Chapter Text
Prologue
There was no grand gesture to mark the moment everything changed.
Stone balustrade under hand, the scuffed leather glove conducted with two fingers’ flick, sending the masked assassins through a place that the Academy of Natural Philosophy’s understanding cannot follow.
It was inevitable that the unremarkable blade would be drawn from the holster clean.
Then, a second time, drawn from the Empress bloodied.
It was inevitable that the Knife of Dunwall’s greatest mission would succeed.
Daud
Corvo Attano was not the objective. The bodyguard’s appearance was an aberration from the plan, but neutralising him was simple: tethered above the ground, he was just a pretty face hovering at Jessamine’s side, exactly as the Dunwall Courier had always accused him of being.
Daud barely spared him a glance as he reached for the heiress-child-payload in little white bows.
“No!” Jessamine Kaldwin yelled, stricken. Her silver-adorned black jacket’s arms were sliced open to reveal white sleeves, which flowed when she threw herself between Daud and the girl. She struck him—effortfully, judging by the set of her jaw—and shoved the girl from his reach. “Get away from her!”
Her blow was weak and Daud’s expression did not change.
He did not need to pull himself up to his full height for her eyes to widen when she met his gaze. Unblinking, his grip on his blade did not shift.
The Empress’ teeth were bared as she tried to pull him away from the Kaldwin cargo, but it barely registered as a nuisance. He slapped her with his left hand. As she stumbled back, her palms rose before her fear-slackened face, and she stared at the metal in his right hand, which was polished well enough that in this fine weather it might reflect the Wrenhaven back at her in the moments before she died.
Daud stepped forward calmly. Everything in his life had led him to this moment.
The Empress shrank away, her eyes darting. She startled when she walked into the pagoda rail behind her.
A messy job, then.
So be it.
Like slaughtering a caged bird, it was a simple thing to grab the neck.
Gasping her bodyguard's name, she tried to shove his gloved wrist away. A poor choice of final words for an Empress. The history books will agree with me.
He pushed her off-balance, and she fell back against the railing as he drove his blade in.
He observed, and wondered: how will they tell this story?
My finest kill isn’t my finest kill.
No matter: it’s on the bodyguard’s head. I get paid either way.
His left hand remained around the target’s neck as the body writhed its last. By the sudden warmth, droplets of her blood were staining his collar. Nuisance. He shoved the twitching thing to land before his boots.
Somewhere behind Daud, the payload screamed for her mother.
An odd thought speared through him, sick and cold: maybe I’ll pay for this one.
He disregarded the pointless speculation and lowered his blade. Blood dripped from the tip to the pagoda floor.
Daud raised his chin meaningfully. In response, his masked lieutenant, tethering the bodyguard aloft, switched tact to grab the Kaldwin girl. Beneath the gloved grip, she kicked and struggled and screamed for help.
The primary target is no longer. The secondary payload is captured.
Final stage: extraction.
Daud lifted his chin again. The Whalers tore away from the Dunwall Tower grounds.
He considered the scene around him. Not ideal.
Damn that parasite, Hiram Burrows. Should have known his intel would be second-rate. ‘Royal Spymaster.’ Hah. Can't even track one person—the Royal Protector’s return date was critical information.
Still. The mission was a success. We did what I planned, same as every other mission.
Daud watched as the bodyguard fell from the tether with a thud. His head bounced on the stone, and blood ran down his forehead, almost blinding him, but he reached out beseechingly towards the Empress’ body, as though he could call her back from death’s door by sheer force of will.
Daud looked down at the body one last time. She lay on her back, one arm flung out, her eyes glazed as her chest spasmed.
Measured in heartbeats. Royal blood spills like any other.
All the Empire will know of this death. They don’t need to know it’s my work, though some will guess.
The Outsider is watching. That’s all that matters.
Daud clenched his fist, and left the bodyguard, the body, and the growing pool of red, and perched above the grounds to watch the rest unfold. The bodyguard crawled to the Empress; the urgency of it caught Daud’s eye. The dark-haired man knelt over the former Empress and pulled her tenderly into his arms, his shoulders sloped, his hair draped like mourning curtains. I know that look. Caused it more times than I can count: once a proud man, now a creature that lives only by technical definition.
His gaze flickered down to the broken form of the Empress, which had stopped moving. Unlike her.
He frowned, his chin balanced on his fist, watching Corvo Attano stand unthreatened by the swords pointing at him. He didn’t seem to be waiting for the guard’s blades to strike him down. Not suicidality, but sheer indifference.
Dead eyes.
Daud’s fingers tapped as he lingered over the empty scene. That went well.
Why doesn’t it feel like it?