Caterina sat with her spine straight, a glass of red wine untouched at her elbow. Her grandson sat nearby, his posture relaxed in the way that only meant he was tightly wound beneath the surface.
Lucanis had always been quiet. Calculated, observant, measured, a shadow with a noble's bearing and a Crow's grace. But today, even for him, something felt stiller than usual. He had barely touched his coffee. Barely spoke during the debrief. His eyes were elsewhere, pinned to something just beyond reach.
Caterina watched him for another moment before setting down her quill. "You're quiet," she said simply.
He gave a faint sound of amusement. "I'm always quiet."
"Mm. You're brooding. That's different."
Lucanis didn't argue. He folded his arms over his chest.
"I saw her," he said finally.
Caterina's fingers curled subtly against the table. She didn't need to ask who 'her' was.
"In the marketplace," he went on. "She didn't avoid me. She was... polite. Civil. But colder than she's been since our earlier encounters." He paused, jaw working slightly, before he added, "I could feel something. Just a sliver. Through the bond."
"What kind of something?" Caterina asked, already sifting through possibilities.
He exhaled slowly. "Annoyance. Maybe disappointment. It wasn't strong, but it was there. It's still difficult to make out her moods."
Caterina hummed thoughtfully. "It will be easier once the bond is sealed." She tapped a nail against the wine glass. "Right now, it's a thread. Later, it will be a current. But even now, it's enough to sting, isn't it."
Lucanis said nothing.
She gave him a measured glance. "You remember what the tailor said."
His head turned toward her.
"She was raised in a palace," Caterina went on. "By a father who insisted on loving her in full view of those who would rather see her hidden. She was both cherished and hated. Both claimed and cast out. Do you know what that does to a child's sense of place? Of worth?"
Lucanis nodded slowly. "It splits it."
"Yes," she murmured. "Exactly."
The silence that followed was not uncomfortable but weighted. Like old cloth soaked through.
"I want to meet her," Caterina said after a moment.
Lucanis blinked. "You… do?"
"I have no intention of interfering," she said, lifting the wineglass finally, though she still didn't drink from it. "But she is your soulmate. That makes her family. Eventually. And we take family seriously."
He gave her a faint, dry look. "You also take soulbonds seriously."
"Of course we do. We are Antivan." She arched a brow. "This is sacred. It is meant to be honoured, not danced around like a delicate scandal."
Lucanis rubbed a hand along his jaw. "I'm not sure how I'd even arrange a meeting."
"She sings in the market," Caterina said, almost lazily. "Or have you forgotten?"
"I haven't forgotten," he muttered. "She no longer does that. She stopped in an attempt to avoid me. Or at least make it harder for me to find her."
"Well then," she said, voice crisp. "Invite her for coffee. Or wine. Or to sketch the view from the garden, I don't care. But let me look her in the eye." She paused, then added, amused, "I'd like to see the girl who has you so tangled."
Lucanis didn't bristle. But he did look away, eyes turning toward the fading sun.
"I don't think she's ready to meet the family."
Caterina's smile was slow. "No one ever is. But we always remember the ones who tried."
"She's not going to come here," he said at last, glancing toward his grandmother. "Not to the estate. Not to meet you. Not like that. Could we... make it appear like chance?" He asked, not turning to face her. "A meeting in the market, or a café. Somewhere public, somewhere neutral. She might accept that. Especially if she thinks I wasn't trying to engineer it."
"Lucanis, I am not going to linger in the markets on the off chance she shows up."
"It's not off; there does seem to be a time of day she is more likely to be there, just before midday."
"Very well. A chance encounter, then. I'll take a walk through the Grande Market tomorrow morning, just after the second bell. You will be there escorting your grandmother and carrying her groceries."
"Yes, nonna."
-
Caterina didn't like chance. She believed in the weight of intention, in the deliberate steps that shaped outcomes. A trait usually shared with Lucanis. It was painful to watch him lose his edge as he was. But... soulbonds. They could certainly twist a man.
She walked slowly, allowing the rhythm of the crowd to carry them forward. Stalls lined either side of the square, vibrant with goods. Lucanis, ever the dutiful grandson, trailed half a step behind, carrying her purchases and making no effort to hide his discomfort.
She didn't look at him when she said, "You said she shops at this time."
"Yes," he replied quietly.
They rounded a stall stacked with cured meats, and there-
"There," Lucanis murmured, his voice low and a little strained.
A pretty little thing. Young, though there was something about her that spoke of a much older weariness. Long, dark blonde hair woven into a thick braid down her back. And those eyes, green like spring leaves just unfurled, too bright to be anything but noticed. She stood at a produce stall, considering a tray of plums with an air of disinterest that felt almost performative.
Lucanis's steps slowed, and Caterina's did not. She veered gently toward the stall, and her grandson - wise enough to follow her lead - matched her stride.
She let her voice carry as she stopped beside the girl. "A good plum is like a good man - firm, sweet, and difficult to find."
"Hard to tell what's good and what just looks it," she replied.
