League of Legends: Short Stories

The Weakest Heart

"You should have killed her."

My brother settled two cubes of sugar neatly in a slotted spoon suspended on the fine lip of his teacup. His gleeful attention turned to the pouring of the tea. The wrinkles on his face pulled back into a smile and a delighted giggle escaped as he watched the shapes melt and fall into each other. Unable to flee, the last remnants of sweetness collapsed under the dark brew.

"Lady Sofia will not be a problem," I said.

Stevan batted a hand in the air, annoyed. "Today maybe, but tomorrow? Emotions fester if left unchecked, sister." He looked up at me, questioning. "Better to snuff the spark before it sets the house on fire, no?"

"I have spoken to the Arvino's principal intelligencer—"

"You intelligencers and your deals. I still say she betrayed her house and should pay for it with her life—"

"There may come a time for that," I said, softening my tone. "But I have made the agreement. Adalbert will see she stays out of trouble. She is his responsibility."

My part in the discussion was over. Stevan leaned back in his chair with a look of begrudging acceptance and picked at the blanket laid over his lap.

"That man could use another pair of eyes installed in his head," Stevan harrumphed quietly. In Stevan's view, it was never about the pursuit of a solution, just the end result. For my brother, the fixes I doled out could make many problems in Piltover disappear. Rarely did he consider the choices leading up to those decisions.

I held my cup in one hand and let the other drift absently to my hip, taking comfort in the grapple line spooled there. Stevan was partially right. End results were nice, but I much preferred the chase.

I watched Stevan through the steam of my drink. He pursed his lips as if deciding something. The pressure whitened the skin on his chin and highlighted the age spots that crept up past the silk wrapped around his neck.

"There is something else," I said.

"Am I that obvious, sister?"

I think he would have blushed if his weak pulse had allowed it. He smiled painfully instead and pulled a folded piece of paper and a beaded chaplet from a drawer in the desk between us. Stevan rolled his wheeled chair back, coughing with the effort. On the chair, he turned small levers, the modest effort driving little cogs that drove bigger cogs, until the clockwork mechanism pushed the wheels toward me, and him with it.

"Lady Arvino's short-lived engagement was not the only thing uncovered during this mess," he said. "This was found on one of the Baron's men during the clean up."

I set my cup down in its pale saucer and took the scrap of paper and chaplet he offered. I shifted the balance of the blades beneath me, and their sharpened points dug deeper into the rich carpet.

The edges of the note were charred, and a greenish hue wicked through the paper from the ragged singe. The chaplet had been well loved; the facets of the glass prayer stones were burnished and smooth.

"Camille."

My brother only said my name like that when he was serious. Or when he wanted something. I unfolded the note, a waft of Zaun's acrid unpleasantness rising with it. I took in the strong lines. The diagramming was neat and orderly, the flowing script precise. My eyes found the artificer's mark just as Stevan confirmed it.

"If Naderi has returned—"

"Hakim Naderi is gone." The words fell from my mouth, a reflex.

It had been more than just years since the crystallographer had served as lead artificer for our house, it had been a lifetime.