended up being his birds, and one of the knights had shot her with an arrow through the shoulder before he could try and deescalate the situation. 

The only reason Rhea hadn’t executed the lot of them had been because they were kids and Cecily was his kin, as far as she was aware, and she’d needed someone to keep an eye on Aelfric. Luckily she passed easily as his sister back then, had since they’d arrive in Enbarr and he’d started dying her hair to match his. She’d only fallen out of the habit when they’d been banished to Abyss and she’d lost access to the stuff. 

“I—nothing, really. There’s nothing, it’s like she doesn’t even exist. The Marquis wanted crash pads, addresses, associates, lovers, anything about her and there’s nothing.” 

He spat it all out with such anger, his chest heaving. He must not be used to a challenge—had Hubert sent a simpleton to track her down, had he expected it to work? Or was this somehow a ploy, a patsy to be sacrifice for some goal they’d yet to uncover?

Either way she’d make him suffer for it. 

Yuri took a deep, steadying breath. “Were you the only one he sent?”

“The only one to Rowe. The others were sent to Hrym and Arundel.”

“What does he want with her? Did he send you to kill her?”

“No. No, he said we weren’t to lay a finger on her. Just—just to find out enough to know where she was staying, routes she frequented, allies. Then we were to report back. I swear that’s all.”

Yuri turned and looked at her for a long moment and she could see the cold fury behind his eyes. It was the one way to enrage him, to go after his birds, especially since the war, since they’d lost so many to the senseless violence. 

He turned back to the man, eyes narrowed. “I wonder—have you guessed who we are yet? You don’t strike me as the brightest.”

“You’re the Mockingbird. As far as that thing—“ he spat, looking at Cecily, still shrouded by her shadows. “—I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Your Marquis didn’t happen to tell you the Savage Mockingbird’s name, did he? He knows it, after all. We go way back. No? I’ll tell you—it’s Yuri. Yuri Leclerc. Do you understand?” he asked and they watched as the blood drained from his face, his eyes going wide. Yuri smiled, but there was no warmth to it, no amusement. 

“You understand then, that your Marquis sent you here to come after my sister. He must have known we wouldn’t take kindly to that. Wouldn’t you say, Cecily?” he asked, and she lowered her hood, letting the shadows slip away from her face, revealing her strange eyes and shock of white hair.

She shot a look to Yuri, raising her brow. Asking permission. He stared at her for a moment before he sighed, shaking his head. 

“Fine. Find me when it’s finished.”

She waited until the door shut behind him and then peeled off her jacket, folding it and placing it on one of the chairs in the corner. She’d only just gotten it to replace her old one. She turned towards the man, closing her eyes as she gave in to the shadows, the darkness, the electric sort of power that came with embracing her nature.

He’d answer her questions. They always did, no matter how cocky they started out, how unruffled. She’d find out everything he knew, how long Hubert had been hunting her, everything about every agent and safe house he knew. 

He screamed when he saw her face, and she smiled, knowing he’d keep screaming until she tired of it, until she’d sated the ravenous darkness in her and relinquished it once more.

Next

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #yuri leclerc #slow burn #friends to enemies to lovers #multichapter

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 4

She took a freezing bath in the makeshift tub before retreating to her room. She felt numb, just horribly numb. She pulled out the sheath of parchment from her coat’s hidden pocket and set about analyzing it, half for something to distract her from the fact that now Paloma was looking after four orphans, that every day the war dragged on the toll only grew steeper and steeper, and half hoping there would be something of use to lead her to the next nest to clean out.

Yuri had to know she wouldn’t stop, just like she wouldn’t stop killing Empire spies any chance she got. How could she, when she knew the consequences of letting them live, of the innocent blood they were bound to spill? Better she bloody her already crimson hands than allow them the chance to hurt anyone else. And if they did kill her, or worse—

It was better her than someone like Gull. She’d at least deserve it. 

She read slowly through the pages, stomach churning as they described the experiments they’d run with the luminescent blue liquid that sat on her shelf next to three others, how a few drops injected into the blood was enough to turn a normal, Crest-less person raving mad, how it left those with Crests overcome by them, logic giving way to bloodthirsty, beastial instincts. How, on rare occasions, it could be used to magnify an implanted Crest. 

She pressed the heels of her hands hard into her eyes, fighting a wave of tears. She’d given them this new, horrible method of torture and destruction. Not willingly, of course, but it was her fault what had happened to the villagers in Remire, to the border towns along the Dukedom. 