"A hard lesson. Usually learned young. Too young, in your case, I suspect," she said. No pity to it, merely thoughtful.
"Maybe. But once you've learned it, you never forget, do you?"
Caterina looked at her a long moment, weighing the shape of her reply and the steel behind it.
"No," she said at last, quiet but not unkind. "You don't."
She didn't smile, but her voice softened just slightly, enough to acknowledge the weight in Evie's words, the quiet truth wrapped in that simple sentence. It wasn't bitterness, not really. It was experience. Learned, endured, and worn with the sort of grace that couldn't be taught. And that Caterina respected.
Evie's eyes flickered to Lucanis, who inclined his head, faintly mortified. "Evie, this is Caterina Dellamorte, my grandmother."
"A pleasure to meet you," Evie said, sweet, composed.
Caterina tilted her head ever so slightly, watching the girl's face. "And how is your day treating you, Evangeline?"
"Full marks for formality," Evie said behind a hollow smile. "Not many people bother with the full thing. My day has been lovely so far, thank you for asking."
The smile was immaculate. Not false, exactly; Evie had far too much control for that but performed. As polished and practised as any noblewoman's court mask, except Caterina recognised it instantly for what it was: distance. A line in the sand and an attempt to gracefully end the exchange. No. Not yet.
Caterina adjusted her grip on her cane, feigning thoughtfulness. "I'm told it's important to begin with the formal, especially when meeting someone of interest."
She said it idly, as if she were discussing wine pairings and not bartering for ground beneath carefully laid walls. Lucanis shifted beside her. He knew her tone, knew she'd spotted the retreat. Evie only arched an eyebrow, ever so slightly.
"Of interest?" she asked, with just enough amusement to be polite. "I'm not so sure I qualify."
That quiet, practised humility again. Caterina had once spoken that way herself - when she was very young and very tired of people looking at her like she'd wandered into the room by accident.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Caterina replied mildly. "You've had my grandson tangled up in knots since he met you."
Lucanis let out a soft, unmistakable groan. Caterina ignored him. Evie blinked, surprised, into a short breath of laughter that she tried, and failed, to hide.
"Tell me, do they not teach young Ferelden girls the significance of their soulbonds?"
Caterina picked up the barely perceptible flinch from Evie and a sort of strangled sound from Lucanis.
"It's Ferelden," she replied with a polite smile. "They only teach us to chug ale and raise mabari."
Caterina's eyes glinted with the edge of a smile, and she tilted her head slightly, as though regarding a curious, finely made blade.
"Ah," she said dryly, "and here I thought all Fereldens came howling out of the mud with a hound at their heels and a pint in each hand."
She folded her hands lightly over the head of her cane, watching Evie over the rim of her amusement.
"I suppose I should count myself fortunate you haven't challenged me to a wrestling match."
There was no malice in her tone, only that subtle Antivan flavour of wit and challenge - the kind of teasing that, if returned in kind, marked someone as worthy of being listened to. Evie's smile sharpened at the edges, her green eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Well, I did consider it," she said airily, glancing at Caterina's cane, "but I didn't want to risk being outmatched." She folded her arms, the picture of feigned innocence. "Antivans are slippery. You'd probably sweep the leg and leave me eating cobblestone before I knew what hit me."
The teasing was light, respectful. And Caterina could see, beneath the sass, the subtle offering of respect Evie was extending in her own Ferelden way. Lucanis stood just behind his grandmother, his expression carved in stone, but Caterina knew him too well not to see the tension. The tightening of his jaw, the way his arms remained loose at his sides but his fingers twitched. He was bracing for disaster. Or perhaps just trying not to show that he was utterly, maddeningly thrown.
He hadn't expected them to get along. Not like this. Evie's wit landed somewhere between mortifying and mesmerising for him. And every time her green eyes flashed with some quip or clever deflection, he felt it like a hook in his chest.
She was holding back. He could feel that, too. The careful moderation in her tone, the ease that wasn't quite ease. But she was still talking. And his grandmother – Andraste's flaming knickers - was enjoying herself.
Caterina raised a brow, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement. "A fine education, then. Nothing builds character like warm ale and drool on your boots."
Evie smiled sweetly. "And a well-trained mabari will bury your enemies and your secrets. Very efficient."
Caterina huffed a soft breath, something perilously close to a laugh. Clever little thing. Not just clever - quick. And not quick in the slippery way some were, the kind of people who lived off lies and flattery. Evie's cleverness had teeth and timing. A dancer's instinct and a duellist's aim.
"You remind me," Caterina said lightly, "of a snake I once saw in Rivain. Beautiful, perfectly still, sunning itself on a rock until someone got too close. Then-" She made a sudden, silent snap with her fingers. "Gone. No warning."
Evie tilted her head, all artful innocence. "Should I be flattered?"
"That depends," Caterina replied, watching her with sharp, assessing eyes. "Are you the snake or the fool who got too close?"
Lucanis shifted beside her, quiet and still, and Caterina nearly sighed. He was trying not to show it, but every word exchanged was sinking into him. He was a boy still when it came to love. Soulbond or not, this was his first true collision with it, and he had no armour for it.
