Patience was never one of Zahraâs virtues.
That certainly hadnât changed since joining the Inquisition. Better to rip off the bandage and just get done with it, rather than drag it out. As of late, the letter felt as if it were burning a hole through her pocket. Sheâd kept it there since receiving it in Halamshiral. How she hadnât ripped the damn thing open by now was anyoneâs guess. She certainly didnât know. Self-reflection had never been one of her strong suits either. She supposed, if she were being honest with herself, she didnât want to open it alone. What with her destructive thoughts, she wasnât sure how she would react. She wasnât even sure what it was about.
It had to be connected. Which was why she was striding across Skyholdâs grounds in search of the only one who truly understood what was going on. Who understood what was at stake. It wasnât because she didnât trust the others. She did. More than she could express in words. But heâd seen more. Slivers of herself sheâd thought dead and gone, hidden away. Buried in ale, and a slathering of smarm. Like Stel had said⊠heâd know what to do. Or at least give an unbiased opinion. Steer her in any direction that wasnât the Heraldâs Restâsheâd done enough of that already. Sulking when no one was looking. Drawing her fingertips over the lip of the envelope, too cowardly open it.
She could already feel a pensive frown pulling on her lips, eyebrows drawing together. Even if sheâd wanted to smother it away with a smile, she knew well enough that Cyrus would forgive her somber state. Fortunately she hadnât needed to go very far to find him. A sigh sifted past her lips. Far harsher than sheâd intended. She held the letter tucked between her knuckles; occasionally flapping it against her leg. The lumpy bit in the middle, hard as stone. It was the first thing sheâd noted about the letter when the man crooked her fingers closed. Something else was in there, aside from the obvious: a piece of parchment.
A mystery man with a letter that might have some kind of curious object inside sounded like all kinds of trouble. It wasnât something she wanted to invite inside of the Inquisition, because sheâd seen enough magical objects to know that nothing was at it appeared and she was better off asking someone proficient enough to know the signs. Cyrus fit that bill, as well, even without his magic. Heâd read countless books. Experimented in that lab of his. Grew up in Minranthous of all places.
Drawing up to Cyrusâs laboratory, Zahra paused and squinted at the doorway. Left slightly ajar. Peculiar. She always thought he revered his privacy. Or else, didnât like people barging inside, like she often did to everyone in the Inquisition. Even so, she lingered in the hallway. Tiptoed closer. Perhaps this was only one of the many changes heâd undergone over the last year. Sheâd noticed it, little by little: a blooming construct, sloughing off old skin. He smiled more, at least.
She pressed her hand, and letter, against the door, before rapping her knuckles against the frame. âYou in there, Cy?â
âI am." The answer, simple and precise, came from surprisingly close inside. A moment later, the door opened inwards, Cyrus himself on the other side of it. His appearance didn't make clear what the valence of his mood was on this particular day: his tunic, sapphire blue but otherwise plain, was a bit on the wrinkled side, and he hadn't bothered with a belt or anything, but the dampness of his hair suggested he might have just bathed after some kind of exercise. A few of them always seemed to be coming and going from Rilien's tower, presumably to use that dirt ring she'd seen on the bottom floor.
The room itself was... disheveled. The artifacts of research lay about in a way that could have been organized, but probably only in a way Cyrus himself would understand; like a cipher without a key anyone else could access. Books lay across the large central desk, a few others scattered over the arms of chairs or upside-down on the coffee table. He seemed to lack a sufficient number of bookmarks, and had resorted to stuffing some tomes with scraps of parchment, labeled neatly but just as cryptically as they were arranged. It was impossible to guess even the subject of his searchâwhat text she could see looked to be in either Tevene or... that might have been Orlesian, but it was hard to say.
He tilted his head at her, standing in the center of the room like a sentinel at the eye of a very peculiar storm, the ends of his hair still dripping slightly onto his shoulders and back. âSomething I can help you with, Zahra?"
Like a sopping wet pup. Nearly. In any other moment Zahra might have commented on his state of dress, but this time, she only raised the letter in her grasp and gave it an idle shake. She didnât want to admit it. Or even speak her reasoning aloud. That much would stifle and choke her, make her feel smaller than she already did. She hoped he wouldnât press her. Though she doubted that he would.
âI figured we could open this together,â she gave the letter another shake, and raised her shoulder in a half-shrug. Only a few had seen the exchange. Cyrus hadnât been one of them, but she supposed heâd only warrant a short explanation before catching on to the implications, âAnother letter. This time, in the Winter Palace. I didnât recognize the man⊠but thereâs something strange about it.â
She wouldnât push past him without being invited inside. Not when she was asking for something.
