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Chapter Text

“I still do not understand what taste is,” the spirit somehow huffed. 

Malcolm knew it was a mistake to respond at all. The red specter hovered on the edge of Malcolm’s bed, its angry red glow a contrast to the murky green that the Fade was hazed in. It had somehow got in again, into the sanctum where he allowed his mind to rest as he guarded the dreamers of Kirkwall. Malcolm could have made his sanctum look like anything, but he didn’t bother giving himself the illusion he was anywhere else but his Circle cell. The thin sandpaper sheets did nothing to soften the metal bed underneath him. The cell had barely enough room for his dresser and desk that he used to do his studies, which he spent more time doodling on than learning. Even here he could still smell the faint aroma of the toilet that was next to his bed. Still, as unpleasant as his sanctum was, he needed a strong sensation to anchor his body, especially if he was going to battle a demon tonight.

Malcolm took in a stale breath, held it for four seconds, and gently let it go. It was important that no matter what happened, he remained calm.

The shimmering of the phantom became more urgent, more vibrant. Malcolm continued to ignore it, even turning his head and body away to make a point, but it didn’t seem to stop the creature from trying to dart into view, insistent on having his question answered. After the third turn of his head, the demon reached and gave one of Malcolm’s pointy ears a firm yank, screaming, “Can you hear me?”

On instinct, Malcolm swiped at the demon with a crackling fist, but the demon darted away. The sparks in Malcolm’s hand arced wildly as he leveled it at his target. “Fuck off, demon. I told you one question.”

The wraith started to warp along with the Fade as anger emanated from Malcolm’s body. Claws started sprouting from its fingers and through its translucent skin, he could see its teeth starting to jut out at odd angles, but the demon made no move to fight him. “Were you listening? I am not a demon. I’m a Scholar. And you are the first Somniari I have come across in ages.”

The demon kept its distance but became more animated, gesturing with its gangly arms. “The last Somniari only survived long enough to tell me about eating, but though I’ve tried it, the phenomenon remains perplexing.” Malcolm jumped as the demon inched closer. “Sometimes eating brings joy. Sometimes eating brings sorrow. Sometimes eating brings no emotion at all.” Quivering in curiosity, the demon then sprung forward so close to Malcolm could easily punch it. “Why Somniari?”

The sparks in Malcolm’s hands died down as his eyes glazed over, caught in a memory. He saw his mother, with dark brown skin, and beautiful curly hair that cascaded down her back, but her face was blurred as he failed to recall the details. Still, he remembered the smell of the plate of piping hot pancet that she placed in front of him, how the steam coming off of the unending noodles made his mouth water. She brushed his mop of curls from his eyes and kissed his forehead with a warm smile. “Happy birthday, Malcolm.”

The creature sniffed at his head as if he was about to take a huge bite. “Oh, what is that? That smells delicious!”

Malcolm swatted at the spirit as if it was an annoying fly. “Stay out of my head!”

But the spirit had already plucked the memory out of his head and dashed away a safe distance from the room. It wiggled in delight of its prize, and in its hands it materialized into a bowl of pancet. Malcolm felt a sick twist of envy as the spirit grabbed a handful of long fried noodles and shoved it into its mouthless face, slurping it down with wet smacking noises. “This,” sluuuurp, “memory tastes both,“ sluuuurp, “happy and sad, though the sadness is fresher.”

Malcolm, quaking in anger, rose to his feet, summoning threatening flames so high, they licked the ceiling. “Were you not warned of who I am?”

The spirit continued to eat in bliss, Malcolm’s threat no more than an annoyance. “The wisps call you,” sluurp, “Spirit Slayer.”

Malcolm raised a thick eyebrow, wondering why this spirit had no sense of self preservation. Or was this demon stronger than he thought? “So why do you risk pestering me?”

At this, the demon lowered the bowl, a mess of sauce dripping down its face. “Because only you can answer.”

The demon looked sadly at its last noodle and picked it up between its claws. “I, too, have lost much, Somniari. I had a name once. I’ve given up trying to find it.”

“I’ve asked every stone, every wisp, but so much was lost after The Sundering. What I am, is what I have left.” The demon turned to Malcolm and though it had no eyes, he could feel it looking through him with earnestness that he could feel thrumming in his heart. “So if this quest is my end, so be it.” Then it ate the noodle, looking oddly like a worm being sucked through a hole.

The flames died in Malcolm’s hands, his anger deflating with plumes of smoke. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt me to spare a moment.”

The words had barely left Malcolm’s mouth before his pocket started to buzz with a generic ringtone that vibrated the air of the Fade like a tinging glass. The spirit cocked his head, confused as Malcolm dug through his pajama pockets and fished it out. “Sorry, demon, duty calls.”

“Scholar,” the spirit corrected, but Malcolm shushed him as he put it to his ear.

A terrified voice began sobbing through the speaker. “Help! Somebody help!”

Malcolm didn’t recognize the voice, so they weren’t one of the Circle mages being plagued for a meal. An apostate perhaps?

“Hello? It's going to be alright,” Malcolm began like he always did. He raised his free hand to feel the cords of the Fade that were weaving together, trying to connect to the dreamer who rang his phone. The air around his hands shimmered like sparkling dust, faint harp-like threads connecting from the tips of his fingers.

“Hello?” the voice answered back, full of confusion. “Who is this?”

“That doesn’t matter. Can you tell me where you are?” Malcolm stepped off his bed and towards his bedroom door.

“Where I am?” the voice repeated, slick with tears. “I’m…I don’t know.”

He could feel that she was panicked, confused, disoriented, and that there was a dark aura surrounding her, stronger than he had felt in awhile. Malcolm had been sure that he had cleansed this area of the Fade of demons, but this just meant that more would come in to feed on the remnants. Malcolm closed his eyes, reaching through the phone to try to peek at her dream. “Yes, you do,” his soothing voice taking a commanding tone. “Just open your eyes and describe what you see.”

He heard her gasping for air as she struggled to breathe but eventually she sputtered out. “I’m in my bedroom. It’s filling up with water, fast. You have to hurry.”

He put his hand on the door. Through the darkness of his eyelids he began to see light, and the running rush of water filled his ears. “Describe your room to me.”

“What would it matter!?”

“It matters if I’m going to find you.”

A beat of silence registered on the phone, before she continued. “Well, it’s a room…with a closet and a bed.”

“Helpful,” Malcolm snorted before he could stop himself. Still, a misty silhouette of a closet, which was more like its own room, and a grand bed with a flowing cloth canopy started to form. There was a body tucked within it, nestled on a throne of pillows.

“Well I’m in a state of panic right now! Can you blame me? My clothes are getting ruined. It’ll cost a fortune to redo these carpets, not to mention-”

Malcolm sighed, trying to press on as she chattered. It never did any good to argue, but this monologue wasn’t helping. “What color are your blankets?”

“Cream…embroidered with gold thread.” The vision in his mind began to fill in with color.

“And the pattern of the embroidery?”

“Really?”

“Messere,” Malcolm gritted his teeth. “It’s important you stay calm. The more you panic the faster the water will flood.” It wasn’t a lie, but he also needed her to hurry.

She relented with a sigh, and said, “a gold-leaf rose spread.”

It took a little more coaxing, but eventually Malcolm got her to describe her wallpapers, floral and pink, and her carpet, which she insisted before the flood was a beautiful white color. She also described a bookcase, her lute, and a vanity mirror where she would get ready for the day each morning, a family heirloom, made from wood of the grove of the Emerald Graves, with brass knob handles and the symbol of her family’s crest that was carved into the wood, that showed either two ravens perched in angular stone columns, or a dragon head, depending on how you looked at it. Soon he could see the room, and could finally solidify the flimsy connection.

He pressed his forehead against the bedroom door, eyes still closed, the hard metal cold and unforgiving. “Now I need you to walk up to your door and let me in.”

“Are you crazy?” she shouted so loud that Malcolm had to take his ear away from the receiver. “It’s going to let all the water in!”

“No,” Malcolm said calmly. “Because I will be on the other side.”

“You know that makes no sense.”

“You’re talking to a strange voice in your head, your room is flooded, and from my estimate about the cost of that vanity mirror alone, you live somewhere in Hightown. Does any of this make sense?”

This time she whined, which sounded more cute than annoying. “But I’m going to get wet.”

Malcolm burst out in laughter. He had run into a lot of dreamers, but while most were suggestive, she seemed to easily resist the strings connecting them. He could see deep into the pit of her heart that she was as stubborn as he was, which was saying something. It was intriguing really, but before his curiosity could run away with it, his sensible self reminded him that she was in danger. And with how long it took for him to find the location of her dream, the demon had now sensed him coming.

“Look, the door is locked, and only you can open it.”

“Can’t you just break the lock open?”

“Sure,” Malcolm said, “but that door represents the connection of your body to your slumbering mind. If I break it open, it would hurt…a lot.”

Silence filled the air except for the splash of rising water and the slurping noise of Scholar licking the last remnants of sauce from their bowl.

“You promise you’ll be on the other side?”

“Promise.”

She heaved a huge sigh and after a few moments, he could hear the sloshing of water as she started to wade her way through her bedroom, but Malcolm could not only hear it from the speaker, but the other side of the door as well. Malcolm shoved his phone back into his pocket and placed his hand on the doorknob that would normally be electronically locked, but right now, it was just another illusion of the Fade. As the lock clicked open, Malcolm turned the doorknob, blissfully unaware of how his life would change until he met the girl’s black doe eyes.

Malcolm did not register the rushing cold water that was now flooding his bedroom and soaking his feet. His mouth fell gape as he was stunned motionless by her beauty. She had tawny cream skin that looked like it had been cared for with the most expensive moisturizer regimens and luminous sleek black locks that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Her lush pink lips formed a perfect ‘o’ as her dainty eyebrows shot up, seeming just as entranced by Malcolm as he was by her. Malcolm’s gaze dropped down just for a second before it shot back up to her face, heat crawling up his neck, as he realized that her pastel pink nightgown was silk, lacy, and clung to every curve.

Malcolm had never felt such a strong reaction in his body before, and he wasn’t even in his body, which he was thankful for. His throat closed up as his mind suddenly emptied of all coherent thoughts and he was left staring at her face while trying very hard to erase the image of her body just seconds before. It was then that she looked down and snorted. “You’re in pajamas.”

“So are you,” Malcolm stuttered back, immediately kicking himself for that answer.

She placed a hand on a cocked hip and it took all of Malcolm’s willpower not to drag his eyes back down to the movement. “You didn’t think to change before coming to a lady’s rescue?”

It was then Malcolm recovered, resting the palm of his hand on his chest as he bowed in apology. “Terribly sorry to disappoint, my Lady. Had I known that I was on my way to meet a woman so beautiful, I’d have taken the occasion to dress up.”

A delicious blush formed on her cheeks and she patted them with her hands as she turned away shyly. It was there, in the corner of Malcolm’s eye, that he noticed, too late, multiple sets of eyes forming in the darkness that was once the woman’s room.

Malcolm grabbed the woman’s hand without thinking, trying to pull her into the safety of his sanctum, but a pair of inky black tentacles with slithery hands had already wrapped around her waist and pulled her back to the void. Malcolm tried to pull with all of his strength, but she was quickly slipping. He had left the door open for too long. Malcolm cursed himself for making such a careless mistake. It was one of the first rules of traveling the Fade and he had forgotten it like an apprentice. The woman screamed, her hands quickly slipping from Malcolm’s grip as more and more hand-like tentacles wrapped around her.

“You will not take my dreamer!” multiple warped wet voices screeched in the darkness, which made the woman shriek louder. In her fear, the woman’s grip slipped and Malcolm fell backwards as she quickly splashed back into the void, her screams quickly being drowned underwater in a stream of bubbles.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Malcolm scrambled to his feet, ready to dive into the portal when the spirit stopped him, using his bowl as a shield.

“Wait!” The spirit pleaded. “That’s a terror demon, an ancient one, and if you die fighting it, I’ll never get my answer.”

Malcolm recalled sparks to his hands as he raised a fist in warning. “Move or you’re next.”

“But-”

Malcolm shot a stream of lightning over the demon’s head, scorching the stone above the door. “MOVE!”

The demon blinked away before Malcolm further lost his temper and not a moment later, he dove headfirst into the murky portal.

He could hear the splash hitting him with a wall of liquid too viscous and acrid to be water. He could feel the strings of the Fade twist into the web around him, tightening the trap shut. It took a moment for his body to stop fighting with the gagging feeling of swallowing, of his lungs filling up with liquid. 

As he struggled to breathe he had to remind himself that even this was an illusion. He took only a moment to calm and gather himself, squinting through the darkness as he strained to orient.

He could feel the woman’s panicked mind, could feel her flailing and kicking her way to the surface, but no matter how hard she swam the water never broke. If he couldn’t end this in time, she would drown for real.

With renewed urgency, Malcolm searched for the woman. The demon was close. Being Somniari, he was extremely sensitive to a demon’s presence. The pain and wrongness of what they are manifested in a painful buzzing beneath his skin and now that it was feasting, Malcolm was in agony. Though the water was cold, his body felt like it was firing on every nerve, his bones seemed to vibrate, and he had to fight his own rising panic as he felt the woman’s consciousness begin to drift. There wasn’t time for him to fight the demon. Visible strings formed at the end of Malcolm’s fingers and he attached it to the webs around him and started to pull. The water shook and trembled as he tore a chunk of the Veil.

His body jolted as the water suddenly had a direction to flow. Streams of green hazy light flooded the dark depths and revealed brilliant emerald sky, loomed the gates of the Black City. Malcolm frantically looked for signs of where the woman was and he spotted her a couple hundred yards in the distance, being dragged to the bottom by a slinking tentacle around her ankle, the last of her breath floating away in bubbles. 

With renewed vigor, Malcolm rocketed towards the woman, demanding the Fade to carry him to her with his crushing willpower. With a wave of his hand he sliced through the water. A ray of blinding light flashed through the darkness and cut through the tentacle, revealing the creature below for a moment, which made Malcolm’s stomach drop. It was too big for his eyes to fathom, with a mass of limb-like tentacles and hundreds of gigantic goat eyes bigger than he was. The water vibrated with an echoing screech that he felt in conjunction with his vibrating bones. Inky black streams of demon blood plumed in the water.

He jetted to the woman and gathered her into his arms, trying to ignore how soft and warm she felt against his thin night clothes. As he shifted directions back to the hole he tore, her hair whipped in his face and he sputtered, struggling to see where he was going. He clawed the hair from his vision, seeing the precious crack in the cage only a few seconds away, only for a vice-like tentacle to wrap around his ankle and yank him backwards.

He lost grip of the woman, and more tentacles wrapped around his limbs, snaking up his torso and wrapping around his neck. The demon twisted him back towards the darkness where he could see the silhouette writhing and stretching, with limbs flailing as if it was just composed of thousands of bodies. The demon’s voice came with a croak, like a chorus of dying men speaking at once. “Here I was fighting for a sorry snack when I had a feast right before me.”

The demon’s many limbs squeezed Malcolm as another set of hands turned his face this way and that as if he was being examined. “Hmmm, but you’re such a strong one. It seems like a waste of this opportunity, doesn’t it?”

The demon dragged Malcolm closer in the darkness bringing it up to one of its square pupils swirling in amusement. “What do you say, somniari? With your power and mine we could change the very fabric of reality.”

Malcolm coughed, choking on his answer.

The demon chuckled and relaxed its grip. “Oh, I forget how you mortals need to breathe.” He patted Malcolm on the head. “Now…what do you say?”

“I said,” Malcolm smirked, taking in a breath of delicious not-air as his hands started to spark, “fuck off.”

Before the demon could react, he filled its body with electricity, the many limbs flailing wildly. The demon lost its grip and Malcolm jetted back towards the woman, and scooped her up, not bothering to stop for a breath. Then heading towards the crack in the cage, he began to imagine her door. What did she say? Brown Antivan sandalwood with baroque carved gold inlays. She picked the doorknob herself, the carving of Andraste as a child singing to the sun. He felt like he should be annoyed by how outrageous all that must have cost for a door and yet he was struck by all of the images she could have chosen for the warrior prophet, she chose her at peace, in song.

He couldn’t think about it much further before he had broken free. He exhaled and coughed out water and it started to gush freely and all over the woman, but she did not stir.

“You will not get away!” the terror demon shrieked, many inky black limbs harpooning towards them.

Malcolm did not have time to panic about the demon or the fact that the woman was unresponsive. He opened the door and slammed it shut behind him.

He rushed the woman to her too expensive gold inlaid cream comforter and laid her down. The demon started banging at the door and Malcolm threw his hand up, weaving up a barrier, then adding an extra layer and then one more for good measure. He turned back to the woman, his hands glowing blue as he examined her spirit body. With a gentle churn of his hands, he coaxed the water from her lungs until she could breathe freely. Then after a few panic inducing moments she coughed and sputtered, her eyes darting around in terror.

“Easy, now, easy,” Malcolm rubbed her back in soft soothing circles that immediately sprang into goosebumps at his touch.

Her hyperventilation soon turned into crying as she broke down in relieved sobs, grateful that she wasn’t living her worst nightmare anymore. Before Malcolm realized what she was doing, she suddenly clung to him, crying into his shoulder, the wet fabric against his skin a terrible reminder that her thin clothes were now see-through and she definitely wasn’t wearing a bra. He tried to ignore the burning electricity that ran over his skin and just continued to rub her back, tempted to make the moment last longer.

But a bang at the door was a quick reminder that he was on a deadline that was quickly running out. “Hey,” he choked out, and quickly cleared his throat of the stutter that was suddenly there. “You need to wake up now.”

“You say the silliest things. Don’t you think I’ve tried.” She pulled away with a frown. “Besides, isn't this the good part of the dream?”

Malcolm cocked his head. “The good part?”

The woman blushed again, unable to look at his eyes, which made him nervous for some reason. “You know…slay the demon, save the girl…celebrate?”

“Celebrate?” Malcolm asked cluelessly.

Then she did something he didn’t expect. She slid the spaghetti straps of her wet nightgown off her shoulders until he could see just the top of her peachy nipples.

Without thinking, he jumped back and looked away, shielding his eyes with his hands before he could tempt himself with another glance. “What in the Maker’s name are you doing?”

She then scowled, her face turning as red as he felt. “Why are you making this so weird? This is my sex dream.”

“Sex dream?” Malcolm burst out in surprised jittered laughter. “What kind of sex dreams do you have, lady?”

“Well as far as this one goes, I’d rank it my worst.” She hunched over, throwing her spaghetti straps back and bunching up her blankets to cover herself modestly.

Malcolm thumbed at the vibrating door. “Do you hear that banging?”

The woman looked at her shaking bedroom door as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “That’s just Mara trying to wake me up.”

“No, that’s a demon, trying to eat you.”

Her eyebrows shot to the top of her forehead. “You didn’t slay the demon!?”

Malcolm could have explained how he didn’t have time and that she was in immediate danger, but instead he said, “It was a really big demon.” Then the door started to crack.

Tears pricked the woman’s eyes as her knuckles whitened, clenching the blankets. Suddenly Malcolm sprang to her side placing a palm on her hand. “Don’t worry,” he rubbed her hand gently. “Just wake up. I promise, you’ll never have this dream again.”

Her doe eyes blinked back a tear. “Never?”

Malcolm smiled, reassuringly. “Never.”

She bit her bottom lip. “Then…it’s my only chance.”

Malcolm blinked in confusion, and in the next moment, her hands cradled his face and she pulled him into a kiss. Somehow he tasted strawberries and suddenly he realized that it was now his favorite flavor. Her lips were like the first bite of a good meal after you’ve been fed nothing but salted gruel. But she was more divine, richer, and sweeter than he could imagine. He felt alive, awake, with an electricity running through him so that the tips of his fingers started to spark. Before he knew what he was doing, he was crushing her body to him, her racing heart thudding against his own. His hands trailed down her slick back and tangled in her hair as he tried to memorize this moment, how soft her lips felt against his, how her fingers raked through his curls. They kissed as if they needed each other to breathe, their tongues exploring desperately in the precious seconds they had. It was only when the door shattered apart and the woman cried out in pain that Malcolm remembered why he was here.

She cradled her head like it was splitting open and she needed to hold it together.

“Fuck,” Malcolm cursed himself as he examined her. He began to numb the pain around her head, sealing the wound into a scar. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

The demon began to flail its many limbs at the barrier, cracks already forming with each hit. Still, Malcolm massaged Leandra’s head with quick precise strokes of magic that she leaned into with a satisfied hum. As he worked, a soft smile formed on his lips. “So,” he purred. “What’s your name?”

The tense streaks of pain in her face eased as her gaze softened at him, staring at him through thick lashes. “Leandra.”

“I’m Malcolm,” he said in the next breath. “Thought you should know since you kissed me. Not that you’ll remember.”

She looked downright offended and smacked him on the shoulder. “I think I would remember the name of a man who kissed me like that.”

His smile fractured and his gaze dropped for a second. “You won’t…but it doesn’t matter.” Then he placed two fingers on either side of her temples and gazed deep into her black starry eyes. “Wake up.”

She gasped for breath as if she had just sprung up from being underwater and her form faded as her spirit drifted back into her body. That was when the last barrier split open.

A hand grasped around his neck, yanking him back into the dark void.

“I have you now, Somniari. A worthy trade,” the voices spoke. He could feel his mental defenses being ravaged as the demon curled up around him, trying to invade his mind.

It wasn’t safe to fight like this, within the demon’s lair. It was better to retreat and plan this hunt for a better day, but could he risk such a creature to wander free? He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes trying to reach back for his body, to wake himself up.

“You will not escape me!” the demon screeched, trying to fasten his hold, but Malcolm was already fading, plummeting. There was a feeling of vertigo as his soul traveled through the slip of the Veil and back into his body where he belonged.

He gasped for breath, his body jerking upright, wild golden eyes flickering around him. Then he fell backward in his bed breathing a sigh of relief. The hard metal at his back was a good reminder that he was safe, but he still clenched a sweaty hand into the soaked sandpapery sheets to make sure. His other hand clutched his throat where suction marks of the tentacles that had taken hold of his spirit, a terrible reminder how careless he had been. But his lips were still tingling and it wasn’t long until his fingers wandered there, tracing her essence, trying to remember what it felt like, but his finger was too rough to replicate the memory. Still, a warmness flooded his body and he relaxed back into his flat pillow dazing up at the ceiling, wondering, “Who the hell is she?”

Here is a 2024 update of them lol

O

Chapter Text

“An elf?” Mara’s obnoxious tittering laughter filled Leandra’s bedroom three mornings later, which was when Leandra finally had the courage to tell her. Mara was Leandra’s lady in waiting but more importantly, Leandra’s best friend, yet there were times that she questioned her decision. She was a fair skinned fit woman with short chin length chestnut brown hair. Today, in honor of Leandra, she had on a black and red rose ruffle sticking out of a tiny spike of hair, with dangly red earrings and a chunky red stone necklace, that clattered against her rather plain red and black work dress that Mara somehow made look flattering.

Leandra buried her face in one of her many pillows, face burning as it had been the whole time that she had been describing her handsome dream rescuer, whose name had somehow escaped her. “Leandra Amell, do you have a secret elf kink?”

She threw one of her pillows at Mara, who expertly caught it with both hands. “It wasn’t anything like that,” Leandra jutted out a pouty lip. “He just happened to be an elf.”

Mara laughed and threw her pillow back, which bounced off of Leandra’s chest as she fumbled. “Don’t give me that. He was the literal manifestation of your brain.”

Leandra groaned and threw her head face first into her pillow throne, knowing that she couldn’t rebut that point.

Mara slunk up next to her like a cat waiting to pounce, her cat eye make-up swept over her unhooded eyelids, completing the effect as her lips stretched in a predatory smile. “And what did you say about that kiss?”

“Kill me,” Leandra muffled.

“No,” Mara put a polished pink nail on her chin, “I think it was ‘I didn’t know that I could get so wet so quickly.’”

Leandra flung at Mara with a pillow, which she parried with her own. “I regret telling you.”

Mara bowed her head mockingly. “Pardon, my lady. I’m only repeating what I heard.”

Leandra’s shoulders slumped as she lowered her pillow, all amusement from the earlier moment left as Mara saw the look on her face. “It’s just…I’ve kissed Guillaume about 5 times now and not once did it feel anything like that.”

Mara lowered her gaze sadly. “It was a dream.”

Leandra looked at her best friend, searching her face for honesty. “But will I ever feel like that with Guillaume?”

Mara looked away and Leandra couldn’t tell if she was just choosing her words carefully or if there was something that Mara had been hiding from her. “Maybe. Things can change.” Then she threw on one of her signature devilish grins and said, “But if you want, you can always have some hot elf side piece.”

Leandra nudged her playfully, rolling her eyes. “Mara…”

“I’m just saying. Men never keep it in their pants. Why should you?” Mara threw up her hands in mock innocence as she slid off the bed and to Leandra’s spacious closet, before she looked back and said, “except Gamlen. I told him I’d pickle his pecker if I catch it in another woman’s vagina.”

Leandra shook her head in laughter, when a flash of red caught her eye through the closet. On a mannequin was a red maria clara gown with golden embroidery of the Amell sigil pouring from the bodice and cutting into the gown. The sleeves were huge and puffy with a modest sweetheart neckline, her mother’s specifications. It had all the makings of the perfect Amell betrothal gown and Leandra was not feeling like wearing it. Somehow it felt like everything was too real. In one short month Guillaume would take her name and be Lord Amell, like her father before her. She would become the true heir of House Amell, and though Guillaume himself was a delightful, kind man, she found that she felt nothing for him. 

They had been destined to marry since childhood, arranged matches by their parents while they were still playing hide and seek in the maze gardens of the Viscount’s palace. He never raised his voice, was always patient, even when she was stubborn, and was a wonderfully attentive listener. From her friends, to her parents, to the local Chantry mothers, all insisted that Guillaume and Leandra were the perfect match, and yet a small voice, that was steadily getting louder and louder, was telling her that someone out there was waiting for her and she felt like she was waiting for him.

Perhaps the man, whose name was just on the tip of her tongue, was not who she was supposed to be with, but the kiss they shared had awakened a longing in her, that had only gotten more desperate. She had attempted to have the dream again, even going so far as daring to dip her toes into the ocean, as if she could find him somewhere out there in the water, but those beach walks only resulted in the usual strange dreams, which lately have been of hosting tea parties with nugs who are also Guillaume’s and her children.

What her subconsciousness was trying to tell her, she couldn’t say, but she did know that she would be wearing that dress tonight at her betrothal to Guillaume de Launcet, hotel mogul, heir to billions. Suddenly she wondered if she could milk her mysterious “fever” a little longer and escape tonight.

Before she could mull much further, Mara had plopped back down on Leandra’s bed with three dresses draped over her arm. “So what are we feeling like today?” She held out the first one, the flowy fabric sweeping into the air and ruffling in it’s lightness. “Your Mother picked this nice floral the other day. She really wants to see you in it.”

Leandra tutted at the thought, her mood too sour to be in something so sunny, and before she could even speak her thoughts Mara discarded it on the bed, saying, “You’re right. It was pretty until I mentioned your mother.”

Leandra gave an undignified snort as Mara laid an inappropriately short powder blue party dress with a see-through pattern running down the stomach and an open back over her work dress. Mara could wear all of Leandra’s dresses better than her, in her humble opinion and her friend wasn’t shy about raiding her closet. Leandra rolled her eyes but all her annoyance was feigned. “Is that for me or for you?”

“Weeeell…now that you’re asking, I was thinking this might be a cute dress for my big date with Gamlen.” 

“Big date?” Leandra asked with true interest. “As opposed to other ones?”

Gamlen was Leandra’s little brother and Mara had been dating him secretly for about 2 years, though since the Hartlings have always served the Amells, the flirtation had been going on since they were children. Gamlen would yank on Mara’s pigtails because he couldn’t think of a better way to get her attention. Mara gave as good as she got, though, and on one occasion, slugged Gamlen right in the eye after a playful, but unwelcome, yank. Leandra’s parents were furious and wanted immediate action on whoever laid a hand on their child, but Gamlen never told a soul how he got the black eye. The only reason Leandra knew was because Mara told her.

Gamlen’s manners had gotten a bit better since boyhood, but he still had terrible impulses. Gamlen’s parents were terribly hard on him, whereas Leandra could seem to do no wrong. He also had a habit of drinking and gambling, which had got him into all sorts of trouble. Mara had a way of leveling with him, bringing out the best in him. It was Leandra who told Mara that she had a crush on Gamlen before she knew it herself. And it was Mara who taught her what love could look like. She learned what loyalty was. What acceptance was. If she was being honest, she was jealous of what Mara and Gamlen had, but she would never let it show.

The smile on Mara’s face could make flowers bloom. She hummed and did a little twirl, which was a habit of hers when she was nervous. “I think…” she started slowly and then met Leandra’s gaze with a look of mixed uncertainty and then excitedly spilled, almost too fast to understand, “he’s going to tell your parents about us.” 

Leandra smiled broadly, feigning surprise, even though it was her who kept insisting that he take that step. “I knew he’d come around.”

“Right? He just has a thick skull. Sometimes it takes awhile to get through,” Mara laughed. 

Leandra’s smile strained as she tried to think of a way to bring up her next subject. She knew her parents would be against it at first, but she also knew once they could see how much they cared about each other, and a few dozen good spirited debates with Leandra in Gamlen’s and Mara’s corner, that they would understand that they were meant to be together. She didn’t want Mara to think that her parents didn’t love her, or that she wasn’t welcome by the family, but the Amells have always been staunch traditionalists. But surely the compromise had already been made. Leandra had already secured the family’s future by marrying Guillaume. There was no need for a second political marriage. 

“Mara…you know my parents love you, right?” she began.

Mara smiled, though it seemed more strained than Leandra was comfortable with. “Of course. Your mother says she can’t live without my crab cakes.”

Leandra chuckled politely before biting her lip. “This might be… a difficult change for them.”

“You mean the Amells aren’t going to throw me my own betrothal ball?” Mara touched her chest in a joke too snarky not to register the disdain in her voice.

Leandra squeezed Mara’s hand and said, “Gamlen loves you and so do I. You’ve always been family, and one day I know we’ll be sisters for real.” Then she nudged Mara with her shoulder. “And if they don’t come around we’ll just have the wedding without them.” Leandra said it like a promise, because it was.

 “Hold your horses,” Mara laughed. “I’m just telling your parents that I have and will continue to see your brother naked.”

Leandra groaned, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to wipe the image from her mind. “Please don’t mention you and my brother naked.”

Mara’s laugh was like a comforting song to Leandra’s ears, one that she couldn’t help but join in. Then Mara did what she did best and spoke the thoughts that Leandra could never dare to aloud, “Are you having second thoughts about Guillaume? Because we live in the Dragon age and you’re a modern woman. You don’t have to go through with this.”

Leandra desperately needed to hear that, but she hid her face as she answered, “No, of course not. Guillaume is wonderful. He’s the perfect gentleman.” She wanted it to be enough. She willed it to be.

 Mara twisted her face in a comedic frown. “He could lose the mustache.”

“Mara,” Leandra protested with a laugh though she agreed. “It’s distinguished.”

“Well, he’s your man. If you like it,” Mara chuckled.

Leandra thought of how that should make her heart flutter but instead it was plummeting like a shot bird. Mara’s lips thinned at Leandra’s expression, but even if she wanted to say something, she decided against it. 

“Well, I might have a dress that might suit that foul mood.”

---

The great antique oak clock that sat in the spacious but professionally decorated dining room ticked like an executioner tapping his fingers against the blade about to cut off Leandra’s head. She could feel her Mother staring daggers into her clothes and considering the way her fork was tapping along on her plate, she was seconds away from saying something. She then set aside an uneaten bite and smoothed a strand of graying black hair, which was fixed into a braided bun with an Amell crest pin. She wore the expected house color, red, in a perfectly tailored dress with bold black embroidery, but light and airy enough that it was perfect for a day of hosting.   

The greying woman, Bethann Amell, took a cloth napkin in her hands to dab her red lipstick and cleared her throat to announce that she’d like everyone to pay attention. Leandra gulped, realizing that the chop was about to come. Her mother turned to her father, who seemed to be the odd one out of the family with his much paler skin and eagle-like nose, that balanced a pair of smart, calculating glasses. While the rest of the Amells shared dark locks, his greying hair was blond as the sun and defied his slick gel in lifting tufts. He was busy reading emails on his phone as he stuffed his face with marinated beef from his plate of tapsilog, too absorbed in his work to pay attention.

“Lord Aristride, dear.”

He glanced up from his phone, the light reflecting on his glasses. “Yes?” 

“What do you think of Leandra’s dress?” her mother tutted, with a look of feigned innocence.

Leandra tried not to be annoyed as she noticed a small smirk form on Gamlen beside her, but he made no effort to defend or condemn her.

Lord Aristride blinked a few times and stared at Leandra’s dress in confusion for a few seconds before he resumed his work. “She looks lovely.” 

“Thank you, Father,” Leandra hid her smile in a sip of orange juice.

“Will you pay attention to something other than that phone?” her mother scowled from across the table and pointed with her chin. “Where are her house colors? She looks more like she’s going to a funeral rather than to her betrothal ball.” 

Lord Aristride gazed down at Leandra’s dress in concern for the first time. “That is a lot of black, sweetheart.”

She was, in fact, wearing only black; a lace cardigan over a short tulle cocktail dress. She had almost asked to borrow one of Mara’s black lipsticks, but she knew her parents would not think of that as an appropriate makeup and thought better of it. She cut into her eggs nervously and blurted out what she had rehearsed in her head when she made the decision to wear the dress. “I’m going to Aunt Revka’s today. I wanted to be respectful.” 

At that, all noise in the dining room stopped, except for the antique clock’s tick, tick, tick.. Aunt Revka, who was actually Leandra’s cousin, was not a subject to be brought up casually. Of her four children, three were discovered to be mages and sent off into different Circles. Her husband left her after her second eldest, Robert, w as discovered and after her third child, Isaac, manifested powers and was taken, she had been in a state of perpetual mourning. It was a huge scandal that reminded the rest of Kirkwall’s nobles that the Amells had once come from a proud family in Tevinter, ages ago before this land was named Kirkwall.  

At the heavy silence, Leandra felt a deep guilt for bringing up her unfortunate cousin, but nothing she was saying was a lie. Leandra made it a point to do weekly visits to her cousin and when her tea session landed on her betrothal ball, she never thought about moving or cancelling it. She knew that she was perhaps the only one of her family to make an honest effort of keeping in touch outside of social events.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, sweetheart,” Aristride nodded before returning to his phone.

Her mother’s lips turned into a thin line but she returned to her breakfast, turning her ire to another target. “And you better not embarrass us tonight, Gamlen. It’s Leandra’s big day.”

 Gamlen flinched as if he was hit, and Leandra quickly snapped back, “Mother, Gamlen is not an embarrassment.”

 “Please,” her mother tittered, holding in her laugh with a delicately wrinkled hand that defied age-cream moisturizers. “After bungling his engagement to the Baudelaire’s he’s been nothing but an embarrassment. The least Gamlen could do is just let you do the talking, dear.”

Gamlen’s broad shoulders slumped and Leandra went to squeeze his hand, but he shook it off with a flash of anger in his blue eyes. His square jaw tensed, and the thick lines of his neck tightened as he clenched his fork. “Don’t worry, Mother, I’ll stuff my face like I’m good at,” and to prove that point he scooped a heaping pile of fried rice into his mouth and chewed with loud wet smacking noises. 

Her mother and father sighed together, her father pinching the bridge of his nose while her mother looked up to the heavens in a pleading prayer.

Leandra thought quickly of a way to salvage the situation. “Actually, Gamlen is coming with me to see Aunt Revka today.”

Gamlen looked at Leandra with as much surprise as their parents. “I am?” he asked, causing Leandra to give him a swift kick under the table.

 Gamlen grunted and glared, his beaky nose flaring. 

“Yes,” Leandra’s smile was all teeth as she pleaded with her eyes for Gamlen to play along. “Aunt Revka was saying how much Colette missed you two painting together.”

And there it was, a smile of surprise, more than anything else, but a smile nonetheless. Their parents shared a look, and then turned to Gamlen. His mother’s dark eyes softened at her son for the first time this morning and her father actually put down his phone with a resolute nod. “Good for you, son. It’s important to take care of the family.”

It was a sweet moment until her father added, “Even if they’ve brought shame to our house.”

Leandra’s genuine smile turned bitter and she scooted her plate away, food still half-eaten. “Well, we’re running a little late, aren’t we?”

Though Gamlen was slow on the uptake, he was quick to find any reason to get away from his parents. “I’ll go get my art supplies.”

Leandra took that cue to rise with him, though unlike him, she waited with her hands folded for her parent’s dismissal. Both her parents rose to join her, and crowded her in a three part hug just as Gamlen slammed the door. If her parents noticed, they made no sign. Her father tousled her bangs with a kiss to the forehead. “We love you and are so proud of what you’re doing today.”

Her mother took a pack of concealer, Leandra’s lighter tawny beige color, and applied the powder to where her father kissed. “Now don’t mess up her makeup on her big day.”

Leandra rolled her eyes at her mother, not sure if marrying someone should warrant such a response. “Mother, it’s just Auntie. After that I’ll be back. No one will care about some smeared foundation.”

“Still,” she noticed her mothers dark eyes were misting up as she arranged her bangs to be perfectly in place. “Appearances.”

Leandra was subjected to at least one more hug from each before she could meet Mara and Gamlen at the town car. Her driver, an older elven gentleman named Senhel, was already waiting for her. He had been with the family since her great grandpa was alive. He was a friendly, chatty man with red hair and bright gray eyes, who liked to watch people and talk to strangers as he waited. He always told Leandra the most fascinating stories about the things he saw. His favorite stories to tell were of being a key witness to neighborhood robberies, which he was on three separate occasions, but most of his gossip was about who got a dog, whose kids are growing up and what the neighbors were fighting about.   

The older but still fit man hunched his back in a bow and took off his cap in greeting as he spotted Leandra coming off the steps of her mansion. She noticed that Senhel was perched near the porch rather than near the car. “Is there a funeral today? I missed the memo on the dress code,” he joked in his usual chipper manner.

 “Not yet,” she grinned back. “But it’s still morning, isn’t it?”

“Hope it’s not mine,” the man chuckled as he pulled on his suspenders. “Got the big 5-0 coming up with my Mister.”

Leandra’s heart ached in envy as she saw the huge grin on his face. “That’s next week, right?”

Somehow the man’s grin got wider. “You remembered.” He then placed his cap back on, and adjusted it to the right angle without looking. “It was real sweet of your fiance' to host me at his hotel. It’s really going to make the night special.”

Her smile froze at the mention of her fiance’ but Senhel was thankfully not as observant as Mara and found nothing amiss as he continued, “You and Guillaume are a story for the bards, I tell you.” He waggled his finger playfully. “I remember when little Guillaume was only yeigh high,” he gestured to his hip. “How attached he was to you the first moment he laid eyes on you. You were inseparable with your little matching outfits.”

Leandra’s face burned as she thought of a young bored self listening to her mother and Lady De Launcet arguing over the cut and design of their outfits at the dress fittings. Leandra and Guillaume would always find a way to sneak out to raid the kitchen for snacks and Leandra would no doubt be scolded for getting icing on her dress. She did recall those memories with a certain warmth, and they had always shared a kinship of overbearing parents that had only groomed them for success. Suddenly she thought of how she could share that warmth with him, even if it wasn’t the type of song she dreamed her life might be about.

She swallowed down her fears and forced a smile as genuine as she could manage. “Thank you, Senhel.” 

“For what?”

 “For reminding me I should be grateful.” She nodded resolutely. She would not give any more voice to these doubts. She would not ruin her future over wishy washy feelings. 

He gave a friendly pat on her shoulder, his hands knotted and wrinkled. “We all need a little reminder from time to time.”

Leandra turned to let herself into the car.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Senhel hurried in front of her and towards the car. At first she thought it was at Senhel’s insistence of propriety, but that’s when she noticed the car was slightly rocking.

He banged on the window with a scowl on his face. “Alright you hooligans, Leandra’s here so knock it off!”

Gamlen’s strained muffled voice answered from inside. “Just a minute!”

Leandra’s face burned bright crimson and she tried and failed to not imagine what was happening in the back of that town car, her brain short-circuiting at the brazenness of it all. She could never imagine wanting somebody so much that she could forget such social etiquettes like public decency. She was just grateful Senhel was quick enough that she didn’t catch them in the act…again.

“Apologies, my lady,” Senhel looked at Leandra sympathetically. “He gave me a sovereign to leave…and like I said, my anniversary’s next week.”

Leandra cleared the tightness from her throat. “Quite right.”

Senhel marched to the trunk and popped it open, which caused Gamlen to yell from the backseat, but Senhel ignored him. “I think they packed a towel somewhere and I always keep cleaning supplies handy 'cause…your brother,” he chewed on his last words with a mutter.

Leandra couldn’t meet Gamlen’s eyes the whole time Mara and he chatted away, but he seemed to prefer that. She was holding her breath, trying not to take in the overbearing scent of air freshener, that was not doing as great a job as Senhel claimed. Mara was wearing the skin tight blue dress, now ruffled, her stomach poking through the lace. Leandra would find a casual way to let Mara know later that she could have the dress, for even if she washed it a thousand times, she would never be able to scrub out the memories.

Mara and Gamlen were busy trying to find a restaurant to hit up before they spent the day on Gamlen’s yacht, and while Leandra politely answered when Mara asked questions, she found that being surrounded by such lovey dovey nonsense was quickly nauseating. Every casual pet-name, or inside joke, or kiss that bordered on makeout was a reminder of something she didn’t share with Guillaume. She was used to third-wheeling with Gamlen and Mara, and though she was trying to convince herself that she could accept not marrying the love of her life, she couldn’t help but imagine how, in a year or two from now, she would give up her best friend to her brother on the Chantry steps in front of a crowd of the city for all to celebrate. And it would actually warrant a celebration.

Senhel pulled the shiny black car up to the Amell's lesser estate, which was a grand, but much smaller, mansion with high white walls that were dull and in need of a wash. The manicured yard was filled with a different variety of roses lining the black iron gates that fenced the property in. They pulled into the driveway, which was much more cramped than Amell's outrageous main estate.

Gamlen gazed at the estate with a look that could be construed as pity as he peered at the windows that had red curtains blocking out most of the light. His face twisted in a frown, “I don’t really have to go in there, do I?”

Mara nudged him with a look of annoyance. “Ducky, would it kill you to spend an hour with your niece? We did pack the art supplies.”

Gamlen took Mara’s delicate chin in his aristocratic hands. “Sure, but wouldn’t it be more fun if I painted you, Sugar Lips?”

 Mara giggled as he pulled her in for a kiss. Leandra held in gag as she tried not to imagine what that meant. “It’s alright,” she said quickly, hand already on the car door. “I have to discuss some details of Aunt Revka’s case anyways and it might bore you to tears. You go on ahead.”

 “Are you sure?” Mara asked, placing a hand on Leandra’s knee, searching her face for the truth.

Leandra placed her hand over Mara’s and squeezed back with a smile, grateful that she had a friend who loved her so much. “Truly,” she swallowed the bitterness she felt and said, “Have a splendid date.”

Gamlen relaxed back into the leather seat, his arm cradling Mara closer, a satisfied smirk settled on his lips. “Have a nice visit,” which he somehow made sound sarcastic.

Mara shot him a warning glance before letting go of Leandra’s hand and patting her knee. “Tell me all about it later.”

Leandra made her way to the white spacious porch and knocked on the stained glass decorated door. It only took a few moments for a frail mousy woman with a maid outfit in Amell colors to answer. Her face immediately brightened at Leandra’s presence.  

“My lady, you’re early,” her sharp green eyes wrinkled into a smile.

“Hello, Deanne,” Leandra smiled warmly, stepping into the darkened foray.

