Chapter Text
“Hmm. That was easy,” Lucanis muttered, standing over the now-dead mage. He wiped his dagger on his rags and sheathed it in its proper place. The man had been so focused on his research that he hadn’t noticed the assassin until the blade was already at his throat. The hardest part of the job had been slipping past the guards and finding his way to the workshop, where the mage spent most of his days.
“The Crows send their regards,” he said, turning on his heel to leave.
As he returned to the door he’d used to get in, he pressed a gloved palm against it. It barely budged; he could hear the soft click of the bar behind the door, keeping it from opening.
Locked, and no way to pick it open. He didn’t remember that bar being there when he came through.
Time to find a new way out.
“Of course,” he muttered to himself as he turned to survey the area around him. The Crow knew the job had been too easy. Fortunately, escape would hopefully be easier than the infiltration, provided no one had discovered the dead guards. If they had, surely they’d have warned the mage by now.
Near-silent footsteps echoed through the Magister’s workshop. Lucanis paid little attention to the various creatures lining the aisles, the dark ambiance broken only by tiny lights and candles, each one strategically placed to showcase an inhabitant in its runic-etched glass container. Some creatures didn’t move at all; others floated belly-up, clearly dead. A few watched him with what seemed like intelligence.
At the end of the aisle, he paused. One tank stood out—much larger and better lit than the others. Inside, at first glance, a woman lay on the flat, sandy bottom. But as he looked closer, instead of legs, a long tail coiled and stretched to the far end of her enclosure. She didn’t appear to notice him—or didn’t care—as she braided her waist-length brown hair, fingers quick and practiced as she wove and unwove the strands. Twin ridged horns curved up and away from her head in a gentle ‘S’ shape. From what he could see, freckles dusted her nose and cheeks, trailing in speckles along her neck to her shoulders, partially obscured by the thick curtain of hair that swayed with each movement of her arms.
Lucanis lingered, silent, then let his gaze drift across the rest of the enclosure. A cluttered table beside the tank caught his attention—diagrams, journal entries, and experiment notes scattered in what could only be described as orderly chaos. He picked up one of the journals and opened it.
27th of Haring, 9:42 Dragon
Experiment 07394, or ‘Dragon Siren,’ is my finest and first successful creation of her breed. A pity the other spawn from the grafting process failed to survive, but I finally have within my grasp what I’ve spent so many years working toward. So far, she is capable of limited communication; she understands basic speech and can follow simple commands. I have given her an enchanted quill to respond to me, though she remains verbally incomprehensible inside her enclosure. She has grown rapidly, and I fear she will soon outgrow her current container. I did not intend for this humanoid-esque form to develop so quickly, and I both dread and eagerly await to see how large her draconic form will become.
At the moment, I don’t have a tank able to contain her secondary form, as it’s much larger than initially theorized it would be after I last saw it. She has attempted to transform a few times within her cage, but a swift electric shock to the water and heavy weights to her lid have further deterred her from this behavior. Due to my new, harsher responses to rebellion, her escape attempts have significantly decreased. Unlike when she was newly born and still young, she now understands the consequences.
She appears to have regrown the membrane between her fingers that I removed last week for further study—a fascinating example of regeneration. I had not anticipated her ability to do so, but I will reexamine the components used in her conception for future experiments. Starting next week, I should attempt to find the limits of her regeneration with a finger and part of her tail fin. Could she regrow whole limbs, or is it limited to smaller structures like membranes and fins?
The creation of her control binding is nearly complete. If that blasted House of Dhariss would provide the reagents I need, I could finally begin testing the true limits of her power. With her success, I can implement the same methods to grow an army—one that can wield these powers in the sea and on land. No one will question the validity of my work or experiments any longer.
Lucanis felt his face twist into a scowl. Most of the other experiments he’d passed barely seemed sentient, but her? She was intelligent in a way that showed growth, not mere base instincts. She’d tried to free herself. Even with no knowledge of the outside world besides what she’s overheard, she wanted a taste of it.