It was her refined blood that led them to rip each other apart like beasts, to claw out their own eyes and tear at their ears. Her potent blood that fueled a new wave of Crest experiments, most of which ended with the victim dying in complete agony. 

Perhaps her father had been right to try and kill her. 

She looked up at the sound of knocking on the door, quickly brushing away the tears that had managed to fall. 

“What?” She asked, voice sharper then she meant it. 

“It’s me.”

She sighed, not bothering to get up to undo the lock, instead sending a tendril of shadow to do it. Yuri stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He sat next to her on the hammock that served as her bed and passed her a plate of still steaming food, her stomach rumbling at the mere smell of it. 

She hadn’t even realized she was hungry. 

He didn’t say anything, instead picking up the pages she’d set aside. He’d never been the sort of person for platitudes and sweet little comforting lies, even when they were kids. Sometimes she thought it was because he was sick of them by the time he got back, could shed the persona of whoever he’d had to become to get what he needed. Sometimes she thought it was because she’d always been able to see through them. She was glad, either way. 

She leaned against his side as she ate, glad for the simple affection, the human contact. The only time she touched another human on most of her runs was if she was killing them, and she usually didn’t even let them get within touching distance before she ripped their innards from them. 

It was inelegant, but oh-so efficient. 

Yuri absently wrapped an arm around her shoulders as he read, ruffling her hair like when she was little. She finished her dinner, laying her fork carefully on top of the chipped plate before getting up to set it aside. Yuri looked up, eyes searching her face. 

“It’s not your fault, Magpie. You know that right?”

“Whether it is or isn’t, it’s my responsibility.”

“Not yours alone. It can’t be.”

She didn’t say anything, instead sitting crosslegged in front of the pack she’s stolen from the Empire spy and unpacking it. Most of it was strictly practical—blankets and a warm change of clothes and dried provisions, the same sort of things she carried with her, just of a marked better quality. But there was a seal hidden in an inner pocket with half a dozen wax sticks and a pocket watch she’d wager was real silver. After a few more minutes of searching she found a brass case of cigarettes engraved with the phrase “Loyal to the Death.”

She tossed Yuri the seal and the wax before offering him one of the cigarettes. The seal could certainly be useful to her, but Yuri had always been the forger, her attempts clumsy and childish. Yuri eyed the case a moment before taking a cigarette, catching the match she threw at him easily and striking it on the bottom of his boot. She lit her own, reaching up blindly to the shelf above her for the long nail she kept next to her trinkets. She knew who’s family motto it was, though neither she or Yuri acknowledged it. It made plain exactly who they’d been spying for, how intimate their involvement with the Agarthans. 

She hated that her heart still twisted painfully in her chest at the thought of him all these years later, hated that the sting of his betrayal hadn’t lessened. Maybe it was because it hadn’t been a betrayal, merely a byproduct of her own idiocy and blindness and her last shredded remnants of foolish naivety. 

She’d thought they shared the same sort of complicated understanding of morality, that often people needed to do bad things to ensure good could happen, that they needed bad people to get rid of worse people so the rest could live in a better world. She’d thought, perhaps, they’d both been those sorts of people, burdened with the task of ensuring no one worse than they walked freely, that whatever was necessary to ensure peace and prosperity and safety for their people was done, no matter the personal cost. 

But he was just another arrogant noble, content to pave Edelgard’s path with the blood of the innocent commoners, content to give Arundel and the Agarthans a free reign of terror despite the fact that Edelgard herself showed all the tell-tale signs of their cruel experimentation. She supposed it had been enough for him, to protect her from their cruelty, even if he had to offer up the rest of Fodlan to ensure it. 

She hated that she’d so desperately wanted him to be different, hated that there had been a part of her that had trusted him, despite knowing better. A part of her that thought he cared about her, that wanted him to care. 

Yuri was right—she was a damn fool.

She took a deep draw as she used the nail to scratch the ‘th’ of ‘Death’ into a ‘d’. 

A sentiment greatly born as consequence for such loyalty. 

Cecily leaned back against the wall, savoring the sweetness of the tobacco as she scratched more designs into the brass, covering the surface in dozens of eyes. They were the sort Claude favored on occasion, of particularly good quality and far above anything she could ever afford. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the agent had been a low lord or a second son of a baron. 

