On one particular night, Zahra had chosen to stay in the Drakon residence to spend time with the others. She had already familiarized herself with the residence and trekked out into Halamshiralâs streets. There was much to see. Much to discover. Whether it was in the winding streets outside, or through the many gardens encircled around the Quarter, there was no denying the appeal it had to the explorers in their midst. Halamshiral was alive, a thumping heartânot as bustling as the other cities, nor as packed Val Royeaux, but certainly Orlaisâ shining gem. Just as brilliant and lavish. Graceful, even.
Zahra had always liked Orlais. Every city teemed with life, intrigue and something else she couldnât quite put her finger on. Had she been born in such a place, she thought she would have lived much differently. Perhaps ended up elsewhere⊠sheâd thought about if before. A foolâs wish. One that belonged to a young fishermanâs daughter. It no longer swayed her. If sheâd been born anywhere else, she wouldnât have connected paths with Aslan. That would have been the greater tragedy. Still. It was nice to imagine. To think how it would have been running down the cobblestone streets with the sun beating against her back. Billowed, lace dresses. Manners. Masks. Naught a care in the world but womenâs gossip and societal collusions.
The end of the journey. Halamshiralâs literal translation. Curious as to its origin, sheâd asked Khari about it. Sheâd seen many elves on the way in. However, no alienage. It didnât exist here. Segregation was still apparent as there were two quarters. One for humans and another for the elves. Strange. Sheâd posed many questions if only to learn about the city. As well as coming up with any excuse to drum up a conversation with Lucien. She wished to learn about him as well. He was a renowned Chevalier. A knight. A gentleman of some stature. Certainly respected enough to warble Khari into fidgeting mess. Pirates were hardly savvy of such individuals, so it only piqued her interest further. Besides, there was no guarantee that she would ever return here, after all. Best to absorb whatever she could.
Sheâd managed to rope Leon, Cyrus and Lucien into a game of cards. With less grave consequences. Certainly no loss of clothes. Disappointing in a sense. One could learn many things about a person that way. They were armed with half-full cups. A few bottles sat next to them. Graciously brought up from Lucienâs own collection. Where some had already retreated to the southern wing to get some rest, theyâd settled themselves in one of the lounges closest to the front door.
The salon wasn't overly stuffy or formal, either. Like most of the rest of the house, it was... elegant, but in a simple sort of way, where quality stood in for gilt lavishness at just about every opportunity. The floor, some kind of warm, red-toned dark wood, was covered with plush rugs, mostly in what seemed to be the family's color scheme of green and silver. A fireplace was mounted on the far wall, precisely-cut grey marble stones fitted together almost seamlessly, with a wrought-iron grate in front. One entire wall was a bank of glass doors that opened onto an outdoor patio; the doors were cracked to let in the fresh air from outside, which occasionally stirred the light, silvery gossamer curtains.
Given the hour, most of the light was provided by the modest chandelier suspended over the very center of the room, kept alight in a pure, blue-white color by what had to be an enchantment rather than an actual flame. To one side was a spinet, unused for the moment; the wall opposite the balcony had laden bookshelves and a cabinet from whence their host had produced the deck of cards they played with.
Lucien wasn't a bad card player. Not so good as Estella, but roughly on a par with Leon at this particular game, anyway. They played arranged on the armchairs and couch settled comfortably around the fireplace; the upholstery was soft, dark green. Fustian velvet, comfortable and easy to recline against. The entire room seemed built for the ease of whoever occupied it, but then perhaps the wine was helping with that, too. From Lydes, where his real home was, Lucien had said, and left it at that.
"Settling in all right, I hope?" He asked of the group, making a small tsking sound and discarding his hand in favor of a new draw.
Cyrus sat beside Zahra on the sofa, leaving the chairs for the other two. He'd pulled one leg up under him, the other planted firmly on the floor, and slouched slightly into the back of the couch. He sat forward long enough to discard one and draw two, though. âHardly difficult, but yes. Thank you." He reached to the end table on his side of the sofa and picked up his wineglass, taking a liberal swallow before setting it back down. Though the mood was hardly raucous, it seemed to be doing him some good; he looked more sanguine than he had in a while, though he did occasionally shoot the spinet indecipherable glances.