She barely got through the door when a delighted shriek and the pounding of footsteps echoed upstairs. “Auntie! Auntie!” A little girl with a matching red bow and dress and a run in her stockings careened through the house like a tornado and soon began hurrying down the stairs.

Another older woman, who everyone called Nanny, was much slower and held her lower back as she walked as fast as she could without jogging.

This house used to be bustling with servants but the staff had been reduced to just Nanny and Deanne, except for Carl, an elf who was their gardener and only worked on weekends. The estate’s allowance was reduced to save money, since most of the staff believed the family to be cursed, and Revka preferred to only have those around her who were already loyal to the family.

“Miss Colette! What did I tell you about running in the house?” but the girl was already halfway down the stairs before Leandra saw a familiar gleam in her eye.

“Auntie! Catch me!”

“No, Colette, we talked about this!” Leandra said, but the girl had already launched herself, her wavy free flowing brown hair streaked through the air, her tiny arms outstretched freely as she giggled in delight. Leandra stepped up without thinking and caught her midair by the waist, almost tripping in her heels as she careened backwards. Thankfully, Deanne was there to steady her before the momentum could tip them both over.

“Now, Miss Colette!” Nanny scolded, as she made her way down the stairs with difficulty, shuffling down each step with a creak of her knees. “What did I tell you about jumping off the stairs?”

“But I wanted to fly!” Colette put her arms out like a plane leaning backwards so that Leandra quickly lost grip.

“Colette!” Leandra shouted as she quickly re-caught her, Colette giggling like it was the funniest game. Leandra quickly put her down before she tried again. “Humans can’t fly. You’re going to hurt yourself doing that.”

“When I talked to Isaac yesterday he said that mages can fly.” Colette put her hands on her hips. “I want to be a mage. Mages can do anything! If I was a mage, I could visit Isaac every night and maybe Anna and Robert, too.”

Leandra shared a look with Deanne and Nanny. While Isaac, Colette’s older brother by two years, was close in Kirkwall’s Circle, Anna was in Ostwick and Robert in Markham. Revka and Colette visited as often as she was allowed, traveling from Circle to Circle,  but even for all of the Amell's power, Revka could only take Colette once a week, to only one of her siblings after Mass on their day free of study. Leandra planned to change that.

“Colette,” Leandra straightened her lopsided bow and patted her head. “Do you want to let your mama know that I’m here?”

“She’s drinking her special tea in the garden,” Colette said and darted off to the back of the house.

Leandra quickly said goodbye to the two women who seemed to be relieved to be able to go back to work, and walked quietly through the house, passing pictures and relics of what used to be a rather large family, now reduced to two. She walked through the living room, which was large with a warm smoky fireplace, the room filled with all sorts of games that the children used to play: Robert’s toy military airplanes modeled in exact replicas, Anna’s porcelain doll collection that stayed dusted on the shelves, and Isaac’s colorful toy garbage trucks. Her parents were horrified that Aunt Revka allowed Isaac to have such toys, but Isaac thought that the machines were really cool and wanted to operate one when he grew up. All of Colette’s coloring books and sketch pages were scattered on various surfaces and pinned to every spare wall.  

Leandra walked up to a sliding glass door to a white wooden deck that overlooked a garden. At a lavish tropitone on the outdoor patio, Revka Amell was nursing a pot of tea, her cup no doubt spiked. The garden was the only place kept light and airy, an array of roses and posies and hyacinths and other colorful flowers decorated the small field cut into view by the other mansions of Hightown where Colette would play. She was a plumper woman, her drooping cheeks giving her the impression she looked frailer and older than she was. Colette was already at her mother’s knee, the bouncing bundle of energy a stark contrast to the slow, dazed way Revka sat up. She smiled weakly at her daughter, clutching her tiny hand as she talked to her.

“Can I get the special cookies we got for tea, today?” Colette bounced on her heels.

“Do you need any more sugar, little bird?” Revka smiled weakly, her brown eyes dull of the life that she used to have.

Colette pouted a reddish brown lip. “But we picked them out together.”

Revka patted Colette’s cheek, her smile for once serene. “Well, it is a special day. Go on.”

As soon as Colette disappeared back into the mansion, her smile turned somber as she turned to Leandra. “Hello, dear. Congratulations on your big day.”

“Thank you, Aunt Revka. I’m truly blessed by the Maker to have met such a fortunate match,” Leandra smiled thinly and nodded, seating herself, knowing Revka was past the point of caring if Leandra adhered to the little rules of propriety.

“I’m afraid I’ve gotten word from my lawyer last night,” Revka sighed and put down her teacup as Leandra poured a cup for herself. “They can allow the phone sessions and video calls but they say there’s no room in the Chantry’s policy to allow blood relatives to be in the same Circle.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Leandra dropped the teacup from her lips before she could take a sip. “We are staunch loyalists who have donated fortunes to the Chantry. Can they not make room in their policy?”

Revka lifted the cup back up to her lips. “My lawyer says that if they allow one rule change, they’d have to allow others and apparently they don’t want to open that door.” Revka looked like a broken rag doll, her shoulders sagging into the art deco chair for support.

“Then we can find whoever does have the power and convince them to help us,” Leandra stood up and set her teacup down so forcefully that the liquid sloshed over the side and onto the plate below. “It’s too early to give up!”

Revka’s face twisted in pain. “Don’t be naive, Leandra. We can’t stand against the Chantry,” Revka’s hands trembled, her teacup starting to clatter against the plate. “I thank the Maker every day for their mercy to allow Isaac to remain close. He still hasn’t even lost all his baby teeth, but I have to focus on Colette. I can’t lose her, too.”

Leandra reached out and steadied her hand with a comforting squeeze. “You won’t.”

That’s when the tears that Revka had been holding back spilled out of her eyes.

“I caught her talking to herself again last night.”

A beat of worry passed through Leandra, but she tried to not let it show. “Children play games. I had all sorts of imaginary friends as a kid.”

Revka rubbed her reddening eyes as she sobbed. “She’s showing signs like the others. Sometimes I’ll come out here in the morning and find the areas where Colette played in bloom with flowers that I know my gardener didn’t plant. And you remember the crow?”

Leandra nodded solemnly. There was a crow that had followed Colette around for a week and the girl insisted that it had lost someone. At first everyone thought that it was make-believe, but it turned out Lord Loiusoix had gone out of town on business that month and one of his pet crows had gone out to search for him. The crow incident was not to be talked about in front of Revka or to anyone else for that matter, but it still weighed heavily on the house’s mind.

Leandra took one of Revka’s hands. “Auntie, please believe me when I say you’re not in this alone. If Colette has magic, we’ll figure it out.”

Revka nodded, comforted by her words even if she didn’t look like she believed them.

They heard the sliding door open again and Colette came walking beside Deanne carrying a tray of colorful assorted meringues. At the sight of her mother’s face she abandoned Deanne and rushed up to her mother, her tiny doll-like face twisting in worry. “Mama, are you feeling sad again?”

Revka wiped her tears and sniffed, taking a napkin and dabbing her eyes. “No,” she replied, forcing a smile. “Mama is happy you’re here now.”

“Then I won’t go, ok?” Colette hugged her mother on her chair, though it wasn’t exactly lady-like how her skirt flipped up, but no one there made any comment.

Deanne was already setting the plate of meringues on the tropitone and as soon as she did, Leandra nodded, “Thank you, Deanne.”

Deanne smiled back and nodded at them before dismissing herself.

“Do you want a cookie?” Colette twirled her finger in her hair, still cradled in her mother’s arms.

Revka smiled and picked up a meringue, breaking the flaky crust in half. “I don’t think I can finish it. Do you want to split one?” 

“Sure!” Colette beamed and grabbed her half eagerly. Revka took a moderate nibble before setting it down next to her tea while Colette shoved the whole thing in her mouth.

Revka laughed, a sound Leandra wished she heard more often. “Silly bird, that’s not how a lady eats.”

Colette smiled, the pink goo of the meringue coating her teeth, which caused Revka to laugh again.

 The rest of the tea session went just as pleasantly. They colored a few pages together and then added it to Colette's growing gallery of paintings, which were starting to look stronger each day.

Most of her personal drawings were her doing magic with her family. Leandra could start to recognize some of the faces of her brothers and sister. Revka held strong as Colette explained each piece until it was time for Leandra to get ready for the ball, and Leandra suddenly felt like eating glass.

“When can I go to a ball?” Colette held onto Leandra’s skirts as she walked her out, Senhel already waiting in the driveway. 

“I attended my first one at 14. It won’t be that far away, don’t worry,” Leandra tucked some stray hair behind the girl’s ear and kissed her forehead. “Now don’t go jumping off the stairs, you little monkey.”

 “But you always catch me,” Colette hugged her thigh as she looked up at her with big brown eyes.

Leandra rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion that made Colette cover her mouth in a naughty giggle.

As she stared down at her niece she felt more determined than ever. She would do whatever it took to make sure her family was together again.

Chapter Text

The hunt for the demon had not gone as planned. For such a powerful essence, it left very little trail of where it had disappeared to, but that didn’t mean anything in the Fade. Malcolm had run into quite a few terror demons in his time, but the variety he was used to was much smaller, parasites, more than anything else, that attached to a dreamer’s fears and inflated them until they became debilitating. They were cowards for one. They preferred weak prey that they could immobilize and from what Malcolm could tell, everyone saw something different. They were able to weave their webs on even the most cautious victims, able to blend in to their surroundings when they wanted to, and apparently, to Malcolm’s growing frustration, mask their essence trail. He knew that there were some friendly spirits around that could be safe enough to ask, if he could trust what they said.

Still he had not exactly spent the last few years having tea parties with spirits. In fact, wisps had gotten to a point where they fled from his sight. He realized with bitterness that he would need to change that and had spent the last 3 days trying to get close enough to one without spooking it, but it was terribly difficult when your moniker was literally Spirit Slayer.

There was a particularly brave one that was always hovering from the distance and he had spent all night and the better part of the morning snoozing through all his classes in order to coax it closer, though it was frustrating when his teachers kept waking him up. He tried to fake sick but he was examined by a healer to verify, since he used that excuse so often. He was in his Advanced Placement Spellcasting class, which was the period before lunch where he could have a whole hour of peace after a quick snack and finally, finally he was making some headway.

“Trick?” the wisp asked again in its usual simple sentences. Its shining ball of light glowed red, flashing in a sheen of green sky. He had followed up into the stratosphere where the wisp had hoped to lose him.

“No trick. I won’t hurt you,” Malcolm said for what he felt like the thousandth time, but still this was the longest he’d gotten the creature to stay still. “I just want to find a big, big terror demon. Have you seen-”

At the mention of the terror demon, the wisp blinked away with a gasp.

“Wait, come back,” Malcolm flew forward, calling out to the creature. 

He reached out and plucked the Fade thread of where it was trying to follow the essence trail, but it had teleported to another dimension altogether. He kept plucking the string, wading through the cacophony of spirit’s hushed whispers, trying to either recognize its voice or its scent or anything really. This was a terribly slow process at times that required lots of concentration. Wisps were especially difficult since their voices could easily be lost among water, enjoying its tumble through a river, or a tree drinking up the sunshine or a rock really enjoying its solid form. Everything in the Fade talked so that it was a constant hum of whispers. 

Summoning the image of his bedroom door, he grabbed parts of the Fade with his hand and reshaped them like clay, building it piece by piece. When he was done, he pried open the steel bars, still creaking like he remembered. Suddenly he saw a garden where the mushrooms were as big as sacoyas and strange tiger striped purple grass twisted into each other like they were hugging. The various colored and shaped mushrooms swayed like they were dancing in a breeze that wasn’t blowing. In the middle of the field was the red glowing wisp slowly floating in a circle and humming, “Shiny.” 

“Shiny,” the grass sang back. Then the mushrooms sang that back, and then the sky echoed back, until it came back to the wisp who repeated the cycle.

That stopped as soon as Malcolm stepped through the portal of his door.

The Fade held its breath, the whispers dying down to listen as Malcolm held up his hands in peace.

“No follow,” the wisp shouted, blinking and quivering in fright. 

“Yes follow,” Malcolm stepped forward. The grass curled away from him, the blades tightening.

The wisp darted away a few feet and hid behind a mushroom that puffed up. “Why follow?”

“Because I need to-” Malcolm paused, about to say ‘kill’, but thought better of it and said, “get rid of it.” He wasn’t sure if he should specify who it was, but he didn’t want to go chasing it down again.

The wisp paused in consideration, and peeked around the brown spotted mushroom. “Can’t…tell.” 

It seemed the terror demon didn’t just scare mortals. So Malcolm tried a different tactic. “What about you take me to someone that can tell me.”

It blinked away, and for a moment Malcolm thought that would be the end. Malcolm walked up to where the wisp was and plucked the Fade string to see if it had just gone behind another mushroom, but it had teleported far away again. He was ready to give up and try another wisp when it blinked back with a friend, a familiar not-face eating what looked like a mostly empty bucket of deep-fried nug legs covered in red sauce.

“Oh, hello, again,” Scholar said with a full mouth. “This wisp tells me you survived Zelophehad somehow.” The spirit swallowed the bone and then picked up another greasy nug thigh. “Well, congrats on that,” the spirit bit into the leg and chewed loudly. “So did you call to tell me what taste is? You didn’t have to send a wisp to do it. You could have called me.”

Malcolm wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or annoyed to see Scholar, but at least this demon wasn’t aggressive…yet. He knew that could change in an instant and it mostly relied on his ability to control his temper. “No,” Malcolm took in a calming, steadying breath as he readied his nerves. He had never tried actually talking to a demon before and he was edgy, just waiting for them to ask for a deal. “I came to ask about Zelvilod or whatever.”

 “Zelophehad,” Scholar corrected. 

“Gesundheit.” 

“That wasn’t even close,” the creature smacked its strange not-mouth loudly. 

“Does it really matter? It’s a demon that needs to die yesterday. I don’t need to know how to pronounce its name,” Malcolm snapped.

The wisp gasped and disappeared and Scholar’s face twisted into a snarl, that suddenly turned into a burp. “Will you stop with that emotion? You’re going to twist me and you’re ruining the flavor.” 

Malcolm wanted so badly to snap again, to tell him that lives were on the line and that he didn’t have time to watch him eat, but Malcolm bit his tongue, literally, and capped his anger, though he felt like a shook soda. “Where can I find it?” he said as calmly as he could manage. 

“Find it?” the creature cocked its head. “He’s right behind you.” He pointed with his half-eaten drumstick and Malcolm jumped to find a goat eye the size of baseball floating just behind his head. It blinked and disappeared from sight but Malcolm felt all the hair stand on his neck. He jumped around casting a life detecting spell but all that shimmered back were wisps and the usual denizens of the Fade. 

Malcolm turned back around, his heart in his throat. “Where is it now?”

“Don’t feed it!” the spirit waved its hand frantically, splattering sauce.

Malcolm took a second to stop tensing, his eyes still darting around for more signs of eyes among the forest of mushrooms, but the grove stayed eerily silent. Malcolm kept clenching and unclenching his fists unsure if it was right behind him again, but a tiny voice inside him told him not to look. He ignored it, flinching as he craned his head and saw nothing, and yet it felt like something was staring, waiting. Biding its time. “That’s it,” Malcolm muttered as a chill crawled up his neck. “The next time I see that demon I’m poking out every one of its eyeballs.” 

“Does the fact that you can’t even sense it not tell you that you’re too young? Shiny told me they had to lead you out of several traps already.”

“Shiny?”

Scholar looked exasperated, as if it was so obvious. “The wisp you sent. Though their name is Rocky now.”

Malcolm scrunched up his face. “What? Why?”

Scholar stuck his hand in his bucket to find it empty and sighed. “Because they’re wisps, of course. They’re still deciding who they are. They have to try each name before they find the one that feels just right.”

“How do you keep track?” Malcolm found himself asking, but then he shook his head realizing he was getting off track and said, “Never mind, just…how do I kill…Zelfeewad?”

“You don’t,” Scholar answered, the bucket de-materialized and a plate of chocolate cake came next. The spirit grabbed a handful and before shoving it in his mouth said, “so, what is taste?”

Malcolm felt like he had just gone around in a big winding circle and he was absolutely winded. And then Malcolm said what he thought he would never say to a demon. “How about we make a deal?”  

The spirit jumped back and gasped, “No!,” which surprised Malcolm. “I’m no demon, and I won’t throw myself against one, especially not Zelophehad.”

He was expecting to have to clarify, but blood magic was never an option. He had seen too many good mages go down that path and meet their end, not to mention he was not looking for more reasons to be hunted by the Chantry, but as far as he knew, every demon wanted a deal.

“Actually I’m not offering my soul, more my expertise,” Malcolm said, finding his shoulders relaxing. “Do you want to know what taste is?”

That’s when he felt a smack to his face.

Malcolm jerked awake, groggy with drool dribbling down his mouth and pooling on his desk. It was still dark and he realized his teacher had dropped his test packet on him and he pulled it off, fluorescent lights spotting his vision.

A dark elf with his hair in a dreadlocked ponytail and a shadow of stubble across his jaw glared at Malcolm through his spectacles. “Class is almost over and this is blank, Serah Hawke.”

He felt an annoyed buzzing in his skull as Scholar started pressing through the slip of the thin Veil. He tried to shoo it away but it was steadily getting louder. He also had the attention of his whole class’ eyes on him including Taylor, a somewhat friend, somewhat annoyance, who was shaking her head so much disappointment the top of her cloudy hair were almost bouncing against her pointy burnt sienna ears.

“My bad,” Malcolm shrugged. Some of his classmates snickered in their sleeves while others rolled their eyes in annoyance. He leaned on his desk, his chin propped on his hand.

The teacher snatched up the test. “Be aware, young man, you will finish this quarter final if I have to staple a pencil to your hand and make you write the words myself.”

Malcolm’s eyes glazed over as he tuned out the impending lecture that was no doubt coming. It was something about telling him how he was wasting his potential and that he would regret this later in life, the usual spiel.  He winced as a familiar buzz came back into his mind. He began to see the impression of the spirit behind Enchanter Jakoby, pressing through the veil to speak with him.

“You say something about a taste deal and then just disappear. That’s terribly frustrating.”  

“Not now,” Malcolm responded in his head. He struggled to keep his face under control, the pressing presence on his mind unwelcome and uncomfortable. 

“Then when?”  

“I’ll call you. Now scat before I get in trouble,”   and he made an audible grunt of frustration.

“What was that?” Enchanter Jakoby snapped, thinking it was Malcolm’s usual disrespect.

The spirit blinked out of sight and Malcolm shook his head out of a daze. “I mean, uh, yeah, you’re completely right.”

The elf’s full lips pulled back into a stunning bright smile. “Excellent. I’ll see you tonight, then.” 

Malcolm blinked a few times in confusion. “What?”

The class broke up in laughter, and the Enchanter quickly snapped, “back to your tests!” Then he took off his glasses and massaged his temples. “Were you even listening?” 

“Sure,” Malcolm scratched his pointed ear sheepishly, “but just in case I wasn’t, where am I going?”

Enchanter Jakoby looked up and sighed. “To the ball,” he pointed to names on the board where one was crossed out that wasn’t before. “Kenny tells me he’s feeling stage fright and you just volunteered to perform in his place.”

“No, I didn’t,” Malcolm snorted scooting back in his chair.   

“Yes you did,” Enchanter Jakoby nodded, encroaching onto Malcolm’s desk so they could meet each other’s eyes.

 “Well tell Kenny to suck it up cause I’m busy tonight,” Malcolm unwrinkled his test and finally wrote his name on the paper, avoiding the pile of drool.

“He’s throwing up in the healing quarters.” 

Good old Kenny. 

Malcolm ran a frustrated hand through his curls as he snapped back a growl. “C’mon you don’t want me there. I’m sure someone else wants to be a Chantry monkey.”

“For once, I agree,” a handsome nobleman with a straight nose and shapely lips glared at Malcolm. “Not about the Chantry monkey, just about him being there.” He stood up like he was the ambassador to the class and put his hand over his heart, his wavy blond shoulder length hair waving in his green eyes as pleaded with the Enchanter. “Hawke hasn’t turned in a single thing since the beginning of class and there are many others much more deserving the honor.”

Malcolm snorted. “Sure. Make sure to pack bananas.”

Arth’s eyes flashed in anger and he took a step forward with his mouth open in retort, but the Enchanter raised his hand to silence the impending argument that was bound to explode between the two men.

Arth Elliot was the Circles darling and had seen Malcolm as a rival since he first arrived and lit a flame while the Enchanter was still instructing the class on how to visualize it. Malcolm was practically juggling the flame as his other classmates quickly tried to do the same but the most any could do was a spark. Arth, who was always proud of being top of the class, could not even manage a puff of smoke. When he asked Malcolm how he did that, he said, “I just did,” and that was all it took for him to become obsessed.

Malcolm realized he was years ahead of his classmates, and eventually started hiding the full extent of his powers, but his teachers still noticed. He was always snoozing through class so there was no way he had paid attention to the lessons, and yet when his teachers would test his aptitude for magic, he never showed difficulty with any spell of any school, which baffled everyone. His teachers knew Malcolm was bored, jaded, and they couldn’t challenge him. Most of his teachers couldn’t stand him, either making sure he was unwelcome in class and while most had given up on Malcolm, spending time on more willing students, Enchanter Jakoby was persistent.

“Sit down, Serah Elliot, and wait quietly for class to finish,” the teacher said as if he was speaking to a child, and like a child, Arth jutted out his pink bottom lip in a pout and slunk back down into his seat like a whipped puppy. Enchanter Jakoby winced, holding his forehead for a second crinkling with stress wrinkles.

“Malcolm, I know you’ve been put into an unfair position. We all have, but you have to realize that you can either work with the system or the system works you. You can take this for the opportunity that it is, or squander it, like every chance you’ve ever been given and fall into further disciplinary action. It’s up to you.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes, his dark curls brushing over his forehead. “Oh, no,” Malcolm drawled sarcastically. “However will I survive being under lock and key?”

The thinning of the other elf’s full lips told Malcolm that he was successfully getting under his skin, but he softened them into a smile and said, “Don’t worry. I’m sure Ser Carver would agree to watch your manners tonight.”

At the mention of his friend, Malcolm huffed collapsing back in his chair so forcefully it gave a screeching scoot. “Playing dirty I see.”

“I’ve been at this a lot longer than you, Junior Enchanter,” the elf’s coconut brown eyes gleamed as he triumphantly smirked.

The shrill bell rang and through the speakers and everyone scrambled to take off towards the Enchanter’s desk to drop off their tests. Malcolm grabbed his unopened backpack and was about to leave when the Enchanter grabbed him by the shoulder and sat him back down. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Malcolm shot an annoyed glare up at him. “Uuuuh, to lunch?”

“You will spend your lunch here with me where you will finish your quarter final.”

“Aw, c’mon teach, I’m starving,” Malcolm whined.  

“You should have thought about that before you used today’s class as a nap session,” the teacher nodded resolutely and marched back to his desk to start correcting papers. 

Taylor frowned sympathetically. “Malcolm, do you want me to pick up your lunch?”   

“Sure, Mom,” Malcolm snarked, his hands flying across the questions with renewed determination. 

Taylor rolled her eyes and slung her book bag over her shoulder, Arth hovering behind her with a rather annoyed look on his face. “If you’re going to be a dick, you can get it yourself.” 

“Let’s go, Taylor,” Arth offered his arm in a gesture. “You don’t need to associate with filth.” 

Taylor looked at the arm and decided to move on ahead without taking it, not even bothering to address him. He flashed an icy green glare when Malcolm snorted. Then he stuck his chin in the air and squared his shoulders, marching out of the room as if nothing happened. 

Malcolm finished the test in record time. The grin on Enchanter’s Jakoby’s face at Malcolm’s short but correct answers was awfully irritating, but Malcolm hid his smirk until his back was turned, knowing that he was in for another lecture when the Enchanter would inevitably get to the last question that was answered, “Templars suck Chantry dick.” 

Malcolm wandered through the quarters of the Circle hall winding down the stairs to the cafeteria passing mages, who would avoid him like he was diseased, and templars, who watched his every movement like he was ready to attack. Malcolm had only assaulted a templar once and he quickly learned that this was suicide. They had too many tools, too much training, and a whole team to rely on while Malcolm only had himself. No, the only way to survive in the Circle was to find some way to make peace with it, and the only thought that gave Malcolm peace is that one day he would escape for good.  

He cut the line to the front of the cafeteria, but other than getting a few nasty glares, no one made any comment, at least in his direction. Dragging his tray across the table he picked up a wilted salad for good energy, the same stale piece of bread he had every day, and what he hoped was a mix of meat and mashed potatoes but it could be another experiment of the chef. For desert, to his surprise, were some rather nice strawberries. He hadn’t thought about the kiss all day, though it did intrude his mind like an annoying gnat buzzing in his ear. That kiss was just fantasy. 

Chances are the mysterious Leandra had already forgotten him in the dream fog and moved on with her perfect life while he was stuck like a scratched record skipping on the same beat. He found himself resisting the urge to touch his lips again, to close his eyes and just imagine that perfect moment but he was very aware he was in public. So instead he piled a bunch of strawberries on his plate, much more than was considered polite and eyed his best friend Charlie waving at him from the corner table with Taylor, who was eating a small salad and doing homework she was assigned for another class.

Charlie was probably best described as a brother and not because he looked like a human version of Malcolm, except with wavy hair, slightly lighter skin, and no freckles. Charlie was two years older, but still hadn’t passed his Harrowing and, unlike Malcolm, was just about everyone’s best friend. He hadn’t a lick of talent when it came to spellcasting. He could barely light a candle, but he did have a mind for small tricks, mostly well-timed fart pranks and Malcolm constantly helped him brainstorm new ideas to help him exercise his magic.   

He was just about to reach the table when a gauntleted hand squeezed his shoulder. “Let’s talk,” a gravelly voice growled in his ear, the foul breath making his hair stand and with disciplined strength the templar walked Malcolm to a barred window overlooking the ocean, scattering the mages that were gathered around it. The templar kept hold, squeezing enough to bruise, and his cruel blood-shot grey eyes were as sharp as the stubble of his shaved head. “Where’s my order? It’s been days,” the templar whispered viciously, everyone else quickly looked away and minded their own business to avoid catching the ire.

Malcolm kept his voice just as low, lazily gazing up at the steel-clad man. “I’ve been busy.”

The man squeezed harder and Malcolm coached his face to not show any pain. “I need it, today.” 

“Maybe,” Malcolm placed his hand on the man’s and with the little help of an aura, pried off the steel-clad fingers with surprising strength and shoved his hand back at the man. “I have a window tonight, but you better be sure no one comes looking.” 

The man looked angry, his face reddening like it always did when his intimidation tactics didn’t work. “As long as I get what I paid for.” The man stalked away, his heavy armor thudding against the stone. The mages all kept their eyes low to not catch his gaze. With a roll of Malcolm’s shoulders he stalked back to the corner table, where both Charlie and Taylor were standing, waiting for him. 

“Are you alright?” Taylor said in her usually motherly voice. 

“Yes, Mom,” Malcolm rolled his eyes and collapsed in his seat spilling some food onto his tray. 

Taylor mirrored the movement with her eyes, sitting down and returning her gaze back to her homework with a shake of her head. 

Charlie looked cautiously at Malcolm. “You know you really should tell Carver about Matthew.” 

“I don’t need Carver fighting my battles for me,” Malcolm snorted as he bit into a strawberry. It was blissfully sweet, delicious, he held it on his tongue to savor the flavor as he closed his eyes. He found himself summoning the image of Leandra’s perfect face, that gleam in her eye as she gazed up at him through her dark lashes and flashed the top of her perky peach nipples. 

Suddenly a voice that was not his murmured in his head, “Delicious.”  

Malcolm’s face burned as he felt his mind plundered, Scholar prying into the memory and snacking up the berry with a smack. “Oooh, can you taste another?” Scholar asked, and Malcolm found himself banging his forehead with his fist as he tried to drive out the voice. 

“I swear,” Taylor peered up from her homework with a look of mild concern. “Sometimes you go on the strangest face journeys by yourself.” 

Malcolm just rolled his eyes, letting the comment slide, as he dug into his salad, letting Charlie sneak some strawberries. 

“So I can’t help you practice tonight,” Malcolm looked over at Charlie. “Enchanter Jackass is stuffing me in a suit and making me do parlor tricks for some rich snobs.” 

Taylor’s violet eyes snapped up, flashing in annoyance. “Enchanter Jakoby is giving you a chance to demonstrate your abilities. I’m actually really excited about the ball. I worked really hard to earn the top spot and a lot of other people wanted to go. Do you have to be such an arrogant dick?” 

Malcolm flashed a leafy smirk. “It’s my best quality.” 

“Debatable,” Taylor shot back in her usual sharp manner.  

Charlie leaned in between the elves, always the mediator. “Ladies, ladies,” he waved his hands in a calming motion. “Must we fight and not appreciate a good day? I mean the food is fresh-ish,” he picked up a glob of soup that defied leaving the spoon with a unappetizing dripping gloop, “we’re among friends, mostly,” Charlie gestured away at the templars on guard like they were part of the scenery, “and even if you have to go to a party together without me and you two somehow don’t kill each other, the least you can do is enjoy it on my behalf and give me a fun story when you get back. Please,” he added with an exhausted heaving sigh. “I’m tired of hearing about Murphy and Mandy’s on and off again relationship.” He then stabbed his spoon in his soup which resisted somehow.

 Taylor’s eyebrows knitted together as Malcolm slunk down into the table, feeling more of an ass than usual. 

“I’ll sneak you back some food,” Taylor smiled, reaching out to lightly touch his arm. 

Charlie practically bounced. “Ooh, one of those frilly cakes. The more icing the better.” 

“And I’ll make sure to prank some nobles,” Malcolm added with a smirk which did brighten his friend’s expression. Charlie had a way of making everyone get along by outlining everything in silver and he always thought the best way to solve his problems was to laugh at them and suddenly Malcolm’s wheels were turning. “Could use your help thinking of the worst magic show ever.”

Charlie’s brown eyes gleamed with mischief. “Endless fart stream? That’ll get them talking,” Charlie offered with a childish grin. Taylor wrinkled her flat nose in a bite. 

“Nah, worse,” Malcolm scratched his chin, discarding one idea after another.

“You could do one of Darcy’s dance routines.”

Malcolm laughed at the idea. “Getting warmer, but worse.” 

Taylor sighed heavily. “Can’t you just do something normal like juggle a ball of flame or make some fireworks.” 

“But that’s boring,” Charlie and Malcolm said in unison and then broke down in a conspiratorial laugh.   

Malcolm chewed on his flavorless salad as he thought, Charlie chatting on until the annoying buzz came back in his mind. “This food tastes sad…and also bad. Can you eat something else?”  

“If you keep poking around my head,” Malcolm thought at the spirit with a clenched fist over his fork, “I’m going to reach back through the Fade and kick your ass. Understood?”  

“How would you kick it? I don’t have an ass,” the spirit retorted.   

“Believe me, I’d find it,” Malcolm snapped. “Now go back to where you belong before you get us both in trouble.”  

Taylor snapped her fingers in his face and suddenly Malcolm was aware that both Charlie and she were waiting on a question, but he had no idea what was asked. 

“Uuuuh, I spaced out,” Malcolm said like he usually did.

“Maker, can you pay attention for one second?” Taylor rolled her eyes so hard they looked like they’d fall out of her head. “I said, are you going to dance or you going to sulk in canapes all night?”

Malcolm's face twisted as if he was smelling something foul. “The point being?” 

Charlie grinned at Malcolm with a teasing smirk. “That’s why you’re still a virgin, dude.” 

“I have more important things to do,” Malcolm deflected as they both broke down in laughter. He then crossed his arms, scooting back in his chair with a pout. 

“I wish I could go,” Charlie mentioned glumly. “If it was me, no one could stop me from finding a pretty girl and dancing all night.” Charlie looked at Taylor wistfully and then lowered his gaze before Taylor could catch him. Taylor chewed on her bottom lip at the comment, a flash of what almost looked like jealousy before she returned her attention to her homework. Then her violet eyes bugged out of their sockets as Charlie pointed between the two elves with his spoon. “You two could always dance.” 

Malcolm barked out a surprised laugh. “Nice try, dude, but I think I’ll sleep through the whole thing.” He did have a demon to catch. 

As Charlie’s best friend, he saw it as his duty to get Malcolm dating, or at least fucking, but Malcolm’s reputation and stubbornness made it difficult and Taylor was the only woman who would tolerate his presence. It didn’t help that they were both elves, so somehow that meant they were supposed to be together, but their relationship was nothing like that. They were friendly-ish, but their personalities clashed way too much for attraction to even be on the table. Still, that didn’t help Charlie’s fixation on the idea.

“I think I’ll be busy stuffing myself silly with shrimp puffs. I plan to save room for two tray fulls,” Taylor pointed to her own small salad that was already finished and set aside. 

“Shrimp puffs?” Malcolm could feel his mouth water with the spirit’s impending presence. “What are those? Her memories smell divine.”  

“Get out of my friend’s head,” Malcolm warned with a tapping finger. He could see the impression of it hovering near her pointed ear. “You’ll have plenty of samples to try at that stupid party tonight.”  

“Is that when you’ll tell me what taste is?” the spirit asked impatiently, snapping back his hand like it was slapped.   

“Sure. Whatever.” This time he felt the presence fade back into the Veil, the pressure from the Fade lessening.

 Taylor and Charlie stared at Malcolm’s scowling face softening as he blinked back into attention.

 Taylor shook her head again, her hair puff bobbing. “Again. Weirdest face journeys.”

Chapter Text

“Is it too late to cancel?” Leandra looked at a face that barely looked like hers staring back through her vanity mirror as Mara tied her hair in a long flowing braid. The dress fit perfectly to every measured curve and spilled onto the floor in a pleat of red layered cloth, too constricting and snug, like the cage Leandra had been put in.

Mara had some bobby pins stuffed in her mouth as she secured Leandra’s flowing locks into the complicated hairstyle, but she paused to look at Leandra in the mirror and took them out to say. “It’s never too late.” 

The thought fluttered in her mind like a butterfly about to take flight but she captured it in her hands and crushed it. “No, I’m being silly,” Leandra almost shook her head before she was reminded it was full of pins.

“Well,” Mara tutted as she wove more hair, “don’t say I never tried to talk sense into you.” 

Before Leandra could ask her what that meant, her mother barged into the door, her face contorted in rage. “Why isn’t she ready, you lazy girl?” 

“She’s almost, Messere,” Mara kept her eyes on her work, her voice measured in patience. 

“Mother,” Leandra said in a warning voice, her eyes glued to her mirror to not ruin Mara’s hard work, “we’d be ready faster with fewer interruptions,” but her mother kept a level glare at Mara as if she was a stray cat that was brought into her home and scratching up her furniture. Mara paid no mind, humming to herself as she continued to plait Leandra’s hair. 

“Have her ready in 5 minutes! Luna De Luca is ready for the interview and I need her to be perfect.” 

There was that word again. Perfect. The perfect lady, daughter, scholar, musician, hostess, wife. The list of things Leandra had to be perfect at was longer than her dress. In less than five minutes she would meet Guillaume and they would talk about their love together. Leandra felt like she was running through her lines as if she were in a play, remembering the right times to laugh, to remember to bring the crinkle in her eyes to make her smile seem more genuine. She would have to part from Mara for the interview but she could return to her side for a little while until she accompanied Guillaume to the feast and she found herself counting down the seconds when she’d be reunited again. But then she thought of her brother and Mara, and how eventually things would all change like they were changing now, and Leandra found that time was slipping through her fingers like sand. 

“Mother,” Leandra brought a practiced smile to her lips offering peace. “Everything will be fine. I’ll be down very soon.” 

Her mother tucked up her chin, satisfied, and then carefully closed the door. 

“At least you don’t have to eat with her tonight,” Mara broke the silence. 

Leandra laughed in relief. “Soon dinner will be just a day I schedule on my calendar.” A silver lining, if nothing else. 

Mara finished her braid and tied it expertly with a ribbon and then placed both of her hands on Leandra’s puffy shoulders. “No matter what happens, I got your back.” She squeezed comfortingly, Leandra’s tight shoulders relaxing. “You leave Guillaume at the altar, I’ve got a bottle of champagne waiting.” 

Mara always knew what to say and it took all of Leandra’s power to not tear up and smudge her eye makeup. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” 

“The night’s still young,” Mara shrugged. “Maybe you find an elf side piece, instead.” 

Leandra laughed in surprise before she caught herself and covered her mouth. “Mara,” she shook her head. 

Mara smiled and took her hand, helping her up so her skirt stayed smooth. Leandra took a deep breath. Her costume was on, she just needed to play her part well, but she found herself reluctant to let go of Mara’s hand as her nerves started to get to her.   

“You look beautiful,” Mara smiled sadly. 

Leandra’s eyes swept over her straightened hair and down Mara’s red cocktail dress that was simple but she looked just as radiant. “So do you.” 

“You save that flirting for your fiance,” Mara chuckled, squeezing her hand. 

“Right,” Leandra said in clipped words. “You’re right behind me?” 

Mara smiled her signature grin. “Always.”

---

Malcolm snored into the stretched dining table in the corner of the Viscount’s palace where the mages were usually seated. His mind fumbled through the Fade as he plucked random strings for the terror demon’s presence. Unsurprisingly, nothing useful echoed back. Little curious wisps were starting to crowd him as he worked, speaking amongst themselves in a chatter too quick to be understood as a wet smacking sound filled the Fade air.

He agreed to one memory, the one with his mother that was already taken, but thankfully the spirit was already greedy for another helping and he was slurping bowl after bowl of noodles as Malcolm worked.

 “So you say taste is a sensation of the organ called a” sluurp, “tongue and that sensation can cause you to feel emotions good or bad?” Scholar scooped up a pile of heaping noodles with a slurping smack.   

“That’s right,” Malcolm said with gritted teeth as he counted his breaths so they were even and shallow. He plucked the Fade string, listening. “That’s all it is. Now, will you give me a hand?” 

The spirit waved its arm splattering sauce and one of the wisps turned into a grasping phantom hand, offering its help with wriggling fingers. 

Malcolm sighed. “Finding this terror demon is going to take a while.”

The wisps gasped and blinked out of sight, the hand trembling and fading from view. The spirit placed the noodles back in their bowl as if they were suddenly unappetizing. “You’ll summon it thinking like that.” 

Malcolm perked up. Finally, he was getting somewhere. “Is that how I find it? I summon it to me?” 

“You don’t want to catch one of its eyes,” the Scholar spoke in a hushed whisper. “You must clear your thoughts so it does not find a crack to hide in.” 

Malcolm shook off the worry. “Not unlike any other demon.” 

“Zelophehad is not just any demon,” the Scholar hissed. “He is part of the essence of reality. Where fear lives he rises.” 

A beat of worry washed through Malcolm at the finality of what Scholar seemed to be saying, but Malcolm clenched down his nerves. “Every demon has a weakness.” 

“Zelophehad has none,” the spirit snapped. “So stop these silly notions of getting yourself killed and answer my next question. What is a tongue? I don’t have one.” 

Malcolm sighed in disbelief and turned back around. ”I need to get back to work.” 

“What work is that?” 

“Am I talking to a broken record?” Malcolm found the irritation crawling up his spine. “If I’m going to find the fucking thing, I need a lead, a trail, a hole, something!” 

“Why don’t you just ask?” the spirit cocked his head, tentatively slurping on one noodle. 

If Malcolm could have gotten away with strangling the spirit he would. He snapped his golden eyes up in annoyance. “Haven’t I been asking?” 

“Why would you ask me? I’m not the one who has the knowledge you’re seeking.” The spirit tipped the bowl back, gobbling up a huge bite. 

Malcolm looked at the spirit, a clue clicking into place. “Who would I ask?” 

The spirit pointed down next to Malcolm’s foot with a wet finger. “This pebble has been saying it was stepped on by Zelophehad.” 

Malcolm cocked his head curiously at the pebble, picked it up, and brought it to his ear.

The voice was not a voice, more of a feeling. The thoughts of the spirit were too foreign to seem like words but Malcolm felt a sensation of dread that locked in his bones as the creature caressed the pebble, how it did all it could to maintain its shape as the demon studied it with one of its many eyes, and how Zelophehad slipped by not noticing it like most of the demons of the Fade. It had been there recently. The emotion was fresh and he found a chip of fear seeding inside him. Was the creature watching again? 

“Don’t feed it!” Scholar hissed his warning again. “He’s probably listening for his name.” 

“I don’t understand. Where is it?”  

The pebble’s answer was empty. The spirit slurped a wet unending noodle. “I guess that’s all it had to say.” 

Malcolm found himself irritated and flung the pebble off in the distance so it skipped against the ground with a soft clatter. “How is that supposed to help me?” 

“You are a very stupid creature,” the spirit shook his head. “It’s like you don’t hear what anyone’s saying.” 

That’s when a jab to Malcolm’s side plummeted his soul back into his body. 

Malcolm jerked awake, Taylor’s full lips pursed in annoyance as she glared at Malcolm. “The Lord and Lady are about to be introduced and your snore was echoing through the chamber.” 

Malcolm yawned and sleepily laid down his head in his arms. “Wake me up when it’s my turn.” 

A strong hand jerked Malcolm to the back of his seat and Malcolm looked up and glared, a set of warm twinkling brown eyes against dark umber skin stared down at him placing a plate of sweet distractions in front of him. “You’re probably just grumpy cause you’re hungry,” the Templar’s ceremonial armor gleamed in the traditional candlelight, making him look twice the size that he was. Though he was an intimidating-looking man, he was well-groomed, with silky black hair that he kept in a ponytail and a full beard that shined.  

Malcolm didn’t wait to dig into the pile of assorted sweets cakes, finding that Scholar was already sniffing. “Well, I’m not going to say no to free food,” he said with his mouth already stuffed. He could feel Scholar’s satisfied hum at the back of his mind as he ate. 

Taylor flickered her eyes up to Carver in gratitude as she reached over to pick at Malcolm’s pile of sweets. “You’re a saint, Ser Maurevar.” 

Carver wrinkled up his nose at his first name. “How many times do I have to tell you, Taylor. Just call me Carver.” 

Taylor wiped her mouth of icing, bowing her head in apology too quickly. “Forgive me. I forget.” 

Taylor had a healthy respect for Templars, or maybe fear was the better word, but Carver and Malcolm had been friends since Malcolm was a boy and she knew that Carver was different. Maurevar Carver was the fifth son from a line of loyal nobles in Kirkwall, but he had not a hint of arrogance. Carver was well-liked even among mages. His family came from a line of Templars which would make one think Carver would be rather conservative, but he had idealistic ideas of what it meant to be a protector of mages and beacon against the dangers of magic. While most Templar children learned prejudice very young, Carver found himself talking to the mages, getting to know their anxieties and fears, and thought it his duty to make the transition into the Circle as easy for each mage as possible. 

After a string of escape attempts in Ferelden’s Circle, the Chantry deemed Malcolm too dangerous and they shipped him to Kirkwall where he didn’t know the culture, had a funny accent and knew no one close enough to escape. Malcolm had given up any notion of freedom for a long time and receded into himself, talking to no one, and only sleeping. Carver sat with him every day in silence as he meditated, ignoring Malcolm’s barbs until Carver replied to a quip that made Malcolm laugh. 

Malcolm still didn’t trust him, until he took the blame for a punch that Malcolm threw at a Templar bully before Malcolm knew how to corral his Ferelden temper. Matthew swore up and down that it was Malcolm who threw the punch but Carver claimed that it was Matthew’s cowardice choosing an easier target than a noble’s son. It was one word against another and the matter was quickly swept under the rug. Malcolm was blown away, unsure why Carver would turn against his Templar brother, but Carver told Malcolm he didn’t do it for him. He had been planning to punch Matthew for a long time, and Malcolm was only kind enough to let him take credit.  

