As of late, Zahra had been making progress with her alchemy lessons. Where sheâd been frequently burning things and putting the wrong ingredients in, sheâd begun remembering simple mixtures, proper temperatures, and grinding techniques. Grind too much and ruin the composition. Not enough and sheâd risk clumps, making a useless, weak concoction unfit for consumption. Fortunately, she hadnât poisoned herself. Despite Româs initial doubts that he could be of any use as a teacher, heâd proven himself wrong⊠at least in her eyes. His lessons were fairly simple, or else heâd figured out a way to explain complicated things in a way she could wrap her head around. All in all, she was pleased.
Like sheâd told him before, she wanted to branch out and rely less on him. Eventually to the point where she could procure her own ingredients, and craft whatever she wanted without fear of burning the Heraldâs Rest down. She wasnât there yet. It might take years, heâd said. Time, for once, wasnât an issue. Her contract would last as long as the Inquisition, and her friends, needed her. A personal contract, of sorts. Sheâd never made one of those before. Of course, she also didnât want to squander his own supplies or take up too much of his time, because he needed them too and was frequently training in his stalagmite-strewn hidey-hole. So, sheâd enlisted to ask some other people for aid.
Cyrus was first on that listâshe knew that he had tomes, stacks of books and probably a near-endless supply of whatever he wanted. A laboratory of his own. Asala frequented there, under his tutelage. She supposed alchemic things would be on that list as well. What he did with those things? She wasnât so sure. Did people only make specific potions or branch out? A useless question but one that stayed in her thoughts. She never thought to ask her mother before, because sheâd been born⊠plain. Boring. Without any abilities. Not the ones she was looking for, in any case. Sometimes, there were shades of memories that plagued her dreams. A younger version of herself perched at her doorway, peeping in. A bubbling pot. The sound of rock scraping against rock. Sweet smells, spicy herbs.
Like always, sheâd be shooed way.
Fortunately, Zahra had good timing. Cyrus wasnât busy and she was able to describe what she needed. He set away the appropriate items in a small wooden box. She was relieved that he had agreed to let her borrow a few things. With a promise that theyâd be back in the condition theyâd been originally. She smiled as she turned one of the glasses over in her hands. Thin-necked with wide bottoms. Others looked like globes, outfitted with necks that were as thin as flutes, âThanks again, Cy. He doesnât say it, but Iâm sure Rom could take a break from me.â
âAnd miss out on the pleasure of your company? I hardly think so." Cyrus smiled, though it was smaller than some she remembered, from before his poisoning. Still, he seemed to be in a good mood. âYou're going to need somewhere to set this up, I should say. I don't think the barkeep will be particularly pleased if there are smelly chemicals and such floating around the Herald's Rest." Deft fingers packed a few more glass tubes into the box, padding them each time with what looked like clean, but old, linen rags, so they wouldn't bump against each other.
âOur Spymaster has quite a large workshop, actually. I suspect that if you were to ask, he'd find a corner for you to set up in. Might be able to talk him out of some of his ingredients as well." Lifting the box and tucking it under an arm, he tilted his head at her. âI can introduce you, if you like?"
Zahra tipped her head back in a laugh. Sheâd always been good at noticing the little things. Cyrusâs smile was one of them. How it didnât quite tip up the same way she remembered. Even so, he was stronger than both of them knew, that much she understood. Especially if he was like Stel. Those two, together. Who would stand a chance? Sheâd often wished that her relationship with her siblings had been so strong. Had been the same. She planted her hands on her hips and watched as he padded the glass tubes, quirking her head to the side.
âYou think he would?â She made a humming noise and rocked back on his heels, scratching at her chin, âYou know, I donât think Iâve spoken two words to him. Wouldnât he think it odd if I imposed? Pleasurable as my company and wit are.â A beat passed between them before the smile tittered its way back on her lips, âBut yes, Iâd love an introduction and a chance.â Cyrus was right about not having any place to practice.
Who knew? Maybe the Spymaster wouldnât mind.