Of course, he had the right of it. Who wouldnât enjoy the pampering of Lucienâs household? While only as temporary as their stay would be, she certainly planned to make the best of it. Skyhold had its own charm. Friendly faces, warm food and a stifling assemblage of an army that rubbed elbows together at nearly every meal. A family. After this was done, theyâd return home and greet the mountains; plan important things. Focus on saving the world. This wasnât a vacation but it was the closest thing sheâd felt to being one.
âI approve, on all counts,â she fanned the cards out in front of her face, leaning slightly back in her chair so that Cyrus couldnât peek at her cards. Not that he needed to. Even without a belly full of rye and an adorable kitten mewling in the background to distract her, she wasnât faring well. She didnât mind. Not really. Lucienâs reserve had warmed her nicely. Sheâd finished two glasses of it before trying to focus her efforts on gaining on them in this round, to no avail. âIâm glad you werenât as intimidating as Khari described. I half expected a giant the way she went on. Suppose you are quite tall.â
There was a twinkle in her eyes; amusement. Sheâd never heard such a sound come out of the wee lass at the sight of him. Sheâd definitely remember it for some time to come. A fond memory. She discarded a card and arched an eyebrow at Leon, grinning wide, âThough not quite as tall as our Commander.â
Leon rolled his eyes. "I am often reminded that I'm unfortunately-sized, yes." He didn't seem to much mind, though, from the slight smile on his face. After his turn, he reached into a pocket and extracted what looked like a pipe and something to put in it. "Do you mind if I smoke, Lucien?"
The Orlesian man raised his eyebrows for just a moment before shaking his head. "Not at all. I might join you, actually. I've got a few spares around somewhere. Zahra? Cyrus?" He laid his cards down on the table and stood, moving to the same cabinet as before and opening the left door of it.
âYes, please." Cyrus inclined his head before returning his focus to his cards.
A simpering smile replaced the grin as Leon produced a pipe. She, too, settled her cards down on the nearest table, and inclined her chin at him, âOh, please. Itâs been ages.â When in Halamshiral, do as they might do.
Nodding, Lucien reached into the cabinet, extracting the pipes and a small tin, along with what looked to be a short charcoal stick, probably for lighting. No sooner had he done so, however, than a quiet knock interrupted them.
"My lord?" The voice wasn't tentative, though its owner did sound slightly perplexed. "A letter was just delivered to the front door. It seems to be addressed to one of our guests."
Lucien blinked. "Come in, PĂ©pin."
The door opened, admitting a slightly-built elven teenager, his dark brows knit over his eyes. In his hand there was a parchment envelope, with some kind of seal on the back Zahra couldn't see from this distance. PĂ©pin didn't hesitate before approaching Lucien, making easy eye contact and speaking unhaltingly. "It's addressed to Captain Tavish, sir," he explained, glancing once at Zahra. "Whoever left it knocked until I came to answer, then ran for some reason. We should probably be careful with itâI didn't feel any powder grains inside, but..."
With a slight grimace, Lucien nodded. "I think it's probably all right, then, but we'll be cautious. Thank you."
The servant bobbed his head, taking the words as gentle dismissal, and handed the letter over before departing. Lucien brought it back to the table along with the other items, setting it down and sliding it over the table to Zahra.
"Do you recognize the writing, by chance?"
Upon closer inspection, the letter itself appeared to be composed of fine paper. Something not all that unusual in Halamshiral, Zahra was sure. Certainly not a fare she was used to seeing or using. Though it was slightly crumpled, as if it were left in a hurry. From a person whoâd run away. Not all that surprising. A wax seal was pressed in the middle. It bore a sigil she did not recognize. The front of a dragonâs face with a serpent wound around its neck, cresting just over the top of its head. Deep, royal purple in color. Nearly black.