When the Knight Commander realized that Carver could corral Malcolm somewhat, the two were forced together, Carver Malcolm’s keeper, albeit a very lax one. In fact, it wasn’t abnormal for Carver to look the other way so Malcolm could sometimes slip into Kirkwall just for a taste of what the city was like. 

Malcolm remembered his first time as a young teenager getting lost in the crowd in a Lowtown market, how he was just another face in the sea of traffic, how he didn’t watch over his shoulder like he was a bomb waiting to explode. He remembered how nervous he was in Carver’s borrowed clothes, way too big for him so he had to roll up the sleeves and legs to accommodate. He ate street food with his pickpocketed change, dropped bread crumbs off the docks and into the ocean for fish to gobble up, got splashed by a taxi cab, and was yelled at by some half-clothed sex workers when he accidentally walked into a brothel. He was completely out of his element and yet when he snuck back in through the secret passage that connected Kirkwall’s Circle to the mainland, he ached what most people took for granted. A family. A job. The freedom to walk the streets. A place in society. 

He would have to convince Carver to let him out sometime tonight, though he had no idea how he was going to do it, yet. But he knew Carver wasn’t the type of soul to let him suffer and maybe with some puppy eyes and some undignified whining Carver would cave and let him go to a real party tonight. Carver might even finally take the stick out of his ass and join him. 

The screens embedded on the tables started up in a projection of light as it displayed a flamboyantly dressed red-haired noble who was so thin the wind looked like it could blow him away from the balcony he was broadcasting from. He waved to the crowd of waiting faces and they all rose except for Malcolm who propped his head in hand bored, as he munched on his sweetcakes. The noble’s pale skin was crisp on the projection, his full groomed beard and mustache like a silky animal had taken hold of his face. 

“Good Ladies and Lords of Kirkwall!” his voice echoed out on the speakers so he seemed to come from everywhere. “It is my pride and duty to announce the joining of my own house and that of the esteemed Amell’s, who has been an anchor in Kirkwall since Garahel beat back the Blight.” He puffed up his chest proudly, placing a delicate hand over his heart. “My own esteemed house has both roots in Kirkwall and Orlais…” 

Malcolm rolled his eyes as the Lord droned on about his family’s history. “Yeah, yeah. I need a house the size of my ego and servants to wipe my ass.” 

Taylor and the other mages shushed him harshly while Carver shook his head in a chuckle. 

Malcolm shoved the sweets aside to Taylor and collapsed his head back down on the table with an exaggerated yawn as the noble droned on. He figured he could at least sleep through the speeches, but two fingers pinched his ear and yanked him up to his feet. He found Enchanter Jakoby glaring in warning to pay attention with the silent gesture of his fingers and Malcolm sulked in place. 

A couple in matching lavish red and gold outfits joined either side of Lord de Launcet. “We are blessed with the fact that this is not just a fortunate match for our families, but a love match as well, and we wish to share in the bounty of the Maker’s blessing with you all tonight.” 

The woman stepped forward with a smile of pure confidence as she gazed over the crowd as if she was among friends. “Please allow me to thank you all for celebrating my engagement, tonight.” 

Malcolm’s ears twitched as his eyes shot up to the screen in recognition of the woman’s voice. His heart sped up at the sound, his eyes widening as her stunning smile stared back at him from the screen. His jaw grew slack as he stared at her, not quite comprehending that she was really in front of him, but his heart soon twisted in jealousy as he saw her fingers intertwined with a handsome red-headed man with a ridiculously large handlebar mustache.

“She certainly didn’t act engaged,” Malcolm blurted out before he could stop himself, earning confused stares from the other mages at the table. 

“You know her?” Taylor asked with a thin raised eyebrow. 

“No, he doesn’t,” Arth snarled quickly. 

“Enchanters, hush,” the teacher whispered in a warning.    

Malcolm quickly held his head, ignoring the rest of his welcome speech as he realized in a panic that the show that he planned to embarrass Enchanter Jakoby tonight was not going to work. He leaned over to Taylor, his eyes wide in panic as he whispered. “Taylor, give me some ideas. Something cooler than fireworks or juggling fire.” One of the other mages shot him a glare.  

Taylor’s lips pulled into a satisfied smirk. “It’s not my fault you spent the evening making stupid puns to go with card tricks.” It was Malcolm’s idea that now didn’t seem that brilliant. He knew that Enchanter Jakoby wanted him to blow everyone away with a display of his powers so he couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing than fumbling through normal stupid card tricks that he could barely pull off. But now he was staring at perhaps the only girl he had ever wanted to impress and his panicked mind was drawing blanks. 

“And now to bless our union the Circle has sent its finest enchanters to entertain us with a magical display,” Leandra turned and motioned gracefully down to the mage’s table as she rehearsed, the cameras turned to superimpose the enchanters who all puffed up their chests in their dress clothes except for Malcolm who was holding his head in panic. Leandra’s eyes slid across the mages with a serene smile until her eyes landed on Malcolm and her face suddenly went red. Her voice suddenly seemed caught in her throat, the palace echoing in silence as they watched Malcolm mutter to himself. 

“Um…” Leandra suddenly couldn’t remember the words of her speech as Malcolm noticed the silence dragging on and he looked up to see her staring down at him from the balcony as if she couldn’t believe he was real. The silence was growing uncomfortable as they stared at each other across the room and soon Guillaume stepped forward to pick up the speech. 

“Please do not let us keep you waiting much longer. I’m sure you’re all starving,” the crowd chuckled at Guillaume’s natural charisma and Malcolm found irritation creeping up his spine as they briefly met eyes as the lord passed over each mage in an inspection. “We cannot wait to see the performances you have all prepared for us tonight. Do be seated and enjoy the meals our families finest chefs have prepared.” 

As a chorus of shuffling seats adjusting to people’s weight, Taylor leaned over to Malcolm with curiosity, finding a soft satisfied smile on his lips. “She seemed to recognize you.”

 “She did, didn’t she?” Malcolm couldn’t help but feel like his heart was soaring with what could only be described as hope.

 Taylor looked like she wanted to ask more but she didn’t get the chance before Enchanter Jakoby was motioning for her to come to the dance floor to begin her performance. She fluffed her hair, in a twisted half-do, and adjusted her dress, the cut, and design marking her as a mage saying, “Well I guess I have to show why I’m the top of the class.” 

“Only cause I don’t give a shit,” Malcolm snarked but Taylor relaxed her shoulders as Carver handed her a staff. Arth’s glare could set Malcolm’s hair aflame. 

“You’re going to do wonderfully,” Carver smiled brightly, his soft dark bangs falling out of his ponytail.

Taylor ducked her head, a small satisfied smile settled on her lips as she took the staff and balanced it in her hands. 

Then the lights dimmed on the ballroom floor as Taylor stepped out onto it holding out her staff level and with an expert grip. She stared up onto the main balcony where the main couple was on display. “Lady Amell, Lord de Launcet,” her voice was not a shout but it boomed across the ballroom. She bowed her head so her fluffy hair bobbed. “Allow me to show you the wonders of the Fade.” 

She waved her staff opening a giant portal in the middle of the ballroom, a shimmering green hue cloaked the room with light, and in the center of a mist showed in the distance the far off gates of the Black City. The nobles chattered as Enchanter Jakoby puffed up in pride. Even Malcolm widened his eyes at the sight, impressed she managed to pull off such a feat. “Fear not,” her voice echoed. “This is just a window into the Fade, not a true portal. You are all perfectly safe.” 

The nobles all whispered amongst each other as wisps and spirits peeked through the curious portal making more faint of heart to gasp if one ventured too close. Malcolm felt for a moment a pang of unease as his mind continued to draw blanks. His competitors had all had a whole month to prepare and he had had an evening to which he had successfully wasted. Still, he could do better than some window. He just wasn’t sure what that was yet.

As the portal closed and the lights in the room turned to normal, Taylor bowed, carefully returned her staff to Carver, and then returned to the table with a rather smug smirk. “Think you can beat that, losers?” 

Arth met her smug grin with one of his own, clutching a terracotta planter filled with soil. “Don’t worry. I’ll remind everyone of class.” 

Taylor rolled her eyes, slinking down in her seat to find Malcolm still staring at Leandra, who seemed to be glancing back at him every few seconds. Taylor looked between the two of them in open confusion. “So I noticed the whole time I was casting she seemed keener to pay attention to you. Mind telling me how you know each other?”

Malcolm couldn’t keep the grin off of his face, but he shrugged off Taylor’s question as nonchalantly as he could. “It’s not that interesting of a story.” 

Taylor shook her head, narrowing her eyes in disbelief. “Well, I wouldn’t worry too much. I’m sure she’s already sick of you.”

---

Am I hallucinating? Leandra tried to pay attention to the next mage who had dragged a pot to the middle of the dance floor and was trying to grow a seed into a tree, but her attention was much more focused on the elven mage seated far behind him. It didn’t help that growing a seed was a slow and dull process of just watching streams of green light glow into the pot. The little seed seemed to resist the magic, and for a long time, nothing happened until a little string of green poked out of the bud, fighting every spurt with an agonizingly slow wiggle. Leandra found her eyes sliding away from the show and back to the impossible dream man. She couldn’t mistake him for anyone else. He had the same messy curls, dark freckled skin, and even from a distance, his bright golden eyes flashed with the same mischief. But how was he even here? Her mind had made him up? Didn’t she?

After ten minutes and the sprout was only a few inches long, Leandra found a yawn caught in her throat that she caught with her hand. Her eyes flung in alarm to Guillaume who was thankfully more interested in his dish of lobster.  

Leandra tried her best to calm herself down, and focus on the show. The mage’s blond bangs were starting to stick to his forehead in exertion, his hold on his staff shaky, but the little sapling stayed depressingly small. Pay attention, she kept scolding herself, but her eyes kept betraying her, sliding away from the man’s performance to meet the elf’s golden eyes. He smiled, noticing that she was staring again, and winked.

She blushed, mortified at having been caught, and dropped her eyes back to her lobster that had been barely touched. Suddenly she felt a hand cover her clenched fork. She looked up to meet Guillaume’s kind auburn eyes. “Are you alright, dear?” 

Leandra’s throat tightened, ashamed that she had been shamelessly ogling another man when her fiance was eating right beside her. “I’m perfect,” she flashed a smile that was strained but Guillaume didn’t seem to notice at all. 

He squeezed her hand in a friendly gesture. “I’ve been counting down the days for this,” he said as leaned over to kiss her chastely on the cheek. 

Leandra stiffened at the gesture, but accepted it, not able to resist comparing how she was feeling now to the kiss she experienced with that mysterious man sitting in the audience. But that couldn’t have been real. She scolded herself for getting her feelings in shambles over an event that didn’t happen and held onto Guillaume’s hand. 

Guillaume’s eyes spelled mischief tonight. “Why don’t you and I get lost during the dance?” Leandra found herself coaching her smile, but her stomach was dropping as he bent over to whisper in her ear, “I’ve packed a wonderful spread on my yacht, all your favorites. We can watch the moon on the ocean and celebrate tonight.” 

Leandra found herself panicking at the implication of the word celebrate. She had let Guillaume assume that she would listen to her parents and wait until marriage, but she also hadn’t told him that his feelings weren’t mutual. Or maybe they were and she was just confused. Leandra was quickly becoming aware that her smile was growing unnatural and that she was expected to say something, but the warring parts of her mind could not come up with a coherent response that would please Guillaume and get her out of this. “That’s…” she paused, trying to find an eloquent phrase, but instead she ended with, “nice.”

Guillaume laughed, patting her hand. “And they say you’re the conversationalist.” 

Leandra stuffed a bite of lobster into her mouth to avoid having to say more. Guillaume this time seemed to notice her hesitation. “You don’t have to be so nervous that things are changing. The way we’re great together, that will never change.”

An array of polite claps burst around her saved her from her answer and she eagerly joined in to see the blond mage dragging a meager sapling the size of a shrub off the ballroom floor with some difficulty. 

That’s when the dream man sauntered past him to the middle of the dance floor, staring at her like she was the only thing that existed. He held no staff in his hands, but he walked with a confidence that told everyone he didn’t need it. He kept his gaze on her as he placed a hand over his chest, his curls falling into his golden eyes as he bowed slightly. “Leandra Amell, a gift to bless your union.” He cupped his hands and a ball of flame danced, orange and bright, bathing his skin in amber. He smirked, his voice taking on an almost sarcastic tone as he said, “May your love burn ever brighter.” 

Suddenly the flames shot up to the ceiling seeming to take a life of their own. Everyone gasped as two giant wings spread across the dance floor bringing with it a heat that burst across the palace. A giant bird formed in the flames, with a craning neck and huge eagle-like wings. It soared around the ceiling in a lazy circle, leaving in its wake an aura of stars that streaked from its streaming tail. The bird’s wings flapped mightily, leaving gusts of heated wind as it flew up to the balcony to meet Leandra.

Her eyes widened, reflecting the bright light of the flames as the bird circled her, leaving twinkling dust of starlight snowing down. Leandra’s eyes sparkled, standing up to reach up to the specks of light that danced around her, begging her to reach out and touch. She couldn’t resist reaching out to see what the magic felt like for herself. Something inside her recognized the scent of it, the feel of it, the caress of it. The light popped against her skin and fingertips, blooms of roses of all colors blossoming where they landed. Leandra cupped her hands to find a bouquet made of unheated firelight had gathered, dancing around her fingertips.

On instinct, she brought them to her nose to inhale, and the bouquet dispersed into a cluster of butterflies taking with them the scent of thick rain. She followed the butterflies back up to the phoenix which had perched near her, its heat like a furnace as it stared at her with molten eyes. The creature blinked and then took off back towards the ceiling, crashing against it into a display of fireworks that rained down all around the audience. As everyone stared at the show above Leandra stared back down at the man bathed in sparks staring back with a yearning so deep it left her breathless. 

“Malcolm,” she whispered, his name echoing from somewhere deep inside her. 

“Well done, Ser!” Guillaume joined Leandra on his feet as he led the audience in a wild burst of applause. 

Leandra’s eyes were wide, her face flushed as she stared back down at the impossible man with the impossible magic. He smirked at her as if he had already figured her out, but she felt she was clueless. Her logical side told her there was no way they could have met before now, that dreams are just dreams and yet his face looked like comfort, like home and his lips- 

A hand squeezing hers reminded her of who she belonged to and her face burned as she guiltily looked up at Guillaume who seemed to be beaming from the show. “Wasn’t that wonderful, Leandra?”

“Truly breathtaking,” Leandra found herself saying. Though she should have been looking at her fiance’ she found her eyes shooting back towards Malcolm who was staring at Guillaume and her intertwined fingers with hard eyes and a clenched jaw. Somehow she felt like she had been caught cheating and she dropped Guillaume’s hand without thinking, but Guillaume was busy applauding and joining in the crowd’s cheer for an encore. Malcolm ignored the call of the crowd, only winking at Leandra before he returned back to the table with his fellow mages and took his seat, his eyes never seeming to leave her.

The rest of the performances seemed so much duller in comparison. One of the mages summoned a storm cloud that made an awful mess of snow on the dance floor and required some cleanup before the other mage could juggle his ball of flame. The man himself had quite a talent of making the flame dance, but even as he threw the flame up into the air to turn it into a display of fireworks it didn’t quite leave as big of an impression as the live dancing phoenix that left a trail of starlight. It was so difficult to pay attention, especially when Malcolm seemed eager to keep it. She found her careful smile almost melt into inopportune giggles at his exceedingly goofy faces. 

Then it was finally time for Guillaume to lead her on the dance floor for the first dance. She found herself coaching herself through the steps as she struggled to keep up her smile in Guillaume’s arms. She was keenly aware that a pair of golden eyes were watching her with the rest of the audience, and every time she accidentally met them she’d find herself breathless all over again. She felt dizzy with the confusion and had to excuse herself after the dance ended. Guillaume, ever the gentleman, went to fetch some lemon water as Leandra waited by her parents and the de Launcets, trying to outbrag each other on how much they spent on the ball. That’s when Mara showed up, dragging a reluctant Gamlen on her arm. 

Leandra smiled brightly as she noticed that Mara and Gamlen wore matching outfits of royal red, Gamlen in a fitted suit that made his shoulders look broader than they were, and Mara in her cocktail dress. Leandra’s noble friend’s raised their eyebrows in interest at the outfits but in respect for Leandra said nothing to Mara as she approached, but it didn’t take long for Leandra’s parents to stare pointedly at the way Gamlen and Mara were openly holding hands. 

“Congratulations!” Mara threw one of her arms around Leandra, not caring at the pointed way people were staring and Leandra returned the hug gracious, thankful even to have Mara there. Mara pulled away with a teasing smirk. “Should I get you a drink or is that too soon?” 

“Lord de Launcet is already fetching the lady a drink,” Dulci Du Mortain, one of Leandra’s Orlesian friends piped up, looking down at Mara through her nose as if Mara had a ghastly stain on her dress. 

“Well good thing his lordship’s not so lazy to always fetch the servants to do it,” Mara laughed easily to which Leandra joined in until she realized her noble friends nor Gamlen were laughing. 

Lady Heather Crawford, one of Leandra’s more conservative friends sniffed sharply, suppressing the glare in her light ivy eyes with some difficulty. Her thin strawberry blonde eyebrows knitted together in what could be a frown if one were rude enough to point it out. “Is it not an honor to serve your betters?” 

Mara bit down a laugh and what she wanted to say when Leandra’s pleading eyes asked her not to make more trouble which only madeHeather’s face redden under her makeup. 

“What Mara means to say is while it is always an honor to serve the Great Houses, self-sufficiency can be an admirable trait.” Leandra smiled brightly, hoping the olive branch would be enough to keep the peace. 

Gamlen snorted to which Mara grinned wider and Leandra shot them both a glare. 

Heather thinned her smile at Leandra and then glanced at Dulci and the others with a wry chuckle. “Diplomatically put, dear.” 

Leandra swallowed down the internal sigh that was fighting in her throat. She didn’t need another petty battle with Heather or any of her noble friends, especially since these ladies were all expected to be her bridesmaids together. Mara had gotten the coveted spot of maid of honor, to which Leandra quickly realized her other friends hadn’t quite forgiven her for, but rather than take their grievances up with Leandra, they sniped at Mara, hoping that perhaps eventually her parents would step in and force the matter.  

Mara, however, was understandably just as petty. She openly leaned on Leandra’s arm, daring the other ladies to say something about it. “Leandra, I hate to be rude, but I have some major maid of honor details for your ears only.” 

Leandra’s eyes darted to Heather, Dulci, and the others who exchanged jealous glares. Dulci put a hand over her mouth, averting her eyes with a reddening face. “Is his Lordship not entitled to the lady’s time tonight?” 

Leandra’s throat tightened, feeling trapped by the expectations that were set. 

“I believe his lordship can speak for himself,” Guillaume said from behind them all the authority he could muster. They all turned as he took Leandra’s other side offering a glass of water with a kind smile to which she quickly used to unstick her throat. “I wish no more of the lady’s time than she wishes to give to me. If her attention is needed elsewhere, I cannot be so selfish as to monopolize her.” 

The other ladies swooned at Guillaume’s words, Dulci fanning herself. She knew the kiss would come next so Leandra leaned in offering her cheek to accept the gesture. As Guillaume’s warm lips and scruffy mustache grazed her skin she withheld a shudder, her gaze wandering until it was pulled up into an alcove where Malcolm was perched. Her cheeks flooded as Malcolm’s eyes darkened at Guillaume kissing her, and he crooked a finger in a motion for her to follow him. She found her eyes being glued to his back as he disappeared off onto a dark balcony, far above the crowd gathered on the dance floor below. 

Leandra passed her water to a passing server and grabbed Mara’s hand. “Thank you everyone but I believe I do have some maid of honor business to discuss.” 

Mara was halfway pulling Leandra away when two figures stopped them. Both of Leandra’s parents were glaring at Mara with a fury that Leandra had never seen before. “Leandra,” her mother tapped her heel. “Can this business not wait until tomorrow? You’re expected on the dance floor.” 

Guillaume stepped forward with an easy smile. “It is no problem, my Lord and Lady. Please allow Leandra this privacy.” 

Leandra shot a grateful smile to Guillaume as both of her parents seemed to struggle with this new playbook. Finally, her mother nodded and said, “But please do remember to behave. There are cameras everywhere.” She pointedly looked at Mara as she said this and then turned her glare at Gamlen. “And do we have something to talk about, young man?” Her mother was pointedly staring between Mara and Gamlen’s matching outfits. 

Gamlen swallowed what looked like fear and he stepped forward. “Mom? Dad? Can we talk somewhere private?” 

Leandra’s friends were suddenly whispering amongst themselves in a renewed interest. Her parents seemed to notice the gossip that was already started to spread and was already marching Gamlen somewhere else, most likely somewhere sound-proof. Mara and Leandra quickly ditched the whispering crowd, Leandra cringing that her family was once again the subject for gossip tonight. It would have always been, but she was quickly getting a headache thinking about all of the thinly veiled insults she would have to wade through tonight about Gamlen and Mara’s obvious public stance. Leandra told herself it was just gossip and that a few snide comments were nothing to get emotional over, but she felt a knot quickly forming in her gut as she thought of the social dragging that she was surely in for.

She was busy wondering what Guillaume’s stance would be on Mara and Gamlen’s relationship when Mara pulled her over to a dark corner and immediately clonked Leandra on the head with her next question. “So who is that hunky elf that keeps undressing you with his eyes?” 

Leandra’s face burned at the question, not able to meet Mara’s scrutinizing gaze but this she could answer honestly. “I don’t know.” 

“You so do know him!” Mara argued, giving her a playful push. “That magic show was something else and you can hardly keep your eyes off him. Seriously, school girl vibes. So just tell me the juicy details already! Don’t make me drag it out of you.” 

“I didn’t- I mean I did, but it wasn’t real, but-” Leandra buried her face in her hands. Still, if Mara noticed her ogling Malcolm, then who else did? “This is all impossible!” 

“What is?” Mara pulled Leandra’s hands away from her face so she could look straight into her eyes. 

Leandra found that being stared at so closely by Mara was making it difficult to think clearly. She felt mad telling the truth but she always told Mara the truth so she finally dared to say it aloud. “He’s the same man I kissed in that dream, but he’s real somehow and I think I’m going crazy.” 

She thought Mara would laugh at her but instead, Mara opened her mouth and closed it. “Like one of Andraste’s prophecies?” 

Leandra tilted her head at her friend, somewhat grateful to be believed but also not sure what that would even mean. “You think this is what it is?” 

Mara cupped Leandra’s cheeks, staring at her with a seriousness that was hardly like her. “If the Maker is sending you visions about that man, don’t you think you should at least meet him?” 

Leandra laughed like it was a joke until she realized Mara was serious. And then her voice took on a high pitched tone as she quickly spiraled into a panic about what that could mean. “I’m engaged! This is my betrothal ball! I can’t!” 

“You’re right,” Mara said with an annoyed frown. “Your parents are obviously of higher authority than the Maker.”

Leandra froze at this new thought. Was this truly the Maker’s Hand guiding her? Would she always regret not taking this chance?

Before Mara could calm Leandra’s brand new panic, she tapped Leandra and pointed to a tall dark brown Templar with a silky ponytail approaching them both with intent. Leandra recognized him immediately as Knight-Captain Maurevar Carver, though she had only recognized him from newspaper clippings and his family’s reputation. Though he was wearing heavy Templar armor, he held himself with a nobleman’s grace. He bowed deeply in respect, his eyes full of apology. 

“Pardon me if this is a bad time. I mean to only offer my sincere congratulations.” 

Leandra smiled and curtsied politely. “My deepest thanks, Lord Carver.” The Carvers were a house of good reputation that her family had always done their best to keep on good terms with though from what she knew of Maurevar himself was surprisingly little. There were rumors about him being at odds with his family but if true, they put up very good appearances. 

“May I have the honor of shaking your hand, my lady?” Carver bowed humbly, offering a downturned palm. 

Leandra offered her hand, finding nothing odd about the gesture until she felt a small scrap of paper being slipped in her hand. 

The Templar bowed his head and smiled with mischief, but said nothing else but, “Thank you for your time, my Lady. Good night.” 

“What was that about?” Mara stared off at the Templar in confusion as Leandra unfolded the scrap of paper with haste. 

On what was no doubt a piece of stationery stolen from the Viscount’s office in sloppy scrawl wrote, “Why be bored when you can have fun dancing with me?” 

She had no doubt who this was from and from the gleam in Mara’s eyes she didn’t need briefing either. “You’re so going!” 

Leandra gaped at her friend as if she was growing a new head. “How would I manage that? With my parents and Guillaume, there’s no way I can escape for more than a dance.” 

Mara’s cat eyes gleamed as she shrugged. “So you disappear for just one dance? I’ll cover for you. What’s the worst that could happen?” 

Leandra didn’t want to give voice to that line of thought, the much more alluring idea of a chance to speak with the man that had plagued most of her waking thoughts too tempting to be denied. “I’ll go,” Leandra said before she could change her mind, but she quickly raised a finger to clarify, “but only to tell him nothing can happen.”

The way Mara smiled told Leandra that she wasn’t quite as believable as she sounded. Still, she had to convince herself at least.

---

“You barely tasted anything tonight,” the pesky demon floated in Malcolm’s vision.

That wasn’t true. Malcolm was more than full, not only having had a scrumptious dinner of fresh lobster but he had grabbed at least one sample from every type of tray, but still, the gluttonous demon was not happy.  

Malcolm stared off into the lit maze garden that overtook the city block, a silly thing to have in a place with as little space as Kirkwall, and yet Malcolm couldn’t find it in him to complain. The demon hunt had been put far out of his mind, his only thought was if Leandra was coming.  

Did she remember the dream? Was she staring for a different reason? Or was she just pulled to him the same way he felt pulled to her? Malcolm leaned over the edge, peering into the garden below and enjoying the feeling of vertigo rush to his head, whatever it took to remind him he was here and alive and not some trick of the Fade. He was unsure whether Carver had been able to deliver the message, or if he had if Leandra would even respond. He had to admit it did already drive him a little crazy knowing she already belonged to another man, but he knew he wasn’t imagining this spark between them.  

He wasn’t even sure what it all meant, yet. He just couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, and how he wanted those lips to be sighing his name, and every stolen glance his way encouraged him. When she looked at him, he felt like everything else in the world ceased to matter, and though he felt like he should be worried about this obsession he felt, he would do nothing to stop it. He wondered what it would take to bring another smile to her lips, to hear her laugh once again. He wanted to know everything about her joys, her fears, her troubles, her comforts. He recognized a fake smile when he saw one. He had to put a few on for Charlie and Carver and in the Circle. A good fake smile was as good as armor. She seemed so restrained from the determined fiery woman he met in her dream and he longed to know what it would take to bring that side of her out again. 

However, Scholar was not happy with this new development and would not leave him alone. 

“Could you grab at least one more shrimp puff?”  

Malcolm was sick of shrimp puffs. “Just grab another one from my memories,” he grumbled. 

“But they taste better fresh,” the spirit whined. It floated to the edge where the balcony opened back into the palace, layers of red cloth framing the sides.

Malcolm patted his belly. “You feel this?” 

Scholar patted Malcolm’s stomach curiously. “It’s a kind of nice feeling.”  

Malcolm was astonished by that. A nice full belly full of actual warm food. He hadn’t had that in a while. “Well, it means nothing more can go in. I’m meeting a girl soon so I’ve been real nice considering how much I’m having to suck my gut right now.” 

Scholar looked at Malcolm’s belly with what looked like a deep frown. “Why are you doing that? Let it out. It doesn’t like that.”  

Malcolm suddenly wondered if his breath would be bad from all the different food he ate. He meant to pace himself, but when everything tasted so good, it was hard to say no to another bite. He grabbed a sprig of mint from the empty platter he grabbed from a waiter and shoved it into his mouth chewing. He had already had 2 sprigs but he figured another one couldn’t hurt. As he chewed he glared at the spirit. “Now scat already. I did what you wanted.” 

“But you still haven’t told me what a tongue is?”  

“I said it’s something mortals have.” 

“That doesn’t explain anything. Some demons have tongues, too.”  

“Then ask a demon. I’m not a teacher.” Malcolm swallowed the mint, hoping it would soothe his gut. 

“But a demon might warp me?” The spirit quivered at the thought. 

“Not my problem. Now, will you scat already?” 

It put its red phantom hands on its skeleton wraith thighs and huffed again. “ Fine, stupid mortal. You win. If you teach me all I need to know for my quest of knowledge I will aid you with knowledge about Zelophehad, though it will surely lead to your death.”

 Malcolm perked up, snapping his eyes up to the wraith. “You’ll help me find it?”

 The demon shook his head. “No. If I tell you where it is before you’re ready you will die for sure. But I will help you get stronger so you may idiotically seek it on your own.”  

Malcolm widened his eyes seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. “When do we start?” 

“Who are you talking to?” 

Malcolm glanced over his shoulder to see Leandra who was staring at him in open confusion and he realized he had been speaking to Scholar aloud. He lost grip of the railing and almost tumbled off the ledge before he caught himself. Leandra screamed and rushed up to him and grabbed him by the waist, pulling him over the balcony so he rolled on top of her. They both groaned, having hit the ground hard and Malcolm was very aware that his body was pressed against hers, so soft and foreign his body just responded on its own. His face burned as he realized that she had felt his hardness form on her thigh and he scrambled off her before she could make sense of what happened. Still from the redness on her face, she surely felt it and he was utterly mortified. 

Scholar sniffed in between Leandra and Malcolm, curious about the concoction of emotions brewing. “What is this?” Scholar seemed entranced. 

“Apologies, my lady,” Malcolm bowed his head, trying to ignore Scholar, but he was so sure that he had just blown it. “I should not have put you in this position.” Why did his body have to have such a strong reaction to her? Other girls had moved his loins, but he had always found with some mental discipline he could somewhat control his reactions. With Leandra, he felt off-kilter, like every part of her set him alight. His thoughts were in a blender, churning chaotically as he tried to figure out a way to rectify the situation.  

Leandra shyly looked away. “No need to apologize, it was an accident.” 

You are more gracious than most.” Malcolm found none of the confidence he had earlier in his presence, especially when the fresh memory of her body made his own body betray him still. 

They kept themselves turned away from each other as they adjusted their clothes to be presentable again. Malcolm gritted his teeth using magic to force enough blood away from the member, the pain of sensation helping to soften him as he got up. He offered his hand, hoping she couldn’t see the remaining bulge. 

“A most curious reaction,” Scholar plucked at Leandra as she took Malcolm’s hand and pulled herself up. “Are you going to taste her next?” 

Malcolm’s anger spiked so sharply the spirit recoiled. “If I have to tell you to scat again the deal is off!”

The spirit scurried from the emotion like it was being chased by a whip. Malcolm relaxed his shoulders, realizing the buzzing was fading from his mind when he realized that Leandra had frozen at the expression on his face.

“Have I offended you, Ser?” she dropped her hand and looked down shyly. 

Malcolm kicked himself. “No, not at all.” He found himself stumbling for any explanation that could explain his rude expression. “I guess I’m just surprised you came,” He immediately kicked himself again as her expression bloomed with guilt. 

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted. 

Malcolm tried not to let himself be disappointed by that. He knew there must be a million things holding her back while he had absolutely nothing to lose. He knew he was on borrowed time with her, but he was greedy for every second. “Still, the fact that you did?” he took one step forward offering his hand once more with the swell of the music, “does this mean you’ve come to dance?” 

Her eyes seemed entranced by his hand, her hand reaching up on its own but she curled her fingers away. 

“You know I’m engaged, though…” She seemed torn by the implication of taking his hand meant. 

Malcolm smiled, knowing that would be her answer. “And I ask for nothing you would not give freely.” 

She bit her lip at that. “I wish I was free to give more.” 

Malcolm’s smile widened, encouraged by that, and re-offered his hand. “Who says you’re not?” 

She laughed, the sound easing his nerves, and finally took his hand. He pulled her in close swaying to a slower version to the beat of the waltz. “You’re a very dangerous man to talk to.” 

She looked more beautiful than he remembered, her skin softer than possible. She was nestled so close, her body cradled against him like it was meant to be folded there. Every brush of her skin was a cruel reminder of how easily she set him aflame and he struggled to concentrate. He wanted to know if she burned just as much for him, if his closeness was a terrible temptation like hers was. For now, though, he could be content to just hold her, humming along to the tune until he spun her around and led her in a waltz across the balcony. Her eyes gazed deeply in wonder, and Malcolm could feel himself falling in the stars reflecting at him. She was magic itself, lighting him up in a warm glow that illuminated them both as they danced, little wisps of light following in mimicking swirls. 

His fingers were hyper-aware of where he was holding the small of her back, where he had placed his hand on her waist, and suddenly he understood the appeal of dancing. His feet and hips moved in a rhythm of their own not in time with any current dance but Leandra seemed to be able to follow the steps on instinct. Her eyes kept darting down to his lips every time he leaned in close and he was having fun making her red teasing her. Still, it was only madness he could resist for so long. The need to taste her again thrummed in every part of his body. 

“Would it be awful if I asked to kiss you, again?” Malcolm found himself asking. “Being an engaged woman at all.” 

“Again?” Leandra froze and blushed from her ears to her shoulders. Malcolm smiled as she stared at him in puzzlement, trying and failing to place him. “I-I’m an engaged woman. You shouldn’t ask!” 

Malcolm was unable to keep from smirking at her fluster. “But still I did. Do you protest?” 

“I should,” she blushed, ducking her head, but her voice sounded frail and unconvincing. Still, Malcolm let the disappointment show on his face and respectfully added more distance. 

“Terribly sorry to tempt you,” he apologized and truly meant it. He knew he had to accept her answer, though it was a terrible disappointment. “I won’t pester you for more than a dance.” 

Leandra’s face fell. She choked on her words, hesitating, but she inched closer so they pressed back up each other and said, “Well you can pester me for a little more than that.” 

Malcolm’s eyes darkened. “You might want to be careful, my Lady,” he took her chin gently, enough so that she could resist but instead her whole body lit up in anticipation, her pupils dilating and her skin goosepimpling at his touch. He lowered his lips, his words a hum. “I can be quite a pest.” 

But before their lips could touch screams echoed across the palace halls stopping the party short.

2024 updated version of Malcolm/Leandra

O

Chapter Text

“Flee! Flee! Flee!” The Fade was shouting in unison from its very being.

Below on the dance floor, was a tear in reality, a gnarled inky rip where wisps poured out chaotically flinging silverware and food and candles and all sorts of things as they struggled to make sense of this new environment they were forced into. Plates crashed against the gilded walls. Food was smeared on expensive cloth. Knives embedded in the walls. 

The ball attendees cowered in fright, fleeing for the exits as templars brandished guns and swords at floating dishes but not firing in fear of hitting someone innocent. Something seemed to be agitating the wisps, drawing them across the Veil, but Malcolm couldn’t tell what. 

He saw a crown of blonde hair, and heavy templar gear, corralling the other templars and barking orders to clear the dance floor of people and coordinating attacks on the dishware. That only could be Knight-Lieutenant Meredith. Still, if she was securing the area where was Carver? Malcolm scanned the dance floor but he was nowhere to be found. All the chaotic emotions were stirring up the spirits, which were stirring up the people, which were stirring up the spirits. It was only moments from being a bloodbath.

“What in the Maker’s name is happening!?” Leandra looked at the remnants of her party, her eyes wide in fright as she clutched Malcolm’s arm for support.

Before Malcolm could answer, Scholar was pulled through the Veil and Leandra screamed at the sight of him floating on the balcony.

Malcolm grabbed her hand and in a commanding tone said, “Stay calm.” He squeezed Leandra’s hand, and with the pleading warning in his eyes, she took in a steadying breath, her eyes nervously flitting between Malcolm and the creature.  

She looked at him with wide eyes, her fingers digging into him as Scholar whirled around in confusion, bubbling in uncertainty. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no. I didn’t mean to come through.” 

“Scholar,” Malcolm’s voice was stern. “Go back.”

Scholar’s fingers were elongating into knife like talons, its skeletal teeth jutting out of its jaw in unnatural angles. “I can’t,” he held his head with his trembling fingers, lengthening with every second. “I’m dying. We’re dying.” Scholar turned its skeleton face towards Malcolm grasping out for help. “The veil’s been sundered. Somniari, you must heal it.” 

Malcolm turned to Leandra who gaped at him in questioning, he flinched. Did she know what that word meant? He faced her fully, uncertain how she was taking all this news. “I need to go into the Fade. Can you watch my body?”

“Watch your body? What for?”

And then without explanation Malcolm plopped down on the ground and laid his back against the stone, which was cold and uncomfortable. 

She looked at him as if he were daft. “What are you doing?”

Malcolm felt only mildly self-conscious. “Just watch my body,” he repeated. Then he closed his eyes, the sinking feeling turning into a rush of vertigo as he slipped through the bridge of the Veil.  

He counted one second, then two, and by the third he choked on the pain of his breath, opening his eyes to see the Palace but warped and in nightmarish colors. His body rejected the wrongness of the magic, manifesting as shards of molten glass trying to burst through his skin. In the agony of it, he fell to his knees. Thousands of searing needles assaulted him to the bone, trying to incinerate him from inside out. There was a dark corruption spreading from the heart of the dance floor, inky black threads linked through the Fade sundering all it touched. He could see a hole where magic was pouring out, the wisps of the Fade were drawn to this like a magnetic pull, those that touched the corruption, twisting and warping and blackening before they fell tumbling from the Fade. 

“Flee! Flee! Flee!” the whole Fade shouted while the corrupted wisps began to attack the unaltered ones with intent like a plague.

The Fade itself felt sick and was shrieking. Breathing in the air was like sucking in smoke. It was labor to get in a steady flow of breath. He reached into the air feeling for Scholar, peeling back the layers of the Veil like an onion until he could see the impression of a red aura trapped on the other side. “What’s happening?” Malcolm asked, reaching through the thin layer he created to try to pull the creature through. Scholar was desperate, its knife-like talons cutting into Malcolm’s hand in a panicked grip. Malcolm jumped back, the creature’s touch so cold and alien, and they clung to Malcolm as it tore through the hole he created in an attempt to come back home. The creature was so black now that Malcolm thought he had brought the wrong spirit through. Its shape was no longer recognizable, the spirit struggling to hold on to its form. 

“Zelophehad has seen you,” Scholar said in a voice Malcolm didn’t recognize.  

At the mention of the terror demon, dread crept in Malcolm’s bones, fear locking him in place and suddenly he realized around the Fade in every corner he was surrounded by goat eyes. 

“Do not feed it,” Scholar warned. “You must not add to his corruption. He will strike without mercy.”

Malcolm was not sure what to attack. His heart thudded slow and hard in his ears, the pain muddling his thoughts. Scholar’s color was almost gone, the creature almost completely warped. “Am I going to have to fight you, too? The whole Fade? Scholar, how do I fix this?”

The spirit's voice warbled, cracking at the edges in jarring discordant sounds. “You are the voice of spirits. You must calm us. You must heal the crying Veil.”

Could he do that? When a tear in the Veil happened at the Circle, he always had to tear off other parts of the Fade to thread the pieces back together but this hole was not so much a hole as it was a void that blackened the strings of the Fade into thick veins that snaked farther and farther with each pulse. 

Not knowing what to do he tried to hack at the corruption with his magic, but that only seemed to make it grow faster. In fact the corruption stuck to the light of the magic darkening it, and it leaked back into  his hands like streams of dry ice rushing through his blood. He cried out in agony, his hands trembling. This was nothing he’d seen before. For a moment he thought of Leandra, wondered if she would be safe so close to his body. If anything got through she would be unprotected. He plucked the random strand of doubt and snapped it clean. He would not fail. He could not fail. Pricks of tears cornered his eyes as he fought through the pain but a seed of fear planted within his heart and taking root. He dropped the inky threads his fingers licked with white scars. His willpower wasn’t strong enough. 

“How?” Malcolm asked, his voice desperate. The Veil itself was wailing, like a screech that overtook his mind that blanked out thought. He did not even know how he was going to heal the Veil, let alone fight against this demon. He could feel the structure of the Veil starting to fall apart. It felt like the Fade was leaking back into reality, like water draining down a sink.  

Scholar crooked a knife-like finger. “How does one calm a crying babe? How does one stop the tears from flowing? There is not one answer.”

Malcolm looked at all the goat eyes blinking back at him, swirling in amusement, as if he was waiting to see what he would do. He took a deep breath and emanated a calming spell, half to soothe his frazzled nerves. But the scent of Malcolm's magic drew the wisps from their death march towards the Rift, and the Veil's shrieking seemed to lessen.

“Play,” a red shiny wisp dangled near his ear.

“Play,” another one bounced on his foot.

“Really? Now?” Malcolm asked in an annoyed tone. Their fallen zombie brethren were literally biting at their heels but not even the threat of death could stop playtime. 

“Plaaaay,” another wisp tugged on his sleeve with urgency.

He looked at Scholar who was huddling into himself and shivering as if he was cold, its new monstrous shape almost solidified. The creature was only able to choke out one word. “Listen.”

So Malcolm obeyed, reluctantly.  He started with one little rainbow bubble that popped against a wisp, making it giggle with it’s eerie child-like voice. More wisps swarmed him. “Play. Play. Play,” they chanted their song, delighting when Malcolm surrendered more streams of shimmering bubbles. The wisps chased after them in delight, mimicking their pops and trying to replicate the sheen.

The altered wisps seemed to hesitate turning to the sparkling bubbles in interest, their little bodies swaying to a beat that was not there. “Play,” the wisps urged louder. 

The goat eyes seemed annoyed that Malcolm was ignoring them. The fear in the air was already dissolving, the sweltering pain under his skin soothing  as the wisps glittered and glimmered and chanted their song among the bubbles soft pops. The blackened wisps seemed to be attracted to the bubbles, the sparkles of magic seeming to clean their murky color.

“Sing,” a red wisp twirled in one of his curls.

“Oh, no,” Malcolm shook his head as he waved another stream of bright bubbles from his fingers. “Let’s just keep it at play.”

But soon the “play” chant had turned into a “sing” chant that was getting more angry and agitated, and the wisps that had been getting better were starting to warp again. 

Malcolm looked at Scholar in a panic. “Scholar, what do I do?”

Scholar’s color looked like it was returning with Malcolm’s healing bubbles and it shook its monstrous head as if he was disappointed in Malcolm. “The wisps are already telling you, you stupid creature.”  

Malcolm’s stomach dropped as he looked at one of the goat eyes that were veering closer to inspect the song. Malcolm, nervously, didn’t know what else to do so he opened his mouth, singing a shaky rhyme with no real melody, “Hey little wisps. Go the fuck away. I really really don’t have time to play.” 

Despite the anger in his song the wisps seemed delighted and danced around him, lighting up the whole area so it was cleansed of darkness. The murky wisps seemed to be attracted to the brilliance, echoing the song until they too shone as bright as little stars, chanting happily. 

The eyes squinted in the brightness, blinking out one by one as magic poured from Malcolm’s hands and attached to the sundered threads and lit them in a heavenly glow.

The wisps danced around him, so Malcolm took the cue to do a little jig of his own, one of Darcy’s usual pop routines, which started as wiggle, dip, and snap of his hips, the pain in his limbs lessening with every carefree motion. The wisps whirled in delight. As he danced he waved more bubbles and sparkles in the air the wisps ate them up, shimmering as they followed his fingers. “Stop being creepy. It’s really freaky. Shut the fuck up, And get sleepy.” 

At that suggestion the Fade seemed to shake and yawn back at him, the dancing of the wisps getting more dazed and less excited. He saw one lone goat eye staring at him in what seemed to be confusion before it blinked out of sight.

Scholar sighed in relief and Malcolm noticed he was back to their old formless self and was eating a tray of shrimp puffs. “I preferred the ancient verses.”