âWon't know until we try." He shrugged, then led the way out of his workshop, holding the door for her with his free hand. For a while, the walk was silent, comfortably so, even. But as they passed over the wall between Cyrus's and Leon's towers, he seemed to grow increasingly thoughtful, a look crossing his face almost like uncertainty.
It took him until they were descending the stone stairs to ground level to spit it out. âAre you... all right, Zahra?" He always called her that, when he wasn't calling her captain. He hadn't quite adopted the nickname everyone else used for her, it seemed. âIt's not any of my business, unless you'd like to make it that way, but... you were a bit more..." He grimaced, shifting the burden he carried. He couldn't have looked more uncomfortable if he'd tried, probably, but he pressed on. âAffected. Than I'd have initially guessed. In the Fade, and then with that Loneliness demon. Everyone seems to go to you forâ"
Cyrus clicked his tongue against his teeth. âYou support everyone. Myself included. All I mean to say is that... if you need any of that yourself, well. I'm here. My ears work. Never been much good at advice, or at sympathy, but I could try. You already know I'm hardly in a position to judge anyone for anything."
A smile, and a nod, and Zahra was following him into the hallway. Of course, she didnât know that the Spymasterâwhose name eluded her as of yetâwould outright reject her. Maybe he had plenty of room wherever he was situated. Wee birds chirped that heâd taken residence in Skyholdâs rookery. She supposed it only made sense, since heâd be tasked with sending letters everywhere. She wondered what kind of man he was. If Stel was anything to go by, he had to be a wonderful teacher.
Her thoughts only rattled away when she noted the look on Cyrusâs face. A quick glimpse. If his eyebrows could furrow anymore, she swore theyâd stick that way. At first she wondered if he was drawn to some other deep thought. A worry, perhaps? Something different than the wooden crate he carried in his arms or convincing the Spymaster to clear off a working space for her. She steepled her fingers behind her back as she walked and was just about to open her mouth to speak before he beat her to it.
The question was peculiar in nature. Mostly because she wasnât sure where it was coming fromânot until she did. Her fingers twined together, loosened and finally fell away to her sides. This clearly wasnât something he often did. Neither did she, she supposed. She didnât feel nearly as uncomfortable as Cyrus looked in that moment. She doubted anyone could. In any other situation, she might have laughed. But she didnât. Instead, she let out a soft, billowed breath and focused her attention on the end of the hallway they walked down, âIâm fine.â
That wasnât right. Not really. She matched his pace, walking alongside him. Other than Aslan, she hadnât really heard anyone say anything like this. Heâd been a silent companion weathering her complaints and her cries. âEveryone has problems. Especially here. I do, too. I just havenât dealt with them properly. Not like the others.â That much was true. Sheâd seen everyone else make so much progress in their pasts and presents, and while sheâd made some steps⊠it wasnât enough to stifle her nightmares or ward away those pesky enemies, skulking in the Fade. âI didnât deal with mine at all, Cy. Because I was a coward.â
She wasnât sure if that still stood. Being a coward.
Still. It felt nice hearing that sheâd been useful for something other than her ship. Her bow. Her crew. Sheâd never thought that her words meant much. Maybe she was just blowing smoke, or offering an ear, as he put it. It felt good. None of her problems could be solved here, even if talking about them might do her some good. She understood that well enough. Her issues were miles away, and she was afraid. Afraid of what might happen if she pursued them. âI have⊠a lot of nightmares,â she pushed her hair behind her ears, âsimilar to what youâve seen. And heard. I wish theyâd stop.â
He looked at the ground as they walked, allowing a second silence to settle over them like a fog cloud. Or maybe he wasn't letting it, but had no choice. Didn't know what to say to throw it off. âI wish I'd known." The words, when they eventually came, were soft. Heavy. âI could have helped, back then. I wish I'd asked." He'd never explained the particulars of his former magic to her, but it hadn't been difficult to glean that it was something different from the standard fare. He'd been able to guide them all into that garden in the Fade, after all.
âYour family... arranged a marriage for you, then? To a man from the Imperium?" It was an invitation more than a question. To elaborate. The peculiar gentleness of it could only mean she was quite free to decline.
