[Gift] The 11th Hour | Cupid

A statuesque figure stood in the Grimshaw mansion, ebony and ivory-feathered, crowned and dusted under her wings with a dusty orange and striped with black and blood red.

A velvet hood covered her eyes, and yet Iris saw.

Iris saw more than the mansion, standing proud in Shar. She saw beyond the greenhouse and its luscious gardens, beyond the stables, the trophy room, every grisly reminder her rider kept, victory over those who had wronged him.

Iris saw into each and every beating, bleeding heart.

And knew treachery was afoot.

She could have told Magnus. He would have wanted her to, and then it would be over. His fury would be vast; his justice swift. The fumbling spies would either meet a grisly end with a merciless vengeance, or Magnus, in one of his more mercurial moods, might set them free and use his power and influence to whittle down their existence to something pointless and miserable.

They would have deserved it for being so clumsy as to get caught.

Iris was not, herself, merciful.

But she saw every beating, bleeding heart, and saw how theirs danced.

They were: a gardener, a flightless T’terré who carried the tragedy of it just under her ribs, and an Abrendese maid, a former noble from a fallen house.

They were: quiet walks after chores, moments of mutual care, someone so very common rising to surpass someone who thought themself extraordinary.

They were: desperate whispers, copied letters, overheard conversations, information trickling to the Erré Coalition.

She would give them one chance.

As the maid left to take her midday meal, Iris followed into the sweltering heat of a greenhouse, the red of their hearts under the tread of her feet. She found them tucked into an arbor, exotic flowers blooming in the shade of a willow, casting bioluminescent glows on skin and feather as the two spoke in hushed voices, stealing time that was not theirs to take.

It was already borrowed against what Magnus would have given them.

“You must leave.”

The maid lifted her head, pale skin flushed as she smoothed out her skirts and stood quickly. “Madam Iris! My deepest and most sincere apologies. I’ll be returning to the house in a matter of moments—”

“Madam. You must both quit this house, though not at the same time.” Iris beheld them coolly as both women began to reply. “Magnus does not yet know about the Coalition. This is your only warning.”

Silence, save for the howling winter wind beyond the glass walls.

Then, the gardener, “But we— we’re trying to save people. We’re trying to stop the encroaching Militia.”

“Do you think the Master would be this kind?” Iris asked, arch.

The maid clutched the gardener’s wing. “You’ve betrayed him too. Wh— What do you want from us?”

“Leave. One at a time. The first in the next several days, then the second shall quit in some more months lest he draw a line between you. Until then, no more information passes from this house to anyone not meant to have it.”

“How can we trust you?” the gardener asked.

“You can’t. But if we cannot agree, Magnus will be informed ere he returns.”

“Why help us?” asked the other.

“Blind sentiment.” Iris spread her tattered wings, an imposing silhouette spilling across the ground, swallowing the light cast by the sun outside. “This is my only offer. You will not get a better one.”

Then, she turned to leave. “I expect to hear your answer by the time you return from your meal.”

One heart thundered as feet pounded along the ground, and the other broke. With a flash of her beak, Iris quelled the fledgling rebellion.

The only sounds were the distant howling of the winter wind and the wailing gardener, bent over the body of her beloved.

Iris took aim.