Chapter Text
“Teia?”
I took care of the last Venatori rats, sliding a freshly-sharpened dagger across one’s jugular, then spinning to jam the one in my right hand into another’s larynx. “Vi?” I felt my heart rate jump as I scanned the room for Viago, unable to find him. “Viago!”
Lucanis raised a hand, turning to face me. “Over here, Teia.”
Viago was crouched, nearly kneeling on the hard stone, his face twisted in an expression too gentle to look natural on such a man. Before him, all but curled in a ball against a sharp corner, was a young girl, features still soft with youth. She had on a thin-looking, grey gown and clutched a small, embroidered blanket to her chest. “I do not know who she is. It does not seem like she can understand us.”
I knelt, placing my hands unthreateningly on my thighs. “Are you alright, niña?” Her eyes flicked between me and Viago, her fingers tightening on the tattered fabric. There was no recognition in her gaze, no sign that she understood me. I wracked my brain for the few elven phrases I had learned in my own youth, but could not remember more than a few vowels.
“Should we bring her back to the Diamond?” Viago’s eyes shifted from her to my own.
Lucanis scoffed from above us. “She cannot even speak the trade tongue, how would we convince her to come with us?”
I stood, trying to move slowly so she would not startle. “Are there any… papers? Any information as to where she came from?”
The Demon of Vyrantium handed me a parchment, pointing to a scrawling note in the margins:
The god-child is aging well. She has grown fifteen years, in a third as many. The magic created by Magister Alexius has stabilized, now. We may be able to use whatever power she may have inherited in just another half decade.
I swallowed. “The Venatori are religious fanatics.”
“Fanatics, yes, but not utterly insane.” He leaned closer to me. “A god-child? What, a child of the Maker? Of Lusacan?”
Looking back to the young girl, I felt my heart squeeze. She looked more than frightened, and utterly confused. “She is a child, Lucanis. We cannot simply leave her here.”
Viago reached out to her, and though it took her a moment, she allowed him to take her hand in his and pull her to her feet. The gown was too short for a girl of her age— fifteen, the parchment had said— and revealed the skin up to her knee when she stood. She shivered, now standing tall enough to be buffeted by the cross breeze.
I removed my own coat, and placed it around her shoulders. Her dress was coarse and scratchy where the back of my hands ran across it, and I sighed. She looked up at me, gratitude clear in bright violet eyes, and I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. She did not flinch away. “It’ll be alright, niña. You’re safe now.”
“She does not speak?” Heir stood at the end of the table, watching the girl intently.
She raised her head at the sound of their voice, then looked nearly immediately to me. I walked to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder, my fingers curling around the joint.
“We do not know.” Viago crossed his arms, looking down the table at her. “We wondered if perhaps she only knows elven?”
“And that is why you asked for me.” They raised an eyebrow at him, and he merely shrugged. They sat, placing their elbows solidly on the table. It made her jump, and I glared at the trainer. “Aneth ara, da’len—”
The girl sat up, looking at Heir expectantly. She uncoiled the tattered blanket from around her wrist, and splayed it out upon the table. In the upper rightmost corner, embroidered with shining gold thread: da’len. She tapped her hand against it excitedly.
Heir glanced at me once I leaned forward, expectantly. “She did not seem to understand what I said. She merely recognized it.”
“How did you know her name?” Viago’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Da’len is not a name. It is… child. Little one.” Their fingers flexed, searching. “It is what you call a youngling. Like niño.”
I ran my hand over my face. The girl looked between the three of us, perhaps more confused than she had been before. “Should we just… call her that?” I looked at Viago. “Until we figure out her name?”
Viago shrugged. “If she responds to it, I cannot see the harm.” His index finger rubbed against his beard. “We should set her up with a room in the Diamond. And get her a meal. She’s all but flesh and bone.” He looked between me and the girl, then sighed. “I will have the recruits set up a room. Keep her here, I will bring food.” I offered him a nod, pulling a chair from the side of the table so that I could sit with her. Her eyes widened as the door opened, her breath hitching and fingers curling around the edge of the table.
“He’ll be back,” I placed my hand on her arm, rubbing my thumb against her gooseflesh-covered skin. Her gaze turned to me, her eyebrows furrowing. “It’ll just be a moment.”
A puff of air escaped her, frustration overtaking her face. She not only lacked the words to speak, but to understand. She wrapped the pointer and thumb of her right hand around her left pinky, squeezing at the lowest joint.
“No, niña, no.” I tugged her hands apart. “You cannot do that. You will hurt yourself.” Her gaze fixed itself onto where I held her by the wrists, seemingly mesmerized by it.
“She cannot understand you.”
I looked up at Heir, sighing. “I know that.” I snapped. “But she will not learn to understand unless we speak to her, no?” At the change in tone and volume, the girl flinched. She wrenched her hands from my grip and pulled her knees to her chest, feet flush on the chair.
A moment of silence passed in the room, the three of us unmoving. I took a breath and forced my voice into a softer tone.
I searched my mind for the word Heir had used; the one she had recognized. “I am sorry, da’len.” I leaned back in my chair, trying to give her space. “I— forgive me.”
The girl watched me carefully. After a long few moments, her arms finally relaxed from where they were wrapped around her knees.
When Vi returned, she finally moved, scrambling out of her chair and to his side. He startled, barely managing to put the plate down before she smashed into him, careening behind him. He froze, looking between me and Heir. What did you do? His expression seemed to read. Then he turned, cupping the child’s head and letting her rest it against his chest. She did not relax into him, but she also did not pull away. His hand ran over dull copper hair, slowly and softly.
“You’re okay,” he murmured.