Zahra hadnât meant to dredge any of that back up, though she had. She glanced over in his direction and followed his gaze to the ground. Sheâd never profess to understanding what that kind of loss felt like. She pursed her lips and bumped her shoulder into his. Softly. âYou wouldâve ran out screaming in those dreams. My monstrous mother.â It was meant as a little joke, mostly at her expense. A glimpse of levity to the situation. Something to chase the heavy cloud away. If only a little. Besides, she hadnât asked him to either.
She scratched at her chin and focused on stepping on the cracks of the cobblestone floor, âFaraji Imamu Contee. Magisterâs son. Quite a catch from the Imperium, I was told. Especially for a lonely, stupid fisherman girl.â The last bit was said ironically. She didnât believe that. Not quite. Or else she wouldnât have escaped on that boat so long ago. âItâs common in Rivain. Pairing your children off to support the entire family. My mother arranged it herself.â
There was a pause as she skirted around a crack and planted her feet at a threshold, âShe's a hedge witch. Someone gifted with spirits. Like Asala. My sisters, too. But not me.â
He clearly considered that a moment. Then a sigh passed from his nose. âMy entire family's magical. Always have been. I used to be terrified that I wouldn't be. I thought that if only I could... make myself do it, find the magic and use it, they'd..." His mouth pulled to the side, snow crunching steadily under his boots. They'd moved outside and now crossed the central bailey. âThey'd want me. Us. Love us, accept us, take us back, I don't know. Our grandparents were alive when our mother died, and sent us to an orphanage anyway." She could see his throat work as he swallowed.
âIt got me out, when I used magic the first time. But that was all. None of the other things I'd wantedânot even close." His eyes closed briefly before the striking blue of his irises reappeared. âApprenticeships aren't too different from marriage alliances, in the Imperium. I was given to a more powerful house to be raised by strangers." He didn't say anything else. Didn't attempt to say their experiences were equivalent, or to draw any parallels. He didn't even tell her how the arrangement had been for him, but it wasn't that hard to guess. He'd already revealed much, several months ago now, and his master was still sitting in Skyhold's dungeon.
âI'm sorry. That that happened to you."
Not sodifferent and entirely different at the same time. How people lived. How many problems people had in the Inquisition. A proper mess, they were. It was a wonder how anyone functioned in the place, her included. Though sheâd long accepted that there were issues she couldnât or wouldnât sort through. Zahra had been lucky enough to escape the Imperium. It hadnât been all that better back at home, but at least sheâd had a chance to run away. She supposed she was loved. In a way. At least, she hadnât been sent away. Not yet. She hadnât given them a chance. Her father had been useless; but her brothers, sheâd loved them to no end.
To have no one. No one besides your sibling in an unfamiliar place with no stranger to rescue you was⊠unbelievable. Her circumstance wasnât desirable, but thereâd been an out. People like Cy and Stelâthey didnât deserve the cards theyâd been dealt. Not in the slightest. To expect something so badly and have it fail. Horrific. Sheâd once thought that having magical abilities would have saved her from everything sheâd had to face. An unwanted marriage. A miserable relationship with her parents. Her motherâs love. Her acknowledgment. It never worked out that way. In both cases.
Zahra studied his face until he opened his eyes. Only then did she shift her attention towards the direction he was leading them in. She focused on the snow crunching beneath their feet and the gentle sway of glass tubes. âMe too.â For what happened to him all those years ago. It wasnât something that would fade, not entirely. The wind nipped at their faces and plumes of white puffed from their lips. âFor what itâs worth, Iâm glad you escaped. However long it took. With Stel. Feels like a victory when good things happen to good people.â
She certainly thought Cy was a good person.
The hesitance on his face suggested he didn't quite agree, but he didn't argue, either. Perhaps that was something. Instead, he tilted his chin, indicating the tower beginning to loom in front of them. âThis is him. Here."
They entered through a door on ground level, which put them into what looked like a practice space. Grainy dirt, almost sand, had been spread in a thick layer over the floor, churned, it seemed, by many pairs of feet. Racks of practice weapons clustered at one end: light swords, two-handers, even a few very large, blunt axes on poles, like the ones Ves used. Knives, too, from the look of them, all made of wood or dully-glinting metal. There were dummies, as well as more exotic devices the use of which was hard to guess at while they were in pieces. But Cyrus didn't linger, instead taking them up the staircase. The second floor looked to be a residence, though the door at the end of the hall was firmly closed.