Malcolm looked at the wisps that were now dozing in midair with puzzlement, the Fade glowing and humming the tune he had just been singing, the verses echoing back in a rhythmic pattern. The remnants of the white thread-like scars were still on his hands but the pain in his body receded until it was just the usual dull ache. “I have no idea how that even worked.”

Scholar cocked his head. “You sound so surprised we would listen to you. I guess it makes sense since you seem to spend so much time ignoring us.”

Malcolm bristled at that, not sure what in the Fade was listening right now. He decided now was not time to push his luck. “Don’t bother me for a while. I’ll come to find you when I’m ready to train.”

Scholar sighed in frustration pausing between bites. “So I’m supposed to just wait around until you’re ready and be shooed off whenever you get busy again? Frustrating.”

“Yup, that’s not negotiable,” Malcolm rolled his neck, stretching through the Fade to reach back down to his body. “So stay in the Fade and stop poking around my head.”

The red wraith seemed to at least accept his answer… for now. “As long as you bring a tongue back with you for me to experiment with. What about that cute girl you were with? She won't be needing hers will she?”

“If you so much as sniff one of her memories I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass that’s the only thing you’ll be tasting!” Malcolm’s temper snapped, scattering the wisps that were sleeping around him. 

Scholar burped, his jaw snarling. “Ooh I always hate how nasty that emotion tastes.” He then shuddered. “Fine not hers, but someone must not be using theirs.”

Malcolm shuddered, deigning not to answer that and instead reached back to his body, feeling the familiar vertigo of slipping back through the Veil. Normal feeling began returning to his limbs and his head so warm, he thought he had injured it with the pain he still felt from his trip from the Fade, but as he tested his movement he realized he was propped up on something soft, layers of soft cloth beneath his fingertips. He opened his eyes in surprise to find Leandra holding her breath in worry, his head in her lap. 

He didn’t want to move. In fact, resting his head and going back to sleep in her lap sounded fantastic but another voice brought him back to reality. 

“Did you go into the Fade without lyrium?”

The question was like a gun to Malcolm's temple, and his heart only beat faster in panic when he saw the real gun, an assault rifle, hanging from the templar's arm. He was in trouble now. Then he glanced at the gun-carrier's face, it was only Carver. He let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, his ribs aching. 

Carver softened his eyes at Malcolm. “I’m not trying to get you in trouble. I just...need to understand what I saw.”

Malcolm pushed himself upright, sorely missing the softness of Leandra’s lap and looked up at the templar that could easily shoot him. “What did you see?”

Carver sighed, blinking as if he didn’t really believe it. “Spirits were being called across the veil. More than I ever saw,” then he looked at Malcolm in awe as he said, “then bubbles started blowing from your fingers and everything seemed to stop.”

Malcolm’s cheeks burned. “Bubbles?” So that escaped the Veil.

Carver then raised a disbelieving eyebrow and said. “And then you started singing and it was like...the veil healed itself.”

Leandra caressed his hand at that statement, shyly adding, “You have a lovely singing voice.”

Malcolm realized he was grinning like an idiot when Carver was looking expectantly, waiting for an answer. So Malcolm asked, “Did you hear the song I was singing?”

That’s when Carver snapped. “Stop messing around, Hawke! I need answers. Now!”

At Carver’s tone, Malcolm jumped to his feet squaring his shoulders for inspection until he remembered it was just Carver. Still, even though he trusted Carver, he wasn’t keen to test it, and found himself at a loss for how to answer him without more questions.

“I just hopped into the Fade and used an aura to calm things down,” Malcolm finally said. None of that was technically a lie.

“And the demon?” Carver asked.

Malcolm flinched. Which demon was he talking about? But instead he feigned dumbness and said. “What demon?”

Carver gestured at Leandra and said. “There was a demon that the Lady kept me from killing even though it was seconds away from attacking us.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “But it disappeared back into the Veil before it turned on us.”

Malcolm blinked at Leandra in surprise. 

Leandra picked herself up as she said calmly, “The spirit warned us the Veil was sundered. As monstrous as it looked, it couldn’t have been evil if it knew to look to Malcolm for help.” Then she beamed at him so brightly he felt immediately flooded with warmth. “And he did help.” 

The overlapping murmur of the voices below on the dance floor was swelling into a chorus of screams making Leandra’s once confident shoulders tighten into knots.

“Leandra!”

“Leeandra!”

“Leeeeandra!”

Guillaume, her parents, and all of her friends were all looking for Leandra, and Malcolm knew from the paling of her face and the way her squeeze turned into a vice that she was not looking forward to going back, but she turned to Malcolm and bit her bottom lip.

“I should be going,” her voice was small and defeated.

Malcolm shook his head and said. “Tonight can’t be over,” he looked at her with pleading eyes. “Say you have got need to go home early. It’s the perfect time to ditch everyone and go find a better party.”

Leandra’s cheeks flooded with warmth, her eyes sparkling at the thought, but then she looked at her intertwined fingers and then at Carver in alarm, not sure where to go from there. “We probably can’t right?”

Malcolm turned his puppy dog eyes on Carver. “I’ll be so good. Like no lip for at least a week.”

Carver looked between Malcolm and Leandra until his gaze fell on their intertwined fingers, a conflicted frown creasing the settling wrinkles on his forehead. Then his shoulders sagged as his voice took a fatherly tone. “Enchanter Jakoby tells me you’ve turned in nothing all semester. If you promise to start turning in some of your backlogged homework I can consider letting you slip away,” Malcolm jumped up in pre-celebration dragging Leandra up in a slight hop with him that made her giggle, but Carver quickly put up his finger and said, “But I also want no lip for a month for this. And make sure to get started on all your classes, not just Enchanter Jakoby’s.”

Malcolm frowned thinking of all the work that had piled up all semester. “Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”

Leandra elbowed him in the gut and he immediately perked up before Carver could snap, “Hawke!”

“Just kidding. Totally kidding. I’ll be good. Please don’t change your mind.”

“Leeeandra!” her mother’s panicked voice rang through the ballroom. “Andraste's blood! Is she missing!?”

Leandra looked at Malcolm, her eyebrows knitting together, as she sighed in regret untangling her fingers. “Don’t keep me waiting too long,” her voice was breathy, barely above a whisper, and before Malcolm could respond she gathered her skirts and dashed off the balcony and downstairs before her parents could make a bigger scene.

Malcolm felt his fingers reaching out, grasping for the hand that was no longer there, but another hand on his shoulder brought him out of his trance. 

Carver looked tense as he started pushing Malcolm back inside the palace. “Let’s gather the rest of the mages and officially clean up this mess.”

The inside of the palace looked so much brighter in comparison to the nightmarish twist the Fade had turned it to. The expensive crystal chandelier that once swayed over the dance floor had fallen and shattered around the ground shattering shards all along the floor. Malcolm and Carver started descending the stairs, the steps echoing Carver’s heavy boots. The angular medieval looking arches cast long shadows across the ballroom, the room darker than usual with the candles and light bulbs blown out. Servants were relighting the room in candles but the room in the energy remained nervous, as if people were waiting for things to jump from the shadows. 

As he saw all the templars and guard working in coordination to route all the people Malcolm could feel his nerves start to rise. Templars were dangerous in normal circumstances, but add a few dozen spirits and all of Kirkwall’s nobles stuffed in one ballroom, someone would be out for blood and Malcolm would rather not be a target than get a thank you. “Do you need to say anything about me? I mean let’s just say you did it. You’re good at playing the hero.”

“Sorry, Hawke. How am I going to explain how a templar had any effect on the Veil? They’re going to want to know how I did it,” Carver then shot a cheeky smile at his friend. “Besides you only proved what Enchanter Jakoby’s been saying about you. I think this could earn you more privileges in the Circle if you play this right.”  

Malcolm wished he could wipe the triumphant grin on Carver’s face, his gut plummeting with every step down the stairs. Of course, the templar couldn’t see how dangerous it was to have such a target on his back. 

As he got to the bottom of the stairs, his foot crushed a wine glass turning many eyes of the nobles and templars to him. Malcolm shivered, remembering not too long ago the countless goat eyes staring back, but if he mis-stepped here, he could lose something more precious than his life. He instinctively ducked his head, stepping behind Carver who was already pushing through the crowd, parting the sea of faces with just his heavy gait and commanding presence.

Templars and guardsmen were helping frazzled nobles from their hiding places and trying to calm them down. Several women and men were wailing, frightened at what just occurred, the palace was a hum of talking voices, thankfully not as intrusive and imposing as the spirits of the Fade but the sound still put him on edge. Malcolm kept his voice low so only Carver could hear, “I was hoping we could keep what I did between you and me.”

Carver rolled his eyes, his subordinates stiffening at attention at his passing. “I won’t mention the singing,” he nudged Malcolm playfully.

Malcolm’s face remained serious. “No, I mean all of it.” If somehow this unraveled and they found out he was somniari, that would be it. There would be no more discussions and nothing that Carver could do to save him from being tranquilized to keep everyone else safe.

Carver’s jaw set uneasily, stepping towards him and lowering his voice. “Malcolm is there something you’re not telling me?”

Malcolm flinched but quickly coached his face into a mask, betraying nothing to anyone staring. “Of course, not.”

Carver lowered his head to Malcolm’s ear. “Because I can’t help you if I don’t know what I’m up against. You know that.”

Malcolm’s shoulders tightened, but he offered a lazy smile. There was no way out of this that he could see, so it was best to just not give any more away. “It’s not anything like that,” Malcolm said, his eyes averting to the right as he reached for a believable excuse. “It’s just going to be a pain if they try to pawn any more responsibilities on me.”

Carver shook his head, breathing out a chuckle. “Maker, you never change.” His gauntleted hand slid to Malcolm’s shoulder, “and normally I would encourage you to be yourself, and you should, but you’re courting Leandra Amell. Her family is probably one of the most powerful and esteemed houses in Kirkwall. If you want to be someone worthy of her, you might want to consider some thought of what kind of future you’ll give her.”

Malcolm’s jaw gaped, the blow to his ego felt as if he had been punched in the gut and though he opened his mouth to argue, he found that he had no rebuttal. He had given no thought to his future for himself, let alone one with her in it, and it was a scary but also exciting thought that seemed to fill him with an airy feeling, like he was walking on the moon. Until now he had only thoughts of escaping, so he didn’t give a fuck about his standing in the Circle, but with Leandra, he could see a beautiful vision forming, filled with the sight of her smile and the sound of her laughter. 

The vision was hazy, more like a mirage that could be blown away with the gust of wind, but he could see flashes of future days filled with trying to find a million different ways to make her smile, where he would taste the sweetness of her lips until he could memorize it on his tongue, a thousand mornings waking up next to her and greeting the day with the loveliness of her face. He could spend the rest of his life unraveling the mystery that was Leandra and suddenly it felt like something clicked. He finally had a dream, that wasn’t just of survival. He was taken back by the fierceness of how he wanted it. He knew his whole life had just rearranged course, but he had no uncertainty that he would pursue this future. He didn’t know what it would look like, but he would do anything to make sure to fight for every second with her. He knew all too well all the reasons it could end, but she belonged with him. He knew it with his entire being. It was only minutes since they had been apart but he was already searching for her face in the crowd, wondering if she was searching for him, too. 

“Am I going to mess this up?” his voice cracked a little as his fingers clenched and unclenched, his hand feeling empty without hers, the thought of it being permanently so a thought he couldn’t bear.

Carver squeezed Malcolm’s shoulder. “It’s not important that you mess up. We all do. What’s important is what you do to make it right.”

Malcolm looked at his friend, seeing age starting to show in the wrinkles in the smile lines. Malcolm nodded, feeling the unease in his gut start to lessen. He could always count on Carver for sage advice.

Carver then looked over Malcolm’s shoulders and tensed up, pushing Malcolm aside as he tore across the ballroom to stop Meredith Stannard who was taking a fistful of Taylor’s dress and intimidating the mage for information.

Malcolm ran after Carver, hot on his heels. 

“Knight-Lieutenant! What is the meaning of this?” Carver’s voice boomed across the palace as he approached the mage’s table where Enchanter Jakoby seemed to be trying and failing to reason with Meredith. 

Meredith released her hold on Taylor forcefully, squaring back her shoulders but held her glare, strands of bright blond hair falling into her cold blue eyes. Everybody knew Meredith’s story, though it was never to be brought up in her presence. Her sister was a mage and her family had tried to hide it. However, she turned into an abomination and Meredith was the only survivor of her family. She was brought to the Circle for training as a fresh-faced teen, having no other kin that could take her in, and she brought her distrust of mages with her. “It’s this mage’s fault. She brought the spirits to the party with that little Fade show of hers.”

Taylor was shivering, keeping her eyes to the ground averting them from Meredith. Malcolm gritted his teeth, knowing that she would have a difficult time even speaking at this point, but he felt powerless to do anything but watch with the growing crowd. He knew any action no matter how mild would be seen as insurrection. 

Thankfully Carver stepped forward, making sure to use his body to shield Taylor from Meredith’s sight. “What evidence do you have Knight Lieutenant?”

Meredith snorted as if it was a joke. “Logic, obviously. She summoned the Fade here and brought with her the spirits.”

Taylor wrenched her fingers together, the neck of her dress still in wrinkles from where she was grabbed. She kept her eyes low as she tapped Carver to get his attention. “I tried to tell her it was just a simple illusion spell, just a trick of light. Whatever happened with the haunting, my show was just a coincidence.”

“Or cleverly disguised blood magic,” Meredith retorted.

At the words ‘blood magic,’ a rush of whispers hushed through the crowd as they all glared with Taylor with renewed distrust. 

Enchanter Jakoby stepped forward, pleading with the Knight-Captain. “That accusation is ridiculous. Taylor practiced that spell in my classroom countless times and there were no Fade disturbances.” Enchanter Jakoby glared at Meredith, straightening his tie. “You must conduct a proper investigation, Knight-Lieutenant, or risk overlooking the real cause.”

Meredith’s nostrils flared as she took a menacing step forward, hand on her gun. “Are you telling me how to do my job?”

Carver straightened his shoulders, towering over her with a growl. “No, I am.” He pointed to the crowd. “I want interviews of all the staff, the guards, and whoever else was conscious when the Veil shifted. No one is to go home without being interviewed or scheduling one. I want thorough reports on my desk come morning. Is that clear, Knight-Lieutenant?”

She opened her mouth, her face reddening but she bit back her response with the snap of her jaw. “Yes, Ser,” but then her icy cold gaze turned haughty as she looked at her wards. “Should I start with the mages?”

Carver shook his head. “I will be conducting the mage interviews starting with Malcolm.” Everyone’s eyes snapped to Malcolm, and he felt himself shrinking, not sure what Carver was going to say next, especially with the way he was grinning at him. “He was instrumental in healing the Veil and I think it will be key to our investigation.”

Enchanter Jacoby's eyes shot up in surprise as Malcolm’s fellow students broke down in whispers. Some among the crowd of nobles that were all now looking at him with renewed interest. 

Meredith scoffed in disbelief. “That lazy elf did no such thing.”     

Malcolm knew his grades were pitiful but if they only knew how many demons he slayed while everyone else was snoring they’d shut up quick. Malcolm opened his mouth about to say something snarky in retort when a gauntlet covered it, muffling his reply. 

Carver smiled all teeth. “Knight-Lieutenant were there any casualties reported?”

Meredith narrowed her eyes and sniffed sharply. “Fortunately not.”

Carver smiled truly at that and looked at Malcolm like a proud father, removing his hand from Malcolm's mouth to pat him fondly on the shoulder. “Then perhaps we should thank this elf?” Then Carver bowed his head in respect, causing the other nobles to renew their murmuring. “It could have been much worse without your aid. We templars are in your debt.”

Malcolm felt a strange puffing in his chest that swelled. Pride? Ego? Still, he liked the way the nobles had looked at him for the first time with respect. But Malcolm knew that more questions would come. They would want answers and Malcolm knew he could give none that would not eventually lead to his doom, especially with a bloodhound like Meredith sniffing around him.

“What did he even do?” Meredith raised an unbelieving eyebrow, inspecting Malcolm with an icy glare.

“That I already know,” Carver smiled serenely. “What you must now concern yourself with, Knight-Lieutenant, is what everyone else knows. Dismissed.”

Malcolm snorted. He did love when Carver pulled rank. He could see Meredith start to implode, her face reddening as she struggled not to argue but she reluctantly gritted her teeth and stormed off barking orders to her nearest junior. 

Carver then turned to Taylor who was still shivering, giving her space, but keeping his authoritative soothing tone. “Are you alright, Taylor?”

Taylor nodded, her eyes bleary looking like she was blinking back tears. She turned her face away from everyone and sniffed. “Thank you, Carver.”

Carver's warm brown eyes flooded with guilt. “Not at all, I should have got here sooner.” He turned to Enchanter Jakoby who stepped forward. “Please keep your students near the mages table. I will come for you all one by one for your testimonies.”

Enchanter Jakoby nodded. “Of course, Knight-Captain.” Then he began gathering his students, starting with Taylor, and led them back to their designated seats.

Carver sighed, released the tension in his shoulders as he pressed a pressure point between his eyebrows. “You do know that I’ll have to get your testimony later and that I’ll need some actual answers from you.”

That’s when Malcolm tensed up again. “I was kind of hoping I already gave it to you.”

Carver snorted. “Nice try, Hawke.” He then placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Now, let’s go get your girl before you drag me into more trouble.”

Malcolm grinned at that thought. He loved the sound of that. His girl.

---

Mara thankfully found Leandra before her parents or Guillaume did and she quickly brought her up to speed about the situation with her and Gamlen in a quiet corner away from peering eyes. 

Leandra was grateful that she had time before meeting her parents, a chance to breathe before she pulled off the biggest deception of her life.

“So Gamlen told them,” Mara looked happy but from the breathy tone and the crease of her brow, she had some worries. “We’re officially dating in everyone’s eyes. They were…not happy.”

Leandra cringed inwardly, secretly hoping that her parents would somehow be reasonable but she smiled brightly and squeezed Mara’s hand. “They will be one day.”

A flicker of doubt washed over Mara’s face before she smoothed it into a smile. “Maybe,” she dropped her eyes before the mischief returned to them. “Sooooo, did anything happen with dream guy?”

Warmth flooded to Leandra’s cheeks but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She wondered if she should tell Mara about the accident, about how Malcolm got hard on her thigh, but Mara would want to dissect every detail of that so she decided to save that for later and said, “He wants me to ditch the Ball with him to go to another party.”

Mara squealed, the sound echoing through the palace, drawing stares before Leandra smacked her hand over her friend’s mouth. Mara pulled Leandra’s hand away looking almost feral. “And you’re going? Prim and proper Leandra is ditching her own party?”

Leandra realized how unspeakably rude it was to ditch her own party. “I mean…maybe I should stay until the party’s officially over.”

Mara scoffed. “Please, who's partying right now?” She gestured around the templars and guardsman all scheduling interviews with the nobles and pulling servers into spare rooms for interrogations.

Leandra bit her bottom lip. Unable to argue with her point.

“Leandra?” Guillaume’s voice sounded behind them.

Leandra stiffened, scarcely turning around before she was swept up in a hug. “Ma cherie. Thank the Maker, you're safe.”

Leandra was not able to help comparing his embrace from Malcolm’s. It felt too suffocating, intrusive, and Leandra felt like his Orlesian cologne was a touch too strong. She felt herself panic, knowing it would be difficult to get away with his attentive eye.

“I’m glad you’re safe, too,” was all she could manage to mutter as she met Mara’s knowing gaze.

“Your parents are in the Guard Captain’s office looking for you,” he wrapped his hand into Leandra’s. “We should go and inform them that you’re safe at once. They are worried sick.”

“And probably threatening a lawsuit,” Mara added with amusement. 

He then turned to Mara with a twinkle in his eye, “I believe congratulations are in order, Miss Hartling.” He stuck out his hand cordially. “I believe you and Gamlen are well suited for each other.”

Mara raised her eyebrows in surprise at Guillaume’s genuine tone and allowed the handshake, a conflicted tense smile on her face.  

Leandra shrunk with her hand in his, wondering how it would be best to ditch him. That’s when Guillaume’s parents showed up behind him, looking at Leandra warily for a reason she couldn’t fathom.

“Guillaume,” his Mother snapped, holding out her arm for him to take. “Thank the Maker I caught up to you. This place has been marked by evil. We must come away before we’re tainted.”

Guillaume looked torn at the thought of leaving Leandra. “Please allow me to drop Lady Amell off with her parents. It’s only proper.” 

Lady de Launcet seemed to want to argue that point but she couldn’t find one when she opened her mouth. Instead she glared at Leandra as if she somehow caused this. 

Her husband took her arm instead and with a thin smile he said, “Then let us escort you.”

Leandra bowed her head respectfully, even though she wanted to scream. “Thank you, my Lord and Lady.”

The procession towards the Guard Captain’s office was slow, Lord and Lady de Launcet taking the lead as Guillaume and Leandra followed dutifully behind, arm and arm. Mara shadowed Leandra’s steps in time with her own as they winded down the halls back to the more judicial areas of the palace. Leandra couldn’t help but hope that she wouldn’t be whisked away home leaving Malcolm waiting somewhere all alone. 

The grand tall ceilings arched into more angular buttresses as they approached The Viscount’s Hall, where every major judicial ruling passed. The militia also had their main base in this wing, the Barracks housing hundreds of soldiers. 

Guards, who gave the family a respectful berth, were scurrying around the palace like chickens with their heads cut off, their faces haunted by the events that just transpired. Hauntings were unfortunately common in places like Kirkwall where the Veil was so thin. Countless tragedies had stripped the Veil of its strength, the templars the only shield against the demons that would sometimes slip through. A haunting this severe, with so much activity, was a little more unusual. A single spirit slipping through might be common but for so many would take the aid of something dark like blood magic. But who would attack? And why stop so suddenly?

They entered the Barracks where Gamlen was perched near a pillar, by the front entrance. He didn't even look up at them as they entered the wing. There was a deep frown etched on his face and he was looking distinctly out of place, compared with all the guards in their full suits of armor. 

“Lord Amell,” Lady de Launcet called out, which caused Gamlen to jump.

He then bowed his head respectfully to them. “My lord. My lady.”

“I don’t suppose we could impose upon you to finish delivering your sister to your parents?” Lady de Launcet then motioned for Leandra to come forward.

Leandra stiffened in one moment, not liking the idea of being handed off like some prize at a country fair but she realized this would be her chance to escape and she released Guillaume’s arm and stepped forward only for him to stop her.

“Should we not deliver her straight to her parents?” he asked.

“Do not argue with me, young man,” Lady de Launcet said sternly. “She is perfectly safe with her brother. Isn’t she?” She looked pointedly at Gamlen who straightened up at inspection.

“Sure,” Gamen offered shortly.

“Delightful,” she motioned Leandra forward impatiently.

Leandra took the chance and stepped beside her brother, Mara following close behind.

Lady de Launcet curtsied as her husband bowed. “Forgive me for cutting things so short, but we must be going now.”

Leandra curtsied back, not able to say her reply before the de Launcets hurried off rather hastily. 

Guillaume stepped forward, taking her hand in his and putting a chaste kiss on her knuckle. “I’m sorry the night ended like this, but it will be an interesting story to tell to our children, won’t it?”

Leandra squeaked, her dream of her own nug children staring back at her. She couldn’t comment on that so she simply said, “Of course. Good night, Guillaume.”

Guillaume smiled sadly before chasing his parents down the stairs and out into the night.

Gamlen’s shoulders collapsed, his face flooding with relief as he planted a kiss right on her waiting mouth. He grinned against her lips as Leandra looked away to give them privacy. “I love that we can do that in public, now.”

Mara peered up at him, grabbing his tuxedo by the lapels. “Me, too. Even if your mom keeps making ogre eyes at me.”

Gamlen grinned back, the deep frown lines that were usually etched in his face soft and pliant under Mara’s gaze. “That’s the best part.” Mara snorted, giggling as she swatted him playfully.

Leandra smiled serenely. She was truly happy for them, that seed of envy seemed to shrivel up inside her with the knowledge a pair of golden eyes was waiting for her. Still, she noticed that there was a hardness in Gamlen’s gaze as he looked at Mara, almost like he was scared. 

He tucked some hair falling out of Mara’s bun behind her ear with care, his lips in a tense line. “Can I talk to my sister for a second? We have some family business to discuss.”

Mara rolled her eyes. “Anything you say to Leandra she’ll just tell me later, so why bother?”

A tick flickered in Gamlen’s square jaw as his blue eyes met Leandra’s in worry. “That’s her business.” He quickly recovered with a smile, but it was far too tense to reassure either of them as he dug through his pocket for his wallet to hand Mara a twenty silver bill. “Go pick up something sweet from the vending machine. It won’t be long.”

Mara tutted, as the bill slid into her hands. She looked over at Leandra with a worried expression. “Want anything?” she asked, lingering between the siblings, her fingers crinkling the crisp bill between her fingers.

“Maybe something with strawberries?” Leandra asked knowing they’d probably have something sweet stocked.

Mara nodded, slinking away, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she disappeared down to the lobby where the vending machines would be kept. 

Leandra looked at her brother, finding that his shoulders had risen to his ears as he clenched his hands in a broil of emotions. 

“They’re firing Mara.”

All the wind was sucked from Leandra’s lungs and she swayed at the news. She knew her parents would be unhappy, but to resort to this? Mara had been born to her position as Leandra had been born to hers. She was a constant in her life since she was a child, always there to dry her eyes, made her laugh through her tears. No matter how petty her complaints were, Mara never made her feel silly about her feelings. The thought of living without Mara made her breath stutter in her chest.  

Leandra squared her shoulders, a sense of urgency running through her as she considered all her options. “I’ll reason with them.”

Gamlen snorted. “You weren’t there when I broke the news.” He gritted his teeth, his eyes glazing over as he recalled the memory, gesturing to his cheek, the tawny skin deepening in a bruise. “Mom smacked me. Told me she’d disown me if I went through with this.”

“She didn’t,” the words escaped her before she could stop them and Gamlen glared.

“They told me they were going to make a call to the lawyers tomorrow to revisit their will,” Gamlen’s nostrils flared as a deep guttural grunt sounded from the back of his throat. “Not that I care. They haven’t given a shit about me since I was a teenager. You just can’t let them do this to Mara.”

“And I won’t,” Leandra took Gamlen’s hands and squeezed. He was putting on a good front but his fingers were trembling. “But you have to know, Mom and Dad do care about you.”

Gamlen’s shoulders tightened, snatching away his hand. “They haven’t for a long time.”

Leandra’s heart ached, hearing the brokenness in his anger. “Gamlen-” But then he glared, shutting up whatever she wanted to say.

“Stop trying to give me therapy. You don’t understand,” he snapped. 

Leandra flinched, looking down at her hands, knowing he was right. She lowered her gaze in shame.

Quickly, all the anger deflated out of Gamlen, and he sucked in his breath as he struggled to find his next words. “Just focus on Mara. I can’t lose her.” His voice sounded frail, scared.

Leandra found the jelly in her spine solidify in resolve as she looked at her brother. She pulled him down into a hug which he resisted at first, but after a few moments allowed it. “I can’t lose her either,” Leandra murmured against his ear. Then she pulled away, looking up at him. 

He was averting his gaze, seeming embarrassed by her affection. “I’ll think of something,” she said squeezing his hand.

Gamlen’s lips creased into a thin line but he nodded, accepting her answer. 

Then Leandra marched past him and downstairs into the Barracks, where her parents were no doubt torturing the Guard Captain. As her hand slid down the marble railing, she quickly prepared a series of arguments that she could use on her behalf. Leandra was used to being Gamlen’s advocate growing up, and she had found she was always dragged into the role of mediator. She knew her parents would somewhat listen to her, though she would have to prepare an airtight defense. 

Her mother was a famous lawyer, who had a pretty impressive record for how many convictions she won, and her father was a rather prominent politician, being groomed as the successor for the Viscount’s chair. Neither had much tolerance for petty emotions. If there was a flaw in her logic, or if she stepped too far into the territory of emotional pleas she knew she would lose this battle. No, she would need to present her case logically, as the best choice for everyone.

She could hear her Mother’s sharp shrill voice rattling the crystal glass of the Guard-Captain’s office as the dark heavy oak door had been left slightly ajar.

“Take my word, Guard-Captain, if my daughter is not home safe come morning I will hold this whole office personally responsible,” Leandra pressed her head against the glass, her fingers trembling against the brass doorknob. “And believe me I can tie up your office with so much litigation you’ll need to hire more assistants to help you with the paperwork!”

“And I will have a press conference come morning calling for your head, for the incompetence of losing the heir of my house in plain sight of a whole squadron!” Leandra’s father’s booming voice came next in harmony with the double attack that her parents had learned to perfect over the years. 

She swallowed down the rest of her fear, pushing herself inside before her parents could threaten a lawsuit or something worse.

“Mother! Father!” she smiled brightly, but her dress was already sticking to her back from the sweat that suddenly started pouring from her. “There’s no need for that! I’m fine.”

Her mother collapsed into her father in relief, clutching a red silk cloth in her hands as the frazzled Guard-Captain stayed trapped behind his giant office desk. The aging man offered a yellowing smile that was tired as he gestured a pudgy finger towards Leandra. “I told you, you were being pre-emptive. She was probably just in the lady's room.”

Her mother scowled, wrinkling the red silk in her hand with a clench. “We looked in the lady's room and no one saw you. Where were you? Explain!”

Leandra hesitated, realizing that her first believable excuse had been taken.

“I felt feverish…after the dance,” she averted her gaze to the thick brocade carpets that decorated the small space, unsure if her lie was even believable. “I went out in the garden to cool off and rest.”

“Without an escort?” her father snapped. “What if something happened to you?”

Leandra caught herself mid eye roll and plastered on a diplomatic smile. “Are we not safe in the most fortified building of our city with a whole array of armed guards?”

Her father’s nostrils flared. “Clearly not if there’s demons pouring out of the walls. You should have stayed close.”

Her mother placed a hand on her father’s arm. “Aristride, I know you’re scared but it’s important we remain calm.”  

The older man seemed to audibly swallow his anger. “You’re right, let’s focus on what’s important.”

Her mother stepped forward, brushing Leandra’s cheeks with the back of her hand. “Should we call a doctor to check that fever?”

Leandra tried not to panic. They had a family doctor that had no problem taking midnight calls and she was very nosy. She relied on her fever because it was convenient but Doctor Waller charged by the hour and so always was extra “thorough.” “That won’t be necessary. I believe I just need to retire for the night and get some rest.”

Her parents exchanged worried glares. “I believe that’s for the best,” her father nodded. “We’ll be due for a cleansing at the Circle, tomorrow.”

“The Circle?” Leandra cocked her head, wondering how many times fate would throw Malcolm in her path.    

Her mother nodded primly. “Yes, I think we’re all due after being exposed to all this corruption.”

“Wonderful,” Leandra sighed, clenching inwardly for the fight that was sure to come. “I’ll inform Mara of the changes in my schedule. She’ll have me ready early morning.”

She coached her smile to give nothing away as her parents looked at each other with weariness and intertwined their hands, stepping together in unison as if it was choreographed. “We have decided to let Mara go,” her father started.

Leandra kept the fury from her face. She hoped that Gamlen had been mistaken. Still, she was grateful that Gamlen warned her for she would have misstepped almost immediately if she had been caught off guard. “Mother. Father. I believe in light of the circumstances you might be acting hasty in your decision.” She folded her hands as she presented her case. “Mara has never been late, always goes above and beyond in her duties, and her family has been with ours for so long she is family.”

“She’s not the only servant who has served us for a long time. She’s not that special,” her Mother retorted.

This time the anger did show on Leandra’s face but she managed to keep her head. “What even is the cause for this if it’s not retaliatory?”

Her parents also kept their heads, though they both seemed annoyed to having been questioned. Her mother sniffed. “We believe Mara has been putting silly ideas in your brother’s head.”

“Which ones?” Leandra found herself raising her voice to an almost impolite level. “The one where she convinced him to go back to business school. Or how about when she helped check him into rehab.” She shook her head, thinking of all the countless smarter decisions her brother had made since Mara inspired him to. “Do you not think you might be judging the situation a little preemptively?”

Both of her parents scowled as if those reminders were just footnotes. “I believe we are judging the situation just fine,” her father flared, his face reddening a shade darker. “And do you not think it inappropriate to bring that up in such company.” He then glanced pointedly at the Guard Captain who was busy reading the paperwork on his desk to avoid looking at the Amells’ fight.

Leandra sniffed sharply, trying to suppress the glare at the hypocrisy of her parents. “Then perhaps we should allow the Guard-Captain to return to his very important duties and have this discussion somewhere else.”

The Guard-Captain looked relieved at that suggestion. Her parents seemed miffed that Leandra was taking charge of the situation but they both bowed their heads as was proper. “Good night, Captain,” her Father said stiffly and guided his wife out the open door where Leandra patiently waited. When her parents stepped through, she shot an apologetic smile to the Guard-Captain and closed the door behind her.

Her parents led her up the stairs and Leandra thought her parents might wait until they got somewhere private but her mother said, “This is not a discussion.” She didn’t bother to look back at Leandra as she held her husband’s hand. “I already have candidates in mind and you will choose a new Lady-In-Waiting tomorrow.”

She could see the smug grins on their faces over their shoulders, the haughty way they held their shoulders in triumph like this was over, and it set Leandra fuming. “And I’m too busy to train a new lady’s maid,” she kept her voice level, but she could feel her temper rising like a pot in a kettle about to blow. “No one knows me like Mara. No one is as thorough or hardworking either.”

Her mother stiffened, stopping on a step to look down at Leandra with a haughty glare. “Are you not bringing your bias into this?”

Leandra had to keep herself from laughing but still, a short bark escaped. “You want to speak to me of bias?”

Her mother’s eyes darkened as she stiffened her posture. “This is not a discussion,” she repeated and continued up the stairs.

Leandra found herself shaking as she walked up the steps to see Mara and Gamlen waiting by the banister with their fingers intertwined sharing a coke. Her heart ached when she noticed that sitting on the ledge was a bag of strawberry hard candies Mara had snagged from the vending machine, her favorite. Mara often brought these when Leandra was working, since they carried the same brand at her office, without even prompting, because that was Mara. Maybe it was her job to care, but Mara cared with all her heart. She couldn’t imagine starting over with some stranger, letting someone else on all the private details of her life. She couldn’t lose Mara. She wouldn’t lose Mara.  

Her parents cornered the couple with clasped hands, openly glaring at Mara and Gamlen’s blatant display. When they saw her parents approach they both stiffened, Gamlen deflating, his eyes searching for Leandra for hope. Gamlen looked like he wanted to drop Mara's hand but he held strong when he saw the confidant smile on his sister's face.

Mara curtsied and dipped her head, lowering her gaze to the ground. “My Lord. My Lady.”

Bethann Amell sharpened her lips into a razor smile and said, “Mara, we do have a change in the household to discuss.”

Mara looked at Leandra in panic, sensing the strange tension in the air. “And what is that?”

Leandra stepped between her parents with her head held high, and without missing a beat she said, “As the new heir to the Amell, I will be taking over responsibility for your salary.”

Mara, Gamlen, and her parents all bugged their eyes out her sockets, and Leandra kept her serene smile, meeting her parent's eyes as she added, “And I’m giving her a raise.”

“With what money?” Her father piped up, face so red it almost matched the color of his suit. “We’ll cut off your allowance!”

Leandra squared her shoulders. “I make more than enough with the salary I make at my job. Thank you very much.” She then realized she had no tension in her body, and she was buzzing from her head all to her toes. Somehow just dancing with Malcolm gave her confidence she didn’t know she could feel. “And Mara, Gamlen, and I are leaving now. I’ll see you tomorrow at the Cleansing.”

Gamlen’s jaw stayed gape as Mara looked at Leandra with a mixture of amusement and awe. Her parents both looked so shocked that Leandra had just stood up to them that they had gone pale, each looking to the other for the words that were both failing them, their mouths opening and closing like confused fish.

Leandra didn’t wait for her parents to find those words. She grabbed Mara’s hand and marched away from her parents, feeling more alive than ever. She had her friend by her side and a handsome man waiting for her. There was nothing that could stop her tonight.

Chapter Text

Malcolm was nervous, gut-nervous, like he’d just come from a Fade jump and his stomach was still doing all the roller coaster flips, threatening to empty out his hard-earned dinner. It didn’t help that the mountains of half-eaten food piled in the dumpsters were starting to turn along with the pungent aroma of the fish stew that gave the alley a rather wet smell. He couldn’t help but feel that this was a terrible place to meet Leandra. This held none of the grandeur of the Palace, the walls defaced with graffiti that had yet to be painted over. And since no one important usually came back here, they wouldn’t bother to for a while. The dumpsters were leaking what Malcolm hoped was just leftover soup, still dripping and draining down the gutter into the sewers below. Hardly romantic.

As the minutes dragged on he made wet tracks into haphazard circles as he found new anxieties that weren’t there before, seeds of doubt cracking into his confidence. What if he was not worthy of her? It wasn’t that he was an elf, though that difference did come to the forefront of his mind often, but what could he possibly offer her to sway her from the lover that already claimed her. He was a mage in the Circle, which meant he had no means to provide for her. He couldn’t compete with the wealth of a billionaire, couldn’t take her to the finest restaurants in Kirkwall to sample cuisines from far lands, couldn’t woo her with expensive gifts like bouquets or beautiful jewelry. He couldn’t even afford the suit the Circle loaned him. Would this night be all he had? Would she have her fun with him and go back to her wealthy fiance, and live her charmed life, and leave him with a broken heart?

And she would break him. He could feel it. He would spend the rest of his days aching for a taste of her lips. His hand clenched and unclenched, feeling so empty without her hand. He clenched it once more and punched the wall, the pain of the brick against his knuckles enough to shock him back to his senses. “You are not a coward!” he growled at himself.

But the seed of doubt rooted deeper. What if this is all she wants from him? A good time. A new experience. What if she didn’t see him as a man willing to love her but some plaything?

The door opened behind him and Malcolm wouldn’t say he jumped, but his feet definitely left the pavement. He straightened himself out to hear the alley suddenly echoing with a bounding argument broiling between Leandra and another man who looked similar to her in the way their scowls matched, but his eyes were not starry black but a shocking blue against his tawny beige skin.

“I’m telling you this is a bad idea. Now let’s go home before we’re caught.”

Leandra snarled, her face more akin to a warrior than a prim noblewoman. “Oh, please, you’re lecturing me?” she snapped her hand back from his muscled grip. “I thought you’d be more supportive considering all the times I’ve covered for you and Mara.”

Another woman in a red dress the same color as the man’s suit followed close behind, trying to keep the two of them apart, but it wasn’t working. Her cat eyes were pulled in a glare as she stayed close to Leandra’s heel. “Gamlen, for Maker’s sake give it a rest.”

Malcolm didn’t know who this man was to Leandra, but he didn’t like how handsy he was being, jerking her arm this way and that in forceful attempts to get her to follow, and Malcolm’s temper quickly snapped as he raced forward to defend Leandra.

“Hey, what’s your problem, asshole?” He balled his fists, rolling up his sleeves as he glowered up to the taller man, knowing he couldn’t use magic but he reckoned he could bet his Ferelden pride he could throw a better punch than a prissy Kirkwall nobleman.

The man looked down at the shorter elf’s stature and snorted, utterly unimpressed as if a kid had challenged him. “Run off, rabbit, this doesn’t concern you.”

Malcolm snarled ready to swing but Leandra instinctively put herself as a shield between the two men, “Malcolm, wait!”

Malcolm pulled himself back from the momentum, almost tripping over himself as he tried to veer direction. He was dazed in that moment, off-balance first by the sudden realization that this was the very first time she had ever said his name. He was so puzzled about how she even managed to remember it with dream fog he almost didn’t realize Carver had just walked through the door and had witnessed most of the exchange.

Carver walked up to Malcolm and pulled him back with force so Leandra, the man and he were now a good distance apart. “What are you doing starting fights?”

“Did I start a fight?” Malcolm shook himself back to reality, a new glare settling at the man who was holding Leandra’s wrist hostage. “Or did he?”

“Yeah, Gamlen, what’s your fucking problem?” the woman marched up beside Leandra as if to protect her.

Malcolm was about to say something else when Carver slapped the back of Malcolm’s head, not hard enough to hurt but the metal of his gauntlet still made a satisfying thwack. “Use your head. This is not some Circle brawl where you’ll get detention. Assaulting a nobleman has real consequences, Malcolm.”

The pushy man made a satisfied smirk at being defended, before it quickly dropped. “Wait, this is Malcolm?”

Malcolm’s ears twitched, not liking the accusatory way he used his name.

Leandra looked at the man as if she was pleading him not to say whatever was about to come out but still he just gawked at Leandra as he pointed at Malcolm with the force of a smack. “Are you kidding me? He’s an elf!? Are you trying to kill Mom and Dad?”

And there it was, the metaphorical elephant in the room that had plagued Malcolm’s thoughts had been spoken aloud and was staring him in the face. So this man was her brother. How unfortunate. He could see the resemblance now in the shape of their eyes and flat of their noses, and Malcolm suddenly felt self-conscious. Already her family disapproved of him, and he didn’t realize how badly he wanted their approval until now, but he knew how ridiculous it was to even have the expectation. He knew the raw ugly truth about how people would look at their relationship, but he wasn’t looking at her brother’s grimace, but at Leandra.

Her shoulders snapped back as her fury exploded like cannon. “When did you ever care what Mom and Dad think!?”

The other woman also didn’t look pleased with Gamlen’s confession. “Did you forget my grandfather is an elf?”

“Mara…” Gamlen sputtered. “It’s not the same. That’s your grandfather. You’re practically human.”

Mara’s smile turned chilly as she cocked her head at the statement, squinting her eyes. “Am I?”

The man sputtered again as Malcolm crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels thoroughly enjoying himself now. The man seemed to understand that this was the wrong answer but from the look of his face everyone could tell he was confused about why. “I mean…it’s not only that. He’s a mage, too.”

“And we have family that are mages,” Leandra countered.

His head was turtling into his shoulders as the two women stared him down with equally withering glares, but still Gamlen pleaded at them to listen. “Think this through, Leandra. You’re practically married. Do I have to remind you tonight was literally your Betrothal Ball. Think of how selfish you’re being.”

Leandra was tiny for a human woman but she had the ferocity of a warrior when she was angry, and it spilled out in a gushing tsunami at the accusation of being selfish. She shoved the other man off of her. “I supported you!” she cried and then shoved again, “had your back against mom and dad at every turn, and now I’m supposed to self-sacrifice and play good child so you can do whatever you want?” Gamlen balked at every shove, not expecting Leandra to fight back so fiercely, and he held her wrists as she attempted to hit him in the face but she was much too short to get a good swing so she started jabbing her heels into his legs. “When is it my turn? When do I get to be happy?”

Malcolm covered his mouth in amusement as the tiny woman beat back her brother with shorthanded swipes looking oddly like a housecat trying to beat back a confused crocodile. Her temper was beautiful, like the oncoming rage of a storm, leaving him in awe of her.

At the sound of Malcolm’s laughter she dropped her shoulders suddenly looking sheepish.

“Oh don’t stop on my account,” Malcolm grinned at her. “I’m enjoying the show.”

She looked at Malcolm with wide eyes suddenly uncertain and shy and she tucked a loose strand of hair that had come undone behind her ear, trying to look prim again. 

Malcolm was disappointed. He would have liked to see at least one more kick.

“I like Malcolm,” she announced, not quite able to meet Malcolm’s gaze though her voice remained steady. 

Malcolm blinked a couple of times unsure he had heard right, but then she marched up to Malcolm and picked up his freckled hand like it was the most precious thing in the world. “I want to explore what that this means,” then she glared back at her brother over her shoulder. “So can you kindly butt out?”

Malcolm didn’t mean for a laugh to escape. Maybe he was relieved to hear her say that. Maybe it was because that furious expression didn’t quite match her soft personality. And then her anger softened into a shy smile when he squeezed her hand in silent thanks, her whole demeanor suddenly demure again.

