Returning to Snezhnaya was always an adjustment. Where winter in Fontaine was supplemented by water and steam heating, Snezhnaya was a land where the permafrost ruled and the wind was biting. Nevertheless, Arlecchino’s innate control of Pyro kept her cool, instead of freezing. And the large coat provided by the Tsaritsa as a welcoming gift for her Harbingers was helping.
The halls of their palatial headquarters were austere but beautiful, as if chiselled from the very ice that made up so much of their land. Guards were sparingly positioned at restricted locations, usually the Harbingers were enough of a deterrent, but many of the Harbingers were out of state, or unaccounted for. Arlecchino approached a large door and nodded at the armoured men stood either side of it, they knew she was not the talkative sort, so they let her in without comment.
“Ha… Arlekino~” came the singsong voice of Columbina her fur-lined coat pooled around her shoulders as she kneeled on the ground, legs splayed inelegantly as she sang a circus-esque tone in nonsense sounds and melodic humming. Arlecchino was used to the… eccentricities of her comrade, but even so it felt hard not to be targeted by this one. Even so, it seemed Columbina had not yet noticed her compatriot’s presence. “Arlekino~ Arlekino~” she continued, eyes held shut beneath her lace veil.
“You called, Mon Cher..” Arlecchino responds in her attempt at humour. She’s being trying to pick it up from Lyney, it is not going swimmingly.
“The Knave returns to us, I see.” Columbina says as she rises to her feet, taking Arlecchino’s darkened hand and holding it in both of hers. “You have missed much. But not as much as I have missed having someone else around who appreciates my genius.” Columbina rests her head against the Knave’s shoulder.
“I have missed you too.” Responds a hesitant Arlecchino, placing a hand gingerly on Columbina’s hair. “How have you been keeping? Well, I hope.” She continues with a shaky breath. The tightening pain in her chest not conducive to steady exhalation, nor steady footing, despite her resistance.
“Very well, though it has been exceedingly boring around here with barely anyone to talk to.” Columbina responds, happy to finally talk to someone who doesn’t treat her like a freak.
“I’m glad to hear you’re keeping well. Our number has been dropping as of late.” This was the impetus of the Knave’s worries, and now she has made her attempt at pleasantries, she intends to get right to discussing it.
“Indeed, the golden haired outlander has made quick work of us, except for you, of course.” This was meant to be flirtatious, at least to the Damselette. But it did little to ease the Knave’s mind. “Only two have bested her so far, yourself and the Balladeer.” She continued. Of course, Arlecchino knew there is no Balladeer, she assumed it was something personal to the Tsaritsa, and so never mentioned it.
“Yes. This is why I’m here.” Arlecchino attempts to head off further comments, but she isn’t fast enough.
“The Tsaritsa should commend you, after all the only other survivors are missing in action. Childe won’t write to us, and the Balladeer was erased. His branch snapped, perhaps that was the outlander’s vengeance. We should consider scouting her to fill some of our empty seats.”
“Dearest, may we speak somewhere more private? I have a matter that requires discussing with you.” Arlecchino disentangles herself from Columbina’s embrace, instead offering an arm.
“Ah, but of course. To perambulate and prophesy are my favourite activities to engage in with you. Perhaps you could enlighten me about this strange melody I have been hearing?” Columbina puts her arm in Arlecchino’s and walks with her, again nestling her cheek against the furred pauldrons of the Knave’s cloak.
“I fear I can’t answer your questions on that particular malady.”
“But it has your name on it, does it not?” Responds Columbina, certain she’s got the Knave cornered with that one.
“I’m not a songwriter, much less a singer. And how, pray tell, would I implant such a thing in the impenetrable trap that is your mind?” Arlecchino responds, a slight smile playing at her lips audible in her tone.
Columbina giggles in response, “Oh, ho. So after all this time away you return only to tease me? You wound me Monsieur!”.
“As if you desired anything less, Солнышко.”
The two share a polite laugh as they round the corner to somewhere more solitary. Only to be presented by the looming form of Regrator waiting in the adjacent corridor. “Ah, the Knave has returned. How was your voyage?” He said politely, extending a hand that Arlecchino notably refuses to take.
“It was fine. Now if you’ll excuse me I am otherwise engaged.” Arlecchino responds curtly, helpfully emphasised by Columbina sticking her tongue out.
“Tsk. Hardly befitting of your station, is it Peruere? Surely as the last surviving representative of Khaenria’ah on our council, you should hold a mote more decorum.”
“You will do well to know your place. I am the Fourth of the Harbingers for a reason.”.
“An inherited title will hardly earn you respect in a world where power holds the real cards. The Crimson Moon has set, and you are a relic of its past.”