The third floor proved to have what they wanted. The rookery was probably one floor above still, but here the door was open, and peering inside granted quite the peculiar view. Several workbenches fit in the space, which was an undivided whole. There were quite a lot of books on the shelves, but more than of them were devoted to neat, tidy storage containers, wood or varying metals, all organized and labeled in perhaps the neatest handwriting imaginable. Still further ones had glass bottles, vials, and flasks, their contents labeled on the shelves themselves rather than just the bottles.
Near the center of the room, at one of the workbenches, a small cauldron bubbled over an inset plate, which was the cherry-red of hot iron. Enchanted to heat things, maybe. Behind it stood a very peculiar-looking elf. His hair was his most immediately-obvious feature: white as the snow outside, just long enough to brush his nape. Then he looked up, and his eyes were... a very peculiar shade of citrine-orange. The ruddy sunburst brand on his forehead and the obvious elegance of his dark blue tunic, embroidered in gold, only served to pile on the oddity, really.
He spoke as flatly as the brand suggested. âCyrus. You have brought Captain Zahra to my workshop. Why?" There didn't seem to be any displeasure or chastisement in his tone. In fact... there didn't seem to be anything at all.
âRilien, Zahra. Zahra, Rilien. I'll let her speak for herself as to why she's here, of course."
âJust Zahra, please.â
Captain Zahra sounded as peculiar as the Spymaster, Rilien, appeared to be. Or perhaps, heâd just made it sound that way. Sheâd never met a Tranquil before and seemed perplexed by the sunburst brand on his forehead. She did try not to study it too closely. Even so, she had the sense that she was being stared straight through. As if her intentions were being laid bare, and she wouldnât need to utter a word. That, however, wasnât the case.
She, too, tried not to distract herself on all the goings-on of the laboratory. Workbenches, odd tubes and slender vials with varying colors of liquid. Cauldrons pushed off to the side, just like her mother's. There was a lot to take in. Though she did prefer Rilien being here, not quite shooing her away yet. She wasnât sure how he would have reacted if sheâd wandered here on her ownâperhaps not so kindly. So far, so good. âI was wondering if I could borrow a little piece of this room. A corner, maybe. For alchemic purposes.â She paused and hooked a thumb towards Cyrus, âI was informed that the Heraldâs Rest might not be so accommodating if I brewed potions in their midst. Something about the smell.â
There was a moment of silence, before she rocked back on her heels, âI was also wondering if I could procure some of your ingredients.â A nervous titter sounded. She could hardly blame herself when she was asking for this much from someone she hardly knew. He didnât seem all that bothered by it. By them traipsing in here with a bundle full of tubes. Expectant. Already asking for favors. Even if it was because of the Tranquillity, it put her at ease.
He considered that for a moment, blinking languidly at her, then dipped his chin. âVery well. There is an empty workbench to your left. The other belongs to SennesĂa, and this one is mine. As long as you do not interfere with our spaces, you may use the other as you like."
Rilien paused a moment while Cyrus set the box he carried down on the indicated table. âAlso, I can provide you with some of the common reagents you will need for alchemy at the entry level. As you progress, we can negotiate rarer acquisitions, as my supplies are not infinite." How he knew what level her alchemy was at, or what she'd need, was hard to say, but he seemed entirely certain about it.
Zahra made a noise of excitement and pumped her hand in the air. Her grin had already begun wobbling its way across her face, all signs of nervousness fleeing at the sign of victory. While she hadnât doubted Cyâs influence on the Spymaster, she certainly hadnât known him well enough to expect that heâd simply give her a space to work in. That he had had been a relief. She nearly bounded over to him, though she stopped and thought better of it, âYou wonât regret it.â
She wheeled around and hopped towards her workspace, where Cyrus was depositing her box of goodies. That Rilien would agree to all terms with nothing in return did confuse her. At least at first. Sheâd been slowly coming to terms that people in the Inquisition did just thatâgave with no intention of asking for something in return. Strange. Before Cy had the chance to make his exit, she snatched up his elbow and rounded up on him, eyes dancing, âThanks again.â
Relying on others wasnât so bad after all.