He turned back toward the tank. His stomach dropped, and his pulse spiked.
Two golden eyes were locked on him.
When had she moved?
Her hands now rested against the glass, webbed, clawed fingers pressed to the barrier. As he looked, he spotted faint scratches that marred the surface—evidence of her escape attempts. Her head tilted as he met her gaze, and he saw no anger or murderous intent, only curiosity. He moved to the larger viewing pane, and she shifted to follow. Her tail twisted with mesmerizing grace, scales shimmering beneath the arcane lights. Deep hues of blue and green blended from under her hips down to a large spined fin that curled through the water.
Lucanis looked up, noting the return of her larger freckles trailing up her sides and converging at—he choked. His face flushed bright red.
“¡Mierda!” he hissed, snapping his gaze away from her bare chest, now revealed without the curtain of her hair. Of course, if she’d been born—or more accurately, created—here, she’d have no concept of modesty. The Magister certainly wouldn’t have bothered to dress his experiment.
Her golden gaze swept over him; she found his reaction amusing. Her eyes lingered on the various pieces of his covert leather outfit, particularly his daggers and rapier.
“Can you understand me?” he asked, wondering how deep her intelligence truly went based on the journal entry.
She dug into the sand beside her and retrieved what looked like an enchanted quill—the one Henric had mentioned. After pricking her finger, the runes along the shaft glowed faintly. He felt the back of his eyeballs itch, a reaction he’d developed in response to magic. She frowned, pressing her thumb to the wound, then used her free hand to write on the glass:
‘Yes’
Guilt gnawed at Lucanis; she was capable of communication. He had hoped that the writings had been boastful on the mage’s part. On his last major contract against Ambrose Ferox, he’d been filled with vengeance over the treatment of the slaves in the Magister’s home. He’d instructed Illario to bring the ones who weren’t corrupted to safety, and he freed those who’d been chained and force-fed red lyrium. Now he felt the same urge again. Though this creature couldn’t have her vengeance—her master was already dead, lying on the floor across the room. She deserved the ability to experience life, didn’t she?
His contract said nothing about rescuing or eliminating dangerous experiments that might one day wreak havoc on Thedas’ waterways.
‘Where’s Master Henric?’
Lucanis sighed.
“He’s dead. I killed him,” he said plainly, then added, “I had a contract.”
He braced for fury—for her to lash out, driven by some twisted loyalty. Instead, she simply tilted her head. It took her a good moment before she finally responded.
‘He hurt me. Thank you.’
Lucanis’s stomach churned even more. He was starting to feel nauseous.
‘Annaleth okay?’
The name gave him pause. Annaleth... maybe a slave? Someone who tended to the experiments? It wasn't the name of the one who had helped him get into the compound. “I don’t know. I didn’t hurt her,” he said softly. She looked away, lost in thought. Lucanis still didn’t know why he hadn’t left yet. If Illario were here, he’d be dragging him out by the collar, still lecturing him for going soft.
‘Help me?’
He knew he shouldn’t.
“Annaleth can help you,” he replied. Her expression dropped—and so did her quill. “If she’s still around, she’ll make sure you’re fed and looked after.” The woman had nothing else to say to him as she sank back to the bottom of her tank with an exhale of bubbles and turned away from him. His heart ached, memories of being a young boy locked alone in a dark room with no food surfaced unbidden.
Another thought struck him. What if another Magister took up Henric’s work? The mage’s death would get out eventually, and other Venatori would swarm his home looking for anything valuable. If they found the workshop and she was still alive, or if not, just the notes for her, she—and any more of her kind—could become a massive threat if the process were perfected and improved. What if she and others were trained to fight for the Venatori?
She would be tortured, just as Henric had done to her. She didn’t deserve that.
“How do I get you out?” he blurted out. She half looked over her shoulder, not convinced he had changed his mind so quickly. He reached up and touched the glass. “I want to help you.”
Her face changed to a tentative, hopeful joy. She waved him forward and gestured to the glass, located at the bottom of the left-hand side, which was partially obscured by the table next to this part of her enclosure.