It did, however, have her name scribbled in small, crushed lettering at the top right corner. As heâd noted. She had to squint at it just to be sure. There it was. Zahra. The writing itself appeared somewhat familiar. Though she wasnât sure if she were just imagining it. It could have been the wine, tricking her. âIâm⊠not sure.â Who would send her a letter here of all places? Who would know where to find her? There were too many questions here, and no answers she could make sense of. She may have been known in the Inquisition⊠though it was a stretch. One she did not like. It wasnât impossible. An old contractee?
She turned it over in her hands. Nothing else, save for the name and the seal. Powder grains? Had she been any less confused, she might have asked what kind of letters Lucien was used to receiving. A lump formed at her throat as she inspected it. There was a half-hope that the elven lad had been mistakenâmaybe it wasnât hers after all. She stared at her name, and set her jaw.
âSuppose weâll find out, wonât we? An admirer, perhaps.â Though sheâd tried to wrestle a smile back on her lips, she found herself unable to. She dug at the wax seal with her fingernail, until she could open the parchment and smooth it out over her lap. The writing was familiar. The name just on the tip of her tongue. Unreachable. There wasnât much there, to be honest. Hardly an entire paragraph. She wasnât sure why, but she was reading it aloud. Her voice sounded strange in her ears.
âI never thought Iâd hear your name again. Word travels far. Especially so here. When I heard you were with the Inquisition it gladdened my heart to know that you still lived. Years. Itâs been years. I do not know what possessed me to send this. I do not know if it will even reach you. Even so, I hope it does. So much has changed since youâve gone, and I havenât the time to write it all. I wonât waste this chance. You have to go home, Zahra. Father is there. Heâs the only one Faraji left behind. He will tell you all thatâs transpired. I implore you. With the Inquisition at your back, you can help us. Please. Please.â The lump threatened to strangle her as her eyes raked across the final letters. She stared at it. Hard. âMaleus.â
Her hands trembled. It didnât make any sense. They werenât there anymore? Where were they? What was he asking of her? âYes. Yes, I know this writing,â her voice sounded off. A strangerâs. Hitched. Crumpled like the parchment in her fist. âItâs my brother. I, I donât understand.â
Cyrus exhaled a cloud of pale smoke, removing the pipe from between his teeth and peering at the remains of the seal. His brows knit together, a deep crease appearing between them. âThe sigilâContee. Altus house. Magisters." He leveled a look at Zahra, the expressiveness of his eyes conveying what his tongue apparently would not. Perhaps because she'd told him in confidence. But the pieces were all there: Faraji Contee. Once negotiated with to be her husband. Now, it seemed, tangled up once again with her family.
Though they were assuredly not quite in the same loop, both Leon and Lucien seemed to have caught on to the fact that this was very poor news. "I've heard the name, once or twice," Lucien said slowly, leaning back into his chair a little and crossing one leg over his knee. "It's hard to filter past the rumors that usually surround the Imperium's nobility and the Magisterium, but... I recall it being unsavory even by those standards."
Leon looked quite troubled, but also thoughtful. "It sounds as though this man has made hostages of your family members. Or perhaps slaves of them, if there was no one to stop him." He grimaced. "Do you know him? Faraji? Have some clue why he'd do such a thing?"
Thoughts whirred through her head. Ones she could not easily banish. Contee. Cyrusâs eye was far more attuned to recognize such a seal. Even if sheâd seen it in passingâitâd been years ago. Not something she would remember. Certainly not something sheâd found all that important while dodging his presence. She bit her lip and smoothed her hand across the parchment paper once more, finally shuttering her eyes closed with a sigh.