“Our ranks are based on our strength. A fact I will gladly remind you of.” A crimson glint in Arlecchino’s cross shaped pupils summons a red string from above the ceiling, quickly fastening and tightening around Regrator’s neck. The woefully underprepared guards reach for their weapons as they notice a situation beginning to develop, all while Pantalone gasps and splutters as the string lifts him from the floor.
“I yield! I yield!” He gasps, hands flailing.
Arlecchino drops him to floor, stepping over him and motioning for the nearby guards to stand down. “Don’t forget your place again.“. It reminded her of dealing with her children, how it required a sternness of hand. Of course, she actually held a great deal of care for her children, not so for Pantalone.
“Forever the diplomat, my darling.” Columbina leads the Knave away from the collapsed and crumpled form of her challenger.
“He doesn’t deserve diplomacy.” Arlecchino sneers, looking back at Regrator with contempt.
“Quite right.” Columbina stuck her tongue out again at Pantalone, now prone on the ground attempting to catch his breath.
With the rounding of a corner and a slam on the door, Arlecchino is taken back a number of years. She’s not any younger, not in any grand way, but back then it felt a little less like the world was on her shoulders. Namely because she had a way of working out the tension. “Signora…” She gasps as teeth meet her neck and long manicured fingernails rake along her thighs in just the right place such that, even through the fine fabric of her trousers, it sets the nerves of her sensitive skin aflame with desire.
“My beloathed Arlecchino… how I have missed you.” Signora growls, hungrily stripping Arlecchino of her jacket, leaving her in a sleeveless waistcoat and a long necked black shirt.
Arlecchino plants her lips on Signora’s neck in turn graciously devouring, if only in essence, the soft, infuriatingly perfect skin of the woman before her. Her clawed hands making short work of tearing down the intricate dress Signora wore, as they had done in practiced motions many a time.
“Careful now, Peruere…” Signora teased, her whispers an infuriating, itching tendril of sweet sound, wrapping around Arlecchino’s ears. “…I wouldn’t want my pet to bite off more than she can chew.” She continues, roughly shoving Arlecchino to her knees. “Down girl.” She croons, placing her leg on top of Arlecchino’s shoulder and in an incredible feat of both flexibility and power pushing her down to her back. A stiletto to her neck, almost sharp as a spear, Arlecchino can only snarl and grimace. “Don’t tell me you missed me, Peruere? How unbecoming.” Rosalyne sucked her teeth, straddling the Knave’s waist.
With a grunt of effort and a flurry of strength, Arlecchino brings her lover to the floor. Yes… lover. She supposed now was the time to stop lying to herself. Not that she would say such a thing to Signora. “I have exchanged enough words with you, Rosalyne. Stop talking.” Demands Peruere, descending upon her lover once more.
With that pleasant memory fading before her outstretched claw, she turns back to the Damselette. “Back to the matter at hand.”
“Yes of course. I sensed it on you from the moment you walked in.” Columbina smirks, traipsing over to the desk in the room Arlecchino had led them into, hopping on top of it and perching at its edge.
“How? I… I was trained…” Begins the knave, only to be interrupted just as fast.
“Your training means precious little against my insights, dear. Not even Irminsul could compete against my mind.” Columbina outstretches a hand, beckoning the Knave close. And without a second thought, Arlecchino complies. “Even if I couldn’t sense it, I could intuit it.” Damselette drags Arlecchino’s head into her waiting lap, scratching her hair.
“And how is that?” Arlecchino’s voice was curt, but her cheeks nuzzled into the soft fabric of her friend’s dress.
“You left your children. Usually you bring at least one, but today you are alone.” Her deductive aptitude cut into Arlecchino like a knife, how in all the realms had she become so predictable? “Which means you feared for them. Either that they’d be in danger, or that they would see you… unfavourably.” Columbina holds Arlecchino’s cheeks. “I see it in your eyes, you know? You’re exhausted… scared…”.
“Nonsense… had I the capability to fear, I would not have been made a harbinger.”
“For a spymaster, you’re a terrible liar.” Columbina embraces her friend, Arlecchino’s cheeks making contact with the wolfskin rim of the Damselette’s cloak. “And besides. You took me into Signora’s office.”.
It was true, Arlecchino moved on instinct. Her overwhelming anger at Pantalone and her need for comfort from Columbina overtook her in much the same way Rosalyne had… when she still lived. And that swirling inferno led her right where it always did. Though now the office was coated in a thick layer of dust, and it was cold, so very cold.
—
She was snapped out of her tear filled rage by a heavy hand and a heavier cloak. “You’ll freeze out here…” A gravelly voice resounded in the frosty air, as a strong form and a familiar presence sat beside her.
“Leave me alone. I have no interest in speaking of that woman.” Arlecchino snapped, not shouting, just snapping.