The last time she’d gotten to indulge had been in Derdriu, when they’d climbed up onto the roof of the old Riegan estate and smoked half a dozen each, sharing a few rare moments of vulnerability while staring up at the stars, pretending everything was easier, that they were just a pair of old school friends and not a freshly-minted Duke and a makeshift spymaster. 

“I have to meet up with an old contact in Enbarr. I’m leaving at the end of the week,” Yuri said, eyes carefully trained on the trinkets scattered across her shelves. Cecily’s stomach dropped.

“Shae?”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t. Send Rook or Lark. Hell, you take the Leicester run this time and I’ll go.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“They know you, Yuri. They know your face, they know you’re the Mockingbird. You can’t.”

“Shae won’t meet with Rook, you know that.”

“She’ll meet with me.”

“She’ll consider it an insult. And if she has what she’s promised—Magpie, I can’t risk it.”

“What’s so important you have to go?”

He shook his head. “I just—It’ll be fine. I’ll be back before you make it to Derdriu.”

She ground her teeth but didn’t answer. She knew she couldn’t make him stay, any less than he could stop her hunting down the Agarthans.

“Promise—promise you’ll come back, alright?”

He laughed, the sound easy and light but not enough to disguise the fact that it was forced, that it was meant to put her at ease. “Do you think this is my first run? I’m not the Mockingbird for nothing, you know.”

“I know. I just—I couldn’t bear it, if anything happened to you.”

He surveyed her, giving her a sad sort of smile. “Oh yeah? And how do you think I feel, every time you come back broken and bloody?”

“It’s not—You know it’s not the same.”

“It’s exactly the same.”

“It’s not. You know it’s not. I know—I know if something happened to me you’d be sad, but—Yuri, if something happened to you—Goddess. What would happen to the birds, to everyone we managed to get out of Abyss? What would happen to your mom? People need you.”

“I need you. And if something did happen, they’d have you. They depend on you, same as me. I know you’d take care of them. Just—it doesn’t matter, because nothing’s going to happen.”

She nodded, ignoring the foreboding feeling in her gut. She didn’t want to argue with him. It wasn’t like when she was a kid, or when they’d been in Abyss and at the Academy and they saw each other all the time. Time like this had become few and far-between and ever increasingly precious. 