âHe was my intended. My fiance. Ages ago. I thought he disappeared. I thought he⊠just went back to Tevinter after I left.â It was a foolish girlâs thought at the time, thinking that it would all simply vanish. As if it hadnât existed in the first place. Isnât that how things were? Sheâd never known anyone whoâd squirreled themselves out of an arranged marriage, but it seemed as if it were the case back then. Bride missing. Groom goes home. She pressed a hand to the side of her head and reopened her eyes, âI didnât honor that agreement. Obviously.â
Slaves. The word crushed her. How was that possible? Could someone be powerful enough to unroot an entire family? She knew the answer. Somehow, that made it worse. None of their reactions had done anything to soothe the doubt gnawing at the back of her mind. âI donât really know much about him,â she folded the parchment and set it back on the table. She didnât want to look at it anymore. âBut he didnât seem⊠capable of something like this.â
Cyrus frowned. âEasy as it is to think the worst of my countrymen, it might not be something quite that bad." Leon had only mentioned it as a possibility, and he seemed to agree that it was one. But then, it was one of quite a number, and perhaps it wasn't the one to fixate on at this stage. âIn any case... if your brother is in the city, perhaps our Spymaster can glean more, if not make some kind of contact." He polished off his glass of wine, still holding the pipe in his other hand.
âAnd we can look for the information you don't have in the meantime, surely. I don't know much, but I've always been very good at changing that when I want to. There's a Magister in Skyhold's dungeon who surely knows more." He paused, tilting his head at her. âWhat I mean to say is that you're not alone. There are steps to take. If you want... I could help you take them." There was no artifice to his wordsâif anything, he looked a bit surprised with himself.
Zahra rubbed at her chin to do something with her hands. They felt awkward folded in her lap. She wished to fill her cup once more, drown out the leering inclinations warbling in the back of her head. But he was right. There was no sense filling herself with dread with what could be happening when she didnât know all of the details. âI think I, Iâll take you up on that offer. Thank you.â She let out a breath and gave him a shaky smile, âBut Llomeryn is far away and thereâs no saying that the messenger was even Maleus himself. Weâll cross those bridges when weâre able.â
She was already scooping up her cards back into her hands. Less assured but wholly determined not to ruin the night any further. This was important as well. What they were doing here. The Inquisition. It may have been selfish but she wasnât even entirely sure how she felt. Sorting through those feelings, and deciding what was to be done, would come later. She set about lighting one of the extra pipes Lucien had lying around. âNow, where were we?â
Cyrus paused a moment longer, giving her a look that was clearly assessing. But his expression cleared a moment later, and he settled the pipe back between his teeth. âI believe I was about to beat a pirate, a prince, and a priest at cards. Well... Seeker. Not as pithy if I said that, though."
He reached to his hand, and tossed a matched pair face-up on the table.
Zahra had always liked Orlais. Every city teemed with life, intrigue and something else she couldnât quite put her finger on. Had she been born in such a place, she thought she would have lived much differently. Perhaps ended up elsewhere⊠sheâd thought about if before. A foolâs wish. One that belonged to a young fishermanâs daughter. It no longer swayed her. If sheâd been born anywhere else, she wouldnât have connected paths with Aslan. That would have been the greater tragedy. Still. It was nice to imagine. To think how it would have been running down the cobblestone streets with the sun beating against her back. Billowed, lace dresses. Manners. Masks. Naught a care in the world but womenâs gossip and societal collusions.
The end of the journey. Halamshiralâs literal translation. Curious as to its origin, sheâd asked Khari about it. Sheâd seen many elves on the way in. However, no alienage. It didnât exist here. Segregation was still apparent as there were two quarters. One for humans and another for the elves. Strange. Sheâd posed many questions if only to learn about the city. As well as coming up with any excuse to drum up a conversation with Lucien. She wished to learn about him as well. He was a renowned Chevalier. A knight. A gentleman of some stature. Certainly respected enough to warble Khari into fidgeting mess. Pirates were hardly savvy of such individuals, so it only piqued her interest further. Besides, there was no guarantee that she would ever return here, after all. Best to absorb whatever she could.
Sheâd managed to rope Leon, Cyrus and Lucien into a game of cards. With less grave consequences. Certainly no loss of clothes. Disappointing in a sense. One could learn many things about a person that way. They were armed with half-full cups. A few bottles sat next to them. Graciously brought up from Lucienâs own collection. Where some had already retreated to the southern wing to get some rest, theyâd settled themselves in one of the lounges closest to the front door.