Evie took a moment. Not long, half a breath. Just long enough for Caterina to notice. "Depends on the day," she said finally, her tone still airy but eyes a shade too steady.
Caterina leaned slightly on her cane and studied her more closely. The girl was careful. Wounded in ways she didn't speak of. And then this perfect, composed mask layered right back on top.
Evangeline. Not just an artist with a quick tongue and green eyes too old for her face. Caterina filed the thought away.
"Well," she said at last, smoothing her gloves, "I don't know if you're the snake or the fool. But if you are the snake, you've picked an interesting garden to slither through."
Evie's smile stayed fixed in place. "There's a certain charm to dangerous gardens. Thorny things grow best there, I hear."
That startled a brief real laugh from Caterina this time, low and dry. She saw it, the tiniest crease between Lucanis's brows. Half relief, half exasperation. As if he were equal parts grateful and alarmed that she meant it.
Evie gave a shallow curtsy.
Then, almost offhand, but with deliberate weight: "We must do this again."
Evie glanced at Lucanis briefly - very briefly - and then back. "Next time, I'll bring my mabari. He likes to weigh in on important meetings."
Caterina smiled. "If he can tell a good bottle of Antivan red from a poor one, he'll fit in just fine."
And as the girl moved off with a polite nod, graceful even with her basket of modest market fare, Caterina let her eyes linger for a long moment. Bright, brittle thing. So tightly wound. Walking around with a storm in her chest and something fragile clenched in her teeth.
"Evangeline," Caterina said softly, tasting the name again.
Lucanis exhaled beside her, already bracing. The walk back to the estate was quiet at first. Lucanis carried two baskets - one in each hand - filled with spices, ribbon-wrapped bundles of silk, and an unnecessarily large amount of olives Caterina had insisted were "essential." He didn't mind the weight. It gave him something to focus on.
Caterina's cane tapped steadily against the stone with every step. She was the one who broke the silence.
"She's sharper than you warned," she said, mildly.
"But I did warn you," Lucanis muttered.
"But not about the fangs." A pause. "I rather liked them."
Lucanis exhaled through his nose. "Of course you did."
The silence lingered as they walked.
"She knew it was orchestrated," he said eventually. "She didn't say it. But I could tell."
"You'll learn to lie better," Caterina replied. "Or she'll learn to pretend she believes you. That's marriage."
Lucanis nearly choked on a laugh. "We're not married."
"Not yet."
He shook his head. "You act as if this is all inevitable."
Caterina looked ahead, serene. "The bond is inevitable. The rest is details."
Lucanis fell silent again. His chest ached with something he couldn't name, some restless weight lodged between his ribs like a dagger. Evie's polite voice still echoed in his ears. Her smile had been perfect, just a touch amused, just polite enough to keep from being rude. But her eyes… He'd felt her flinch at the entire conversation. She'd folded herself inward behind that clever mouth and radiant face. He could still feel the aftershocks of it, subtle but present through the bond. Distance. Tension. Maybe even pain.
"She was still cold," he said quietly. "She hasn't been like that in weeks."
Caterina gave a thoughtful hum. "It's a mask, I think. One she learned young."
"She is still young," Lucanis mused aloud, though he wasn't sure if he was offering her an excuse or naming the reason this was all unraveling. "Is that part of the problem?"
Caterina didn't answer at once. Her silence wasn't uncertain, just patient, like she was turning the thought over in her mind, examining it from all angles.
"She's young, yes," she said at last. "But not in the way that matters."
Lucanis glanced at her, brow furrowed.
"She has seen too much," Caterina went on. "Been told too much. That hardens a person. Carves grooves into the way they think. What you saw today, it's not immaturity. It's armour."
He nodded slowly, the weight of it settling over him. "And I keep giving her reasons to wear it."
"You're not the cause," Caterina said. "But you are the catalyst. The bond forces truth to the surface. Even the truths she would rather keep buried."
They walked in silence for a few more steps. The streets were quieter now, the afternoon sun slipping between shuttered windows, painting long golden lines across the stone.
"She won't let herself want it," Lucanis said eventually. "Even though I know she does. I can feel that much."
"Of course she wants it," Caterina replied evenly. "That's the tragedy of it."
He looked at her, and she gave a small, almost rueful smile.
"She's built her life around not having you. And now you're here."
Lucanis's throat tightened. There was nothing to say to that. No retort. No clever solution. Just the ache in his chest and the bond that still pulled steady as a heartbeat. He hated that most of all. That somewhere behind those green eyes and quick wit and maddening grace, Evie carried that poison inside her. The belief that she wasn't worthy of something sacred. Of something that could actually be good.
"I'd wait," Lucanis said quietly. "However long it takes. I just…" He exhaled, frustrated. "I don't know how to make her see it."
Caterina smiled faintly. "It's not your job to make her see. Just to stand still long enough that she can't miss you."
Lucanis looked down at her. "Is that what you did with Grandfather?"
She gave a dry little laugh. "Please. I was terrifying. He didn't dare leave."