Malcolm could see the man confused, as if he didn’t expect her to take such a strong stand.

Leandra ignored her brother, her attention only on Malcolm. “I’m so sorry. I hope my idiot brother didn’t spoil our night.”

The smile that was already on his lips pulled wider. Our night.

She then glared at her brother. “He won’t join us.”

“Fine!” Gamlen barked. He snapped his fingers. “Mara, we’re leaving.”

Mara snorted. “You sure? Cause I think I’m going with Leandra, tonight.”

Gamlen narrowed his eyes, his voice taking on an edge of possessiveness. “Mara, we’re publicly together now. I know we don’t always agree but you’re supposed to be on my side, not Leandra’s .”

Mara laughed which seemed to confuse Gamlen and she took Leandra’s other arm and wrapped herself around her. “You’re just my boyfriend. Leandra’s my best friend. Get the hierarchy?”

Leandra looked utterly disappointed in Gamlen. “Need a shovel for the hole you’re digging?”

This time Carver joined Malcolm’s laughter. He had been standing silent the whole time, making sure Malcolm’s temper didn’t get away with him again, and he didn’t bother to hide his amusement as he met Malcolm’s gaze. “She’s a keeper,” Carver nodded approvingly, earning a pleased but flustered blush from Leandra.

Gamlen turned his scrutiny on Carver. “Aren’t you a templar? What are you doing letting this mage off his leash?”

Malcolm bristled at that, but Carver just placed a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, a squeeze reminding him to behave. Still, it was a friendly enough gesture that Gamlen seemed uneasy by it, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of this dynamic. “It may be a long leash, but believe me, there’s still a leash.”

Malcolm grunted at that, hating how true his words were, but Carver continued, “I know you have your doubts about mages, and I know fully the dangers that magic can bring, but Malcolm has opened my eyes many times to the wonders magic can bring.” He let his hand drop from Malcolm’s shoulder but didn’t lower his proud gaze. “He is a good man, a better man than many who serve under me and I’m proud to call him a friend.”

He had never heard Carver talk about him in such a way so to hear him come to his defense made him swallow a lump that suddenly crept up his throat like a frog, but it was apparent that Carver’s pretty words were not swaying Gamlen, though he looked like he was losing some of the fight out of him once he realized that he had no ally to turn to. So he resulted in sulking, hunching his shoulders and jutting out his lip which made him look like a mannish baby. “This is still a bad idea.”

Leandra nodded. “Noted. And ignored.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” Gamlen argued. “If only because someone needs to watch out for you tonight. He’s clearly got you under some sort of spell.”

Malcolm’s shoulders raised at the accusation. Gamlen was glaring at their intertwined hands with a sneer he couldn’t contain like she was touching a dirty animal. He was suddenly overcome with the overwhelming feeling like he would taint Leandra. Stories about how mages seduced their lovers by altering their minds with blood magic or how elven men tricked and stole the innocence of naive human women recounted in his head and though he thought he would have some sort of reply to that he found the words caught in his throat. Instead he held back a tremble as he struggled not to act on his temper and punch the man senseless, only to prove that he didn’t need a spell to rub that sneer off his face. But then even that was a trap, for it would only prove that he was uncivilized as the humans claimed elves to be even if humans never seemed to show much civilization.

There was no way he’d last the night.

Leandra glared. “As if! You’re being a real ass.”

“Well, how are you going to stop me?” the man’s voice took on a childish challenging tone as he dug in his heels.

Leandra groaned, knowing her stubborn brother wouldn’t take no for an answer. What brought on this bout of obnoxious overbearing protectiveness she didn’t know, but she wanted to spend the night getting to know Malcolm, not bickering with her little brother.

“Fine, but if you say anymore idiotic things to Malcolm I won’t hesitate to knee you in the balls,” she huffed as she started dragging Malcolm and Mara around her annoying brother. “And you're taking your own cab!” she added with a snap.

They started marching out of the alleyway and out into the street where they found that the place was swarming with Guard and Templar cars in flashing red white and blue lights bathing the streets in headlights so that they all seemed exposed and Leandra froze at the thought of suddenly being caught and marched back to her parents.

“Follow me,” Carver spoke from behind them, and then marched past them as if there was nothing amiss about what they were doing.

Leandra dropped Malcolm’s hand and put some distance between them at the sight of the crowd that clearly saw them. Malcolm’s stomach dropped in disappointment. Though he knew an elf and a human holding hands would only invite more stares it didn’t keep his heart from aching, wishing just for a moment that he was human so that she wouldn’t let go.

The templars and guards glided around them without notice all seeming to have their own agendas and orders to carry out. There were news vans swarming the front of the Palace trying to make sense of what was happening and they took great care not to get in their line of sight.

Malcolm had a sinking feeling as he followed Carver, thinking that he’d return to his duties and let him have some peace with Leandra. Well, he and Leandra’s friend, who invited herself, but he knew the hierarchy. As they approached an armored vehicle with reinforced wheels and a red Chantry sun impaled a sword, the symbol of the templars, Malcolm realized another was joining the night. It seemed his leash was shorter than he thought, tonight.

Carver opened the door gesturing for the ladies to go in with a respectful bow.

Mara’s eyes gleamed in mischief as she inspected the back of the templar’s car, the armored barriers seeming more fit to housing dangerous apostates than escorting Kirkwall nobility. “Are we in trouble, Officer?”

Carver’s eyes crinkled in a smile but his face remained neutral. “Simply making sure you all get home safely.”

Mara bounced into the backseat. “This standard?”

“Perfectly,” Carver allowed a small smile.

Leandra, too jittery with all the people about quickly ducked behind Mara without a word, grateful to be out of sight.

Carver blocked Gamlen’s push forward so Malcolm could snag the seat next to Leandra and shut the door behind him.

Gamlen scowled, trying to look intimidating but Carver had a few inches in him and was in full armor and gear and didn’t bother to even look in Gamlen’s direction as he got into the driver’s seat and slammed the door.

Gamlen tried to get into the passenger’s seat but he found that it had been locked. Gamlen pounded on the tinted window demanding to be let in.

Carver rolled down the window only enough so Gamlen could hear him say, “I thought the lady told you to get your own cab.”

Gamlen’s face went slack with shock, his blue eyes glassy as he was not able to process what was happening. He could hear Mara and Gamlen’s laughter peeling out from the window, mocking him.

Even Leandra barked out a short laugh before she clapped a hand over her mouth, burning in shame. “That is not necessary, Lord Carver.”

But Carver was already pulling off from the sidewalk, a shellshocked Gamlen watching as they left him at the curb.

There was a satisfied smirk on his lips that no one else could see. “The silence might give him some time to reflect on what he said.”

But it seemed like silence wasn’t what Gamlen wanted. Mara’s phone started to ring, Gamlen’s ringtone, which was a high stringed addictive pop song that filled the cabin.

“With a taste of your lips I’m on a ride.”

Mara sighed raggedly knowing the tantrum that was sure to come. She clicked the button to answer, cutting the music and with a curt voice she said, “I’m not interested in anything but an apology.”

“Apology!?” his voice boomed loud enough from the speaker. “You should apologize. You ditched me and laughed!”

“That’s right,” Mara confirmed in a sing-song voice. “You’re being a hypocrite.”

“Mara-”

But she quickly cut him off with a snarl that was unlike her, “I’m turning off my phone. Maybe if I’m in a good mood I’ll text you where we’re at.”

Then she cut off the rest of his tirade by ending the call and did just that.

She then threw her head back in her seat, her face reddening as she muttered a string of curses under her breath.

Leandra looked at her friend feeling torn. On one hand she couldn’t excuse her brother but she felt her heart ache at what she thought might be the end of their relationship. She knew her brother was better than this and she hoped that somehow he’d find a way to fix this. Still she felt shame like somehow it was her fault the whole wonderful night had been left uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” she said guiltily.

She found Malcolm touching her hand, unsure if the gesture was welcome, but just his hand being close made her fingers wrap around them to keep him there, hoping Malcolm didn’t think less of her. 

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve heard. They get more creative in the Circle,” he said it like a joke, but there was tenseness in the admission.

Leandra didn’t like the thought of that. She knew what her brother said was ugly, and yet to know it was not the worst experience he’d had made her squeeze his hand, the words to comfort him failing her.

“So I’m curious,” Mara’s voice cut between them. She leaned forward so Carver could hear her better through the bars that separated them. “How does a templar and a mage get so chummy?” There was mischief in her curiosity and Malcolm couldn’t help but feel like Mara was scrutinizing him, judging his every move, but unlike Gamlen, she seemed to have not come to a conclusion yet.

“Carver’s not a prick,” Malcolm explained which brought delighted laughter from Carver, a soothing sound like water bubbling over a brook.

“It’s easy to be friends with Malcolm, as long as you can handle some honesty,” Carver echoed back.

“Have you been friends for a long time?” Leandra asked.

“I watched him grow up,” Carver answered as he wove through the streets of Hightown. “He’s always been a bit of a scamp.”

Mara’s eyes lit up. “Ooooh then you’re the one to ask for all the juicy details.”

Malcolm suddenly felt uneasy, not sure exactly what Carver would share.

“That’s true,” Carver admitted freely. “I do have a few stories, but I’ll let you get to know him yourself. I plan to mostly stay out of the way tonight and let you all enjoy yourselves.”

Malcolm found himself sighing in relief. Carver was a true friend.

Mara started leaning on Leandra as she gazed at Malcolm, and he felt strangely like she was a cat and he was her new toy. “So who are you Dream Guy?”

Malcolm found the nickname brought a smile to his lips, especially with the way Leandra was reddening.

“Just an elf from Ferelden,” Malcolm summarized. “Not anyone special.”

“Ferelden?” Leandra asked. “You’re far from home.”

Malcolm nodded grimly. The homesickness burrowed in his gut. The food at the ball was delicious, but he found he missed his mother’s cooking, lechon at Satinalia, pancet at celebrations, adobo, dinuguan, even lumpia. Being a lone elven Ferelden in a Marcher state that kissed Orlais ass with the rest of the world was terribly isolating. It almost seemed fitting that it was an Orlesian that claimed Leandra. They claimed everything Malcolm knew.

Leandra seemed keen to know more. “What about your mom and dad?”

“My mom’s might be somewhere in Ferelden. I haven’t seen her since I was taken by the templars when I was 8.” Admitting this so freely felt odd to Malcolm. They weren’t exactly secrets but he kept his memories close to his heart, but Leandra wanted to know. “I don’t even know if she’s alive.”

Leandra could sense there was more to the story. Malcolm’s eyes were far away, watching the lights of Hightown’s neon bathing his dark skin in a heavenly glow.

“You don’t know what happened to her?”

“I mean when I was in Ferelden’s Circle I got a letter or two, but…” Malcolm sucked in a breath not admitting how the templars took those, too. “Nothing since Kirkwall.”

Leandra stroked his thumb with hers. “What about your father?”

At the mention of his father Malcolm’s whole body went rigid and his breathing got shallow. “Better off forgotten,” he muttered as he stared dully at the window.

The high cityscapes of Hightown receded into the bridge that was thankfully not filled with the usual traffic at midnight. Malcolm’s eyes were far away as his eyes passed over the neon marketing sign and art and competing billboards that seemed to permeate every corner. Kirkwall was a loud city, even at night, but the city seemed to be holding its breath. The high-tech architecture that was just on the other side of the bridge seemed to just die off into the archaic city of Lowtown. There were still ads and graffiti and neon signs on every street, but Kirkwall elite had not seen a purpose of modernizing most of Lowtown, except for the subway system that most of the inhabitants used for travel, so that the sounds of trains running through tracks was a constant echo across the stone. The snaking networks wound through the city but stopped at the bridge that connected Hightown. Lowtown only had so many major streets, the main one connecting to the Lowtown market where shops were piled on top of each other like shoeboxes, mimicking the cityscapes of Hightown but with the grace of a graffiti-filled dumpster. The city cleaners didn’t extend to Lowtown so debris covered the street, the car dipping into the cracks of the concrete and swerving to avoid potholes.

Leandra wanted to know him, but it seemed that poking at him only brought up painful memories, and it was already a painful night. She had no idea how she could even fathom what he went through. He was always carefree and smiling, but now he looked brittle, like he would break if she pressed him too far.

So she tried to change gears. “I have family in the Circle.”

“Oh?” That made Malcolm perk up, curiosity in his golden eyes, and his shoulders relaxed as he realized the interrogation was over.

“A niece in Ostwick, a nephew in Markham, and another nephew in Kirkwall.”

Malcolm seemed much happier to continue this conversation. “What a small world,” he hummed in amusement. “Well tell me about the one in Kirkwall. I might have met him already.”

Leandra was pleased that he wanted to know her family. “His name’s Isaac. He only came to the Circle last year around spring.”

Malcolm placed his free hand on his chin as his eyes reached up into his skull as he tried to summon a face. “Isaac…Isaac…” The name sounded familiar. “Wait does he like to make a lot of truck noises?”

“Yes!” Leandra jumped in her seat in excitement and then blushed when Mara snickered.

Malcolm smiled as he recalled the little guy, suddenly seeing the family resemblance in their eyes. He had life just like Leandra did. “We call him Lil’ Garbage Man. He’s the funniest dude.”

Leandra shook her head though a smile was on her face thinking of how horrified her Mother would be at the nickname.

“You call my nephew Lil’ Garbage Man? Why?”

“Cause he makes garbage truck noises when he busses people’s trays. Dude seems to have a blast doing it.”

Leandra laughed imagining the look on her parent’s face if they had heard that. “My nephew is bussing people’s trays?”

“Isaac is helpful and compassionate. He might be a little odd to people but he has a very good heart,” Carver’s voice came from the bars. “In fact, if you would like to see him, I think I may be able to arrange that.”

Leandra’s eyes widened pouncing on the chance. “Can you? I haven’t seen him since he was taken.”

“I’ll add you to the allowed visitors list in Isaac’s file. It shouldn’t be a problem,” Carver’s voice was steady and comforting, like a sturdy oak giving shade. “You’ll still need to come after Mass. There’s no way around that.”

Leandra felt positively giddy. She had tried to get on the visitor’s list before but Chantry policy only allowed immediate family members. The bastard father who abandoned him had more rights to see Isaac than she did, and she had given up on that cause for the moment but to just be offered as a gift was more than she had words for. She found grateful tears prick her eyes. “Bless you, Lord Carver.”

Carver chuckled. “I think at this point you may just call me Carver. At least in private.”

Leandra wiped her eyes before the tears could fall. “Do you think I can smuggle in a gift?”

Carver hummed on his answer noncommittally. “Toys will be taken if he’s not careful to hide them.” But he didn’t say no.

Leandra considered this as she brainstormed what she could bring. Nothing too big. It had to fit in her purse.

Before they knew it Carver pulled up to what looked like a ratty old bar. It was originally called The Caged Canary, but half the light bulbs were burnt out so it spelled Cage Cry with the ‘The’ blinking in and out.

Malcolm chuckled. “Here?” he asked Carver.

“It’s private and she liked your singing,” Carver replied. Malcolm could hear the smirk in his voice.

Leandra looked at the bar that had so many flyers plastered on the wall it looked like a Chantry board. There was graffiti layered upon layer, sometimes over the flyers, some beautiful mosaics and art pieces of colors. Birds behind bars seemed to be a theme throughout the patterns. It was a chaotic sort of art, the kind that would make her parents sneer, but Leandra found it beautiful, the many hands working together to make something so utterly unique, like a thousand memories cased in time speaking at once. “What is this place?” she found herself asking Malcolm as Mara started shuffling out of the car.

“A karaoke bar,” Malcolm said nonchalantly as he watched Leandra’s face which quickly drained of color.

She froze in the car as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave. “Oh, no, I’m better at playing the lute than singing,” Leandra blubbered, suddenly mortified at the thought of making a fool of herself in public.

Malcolm grinned. “Karaoke is not about sounding good, it’s about having fun.”

“Well, no one’s going to have fun once they hear me sing,” Leandra protested.

Mara peeked in the car from the other side, ganging up on her with Malcolm with a conspiratorial grin. “You should do more things you’re not good at, my lady. It will be good for you.”

Leandra pouted as Malcolm offered his hand to help her out of the car. She reluctantly took it, knowing once she did there was no going back.

Carver started pulling out his phone as he approached the group. “The address is 369 Copper Avenue if you would like to invite your brother,” he looked at Leandra as he said this and she was already pulling out her phone to text the details.

Then Carver’s eyes slid to Malcolm as he fished out his wallet and pulled out a sovereign bill and handed it to him.

Malcolm resented being handed money like a kid but it wasn’t like he was allowed to have money like a normal person. That didn’t stop him from finding his ways, but he hadn’t expected to go on a date tonight and didn’t bring anything with him. So he took the bill feeling like a teenager being chaperoned on his first date.

“I need to make a phone call. You can go ahead and order a round of drinks with the booth.”

Maker, at least he could drink. “You going to join us?” He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for.

But Carver said, “I have some reports to catch up on but you have fun.” Then Carver walked off into a corner to take his call in private.

Malcolm led Mara and Leandra into the bar which was smaller than anticipated. There was a TV with the news reporting on the incident on the Viscount’s Palace, speculating attacks and calling it the worst haunting of the new century. The bartender who was a pallid man with graying hair raised an eyebrow at Malcolm’s fine suit and the ladies’ gowns which were much richer than the sticky floors and peeling dull brown faded wallpaper that decorated the environment. 

Malcolm marched up to the bartender with confidence as the ladies inspected the furniture that had looked like it hadn’t been changed out since the place was built.  The grout of the floor was uneven and chalky. 

Malcolm placed the bill on the cracking counter and said, “A room and all the drinks this can afford.”

Would this afford much? He didn’t exactly know the prices on things.

The bartender looked at the bill and took it without question, though he was curious about the party’s outfits he seemed more interested in their money. “Room 3,” He leaned his head to point to a dark cove where a line of rooms were waiting. “And for the drinks?”

He looked to Leandra, who looked to Mara who said, “I need some sparkling water. But other than that…shots, I guess. Tequila. Vodka. I don’t care.”

“You got it,” the bartender chirped.  

Malcolm led them down the corridor, jealous of the way Mara openly leaned on Leandra’s arm. He could tell the two women must be close and he felt in some ways there was a bubble between him and them.

“Charming place,” Mara cooed as she looked at the posters of different singers lining the walls, flowing locks and colorful makeup and costumes crooning into microphones. “You bring all your dates here?”

Malcolm chuckled. “The only time I’ve ever gone here is with Carver or Charlie,” he said.

He opened the door to the room for them which was a cozy little setup with a boxy couch that wrapped around the room, a table in the middle with a thick booklet, and a screen with a few microphones.

“Boyfriend?” Mara prodded as she passed Malcolm, cat eyes gleaming.

“Brother,” Malcolm countered.

Leandra perked up, trying to corral some of Mara’s teasing with a question of her own. “You have a brother in the Circle?” Her voice was hopeful and she gathered her skirts and took a seat on the square couch fully listening. 

Mara plopping beside her to take a look through the booklet, the laminated pages cracking and yellowing.

“Not a blood brother,” Malcolm explained. “We just grew up together.”

Leandra tried to mask the disappointment in her eyes.  

He took a seat, close but not too close. He glanced at her hand which was relaxed at her side, tempted to reach out and grab it, but with Gamlen in his head he just clenched his fist.

“So what would you sing?” Leandra leaned over as Mara flipped through the selection as she tried to find something that she recognized.

The bartender came in holding a large tray of liquid amber and set it on the table without a word.

“Well first we’d get drunk,” Malcolm said, suddenly needing the liquid courage and he grabbed one of the glasses and knocked it back, the burn welcome and warming him, soothing his frazzled nerves.

“Smart man,” Mara grinned as she grabbed a glass for Leandra and the sparkling water for herself. “But you’re breaking the party rules. We’re supposed to cheer before we drink.”

Malcolm reached for another glass with a chuckle. “I can just grab another drink.”

Mara gleamed at Leandra holding up her glass as she said. “To Leandra. She’s the most badass woman I know.”

Malcolm grinned at Leandra’s fluster as he held up her glass to match Mara’s praise. “She definitely is.”

Leandra clinked glasses with them and knocked back the liquid before coughing which brought chuckles out of Mara and Malcolm. “That’s much stronger than wine.” Then she eyed Mara’s water. “Aren’t you going to have a shot?”

Mara froze for a second and then waved her hand in front of her face in refusal. “Someone needs to stay sober to make sure you two behave.”

Leandra blushed but before she could protest her phone rang and she looked at the cell phone to see that Senhel was calling. In confusion she answered it thinking it was an emergency.

“Leandra Gloriana Amell,” the voice of her mother shrieked on her phone. “Do you have your Father and me on ignore!?”

Leandra grumbled, she was just starting to have fun. “Mother,” she hicced. “I thought I told you I’m resting.”

“You are certainly not in your room!”

“I’m at Mara’s.”

“Don’t lie to me. I sent Sylvain to fetch you and you’re not there.”

Mara and Malcolm looked at each other as Leandra slunk into the couch, looking ragged and tired. “Fine,” she snapped, her voice sounding like a tight thread. “I’m out having a drink with Mara. Because it’s been a night. And I deserve it.”

“Leandra Amell-”

“Goodnight, Mother. I’m turning off my phone,” then she powered down her cell and threw it back in her purse with a huff.

“Another drink?” Malcolm offered.

Mara was beaming at Leandra. “After standing up to the wicked witch of Kirkwall let’s have three.”

So they did, clinking their glasses each time as they knocked it back in unison, the alcohol starting to make Malcolm and Leandra feel giddy and loose.

Mara was suddenly giggly and she picked up the microphone and waggled her eyebrows. “Alright we’re supposed to be singing, right?”

Leandra and Malcolm cheered, raising more glasses sharing a grin.

Mara plugged in the song and with an upbeat piano that was as spunky as she was. She wiggled her hips as she grooved with her microphone, getting into it, her face goofy and carefree for the first time that night. 

“Why men great til’ they gotta be great,” she sang loudly and proudly off-key.

“I just took a DNA test

Turns out

I’m a hundred percent 

That bitch

Even when I’m crying crazy

Yeah I got boy problems 

That’s the human in me

Bling! Bling! Then I solve ‘em

That’s the Goddess in me

Malcolm and Leandra danced in their seats and Mara gave them a show, belting her frustrations into the mic and only slightly tripping over the words. The mistakes only made her laugh which made everyone laugh. Then she grabbed the mic with both hands, her face twisting in anger as she kicked off her red strappy heels so they bounced against the couch and wall, belting out with flourish,

“You could have had a bad bitch

Non committal

Help you with your career

Just a little

You’re supposed to hold me dooown

But you’re holding me back

And that’s the soooound

Of me not calling you back.”

Soon Malcolm and Leandra were trying to sing along to the chorus, though Malcolm didn’t know the words to this one. Still, Mara was fun and it was nice to see Leandra with that beautiful smile. He thought her laugh was the most gorgeous sound in the world and he’d never tire of it. 

They were all thoroughly enjoying themselves so much that they didn’t notice that Gamlen had now perched himself at the door and listened to the man-hating song, a bouquet of what looked like store bought roses in one arm and a box of expensive fine truffles in the other, but Mara at one point noticed him, the song fading from her lips as the music continued and quickly wrapped up.

The silence was awkward and no one knew what to make of it. Everyone was staring at Gamlen but Gamlen was only staring at Mara. 

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I was an idiot.”

Mara huffed putting down the microphone with a thud, feedback shrieking through the speakers.
“No denying that but do you even know what you’re sorry for?”

Gamlen rushed forward and placed the gifts in Mara’s arms which she reluctantly accepted. “I was an ass. You told me that enough.”

Mara blew out air, ruffling her bangs. “But the comments you said about Malcolm said a lot about what you think about me.”

“I don’t-I would never,” he sputtered. “I just…Being an elf never seemed to matter to you before.”

Mara glared. “Of course it matters to me. I might not have the pointed ears, but Lolo is all I have left after the car accident. You know that.”

“Of course,” Gamlen said. “Of course it’s important. I just…” he blew out a ragged breath, his eyes flicking to Malcolm. “This is all so fast. Leandra just met him tonight.”

“But you heard Leandra, she likes him. This is not your decision to make.”

Gamlen looked like all the air had been taken out of him as he struggled to find an argument but failed.

Mara looked at Malcolm who seemed to have gone quiet at Gamlen’s presence. “I’m not the only one who deserves your apology.”

Gamlen looked conflicted as his eyes snapped to Malcolm who was knocking back another drink. Gamlen clenched his fists, as he looked over Malcolm, the disgust still clear in his eyes but from the look on Mara’s face she wouldn’t let this go.

Through clenched teeth he said. “Sorry,” but he spat the word out like a curse.

Malcolm discarded his glass and picked up another, feeling slightly drunk and still very very pissed off. “I don’t know, did I hear an apology?”

Leandra crossed her arms, matching Malcolm’s glare. “No, I don’t know that I did.”

Mara dropped Gamlen’s gifts on the table like she was dropping trash in a bin. “Care to try again?”

Gamlen’s eyes widened in fear and he swallowed his anger as he tried to suppress his glare at Malcolm. “Fine, fine. I’m really really sorry.”  

“For…” Malcolm drawled looking into his glass of amber liquid.

“For being an ass,” Gamlen chewed out.

“And…”

Gamlen narrowed his eyes, flicking to the other women for help but they simply waited expectantly for his answer. He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to add. Apologizing wasn’t exactly something he did voluntarily.

He looked for Leandra to help but found her usual warm expression cold, but still she added, “And he won’t do it again.”

Gamlen bristled at that, seeming reluctant to actually say those words, but with Mara glaring at him, too, he repeated, “I won’t do it again.”

Malcolm grinned at that, all teeth. “Now that’s an apology.” Then he made a cheering motion at Gamlen and knocked back his drink.

Mara sniffed and sat down beside Leandra, satisfied but still seething. Gamlen followed her like a sad puppy and when he sat down next to her he tried to hold her hand but she snapped it back, still angry.

Malcolm sighed, feeling sloshed by now, but with Gamlen being so close he felt himself tensing like a stretched rubber band ready to snap. Still, getting the asshole to apologize was at least slightly satisfying even if Malcolm didn’t believe a word of it.

Leandra brushed his hand, bringing him out of his churning thoughts. Her eyes looked worried as she bit her lip, seeming unsure. “I’d love to hear you sing next.”

Malcolm did have a song in mind already, one that he heard long ago but didn’t have any meaning to him until meeting Leandra, but his eyes flickered to Gamlen who was sulking in the corner, unsure if singing it would bring more ire.

Leandra seemed to sense his hesitation and she was suddenly rambling as if she was nervous. “You don’t have to. I mean I can definitely try singing a song with Mara if you’re not feeling up to it.”

Mara leaned over to Leandra with a grin on her face. “What are we singing?”

Gamlen snorted. “You’re singing?”

Leandra glared. “Shut up! As if your voice is any better.”

“At least I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

“Not when it counts,” Malcolm’s unfiltered drunken thoughts blurted out which brought another laugh from Leandra and Mara and a scowl from Gamlen.

Malcolm smirk softened at Leandra’s laughter and he watched her with soft eyes.

She stopped when she noticed he was staring, his honey eyes drawing her in.

“I’d love to hear you sing.” Malcolm said in a voice so genuine she could only swallow.

Leandra dropped her eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I mean you’re going to have nightmares.”

“I don’t know,” Malcolm grinned. “Since meeting you it feels like I’ve been living a dream.”

She blushed deeply, her breath stuttering, a pleased smile forming on her lips as she choked on what she said. “I guess I’m drunk enough to sing.”

Mara cheered and Malcolm and her clinked glasses in a celebratory drink.

Leandra and Mara took the stage, their eyes on the screen as they huddled together.

A slow ballad filled the speakers, soft and sweet, just like Leandra was. Mara opened her mouth widely inhaling but as soon as the countdown signaled for them to start only Leandra’s voice sang out,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you”

Leandra’s eyes flew in panic as she realized that Mara was not singing along but looking at her with a smirk as she was forced to either stop or continue. Her eyes flew to Malcolm’s like a moth to a flame, her voice trembling in uncertainty. 

She was not as terrible as she claimed, not a singer’s voice sure, but Malcolm found he could listen to her all night. He watched the rosy glow of her cheeks as her eyelashes fluttered, looking so uncertain and vulnerable.

“Like a river flows

Gently to the sea

Surely how it goes

Some things were meant to be.”

Malcolm hoped that was what she was telling him, and his gaze turned so intense she could not bear the scrutiny, her voice shaky and faltering but she finished the song to the end. Malcolm and Mara then burst into applause as Leandra shyly tucked hair behind her ear.

She glared at Mara but there was no anger in her voice. “Traitor.”

Mara shook her head in laughter as she took her seat beside Gamlen.

Leandra sauntered up to Malcolm, closer than ever. He could feel the warmth of her body and smell the alcohol on her breath. She playfully grabbed his arm and brought him to the stage and pushed a microphone in his hand. “Ok, now it’s your turn. Better make it good.”

Malcolm was nervous, but the way she was smiling at him he couldn’t help but smile back. “I aim to please, my lady.”

“Well, then do it,” she commanded cheekily. “Please me.”

Malcolm’s eyes darkened at this challenge. Her cheeks were so rosy he had to resist cupping them, her smile brilliant as she sat captively in attention. He felt shaky with nerves, his stomach doing that warm flutter. He plugged in the song, a soft drumbeat pulsed through the speakers as he gazed in her eyes, feeling like there was no one else in the room. His heart sped up, aching to have her. His honeyed voice crooned through the speakers, begging her to accept him.

“I wish we were both someone else

So you wouldn’t be somebody else’s

I don’t want to lie here by myself

Ain’t afraid to say I’m selfish.”

“Don’t wanna lie to you, Don’t wanna promise something

Knowin’ I can’t come through, toast over this discussion

More of ignoring the rules, too close and then we’re touching

Now we’re both confused.”

Leandra found herself rising to her feet, her heart feeling the same ache in the lyrics. His hand seemed to beckon her to him as he looked at her with a yearning that made her feel alive.

“Something in the way you smell

Something in the way touch me

Maybe it’s the way you wrap your arms around me

Makes me wanna lay you down, Tell you all the things we could be

Tell me that you need me now, even though it’s not allowed.”

Leandra couldn’t help herself if she wanted to. Malcolm’s honest words crooning at her had her grabbing his tie before he could reach the chorus again and she answered him with a hungry kiss. He tasted strawberries and alcohol and her taste coated his tongue until he was lapping it up greedy for every drop of her. Hungry. That was the only way that could be described when their lips met. His hands snaked up her back untangling her braid loose as she held him captive by his tie, pulling him closer by his curls as they devoured each other, the beat still pulsing in the background. They stumbled, trying to find steadiness as their mouths refused to part, tripping into the table and almost knocking each other over.

Mara hooted encouragingly at the kiss and she tried to get Gamlen to join her in a cheer but he looked like he was trying to look anywhere but at his sister. When Malcolm had backed her into a wall and it was clear that they wouldn’t stop, Gamlen finally snapped and said, “Leandra!”

Malcolm pulled away, surprised by Gamlen’s shout but she held onto his tie and stuck out her tongue like she was five. “Grow up, Gamlen. I’ve watched you and Mara dry hump since tenth grade.”

Malcolm barked out a laugh, lipstick smeared across his lips. Then Leandra pulled him in for another sweet kiss. “Sing me another,” she asked against his lips.

The night seemed to go much better, the laughs easier, and after Malcolm sang a few more songs they went back to rotating. Gamlen mostly sulked throughout the night, giving a tight-lipped glare as Malcolm and Leandra shared kiss after kiss, feeling bolder and handsier, but other than some huffs he didn’t do much more to ruin the night.

Before they knew it Carver crept through the door, his face amused at the state of Malcolm’s lipstick smeared face as he and Leandra were cuddling in the corner sharing a drunken snooze, Leandra cradled on Malcolm’s chest.

Gamlen sat in the corner, tight-lipped, the same scowl he carried all night plastered on his face.

“So you all had a good time,”

Leandra and Malcolm stirred, both yawning and blinking.

Mara saluted from the couch, in a fit of giggles. “Yes, Officer. Mission succeeded.” He had interrupted her from eating Gamlen’s apology chocolates, a pile of used wrappers piled on the table among the many, many drained glasses.

“Very good,” Carver had a satisfied smile on his face. “I’ll need to take you back to Hightown now if Malcolm’s going to make it back by First Bell.”

“Nope,” Leandra shook her head with a yawn, her words a little slurred. “Nope. No, my parents will kill me if they see me like this. Take me to Mara’s.”

Mara yawned and covered her mouth. “Good idea. You have the day off so we can just sleep.”

Leandra jerked, suddenly realizing, “Oh, no! I have a Cleansing today!”

Mara cocked her head. “What time? Maybe we can grab a nap?”

Leandra chewed her lip picking herself up from Malcolm’s hold so she could look through her bag for her phone.

It was full of texts from her Mother and Father. She scrolled through the lectures and threats to find that her Cleansing was early and not only that but the de Launcets would be participating and Guillaume would be at her side tomorrow. And then the bubble popped.

“Oh, how am I going to be presentable by 10 am?” Leandra’s voice was filled with panic.

“Don’t worry, I’m on the case,” Mara patted her chest confidently. “As long as I can pass out as soon as I’m done.”

“You’d have earned it and your raise,” Leandra pulled herself upright and wobbled in her heels.

“Easy there,” Malcolm automatically moved to steady her and she placed her hand on his chest as she willed the room to stop spinning. He sat her back down allowing her to lean on him. 

“Something greasy will work wonders,” Carver said helpfully.

“I’ll whip up a bacon breakfast when we get home,” Mara yawned. “And lots of coffee.”

As Mara stretched she looked at the templar with renewed interest, the man seeming more like a statue to her than a person and she eyed him from head to toe. “Not going to sing at least one?” she said in a sing-song voice, her cat eyes gleaming with mischief. “Malcolm tells us you have quite the voice.”

Carver smiled, chuckling, his teeth bright against his dark skin. He scratched his stubbly beard. “We don’t really have time.”

Malcolm was looking for any reason to make the night last just a little longer. “Oh, c’mon just one. For old time’s sake?”

Leandra blinked her doe eyes, batting them like a weapon. “Oh, please,” her words crashed together clumsily. “You’ve been alone all night, Ser Carver. I’d love to hear you sing.” 

“I’m tired,” Gamlen snapped. “Let’s go.”

Maybe it was the fact that the other three were pleading, their drunken stupor making the consequences of the night still seem far away. Or maybe Carver wanted to have one more opportunity to get under Gamlen’s skin, but he smiled wider than he did all night, fully coming into the room and headed for the stage, crooking a motion to Malcolm to follow him. “I’m only singing if you join me, Hawke.”

Malcolm pushed himself off the couch eagerly. “Deal,” he said grabbing one of the extra mics from the stand as Mara and Leandra cheered, no more alcohol to toast with but they still raised their hands up in the motion.

Carver plugged in the song and a high energy guitar riff started streaming. Malcolm grinned as he recognized it. Carver’s energy seemed to change, his stiff shoulders relaxing as his warm coffee eyes gleamed at Malcolm, still remembering how Charlie was there the last time they sang this. He raised the mic, a raspy baritone ringing clear and beautiful like a deep bell, belting the lyrics with confidence.

“She’s got a smile that seems to me

Reminds me of childhood memories

Where everything was as fresh

As the clear blue sky.”

His eyes flicked to Mara, his hands cradling the mic as the beat rocked. Their eyes met in a strange crackling energy that Gamlen didn’t seem to notice cause he was too busy sulking. Carver watched as her slow gaze inspected him in curiosity, following the lines of his armor.

“Now and then when I see her face

It takes me to that special place

And if I stared too long,

I’d probably break down and cry.”

Malcolm joined him for the chorus, harmonizing with him so beautifully that it brought goosebumps to the ladies skin.

“Whooooa, Sweet child of mine,

Whooooa, Sweet love of mine.”

Then Malcolm’s honeyed voice took over, his eyes meeting Leandra as he sang with a smile, his face smeared with Leandra’s kisses, light and life in every bounce of his step.

“She’s got eyes like the starriest skies

As if they thought of rain

I’d hate to look into those eyes

And see an ounce of pain.”

Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place

Where as a child I’d hide

And pray for the thunder and rain

To quietly pass me by.”

Carver joined him again for the chorus, his soothing deep voice weaving around his melody as they repeated, their gazes meeting in boyish mischief. 

Then soon the guitar break came and both Carver and Malcolm went into ridiculous scatting, mimicking the riffs as they pretended to play invisible guitars. When the lyrics came back they echoed against each other, the melody getting more complicated as they each broke into their own renditions, bouncing and dancing on the stage as they pushed each other, a couple of boys roughhousing. Leandra and Mara couldn’t stop laughing at their silliness, the song stretching on and on never seemed to end until Carver and Malcolm kept singing back to the other.

“Where do we go?

Where do we go now?”

It was the question in Malcolm’s mind. His eyes stayed drawn to Leandra, asking her. 

Then the song wrapped up with the same high energy and Leandra and Mara rose to their feet cheering. 

“Bravo!” 

“Bellissimo!”

“Encore!”

Gamlen’s scowl looked like it had been carved into his face and would stay there forever. He glared at the two men as they made exaggerated bows at the ladies’ applause.  

“Now can we go?” Gamlen snarled.

Carver’s proper demeanor was back in place as he put away the microphone with care. “Yes, I believe that is best.”

"Wait, wait, wait," Leandra reached through her bag for her phone and turned it back on. Ignoring the new messages, she then went to her camera. "We need to commemorate the night."

Malcolm and Carver looked at each other. 

"I'm not sure we should be leaving more evidence," Carver's voice said nervously. 

Leandra blinked her eyes pleading. "Please, it won't leave my phone. I just need something to remember the night was real."

That was all the convincing Malcolm needed. He grabbed Leandra's waist pulling her in for a pose. She blushed and snuggled in closer, holding out the phone, their faces framing the screen.

Carver looked like he wanted to protest more but Mara grabbed his arm. "C'mon Officer, loosen up." He seemed flustered as the small woman led him. "It's just a selfie." She then motioned Gamlen to join her. "You too, Grumpmeister." 

Gamlen looked irritated to see Mara casually touching Carver's arm and so stormed up and claimed her with a possessive grab on her hip and yanked her to him. 

Mara seemed annoyed, but said nothing as they all huddled in close for the camera so their faces could fit. 

It flashed, and they all blinked, temporarily blind. 

"Sorry," Leandra said as they all peered at the picture. 

Carver was caught in the middle between Mara and Leandra looking out of place in his armor, his face grim like a statue. Mara leaned on Gamlen but her face was closer to Carver, smiling a model's smile as she posed expertly. Gamlen's face was cut off slightly, his ugly glare caught as he stared at Malcolm and Leandra pressing cheeks, her lipstick had left a clear trail of where she claimed him and they shared the same ecstatic smile.

Malcolm wanted something to remember the night, too. He grabbed Leandra's phone and texted himself the picture. He handed the phone back. "Now you have my number." 

She gazed at her phone blushing as she realized he inserted himself as "Dream Guy." 

They left the club, the sky still dark among the high buildings, but there were still signs of the bus moving for the early commute. Carver drove them to Mara’s place in Midtown which bordered the edge of Lowtown and Hightown, a cut of suburbs that were newer and had a cookie cutter like appearance. There was already a car in the driveway, a nice but older SUV that had been handled with care. The streets were dark except for the street lights that marked the houses in neat little rows, flowering shrubs and gardens filled with knick knacks differentiating them.

Malcolm got out of the car and helped Leandra out, their hands not unlinking as she stepped out.

Mara pushed out of the templar car still yawning, Gamlen following quickly behind. “You can go to my room, but don’t be loud and wake Lolo.”

Gamlen nodded, keeping close to Mara as she dug through her purse for her keys. He cast a glare in Malcolm’s direction when he noticed he was holding his sister’s hand but he kept to his apology and said nothing, following Mara into her house.

Leandra and Malcolm’s stroll was a languid shuffle as if they slowed down the moment it wouldn’t end. Still Mara’s porch approached and it did.

“When can I see you again?” she asked shyly as she squeezed his hand harder instead of letting go.

Malcolm’s heart fluttered, his voice eager. “I’ll break out as soon as I’m able.”

Leandra seemed conflicted about that. She placed her hand over his heart, lines of worry streaking her face. “Don’t get in trouble on my account.”

Malcolm grinned cheekily as he leaned into her face. “I am trouble.”

He captured her lips in a hungry kiss, not knowing when he’d be able to taste her next. Their lips moved unhurried and slow, their fingers exploring over their clothing under the arch of the porch. One minute passed, then two. It seemed there was not enough time in the world to memorize each other, and they were soon interrupted by Carver’s loud but abrupt honk.

Malcolm grinned against her mouth. “See you soon,” he promised and he dashed off and hopped into the front seat of Carver’s car.

Leandra didn’t go inside until the vehicle pulled away from the driveway and disappeared down the street.

d

Chapter Text

Carver never wanted to be a Templar, but his mother and father had the heir, the spare, and then some, so Carver was dedicated while he was still in the womb. They were proud of their Templar lineage but they didn’t know the sacrifices they forced Carver to make. Carver made them because it was his duty, and he did so with a smile. Even if he hardly saw his family outside of the many duties that filled his days.

No, he found he didn’t have much in common with his parents, who were not even Templars, or his brothers. In all respects he carried their name, but they were just strangers to him, that tried to control his life, and used his good standing like a trophy in their collection.

And there was a disquiet in him as he wielded power over mages. Chantry rhetoric claimed mages were not people. They were classified as living weapons, and yet they cried the same tears, bled the same blood, had the same fears, died just as easily. And he resented how many who he worked with used that power to harm. Carver didn’t know a better way than the Circle, but he often wondered if what they were doing was actually effective, as blasphemous as that statement was.

He found few Templars that agreed with him and counted many mages as friends, even if there were rules that said otherwise.

The fact was that Carver was given the keys to the prison and was free to leave his position at any time. But only through the Chantry could he get lyrium he needed, and he could only get lyrium if he remained a Templar. He thought of leaving, but his own leash held him in place well enough.

“I hate to bring this up,” Carver said hesitantly as they started pulling into the streets of the docks towards the Templar station where he’d need to park his car. “But you should clean up your face before we get back. We’ll be caught for sure.”

Carver knew Malcolm better than the family that had given him up, knew him almost as well as he knew himself, even when Malcolm tried to keep secrets from him. And there was no denying that Leandra had changed Malcolm. Malcolm smirked often, but tonight on his face was a true smile, the usual frown lines and sarcasm gone. He was humming the songs that they had been singing all night, and had been serving as the radio for Carver as they drove through the streets of Kirkwall. There was no chip on his shoulder, no snarl to his words. Leandra had sanded down the edges until all Carver saw was a happy man in love.

And Carver was scared for them.

Malcolm laughed pulling down the mirrors as he inspected the red smears, wiping his face clean with his sleeve and a bit of magic when the lipstick remained stubborn. Malcolm seemed sorry to wipe off the evidence of the night.

Carver reached into the middle compartment and tossed Malcolm some mints. “Your breath smells like alcohol. Take care of that.”

Malcolm dutifully popped a handful of mints in his mouth, probably not enough to completely cover the smell but it would help.

Carver knew mages were dangerous. He had lost a few templar brethren hunting down apostates, but among the heavier death toll, mages were always the higher casualty, not that his brethren saw it that way. Still, he thought long and hard, trying to find ways to prevent the same tragedies.

“So we should get our story straight,” Carver said, as he pulled into his personal parking space which was marked and always clear for him. Carver could see Malcolm squirm in his peripherals, his lips getting tight as he sucked on his mints but he volunteered nothing. Carver turned off the car, stalling the engine so only ships at sea could be heard. He locked the door before Malcolm could get out and the way Malcolm glared made him look like a cornered wolf. “I know I initially tagged along because I wanted to keep that asshole in line, but I know you’re key to the investigation,” more squirming, some hunching. “Though I still need to interview the other mages at the party, I’ve been reading reports all night and no one seems to know more than you do.”