The salon wasn't overly stuffy or formal, either. Like most of the rest of the house, it was... elegant, but in a simple sort of way, where quality stood in for gilt lavishness at just about every opportunity. The floor, some kind of warm, red-toned dark wood, was covered with plush rugs, mostly in what seemed to be the family's color scheme of green and silver. A fireplace was mounted on the far wall, precisely-cut grey marble stones fitted together almost seamlessly, with a wrought-iron grate in front. One entire wall was a bank of glass doors that opened onto an outdoor patio; the doors were cracked to let in the fresh air from outside, which occasionally stirred the light, silvery gossamer curtains.
Given the hour, most of the light was provided by the modest chandelier suspended over the very center of the room, kept alight in a pure, blue-white color by what had to be an enchantment rather than an actual flame. To one side was a spinet, unused for the moment; the wall opposite the balcony had laden bookshelves and a cabinet from whence their host had produced the deck of cards they played with.
Lucien wasn't a bad card player. Not so good as Estella, but roughly on a par with Leon at this particular game, anyway. They played arranged on the armchairs and couch settled comfortably around the fireplace; the upholstery was soft, dark green. Fustian velvet, comfortable and easy to recline against. The entire room seemed built for the ease of whoever occupied it, but then perhaps the wine was helping with that, too. From Lydes, where his real home was, Lucien had said, and left it at that.
"Settling in all right, I hope?" He asked of the group, making a small tsking sound and discarding his hand in favor of a new draw.
Cyrus sat beside Zahra on the sofa, leaving the chairs for the other two. He'd pulled one leg up under him, the other planted firmly on the floor, and slouched slightly into the back of the couch. He sat forward long enough to discard one and draw two, though. âHardly difficult, but yes. Thank you." He reached to the end table on his side of the sofa and picked up his wineglass, taking a liberal swallow before setting it back down. Though the mood was hardly raucous, it seemed to be doing him some good; he looked more sanguine than he had in a while, though he did occasionally shoot the spinet indecipherable glances.
Of course, he had the right of it. Who wouldnât enjoy the pampering of Lucienâs household? While only as temporary as their stay would be, she certainly planned to make the best of it. Skyhold had its own charm. Friendly faces, warm food and a stifling assemblage of an army that rubbed elbows together at nearly every meal. A family. After this was done, theyâd return home and greet the mountains; plan important things. Focus on saving the world. This wasnât a vacation but it was the closest thing sheâd felt to being one.
âI approve, on all counts,â she fanned the cards out in front of her face, leaning slightly back in her chair so that Cyrus couldnât peek at her cards. Not that he needed to. Even without a belly full of rye and an adorable kitten mewling in the background to distract her, she wasnât faring well. She didnât mind. Not really. Lucienâs reserve had warmed her nicely. Sheâd finished two glasses of it before trying to focus her efforts on gaining on them in this round, to no avail. âIâm glad you werenât as intimidating as Khari described. I half expected a giant the way she went on. Suppose you are quite tall.â
There was a twinkle in her eyes; amusement. Sheâd never heard such a sound come out of the wee lass at the sight of him. Sheâd definitely remember it for some time to come. A fond memory. She discarded a card and arched an eyebrow at Leon, grinning wide, âThough not quite as tall as our Commander.â
Leon rolled his eyes. "I am often reminded that I'm unfortunately-sized, yes." He didn't seem to much mind, though, from the slight smile on his face. After his turn, he reached into a pocket and extracted what looked like a pipe and something to put in it. "Do you mind if I smoke, Lucien?"
The Orlesian man raised his eyebrows for just a moment before shaking his head. "Not at all. I might join you, actually. I've got a few spares around somewhere. Zahra? Cyrus?" He laid his cards down on the table and stood, moving to the same cabinet as before and opening the left door of it.
âYes, please." Cyrus inclined his head before returning his focus to his cards.
A simpering smile replaced the grin as Leon produced a pipe. She, too, settled her cards down on the nearest table, and inclined her chin at him, âOh, please. Itâs been ages.â When in Halamshiral, do as they might do.