Like sheâd told him before, she wanted to branch out and rely less on him. Eventually to the point where she could procure her own ingredients, and craft whatever she wanted without fear of burning the Heraldâs Rest down. She wasnât there yet. It might take years, heâd said. Time, for once, wasnât an issue. Her contract would last as long as the Inquisition, and her friends, needed her. A personal contract, of sorts. Sheâd never made one of those before. Of course, she also didnât want to squander his own supplies or take up too much of his time, because he needed them too and was frequently training in his stalagmite-strewn hidey-hole. So, sheâd enlisted to ask some other people for aid.
Cyrus was first on that listâshe knew that he had tomes, stacks of books and probably a near-endless supply of whatever he wanted. A laboratory of his own. Asala frequented there, under his tutelage. She supposed alchemic things would be on that list as well. What he did with those things? She wasnât so sure. Did people only make specific potions or branch out? A useless question but one that stayed in her thoughts. She never thought to ask her mother before, because sheâd been born⊠plain. Boring. Without any abilities. Not the ones she was looking for, in any case. Sometimes, there were shades of memories that plagued her dreams. A younger version of herself perched at her doorway, peeping in. A bubbling pot. The sound of rock scraping against rock. Sweet smells, spicy herbs.
Like always, sheâd be shooed way.
Fortunately, Zahra had good timing. Cyrus wasnât busy and she was able to describe what she needed. He set away the appropriate items in a small wooden box. She was relieved that he had agreed to let her borrow a few things. With a promise that theyâd be back in the condition theyâd been originally. She smiled as she turned one of the glasses over in her hands. Thin-necked with wide bottoms. Others looked like globes, outfitted with necks that were as thin as flutes, âThanks again, Cy. He doesnât say it, but Iâm sure Rom could take a break from me.â
âAnd miss out on the pleasure of your company? I hardly think so." Cyrus smiled, though it was smaller than some she remembered, from before his poisoning. Still, he seemed to be in a good mood. âYou're going to need somewhere to set this up, I should say. I don't think the barkeep will be particularly pleased if there are smelly chemicals and such floating around the Herald's Rest." Deft fingers packed a few more glass tubes into the box, padding them each time with what looked like clean, but old, linen rags, so they wouldn't bump against each other.
âOur Spymaster has quite a large workshop, actually. I suspect that if you were to ask, he'd find a corner for you to set up in. Might be able to talk him out of some of his ingredients as well." Lifting the box and tucking it under an arm, he tilted his head at her. âI can introduce you, if you like?"
Zahra tipped her head back in a laugh. Sheâd always been good at noticing the little things. Cyrusâs smile was one of them. How it didnât quite tip up the same way she remembered. Even so, he was stronger than both of them knew, that much she understood. Especially if he was like Stel. Those two, together. Who would stand a chance? Sheâd often wished that her relationship with her siblings had been so strong. Had been the same. She planted her hands on her hips and watched as he padded the glass tubes, quirking her head to the side.
âYou think he would?â She made a humming noise and rocked back on his heels, scratching at her chin, âYou know, I donât think Iâve spoken two words to him. Wouldnât he think it odd if I imposed? Pleasurable as my company and wit are.â A beat passed between them before the smile tittered its way back on her lips, âBut yes, Iâd love an introduction and a chance.â Cyrus was right about not having any place to practice.
Who knew? Maybe the Spymaster wouldnât mind.
âWon't know until we try." He shrugged, then led the way out of his workshop, holding the door for her with his free hand. For a while, the walk was silent, comfortably so, even. But as they passed over the wall between Cyrus's and Leon's towers, he seemed to grow increasingly thoughtful, a look crossing his face almost like uncertainty.