“I don’t know what’s going on.” Malcolm’s voice was tense in the admission. He played dumb like he always did.

Carver sighed. Obviously a lie, but calling him on it would only make him more evasive. He kept his eyes on the Templar station, an intimidating fortress that imposed the Docks, guarding a private train-line that went over the water and into the Circle.

“So what do you know?”

Malcolm went quiet. Carver glanced over, seeing a hundred thoughts scattering through his mind. 

“It was nothing I’ve ever seen before,” he finally said.

“Nor I,” Carver said, worried about that admission.

Malcolm’s hands twisted as he picked at his nails. “What’s going in your report?”

Carver knew it was against the rules to tell anyone, let alone a mage under his care what he told the Knight-Commander, but he could understand why Malcolm was scared. The Knight-Commander wasn’t the most tolerant of mages, and often criticized Carver’s approach in spite of the results Carver brought. “Only what’s necessary,” Carver hoped that would reassure him but his friend remained tense.

More silence, an internal debate in Malcolm’s head as he decided what to tell. 

Carver waited in patience, his gaze expectant.

“The Veil was sundered and torn, but not only that, corrupted,” Malcolm finally said. “I don’t know how but it seemed like the Fade was leaking into reality, like they were merging together.”

That didn’t sound good. He wanted to know how Malcolm knew this but instead he asked, “What could cause that?”

Malcolm avoided Carver’s gaze. “Something dark and ancient and powerful.”

Carver cocked his head unsure of what that meant. “Like a Tevinter magister?”

“Worse than that, dude.” Malcolm laughed uneasily. He actually looked scared. “I don’t think you can arrest this.”

Carver considered what he meant and then it hit him. “Are you saying a demon did this?” Malcolm flinched, keeping silent but Carver knew he was on the right track. “What kind of demon?”

“Terror,” Malcolm admitted. “And it’s big and hungry.”

Carver then realized. “Did you fight it in the Viscount’s Palace?”

Malcolm’s golden eyes blinked up in surprise and he chewed on his lip. “I did, but it’s strong.”

Carver wondered how many battles he was fighting alone, and he knew Malcolm was too prideful to ask so he said, “It sounds like you could use help.”

Malcolm sputtered as if embarrassed. “I don’t think you can help with this, dude.”

If Carver had ego it might have been wounded, but he simply smiled. “It’s my duty as a Templar, and if this demon can sunder reality it is a danger that must be vanquished.”

Malcolm looked uneasy, but he didn’t argue. “So, what’s going in your report?”

Carver knew he shouldn’t but he said, “I think it important the Knight-Commander knows that a dangerous demon is hunting. We need to be prepared.”

Malcolm turned to Carver, pleading. “Don’t say I jumped into the Fade.”

“It’s an important detail,” Carver said, “and impressive as well. You could probably teach your own class with the types of spells you seem to always come up with.”

Was this just because he didn’t want more responsibility? Malcolm’s eyes said otherwise. He recognized someone begging for his life. He had seen it too many times in the countless Harrowings he oversaw. 

“It really isn’t,” Malcolm insisted. “Just say we fought a terror demon that opened a rift into the Fade. That’s enough.”

Carver was uncertain. He wasn’t comfortable with lying, but this seemed important to Malcolm. “And then we spent the night chasing it,” Carver finally agreed, seeing Malcolm’s shoulders finally relax. Still, Carver knew there was a huge piece missing from the puzzle, and it somehow had to do with Malcolm, but he knew Malcolm, and he could see him closing himself off like a vault. He had hoped the alcohol might be enough to loosen that tongue, but Malcolm was the most stubborn man he knew. He prayed it wouldn’t lead to casualties. “You’ll tell me what I need to know before it hurts anyone else, right?”

“Of course. Trust me,” Malcolm nodded.

“I do,” Carver said with a grimace. “I just wished you trusted me.”

Malcolm looked hurt by the accusation. “Of course I trust you.”

“But you won’t tell me what I need to know,” Carver said bitterly. He didn’t like how many questions he was still left with.

“I did tell you what you need to know,” Malcolm’s voice was defensive. “The demon will die soon, and everything will go back to normal.”

Carver doubted that with the evidence he had seen that night, but he knew that would only lead to an argument. So, instead he placed a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “You don’t have to fight your battles, alone.”

Malcolm said nothing to this, but he made a tight nod.

Carver sighed finally unlocking the door and getting out of the car.

Carver left his car at Templar station and they boarded the train, watching the water over the ocean in companionable silence as the tower of the Circle approached. Dawn was just starting to rise over the ocean cut off by the ugly tower that jutted into the sky with its red Circle flags waving in the ocean wind as bronze slave statues curled into themselves against the ocean spray, weeping. 

Carver felt sorry that the night was over. He could already see that Malcolm was getting antsy approaching the Circle, his fingers drumming on his legs in a steady beat. He seemed wound up with energy still from the night, which he guessed was good since he probably only got a few minutes of sleep.

Soon they walked off the train and into the courtyard which was still empty, but it would be filled with Templars doing drills. Dawn had broken and so First Bell wouldn’t be too far. Before Malcolm walked back to his room Carver stopped him by a hand on the shoulder. “Remember your promise to Leandra. No lip, and work on your grades.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Malcolm rolled his neck, cracking it nonchalantly. He said it like he was brushing it off, but Carver couldn’t help but notice how alert he was, his posture straighter with a confidence that carried him with every step. As Malcolm walked away, Carver thought this might be the first time Malcolm actually might consider taking something seriously, and he couldn’t help but think he’d have to find more ways to thank Leandra, if for no other reason to bump into that rather whimsical cat-eyed woman who had mischief in her smile.

As Carver made his way down the Templar quarters he found his mind wandering back to Mara. He had met many beautiful women, but Mara had a spunk to her that set her apart and made her shine. He was rather impressed that she stood up to her own man for Malcolm and her loyalty to her lady seemed to go beyond just duty. Admiration. That’s what he told himself was stirring inside him. Any other considerations he had long since buried, but like a stubborn weed, irresponsible thoughts were unearthing.

Carver knew those were thoughts that would go nowhere. He was Knight-Captain, second only to the Knight-Commander. He had a responsibility to his wards and his comrades to be sharp and undistracted and while Templars were not forbidden to marry very few found the opportunity nor the time. Carver himself barely had time in the day to eat so to fully commit to anything like a romance seemed out of the question. Plus, it was clear she already had a man. Still, he hoped Mara would find someone more worthy of her wild adventurous spirit. And the way she inspected him with that scrutinizing stare as he performed for her left a shiver in his spine. He remembered the sassy way she called him “Officer” that stirred something primal in him and he was left unbalanced when she grabbed his arm.

He shouldn’t have allowed the picture. It could ruin everything, but Mara smelled so good he was left dizzy and his spine turned to jelly. And when Gamlen yanked her back from him it took everything not to punch him and ruin the night Malcolm worked so hard for.

It was not his place. Carver was only there to protect Malcolm, nothing else, and he felt a little ashamed that he was even thinking such things. He needed to focus, make sure that Malcolm doesn’t ruin what little standing he has left by taking reckless chances. But he couldn’t help but wish the song he sang Mara was a little longer and that Gamlen had stayed on that curb so he might find an excuse to talk to her again.

The door to the Knight-Commander’s office was intimidating, high reinforced steel bars with a heavy plaque of the red Chantry sun, as if they needed another reminder who ruled over them.  Carver went to knock on the door to find that it was slightly ajar, muffled voices coming through the door.

“Knight-Commander, we need to consider that this might have been an attack on the Amell’s or the de Launcets. We need to reinforce security, pull from the Guard if necessary to ensure the nobility’s safety.”

Carver gritted his teeth. It was clearly Meredith’s voice coming from the door. Normally he would commend Meredith for her proactive thinking. She was remarkably fast at getting the men to secure the ballroom, but she made it clear to Carver that she was gunning for his job and he was sure this was just going to be another attempt to undermine his command.

Carver knocked twice before letting himself in, cutting off the Knight-Commander’s reply. Both the Knight-Commander and Meredith’s head flung in Carver’s direction. Knight-Commander Guylian stayed behind his desk, an antique oak with heavy legs, his pale skin popped against the dark leather. He was an older man with a prominent nose, lips so thin they were barely visible and dull grey eyes. He looked fully rested compared to Meredith whose bags from the all-nighter she pulled darkened her creamy skin.

“Good, I’ve been expecting your report,” the Knight-Commander nodded.

“Finally,” Meredith scowled as the Knight-Commander motioned for Carver to come in, but she kept her usual barbs to herself for now.

Carver glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t even 6am. He was not late. Still, he couldn’t help the anxiety creeping up his neck as his Commander stared him down, waiting for him to spin his tale. Carver had become good at lying though, years of meditation and duty hardening him into a beacon of calm. 

“Before I go into my report I want to recommend an official reprimand be marked on the Knight-Lieutenant's record.”
Meredith went red, eyes widening in outrage. “What for!?”

Carver felt himself mold into the role of Knight-Captain and addressed her while keeping his eyes on the Knight-Commander. “Instead of assessing the area for culprits she assaulted Taylor Filene. Such behavior will sow disorder and dissent in the ranks.”

“But Taylor Filene might be a culprit,” Meredith barked back.

“Regardless,” Carver continued. “There are procedures if you have suspicions. Threatening your wards in plain sight of the nobility is not.”

The Knight-Commander waited patiently studying both templars under the comfort of his cushioned chair. “This is true. The public must not see such things, Knight-Lieutenant. Our public image must be maintained.”

That was not Carver’s point, but he knew that arguing that it should not be allowed at all would get him nowhere. The Knight-Commander could be a harsh man, himself, and Carver needed to toe the line. 

The Knight-Commander tapped his desk with his finger. “But considering the stress of last night I believe an unofficial reprimand will do just fine. Just see that it does not happen again.”

Meredith nodded, suppressing a triumphant smile. “It won’t, Knight-Commander.”

The Knight-Commander leaned back inspecting Carver again. “Now, where did you disappear to last night?”

“I’ve made an unexpected discovery in Malcolm Hawke’s testimony. He was able to identify that it was a terror demon that sundered the veil at the party and he is assisting me as I hunt it down. The hunt took me all over Kirkwall.”

“You had an unsanctioned mage assist you in an investigation?” Meredith sneered, echoing the concern on the Knight-Commander’s face. “Without backup?”

“The Fade interference messed with our electronics. There wasn’t time,” Carver lied quickly, “But I witnessed myself as he closed the rift in the Fade with his magic and calmed the spirits enough to go back, a feat no mage in this Circle I know to be capable of. Without his help, we might have had a bloodbath on our hands. Unsanctioned he may be, but his help may prove invaluable.”

“That oaf? He’ll make a mockery of this investigation,” Meredith sneered.

Carver expected that from Meredith but still he couldn’t help but ask a question he knew the answer to from his reports, “Knight-Lieutenant, what is the status of the Veil?”

Meredith’s lips thinned into a red line. “It appears to be stronger than before.”

Carver kept the grin off his face. “So should I issue you a ‘thank you’ to Malcolm myself or will you?”   

The Knight-Commander stared at Carver and he wondered if the uneasiness on his face was suspicion or something else. “Demons do not usually affect the world without outside help. We should not discount Meredith’s theory that this could have been an orchestrated attack on the Amells or de Launcets.”

Carver grimaced. He wasn’t sure if Meredith was right, but he knew from the smirk on Meredith’s face that she would use this more to swing her iron fist. 

Then the Knight-Commander asked, “How exactly did Malcolm heal the Veil? I thought using magic only weakened it.”

Carver knew he had to omit a few details but he wanted to keep as close to the truth as possible. Easier to keep track of the lies that way. “He claimed it to be an aura he developed to calm spirits,” he could tell from the look on their faces that they had questions about that and so did he, but instead he distracted them with something else, “I believe he has the potential to be a Spirit Healer. From my observations he seems to be sensitive to their presence.”

Meredith and the Knight-Commander shared a look. Spirit Healers made contracts with beneficial spirits to draw upon great healing magic, the kind that could bring men back from the brink of death. They were incredibly rare and watched ever closely by the templars because of how similarly they functioned to blood mages, and how easily they fell to temptation, but because of their beneficial nature they were still highly sought and prized by the Circle. He could see the arguments warring both on Meredith and the Knight-Commander’s faces.

The Knight-Commander seemed conflicted. “It would be a boon for the Circle, but what makes you think the elf would even do it? He seems insistent to sleeping his potential away.”

Carver put on his most convincing smile. “Give Malcolm a chance. He’s already proved last night he is capable of much more than he’s letting on.”

Meredith slammed her hand on the table startling both the men. “Absolutely not,” she snarled. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

The Knight-Commander’s eyebrow twitched and Meredith reddened, retracting her hand.

“Is that not for me to decide, Knight-Lieutenant?”

“Yes, ser,” she simply responded, her eyes on his desk.

The Knight-Commander leaned forward, resting his fingers on his chin as he thought. “I have an opportunity in mind, but I have reservations about his abilities but since Malcolm managed to not offend anyone at the party…” His calculating gaze locked on Carver as he made his decision. “The Amells and de Launcets will be here for their interviews as well as their Cleansing. If Malcolm can perform without offending them, I may consider speaking with the First Enchanter to rework his curriculum.”

Carver nodded. “I’ll make sure he takes this opportunity seriously.”

The Knight-Commander’s blue eyes were like a faded cloudy day. “See that he does. The Amells are high patrons of the Circle and if they are not satisfied with his performance, neither will I.” It sounded like the threat it was.

Carver nodded, gritting his teeth, a sinking feeling in his gut about how far Malcolm’s place was falling in the Circle. He needed to do everything in his power to make sure he didn’t fall further. Still, Malcolm was one of his best friends and he knew him well enough to know that he would not be thanked for this. But, dangling Leandra seemed to work before. Surely, it would work again.

---

Mara’s kitchen was a small but cutely decorated space, with duckling wallpaper and colorful appliances and cartoony knickknacks, some that Leandra had gifted over the years. On the fridge was a homemade frame of a picture of a fishing trip with the family when Mara’s parents and grandma were still alive. Leandra, Gamlen and Mara’s grandfather were also in the picture. He was a pale red-headed elf with green eyes and mischief in his smile. The rest of the family shared Mara’s chestnut hair and her dark unhooded cat eyes. Mara and he were both holding large rainbow trouts, Mara’s slightly bigger and she was rubbing it in Leandra’s face since she had only managed to catch a small minnow which she still showed proudly to the camera. 

Everyone in the family was laughing, their faces in half-blurs as the Hartlings were never ones to sit still. Only Gamlen remained looking out of place as he glowered at the camera, hot and uncomfortable and always letting everyone know about it. Still, that day was perfect, and the memory of it kept Mara going on her darkest days.

Leandra stared at her phone, sipping at her coffee, her belly full of fried rice, bacon and eggs, helping to stave off an oncoming headache. She had spent many nights sitting at this counter, staying up gossiping with Mara and tonight was no different. Though the pain of exhaustion made her question if anything about the night was real, Mara was there to confirm every detail. And there was more evidence, in her picture, Malcolm was pressing against her cheek, looking as dazzling as in her dreams except now she had the memory of his clover musk that she sorely missed. She didn’t recognize the smile on her face, or how Mara let her hair get so messy, and now that she was slowly sobering up, she realized she was dumbstruck by her own actions. 

She realized with profoundness, that she would repeat everything exactly the same. She had never felt so brave except at Malcolm’s side and now that he was gone the whimsy of the night was over. The reality of her  fiancé and her parents were coming back to her. She’d need to face them, soon.

“He really fills out that suit, doesn’t he?” Mara hummed, placing her chin on Leandra’s bare shoulder.

Leandra hummed in agreement, admiring how Malcolm’s suit cut a striking silhouette, until she registered what Mara said and smacked her playfully on the arm. “Eyes to yourself, lady, he’s mine.”

“Oh, please, your man’s too skinny,” Mara waggled her eyebrows. “I was talking about Ser Herculean Statue.”   

“Mara,” Leandra guffawed, scandalized. “What if Gamlen heard?”

Mara pulled away, rolling her eyes as she departed for the sink in a hasty retreat. “I’m just looking. It’s not like I don’t catch Gamlen’s eyes wandering. Neither of us are blind, y’know.”

Mara seemed tense at the mention of Gamlen, and she immediately began scouring the pots to put in the dishwasher. Leandra bit her lip. She knew that they spent at least fifteen minutes talking in Mara’s room before Gamlen decided to take a nap and Leandra was unsure if Gamlen would bother to show up for the Cleansing. Mara and Gamlen were still together, but for the first time Leandra was unsure about their future and she could see how uneasy this was making Mara. 

Mara washed off her cat eye makeup making her eyes look more almond shaped and they were red from tiredness, but Leandra looked at the irritated rims of her eyes and knew she had been rubbing them. Her lips were paler and a more natural pink and her hair was still damp from the shower she had. She looked much more comfortable in her baggy t-shirt that looked like it belonged to Gamlen at one point and plain plaid sweatpants.

“How are things with Gamlen?” Leandra asked hesitantly.

Mara’s shoulders tensed before she opened up the dishwasher and deposited the pan with some force. “Oh, it’s peachy.”

Leandra abandoned her place at the counter to saddle up beside Mara to help her wash. She picked up a stray plate and started rinsing the grease from it.

“Your mother will kill me if you ruin your manicure doing servant work,” Mara took the plate away from her to take over but Leandra just picked up another.

“Who cares about my mother? We’re talking about you right now,” Leandra sniffed as she scrubbed off some stubborn onion that was sticking to the plate. Leandra’s polished white-tipped pointed nails were soon covered in bacon grease. Leandra gritted her teeth. “You know he’s my brother, but you can always be honest with me.” Leandra met Mara’s uncertain gaze as she paused to bite her lip. “About anything.”

Mara took the plate from Leandra, placing it in the dishwasher. She was silent, but Leandra could tell there was something Mara was keeping from her. “Promise not to tell, Gamlen?”

“I won’t say a word,” Leandra nodded, abandoning the chores to give Mara her full attention.

Mara tucked a wet strand behind her ear as she leaned her back against the sink. “I’ve been with Gamlen for as long as I can remember. I know I love him but…”

“But…?” Leandra echoed as Mara trailed off.

Mara kept her eyes to the ground. “Seeing the way you are with Malcolm…maybe I’m a little jealous.”

Leandra dropped her mouth. Mara? Jealous of her and Malcolm? She was blushing at the idea considering the years she spent in envy in the reverse position.

“I just met Malcolm last night,” Leandra blubbered. “You and Gamlen have had a solid relationship for years. Malcolm and I are too new to even label our relationship. And the fact that I’m about to be married in two months, you have nothing to be envious over.”

Mara looked at Leandra biting her cheek. “See that’s the thing. Malcolm looks at you like he’s seen the sunrise for the first time. I’ve never seen a man look so devoted,” Mara looked sad, meeting her gaze hesitantly. “And you have never looked so happy beside him. I think you found something real. And I want that…”

Leandra felt a rush of warmth at the thought, before her rational mind took over and started tearing the fantasy apart. This was too new for her to even name what she was feeling for him. She was still engaged. Very, very engaged, and though she was angry at her parents, she wasn’t so angry that she would throw her whole future away over one wonderful night, no matter how perfect everything felt. Still, as she looked at her friend’s uncertainty she knew she had to reach out for her hand and ask, “You don’t think you have something real with Gamlen?”

Mara froze, her eyes dropping again. “I...don’t know.” Then she forced a grin, “He gives me a real headache.”

Leandra laughed in spite of herself, but she knew Mara was just joking to avoid talking too seriously. “I won’t lie and say I don’t want you and Gamlen to work, but if you’re unhappy-”

“I’m not,” Mara said a little too quickly and returned to cleaning the dishes. “I’m probably just still mad about last night. Just ignore me.”

Leandra could sense the broiling emotions under Mara, but she nudged Mara’s shoulder with her own before returning to the dishes. “You’re hard to ignore, Mara.”

A pleased smile pulled on Mara’s lips, her cheeks blushing just a shade pinker.

Suddenly Leandra’s phone rang from her purse, and Leandra wiped her hands on the hand towel and went to retrieve it. She recognized from the chiming wedding bells that it was Guillaume. Sure enough his name with the screen photo showing Leandra and him on one of their dates to their favorite restaurant at la Rose’ de Safran, a ritzy Orlesian place where their portions were smaller than their wine glasses. She couldn’t help but take a moment to compare how fake her smile seemed as she posed with him keeping a professional distance apart even as they held hands.

She let only one more annoying bell ring before she answered the phone, her voice cloaked with peppy energy even though she felt so exhausted she was sure she’d fall asleep on the kitchen counter. “Guillaume, what a surprise. Why are you calling so early?”

Guillaume’s slightly Orlesian accent filtered through the speakers, grating her nerves with anxiety even though his voice was calm and soothing. “I heard you had a fight with your parents last night and I wanted to help if I could.”   

She was touched and suddenly flooded with guilt. Guillaume was still her friend and a true one and she was deceiving him. “I’m not sure how you could help, but thank you for the thought,” she almost mumbled the words as she struggled to keep herself calm and breathing even.

“I thought I’d offer you a ride to the Cleansing if you would like, to give you more space between your parents. We can get a cup of coffee and talk.”

It was just like him, incredibly thoughtful, and the confusion about what the right thing to do was made her dizzy and hesitant. Usually talking with Guillaume would unburden her, but she immediately thought of Malcolm and the jealous look in his eye and how badly she just wanted to belong to only him. How she wanted to come clean and tell Guillaume the truth right there. Would he judge her? He never had before? 

But she wouldn’t. She still didn’t even know what was happening to her heart, and all these urges to make irrational decisions scared her.

She took in a shallow breath. “You’re right that I’d rather not face my parents,” she admitted, not wanting to say yes, but the thought of a car ride lecture all the way to the Circle was less preferable.

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Merveilleux, I’ll be at your house in less than ten minutes.”

“Actually come to Mara’s.”

Leandra tried to get Gamlen out of Mara’s bed plush polkadot duvet but he was snoring so forcefully he was ruffling his bangs. After shaking him firmly once he told her to ‘bugger off’ and she decided she wasn’t going to do what she normally did and fuss over him and drag him to his duties. He was a full grown man. If he wanted to let his aura fester that was his problem.   

She texted her family’s group chat to not send the car to Mara’s because Guillaume was picking her up and though she expected an argument over that she didn’t get one. Just a firm reminder to not be late. She tried to distract herself with social media, but soon enough all the congratulation messages and worried ‘are you ok?’ messages about her betrothal ball found her sorely missing Malcolm. 

She wished she could post that picture, let everyone know of the wonderful man she found and share her happiness, but she would hurt Guillaume deeply and knew she would get no congratulations. So she traced Malcolm’s lips with her thumb, wishing things were simpler so she could just enjoy this feeling. 

Soon Guillaume’s town car pulled into Mara’s driveway and Guillaume stepped out. 

Leandra stiffened, brushing herself off as she approached him, smiling in greeting. She couldn’t miss the way his eyes raked her from head to toe taking in her look. She told herself she should appreciate it. Mara had worked hard helping her pluck, smooth out her hair, paint on her face and vet her outfit. Still, she wished that Mara had clothes that didn’t always cling so close or reveal so much. It was almost impossible to find something appropriate to meet her future in-laws in.

“Are those Mara’s?” His tone was appreciative.

She tucked hair behind her ear as she shyly hid her figure behind her purse. Normally Leandra’s day wear consisted of airy dresses that were modest but fashionable, but today she had on a loose black knit sweater that hung off her shoulders and a bold peacock patterned pencil skirt that hugged every curve. She was still wearing her red heels from last night since her feet were too small for Mara’s shoes. “It looks awkward on me, right?”

“Not at all,” his smile gleaned as he stared appreciatively at her bare shoulders. “I’d say it’s a fetching look.”

No blush came to Leandra’s cheeks but instead she made a strangled sound in her throat.

Guillaume opened the door for her, chuckling. “I’d say I left you speechless, my lady.”

Leandra chuckled nervously as she ducked into the car. 

He soon joined her on the other side, the cabin cozier than she wished it. He nestled in close and it took all of Leandra’s willpower not to shy away from him as he took her hand. His hand felt wrong, too large, too imposing. It didn’t feel at all like comfort though she wondered if it ever did. His amber eyes burrowed into her in questioning. “So what happened with your parents?”

She didn’t feel at all like sharing but she did because she thought she should. “They tried to fire Mara.”

Guillaume made a dramatic gasp into his spare hand. “No, they can’t.”

“I said they tried. I rehired her,” Leandra found herself looking at the window rather than at Guillaume, if only so she would stop catching him staring at her shoulders.

“That was quick thinking, ma chérie,” Guillaume squeezed her hand. “Do you need any financial assistance in the matter? I would be happy to lend any assets.”

Leandra felt herself get hot and quickly said, “No, no, that’s not necessary,” she shook her head so violently her ponytail swayed from side to side. “I’ll have to cut back on a few expenses but Mara is more important than frivolous things like spa days.”

“Maker,” Guillaume shook his head. “You are a stronger woman than me. I need my spa days.” Guillaume laughed at his own joke and Leandra joined in politely until his laugh trailed off and was replaced with a silent tension. “Ma chérie, I have a confession to make,” his voice was as tense as his shoulders.

Leandra turned to face Guillaume, her gut plummeting. “Yes?”

“You know my mother is a very religious woman,” Guillaume looked at Leandra, and then tucked a hair back in place fondly. Leandra withheld a shudder. “The haunting has spooked her. She thinks it’s a curse on your family and she wants to call off the wedding.”

Leandra blinked, her heart fluttering and she almost caught herself smiling but she knew from Guillaume’s face that this was a huge source of anxiety for him and she felt herself being pulled by two ropes. She knew she should say something and he was expecting her to, but she was trying not to thank the Maker out loud so she did so in her head. She schooled her face into a frown, and said, “How terrible,” as convincingly as possible.

It worked because Guillaume brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “We have to convince her not to.” 

This time she did shudder. She knew she should agree and try to use this car ride to strategize but Leandra felt her shoulders dropping. “Do you really want to?” she actually asked. She clapped her hand over her mouth as soon as the question escaped. She could see the hurt written on Guillaume’s face and he dropped her hand. 

“Of course I do! Do you?”

“I…”Leandra tried to make her face unreadable but her voice was caught in her throat and she hesitated and this time he noticed.

Guillaume immediately straightened his shoulders like a soldier. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing!” Leandra blurted. “Guillaume, you’re wonderful, it’s just…” she gulped, trying to find the words and still feeling the effects of the residual alcohol in her system she found herself being a little more honest than she usually dared. “We were promised as kids. Do you not ever wonder if there is someone else out there? Someone perfect for you?”

Guillaume’s shoulders dropped, looking defeated, and his eyes actually watered before he turned away. “I thought you were perfect for me.” Then his jaw clenched, his mustache twitching. “Did you find your perfect someone? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Leandra didn’t realize she was such an open book, and she had forgotten how well Guillaume could read her. “No,” she shook her head and clasped both his hands like she used to try to reassure him even though her words were dripping with lies. “It’s nothing like that, just pre-wedding jitters.”

“Because I’ll back off,” he continued looking hard at her, inspecting every minute reaction. “Just be honest with me, Leandra.”

Her heart was suddenly in her throat as she tried not to squeak. She wanted to. She wanted to tell him everything, but there was a hardness in his gaze that made her quiver. Was she really going to ruin her future her parents prepared for her over a man she had only met last night?

She opened her mouth and said, “Let’s find a way to convince your mother not to call off the wedding. I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

She had no idea if she made the right decision, but the way Guillaume’s shoulders relaxed made her breathe easier. Did he notice that she did not say no? He had already seen through her the first time. She wasn’t sure how convincing she was being.

Guillaume patted her hand fondly and said, “That’s why we’re getting coffee. It’s always good to start a negotiation with a bribe.”

Leandra smiled, feeling it unnatural on her face. She had no idea how to act around Guillaume now that he was suspicious and she was trying her best not to give anything else away. She let him hold his hand as he pitched his ideas of what they would say and she nodded along as she panicked. Little did she know the Maker had twisted fate to test her a little more that day.

Malcolm had a skip to his step as he walked to breakfast, whistling so merrily that the sound echoed through the stone in an unnatural cheer. Nothing could darken his mood; no ugly sneer from a templar, nor the bars on the windows or the winter chill in the air. His backpack was slung over his shoulder, actually filled with what he needed for his day's study, though his textbooks were vandalized with doodles and blasphemy. 

He was still flooded with energy from Leandra’s kisses and the wheels in his head were working in overdrive to figure out a way to escape again. Could he manage it, tonight? Two breakouts in a row would be risky. He was so in his head, planning and scheduling details he didn’t notice that people were pointing and gossiping about him as he waited in line for breakfast. He found Taylor and Charlie in the usual spot on the corner table where they were looking at him in confusion and worry.

“Are you alright?” Taylor’s eyebrows knitted together as she picked at her bowl of porridge mostly untouched.

Instead of Malcolm’s usual brush-off he just pulled his thick eyebrows together in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Charlie and Taylor shared a look before Taylor said, “You disappeared last night after the haunting. I feared the worst.”

Malcolm shrugged. “Carver brought me along on an investigation. Nothing serious.” He wanted to tell them the truth about Leandra but Charlie was probably the biggest gossip in all the Circle. If Charlie even got a whiff that Malcolm was seeing someone, everyone would know by lunch.

Charlie broke out in an excited grin. “Nothing serious? Are you kidding? Rumors are you saved everyone last night and now the Knight-Captain is recruiting you personally to help?”

Malcolm tried to remain nonchalant but he couldn’t help the puff in his chest. He really felt like things were turning around. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess I’m kind of a big deal now.”

Taylor shook her head, though even she was grinning. “Don’t let that head get too inflated with hot air. If it wasn’t for Carver you’d have gone home with the rest of us.”

Malcolm harrumphed. That was true but she didn’t need to say it. Malcolm scooped up his porridge, the sludge looking cold and unappetizing, but with a grin, he weaved a subtle spell in his mind and scooped the porridge into his mouth. Instead of a bland mush he felt a bursting array of sweet, tart strawberries and cream and he groaned in ecstasy as his tongue remembered the feel of Leandra’s kisses caressing him. He immediately licked the spoon clean and scooped up another generous helping, groaning again. The texture was off, lumpy and slimy, but that was something easily ignored.

Taylor and Charlie stared in confusion. “The food here is not that good.”

Malcolm grinned offering his hand to Taylor. “You got to try this new spell I made. Take my hand.”

Taylor stared skeptically at the hand, being the butt of too many pranks to trust it. “I don’t think so,” she wrinkled her nose.

Malcolm rolled his eyes. He could have cast the spell directly on her but if he was caught casting spells outside of class that would be more trouble. So he moved his hand to Charlie. “Take my hand, dude.”

Charlie grabbed it without hesitating. “Sure.”

Malcolm changed the spell slightly in his mind channeling it into his friend. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Now, try a bite.”

Charlie hesitantly took a bite of his porridge before his eyes bugged out in amazement. Then immediately one handed he started gobbling up his food so fast he was getting it on his face. He was hardly breathing as he inhaled bite after bite.

Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what I had for dinner last night.”

“How is it still steamy?” Charlie’s full mouth was dripping with mush.

Taylor leaned forward, suddenly keen and interested. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Malcolm tried to hide the pride in his voice but he had to thank Scholar for the idea and all that talk about what taste is. This new deal with him had really gotten Malcolm’s wheels turning. “It’s a simple illusion spell, actually. Even Charlie can manage it.”

Taylor cocked her head as she started putting it together. “Illusion? You mean you’re substituting visual stimuli for gustatory?”

Malcolm blinked in confusion. “If that means I tweaked the illusion spell to focus on my memories of good food then yes.”

Taylor muttered, doing some calculations under her breath. “So if any memory will work then…” She dipped her mostly untouched porridge and took a bite, her violet eyes watering. “I haven’t tasted Mamae’s matzah since I was a girl.” She blinked back the tears before they could fall and she stared at Malcolm with a newfound respect. “Malcolm, this is absolutely brilliant.”

“Thank you, I feel brilliant,” Malcolm grinned. “Think Enchanter Jakoby will take the spell as extra credit?”

“I don’t see why not?” Taylor went to take another bite before she stopped blinking back at Malcolm. “Why are you asking about extra credit?”

Malcolm suddenly felt embarrassed, like he was caught doing something weird. “Dunno…just thought it would be a good idea.”

Taylor beamed at him with a knowing smile. “I think Enchanter Jakoby would be proud, too.”

If Malcolm’s skin could go red, it would. “That’s not what it’s about,” he muttered, scooping a lobster infused porridge into his mouth with his free hand to avoid talking more.

“You said I can manage it?” Charlie asked, still gripping Malcolm’s hand. He looked at the last bite of his bowl like he was sorry that he had eaten it so fast. “I can barely light a candle without sweating. How am I supposed to do something so complicated?”

Malcolm squeezed, feeling odd that he was holding a man’s hand, or anyone’s hand other than Leandra’s, but the gesture didn’t feel out of place. “It’s not complicated. You just need to practice. I’ll help.”

Charlie sniffed, rubbing off some of the porridge on his face with a napkin. “Thanks. It’d be nice to eat some nice food before I get tranquilized and can’t appreciate it anymore.”

The table went silent at the thought as Charlie scooped up the last bite. Malcolm and Taylor both looked at each other in worried silence as Charlie savored it. Finally Taylor leaned in and placed her hand over Charlie’s fist. “You’re not getting tranquilized.”

“You don’t have to humor me,” Charlie said stiffly. “I overheard the templars talking. There’s no way I’ll survive the Harrowing.”

“They’re just bastards. You can,” Malcolm said earnestly, though his voice sounded frail in his anger. Carver had managed to put off Charlie’s Harrowing for as long as possible while Malcolm and Taylor tutored Charlie in their spare time and his magic had improved steadily, but he was not built for fighting. Now his Harrowing was any day, and they waited each night wondering if today was the last.

“Passing the Harrowing is all about believing in your own ability,” Malcolm said. “You can’t let these doubts shake you.”

“They’re not doubts, dude, they’re facts,” Charlie’s voice was not laced by melancholy but filled with pragmatism, like he had already accepted his fate and that twisted Malcolm’s gut.

It was times like these when Malcolm wanted to burn everything to the ground.

“I knew you two were fairies,” a sneering voice said behind them. Malcolm and Charlie dropped hands blushing to find that Matthew, the Templar, had approached their table and from the look in his eyes he was in a cruel mood.

Malcolm opened his mouth to give lip but he immediately swallowed it remembering his promise to Carver and then turned back to his food with a sigh. “And here I was actually enjoying my morning.”

“My bad,” Matthew chuckled. “You’re clearly in the honeymoon period. My sincere congratulations.”

“Sometimes bros hold hands,” Charlie sank down in his seat, his shoulders hunching.

Malcolm snarled. “Do you really not have anything better to do with your time?”

Matthew smirked, motioning for Malcolm to follow him. “You dumb? You owe me something.”

Malcolm’s stomach dropped. In all the commotion with Leandra and the haunting he had forgotten about Matthew’s order and he wouldn’t be the only one looking. Malcolm reluctantly left his seat to take his conversation with Matthew in private. He was lucky he was still in public where someone could get Carver if necessary. There was no way he would leave with Matthew alone. 

Matthew led him to the same barred window overlooking the ocean and Kirkwall’s skyline. His skin was noticeably yellower and his eyes more bloodshot, and darkened with bags.   

Malcolm nervously shoved his hands in his pockets speaking lowly. “Look, it’s not here, yet. Didn’t you get the memo about me being pulled on some investigation?”

The man snarled. “I had to work that fiasco last night and got no sleep. But the fact still is I need it today.”

“Tonight, then,” Malcolm countered. There would be no going around that. He missed the drop-off and it was still waiting where his contact left it.

Matthew looked like he wanted to argue but the Second Bell rang, signaling it was time for everyone to go to classes.

“Tonight,” Matthew sneered then stalked off, disappearing into the flood of students moving.

Malcolm sighed in relief, never having been so grateful to hear that bell. He walked back to Taylor and Charlie who looked as relieved as he was.   

He set his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Stay tough, man. I’m not giving up on you, so don’t you give up either.”

Charlie sighed as if he was tired but he smiled back. “Yeah, sure.”

Malcolm wished that didn’t sound so sarcastic.

“Guess I’ll see ya’ll later, then,” Malcolm hoisted his bag over his shoulder, leaving his tray abandoned at the table.

Taylor raised her eyebrows. “I’ve never seen you eager to go to class.”

“I’m not eager,” Malcolm argued, walking backwards. “I’m resigned. Devastated. Can’t wait to graduate.”

Taylor actually laughed at his joke along with Charlie as she picked up her bag. “Whatever, Malcolm. See you in class.”

Charlie looked at Malcolm’s food with puppy eyes as he started shuffling away. Malcolm couldn’t help the little smile on his lips when he heard, “I can’t believe I’m looking forward to lunch.”

Malcolm wandered through the flow of traffic into the hallways to his first class, Creation Studies, ran by Enchanter Karena, a conservative biddy who didn’t like when Malcolm corrected her on anything, even if she was teaching things wrong. 

She went by the book and by the book only, even though Malcolm found that most of how magic was taught was backwards and counter-intuitive, based on ritual rather than usefulness. She was very religious and that seeped into every lesson. She saw other schools of magic as evil, finding that Creation was the only one deemed blessed by the Maker, even though the whole practice relied on channeling the healing energies of beneficial spirits, which made the whole thing sound like Chantry sanctioned blood magic when you thought of it. Something she did not appreciate hearing from Malcolm.   

When he saw the silver haired woman, she was arguing with Carver, her wrinkled face so red she looked like an aged tomato but that stopped as soon as Malcolm walked through.

Carver was here. That wasn’t good. Still Malcolm hadn’t broken any rules that Carver didn’t help him with.

Enchanter Karena whirled around, her perfectly pinned bun falling slightly out of place. “Serah Hawke,” she sniffed overly politely.

Malcolm resisted the urge to poke at her and took his seat with an acknowledging nod, but Carver walked over to his desk.

“Pick your stuff up. You don’t go to this class anymore.”

Malcolm blinked. “What?”

“Absolutely not. That blasphemer has no business doing Cleansings or learning the sacred art of Spirit Healing. Those are for only the Maker’s chosen,” Enchanter Karena argued.

“Pardon, Senior Enchanter, but if Malcolm has the talent, I believe he falls into that category.”

Malcolm snorted at the way the Senior Enchanter’s mouth puckered in such a scowl it looked like a dog’s asshole. But then he registered what Carver said. “I’m doing what?”

Carver smirked. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Now c’mon.”

The other students looked on in wonder as Carver led Malcolm out of the classroom and back out into the hallway. Gossip started flowing from the classroom and Malcolm sighed. He was already sick of the spotlight.

“So I’m guessing I don’t have a say in this,” Malcolm grumbled as he clenched the strap of his bag.

“Do you ever have a say in anything?” Carver quipped.

Malcolm grumbled. “You can be such an ass.”

“Not denying that,” Carver grinned. “But I’m on your side.” He nudged Malcolm’s shoulder, the metal biting into him. “Trust me, this will be good for you.”

Malcolm’s shoulders slumped. How many times had he heard that?

“Would you perk up if I told you we’re going to see Leandra?”

Malcolm did, his back straightening like an arrow as he jerked in full attention. “It’s her Cleansing?”

“Her family’s Cleansing and her fiancé ’s, so behave. I can’t babysit you with all these interviews.”

Her fiancé. He had almost forgotten he existed at all in that perfect night together. Still, Malcolm readied himself like he was going into battle. “I can handle that jerk.”

“He’s actually quite a nice guy,” Carver quipped, already grinning as the scowl rose from Malcolm.

“Oh, how great is he? He’s Orlesian,” Malcolm shoved his hands into his pockets hunching.

Carver laughed heartily, knowing he shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he was, but if he could only tell him that he didn’t need to worry, because Leandra always looked at him like she was mesmerized by his existence. But Carver didn’t know how this story would end, and he also knew the Amell’s a little more intimately through Revka. She had once confided in him in a visit about how she’s all but disowned by the family for birthing so many mages. It would be a hard-fought journey, no question.

Malcolm felt jittery. Would her brother be there? What would happen if he opened his big mouth and ruined everything? He didn’t seem like the type loyal enough to keep a secret. Still, the promise of seeing Leandra so soon after they had parted was too tempting, even paired with less appealing company. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like this was his first impression on her family, and he did want to impress them. Suddenly he found himself a bundle of tight nerves and he found himself needing to emanate his own calming spell to soothe himself.

The healing quarters were filled with incense and Chantry symbols and candles even though modern lighting was installed. There was something to be said about creating a healing space to perform, but Malcolm felt like the Chantry sisters were just a little too attached to those candles. Malcolm wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or pleased to see that Enchanter Jakoby was there. 

The three other mages were a bit older and looked at him curiously as the Chantry sisters readied the quarters for the nobility’s arrival. He saw a pale elf with black hair and a rather bird-like features whisper to a man who looked like a vampire for his skin was so lucid it looked like it never touched the sun. 

The ghoulish man laughed at the elf’s whisper and Malcolm shivered at the sound for it seemed to belong to a horror film. The vampire was angular with scrutinizing silver eyes that were as cold as steel and he looked at Malcolm in interest while Malcolm tried his best to ignore him. The third mage seemed to fade into the background for how much presence she made. She was a plumpish woman with tan skin and wavy hair that hid her eyes. She avoided everyone else in the room and looked like she’d rather not be there.

Enchanter Jakoby clasped hands with Carver greeting him. “Ser Carver, thank you again for your intervention last night.”

Carver nodded humbly. “Only doing my duty.”

“Well, we’re blessed to have you,” the Enchanter beamed before his smile turned playful at Malcolm, “and we’re blessed to have you, too.”

Was Malcolm pleased that Enchanter Jakoby wanted him in his classroom? He found any snarky reply that he would have said died in his throat. It was a nice change of pace since he was used to being seen as the local pain in the ass, but part of him felt like he was giving in too easy. “So, you’re just making me a Spirit Healer? Don’t I have to pass some test?”

“The Cleansing will be your test,” the Enchanter nodded. “If the Amell’s are satisfied with your performance then you’ll graduate into a full Enchanter and into my class as well as take on new duties.”

“Great,” Malcolm tried not to make that sound sarcastic but it still laced his voice. “So I’m the school nurse now. Any other surprises?”

“As part of your graduation requirements you will be required to help tutor younger apprentices.”

Malcolm’s face twisted. Now this was unacceptable. “You really want to put me with kids? The guy that says fuck every other sentence?”

Enchanter Jakoby looked amused. “Don’t worry. Since you're graduating out of season it’ll be at least a week to arrange the paperwork and find a class for you. You’ll have some time to practice substitutes. Try fudge.”

“No fucking way,” Malcolm snorted.

Carver cleared his throat, glaring at Malcolm.

Malcolm almost blurted out, ‘no fudging way’ just out of habit, but Carver’s stern glare kept the insolence in his throat and he sighed reluctantly. “I mean, I’ll find a way.”

He didn’t realize it would be so hard to keep this promise.

Enchanter Jakoby mouthed ‘thank you’ to Carver who only nodded in response. 

Carver then turned to Malcolm with a stern look. “Remember your manners in front of the nobility.”

Malcolm cracked out the tension building in his neck. “Yeah, yeah, I remember.”

With that Carver abandoned him to class.

The next hour was spent in instruction by Enchanter Jakoby not about how to perform Cleansings, as that was a simple thing that most proper Enchanters could manage, but how to address the nobility. There was a lot of protocol about where to stand, how to address a Lord, how not to stare directly in one’s eyes to offend. There were so many ways to offend.   