Nodding, Lucien reached into the cabinet, extracting the pipes and a small tin, along with what looked to be a short charcoal stick, probably for lighting. No sooner had he done so, however, than a quiet knock interrupted them.
"My lord?" The voice wasn't tentative, though its owner did sound slightly perplexed. "A letter was just delivered to the front door. It seems to be addressed to one of our guests."
Lucien blinked. "Come in, PĂ©pin."
The door opened, admitting a slightly-built elven teenager, his dark brows knit over his eyes. In his hand there was a parchment envelope, with some kind of seal on the back Zahra couldn't see from this distance. PĂ©pin didn't hesitate before approaching Lucien, making easy eye contact and speaking unhaltingly. "It's addressed to Captain Tavish, sir," he explained, glancing once at Zahra. "Whoever left it knocked until I came to answer, then ran for some reason. We should probably be careful with itâI didn't feel any powder grains inside, but..."
With a slight grimace, Lucien nodded. "I think it's probably all right, then, but we'll be cautious. Thank you."
The servant bobbed his head, taking the words as gentle dismissal, and handed the letter over before departing. Lucien brought it back to the table along with the other items, setting it down and sliding it over the table to Zahra.
"Do you recognize the writing, by chance?"
Upon closer inspection, the letter itself appeared to be composed of fine paper. Something not all that unusual in Halamshiral, Zahra was sure. Certainly not a fare she was used to seeing or using. Though it was slightly crumpled, as if it were left in a hurry. From a person whoâd run away. Not all that surprising. A wax seal was pressed in the middle. It bore a sigil she did not recognize. The front of a dragonâs face with a serpent wound around its neck, cresting just over the top of its head. Deep, royal purple in color. Nearly black.
It did, however, have her name scribbled in small, crushed lettering at the top right corner. As heâd noted. She had to squint at it just to be sure. There it was. Zahra. The writing itself appeared somewhat familiar. Though she wasnât sure if she were just imagining it. It could have been the wine, tricking her. âIâm⊠not sure.â Who would send her a letter here of all places? Who would know where to find her? There were too many questions here, and no answers she could make sense of. She may have been known in the Inquisition⊠though it was a stretch. One she did not like. It wasnât impossible. An old contractee?
She turned it over in her hands. Nothing else, save for the name and the seal. Powder grains? Had she been any less confused, she might have asked what kind of letters Lucien was used to receiving. A lump formed at her throat as she inspected it. There was a half-hope that the elven lad had been mistakenâmaybe it wasnât hers after all. She stared at her name, and set her jaw.
âSuppose weâll find out, wonât we? An admirer, perhaps.â Though sheâd tried to wrestle a smile back on her lips, she found herself unable to. She dug at the wax seal with her fingernail, until she could open the parchment and smooth it out over her lap. The writing was familiar. The name just on the tip of her tongue. Unreachable. There wasnât much there, to be honest. Hardly an entire paragraph. She wasnât sure why, but she was reading it aloud. Her voice sounded strange in her ears.
âI never thought Iâd hear your name again. Word travels far. Especially so here. When I heard you were with the Inquisition it gladdened my heart to know that you still lived. Years. Itâs been years. I do not know what possessed me to send this. I do not know if it will even reach you. Even so, I hope it does. So much has changed since youâve gone, and I havenât the time to write it all. I wonât waste this chance. You have to go home, Zahra. Father is there. Heâs the only one Faraji left behind. He will tell you all thatâs transpired. I implore you. With the Inquisition at your back, you can help us. Please. Please.â The lump threatened to strangle her as her eyes raked across the final letters. She stared at it. Hard. âMaleus.â
Her hands trembled. It didnât make any sense. They werenât there anymore? Where were they? What was he asking of her? âYes. Yes, I know this writing,â her voice sounded off. A strangerâs. Hitched. Crumpled like the parchment in her fist. âItâs my brother. I, I donât understand.â
Cyrus exhaled a cloud of pale smoke, removing the pipe from between his teeth and peering at the remains of the seal. His brows knit together, a deep crease appearing between them. âThe sigilâContee. Altus house. Magisters." He leveled a look at Zahra, the expressiveness of his eyes conveying what his tongue apparently would not. Perhaps because she'd told him in confidence. But the pieces were all there: Faraji Contee. Once negotiated with to be her husband. Now, it seemed, tangled up once again with her family.