Yet another of the small casualties of the war.

~~~

Hubert looked up at the opening of the War Room’s door. He was the only one left, the others long since gone to bed. He’d half expected it to be Lady Edelgard, freshly awoken from a nightmare to soothe herself with work, but it was a far less welcome face.

“Marquis Vestra,” Lord Arundel said, closing the door behind himself. Hubert kept his face schooled, well-practiced in hiding his loathing.  

“Lord Arundel. I thought you weren’t returning to Enbarr for another fortnight,” Hubert said, turning back to his work.

“Yes, well, certain recent events necessitated my personal attention.”

“Nothing too unpleasant, I hope,” he said, hoping for the exact opposite. 

“Someone is hunting my agents, Marquis Vestra. Destroying my labs, my research—I’m sure you can guess the sort of issue this presents.”

“Are you in need of assistance identifying your saboteur?” Hubert asked, forcing himself to appear just as uninterested, to keep at his report as if his heart wasn’t lodged in his throat, his blood ice in his veins. 

“No, I have a very good idea of who it is. She should be familiar to you, she also studied at the Academy. A tiny thing, white hair, mismatched eyes, horribly scarred.”

Rage flared at that, at the self-satisfied way he spoke of the scars he’d given her, the agony she’d been forced to endure at his hands. 

“I highly doubt her capable enough to do as you suggest,” he said, knowing she was, knowing, somehow, she was more dangerous than he knew. “She could hardly read at the Academy, I doubt she’s stealing your research.”

“Perhaps not for herself,” Lord Arundel said, eyes boring into Hubert. He stared back, unimpressed. 

“It sounds like you have your work cut out for you,” he said, turning back to his report.

“If one of your agents should run upon her, Marquis Vestra, know that I want her alive. That I will pay handsomely for such a feat, though I will still pay for her corpse. It is of particular interest to me.”

That gave him the briefest millisecond of pause before he forced his response, just as blithe and uninterested as ever.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Then you have my thanks. Have a good evening, Marquis Vestra,” he said, lingering a moment before turning on his heel and departing, the door snapping shut behind him. He waited a moment before tossing his quill aside, dropping his head into his hands. 

If Arundel truly meant to hunt her in earnest—she was but one girl. Clever and beguiling and tenacious, but still just a girl. 

Perhaps not just a girl considering the fact that he wanted her alive. He might have thought the request was for mere torture, had he not also said that he’d take her corpse if not. It wasn’t a simple case of vengeance, she was a case study, an experiment gone horribly awry. 

It would at least explain some of the peculiar moments at the Academy he’d forced himself to brush off. Moments he could have sworn she was a practiced caster, bordering on extraordinary, but he knew—he knew she could barely light a candle.

Was it a Crest she hid, something twisted and forced upon her by Arundel’s mages in the same way one had been force upon Edelgard? Or was it something strange and innate in her, something Arundel wanted to extract and weaponize for himself?

Death would be a mercy compared to anything he had planned for her. 

He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. 

He’d seen terrible things, done terrible things, but the things that happened in those labs—Lady Edelgard would talk about it when they were still children, when she couldn’t sleep and she’d find him, still awake and working. She’d tell him about the cruelty, the pain and isolation, about listening to those it broke and being able to do nothing. 

And he knew, he knew, she had to have been treated better than any of their other victims. She was an Imperial princess. 

Cecily had only ever been a little kitchen girl.

And she’d still been kind, after all of it—to him of all people. 

He couldn’t—he couldn’t let Arundel get his hands on her. Perhaps he could save her. He’d try, do whatever he was able to and if not—

He’d see her death was painless, her body burned before Arundel could get his hands on her. 

He owed her that, at the very least. 

His stomach twisted unpleasantly at the thought. He’d gone into this war swearing to himself that he was prepared to pay any price to help Lady Edelgard realize her dream, that everything beside that was so utterly secondary and he knew—he knew he would do what ever it took, whatever was in his power to see that it happened.

But this—this was almost too much. 

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#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #yuri leclerc #slow burn #fire emblem three houses x reader #friends to enemies to lovers #multichapter

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 3

Their main roost was in Rowe, only a few villages away from where she and Yuri had first met. It lay practically in the shadow of the castle, buried beneath the tenement building that made up the squalid North End of the city. Only a handful of birds knew where it was and the number was dwindling with every year the damned war dragged on. 

She turned down a familiar narrow alley and lifted the grate to the storm drain at the end, climbing halfway down the ladder before replacing it from underneath. There was a proper maze of tunnels under the city, so wretchedly convoluted that hardly anyone dared venture into their depths for fear of becoming lost, which was awfully convenient for their purposes. 

The shadows whispered to her as she took the familiar twisting path to the Roost, eager to catch her up on what she’d missed. She only half-listened, eyes sharp for anything out of the ordinary. No one had tracked them down here in the four years since they’d made it their base, but that didn’t mean no one would. Besides, she was hardly interested in how many times Shiloh had been in and out of the Eastern passage, or what Jay and Weaver had stolen. She was glad to know that Piper was back, though. 

Hopefully it meant there was news. 

She didn’t bother with the door to the Roost. She rarely did, not when it was much easier to simply step from shadow to shadow through it than go through the whole ordeal it took for Finch to unbar the door and open it for her. 

He’d always been a fan of riddles and being an ass.

“Fucking hell, Mags,” he spat, nearly falling out of his chair as he stared at her, wide-eyed. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“You’d think you’d be used to it,” she said, already striding down the hall. “Is he in?”

“Should be.” 

The Roost consisted of even more winding tunnels, though they led off to various stone rooms, most of which they used for storage and dorms. She didn’t know what the place’s original use had been, but whoever built it had ensured access to the aquifer below, which meant they had fresher water than anyone else in the North End and didn’t have to drag it back from the surface. 