True to her predictions, he seemed to catch on immediately. âAh. Of course." Setting down the feather quill that had been idling in his left hand, he took several large steps backwards, gesturing almost as if to ask why she hadn't already come in and made herself comfortable. Stepping in revealed the rest of the workshop: a few more pieces of furniture, a pair of armor racks with his equipment on them, and curled in one of the armchairs, a small black cat with very large green eyes, who blinked once at Zahra, quite slowly, before deciding that her presence clearly did not merit any more interest than that.
Cyrus lifted his hands to his head, slicking back the errant strands of hair, then brushed his palms off carelessly on his trousers, clicking his tongue and setting about the task of clearing some space. âSit wherever you like. If you move anything, just try and keep the place marked when you put it down if you can." He picked up what appeared to be a mug, sniffed the contents, and made a face before setting it on a small end table near the door, probably where the occasional servant came in to clear away his refuse and dishes.
Messy.
The thought intruded as Zahra stepped inside Cyrusâs chamber. She mightâve spoken it aloud if she hadnât been so enthralled by it. Chaotic intelligence; books heaped in every nook and cranny, enough to make her wonder if he read them all at once. How he could keep all of that in that head of his went far beyond her understanding. While sheâd always been a storyteller, she had never been much of a reader. Her favorite books were wistful things; grandiose tales of adventurers who saved all of Thedas. Once upon a time. Frivolity. Stories she remembered being read in her youth. Filled with places that could take her far away when the present grew too heavy to bear.
She doubted he read the same sort of drivel.
A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she heeded his invitation and perched herself in a nearby chair. It was set in front of the larger, cluttered desk. She wriggled in her seat, moving over so that she could carefully remove the half-opened book from the chairâs arm and place it face down on the desk. There was enough room to upend the letter. Good. She pulled the chair closer to the desk and leaned her elbows across the surface.
âThereâs something else in it,â she hooked a finger in the corner, and dragged it across in order to rip it wide enough to extract its contents. She felt something slip out before she had the chance to react. For something so small, the size of someoneâs palm, it sounded heavier than it appeared. It bounced once before spinning to a stop. A reflective piece. A shard of glass. A mirror? She wasnât sure. There was a scintillating ripple across the surface, almost unnaturally so. It made her uneasy, though she wasnât sure why. â⊠a piece of glass?â
A slip of the letter slipped out into her hand. Much smaller than Maleusâs letter had been. Cryptic, even. She pursed her lips and dragged her eyes away from the shard, opting to read it aloud for Cyrusâs sake, âBy blood and lyrium were they drawn. Inexorably to the unreachable city, the heart of all creation. At a touch, the gate swung wide.â She paused and shook her head, letting out a frustrated groan. It was gibberish. A joke? She was foolish to think it was anything else. âWhat the hell does this even mean?â
Cyrus pursed his lips. âThat is a dissonant verse. Not in the canonical southern Chant. Canticle of Silenceâ" he paused, almost as if consulting some kind of mental map or inventory, eyes flickering towards the ceilingâ â2:8 and 2:9, though with a bit of missing matter between. It references the Magisters who entered the Golden City. Why anyone would recite it to you is rather more mysterious." He crossed to the desk, leaning over it to capture the shard in his fingers and raise it towards his face, without so much as a hint of any hesitation.
Fearless, reckless, or aware of what it was, then. The third possibility at least bore out. âThis is a piece of an eluvian. Remember the one you found in the basement?" He turned it over a few times, a small line forming between his brows. âI'm not sure why anyone would give you this, eitherâit's useless outside the context of the mirror it came from, and they are not easy to repair when broken. It takes special elven crafting tools and rather esoteric magic to do properly."
He paused, setting the shard down carefully and taking a seat at last. âAnd someone in the Winter Palace gave this to you?"
That didnât mean much to Zahra. She wasnât well-versed in anything that involved the Chant or the Chantry. Hedge-witches and fishmongers had no need for such convoluted things, or so her mother always said. She frowned and smoothed the edges of the parchment paper over the table. Lilted writing. A steady hand. Just as mysterious as the man was. A stranger who wanted something from her, or else, figured sheâd understand this ridiculous message.
âSounds like a riddle to me,â she puffed out a sigh and tapped a finger across the wax seal sheâd ripped in half. It was somewhat familiar. A dragon or serpent of sorts. Seeing how concerned she was about the contents of the letter, sheâd nearly forgotten about it. She was sure sheâd seen it before. Somewhere. She tried to conjure up the memory. Scrape it back up from the back of her mind. Nothing came.
