Sathynae

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Rook stares at him with a grim expression. She almost can't believe it, that he's still doing this, after everything.

"I can't tell if you’re punishing me or yourself," she utters softly.

"Perhaps both," Illario says, hoarsely.

"Why?" she asks, incredulous. "De verdad, que no lo puedo creer. [Seriously, I can't even believe it.]"

He arches a slightly less than groomed eyebrow at her, and it's the expectant sass in its arch that rouses the fury she's been keeping at bay.

"You're a fucking coward," Rook whispers, shaking her head. "I gave you everything."

The twitch of Illario's hand at his side is registered in her periphery, and it only incites her simmering rage. Because even now, as she feels the fire of an anger born from years being his little secret, his topolina [little mouse] in the shadows, of her baring her heart and soul for him, and his fucking betrayal—he can't even reach out.

"Coward!" she screams, banging her fist on the table.

She rose so quickly that the chair flopped backwards, clattering against the ground.

Despite his subtle wince, his eyes remained trained on hers, however; a tumultuous sea filled with such a profound sadness, she can't even breathe.

Rook can never breathe with him, she realizes, not when he's always doing this.

"Say something!" she demands.

Slowly, he rises from his seat, towering over her with a calm she doesn't understand.

"What would you like me to say?"

His voice is no longer as hoarse as it was minutes ago, regaining some of the smooth venom it usually carries.

"Anything," she suggests. Her voice shakes, as do her hands as she reaches out to him, grasping him by the collar. She very nearly shakes the man, save for the guilt that strikes her suddenly; he's still recovering from the wound she inflicted on him, after all.

But what of the wounds he's carved into her very marrow?

Rook firms her grip in his tunic, growling. "A crow through and through. Burrowing your way into my chest and feasting on all I had to give… yet even still," she sobbed, releasing his shirt only to splay her hands out over his chest. "Even now, you are still hungry. Codicioso venenoso [greedy, venemous man]"

His movement is a blur, happening before she can finish the thought, before she can build the next wall between them. His mouth captures hers, and though his lips are gentle in their testing, in the way his hands shake where they cup her face, she feels it.

Illario is begging, wordlessly, for something she doesn't know if she can give.

Rook answers him anyway.

She clings to him, fingers tangling in his hair as she kisses him like he’s the blight on her soul, and she’s ready to succumb to its indelible taint. Her teeth catch his lower lip, and she bites down hard, relishing the way he grunts into her mouth.

He takes it, unlike their usual exchanges like this; and he lets her pour her frustration, the fury and love, besotted with grief, into the way she devours him.

His hands—Maker's breath, those hands—frame her face, devastating in their familiarity. They know her, every curve, every scar, every fevered tremble; and in this moment, they seem to ask, sigues siendo mia [are you still mine]?

She is. She always has been. No matter the silence, the betrayal, the cruel miles between them. No matter what the Blight or the Crows or the Maker himself throws in their path—she is his.

And it is precisely that knowledge that breaks her again.

She pulls away from the kiss with a choked sob, pounding her fists against his chest.

"Tonto! Bastardo! [Fool! Bastard!]" Rook yells, her vision blurring through the traitorous gathering of tears.

Illario says nothing, not one word, but he pulls her in by the back of her neck, cradling her head to his chest as she shakes in his arms. Clinging to him with a desperation she wants to be swallowed up by. His scent envelops her in a silky cocoon, wrapped up tightly in the web of his egotism, as she is. Fervently hopeful that he's learned something. That's he's the man she always saw beneath the bravado and facade.

His embrace says he is, but she wants to hear it. She deserves that much. And so, she pulls away, sniffling and wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. She must look a mess, she thinks, irritated that she even cares what he thinks, even now, after all he's done to her. As if his opinion should matter.

But when Rook musters the will to meet his gaze, she is breathless anew.

His eyes, those beautiful cerulean orbs, are red-rimmed, glassy with unshed tears. Yet despite the sight nearly breaking her, she straightens her spine, feeling a surge of strength from somewhere deep within her, raging and roaring to life. The desire to be free, to be loved fully and in the light, dispensing of cloaks and shadows.

Gently, she pushes away from him, and it feels like an escape, of sorts—to be able to stand up for herself in this way. No longer simply his topolina, but Rook. Una guerrera [a warrior], a Crow, a woman fighting against would-be gods with all the odds stacked against her.

But she is tired of reaching, of giving and feeding, with nothing to show for it but misery.

Instead, Rook inhales a calming breath and holds onto it as she steps back.

Even now, Illario's touch seeks her out between them, his fingers brushing hers.

She doesn’t know why she does it, not wholly. But she allows him this, granting him one final boon he doesn't rightly deserve. She lifts it gingerly, until the scrapes and lattices on his knuckles brush against her lips. With a gentle kiss, she presses her tear-stained lips to them. To this skin marred by blood and choices neither of them can take back.

After a moment that feels like yet another thing stolen from them, Rook lets him go.

She turns from him, her shoulders rolled back and hands curled into fists at her sides. Her heart still heavy and bleeding for him.

For to have him is pain, and to walk away is just as riddled with agony.

But as she leaves, he doesn't stop her. And for once, she doesn't cry.

---

I'm hoping to have this done soon-ish, as time and motivation allows. It sounds really grim here, I know!! But I promise it won't end that way—I can't do that to myself, or them.

I really love this story. I love these two together, despite all of their crap. And I want to give the healing and happy ending they deserve, so I have no plans on dropping this one at all. It's just going to take a while is all.

Thank you to those who've been with it from the beginning and been so patient and encouraging. <3

Some inspiration here from the songs 'Crows Feast' by Pixel Grip and 'You Belong to Me' by Cat Pierce.

If you'd like to read what's currently posted for the series, you can find it here, on AO3: Topolina