She stopped at the second door before the end of the hall and pulled out the key from the chain around her neck. It was barely bigger than a broom closet, but it was hers and she didn’t have to share. A hammock hung from the ceiling, stuffed with moth-eaten blankets she never bothered to fold and the stone shelves built into the walls were lined with trinkets, most of which were absolutely worthless—not that she cared. There were old posters advertising the circus, broken jewelry she’d found in the street, tiny figures carved out of wood, chipped tea cups. There wasn’t any rhyme or reason to it, other than the fact that they’d piqued her interest. She hadn’t built up the same collection as she’d had in Abyss, but it was enough to give the room a bit of character, to make it hers and not just the place she slept. 

She dropped her bags to the floor and hung the cloak on the hook to the door, not bothering to shed her duster. She still had to go through the pack she’d taken from the Empire spy, but that could wait. She’d stolen enough of them that she had a fairly good idea of what she’d find.

She stepped back into the hall, locking the door behind her before setting off for the War Room. They’d started off calling it that as a joke, playing off the fussy nobles that actually kept them, but it had turned out to be too useful for their needs. 

Especially considering they were in the heart of captured territory.

Yuri spent most of his time there, plotting over a map of the continent and running over everything they had in play. The war had made everything far more complicated, though they’d turned it into as much of an advantage as they could. After all, it meant information was at a premium. 

She knocked on the door, not bothering with the handle. She knew it would be locked, as it always was when he was working. 

“What is it this time?” he asked, sounding annoyed. 

So, it had been that sort of a week. 

“I bring tidings, of the mixed variety,” she called through the door. She heard the scrape of a chair and then the door being unlocked.

Yuri stood in the doorway, lavender hair mussed from all the times her run his hands through it in frustration. He’d grown it out since the academy, keeping it tied back with a ribbon. It suited him better than the shaggy mullet he’d worn then, though everything suited Yuri. He was a stunning creature and he knew it, using it like a lure to get what he wanted. 

Sometimes she wondered how they’d ever passed as siblings. 

“You look like shit,” Yuri said as he looked her up and down, one hand still on the door. She smiled at him, the movement tugging at her split lip. He narrowed his eyes reaching up to brush his thumb across the wound. She felt the familiar warmth of his healing magic as he knitted it back together. 

He stepped aside without another word and she strode inside, flopping down into one of the mismatched chairs as he slammed the door and locked it again. 

“Let me see your foot,” he said, stalking over. He yanked her pant leg up and swore when he saw the mottled bruises, her ankle at least twice the size it was supposed to be. She watched as he grasped her ankle in both hands, pouring golden healing energy into the injury. It took a few minutes before the swelling receded and the bruises faded to a sick yellow.

“Where else?” he asked sharply.

“I’m fine, Yuri.”

“Where else?”

She sighed, shrugging off her coat and yanking down the ruined neckline of her shirt enough to reveal the deep slash across her left shoulder. He healed it wordlessly, though she watched sweat bead on his brow.

Broken bones always took it out of him. Perhaps the ankle had been worse than she’d thought. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

“Did the job in Varley go south?” he asked, brows knitted together.

“No, it went perfectly. I used my new nightshade blend, he was dead before I’d ducked out. It actually might have been too efficient, might have to temper it next time. It only gives you around six minutes.”

“So then what happened?” He asked, looking pointedly at the blood still smeared across her skin. “Don’t tell me you went picking fights again.”

“I didn’t pick fights.”

“Magpie—“

“I picked a fight. And it wasn’t really a fight so much as an extermination.”

“You’re a damn fool! You know you can’t go after them by yourself.”

“Nothing bad happened.”

“Nothing—So, then what did I just heal?”

“That could have happened at any job.”

“Oh yeah? And what if they overpowered you?”

“Not likely,” she said, an edge of childish defiance slipping into her voice. 

“You’re not invincible, Magpie! All it would take is one of them to knock you out and drug you and you could do nothing—“

“I’m not a kid anymore, Yuri, I can handle myself—“

“You might not be a kid, but you’re an idiot and you’re going to get yourself killed. Or worse,” he spat, glowering at her. She knew there was truth in his statement, knew that death would be preferable to anything the Agarthans would do to her if they got their hands on her again. Still though, if she didn’t hunt them down, then no one would, and they’s keep spreading like a plague utterly unchecked and sanctioned by the Empire. 

She just shook her head, avoiding his gaze as she turned to the map to re-arrange the troop positions in Varley to be more up to date. He watched carefully, though clearly still fuming at her. 

“Fucking—if they keep this up we’re going to have to go through Charon to get to Leicester.”

“We all knew it was a matter of time before they started moving in on the bridge.”

“It’s going to screw up half our routes.”

“It’s going to stop half our routes. You can’t send Jay or Weaver through the mountains, not with all the dire wolves. I wouldn’t even send Rook.”

“You know we can’t just stop them.”

“Then I’ll take them. I have to go to Gloucester and Derdriu anyway. It’ll be slower, but they’ll have to live with it.”

“I don’t know, we’ll think about it.”

She nodded, eyeing the way his hair still stood on end. “So, what bullshit did I miss? You look fried.”

Yuri made a face, blowing out a breath as he dropped back into his chair. “Well, Ifan fell, which—can’t say was surprising, but it’s bad. Brennius is still holding out, but Charon doesn’t have the funds or the troops to aid them. Oh, and Gull’s dead.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I don’t—I still don’t know exactly what happened. It was an average run, should have been three days max, but—Finch found him. Paloma’s looking after his little brothers.”

Cecily swore, dropping her head in her hands. Gull had only been fifteen. 

“Where?” she asked, looking up when Yuri didn’t answer. 

His face was answer enough.

Arundel.

She made a face, dropping her face back in her hands. It wasn’t just about killing him anymore, she was going to make him suffer in every horrible way she could think of and it would still be better than the bastard deserved. 

“Think of Gull, next time you tell me I should stop killing them. Think of Gull, and Crane, and Heron. Think of Dove.”

She stood then and crossed to the door without another word. 