Her mouth gawped open when Cyrus snatched up the shard and held the piece close to his face. Concern welled in her stomach. Flipped it in knots, expecting the worst to happen. Sheâd seen the worst happen before, too many times to count. When a moment or two passed she let out a breath she wasnât aware she was holding in. Safe. Well, nothing had exploded. A good sign as well as any.
âYes. Someone.â she scratched at the nape of her neck, âI donât understand any of it.â
He'd noticed her glance at the seal; that much was clear. Reaching for the envelope, he pressed it shut and grimaced. âContee again. I looked into them for you, as I said." A short pause. He licked his lips, thoughts taking him somewhere else for a moment, perhaps. âBlood and lyrium." He repeated the words in no more than a murmur. âBlood magic and lyrium trafficking. That's what they do, as far as Cassius knows."
Glancing around quickly, he grabbed a sheaf of parchment and his quill, dipping it hastily in ink and scratching out notes at a speed that left the ink spidery and sharp. âThat's a reference to them. 'The unreachable city, heart of all creation...' rather too arrogant for Minrathous, though the double-meaning is probably implied." Cyrus was more mumbling to himself than speaking to her, that much was clear, his eyes lit like a small boy's who'd just received an unexpected gift. Sweets, perhaps, though he didn't seem quite the type to have enjoyed anything so simple. Perhaps thisâa puzzle with just the beginning of a clueâwas what he'd enjoyed instead.
â'Heart of all creation.' An eluvian shard... the Between. Crossroads, it must be. Not that he'd have been." He snorted softly, still writing at a slapdash pace, and glanced up at her, his hand continuing to move independently of the guidance of his eyes. âHe wants you to connect Skyhold's eluvian with another, probably for a message, since no one in Tevinter can actually travel through the mirrors. Probably knows we have people here who can do that kind of thing, because he wouldn't be able to."
He stopped, both hand and tongue stilling completely for several seconds. His tongue got going again first. âHe has an agent here. In Skyhold. It's the only way he could know that."
Zahra was listening. Or at least she was trying to. She couldnât see what he was writing from where she was sitting and she doubted she would be able to follow along at the breakneck rate he was going. A few times, sheâd wanted to clear her throat and break him out of his rapture, his obvious reverie at message she had already deemed useless. Apparently he was making connections she had not even considered.
âIâm assuming this message wasnât intended just for me, then.â The implication was clear. There was no way in hell she would have been able to decipher all of that, let alone make the proper connections. She wouldâve tossed the damned thing in the trash before figuring anything out. Brooded over several bottles of wine. If the man knew that much about the Inquisition, he certainly would have known that. It frustrated her, if only a little, that she would have been entirely incapable of comprehending this on her own.
It showed in her face. She could feel it pulling her mouth into a thin line. Her eyebrows drew together once more, âAn agent? Here?â As preposterous as it sounded⊠it wasnât out of the question. Who, though? Who would go so far? Why? Even if she posed the questions aloud, thereâd be no answers. Her hand moved from her neck and rubbed at her temple. âThatâs⊠a problem, isnât it?â
She slumped back in her chair and felt the balloon in her chest deflating. She suddenly felt exhausted. âWe have Contee. An agent. A magic mirror. A little riddle. So, what do we do now?â
To his credit, Cyrus waited patiently for her to work through her thoughts; listening attentively as she puzzled out further implications. But when she directed the last question at him, he smiled. It wasn't an expression of mirth, exactly. More like... satisfaction. As though he'd been anticipating it and already had the answer. âNow... we talk to Harellan. He'll be able to find the eluvian that shard came from, and connect it to the one in Skyhold, temporarily at least. If someone wants to send you a message, we'll receive it, and decide what to do from there."
He picked up the shard, then stood. âIf you don't mind coming with, we can take care of this right away."
And indeed, it did not take long. Harellan proved to be an elven man, unusually tall though not quite as much so as, say, Ves. His dark hair was shorn on both sides and the back, but hung in a thick tail from the top of his head, as black as Cyrus's. He bore no tattoos on his face like Khari had, but he didn't look quite like a city elf, either. Once the situation was explained to him, he agreed readily to help, and the three of them proceeded to the basement, where the Inquisition's eluvian was still kept.
Harellan disappeared into the mirror, returning about an hour later with news that he'd found the source of the shard, and they should now be connected. With a touch, he caused the surface of the mirror in front of them to ripple. "The connection will last only as long as both parties will it." He glanced at the both of them, arching a dark brow. "So tell me if you want to disconnect."
As soon as Harellan touched the mirrorâs surface, an image appeared. A silhouette of a figure, smoothing itself out over the ripples. Soon enough it took the form of a manâfamiliar in the sense that sheâd seen him before, at least. Recognized his shape. His crooked mouth and languid eyes. Halamshiral hadnât been that far away. The memories were still crisp enough to recall.