It took him until they were descending the stone stairs to ground level to spit it out. âAre you... all right, Zahra?" He always called her that, when he wasn't calling her captain. He hadn't quite adopted the nickname everyone else used for her, it seemed. âIt's not any of my business, unless you'd like to make it that way, but... you were a bit more..." He grimaced, shifting the burden he carried. He couldn't have looked more uncomfortable if he'd tried, probably, but he pressed on. âAffected. Than I'd have initially guessed. In the Fade, and then with that Loneliness demon. Everyone seems to go to you forâ"
Cyrus clicked his tongue against his teeth. âYou support everyone. Myself included. All I mean to say is that... if you need any of that yourself, well. I'm here. My ears work. Never been much good at advice, or at sympathy, but I could try. You already know I'm hardly in a position to judge anyone for anything."
A smile, and a nod, and Zahra was following him into the hallway. Of course, she didnât know that the Spymasterâwhose name eluded her as of yetâwould outright reject her. Maybe he had plenty of room wherever he was situated. Wee birds chirped that heâd taken residence in Skyholdâs rookery. She supposed it only made sense, since heâd be tasked with sending letters everywhere. She wondered what kind of man he was. If Stel was anything to go by, he had to be a wonderful teacher.
Her thoughts only rattled away when she noted the look on Cyrusâs face. A quick glimpse. If his eyebrows could furrow anymore, she swore theyâd stick that way. At first she wondered if he was drawn to some other deep thought. A worry, perhaps? Something different than the wooden crate he carried in his arms or convincing the Spymaster to clear off a working space for her. She steepled her fingers behind her back as she walked and was just about to open her mouth to speak before he beat her to it.
The question was peculiar in nature. Mostly because she wasnât sure where it was coming fromânot until she did. Her fingers twined together, loosened and finally fell away to her sides. This clearly wasnât something he often did. Neither did she, she supposed. She didnât feel nearly as uncomfortable as Cyrus looked in that moment. She doubted anyone could. In any other situation, she might have laughed. But she didnât. Instead, she let out a soft, billowed breath and focused her attention on the end of the hallway they walked down, âIâm fine.â
That wasnât right. Not really. She matched his pace, walking alongside him. Other than Aslan, she hadnât really heard anyone say anything like this. Heâd been a silent companion weathering her complaints and her cries. âEveryone has problems. Especially here. I do, too. I just havenât dealt with them properly. Not like the others.â That much was true. Sheâd seen everyone else make so much progress in their pasts and presents, and while sheâd made some steps⊠it wasnât enough to stifle her nightmares or ward away those pesky enemies, skulking in the Fade. âI didnât deal with mine at all, Cy. Because I was a coward.â
She wasnât sure if that still stood. Being a coward.
Still. It felt nice hearing that sheâd been useful for something other than her ship. Her bow. Her crew. Sheâd never thought that her words meant much. Maybe she was just blowing smoke, or offering an ear, as he put it. It felt good. None of her problems could be solved here, even if talking about them might do her some good. She understood that well enough. Her issues were miles away, and she was afraid. Afraid of what might happen if she pursued them. âI have⊠a lot of nightmares,â she pushed her hair behind her ears, âsimilar to what youâve seen. And heard. I wish theyâd stop.â
He looked at the ground as they walked, allowing a second silence to settle over them like a fog cloud. Or maybe he wasn't letting it, but had no choice. Didn't know what to say to throw it off. âI wish I'd known." The words, when they eventually came, were soft. Heavy. âI could have helped, back then. I wish I'd asked." He'd never explained the particulars of his former magic to her, but it hadn't been difficult to glean that it was something different from the standard fare. He'd been able to guide them all into that garden in the Fade, after all.
âYour family... arranged a marriage for you, then? To a man from the Imperium?" It was an invitation more than a question. To elaborate. The peculiar gentleness of it could only mean she was quite free to decline.
Zahra hadnât meant to dredge any of that back up, though she had. She glanced over in his direction and followed his gaze to the ground. Sheâd never profess to understanding what that kind of loss felt like. She pursed her lips and bumped her shoulder into his. Softly. âYou wouldâve ran out screaming in those dreams. My monstrous mother.â It was meant as a little joke, mostly at her expense. A glimpse of levity to the situation. Something to chase the heavy cloud away. If only a little. Besides, she hadnât asked him to either.