~~~

Hubert looked up at the sound of his office door opening to see one of his runners standing on the threshold, out of breath. 

“A message for you, my Lord,” she said, handing him the small envelope. He made a face when he saw the seal.

“You’re dismissed,” he said, waiting until the door once again clicked shut before opening it. The report was short and seething. 

Two outposts decimated in Hrym, not a single survivor, the destruction the same as the last four, as well as the one out in Varley. 

He didn’t know how she was orchestrating it, but he knew it was her. It had to be her, no one else could have managed it so cleanly.

The only problem was he was nearly certain that Lord Arundel knew as well, and he was far less likely to turn a blind eye. 

After all, she wasn’t exactly doing him a favor, killing his men, not in the way Hubert looked at it. But, then again, Hubert would prefer they all burned.

Unfortunately he had to wait for them to serve their purpose. 

He turned back to the report, re-reading it. Fifteen dead, under cover of night. How ironic that this was the only way he even knew she was still alive anymore. 

He hated that he still cared. 

If he’d only be able to explain, would she have stayed? Would she have understood the cold pragmatism of their decision? 

Hubert wished he could forget the look on Cecily’s face as Edelgard’s mask fell and broke on the stones of the tomb, wished he could forget the desolate look of utter betrayal before it was consumed by such all consuming rage that her eyes nearly burned with it. Wished he could forget the way her voice echoed in the room, before Rhea’s ire consumed it, how her voice cracked as she spat out the words like poison.

“How could you work with them, knowing what they’ve done?”

Metodey had slashed out then and cut her across the chest, snarling something foul about cooking her after he killed her and Hubert had nearly opened his mouth to order him to heel when she’d struck out in retaliation so fast that all he could register, at first, was the blood. 

It took him another moment to realize that Metodey had tumbled to the ground without another word, blood pouring from the hole in his chest. To realize the reason her arm was crimson to the elbow. He’d been too frozen by her expression, by the single tear that slipped down her cheek, by the way her glare was leveled at him, and not Edelgard. 

It had been the last time he’d seen her and he wished, more than anything, he could forget it, that the memory could have had been the time only minutes before when he’d made her laugh, when she’d given him one of her rare, unrestrained smiles, wrinkling her nose and biting her lip. 

Not the one time he’d made her cry. 

He flung the missive into the fire, dropping his head in his hands. It had been almost four years, they were completely different people now, and yet—

And yet he couldn’t seem to forget her, no matter how hard he tried.

It was maddening.

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#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #yuri leclerc #multichapter #slow burn #friends to enemies to lovers

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 2

Cecily hardly spared a glance for the bodies crumpled around the lab, intent on rifling through loose notes and files for anything that furthered her cause. Once the blood soaking through the leather of her boots would have disgusted her, the carnage would have turned her stomach. Once she might have felt even a little badly about the six lives she’d brutally taken, might have lost sleep over them, over the ever-mounting red in her ledger, the blood on her hands. 

She hadn’t, for a long time. Not since she’d learned hesitance was as good as asking for a knife in your back.

Gods knew she had scars enough to remind her. 

It didn’t hurt that the Agarthans were less human than she was. Maybe not in the practical sense, but in the deeper philosophical way. Perhaps that was why she could sleep easy with their blood under her nails, because at her core she knew they deserved it, that she was merely enacting what little justice she could in a world that cared not for its helpless innocents. 