Malcolm tried his best to listen like he promised, but he found his mind had gotten in a habit of tuning the Enchanter’s voice out and so he kept catching himself daydreaming about Leandra’s kisses. Malcolm was nervous trying to learn all these new rules but from what he figured the best policy was just to stick to the background and just not bother to talk to anybody unless they needed him. How he was even going to get a word to Leandra he had no idea.

Then they were each handed a staff to use, just simple metal rods only used for channeling and not fighting. The Enchanter reached through the Veil coating himself with magic, instructing his students to do the same. Malcolm could hear the whispers of the excited spirits answering his summons, flooding their energy into him so he burned the brightest of them all, making the others glance nervously at the difference.

The Enchanter couldn’t help but beam at the fact that Malcolm was taking instruction so well. No chiding needed. No snark. His eyes were closed in concentration, the colors coming off his flames reflecting rainbows.

“We start by Cleansing our own auras, because if we ourselves are infected then we will infect our subjects. Now clear your minds and breathe with me.”

Every mage in the Circle learned how to cleanse their auras from a young age. It was necessary in order to not attract demons in the Fade, so it felt like they were back in Basics as they sat in silence just listening to their own heartbeats as they opened themselves up to the Fade. “If you have doubts or pain or fears open them up now and offer them to the Maker.”

Malcolm tried not to snort but the sound still echoed through the chamber. In all his walkings of the Fade he had never heard the voice of a God of any kind, just spirits. Still they were eager to pluck up the darker thoughts in his mind until his own thoughts echoed back at him.

You’re being stupid. She’s a noble. And human. She’ll betray you. Or abandon you. Why are you trusting her? What about your plans to escape? She’s going to ruin everything.

The spirits picked at the thoughts in curiosity, like they were baubles in a shop.

“Don’t give the thoughts power. Just offer them up to the flame and let them be transformed,” the Enchanter instructed.

Malcolm’s aura lit up in a cloak of flames as the spirits combed through old pain, touching upon his deep-seated anger so he could taste it on his teeth. They poured through his memories so they flowed through him, the good and the bad. His mom, his dad, being kidnapped to the Circle, meeting Carver, Taylor and Charlie, Gamlen’s ugly judgement, Leandra’s righteous anger, burning with jealousy as he watched her on Guillaume’s arm, how she grabbed his tie at the karaoke club and kissed him in front of everyone. The spirits ended up latching onto Leandra’s song, the lyrics filling him with peace as they echoed it in his head and he focused on that until the rest of the doubts floated away until all was left with music.

“That’s no good. You’ll cleanse no one with that aura.”

Malcolm opened his eyes but the Enchanter, whose flame burned bright and blue wasn’t speaking to him but to the mousy woman who hid her face. Her flames were dark, purple and smoky and she seemed to be having difficulty with connecting with the Fade.

The woman stopped the spell breathing heavily. “I’m sorry, Enchanter, I’m just not feeling well today.” Her shoulders looked shaky from the spell.

The Enchanter frowned sympathetically, closing his connection to the Fade until his bright blue flaming aura died in a smoke. “Well, you won’t be able to participate like that. You may sit out for the noble’s Cleansing but you’ll need to stay and observe.” He then turned to the three men with a pleased smile motioning them to end the spell with a calm wave of his hand. 

“Gentlemen, very well done, especially you Malcolm. I believe you have a talent for this.”

The other men glanced at Malcolm as he swelled, but their heads quickly snapped back as their names were called.

“Orsino, Quentin, why don’t you all get acquainted by teaching Malcolm the basics about performing a Cleansing on another person. Be brief though. The nobility arrives any minute now.”

“Yes, Enchanter,” they spoke in unison like it was rehearsed.

The Enchanter then turned to the other mage. “Melissa, over here. I’ll have to take care of your aura, later.” He dragged her away to one of the spare cots in the room.

Then the men both turned on Malcolm, their eyes sparkling in interest and Malcolm suddenly felt like he was on an observation table about to be poked and prodded from every angle.

“So Malcolm was it?” The creepy mage had his arms behind his back as he strolled lazily up to Malcolm. He easily towered over both elves, staring down his pointed nose at each of them.

“You can call me Hawke,” Malcolm decided suddenly, feeling that his first name in that man’s mouth was just too familiar.

“Sure Hawke,” the green-eyed elf offered his hand, his black hair slicked back neatly. He also looked far too skinny for his clothes, his hand thin and bony. “I’m Orsino. Nice to see another elf made it into this program.”

“Sure,” Malcolm took the hand not wanting to start off on the wrong foot though he wasn’t sure that they’d get along just because they were elves.

The other willowy man offered his thin hand. “I’m Quentin. And you may call me that.”

Malcolm took the man’s hand too and his nerves locked on edge. Was Enchanter Jakoby certain about this man’s aura? Malcolm felt a coldness in him that seemed unnatural, and Malcolm took back his hand quickly resisting a shiver. He wasn’t sure why but he didn’t like that man but it felt more like instinct than prejudice. He didn’t like the way he smiled, how he moved, how his eyes studied him like a lab rat.

“So Cleansing someone else’s soul is simple. We guide them through a meditation as we channel their auras into the Fade so their darker actions and thoughts do not get attacked by demons like so,” Quentin then waved his hand pouring Fade magic into Malcolm as he felt his magic coat him, foul with dark energy.

Malcolm automatically cast a dispel to interrupt the examination. His mind felt a little tingly, like something had tried to pry it open. Did the bastard just try to read him? “Watch it, Q-ball.”

The man reddened, apparently self-conscious about his thinning hairline. “Just demonstrating,” Quentin squinted his eyes. “You hide it well but I did sense some dark anger in that aura. Dangerous for healers. A friendly warning from your upperclassman.”

His mind still tingled from the man’s magic making Malcolm’s hands glow in his own spell. “Is it my turn?”           

Orsino stepped between them hastily. “Perhaps we should focus on examining our patients.” He looked apologetically to Malcolm. “Forgive Quentin. He can be overeager.”

“Well tell him to watch it. I can, too,” Malcolm huffed, shaking away the spell from his fingers.

Orsino folded his hands, taking over instruction as he tried to diffuse the situation. “The meditation is usually taken from the Canticle of Trials. You are familiar?” The question was more of a statement and Malcolm found himself stuttering. Was now a good time to say he always slept through Mass?

“Uh, sure I’m familiar,” Malcolm lied.

Orsino smiled. “Good then we won’t have to go over that.”

“Maybe, we should go over it a little,” Malcolm quickly backpedaled. 

But then Meredith and Matthew marched into the room standing straighter than usual. Malcolm noticed that Meredith was glaring at him in particular and he couldn’t help but poke at her with a mock salute.

Meredith tried to keep the scowl from her face but her lips still twisted in a snarl. “Announcing the arrival of the esteemed Houses Amell and de Launcet,” Meredith’s voice sounded bitter with the false energy she forced into the greeting.

Malcolm bowed his head with the rest of the mages as the nobles paraded in, two by two, bringing with them the aroma of expensive perfumes and fresh coffee that they still clutched in their hands. Malcolm recognized Leandra’s parents striding in first, in coordinated red outfits. They took the prominent place in front. Guillaume’s parents, a greying red-headed couple in royal purple took the next highest place on the Amells’ right hand, and Leandra and Guillaume came next, completely uncoordinated and settling onto her parent’s left hand side still sipping their cups. 

Malcolm couldn’t help but drag his eyes up Leandra’s legs admiring the newly revealed curves that her other dress hid. Leandra stopped mid-sip, reddening as the coffee dribbling down her chin a bit as she noticed Malcolm in the room staring.

Malcolm winked, holding back a laugh as she wiped her chin with her hand. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

Her mother scowled, stepping out of place as she took a red handkerchief and wiped it away properly, making apologetic eyes to the de Launcets. “Leandra, really, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

Guillaume chuckled. “It’s rather adorable actually.”

Malcolm tried to keep the sneer off his face but his whole jaw clenched as he tried to remember his place. He lowered his head again, remembering he was just supposed to be furniture.

Her mother sighed as if she was tired. “I’m glad you think so, dear.” Her mother then took her place measuring each mage against the other. “Is this the whole selection, templar?”

Meredith bristled. “Spirit healing is a very rare art, Lady Amell.”

“Still, there is the instructor, no?” Lady Amell sniffed, smoothing out an already perfect strand of greying hair. “Bring him before me.”

Enchanter Jakoby waited for Matthew to bring him from his place in the wall, and he bowed deeply before Lady Amell saying nothing as she inspected him, too.

“Ah,” she said in a disappointed tone. “Also an elf.”

Leandra’s eyes widened, as she reddened in embarrassment, looking apologetically at the Enchanter but the remark didn’t even seem to phase him.

“Permission to speak, Lady Amell?” Enchanter Jakoby asked evenly.

“Granted,” Lady Amell nodded in a bored tone as she sipped her coffee.

“While I would be happy to perform your Cleansing, my students are more than capable to attend to you.”

“Very well,” she snapped her fingers at Quentin. “You’ll do.”

Quentin bowed deeply. “I am honored to attend you.”

Lady de Launcet seemed to eagerly be inspecting Orsino against Malcolm, her gaze a leering and predatory. “Well I think elves are rather pretty.”

Malcolm gritted his teeth as she stepped up to Malcolm and Orsino, her heels echoing against the stone. She looked them up and down her eyes lingering on their backsides in full view of her husband. Malcolm bit his tongue as he hoped she thought Orsino was prettier.

But she stepped in front of Malcolm. “You…” she lifted his chin with her manicured nail. “You performed beautifully last night.”

“Thank you?” Was Malcolm supposed to say something else? He didn’t trust anything flattering to come out of his mouth so he just avoided her eyes as she studied his face.

She leaned down to meet his eye, patting his cheek fondly with her glove. “I think I’d like you to attend to me, mon petit.”

Malcolm felt like a worm on the end of a hook about to be swallowed. He audibly gulped. “Uuuh…you don’t want me, I barely started class this morning. Don’t even know the Chant, proper.” Orsino’s bright green eyes widened in alarm as Malcolm grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. “Orsino, here, is just as pretty and has been at this a lot longer.”

Lady de Launcet tittered in amusement. “I don’t mind breaking you in.”Orsino kept his professional smile but his eyes were glaring at Malcolm while Malcolm scanned the room looking for anyone to help.

Leandra was already fuming from Lady de Launcet’s brazen forwardness, which wasn’t out of character for her, but the lady was practically fondling Malcolm in full view of her husband who was just boredly sipping his frappe’ as he played a candy puzzle game on his phone. She stepped out of place and curtsied politely announcing herself with a, “Pardon me, Lady de Launcet, but may I have a moment of your time?”

Her parents glared at her, and Guillaume subtly waved at Leandra to come back but Leandra stayed, though she had no idea what exactly to say.

The lady tutted and turned back to her. “Yes, dear?” she said, the patience in her voice wearing thin.

Leandra glanced at Malcolm who looked at her expectantly and so she said, “If the mage is so new to this, perhaps I should be the one to be his first test. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

She looked apologetically at Malcolm for throwing him under the bus but he looked relieved.

The lady didn’t seem to take kindly to this but before she could speak Enchanter Jakoby stepped forward, his head bowed. “Pardon, but her ladyship has a point. Malcolm is talented but…” the Enchanter trailed off looking to the Heavens as he tried to find a suitable word before he landed on, “untested. I will be coaching him every step of the way, but Orsino is very capable in his own right, and can anticipate your needs much better.”

Lady de Launcet clucked her tongue. “Oh, very well.” She looked rather annoyed but seemed reluctant to wager her health no matter how pretty that face looked. She snapped at Orsino. “You, come with me.”

Lady Amell took her husband’s arm as she led him to one of the cots. “I guess we’re starting then.”

Chantry sisters came bringing bowls of water and towels and set them at the foot at each of the beds that were stone and scoured for a bath of flame. As Leandra and Guillaume approached arm in arm, Enchanter Jakoby and Malcolm bowed and stayed that way until they got comfortable on the cot. Then Enchanter Jakoby led Malcolm in a kneel.   

On one side of the room the Amell matriarch was flagging down a Chantry sister to say, “I don’t want a mage to touch me.”

Quentin remained silent as the Chantry sister nodded and took his place kneeling on the floor. Malcolm didn’t envy him, but at the same time every comment from Leandra’s parents dropped his stomach. He wasn’t even a consideration.

However Lady de Launcet was a bullet he was happy to dodge. He could see Orsino squirming as she eagerly kicked off her heels. “Now make sure to get in between the toes, dearie.”

Malcolm shuddered. He wouldn’t blame Orsino if he hated him for this.

The first part of the ritual meant bathing the noble's feet. Why the nobles couldn’t be bothered to bathe their own feet he wasn’t sure why. In Enchanter Jakoby’s lesson he spoke about how the ritual that went back to Andraste’s last day, when her disciple and friend Justinia begged Archon Hessarian to prepare her living body for the Maker. It was said in Andraste’s last hours Justinia was allowed into her cell, offering prayers to prepare her soul and cleansed her remaining sins by offering them to the Maker as the filth was washed from her feet. Malcolm could not find reverence in an old dead woman who couldn’t keep her promise of freedom to her elven allies, but he could find it in touching Leandra.

Malcolm was not a foot guy, not even close, but even he couldn’t deny how soft her skin was, each toe trimmed and polished, with cute little deco designs that seemed a shame to hide in her shoes. He could tell from her ankles that they were swollen from how long she had been standing in heels, and as he gently pinched at the tendon at her ankle releasing tension.

“Oh!” Leandra made a surprised sound that she bit down on her lip, her eyes glancing to Guillaume who seemed to also perk at the sound.

Malcolm felt a devilish impulse pull at his gut at the flush that colored her face from his slightest touch and he couldn’t help but dig his thumbs into the flat of her arch, his heart tugging at the sweet sigh he pulled from her. He sent little soothing healing pulses through his fingers as he renewed his determination, trying to see what more sounds he could force her to make. 

Leandra was melting under his touch, holding back the moans in her throat, but still he could hear the tiniest whimpers escape setting Malcolm’s imagination alight. He suddenly wished no one else was there so he could pull her skirt up and bury himself between her legs so he could hear her cry for him. He knew he was winning the battle, her composure seemed to be coming undone, but before he could claim victory another voice reminded him what he was supposed to be doing.

“Serah Hawke, I believe her feet are clean enough,” the Enchanter cleared his throat.

Leandra took back her foot forcefully almost falling over, her eyes flinging to Guillaume who was also going slightly red at the sounds and faces Leandra was making.

“Just being thorough,” Malcolm hid a haughty smirk, wondering if Guillaume ever managed to make Leandra sound like that but he regretted that line of thought immediately.

“Perhaps I should give you a massage, sometime,” Guillaume offered with a flirtatious tone that made Malcolm clench his fists to keep from clocking him in the jaw.

Leandra patted her hot cheeks. “Perhaps,” she said evasively, but Malcolm didn’t like the thought of the man trying to put his hands all over Leandra and he couldn’t suppress the ugly scowl that took over his face.

Enchanter Jakoby grabbed a staff that was handed to him by a Chantry sister. “Now that the physical impurities have been taken care of, we will now purify your souls. My lord. My lady, please concentrate on offering your sins to the Maker as we sing the Chant.”

Malcolm took the paltry staff from the Chantry sister, trying to ignore his seething jealousy as the staff started channeling with magic Malcolm and Enchanter Jakoby poured from the Fade. Malcolm could hear all the spirits chattering, scouring into their memories so that he saw flashes of Leandra’s younger days. He tried not to glimpse too closely, but he could see the imprint of her loneliness hidden behind a careful smile that she used for everyone. Her soul had been flattened, like a flower that had been stomped on but still stubbornly peeking up the sunshine trying to take in little bits of light.

He heard Enchanter Jakoby’s voice take in a chanting intonation, Orsino and Quentin’s voice harmonizing with him.

“I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade

For there is no darkness, and no death, in the Maker’s light

And nothing he has wrought has been lost.”

Then each of the nobles' auras burned brilliantly as they each bared the darkness of their souls to the Fade. Leandra looked magnificent, too beautiful to be real, amber dancing against her skin as her dark hair ruffled lightly in the burning light. Malcolm almost reached out to touch the magic, to see what her burn would feel like on his skin before he remembered that others still watched them. Still, he couldn’t miss how her eyes watched his every move.

“For she was reborn to us in flame

And so flame we consume to be reborn

May, He Who Burns The Brightest

Purify the sins we hide in our hearts

So that we may know true peace.”

Then the flame snuffed out. All of the nobles looked bright and cheerful, like they each had an invigorated spirit-induced power nap, except for Lord de Launcet who looked pale and uneasy. Unlike the other nobles, the Cleansing seemed to have worn him out and his skin was showing a sheen of sweat.

“My, that was bracing,” the Lord patted his face with a purple handkerchief.

His wife tucked to his side with a concerned look on her face. “Darling, did the Cleansing not rejuvenate you.”

“Oh, I’m rejuvenated, absolutely,” but the man sounded absolutely winded. “Just the old war injury flaring, that’s all.”

Malcolm felt there was something odd about that. Rightfully a Cleansing should ease old pains, and though not every wound could be Cleansed, it shouldn’t be having that effect.

Enchanter Jakoby bowed his head and approached the de Launcets. “If you’d like I could take a look.”

Lord de Launcet nodded tightly and said, “it couldn’t hurt.”

The Enchanter scanned the man’s aura, focusing on his back where the pain seemed to radiate and Malcolm thought he saw it in the flicker of the Enchanter’s magic, but the Enchanter stopped his spell and said, “I’m sorry, my Lord. I thought there might be something else causing it but I see nothing out of the ordinary.”

Lord de Launcet rubbed his back nodding as if he expected that and said. “Yes, I’ve spent a fortune on chiropractors and masseuse’s and numbing injections but the pain just comes back worse than ever.”

Another clue for Malcolm and he stepped forward, forgetting all protocol. “Do you get nightmares…of the exact moment you got your wound?”

The man’s eyes widened in alarm, but he said, “The psychiatrist told me that was normal.”

“And are you forgetful lately? Having trouble remembering things that used to be easy?” Malcolm prodded more.

The man’s face reddened to almost the color of his mustache and he straightened his jacket. “How impertinent. You are not privileged to my medical history.

But Lady de Launcet placed a slightly wrinkled hand on her husband’s puffed shoulder. “You have been needing an awful lot of reminders, lately, Reynaud.”

“I’ve just been stressed, Amelia.”

But Enchanter Jakoby noticed there was a look on Malcolm’s face and he put his finger on his lightly stubbled chin. “Do you have a prognosis?”

Malcolm looked at the Enchanter rather than the nobles for permission, breaking another rule. “May I have a look?”

The Enchanter motioned with his head to the noble who didn’t look pleased with Malcolm’s offer. “What makes you think you could make a difference?”

Malcolm shrugged. “I mean, I might not, but it could prove educational.” If the Lord didn’t want his help, he wouldn’t force it.

But Lord de Launcet seemed to be in so much pain he was willing to try anything. He nodded, muttering, “Very well.” 

Malcolm poured magic back into him, revealing the tapestry of his energy in an array of light. He could see the war wound that festered into the spine damaging nerves all along his hip, but what he couldn’t figure out was how the others missed the knot of corded energy that seemed to snake in the heart of the wound, gnarling it up. The pain seemed to be feeding, growing more agitated with the feel of his magic. Was Malcolm the only one that could see it?

He poked at the knot with his finger. “Is it tender here?”

No sooner did Malcolm brush it did the noble cry out in pain, and Malcolm couldn’t deny he did relish the sound a little.

“Andraste’s flaming knickerweasels what are you doing back there!”

“Yep, we got ourselves a pain demon,” Malcolm cracked his neck nonchalantly stretching. “This one’s really burrowed into you. No wonder the Cleansing couldn’t take effect.”

“What!?” Lord de Launcet cried out his face paling.    

Lady de Launcet smacked him on the arm which made him whimper more. “I told you that’s why you shouldn’t skip Cleansings, but do you listen to me?”

Enchanter Jakoby’s smile reached all the way to his eyes. “Malcolm, how did you spot it? It was hiding very well.”

Malcolm looked puzzled as if it should have been obvious. “Don’t you see how the energy in his aura moves differently around the pain spike?” Malcolm pointed to the knot in the magic as both Orsino and Quentin huddled in for a closer look. He motioned to the red ugly festering energy that stayed twisted up in the lord’s back. “You can see here is where the natural pain is,” Malcolm waved his hand down his thigh as he mimicked the energy’s movement, “but here the energy moves differently on it’s own wavelength. It’s not actually part of him.”

“Ooooooh,” the men said in unison as if everything was now obvious to them, too.

“Yes, yes very fascinating. Now will you get it out of me before it kills me!”

“Have no fear, My Lord. Pain demons are rarely lethal. Just painful,” Malcolm had forgotten all the training the Enchanter coached into him and without a thought put his hand over the knot, and twisted his fingers into the energy. The colors grew red and chaotic, the bright energy growing from the wound. 

“Now just breathe,” Malcolm commanded, as he grasped around the essence of the demon, feeling the wrongness festering. Lord de Launcet cried out as Malcolm pulled. The creature was starting to become visible under Malcolm’s palm, a sickening black bloody vein-like leech with gnashing teeth screeching in a volume so high-pitched it deafened everyone’s hearing. Then it shriveled and burned away into Malcolm’s brilliant flaming magic until it was nothing but ash.

“Now how does that feel?” Malcolm pulled his hand away.

The man’s eyes widened as he patted his back which was not locking up in stiffness anymore. “Andraste’s Mercy. I feel twenty years younger,” He looked to Malcolm in disbelief.

“You look it, Reynaud,” his wife placed a fond hand on his cheek.

“Just doing my job,” Malcolm bowed his head with a pleased smirk on his lips. Leandra was beaming at him and he couldn’t help but notice even her parents weren’t looking with the same disgust only moments before.

That smirk quickly dropped when Lady de Launcet started straightening her husband’s tie, “That settles it. We have to have him as a House Mage.”

Shit.

Lord de Launcet looked at Malcolm with renewed interest. “I think you’re absolutely, right, mon amie.”

Enchanter Jakoby looked pleased, but a little hesitant to agree. “Malcolm is not a full Enchanter, yet, more an Enchanter in training.”

“Well then we’ll pluck him up as soon as he’s ripened,” Lady de Launcet twisted her fingers into a promise.

Malcolm froze, the urge to self-sabotage with a rude comment so strong he bit his tongue to keep himself silent. If he had realized that helping that lord would have led to this he would have let the Orlesian suffer.

But Leandra also seemed to find this unacceptable and stepped forward. “Pardon,” Leandra said in a voice too forceful to be polite, and before she realized she was doing it she curtsied in front of Lady de Launcet and said, “but I find that with the Haunting I feel absolutely terrified,” she added a believable wobble to her lip, “I do fear that, I, too, might be under a curse and am in desperate need of protection from a House Mage.” She met Malcolm’s eyes as she added, “and only the best will do.”

“Absolutely not!” Meredith’s outraged voice called out cutting through the discussion that was happening. She looked completely frazzled, as if she couldn’t fathom what was happening in front of her eyes. “You might not know this but Malcolm Hawke is a well-known trouble-maker in the Circle. He is not fit to serve the noble houses and will dishonor you all.”

Leandra audibly huffed. “Was it not Malcolm who saved everyone last night?”

“And he did spot the demon even the instructor missed,” Lord de Launcet also stretched his back, admiring the new looseness in his body.

Meredith scowled, seething with so much hatred for Malcolm he was sure she’d pop a gasket. “Believe me that talent makes him more dangerous.”

He glared back defiantly. That it did. If only she knew.

“Pardon,” Enchanter Jakoby raised his finger to silence the argument that was about to spring up from everyone. “But I’m afraid until he has proper training he won’t be doing anything other than catching up on his graduation requirements.”

There was a finality in his words that told Malcolm no matter his future, he would be in for a lot of work, and for the first time in his life he found himself praying to the Maker to be kind.   

Chapter Text

“A binding contract?” Scholar twisted its neck as it gobbled up the rest of a canape it held in its claw-like hands. “I thought I told you I was not interested in fighting.”

“You won’t be fighting. I need your magic to help me heal, instead,” Malcolm’s legs dangled off the hard frame of his bed, staring the spirit down. It wasn’t Malcolm’s idea. He thought he was a pretty decent healer in his own right, but he found that calling upon random energies of the Fade was draining his reserves of mana much faster than his new classmates and he was constantly casting rejuvenation spells to keep up with the demand at the healer’s clinic which left his mind like a fried circuit by the time his duties ended. 

Malcolm was not used to using magic for such long periods of time, and though he was still able to knit wounds together, and ease panic attacks, relying on his own strength was quickly depleting him.

It was a conundrum. Before Malcolm could be fully recognized as a Spirit Healer, he’d need well, a spirit, but most spirits still fled in sight of him, and though that was his preference, if he couldn’t find a spirit that would agree he wouldn’t be able to heal serious injuries without diving into his own life force, not something he wanted to make a practice of.

Scholar paused mid-bite, and the way his sharp teeth twisted made him look like they were frowning. “Healing is beneath me. You should ask a spirit of Faith or Compassion.”

“Are you saying you can’t?” Malcolm said in a taunting tone.

“I can,” the spirit poked at him with the canape. “My memories may be fragmented but I know I once had power greater than yours. You fumble with your magic, flinging spells with no understanding of how they are powered, but in another time I had the knowledge to shape the heavens, to unite the land and sky. You are but a fragment.”

“But aren’t you, too?” Malcolm grinned. “All washed up and scavenging for memories of tastes like a starved vulture?”

It looked like steam was coming out of the spirit’s ears, and Malcolm knew he had hit a nerve. The truth was Malcolm didn’t want to get to know any more spirits than he had already met. Scholar at least seemed uninterested in possessing his mind, even if he was very keen to poke around in it. An old annoyance was better than getting used to something new.

“Such a mouth on you,” the spirit gobbled up the canape angrily and grabbed another. “I told you I would aid you in knowledge of Zelophehad and you agreed to get me a tongue and you haven’t even done that.” The spirit shook the next canape from the platter he held. “I am not interested in being bound to one’s soul. I am a Scholar of the Fade. I seek knowledge, conduct research and experiments and impart wisdom but I do not want to be at someone’s beck and call, especially to a somniari idiotic enough to anger Zelophehad. Do not ask again.”

Malcolm pouted, “but I’m a somniari. Didn’t you say you haven’t found one in ages?”

The Scholar laughed. “I am not as impatient as you, young one. You answered one question, and you may answer a few more, but you will die soon. What happens when Zelophehad possesses you? I do not know but it might make an interesting change.”

Malcolm grumbled. He didn’t expect Scholar to say no or that he'd be so callous. “Well forget about the taste deal, then. I’ll find Zelophewad on my own.”

Scholar gasped, dropping his tray, the rest of the canapes floating down and sticking in the air as the platter clattered to the ground. “You’re going back on our deal?”

“You didn’t sign anything, so technically no deal,” Malcolm shrugged.

The spirit quivered in anger. “Mortals. You’re as deceitful as demons.” The spirit crossed its arm, its torso swirling at its midsection, where his body was cut off at the legs.

Malcolm glared. “You don’t understand. I have to pull my grades up and kill a demon at the same time. I don’t have a lot of options.”

“Well coercing me is not going to get you anywhere,” the spirit huffed. “I am not suited, but I know those that are. I may introduce you to them but only if you keep your promise.”

Malcolm sighed. “I guess I can work with that.”

“But I need a tongue. You promised that, too,” the spirit pointed.

“That I can’t help with. It’s not like I can get away with cutting off someone’s tongue. Also that’ll get me accused of blood magic in two seconds.”

“Then how will I understand taste?” the spirit whined.

“There are other ways,” Malcolm said. “I’ll lend you my memories,” but he put up a finger, “but first, lead me to a spirit who will help.”

Scholar looked hesitant. “I have a friend of Compassion who may agree.” The Scholar stooped over, the platter floating up as he plucked the canape’s from the air. “But I must fetch her. Your aura repels Compassion spirits.” He focused his hollowing gaze on Malcolm. “You have to ask her, not demand, and if she says no, you must respect that, and ask someone else.”

Malcolm rubbed the back of his neck feeling ragged and annoyed. “Fine, fine, just introduce me.”

Scholar snapped his fingers. “She’s very sensitive so keep those foul emotions in your head.”

Malcolm felt more irritated, but at the spike of emotion the spirit snapped again. 

“No! No! The opposite of that. Think of something different, like when you’re tasting that girl’s lips.”

Malcolm’s face burned in embarrassment, wondering how many spirits were peeping into those private thoughts. He spent a lot of his idle time thinking of that night with Leandra, but he guarded that memory, not wanting the spirits to sully it.

Scholar sighed. “That is better, I guess.” Then Scholar blinked away.

Malcolm leaned into the brick wall of his bedroom. His sanctum looked a little different. For one, there was homework from his previous classes that he was catching up on, though the pile he had to go through seemed impossibly larger each day. He found the stress easier when he could text Leandra in between questions. They were slowly getting to know each other, often chatting until long after midnight. When the Fade interference allowed it, they snuck in a video call, and Malcolm had to say he was grateful he could at least see her face at least once a day.

All contact remained tame and almost chivalrous. Malcolm told himself he was being a gentleman, not a coward. Still, he couldn’t deny that he did want to know all about the woman whose dream he stumbled into. She was smart for one, and though she seemed to take herself rather seriously, she did have a sharp sense of humor and he did love making her laugh.

Malcolm also learned Leandra was not only valedictorian with honors but she happened to also be an award winning lutist, just one of the half dozen instruments she played. She was currently first chair at Sacred Heart’s Symphonique Orchestra at Kirkwall’s Opera House. Real fancy stuff. What she saw in a flunky like him, he didn’t know, but the more he learned about her the more he was in awe of how incredible she was. And he made a promise to himself to do everything in his power to deserve her.

He had a frame of the picture Leandra took on his dresser, though in his real bedroom that could never happen. It was something he added to his Sanctum the night after the Cleansing after Leandra claimed him as a House Mage. 

There was nothing official yet, but Enchanter Jakoby was already preparing him for the role, teaching him the common spells requested, as well as assigning him more reading about demons and curses. Malcolm had to admit he was a little worried about who would win the bid. The thought of being in Lady de Launcet’s clutches put a pit in his gut, but on the other side of that coin was a chance to be by Leandra’s side. He couldn’t fail. 

He needed a spirit that would help him and trudging around the Fadescape had turned up nothing and so Scholar seemed the logical choice, but even he refused Malcolm.

He didn’t know who else to turn to.

Scholar blinked back with a shimmery figure of a woman made of white light. She had long hair kept in a braid and heavy robes that hid her figure but her gaze was piercing as she glared at Malcolm.

“Murderer,” she spat.

Malcolm was taken aback. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting from a spirit of Compassion but hard anger was not it. She had a fierce snarl and Malcolm wondered if she would attack but she kept her balled fists at her sides, shaking.

“Warping, wailing, withering. Why? I hear my friends’ last moments on your blood-soaked hands. You reek of death and destruction, you want to face the embodiment of fear with that darkness in your heart? You will only be swallowed by him. What point is there in helping you?”

Malcolm wasn’t sure what to say, but he remembered Scholar’s warning to stay calm, even though everything screamed at him that he was in danger. 

The Compassion spirit flinched.

“I’ve only killed demons,” Malcolm said, “If your friends turned, that's not my fault.”

Her eyes flashed out blue flames. “You do not even see your hand in this? Part of me wishes to warp just to avenge them, but Zelophehad will consume you and perhaps that will be justice.”

Malcolm gaped at Scholar who was just busy finishing off his canapes. “Are you really a spirit of Compassion? How many will that monster kill mercilessly if no one stops him?”

“You have provoked him most of all. They will all die because of you. Stalking in the mists, slinking in the shadows. Zelophehad is patient and is waiting. You have put us all in danger by rousing him.”

Malcolm gaped at this news, feeling the raw fury emanating from her walls soften just a bit as she looked at him with what looked like pity. 

“You are raw with pain and I see that Zelophehad has been mapping your wounds. I see his marks on you. If you were smart you would fortify these walls and never leave.” 

Malcolm felt himself whirling. This wasn’t his fault, this was the demon’s and he wouldn’t accept her blame or her pity advice. 

“Great,” Malcolm said sarcastically. “But I think I’ll stick with the ‘kill the demon’ plan.”

“Mortals. You can find no other path. Your blood sings of war,” Compassion spat, and took a step forward a flower blooming before her bare foot. “Life is precious. Even Zelophehad has his place in this world. Fear, as ugly as it is, is sometimes necessary.” Then the flower decayed and fell to the ground disappearing in a sliver of light.

That sounded like bullshit. “A world without fear sounds actually nice. Might be more peaceful.”

Compassion shook her head. “A man must fear fire or be careless and get burned. Fear teaches. Fear makes one wise.”

“Really?” Malcolm drawled finding the irritation crawling up his spine like a spider. The rant that had been building in him started spilling out like a rushing waterfall that he couldn’t reign in. “Because I think fear makes men stupid. I’m locked away from the whole world and if anyone finds out what I am they’ll tranquilize me, because they fear what I’m capable of. Humans lock away elves in alienages because they fear the retribution they deserve for how they treat us. Then mages are locked away even though there’s so much good we could be doing with our powers. Fear divides us, makes us enemies when we could be allies.”

“Then why did you kill my friends in fear?”

It was then Malcolm noticed that Compassion was trembling, crystals forming on her skin and icing over her balled fists. He then remembered to reign in his anger and she seemed to breathe easier, but her skin was glittering in crystal tears. “You killed Prudence, Patience, Benevolence, Temperance. Even Fortitude. So many fell because of your fear. This land was filled with life and now it lies barren and only their wisps remain thanks to you. To us you are as great a calamity as Zelophehad.”

The words echoed inside Malcolm, feeling like a rock rattling in his head. Malcolm often felt like a monster, the Chantry made sure of that. But in this moment, he felt like he really fit the word. Chantry rhetoric said spirits weren’t people, but now they had friends? Until recently, Malcolm believed the Chantry rhetoric that spirits and demons were just mindless dangerous beasts. Sure they had personality, but their minds always seemed so simple and foreign, their needs one-sided and bizarre. And slaughtering them would keep his Circle brethren safe from possession.

But he acted in fear so often were the demons actually demons? Was he a murderer like Compassion claimed? He thought he was protecting himself, but her accusations made him stop and retrace his actions in new thought.

The way Compassion was trembling looked like she was expecting him to strike out at any moment but she held her head high and defiant, her azure eyes burning brilliantly straight into him. Her pain was radiating from her like an open seeping wound, still fresh as if he had just stabbed her in the chest.

Malcolm didn’t know how to fix this.

He looked at his hands and found they were also trembling, as the choking guilt closed up his throat. He didn’t know the lives he took would be missed. Didn’t know that tears would fall because of him.

“I’m sorry…” Malcolm knew it was not enough. “I…didn’t know.” It was a lame excuse and he knew it, but he didn’t have the words. 

Still, Compassion could feel the new hollowness in his gut at the news and she absorbed it looking more at peace. 

Compassion closed her eyes, a crystal droplet falling from her chin. “Are you sorry enough to make amends or is that another hollow mortal word?”

Malcolm felt uneasy, not sure what she would say, but he felt shitty enough that he asked, “How?”

Compassion put a hand over her heart. “You seem intent on stopping Zelophehad even at risk of death. I, too, have that common goal, but I offer another path.” Her robes started to billow slightly. “Zelophehad will thrive if you start a war against him. You must offer him peace.”

“Peace?” Malcolm snorted. “With the demon that wants to ride my head and destroy reality?”

Compassion glared, continuing. “I offer a Bond with you on three conditions.”

Malcolm perked up. That’s what he was after in the first place so he shut up to listen.

“First, you will release me when Zelophehad has been put to rest. I do not wish to be on your tether forever.”

Malcolm didn’t plan on staying a Spirit Healer forever either, so that suited him just fine. “Sure, what’s number two?”

“You must listen to whatever I say when Zelophehad strikes,” Compassion said strictly.

That was debatable, but Malcolm said, “As long as you’re making sense, sure. What’s three?”

She looked at Scholar who was busy gnawing at the bone of his ham hock. “Scholar, you must teach him, because I for one cannot stand to be around the somniari’s aura.”

Scholar dropped his shoulders. “Well, I guess we are doing taste studies together.”

“Precisely,” Compassion nodded. “Which means it won’t be a hassle. Only call upon me when you need me.” Then Compassion blinked away without even saying goodbye.

Malcolm glared at Scholar. He really thought it was a good idea to put the two of them together? “That’s your idea of help?”

“You’re lucky she said yes,” Scholar gestured with his bone. “Everyone else said no.” Then he swallowed the bone, choking it down like a snake ingesting a mouse.

That was just his luck wasn’t it? But the mission succeeded. Malcolm could tell Enchanter Jakoby he was successfully a Spirit Healer. Or at least on the way to becoming one.

---

It was the first Mass since Mara and Gamlen had been announced a couple, and though Leandra hoped church would be a uniting place for the family it was announced at dinner the night before that Gamlen nor Mara would be welcome to accompany them. Leandra tried to argue that this was too harsh, but her parents doubled down, insisting that Gamlen had a choice to make about what was really important to him. Gamlen said he was happy to sleep in and Mara said it would be nice to get the day off. Their shunning didn’t seem to phase either of them, which only infuriated her parents more which meant they zeroed in on Leandra more than ever, acting as if she was an idiot for defending them.

“You can’t possibly think this little fling your brother has is a good idea,” her mother was adjusting her lipstick in her compact, the foundation a few shades lighter than her own skin tone which she also applied to her hands, neck and arms like a mask.

“They’ve actually been dating for two years,” Leandra said impatiently, keeping her eyes to the car window. She wouldn’t give them more fuel by saying they were currently tense. She didn’t need to give her parents more ammunition. It already felt too stifling to be trapped in the car with just her parents. Every interaction seemed to be an argument now, and she was getting tired.

Her father shook his head, his glasses reflecting against the morning sunbeams. “It’s one thing to dally. It’s another thing to make a claim. She’s a gold digger. All he needs to do is knock her up and where will our money go?”

“Mara’s not a gold digger,” Leandra snapped. “How archaic can you be?” Then she pointed with a perfectly painted nail. “She’s no one’s dalliance or property. If Gamlen and Mara get pregnant you’ll have a grandchild, another heir. That’s a blessing from the Maker and you’re twisting it into something ugly!”

Both of their parents shared a heavy sigh looking at the other, communicating their frustrations in their own silent language.

“You’re so naive, little girl,” her mother sniffed delicately. “You see a friend. But you’re just an easy paycheck. If you had no money to your name I assure you that slut would drop you and find another hog to suckle.”

Leandra’s face reddened and she bit her tongue, withholding a scream. “Senhel!” she said sharply. “Stop the car!”

They were still a stop from the Chantry but Senhel dutifully pulled out of traffic with a sharp right and pulled into a bus zone. Leandra hopped out of the car practically kicking the door away and started walking on the sidewalk, her heels clicking as she marched to the Chantry.

“Where are you going?” Her father’s voice boomed as he rolled down the window. “This conversation is not over.”

“Yes, it is, because it’s inappropriate talk for the Maker’s day,” Leandra sniped back. “And if we continue talking I’m going to say some words that Maker might not forgive me for.” She held her head high, not bothering to look at her parents as the car strolled lazily along the road to follow her.

They caught her at a stoplight where she was forced to wait at a crosswalk. Her father pushed the door open. “Leandra, stop making a scene and get in the car.”

“Who’s making a scene?” Leandra glared. “Get your priorities straight. Family is more important than reputation or money.”

Her father’s face burned as people dressed up in their Sunday best looked at the Amell’s stretch and Leandra who was busy trying to pretend that everyone wasn’t staring. Still, Leandra wouldn’t put her head in the sand. The light turned green and she went across the sidewalk, but rather than the car jetting across the street like the stretch should, it followed Leandra like an obedient dog, slowing up Mass traffic.

“Leandra, get in the car,” her mother said impatiently.

“I’m enjoying my walk,” Leandra smiled brightly, and truly the sunbeams felt rather warm on her face, so different from the biting breeze.

“Now, you’re being ridiculous,” her mother growled. “We’re going to get a traffic violation. Get in.”

“Who’s we?” Leandra quipped. “I’m a pedestrian right now.”

Soon the vehicle was trapped with the shuffle of cars choking out the way for the Chantry parking lot and giving Leandra the distance she needed. She quickened her pace, walking the rest of the block and turned into a grand staircase that carved into the hill, the grand emblazoned stained glass sun glittering in the light of the towers above. She usually found Mass a time to contemplate, reflect, but she was rather impatient to get it over with so she could see Isaac.

Carver had contacted her letting her know the paperwork was rushed through and now that Aunt Revka was in Markham visiting Robert it would be a nice surprise for Isaac. She clutched her purse, rustling with her secret goodies, wondering if the templars would find and confiscate them, but she would just bring more if that was the case.

She thought her day couldn’t get any worse when at the top of the stairs she saw Guillaume and his parents deep in conversation with the Chantry sisters between the grand arch of the bronze templar statues. She tried to sneak past them but Guillaume instantly spotted her and waved, “Mon amie!”

Leandra straightened up with a smile, reluctantly approaching Guillaume and his family. “Guillaume, good morning. I didn’t see you.”

They kissed each other on the cheeks, his lips lingering a tad too long, as he folded his hands into hers. Leandra let her hand go limp in his, not able to let go but not able to reciprocate the warmth either.

Lady de Launcet eyed her head to toe in an approving manner, her hands stretched out in greeting as she placed a fond kiss on Leandra’s cheek. “Ah, my dear girl, it’s so good to see you. Don’t tell me you wore that fetching ensemble for me.”

Leandra in fact did, even as that twisted her insides. She had been trying to courteously convince Lady de Launcet to drop the bid on Malcolm and had spent the better part of the week in soirees and luncheons bargaining for his life like it was a game. Maybe to Lady de Launcet it was a game, one she found very amusing, but for Leandra it was a match she couldn’t afford to lose. 

Leandra curtsied politely in greeting, allowing the lady to inspect her outfit, lilac colored, in honor of the de Launcet’s house, with a rather daring cut that skimmed the edges of modesty with how the thin fabric clung to her curves.

Lady de Launcet touched the fabric of Leandra’s arm fondly. “These sleeves are darling.”

They also had giant holes that let in the chill. She was thankful that the winters in Kirkwall were rather mild because Orlesian fashion didn’t account for cold. “You were right about that Boutique on Oak Avenue. They do have great dresses.”

“We should go together and pick up some more,” Lady de Launcet offered.

Leandra bit her tongue, not wanting to freely admit that she didn’t have the budget anymore to go splurging on vogue dresses, but before she could find a tactful way to turn her down, Guillaume said,

“Of course, it will be my treat.”

A thoughtful offer but Leandra still had to force the smile on her lips. The idea of spending more time with Guillaume or his mother was not what she had in mind. Still, she said, “that sounds lovely,” and allowed Guillaume to kiss her chastely on the cheek.

“You two are adorable,” an older sister with dusty spectacles said with a smile in her voice.

“Not too much longer until we chime that bell for you,” the younger initiate smiled.

Lord de Launcet patted Guillaume’s shoulder. “They’re all grown up now.”

“Yes,” Lady de Launcet looked like she was tearing up. “And they’re going to give me beautiful grandchildren.”

The panic coiled inside Leandra. Everything was so perfect with Malcolm and yet did any of it matter? Her whole life was structured around Guillaume. Trying to tear it apart seemed like breaking her foundation. Suddenly she was picturing tea parties with nug children all over again.

The conversation carried on without Leandra. Lady de Launcet soon was bragging to the sisters about all the changes that they were planning to make to the wedding to give it an Orlesian touch, Leandra just nodding along to confirm the details. That was part of the deal for backing out of the bid, something Leandra wasn’t sure Lady de Launcet would keep to, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep her in good humor. 