The man himself was dressed entirely in black garb. Meticulous, sharp clothes. A noblemanâs attire, maybe. Sheâd seen Faraji wear something similar. Buttoned up on both sides of his jacket and high-collared; lined with deep red and sweeping down to the sides of the mirror, where she could no longer see. Black hair, cropped short. His eyes were a shade of brown, but appeared so dark they were nearly black. He had the same high cheekbones she remembered. He wasnât smiling. He hardly had any expression at all. His arms were poised over his chest, fingers tapping along his forearm.
Impatient. Waiting.
The background looked like a basement of sorts. There wasnât much else in the room itself. Not that they could see much from where they were standing. The Eluvian was a mystery she couldnât wrap her head around⊠seeing this unravel in front of her was just as shocking as knowing that Cyrus and the others had traveled through it at some point. She found herself incapable of much besides standing there, feeling stupid. Speechless.
âYouâre late,â it appeared as if she hadnât needed to say anything at all. The manâs gaze flicked off to the side, as if he were regarding the other two present. If he was at all surprised by her company, he wasnât showing signs. There was a ghost of a smile, gone as quickly as it had come. Perhaps, only a trick of the mirror. Only then did he turn to face them properly. His features were too sharp. Eyes ringed with bags. Not quite the picture of health. âI havenât much time, so introductions will have to wait.â
âIâm not a friend. I have my own intentions in all this. That much, Iâll make clear.â There was no maliciousness in his statement. It was spoken as a fact. Even so, it made her stomach turn. âBut I have been helping your brother Maleus. The first letter was my doing and the next steps will be, as well, if you accept my offer.â There was an edge to his tone, as he glanced off into the rippling darkness. This time, his words came faster. âTwo of your sisters have been married off. One, sold to slavery. Maleus is here, so is your mother. Your other brother works in the lyrium mine.â Established as coolly as if he were talking about the weather, and not her family.
Zahraâs hand drew into a fist. There was an angry swell blooming in her gut. Guilt, too. A stone, reminding her that she had no right to be angry. She wasnât sure where to direct any of it but she wanted him to slow down and answer her damned questions, âHey, slow the hell downââ
His finger rose up. Gloved. Silencing. âI will contact you again. But not in this manner. One question. Our time is up.â
âWho's your eyes here?" Cyrus crossed his arms over his chest, his tone every bit as clipped as the man's. Clearly he at least intended to take advantage of the offer, though it was unclear whether or not he expected a truthful answer.
There was a pause, as if he were considering Cyrusâs inquiry. He tilted his head to the side and raised a hand towards the mirror, though he kept it from touching it as Harellan had. The singular word carried a heavier weight than Zahra expected and forced her backwards a few steps.
âGarland.â
Just as quickly as heâd appeared, his figure rippled away and revealed nothing at all.
Cyrus knew enough to recognize who the name belonged to, at least; he turned towards her after the image faded, brows knit, exhaling heavily. âWell. I... can't say I was particularly expecting it to be one of yours." His tone was unusually delicate; he cleared his throat. âAre you... is there anything I can do?"
âFuck!â
The swell bloomed and burst until Zahra turned to the side and slammed her fist against the cobblestone wall. It sent an electricity and rattled straight to her elbow. It stung. But this was worst. Hearing his damn name spoken. A lump bobbed in her throat as she leaned against the wall for support and let out a shaky breath through her nose, willing the angry tears away. She succeeded on the front and stemmed the quaver of her lip, raking a hand through her hair.
âFuckâŠâ this only confused things further. If she were aboard the Riptide, and something of the sort happened heâd be lynched. It was a betrayal. Left to the vultures, bones picked apart. But there were too many questions and not enough answers. What did he have to do with this? Was he speaking to Faraji? Did he know all along? Bile rose in her throat and threatened to spill out. Fortunately it hadnât. âI⊠no, I need some time. I donât want to ask, Cy. I shouldnât.â Her teeth ground against one another, âLeave this here, for now. Please.â
She swallowed around the lump. âI need to talk with him first.â
Cyrus nodded, just once. âAs you wish." He'd keep her secret if she needed him to. That much was obvious in just three words. But he pursed his lips, and offered a few more anyway. Haltingly, like he didn't quite know how.
âI'm sorry, Zahra."
Zahra straightened her shoulders and stepped to his side, facing where theyâd initially come. She knocked his shoulder with her knuckles. She, too, wasnât that great with words. She couldnât dredge up a smile, or even look him in the eye, but knowing that she wasnât the only one bowing under the weight made her feel⊠lighter. Less alone.