She frowned as she dug through the paperwork. It was too much to merely shove in her bag and most of it was functionally useless—absolutely horrific, but useless for her purposes. She scanned through it all—torture, torture, unethical experimentation on children, more torture, weapons testing, and a whole lot more torture. Technically it was all torture, just some of it seemed to be without any sort of end purpose. Of course the records that did didn’t make her feel any better, but at least she could understand them from a functional standpoint.

Maybe.

At least she was trying to, if she could just locate the damn records. Then, maybe she could figure out their overarching goal beyond being murderous psychopaths. Unless that was their goal. 

Then she was fucked. 

She found a sheath of parchment tucked away in the back of one of the drawers and unfolded it. She only had to read a few lines to know it was what she was looking for. She tucked it into the hidden pocket in the inside of her ragged duster and sighed, swiping back a few stray hairs that had fallen from her ponytail during the struggle. She kicked one of the bodies out of her way on the way to the cabinet that held all their chemicals and strange concoctions. She stuffed anything that was useful or looked it into her bag, along with a handful of raw ingredients that were hard to come by now with the war raging. She paused as she reached the back, spotting a tiny crystal vial filled with a strange blue luminescent liquid.

A familiar liquid. 

She snatched it, lip curling as she stared at the unassuming bottle in her palm. It was a minuscule amount, probably less than half an ounce, but it was enough to make her seethe.

She shoved it into the pouch at her belt, stalking back through the dank, destroyed lab with renewed fury. She stooped next to the corpse of the man she assumed had been in charge, based on his demeanor and clothing, and yanked out the wicked looking dagger he’d been reaching for when she ripped the shadows from his chest. It didn’t matter that she didn’t need it, that she rarely bothered with physical weapons anymore, that she only carried the short sword at her hip for show. She wanted it, wanted to take more from him, anything of value that she could get her hands on since he was already dead and she couldn’t make him suffer properly for it.

For all the torturing the damn Agarthans did, she was still better at it.

Of course that was what happened with first hand experience. 

She turned once more toward the cells at the back of the room, bile rising in her throat. There hadn’t been anyone alive when she’d searched the first time, not even anyone recently deceased. There had only been one body, left long enough that it no longer resembled a human. She stared through the bars of the cell at the thing that was hardly more than a pile of bones and rotting flesh and grit her teeth, forcing herself to keep looking, to let the familiar, acidic rage fill her chest until she was almost sure it would burst from her in a spray of viscera. 

Then she turned, jamming the dagger into her belt as she reached for one of the small bottles in her bandolier, throwing it hard on the wooden counter on which she’d left all the notes she didn’t need. The acrid scent of the liquid inside made her nose wrinkle, but she just pulled a match from a different pocket and dragged it across the wall before flicking it towards the shattered glass. The flame caught before it even touched the paper, the fumes themselves catching alight. She strode to the door of the lab, not wasting time dawdling to make sure the fire caught properly—it was Dragon’s Breath, it always caught. She could feel the heat at her back as she climbed back out the tunnel. Soon the smoke would start pouring out of it like a chimney.

She started to jog, preferring not to smell like a chemical fire until she got somewhere she could take a proper bath. Her ankle protested at the motion but she ignored it, just as she ignored the screaming in her shoulder where one of the Agarthans had managed to get a decent hit. 

Ahead, another.

She smiled at the whisper, a cruel thing as she pulled the shadows tighter around herself and slipped closer to the cave wall. She could feel them draw near before she heard their clumsy footsteps, not yet realizing the danger. She turned the corner of the tunnel, surveying the figure for a fraction of a second before striking, the Lochin wool of their cloak confirmation enough of their loyalty.

Sometimes she swore the Empire’s agents made it easy in purpose. There was practically a smell about them.

She reached out, cloaked in night, and tore the darkness from his ribs, not caring about the viscera that splattered against her face. He never even saw her coming.

They rarely ever did.

She stooped as he fell, patting down his pockets for anything of interest. She was rewarded with a pouch full of coin and a missive stuck into his sleeve. She relieved him of his cloak and pack, slinging both over her shoulders. Most of what she owned had been scavenged off of corpses, at least since the war began. 

She tore the missive open as she reached the mouth of the cave, as the heat pressed upon her back in a way that would have been suffocating, if she couldn’t slip away down the mountains without consequence. 