Though they were assuredly not quite in the same loop, both Leon and Lucien seemed to have caught on to the fact that this was very poor news. "I've heard the name, once or twice," Lucien said slowly, leaning back into his chair a little and crossing one leg over his knee. "It's hard to filter past the rumors that usually surround the Imperium's nobility and the Magisterium, but... I recall it being unsavory even by those standards."
Leon looked quite troubled, but also thoughtful. "It sounds as though this man has made hostages of your family members. Or perhaps slaves of them, if there was no one to stop him." He grimaced. "Do you know him? Faraji? Have some clue why he'd do such a thing?"
Thoughts whirred through her head. Ones she could not easily banish. Contee. Cyrusâs eye was far more attuned to recognize such a seal. Even if sheâd seen it in passingâitâd been years ago. Not something she would remember. Certainly not something sheâd found all that important while dodging his presence. She bit her lip and smoothed her hand across the parchment paper once more, finally shuttering her eyes closed with a sigh.
âHe was my intended. My fiance. Ages ago. I thought he disappeared. I thought he⊠just went back to Tevinter after I left.â It was a foolish girlâs thought at the time, thinking that it would all simply vanish. As if it hadnât existed in the first place. Isnât that how things were? Sheâd never known anyone whoâd squirreled themselves out of an arranged marriage, but it seemed as if it were the case back then. Bride missing. Groom goes home. She pressed a hand to the side of her head and reopened her eyes, âI didnât honor that agreement. Obviously.â
Slaves. The word crushed her. How was that possible? Could someone be powerful enough to unroot an entire family? She knew the answer. Somehow, that made it worse. None of their reactions had done anything to soothe the doubt gnawing at the back of her mind. âI donât really know much about him,â she folded the parchment and set it back on the table. She didnât want to look at it anymore. âBut he didnât seem⊠capable of something like this.â
Cyrus frowned. âEasy as it is to think the worst of my countrymen, it might not be something quite that bad." Leon had only mentioned it as a possibility, and he seemed to agree that it was one. But then, it was one of quite a number, and perhaps it wasn't the one to fixate on at this stage. âIn any case... if your brother is in the city, perhaps our Spymaster can glean more, if not make some kind of contact." He polished off his glass of wine, still holding the pipe in his other hand.
âAnd we can look for the information you don't have in the meantime, surely. I don't know much, but I've always been very good at changing that when I want to. There's a Magister in Skyhold's dungeon who surely knows more." He paused, tilting his head at her. âWhat I mean to say is that you're not alone. There are steps to take. If you want... I could help you take them." There was no artifice to his wordsâif anything, he looked a bit surprised with himself.
Zahra rubbed at her chin to do something with her hands. They felt awkward folded in her lap. She wished to fill her cup once more, drown out the leering inclinations warbling in the back of her head. But he was right. There was no sense filling herself with dread with what could be happening when she didnât know all of the details. âI think I, Iâll take you up on that offer. Thank you.â She let out a breath and gave him a shaky smile, âBut Llomeryn is far away and thereâs no saying that the messenger was even Maleus himself. Weâll cross those bridges when weâre able.â
She was already scooping up her cards back into her hands. Less assured but wholly determined not to ruin the night any further. This was important as well. What they were doing here. The Inquisition. It may have been selfish but she wasnât even entirely sure how she felt. Sorting through those feelings, and deciding what was to be done, would come later. She set about lighting one of the extra pipes Lucien had lying around. âNow, where were we?â
Cyrus paused a moment longer, giving her a look that was clearly assessing. But his expression cleared a moment later, and he settled the pipe back between his teeth. âI believe I was about to beat a pirate, a prince, and a priest at cards. Well... Seeker. Not as pithy if I said that, though."
He reached to his hand, and tossed a matched pair face-up on the table.