âThanks, Cy.â
She needed a drink.
That certainly hadnât changed since joining the Inquisition. Better to rip off the bandage and just get done with it, rather than drag it out. As of late, the letter felt as if it were burning a hole through her pocket. Sheâd kept it there since receiving it in Halamshiral. How she hadnât ripped the damn thing open by now was anyoneâs guess. She certainly didnât know. Self-reflection had never been one of her strong suits either. She supposed, if she were being honest with herself, she didnât want to open it alone. What with her destructive thoughts, she wasnât sure how she would react. She wasnât even sure what it was about.
It had to be connected. Which was why she was striding across Skyholdâs grounds in search of the only one who truly understood what was going on. Who understood what was at stake. It wasnât because she didnât trust the others. She did. More than she could express in words. But heâd seen more. Slivers of herself sheâd thought dead and gone, hidden away. Buried in ale, and a slathering of smarm. Like Stel had said⊠heâd know what to do. Or at least give an unbiased opinion. Steer her in any direction that wasnât the Heraldâs Restâsheâd done enough of that already. Sulking when no one was looking. Drawing her fingertips over the lip of the envelope, too cowardly open it.
She could already feel a pensive frown pulling on her lips, eyebrows drawing together. Even if sheâd wanted to smother it away with a smile, she knew well enough that Cyrus would forgive her somber state. Fortunately she hadnât needed to go very far to find him. A sigh sifted past her lips. Far harsher than sheâd intended. She held the letter tucked between her knuckles; occasionally flapping it against her leg. The lumpy bit in the middle, hard as stone. It was the first thing sheâd noted about the letter when the man crooked her fingers closed. Something else was in there, aside from the obvious: a piece of parchment.
A mystery man with a letter that might have some kind of curious object inside sounded like all kinds of trouble. It wasnât something she wanted to invite inside of the Inquisition, because sheâd seen enough magical objects to know that nothing was at it appeared and she was better off asking someone proficient enough to know the signs. Cyrus fit that bill, as well, even without his magic. Heâd read countless books. Experimented in that lab of his. Grew up in Minranthous of all places.
Drawing up to Cyrusâs laboratory, Zahra paused and squinted at the doorway. Left slightly ajar. Peculiar. She always thought he revered his privacy. Or else, didnât like people barging inside, like she often did to everyone in the Inquisition. Even so, she lingered in the hallway. Tiptoed closer. Perhaps this was only one of the many changes heâd undergone over the last year. Sheâd noticed it, little by little: a blooming construct, sloughing off old skin. He smiled more, at least.
She pressed her hand, and letter, against the door, before rapping her knuckles against the frame. âYou in there, Cy?â
âI am." The answer, simple and precise, came from surprisingly close inside. A moment later, the door opened inwards, Cyrus himself on the other side of it. His appearance didn't make clear what the valence of his mood was on this particular day: his tunic, sapphire blue but otherwise plain, was a bit on the wrinkled side, and he hadn't bothered with a belt or anything, but the dampness of his hair suggested he might have just bathed after some kind of exercise. A few of them always seemed to be coming and going from Rilien's tower, presumably to use that dirt ring she'd seen on the bottom floor.
The room itself was... disheveled. The artifacts of research lay about in a way that could have been organized, but probably only in a way Cyrus himself would understand; like a cipher without a key anyone else could access. Books lay across the large central desk, a few others scattered over the arms of chairs or upside-down on the coffee table. He seemed to lack a sufficient number of bookmarks, and had resorted to stuffing some tomes with scraps of parchment, labeled neatly but just as cryptically as they were arranged. It was impossible to guess even the subject of his searchâwhat text she could see looked to be in either Tevene or... that might have been Orlesian, but it was hard to say.
He tilted his head at her, standing in the center of the room like a sentinel at the eye of a very peculiar storm, the ends of his hair still dripping slightly onto his shoulders and back. âSomething I can help you with, Zahra?"
Like a sopping wet pup. Nearly. In any other moment Zahra might have commented on his state of dress, but this time, she only raised the letter in her grasp and gave it an idle shake. She didnât want to admit it. Or even speak her reasoning aloud. That much would stifle and choke her, make her feel smaller than she already did. She hoped he wouldnât press her. Though she doubted that he would.
âI figured we could open this together,â she gave the letter another shake, and raised her shoulder in a half-shrug. Only a few had seen the exchange. Cyrus hadnât been one of them, but she supposed heâd only warrant a short explanation before catching on to the implications, âAnother letter. This time, in the Winter Palace. I didnât recognize the man⊠but thereâs something strange about it.â
She wouldnât push past him without being invited inside. Not when she was asking for something.