She scratched at her chin and focused on stepping on the cracks of the cobblestone floor, âFaraji Imamu Contee. Magisterâs son. Quite a catch from the Imperium, I was told. Especially for a lonely, stupid fisherman girl.â The last bit was said ironically. She didnât believe that. Not quite. Or else she wouldnât have escaped on that boat so long ago. âItâs common in Rivain. Pairing your children off to support the entire family. My mother arranged it herself.â
There was a pause as she skirted around a crack and planted her feet at a threshold, âShe's a hedge witch. Someone gifted with spirits. Like Asala. My sisters, too. But not me.â
He clearly considered that a moment. Then a sigh passed from his nose. âMy entire family's magical. Always have been. I used to be terrified that I wouldn't be. I thought that if only I could... make myself do it, find the magic and use it, they'd..." His mouth pulled to the side, snow crunching steadily under his boots. They'd moved outside and now crossed the central bailey. âThey'd want me. Us. Love us, accept us, take us back, I don't know. Our grandparents were alive when our mother died, and sent us to an orphanage anyway." She could see his throat work as he swallowed.
âIt got me out, when I used magic the first time. But that was all. None of the other things I'd wantedânot even close." His eyes closed briefly before the striking blue of his irises reappeared. âApprenticeships aren't too different from marriage alliances, in the Imperium. I was given to a more powerful house to be raised by strangers." He didn't say anything else. Didn't attempt to say their experiences were equivalent, or to draw any parallels. He didn't even tell her how the arrangement had been for him, but it wasn't that hard to guess. He'd already revealed much, several months ago now, and his master was still sitting in Skyhold's dungeon.
âI'm sorry. That that happened to you."
Not sodifferent and entirely different at the same time. How people lived. How many problems people had in the Inquisition. A proper mess, they were. It was a wonder how anyone functioned in the place, her included. Though sheâd long accepted that there were issues she couldnât or wouldnât sort through. Zahra had been lucky enough to escape the Imperium. It hadnât been all that better back at home, but at least sheâd had a chance to run away. She supposed she was loved. In a way. At least, she hadnât been sent away. Not yet. She hadnât given them a chance. Her father had been useless; but her brothers, sheâd loved them to no end.
To have no one. No one besides your sibling in an unfamiliar place with no stranger to rescue you was⊠unbelievable. Her circumstance wasnât desirable, but thereâd been an out. People like Cy and Stelâthey didnât deserve the cards theyâd been dealt. Not in the slightest. To expect something so badly and have it fail. Horrific. Sheâd once thought that having magical abilities would have saved her from everything sheâd had to face. An unwanted marriage. A miserable relationship with her parents. Her motherâs love. Her acknowledgment. It never worked out that way. In both cases.
Zahra studied his face until he opened his eyes. Only then did she shift her attention towards the direction he was leading them in. She focused on the snow crunching beneath their feet and the gentle sway of glass tubes. âMe too.â For what happened to him all those years ago. It wasnât something that would fade, not entirely. The wind nipped at their faces and plumes of white puffed from their lips. âFor what itâs worth, Iâm glad you escaped. However long it took. With Stel. Feels like a victory when good things happen to good people.â
She certainly thought Cy was a good person.
The hesitance on his face suggested he didn't quite agree, but he didn't argue, either. Perhaps that was something. Instead, he tilted his chin, indicating the tower beginning to loom in front of them. âThis is him. Here."
They entered through a door on ground level, which put them into what looked like a practice space. Grainy dirt, almost sand, had been spread in a thick layer over the floor, churned, it seemed, by many pairs of feet. Racks of practice weapons clustered at one end: light swords, two-handers, even a few very large, blunt axes on poles, like the ones Ves used. Knives, too, from the look of them, all made of wood or dully-glinting metal. There were dummies, as well as more exotic devices the use of which was hard to guess at while they were in pieces. But Cyrus didn't linger, instead taking them up the staircase. The second floor looked to be a residence, though the door at the end of the hall was firmly closed.