She studied it a moment before tossing it aside—what did she need week old troop positioning for? Perhaps if she hadn’t seen the lines herself on her way to Varley, or if she wouldn’t see them again before crossing the Ohgma mountains. 

What a useless thing to die for. 

She scanned ceaselessly as she descended the mountain, wishing that dusk would cast its shadows already, that she would be left in the comfortable embrace of night. But there were hours yet before such bliss, hours to spend scrambling through the mid-afternoon sun, hot and sticky from the blood splattered across her skin, every inconsequential injury clamoring for her attention. 

Still she ignored them—she didn’t have a choice. Besides, she’d gotten good at ignoring pain long ago, when she’d been a tiny thing locked in one of those dank cells. 

She hadn’t had a choice. 

She set her eyes on the horizon, leaving the sun at her back as she headed east, back towards home, or at least what passed for it. 

It was where Yuri was, which was enough. He was the only family she had left, even if they weren’t blood. It had been two weeks since she’d last seen him, before she’d gone on her latest cull.

Not that he knew exactly what she was up to. It was more of a side project, after all, a twisted sort of hobby—the sort of hobby she knew he’d approve of in theory, but not in her chosen execution. Which was why she fit it in between missions, whenever she had the opportunity. She’d already been in Varley for a quick little coup of one of the more troublesome ministers and to deliver the Mockingbird’s terms to the guild, so it was really only half a day’s journey out of her way. A day and a half, now, considering her ankle, but worth it. 

At least once the sun began to set in earnest she could Walk properly.

She’d been thirteen before she’d figured out how to step from shadow to shadow. It was something like teleportation, just for shorter distances and she didn’t have to stop each time to re-cast the spell. Sure, she couldn’t take anyone with her, or go more than a few dozen feet at a time, but it took very little effort and less than a quarter of the time it would to walk the distance at a brisk pace. 

She didn’t know how she did it, even after all these years. It wasn’t like Yuri’s white magic at all, or the dark magic she’d tried to learn from Hubert at the Academy. It required no calculations, no components, no carefully choreographed movements, only her thought, her will.  It had always been like that, more like a reflex than anything else, the shadows delivering whatever she required of them. 

No matter how many libraries she scoured, books she stole, she couldn’t find mention of any other magic working in such a way, at least, not in Fodlan. Nor could she find tales of anyone else that could hear the whispers of the shadows. She doubted anyone outside of Sreng had ever even heard of such a thing. 

After all, no one had ever recognized her Mark.

She wondered if there, in the ancient forests of the Wildes, there were others, or if their fathers had been successful. She absently pressed her hand against her sternum, where the jagged scar lay, the scar she’d had since she was a day old. She was lucky the bastard had been a scholar, rather than a warrior, that he’d hesitated before plunging the blade into her tiny chest, long enough that her mother had been able to stop him, to run. Her mother had insisted she never speak about it with anyone other than her, had made her promise not to reveal that she was from Sreng or that the darkness spoke to her, that she could bend it to her will, that she wouldn’t give into the power, wouldn’t use it lest she reveal herself. 

Srengians feared the sort of power she could wield, and the people of Fodlan—

The people of Fodlan were covetous, when it came to power, and it made them uniquely dangerous. 

Miklan had taught that to her young. 

She pushed the thought of him away, along with the acrid rage that burned her chest at the mere thought of him. It didn’t matter that he was nearly five years dead, that she’d landed the killing blow. 

Not when it wouldn’t bring her mother back.

She wondered if her mother would be angry that she’d long abandoned her promise, that she’d given in to the shadows’ call, the rush of power the provided. That she’d told Yuri everything, shortly after he saved her. Would she have forgiven her for giving into her nature, for becoming the thing her father feared when he slashed the blade across her skin? Would she have still loved her, despite the blood on her hands?

Would she have understood why she had to? 

She shook her head, pulling her stolen cloak tighter around herself as dusk lit the sky ablaze. It was nowhere near as cold as it had been in Gautier growing up, nor how her mother had described the winters in Sreng, but she still shivered. Yuri would tell her it was because she was too thin and he’d probably be right, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. She’d always been too thin, ever since the Agarthans had gotten their hands on her as a child.

Too thin, too pale, too strange. 

At least she was well-suited to her work, however much Yuri still hated it.

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#hubert von vestra #fire emblem three houses x reader #yuri leclerc #hubert von vestra x oc #multichapter #slow burn #friends to enemies to lovers