True to her predictions, he seemed to catch on immediately. âAh. Of course." Setting down the feather quill that had been idling in his left hand, he took several large steps backwards, gesturing almost as if to ask why she hadn't already come in and made herself comfortable. Stepping in revealed the rest of the workshop: a few more pieces of furniture, a pair of armor racks with his equipment on them, and curled in one of the armchairs, a small black cat with very large green eyes, who blinked once at Zahra, quite slowly, before deciding that her presence clearly did not merit any more interest than that.
Cyrus lifted his hands to his head, slicking back the errant strands of hair, then brushed his palms off carelessly on his trousers, clicking his tongue and setting about the task of clearing some space. âSit wherever you like. If you move anything, just try and keep the place marked when you put it down if you can." He picked up what appeared to be a mug, sniffed the contents, and made a face before setting it on a small end table near the door, probably where the occasional servant came in to clear away his refuse and dishes.
Messy.
The thought intruded as Zahra stepped inside Cyrusâs chamber. She mightâve spoken it aloud if she hadnât been so enthralled by it. Chaotic intelligence; books heaped in every nook and cranny, enough to make her wonder if he read them all at once. How he could keep all of that in that head of his went far beyond her understanding. While sheâd always been a storyteller, she had never been much of a reader. Her favorite books were wistful things; grandiose tales of adventurers who saved all of Thedas. Once upon a time. Frivolity. Stories she remembered being read in her youth. Filled with places that could take her far away when the present grew too heavy to bear.
She doubted he read the same sort of drivel.
A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she heeded his invitation and perched herself in a nearby chair. It was set in front of the larger, cluttered desk. She wriggled in her seat, moving over so that she could carefully remove the half-opened book from the chairâs arm and place it face down on the desk. There was enough room to upend the letter. Good. She pulled the chair closer to the desk and leaned her elbows across the surface.
âThereâs something else in it,â she hooked a finger in the corner, and dragged it across in order to rip it wide enough to extract its contents. She felt something slip out before she had the chance to react. For something so small, the size of someoneâs palm, it sounded heavier than it appeared. It bounced once before spinning to a stop. A reflective piece. A shard of glass. A mirror? She wasnât sure. There was a scintillating ripple across the surface, almost unnaturally so. It made her uneasy, though she wasnât sure why. â⊠a piece of glass?â
A slip of the letter slipped out into her hand. Much smaller than Maleusâs letter had been. Cryptic, even. She pursed her lips and dragged her eyes away from the shard, opting to read it aloud for Cyrusâs sake, âBy blood and lyrium were they drawn. Inexorably to the unreachable city, the heart of all creation. At a touch, the gate swung wide.â She paused and shook her head, letting out a frustrated groan. It was gibberish. A joke? She was foolish to think it was anything else. âWhat the hell does this even mean?â
Cyrus pursed his lips. âThat is a dissonant verse. Not in the canonical southern Chant. Canticle of Silenceâ" he paused, almost as if consulting some kind of mental map or inventory, eyes flickering towards the ceilingâ â2:8 and 2:9, though with a bit of missing matter between. It references the Magisters who entered the Golden City. Why anyone would recite it to you is rather more mysterious." He crossed to the desk, leaning over it to capture the shard in his fingers and raise it towards his face, without so much as a hint of any hesitation.
Fearless, reckless, or aware of what it was, then. The third possibility at least bore out. âThis is a piece of an eluvian. Remember the one you found in the basement?" He turned it over a few times, a small line forming between his brows. âI'm not sure why anyone would give you this, eitherâit's useless outside the context of the mirror it came from, and they are not easy to repair when broken. It takes special elven crafting tools and rather esoteric magic to do properly."
He paused, setting the shard down carefully and taking a seat at last. âAnd someone in the Winter Palace gave this to you?"
That didnât mean much to Zahra. She wasnât well-versed in anything that involved the Chant or the Chantry. Hedge-witches and fishmongers had no need for such convoluted things, or so her mother always said. She frowned and smoothed the edges of the parchment paper over the table. Lilted writing. A steady hand. Just as mysterious as the man was. A stranger who wanted something from her, or else, figured sheâd understand this ridiculous message.
âSounds like a riddle to me,â she puffed out a sigh and tapped a finger across the wax seal sheâd ripped in half. It was somewhat familiar. A dragon or serpent of sorts. Seeing how concerned she was about the contents of the letter, sheâd nearly forgotten about it. She was sure sheâd seen it before. Somewhere. She tried to conjure up the memory. Scrape it back up from the back of her mind. Nothing came.