The third floor proved to have what they wanted. The rookery was probably one floor above still, but here the door was open, and peering inside granted quite the peculiar view. Several workbenches fit in the space, which was an undivided whole. There were quite a lot of books on the shelves, but more than of them were devoted to neat, tidy storage containers, wood or varying metals, all organized and labeled in perhaps the neatest handwriting imaginable. Still further ones had glass bottles, vials, and flasks, their contents labeled on the shelves themselves rather than just the bottles.
Near the center of the room, at one of the workbenches, a small cauldron bubbled over an inset plate, which was the cherry-red of hot iron. Enchanted to heat things, maybe. Behind it stood a very peculiar-looking elf. His hair was his most immediately-obvious feature: white as the snow outside, just long enough to brush his nape. Then he looked up, and his eyes were... a very peculiar shade of citrine-orange. The ruddy sunburst brand on his forehead and the obvious elegance of his dark blue tunic, embroidered in gold, only served to pile on the oddity, really.
He spoke as flatly as the brand suggested. âCyrus. You have brought Captain Zahra to my workshop. Why?" There didn't seem to be any displeasure or chastisement in his tone. In fact... there didn't seem to be anything at all.
âRilien, Zahra. Zahra, Rilien. I'll let her speak for herself as to why she's here, of course."
âJust Zahra, please.â
Captain Zahra sounded as peculiar as the Spymaster, Rilien, appeared to be. Or perhaps, heâd just made it sound that way. Sheâd never met a Tranquil before and seemed perplexed by the sunburst brand on his forehead. She did try not to study it too closely. Even so, she had the sense that she was being stared straight through. As if her intentions were being laid bare, and she wouldnât need to utter a word. That, however, wasnât the case.
She, too, tried not to distract herself on all the goings-on of the laboratory. Workbenches, odd tubes and slender vials with varying colors of liquid. Cauldrons pushed off to the side, just like her mother's. There was a lot to take in. Though she did prefer Rilien being here, not quite shooing her away yet. She wasnât sure how he would have reacted if sheâd wandered here on her ownâperhaps not so kindly. So far, so good. âI was wondering if I could borrow a little piece of this room. A corner, maybe. For alchemic purposes.â She paused and hooked a thumb towards Cyrus, âI was informed that the Heraldâs Rest might not be so accommodating if I brewed potions in their midst. Something about the smell.â
There was a moment of silence, before she rocked back on her heels, âI was also wondering if I could procure some of your ingredients.â A nervous titter sounded. She could hardly blame herself when she was asking for this much from someone she hardly knew. He didnât seem all that bothered by it. By them traipsing in here with a bundle full of tubes. Expectant. Already asking for favors. Even if it was because of the Tranquillity, it put her at ease.
He considered that for a moment, blinking languidly at her, then dipped his chin. âVery well. There is an empty workbench to your left. The other belongs to SennesĂa, and this one is mine. As long as you do not interfere with our spaces, you may use the other as you like."
Rilien paused a moment while Cyrus set the box he carried down on the indicated table. âAlso, I can provide you with some of the common reagents you will need for alchemy at the entry level. As you progress, we can negotiate rarer acquisitions, as my supplies are not infinite." How he knew what level her alchemy was at, or what she'd need, was hard to say, but he seemed entirely certain about it.
Zahra made a noise of excitement and pumped her hand in the air. Her grin had already begun wobbling its way across her face, all signs of nervousness fleeing at the sign of victory. While she hadnât doubted Cyâs influence on the Spymaster, she certainly hadnât known him well enough to expect that heâd simply give her a space to work in. That he had had been a relief. She nearly bounded over to him, though she stopped and thought better of it, âYou wonât regret it.â
She wheeled around and hopped towards her workspace, where Cyrus was depositing her box of goodies. That Rilien would agree to all terms with nothing in return did confuse her. At least at first. Sheâd been slowly coming to terms that people in the Inquisition did just thatâgave with no intention of asking for something in return. Strange. Before Cy had the chance to make his exit, she snatched up his elbow and rounded up on him, eyes dancing, âThanks again.â
Relying on others wasnât so bad after all.