Deeper scratches scored the surface there; he wondered how long it had taken her to make these. Lucanis had to move the desk to get a better angle on it. She was lucky the Magister hadn't spotted it.
Lucanis drew his dagger, hoping the enchantments only worked from the inside. He took a deep breath and pulled back, and with all his strength, slammed the pommel of his weapon into the weakened spot.
The glass spiderwebbed—then shattered.
He hadn’t thought this through.
The explosion of water knocked him backward into the desk he'd just moved, sending cages crashing to the floor as she slid free. Creatures slid from their containers, the live ones enjoying the wave and momentary freedom as the water settled and began to drain through various vents in the room quickly.
When the rush ended, Lucanis wiped his face and slid his dagger back into its sheath.
Mierda.
A gasp shattered the stunned silence.
He looked down. She was on her hands, tail thrashing wildly, loudly slapping against the stone floor, one hand clawing at her throat. Panicked golden eyes locked on his.
Lucanis scanned the room—more flopping bodies from experiments that had been knocked from their enclosures. There, on the left wall, his eyes caught a water pump connected to a basin. It took several tries to get a grip on her frantic form, but he managed to haul her up and drag her toward it. Realizing what he was doing, she thrashed, then broke free a few feet from the basin. She clawed her way in and plunged her head beneath the water.
Her body jerked violently—the water was stale, but usable. Who knew how long it had sat there, or what had been dropped into it? He worked the pump. It took a few cranks before anything came through. After flushing out the stagnant water in the pipes, cleaner water began to flow. Her tail stopped twitching. The tension left her limbs. She was safe for now, but they had a more pressing issue.
As he continued pumping, Lucanis looked around. Surely, if the Magister intended to move a creature of her size, possibly bigger, there had to be a secret exit. Mages doing illegal work always had their escape routes. Not far from the pump, he spotted what appeared to be a grate—not a secret, but it’d do. He lifted the pump’s lever to full height, letting gravity pull water into the basin as he made his way over.
Pitch black. But he could hear water moving beyond it.
Good. He wasn’t about to dump her into another tank.
A wet slap drew his attention. He turned to see her tail twitching as her hand flailed toward the pump. She was trying to submerge herself deeper into the basin, which was barely deep enough to fit her torso, while pumping more water in.
“I’m going to get you out. Just hold on,” Lucanis called, watching as she pressed herself as flat as she could. All he could see were the tips of her horns and the base of her tail where it met her hips, sticking up out of the water. The absurdity of the moment struck him. He shook his head.
He gripped the grate’s bars and heaved. It groaned in protest, grinding against the stone it was set into. A few more pulls, and he managed to haul it aside with a sharp jerk. It clanged loudly on the ground, bouncing for a few moments before it stilled.
Next time, he was having his negotiator ask for extra.
Lucanis swiftly returned to her side and looked down at her in the basin. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to meet his gaze despite the awkward angle. He raised a brow and held out his hands, then gestured for her to come. She tilted her head, not understanding what he wanted. Lucanis sighed and crouched to scoop her up. Her body stiffened as his hands grabbed under her armpits, but she allowed the touch—for now.
“Deep breath. I don’t need you to pass out on me,” he instructed.
The second she had her breath, he lifted her. With a grunt, the assassin half-carried, half-dragged her toward the grate. Her ears twitched at the sound of flowing water ahead. Once again, she wriggled free and clawed her way forward, tail thrashing as she vanished into the dark. Seconds later, he heard a loud splash followed by smaller ones.
Lucanis followed and blinked. A soft glow lit the path below. Peering over the edge, he spotted her golden eyes staring up, her luminous tail casting a soft glow in the dark.
The assassin turned away from the grate and headed back toward the books. As he moved, he swore he heard an echoed, raspy “thank you” come from behind him.
A smile tugged at his lips as he destroyed the evidence of her existence and found his way out, eager to return home to Treviso and tell his cousin a new tale over a nice cup of coffee at Café Pietra.