Her mouth gawped open when Cyrus snatched up the shard and held the piece close to his face. Concern welled in her stomach. Flipped it in knots, expecting the worst to happen. Sheâd seen the worst happen before, too many times to count. When a moment or two passed she let out a breath she wasnât aware she was holding in. Safe. Well, nothing had exploded. A good sign as well as any.
âYes. Someone.â she scratched at the nape of her neck, âI donât understand any of it.â
He'd noticed her glance at the seal; that much was clear. Reaching for the envelope, he pressed it shut and grimaced. âContee again. I looked into them for you, as I said." A short pause. He licked his lips, thoughts taking him somewhere else for a moment, perhaps. âBlood and lyrium." He repeated the words in no more than a murmur. âBlood magic and lyrium trafficking. That's what they do, as far as Cassius knows."
Glancing around quickly, he grabbed a sheaf of parchment and his quill, dipping it hastily in ink and scratching out notes at a speed that left the ink spidery and sharp. âThat's a reference to them. 'The unreachable city, heart of all creation...' rather too arrogant for Minrathous, though the double-meaning is probably implied." Cyrus was more mumbling to himself than speaking to her, that much was clear, his eyes lit like a small boy's who'd just received an unexpected gift. Sweets, perhaps, though he didn't seem quite the type to have enjoyed anything so simple. Perhaps thisâa puzzle with just the beginning of a clueâwas what he'd enjoyed instead.
â'Heart of all creation.' An eluvian shard... the Between. Crossroads, it must be. Not that he'd have been." He snorted softly, still writing at a slapdash pace, and glanced up at her, his hand continuing to move independently of the guidance of his eyes. âHe wants you to connect Skyhold's eluvian with another, probably for a message, since no one in Tevinter can actually travel through the mirrors. Probably knows we have people here who can do that kind of thing, because he wouldn't be able to."
He stopped, both hand and tongue stilling completely for several seconds. His tongue got going again first. âHe has an agent here. In Skyhold. It's the only way he could know that."
Zahra was listening. Or at least she was trying to. She couldnât see what he was writing from where she was sitting and she doubted she would be able to follow along at the breakneck rate he was going. A few times, sheâd wanted to clear her throat and break him out of his rapture, his obvious reverie at message she had already deemed useless. Apparently he was making connections she had not even considered.
âIâm assuming this message wasnât intended just for me, then.â The implication was clear. There was no way in hell she would have been able to decipher all of that, let alone make the proper connections. She wouldâve tossed the damned thing in the trash before figuring anything out. Brooded over several bottles of wine. If the man knew that much about the Inquisition, he certainly would have known that. It frustrated her, if only a little, that she would have been entirely incapable of comprehending this on her own.
It showed in her face. She could feel it pulling her mouth into a thin line. Her eyebrows drew together once more, âAn agent? Here?â As preposterous as it sounded⊠it wasnât out of the question. Who, though? Who would go so far? Why? Even if she posed the questions aloud, thereâd be no answers. Her hand moved from her neck and rubbed at her temple. âThatâs⊠a problem, isnât it?â
She slumped back in her chair and felt the balloon in her chest deflating. She suddenly felt exhausted. âWe have Contee. An agent. A magic mirror. A little riddle. So, what do we do now?â
To his credit, Cyrus waited patiently for her to work through her thoughts; listening attentively as she puzzled out further implications. But when she directed the last question at him, he smiled. It wasn't an expression of mirth, exactly. More like... satisfaction. As though he'd been anticipating it and already had the answer. âNow... we talk to Harellan. He'll be able to find the eluvian that shard came from, and connect it to the one in Skyhold, temporarily at least. If someone wants to send you a message, we'll receive it, and decide what to do from there."
He picked up the shard, then stood. âIf you don't mind coming with, we can take care of this right away."
And indeed, it did not take long. Harellan proved to be an elven man, unusually tall though not quite as much so as, say, Ves. His dark hair was shorn on both sides and the back, but hung in a thick tail from the top of his head, as black as Cyrus's. He bore no tattoos on his face like Khari had, but he didn't look quite like a city elf, either. Once the situation was explained to him, he agreed readily to help, and the three of them proceeded to the basement, where the Inquisition's eluvian was still kept.
Harellan disappeared into the mirror, returning about an hour later with news that he'd found the source of the shard, and they should now be connected. With a touch, he caused the surface of the mirror in front of them to ripple. "The connection will last only as long as both parties will it." He glanced at the both of them, arching a dark brow. "So tell me if you want to disconnect."
As soon as Harellan touched the mirrorâs surface, an image appeared. A silhouette of a figure, smoothing itself out over the ripples. Soon enough it took the form of a manâfamiliar in the sense that sheâd seen him before, at least. Recognized his shape. His crooked mouth and languid eyes. Halamshiral hadnât been that far away. The memories were still crisp enough to recall.