“And neither do I. So we make perfect company.” Capitano fastened the cloak around Arlecchino, not wanting her to freeze first and foremost, but also for comfort.
“You’re…” Arlecchino at last turned towards the company she was rejecting.
“Don’t.” Capitano interrupted her. “It is better for both of us that we do not speak of it.”
“I understand, Captain.” Arlecchino murmurs, knees tucked up to her chest.
“You are to become one of us, just because I outrank you in our order doesn’t mean you need to refer to me by my old title.” He insisted, his breath not fogging against the air, for reasons Arlecchino could fathom, but didn’t dare think about.
“As if ‘Capitano’ is much different…” Arlecchino said with a sardonic tone.
“I suppose the Tsaritsa didn’t do me any favour there.” He says with what could be mistaken for the beginnings of a chuckle.
“Aren’t you cold?” Arlecchino insisted, moving to unclasp the cloak.
“No. And even if I were, I’d want you to have it. Consider it your welcome gift.” His hand left her shoulder, but he felt the young girl follow it for a moment before hesitating. “I’ll escort you back inside once you’ve gotten it out of your system…” He said, cramming more subtext in one sentence than Arlecchino previously thought possible.
After a long while in silence, with nothing but the roar of the wind and the cracking of the ice in the fjord, Arlecchino spoke up, her voice quiet “I hated her. I refuse to give my condolences.”.
“That’s your prerogative. I don’t blame you for that at all.” Capitano said reassuringly.
Arlecchino shuffled in place, and Capitano read her body language as best as he could, “If you need something, all you have to do is ask.” He assured the young woman.
“Can you… hold me?” Peruere asked. And Capitano complied. Placing his arm around her shoulders. “We never speak of this.” Arlecchino said snappily.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, my lady.”.
—
“I… I can’t…” Arlecchino despised her wretched, cursed body. How dare it show weakness, how dare it broadcast her failure.
“It’s okay, my darling. Let it out.” Columbina reassured, hands intertwined in Arlecchino’s hair.
“I can’t lose you too.” She looked up with anguish at the lace covered eyes of her companion.
“Come now, we both know the outlander is not that foolish. She lost to you once, and she had reinforcements. She won’t be any luckier next time.” Columbina smiled, trying to reassure her darling Knave.
“No… I don’t care about me. I can’t let her take you from me!” Arlecchino sobbed, grasping and clawing and desperate.
“She won’t, I promise.” Of course Damselette couldn’t promise that, not on any true grounds. But she knew what Arlecchino needed to hear.
“You… promise?” Arlecchino’s cross shaped eyes were begging for help, for love…
“Promise.” Said Damselette, they were spies, after all.
—
Columbina remembered a time when Arlecchino and Scaramouche met. They rarely spoke, namely because Scaramouche never spoke to anyone if he could help it. But Arlecchino’s eyes were filled with such pity for the boy, he hated that, of course.
“I don’t need your help, old hag. I am on the precipice of godhood!” He said, his hat pulled down over his eyes.
“I implore you, the traveller already bested Signora. I know you’re strong but…” Arlecchino began, trying to keep her paternal instincts in check.
“And I already beat heronce. She’s no match for me this time!” Scaramouche interrupts, in no mood to be talked out of his aspirations.
“Just allow me to send over some agents, if not for your protection, then just for monitoring...” She bargains desperately.
“I’m not joining your nursery, I don’t need your bodyguards.” The boy’s contempt for his fellow harbinger beginning to rear its head.
“I know you won’t come around on joining the House of the Hearth. But I’m just trying to protect you from your own hubris.” Arlecchino’s heels resound in sharp clicks as she approaches Scaramouche.
“And that’s your problem! You keep insisting on protecting me. I’m not “lesser” than you because I was built to look like a young boy. I am the creation of an Archon, the product of gods! And now I am going to outclass them.” He paced towards the other Harbinger with an accusatory gesture before thinking better of it and turning on his heel. “I am not a puppet anymore, I’m not a child, and I am not going to let you coddle me because of your mommy issues!” He spat, storming off towards the exit.
“It’s not you I don’t trust, Balladeer. It’s Dotorre. He’s using you. He’ll discard you the moment he realises you’re not of use to him.” Of course, her words are true, but the balladeer would never accept them.
“He’s the only one of you that understands my potential!” Of course he is wrong, but he doesn’t comprehend that. Maybe Wanderer will, one day, but Balladeer does not.
“You’re an experiment to him, nothing more! And if you fail he won’t hesitate to scrap you, like he has thousands of times before.” She snaps, she hated raising her voice like this but she was running out of patience. He was more like her children than either of them dared admit.
Without another word, he leaves, and Arlecchino is left worrying for another child she cannot save. Mercifully, this one she would forget, one less ghost to follow her around.