The man himself was dressed entirely in black garb. Meticulous, sharp clothes. A noblemanâs attire, maybe. Sheâd seen Faraji wear something similar. Buttoned up on both sides of his jacket and high-collared; lined with deep red and sweeping down to the sides of the mirror, where she could no longer see. Black hair, cropped short. His eyes were a shade of brown, but appeared so dark they were nearly black. He had the same high cheekbones she remembered. He wasnât smiling. He hardly had any expression at all. His arms were poised over his chest, fingers tapping along his forearm.
Impatient. Waiting.
The background looked like a basement of sorts. There wasnât much else in the room itself. Not that they could see much from where they were standing. The Eluvian was a mystery she couldnât wrap her head around⊠seeing this unravel in front of her was just as shocking as knowing that Cyrus and the others had traveled through it at some point. She found herself incapable of much besides standing there, feeling stupid. Speechless.
âYouâre late,â it appeared as if she hadnât needed to say anything at all. The manâs gaze flicked off to the side, as if he were regarding the other two present. If he was at all surprised by her company, he wasnât showing signs. There was a ghost of a smile, gone as quickly as it had come. Perhaps, only a trick of the mirror. Only then did he turn to face them properly. His features were too sharp. Eyes ringed with bags. Not quite the picture of health. âI havenât much time, so introductions will have to wait.â
âIâm not a friend. I have my own intentions in all this. That much, Iâll make clear.â There was no maliciousness in his statement. It was spoken as a fact. Even so, it made her stomach turn. âBut I have been helping your brother Maleus. The first letter was my doing and the next steps will be, as well, if you accept my offer.â There was an edge to his tone, as he glanced off into the rippling darkness. This time, his words came faster. âTwo of your sisters have been married off. One, sold to slavery. Maleus is here, so is your mother. Your other brother works in the lyrium mine.â Established as coolly as if he were talking about the weather, and not her family.
Zahraâs hand drew into a fist. There was an angry swell blooming in her gut. Guilt, too. A stone, reminding her that she had no right to be angry. She wasnât sure where to direct any of it but she wanted him to slow down and answer her damned questions, âHey, slow the hell downââ
His finger rose up. Gloved. Silencing. âI will contact you again. But not in this manner. One question. Our time is up.â
âWho's your eyes here?" Cyrus crossed his arms over his chest, his tone every bit as clipped as the man's. Clearly he at least intended to take advantage of the offer, though it was unclear whether or not he expected a truthful answer.
There was a pause, as if he were considering Cyrusâs inquiry. He tilted his head to the side and raised a hand towards the mirror, though he kept it from touching it as Harellan had. The singular word carried a heavier weight than Zahra expected and forced her backwards a few steps.
âGarland.â
Just as quickly as heâd appeared, his figure rippled away and revealed nothing at all.
Cyrus knew enough to recognize who the name belonged to, at least; he turned towards her after the image faded, brows knit, exhaling heavily. âWell. I... can't say I was particularly expecting it to be one of yours." His tone was unusually delicate; he cleared his throat. âAre you... is there anything I can do?"
âFuck!â
The swell bloomed and burst until Zahra turned to the side and slammed her fist against the cobblestone wall. It sent an electricity and rattled straight to her elbow. It stung. But this was worst. Hearing his damn name spoken. A lump bobbed in her throat as she leaned against the wall for support and let out a shaky breath through her nose, willing the angry tears away. She succeeded on the front and stemmed the quaver of her lip, raking a hand through her hair.
âFuckâŠâ this only confused things further. If she were aboard the Riptide, and something of the sort happened heâd be lynched. It was a betrayal. Left to the vultures, bones picked apart. But there were too many questions and not enough answers. What did he have to do with this? Was he speaking to Faraji? Did he know all along? Bile rose in her throat and threatened to spill out. Fortunately it hadnât. âI⊠no, I need some time. I donât want to ask, Cy. I shouldnât.â Her teeth ground against one another, âLeave this here, for now. Please.â
She swallowed around the lump. âI need to talk with him first.â
Cyrus nodded, just once. âAs you wish." He'd keep her secret if she needed him to. That much was obvious in just three words. But he pursed his lips, and offered a few more anyway. Haltingly, like he didn't quite know how.
âI'm sorry, Zahra."
Zahra straightened her shoulders and stepped to his side, facing where theyâd initially come. She knocked his shoulder with her knuckles. She, too, wasnât that great with words. She couldnât dredge up a smile, or even look him in the eye, but knowing that she wasnât the only one bowing under the weight made her feel⊠lighter. Less alone.
âThanks, Cy.â
She needed a drink.