Apparently Lady de Launcet was losing interest in the wedding because she felt like her culture wasn’t being represented enough and so she dangled Malcolm over Leandra, bargaining for more say of how it all should look like or maybe just to see what she could get Leandra to do. First, she just had a problem with the color scheme. Red was “too angry” and pink would match spring. Then they were updating the bridesmaids dresses to be from Princess Evangeline’s new fashion line. Then that led into them talking about Leandra’s dress. 

Leandra had originally told Lady de Launcet that unfortunately her gown had been finalized but it didn’t stop the lady from telling the sisters in rapt glee, “We’re going to bring that old thing into the modern age, cut a little off, give it a new look,” Lady de Launcet made a snipping motion for emphasis.

Leandra’s eyes widened. Did she hear right? 

“You’re going to WHAT?” Leandra’s mother stood on the steps cutting off Lady de Launcet’s conversation short.

Leandra’s shoulders tightened. Now her day couldn’t be worse.

Lady de Launcet and Leandra’s mothers met each other’s eyes like they were in a match. Her mother stepped up the steps leaving her husband behind as she picked up the hem of her modest cream dress, her complimenting cardigan as sharp as her power suits. “That dress was my mother’s and her mother’s before me down to the founding of my line. It is a priceless antique with a rich history of powerful women who wore it. You are not going to touch one thread.”

Lady de Launcet looked smugly at her mother, knowing she had her claws in deep. “Leandra has agreed that if I’m going to accept the loss of the protection of such a pristine mage from such a nasty family curse, I should get some perks, no?”

Leandra was about to say she did no such thing, but her mother beat her to it, saying, “We don’t need that knife-ear’s foul magic. We have the Maker’s protection!”

Leandra’s mouth gaped and the air sucked out of her. This was the first time she had ever heard that word come out of her mother’s mouth. With Gamlen and now her mother, it was like an ugly wake up call about the deep prejudice inbred into her family that she had been be blind to. Or maybe as she looked back on how they reacted with Mara, perhaps she chose to be blind to it. 

The whole room shifted uncomfortably as if something foul was in the air. Each looked to the other unsure of what to say.

Then Leandra recovered herself when Guillaume covered his reddening face with his hand, looking uncomfortable and said, “Bethann, please. We’re in the Maker’s house.”

Her mother lifted her chin indignantly. “As if the heathens even pray to the Maker.”

“You know what,” Leandra smiled all teeth as she decided it was time to change the subject. She turned her attention, batting her eyes at Lady de Launcet, “I think it would be lovely to update the dress a little. Lady de Launcet, did you have thoughts on the design?”

“Oh, so many,” Lady de Launcet clapped her hands. “Merveilleux! I’ll send the number of my seamstress. We have binders for you to look at.”

“Amelia, absolutely not,” Leandra’s mother’s face went rigid in fury, more furious than when Gamlen had crashed his new car in a DUI and yet Leandra was still more angry over the word she had called Malcolm. 

Ugly wretched shame sank Leandra’s gut into a pit. She didn’t know how to process the deep hate rooted within her family’s heart. She wasn’t sure how to get them to see Malcolm like she did. She questioned at this point if they were capable of it. Her mind started tracing over every cruel comment, every power trip, every backhanded compliment. There was all this posturing of appearances of perfection. If there was any curse on her family is that they had forgotten how to love and care for people. Her parents paid good lip service, donated their money to charities that they then wrote off in taxes, but it was all a pretty play. They had all forgotten warmth. Love even.  

At the end of the day, she didn’t care about a stupid old dress or the color scheme or any of the damned details of the wedding. None of that seemed important ever since Malcolm came into her life. 

Leandra had never been so disappointed in her mother or anyone. So when Lady de Launcet said,

“Bethann, relax. This is Leandra’s wedding. It should be her decision.”

It seemed natural to respond with, “That’s right. It is my decision, and I think I’m going to be open to possibilities today,” Leandra smiled, turning it to her mother and father who were both taken aback by this new tactic. “And I hope you will be more open minded in the future.”

“Leandra, how dare you-”

And then Leandra did something she never did before. She shushed her mother as if she was hushing a child having a tantrum. “This is the Maker’s House. Let’s not focus on our petty disagreements but on His Grace and Wisdom.”

“Wisely said, child,” the dusty spectacled sister adjusted her glasses with a thin smile.  

Leandra smiled as her mother turned to her father in embarrassment but he seemed just as baffled. “Shall we go in?” he offered his arm to his wife, not seeming to want to take up the argument with Leandra.

Lady Amell chewed on her lip and took her husband’s arm.

“Always good to see you, Aristride,” Lord de Launcet nodded to her father cheerily.

Her father made a tight-lipped nod at the man as they passed, but that was all he mustered in greeting.

The service passed by, the time stretching on, and every second was uncomfortable. Leandra sat between Guillaume and her mother, singing the Chant, and she felt the words ring hollow in her throat.

And yet she couldn’t help but think of Mara’s words.

Yes, the Maker had sent Malcolm on her path, but she was not being honest. With her parents. With Guillaume. Maybe not even herself. She was a cheater now and Leandra never thought she'd be that. Yes, she was bound by a vow she made as a child to marry Guillaume, and yet she couldn't find it in her to resist Malcolm’s pull. She felt like the Maker had crafted his hand to fit in hers. 

Or did she just want the Maker to have sent him? Was he actually the temptation she was supposed to resist? It seemed like fitting him into her life was an impossible dream. His kisses were like heaven but they left her with desires that were all too sinful. So sinful that they kept her awake and aching long into the night. 

“It was Andraste’s purity that was what

Drove the Maker’s Eye

Her devotion to her husband

And to Her Duties and to her Faith

She Drew His Grace into the World

Only for the Sin of Man to Drive Him back.

When all of Man is pure will we see His Return.”

All Leandra’s life she had taken that verse to heart, but that didn’t stop her mind from wandering. Didn’t stop her from remembering the feel of his tongue on hers and how it stoked a fire in her that still burned. Last night, she dreamed that she was back on the balcony of the Viscount’s Palace. Malcolm fell on top of her again and she felt his hardness form on her thigh. That hardness that sparked that aching need deep inside her. Instead of being a gentleman, he gave her that wolfish smile and stripped her like a present, his hands like electricity on her skin, careless with her wrappings until she was bare in the moonlight. His gaze left her hollow and ready to be filled by him. His lips ghosted over her mouth, his breath tickling her skin until his mouth trailed lower and lower, until he had her spread wide, his head between her legs. Those honey eyes met hers as that half-smirk lowered his mouth.

But the dream ended. She didn’t know what that felt like, where that would lead. And would it be salvation or ruin?  

Her face burned as she sang, sweating under her dress even in the chill of the chapel. As she sang she found herself asking the Maker for guidance. She knew what her heart said, and yet she wasn’t sure what the right path was. Coming clean to her parents sounded so frightening. Would they threaten to disown her like Gamlen? 

She wondered if loving Malcolm would mean giving up everything, and she was selfish. She wanted her parents to watch her children grow up, to be able to baptize them in this Chantry, to have family dinners and holidays. Plan month long vacations in Antiva and Rivain where they would learn about different cultures and try different cuisines and learn about the world like she did. Was it too much to ask for it all? She made the wish in her heart, even as she held the hand of the wrong man. She prayed for a way they’d all find happiness, even in the face of the odds.

Grand Enchanter Elthina stood under the Everlasting Fire, her silhouette giving the impression she was being burned like Andraste. She had her blonde hair in a braided bun, looking much like the statues of Andraste behind her. “My children, a great evil has visited us recently. It is truly a Blessing of the Maker that we all have been delivered unscathed.”

A chorus of voices called out in “By the Maker’s Will,” the relief palpable in the room.

“The Knight-Commander assures me that all is under control. Still, the Veil has grown more restless, and so we must do our part to help. All of us must confess the evils in our hearts before they become sins. Out of sin, demons rise. It is our own hubris we must save ourselves from. I invite you all to join me on a fast and pray with me for contrition. May He spare us from more evil by seeing the pureness of our own hearts.”

And there Leandra felt trapped. Lying was a sin, and yet the truth would unravel everything. Still, she wondered how long she could keep up the act around Guillaume, with every detail of the wedding reminding her that she would soon be tied to him on a timeline that was soon running out. 

She clutched her family’s rosary in her hand, knowing she would make the vow with the Grand Cleric, even as she knew she would not let Malcolm go. 

The closing hymns echoed through the stone as the tithing basket passed around, both Guillaime’s parents and her own matching their sizable checks to which they left open faced in the basket for all to see. Soon the hymns bounced off the stone, the echo keeping the song for a moment. The Grand Enchanter said her final blessing and then the bell rang from the tower in a deep clanging sound that echoed in the ribs. Everyone rose, a cluster of voices rising as everyone started dispersing.

“Shall we do the usual family luncheon, then?” Lady de Launcet fluffed up the new curls she added to her usually limp red hair, already forgetting the fast she had audibly promised.

“Actually, I’m going to visit with Isaac at the Circle, but do have a lovely visit without me,” Leandra feigned an apologetic tone as she gathered her purse trying not to seem like in the hurry she was. Malcolm knew she was coming. Would he manage to get away to see her?

Her father’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “You got past regulations?” Her father sounded impressed which brought a scowl from her mother.

Leandra couldn’t help the secret smile on her face. “Like you said, Daddy. I always get my way.”

Guillaume and her father shared a fond laugh which caused his mother’s scowl to deepen. She was silent, social etiquette keeping her usual claws to herself, but the way she was glaring at Leandra, she knew that she was in for it later.

But Leandra didn’t care. The worst of her day was over. She could see Isaac and hear his laugh for the first time in half a year. And she could thank meeting Malcolm for that. Surely that meant something good.

She would walk this path towards Malcolm with unsteady steps, even as she knew that all these threads would unravel one day.

---

Malcolm would normally sleep through Mass, but today he had several books on his lap, scratching his head as he tried to put together the puzzle he was clearly struggling with in his mind. Taylor and Charlie sat on either side of him exchanging looks as Malcolm muttered to himself and it appeared like something was distracting him, though that could have been the chorus of singing that he was opting out of.

Charlie looked over Malcolm’s head at Taylor who was trying her best to sing along to the Chant, and Taylor tried to pay attention, but she was just as puzzled. The books Malcolm were reading were advanced, alteration magic theory along with complex anatomy books. He had one page turned to a detailed diagram of a tongue and he kept flipping back through the index and glossary as he wrote notes he adamantly hid with his arm and flipped over when he wasn’t writing in it.

Everyone had noticed the change in Malcolm and though there were a lot of theories, an elaborate prank yet to be unleashed, a chance to walk outside the Circle, that the Knight-Commander threatened tranquilization, or that Carver finally had some serious dirt on him. Malcolm barely noticed the gossip as he worked through his lunches, often falling asleep on his homework. Still, by all standards, Malcolm had become a model student, minus the sarcasm and arrogance. He wasn’t shy about boasting how he graduated without trying, but no one could explain why he was. Trying.

Sure, being a House Mage was an esteemed position, and the fact that he had earned the bid of not one but two major houses was enough reason for some, but those that knew Malcolm understood that he didn’t obey or bend his will for anyone.

At least not without ulterior motives.

But as his friends looked over him they weren’t sure what those motives were.

The Chant died down and so Sister Margaret took over the sermon. It was the usual. ‘Repent thy sin for being born of sin.’ The same as last week and the week before.

“Are you finally doing it?” Charlie whispered over with a sad look.

“Hmmm?” Malcolm answered, only half paying attention.

“Escaping,” Charlie said hushedly.

“What? No!” Malcolm snorted a little too loudly, which brought an annoyed glance from Sister Margaret, but since she was used to Malcolm snoring through her sermons she quickly moved on.

Malcolm suddenly pulled out a dictionary from his backpack, flipping through for a definition. That was when Taylor leaned forward, her eyebrows raised. “Not that I would normally deter studying but can’t this wait until lunch?”

“Might be busy at lunch,” Malcolm crossed out what he was writing as he shook his head. At least he hoped to be. Carver said that it was possible for Leandra and him to have a little window together today. He didn’t know when but he was just waiting on his summons.

“Might?” Charlie repeated. Then he looked between the elves. “Oh, I get the studying now! You’re finally dating.”

Malcolm’s laugh filled the small cramped stone room that served as the chapel drawing shushes and an outraged scowl from Sister Margaret.

Taylor looked mortified to be associated with Malcolm, let alone dating him and she looked apologetically to the Sister imploring her to go on. When the sister finally did, Taylor leaned over and whispered to Charlie, “Maker preserve me, will you get that out of your head?” 

That’s when Taylor looked down at Malcolm’s backpack and saw something strange peeking out between the pages of his homework. She pulled it out with wide eyes. “But maybe Malcolm’s dating someone else?”

“What?” Malcolm looked up from his work, only to notice too late what Taylor was staring at.

“What’s that?” Charlie snatched it from Taylor before Malcolm could grab it.

Malcolm wrestled Charlie for the paper, tearing the page in half, making a loud riiiiiip that echoed through the chapel. Charlie’s face paled as he held the other half in his hand. There stared half of Leandra’s face in graphite, a mole dotting under her starry eye creased in a laughing smile punctuated by dimples in her apple cheeks, her hair drawn in careful loving strokes framing her bare neck and delicate collar bones, shapely lips rendered done with care.     

“You motherfucker!” Malcolm shoved Charlie angrily into his seat, scattering the books on his lap.

“Sorry, dude!” Charlie handed the other half back but the damage was already done.

“Malcolm, that’s enough!” Sister Margaret shouted, paying no attention to Charlie. “If you’re going to curse in Maker’s house you are not welcome here.”  

Malcolm held both halves, noticing that others were staring and he quickly crumpled it up before anyone could get a good look. He cursed himself and Taylor and Charlie. What use were friends if all they wanted to do was pry into your private life and spread all your secrets? Now his surprise gift was ruined, and his good mood with it.  

He threw the ruined art piece back into his backpack with a huff gathering all his stuff and shoving it all in so it all crumpled into one wad. “That’s fine, you’re a broken record anyways.”

Malcolm stormed out of the chapel, the templars usually stationed outside strangely not there to escort him out. He was going to head to his room but Taylor and Charlie followed him, both with remorseful looks on their faces. He made his way through the hallways which were emptied since everyone was left at Mass.

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” Charlie repeated.

“It’s fine, drop it,” Malcolm spat, not looking back. They descended to the stairs and back into the lower chambers, not noticing that even the halls were barren of the usual templar or two.

“Wait, wait, wait, don’t shut me out like that,” Charlie jogged up and caught Malcolm by his backpack, pulling him back. “I messed up. That’s on me. You would have won major points for that gift, I’m sure. But don’t I have a right to be mad, too?”

Malcolm turned around with a glare clenching his fist into a ball. “Why, you picking a fight?”

“No, but you can punch me if it’ll make you feel better,” Charlie offered his cheek and Malcolm found his hand unclenching on it’s own.

When it was apparent Malcolm would neither leave nor punch him, Charlie shoved him and said, “Dude, who is she? She was hard to recognize with half a face but she’s a babe. You’re holding out on me.”

“I can’t tell you,” Malcolm’s eyes flicked around the halls for people listening but though he didn’t see anyone that didn’t mean someone couldn’t overhear.

“Why?”

Malcolm glared, lowering his voice to a whisper. “You told Mandy McConnells I wet the bed in 7th year and that’s why no girl will even look at me.”

Malcolm shifted his glare to Taylor who barked out a short laugh before she bit her bottom lip to contain her smile. “I’m sorry, it’s just you think that’s why? Not your ogreish personality?”

Malcolm’s nostrils flared, ignoring that point. “I’m NEVER trusting you with a secret, again.”

Charlie placed his palms together in a prayer as he pleaded to Malcolm. “It slipped out, dude. You kept doing it.”

That’s when Malcolm swung at Charlie but he ducked instinctively, a habit he had grown used to being friends with a Ferelden.

“Sorry doesn’t fix this!”

“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry! I’ve given you tons of back and foot massages and I was your personal servant for like a month. I swear I won’t tell anyone about it like no one knows about my secret diary.”

“Dude,” Malcolm snorted in disbelief, his fist full of Charlie’s robe, “you’ve read me poetry from your diary.”

“Like you should tell me who you’re dating. It’s vital bro info.”

Taylor pushed them apart putting her back to Malcolm as she placed a hand on Charlie’s chest. “In this instance, I think Malcolm’s right. You should just let it go.”

Charlie looked confused, watching Malcolm’s anxious breathing in renewed light. “What’s wrong? It’s not like you’re dating someone outside the Circle?”

Malcolm’s and Taylor’s dead silence answered the question for Charlie. He dropped his jaw. “Holy shit. You’re dating someone outside the Circle?”

Malcolm reached around Taylor and grabbed Charlie’s head and wrestled him into a headlock. “Will you not say that so fucking loud?”

Still, Charlie’s muffled ecstatic laughter could be heard from Malcolm’s death grip, the sound soothing his anger. So Charlie finally got the whiff of his secret. He hoped he had a little more time.

Malcolm dragged Charlie by the head through the hallways until they came out into the courtyard, Taylor following like this was a normal thing cause it was.

“So I can’t even know her first name?” Charlie continued the conversation. “I mean what’s the harm in that?”

“It’s too obvious once you put it together,” Taylor explained for Malcolm. “She’s not just anybody. This can get Malcolm in a lot of trouble.” She then added with a shake of her head. “You’re not hiding it very well.”

“Well I didn’t plan on people going through my private things.” Was he relieved that he at least had someone in on the secret other than Carver that could keep their mouth shut? 

Malcolm found that without Charlie fighting back, this wrestle really wasn’t going anywhere, so he shoved Charlie’s head away.

Taylor walked ahead of him, her mood seeming impish with the way she stopped in front of him and started walking backwards so her dark skin reflected the sunshine like stained glass. “Tough tiddies. It’s the Circle. You’re not going to get privacy.”

As if to answer that the train of thought the real train that connected from the mainland pulled into the station, it’s gears squeaking against the rail and no sooner did they stop did a squadron of templars came rushing past the mages and towards the upper chambers in a rush. One of the templars in a helmet broke rank and stopped before them. It was hard to tell who exactly, but their armor marked them as a ranking officer.

They pointed to the three of them and with a deep voice, he said, “What are you doing in the courtyard? It’s out of bounds.”

“Sister kicked me out of Mass for saying fuck on the Maker’s day,” Malcolm said like he was commenting on the weather. 

Both Taylor and Charlie exchanged uneasy tense glances, unsure what would happen.

But this templar seemed more used to Malcolm’s snark and didn’t acknowledge it other than to say, “Everything’s on lockdown. Back to the cafeteria or to your rooms.”

Lockdown? What was going on?

Taylor frowned. “Is the library on lockdown?”

But Malcolm waved his hand and said. “Wait, more importantly where’s Carver?”

Taylor flashed a violet glare. “My question is just as important.”

“Carver’s in an emergency. Library’s not restricted,” then the man marched off back towards the hallways where the upper levels reached. The only thing up there other than the Chantry hall was the restricted areas like the Harrowing Chamber.

Malcolm couldn’t help but feel something queer was happening and he feared that the terror demon made his move. He nodded to Taylor and Charlie. “Well I’m off to grab lunch before my nap. Want to join me?”

As if to answer him, the lunch bell finally rang, echoing through the courtyard.

Charlie hopped on the balls of his feet, excited at the prospect of lunch and they all headed towards the mess hall. Sunday was the chefs day off so all that was served all day was things that could be made the day before which usually consisted of soup you had to warm up yourself and dry cold cut sandwiches but that was no longer a problem for the mages now that Charlie blabbed the whole taste illusion spell to the Circle.

“Dude, I almost got tacos right. Taylor helped me.”

That brought a warm smile to Taylor’s full lips. “Oh, I also tweaked the spell so it has crunch now, too. I’ll show you,” she added enthusiastically.

Charlie’s jaw dropped in awe, stopping in the hall. “No joke, you are the most incredible woman to exist.”

Taylor tripped on her feet sputtering, clinging to Charlie so she wouldn’t tip over. He caught her by the waist, easily pulling her small frame against his chest before she tumbled to the ground. They stood there stunned, clinging to the other awkwardly as if they weren’t sure what to do next.

Malcolm coughed which broke the spell, pushing them apart.

Taylor looked embarrassed as if she didn’t know what to do with her hands and she kept shifting positions, finally balling them up and placing them on her thighs.

Charlie scratched the back of his head looking at anywhere but Taylor. He was trying to play cool, but Malcolm could see that Charlie was now a nervous wreck, hiding his eyes under his dark bangs as if that would shield him from scrutiny.

Malcolm wondered if they would ever stop focusing on his love life and actually admit they liked each other. They seemed to have these weird moments more and more often. Projection, maybe?

“Hey, you have to pay homage to the genius. I made the spell,” Malcolm joked trying to lighten the mood.

“But Taylor’s an artist. She makes everything she touches better,” Charlie said, his voice sounding shy, the picking of his nails adding to that effect, and Malcolm couldn’t help but think how soft Charlie looked as he said that.

Taylor crossed her arms, huddling into herself as if she needed to hide. “I don’t know about that.”

Malcolm suddenly felt like there were one too many people in the room and so as the other uncomfortable party he did what any good friend would do. Tease them.

“Dude, why have you been trying to pawn Taylor off on me all these years? You’ve clearly got a thing.”

This time Charlie sputtered, Taylor watching in a careful seriousness as his eyes went wide and he backed away as if he was going to run. “I mean we’re just really good friends. Brother. Sister.”

“Sure,” Malcolm’s voice lilted. “That’s how I’d look at my sister.”

This time Charlie swung at Malcolm which Malcolm darted out of the way. “Dude. Shut up. You’re making things weird.”

Taylor said nothing, still watching Charlie, unsure if this was another joke the two of them were playing.

“Ask Taylor out and maybe I’ll tell you her name,” Malcolm challenged, making Taylor audibly choke.

“So there is a girl,” Charlie grabbed at the subject, desperate for the change in subject. “We’re establishing that.”

Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh. The reach was so pitiful. “Dude, been established.”

”Just checking,” Charlie scratched his arm. His gaze kept flicking to Taylor who looked at him unwaveringly as he fumbled.  “Just checking…”

Malcolm’s dare hung in the air unanswered.

“Well I guess if you never ask the question, you never find out,” Taylor clicked her tongue as she tucked a curl of hair back in place and then walked into the cafeteria leaving Charlie blinking dumbly.

Charlie looked at Malcolm for an explanation. “Why would she say that?”

Poor Taylor.

Malcolm slung his arm around Charlie feeling the brotherly need to help him out, even though he felt he knew as much about romance as Charlie did, but he needed to call upon Scholar somewhere safe and figure out if there was a problem that needed his attention, so he said, “When you figure it out, dude, come talk to me.”

Charlie contorted his face, looking more lost and confused and he jutted out his lip. “Aww, now you’re picking on me.”

“Well you deserve a lil’ payback for ruining my girl’s portrait,” Malcolm chuckled. Saying that aloud did make him feel lighter.

Charlie seemed to be giddy that Malcolm admitted that, too. “Can I tell people you’ve got a girl at least?”

“Dude,” Malcolm’s smile dropped back into a deadly expression. “I’ll haunt your dreams.”

Charlie’s shoulders dropped in disappointment. “Fine.”

Malcolm and Charlie broke apart and got in line for lunch. 

They noticed that Taylor was several people ahead, Arth Elliot in deep conversation with her. He kept brushing his blond bangs away from his face, a flirtatious smile on his lips and for once Taylor was actually giving him the time of day. 

Charlie immediately made an ugly grimace. “What’s she talking to that idiot for?”

Malcolm nudged Charlie’s shoulder with a smug smirk. “Do something about it.”

Charlie immediately balked, rubbing the back of his head. “She can talk to who she likes. It’s fine,” but then he crossed his arms sulkily. “Arth’s still a jerk and a playboy. She should be careful.”

Before Malcolm could agree, a templar on a walkie talkie walked up to them from her guard post pointing straight at Malcolm. 

“Are you Hawke?”

Malcolm looked over the templar not recognizing her face. She was tanned from the sun with a scar on her right cheek that looked like it had been sliced through and her eyebrows were sharp and rigid in contrast to her bald head that had black stubble growing out. She was built like a chiseled warrior that most of the templars were demanded of, and yet Malcolm could not place her face among the recruits. She wasn’t one of Malcolm’s harassers, nor one of Carver’s friends. Was she new, or just very unremarkable?

“Am I in trouble?” Hawke cringed, knowing that was usually the reason. 

“I am to escort you to the Knight-Commander immediately. Please, come with me.”

Malcolm groaned. “I mean, can I get a sandwich first?”

Malcolm expected the templar to snap at him or start dragging him by the collar, but the woman actually considered his rather reasonable request. After a moment, she nodded and said, “It would probably be best if you have your strength. Do hurry, please.” 

Malcolm blinked, actually amazed. A templar that said please not once but twice. A third and it wouldn’t be an accident.

Malcolm’s smile turned smug as he left Charlie in line to cut it with the templar’s permission, and snagged a sandwich not really caring which flavor. He stuffed one in his mouth before grabbing another while still chewing, deciding today he wanted to feast on lechon. He had been feeling extra famished lately and the taste of the suckling pig was extra filling and he could feel it reawakening him. By the time he had strolled back he had polished off one of the sandwiches and was savoring the next one bite by tiny bite.

He saluted Charlie with a sandwich on his way out. "Let me know when you finally grow some balls."

Charlie rolled his eyes and pretended to ignore him. 

The templar silently led him to the templar quarters, the spaces tight as most templar initiates slept like apprentices, in communal bunks with absolutely no privacy. Templars, though, did not have to live in bunk beds, smelling each other’s body odor and tripping on each other’s laundry. Many templars only used the beds on shift and could carve their little slice of home somewhere in Kirkwall away from the Circle. 

As they walked down the hall they passed by the highest ranking templar’s office, passing Carver to the Knight-Commander’s on the end, marked by the Chantry’s sun being pierced by a blade engraved into the door and two suits of ceremonial templar armor that decorated each side.

The templar motioned for the door unceremoniously. “Go in, please. The Commander is waiting for you.” 

And with the third please that became a pattern. Malcolm remarked upon the fact he managed to walk beside another templar that wasn’t Carver and didn’t end up in handcuffs part of the way for his attitude. But she hadn’t given him any lip, so he decided to keep the goodwill going and nodded. “Thanks for the escort. And lunch.” 

The templar looked surprised to be thanked. She nodded, attempting a smile too tense to not have nervousness behind it. “And thank you for not being difficult.”

Malcolm blinked as the templar reddened, as if she only just realized that could be considered rude. But Malcolm just shook his head with a chuckle as he placed his hand on the brass knob. He’d rather make templars nervous than bold. “Back at you,” he said and pulled the heavy door open.

He was expecting to see Leandra today, but he didn’t expect to see her in the Knight-Commander’s office, nor did she expect him to see her red eyed with a pile of soiled tissues upon the Knight-Commander’s desk. She stood up when she saw Malcolm, as if she wanted to rush over to him before she realized that it wasn’t only Carver there, but the the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter Elric, a short pinkish man that shared Malcolm’s fondness for napping, though his love probably stemmed from the fact that he was approaching 80. He was looking rather comfy snuggled into the arm of his chair next to the Knight-Commander, looking oddly like he needed a blanket.

“Thank the Maker you came,” Leandra crumpled up the tissue in her hand.

“I wouldn’t thank the Maker, yet,” The First Enchanter stroked his long wizardly beard. “Like I’ve told you, my lady, I’m not sure much can be done.”

“At least let him try!” Leandra’s voice was desperate and hoarse, as if she had just been yelling.

If Malcolm had known it was Leandra that needed him, he wouldn’t have dragged his feet or stopped for lunch. He quickly stepped closer into the room, Leandra like a magnet he had to pull away from with force. He didn’t know what happened but he couldn’t stand to see her like this, mascara running down her cheeks, her face a red splotchy mess. Seeing her in such pain awakened a fierceness in him he didn’t realize he had. It took everything not to fold her into his chest so he could comfort her.

So instead he bowed his head with all the respect afforded to a noblewoman and said, “If I can be of service, my lady, you need only ask. Just tell me what to do.”

The Knight Commander and the First Enchanter shared a surprised glance at the other at Malcolm’s response before the corner of the wizard’s mustache tugged into the smallest smile.

Leandra nodded, grateful tears running down her cheeks as she tore up the tissue in her hand tearing it into little pieces. “It’s Isaac. He has meltdowns...They can get ugly. He needs structure to help keep him calm, toys to soothe him and...and…” She repeated ‘and’ again and again as if she was stuck, unable to continue the next thought.

“The boy threw a tantrum when we told him today wasn’t the day his mother was coming,” the First Enchanter finished in a tired ragged tone that sounded callous and bored, “It is rather unfortunate but in the emotional distress he inflicted upon himself he fell prey to demon and is now an imminent threat to us all. We know what must happen.”

His croaking voice said the last haunting words with such finality that Leandra renewed her wailing, the sound tearing apart Malcolm’s heart.
“No,” he said and he squared his shoulders facing the Knight-Commander. “Send me into the Fade. That’s what I’m here for, right? To kill the demon?” 

Both the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter seemed pleased that this was Malcolm’s response.

“Well that is true but we still need to go over...business,” the First Enchanter ruffled through a stack of papers he took from a folder he had in front of him and slid them across the desk before Leandra.

Leandra blinked through her tears as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “My nephew’s life hangs in the balance, and we’re talking price? Now?”

The First Enchanter shrugged. “It’s ugly but the Circle is not a charity. To send your chosen mage into the Fade to rescue your kin will need a vast supply of lyrium, which unfortunately there is currently a shortage of. We need to keep enough on hand to supply our templars, you know,” then the wizard placed his wrinkled hands to flip through the pages. “There is also upkeep of the mages; boarding, food, education and so that has to come from somewhere. Renting this mage’s services will help absorb some of the debt we incur.”

Leandra looked at the giant price tag at the bottom. She tried to do the calculation in her head but if she were to try to cover this herself it would wipe out almost her entire savings. She would have almost nothing left to cover Mara’s salary. “Excuse me a moment,” she bit her lip and dug through her purse for her phone, unblocking her father’s number, and called. 

The dial rang twice before he answered and said, “I’m surprised to hear from you, Sweetpea. I thought we were not communicating anymore by phone.” She could hear restaurant music being played in the backgrounds, the rush of conversation and clutter muffling up his voice.

Leandra ignored the obvious attempt at an argument and said, “Father, Isaac’s been possessed and we need to make a payment of 10,000 sovereigns to send a mage into the Fade to rescue him.”

Malcolm coughed, choking on his own spit. “How many bottles of lyrium am I chugging?” 

“The average mage needs to ingest about 5-8 bottles, though we don’t know your tolerance. Most of that cost is you,” the First Enchanter said flatly.

So this was how the Circle worked. Malcolm felt like it was stupid to keep good talent locked away to fester and rot, but when he could be rented like this to the highest bidder, it all seemed to be just parts of system placed there by design, not some random accident. 

Malcolm fumed, he would not be anyone’s tool. “Well, knock some of those zeroes off because I need only one bottle. Right, Carver?”

Carver bugged his eyes out before he blurted out, “Yes, right.”  

The First Enchanter widened his eyes impressed but seemed to take this in stride, as if this was just part of the negotiation. “We’d have to check the current marketplace value, but by our last estimates a vial of lyrium has been driven up to...” 

He trailed off looking to the Knight-Commander for help who blurted out, “50 sovereigns now.”

“Which would leave you with a savings of 200 sovereigns, that is if the mage can back his claims,” the old mage adjusted his wire frame glasses. 

Malcolm scoffed at the First Enchanter. The old bat knew his name because he had signed plenty of Malcolm’s detention slips. 200 sovereigns was still nothing to sneeze at, but compared to 10,000, it seemed like he had only chipped at a mountain. 

Still, Malcolm remained silent as Leandra relayed all of this to her father. Then she frowned deeply as she said, “What, why? Is that really necessary?”

He could hear the man’s stern voice lecturing but the speaker obscured most of his words.

Eventually she hung her head and she walked up to Malcolm outstretching her phone with apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry. My father wants to talk to you.” She looked truly scared to hand the phone over, her hands trembling.

Malcolm audibly gulped, unsure if he really wanted to take that call but finding no other choice left to him he took the phone from Leandra’s shaky hands and put it up to his ear.

“You’re not talking guff? You can save me 200 sovereigns?” 

Was that really what warranted a one-to-one conversation? Still Malcolm kept his tone respectful and short, “Yes, ser.” 

“And you can save my sister-in-law’s son? You guarantee it? You’re still costing me a king’s ransom.” 

Malcolm felt his mouth go dry, but he promised, “I’m worth it. He will not die under my watch.” 

“Good,” he grunted, satisfied. “You gave your word. That means something. If you can manage this, then maybe there is a future here for you. Maybe.” 

It seemed a hollow promise, from a hollower man and yet when he looked at Leandra’s tear-brimmed eyes full of hope he knew he couldn’t afford to fail.

Malcolm slapped on his usual cocksure smirk. “You can count on it.” 

Chapter Text

Leandra held her family’s rosary, counting the beads between her fingers as she sang the Chant silently to herself. She knew she was at the Maker’s mercy at this point and she had no idea what kind of god he would be right now. Was Isaac innocent enough to be spared His wrath? Sometimes she knew not even that mattered. She had to be strong for her cousin and yet she could find no more strength within her. She needed to make that phone call, inform Revka and yet how could she?

She felt frozen by death, he had come for her again. With her grandfather at least it was peaceful, in his sleep in his old age. But when the Hartlings were taken by an irreverent drunk driver who survived it himself, it shattered Mara, and she never quite recovered all the pieces.

Leandra remembered Mara’s dark days. She stopped eating as if she had to punish herself that she still lived. Leandra would bring over meals from her favorite restaurants just to get her to take a few bites. The grief made Leandra awkward. She was so used to leaning on Mara when it came turn to lean on her, Leandra found she could only give old advice, that Mara would see her family again at the Maker’s side.

But Mara asked a question that still scared Leandra to this day.

“What if the Chant’s all bullshit and that’s just something people say so we don’t get sad?”

Leandra didn’t know how to answer that. Mara was angry at the Maker and had lost her faith. Leandra didn’t know how to give it back to her when she had too many questions herself.

The conversation ended awkwardly, with Leandra trying to get Mara to eat again. A sidestep. A misstep. 

Eventually Mara started pushing Leandra away and everyone else. She partied dangerously, experimenting with anything that could take the pain away for a few moments. Leandra dragged her out of plenty of seedy Lowtown houses and backwater bars with Mara fighting her every step of the way, only Gamlen able to calm and steady her.

He saved her when Leandra couldn’t. He brought brightness back to her life and Leandra had never felt so helpless. Shallow. Useless. Like her faith was. 

She tried to make it up to Mara however she could, it was a regret she’d always hold.

Now she was praying even as the shreds of her faith were left in tatters? Isaac barely turned nine. Revka had already lost him to the Circle, but to lose him to a demon, she didn’t think Revka would survive it.  

How could the Maker be so cruel? 

And as much as her nephew’s death scared her, there was another regret Leandra found bubbling up that made her feel vulnerable, like she knew this would break her. Her eyes flicked to Malcolm, his presence so calming and assured. His honey eyes looked so resolute as he signed his death waiver without even a flinch.

“Do you want to write out some last words to anyone? Any confessions you’d like to make to a priestess?” The First Enchanter asked, tiredness in his voice.

“No need, I’m not dying,” Malcolm said in the same self-assured manner he always had.

Leandra bit her lip, his hubris making her panic more than feel at ease and she said, “we should at least bring you to a Sister to give you the Maker’s blessing.”

“Don’t need that, either,” he gave her that sexy lopsided grin that made her breath stutter even as his words dripped with blasphemy.

Leandra opened her mouth, her words caught for a second, her cheeks hot. “A-are you really so arrogant that you think you don’t need the Maker’s protection?”

Malcolm’s face then turned serious meeting her eye. “I’d rather skip the rituals. Isaac’s timeline is more important.”

Leandra’s mouth dropped but found no argument. He made sense and yet to think he would go in the Fade again without the Maker’s hand guiding him. Her heart clenched frightened at how badly it ached at the thought of his loss. That he could die without her knowing what his touch felt like. This feeling felt too premature to be called love but it was so close, it scared her. Too soon, she thought, and yet she wondered now if she was also too late. Would the Maker see Malcolm’s arrogance as a slight and take both Isaac and him from her this day?

She didn’t know what else to do. She took the rosary from her fingers, and draped the cord around Malcolm’s neck. “Then take this. It’s protected my family for generations.”

She had held that rosary during every Mass, blessed her family every night with it, and though she hoped it would protect Malcolm she couldn’t see it as anything but a pretty trinket she carried for comfort. Maybe it would protect him, or maybe he could just wear it and think of her. She found she had no more use for it. 

Malcolm dangled the golden sun chain between his fingers as if he had caught the tail of a dead animal. “I do not need to be accused of stealing this.”

Both the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander seemed surprised by Leandra’s gesture and was unsure what to make of it. “Hawke is right,” the Knight Commander said for the first time, “he’s too irresponsible to handle something so valuable.”

Malcolm bristled at the implication in the Commander’s tone but Leandra was ahead of him. “Well then I’ll give it to him with all you as witnesses so now you can’t accuse him of thievery.” Her eyes glistened, as she looked at him, imploring him to accept this small token of not the Maker, of herself. “You need it more than I do.”  

Malcolm’s shoulders dropped, letting the amulet fall against his black robes. He bowed his head in respect, his dark curls falling in his face. “Thank you for your generosity, my lady.” He then added with a wry chuckle, “though something with Isaac’s essence would help me more.”

Without missing a beat Leandra said, “I have that, too.” She dug through her purse bringing out a children’s book with different automobiles with faces on it. It looked too rudimentary to belong to a nine year old but Leandra said, “This is Isaac’s favorite book. If he has trouble sleeping he might want you to read this just front to back again and again.” The Knight-Commander’s thin lip completely disappeared as she dug out a small cloth bag. “These are his building blocks. He might not warm up right away but if you start building something he’ll absolutely want to join in if you ask.” She closed Malcolm’s hands over the items as she handed them over, the smell of his clover musk soothing her frazzled nerves. “Would any of these help? He hasn’t held these in months.”

Malcolm nodded, opening the bag with interest. He held a small bright red tile between his fingers. “No, I can tell these mattered to him. They are coated in his essence.” He dropped it back into the bag, the blocks clattering together as he closed it and he gave a reassuring smile. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to have these back.”

That’s when the Knight-Commander finally intervened, “I can’t allow these. This goes against regulation.”

Leandra’s shoulders snapped back in fury. “A child cannot have toys?”

The First Enchanter leaned in. “Lady Amell, there are many mage children whose family cannot send them toys. It causes jealousy. It is better that he learns that the Circle is home.”

Leandra couldn’t accept that. “And what home can it be if you’re so harsh that a child cannot play. Is it any wonder my nephew fell prey to a demon!?”

The First Enchanter gathered the large stack of forms they had wasted time on between his gnarled fingers looking completely uncomfortable with Leandra’s temper that only seemed to be rising. “Lady Amell, please be civil. I understand you are stressed due to these events. Go home. Rest. It is in the Maker’s Hands now.”

Leandra crossed her arms, planting her feet firmly. “Excuse me? I’m not going anywhere until Isaac is safe.”

The First Enchanter tensed sharing a look with the Knight Commander. “My lady,” the wizard’s mustache twitched, “we don’t have the facilities to house a noble. Your safety must be maintained.”

Leandra scoffed so hard it blew the bangs from her forehead. “For 10,000 sovereigns you’d better figure it out!”

A snicker escaped Malcolm’s throat drawing the glares of both the Knight Commander and First Enchanter and that’s when Carver stepped in, an uncomfortable bystander to a convenient rescuer. He bowed his head to the Knight Commander offering a peaceful smile. “I believe the chapel can be isolated for the lady. There she can pray for her nephew’s recovery.”

The Knight Commander pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache and with a wince he said, “Fine.” His eyes then leveled his most intimidating glare to Leandra as he said, “but the Circle is a military institution, not a day spa. Don’t expect to be entertained.”

Leandra met his glare with one of her own, though it looked like a chihuahua going after a pit bull. “Oh I’m entertained enough by the fact that you used my family’s misfortune to fatten your coffers. Dare I ask what happens to the mages whose families cannot meet your outrageous price?”

And like a chihuahua, she went right for their knickers. 

They dropped their eyes from Leandra’s accusatory stare, their faces twisting into uncomfortable grimaces as the silence answered her question. 

Leandra’s heart hardened with more anger. What a barbaric place this was. She tightened her grip on the strap of her purse as she readied to dismiss herself. “Do your duty, gentleman, and know I will be watching.” Even if she had no powers of her own, she could at least hold them to that.

---

Isaac was fine this morning. Malcolm still recalled the huge smile on his face and the boy was practically vibrating at breakfast. Ever since Leandra told him of their connection he made more of an effort to speak to the boy, though the conversations were mostly them making truck noises at each other. Today, though, when Isaac came to bus his tray for Malcolm, Isaac actually spoke words.

“My mama’s coming,” he bounced up and down.

“That’s awesome, little dude,” Malcolm offered him the usual friendly high five but the boy was so excited he ended up head bumping the flat of his hand shouting,

“Beep!”

It kinda hurt but Malcolm laughed regardless. Then Isaac turned to Taylor with the same excited smile, “My mama’s coming,” he repeated with the excited tone.

“That’s wonderful, Isaac.” And when he got his praise from Taylor he turned to Charlie. 

To think so much could change in a few hours.

The Harrowing Chamber still smelled like death and everything was as horrifying as Malcolm remembered it. The Fade here was thin, like a film and Malcolm could hear the faint echo of screams that still carried within the stone, thousands of deaths layered upon the other. If he closed his eyes he could see the last moments of mages meeting their ends. 

Lanterns lit the walls making the room dark and the shadows bounced off each other as the ground was discolored by various stains that they failed to scrub out. In the middle of the chamber was Isaac strapped down to a table, sweating profusely, his bangs sticking to his forehead as his body fought the demon the only way it knew how. A bright red barrier surrounded Isaac, keeping him in place in case the transformation completed. He whimpered as he thrashed in his nightmare, his voice still chanting in an echo that repeated itself;

“My mama’s coming.”

Along the walls lined the Templars surrounding Malcolm, their guns gleaming in the threat of his failure. The helms hid the Templar’s faces but he could feel the eager energy in the air, ready for slaughter. 

Malcolm’s hands were sweaty with nervousness as he waited for Senior Enchantress Karena to finish her spell. 

Malcolm fiddled with Leandra’s rosary, well his rosary now, but it was coated in her spiritual energy, almost making it feel like her arms were wrapped around his neck. It made him breathe easier in the nightmare of being back in this room. Gave him hope that there was some kind of future for the two of them after this.

Enchanter Karena hunched over an ancient spellbook reading over the instructions, her glasses giving her fish eyes as she stirred different animal and plant parts into the lyrium brew. She seemed to be taking a long time, cutting things down into the smallest batches and scraping only the tiniest pinches into the mixture.

Malcolm sat on the gurney that they had wheeled in for him, feeling antsy. He gazed over the over at the cauldron, the mixture foul and pungent and heady. “Do you need help?” he offered genuinely.

The Enchantress scowled, “Excuse me, young man, I have made this spell hundreds of times.”

Malcolm wasn’t sure how he offended her this time but he gritted his teeth, biting back his usual snark. “Look, I'm just trying to speed things along. Isaac doesn’t have a lot of time.”

“Don’t rush me! If the ratio is off there can be dire consequences,” she snapped but then she turned back to the brew with a frown, “but I’ve never made such a weak concoction. With only one vial of lyrium I’m not sure there will be enough strength to pull you into the Fade.” She glared at Malcolm, her squinted eyes enlarged in glass. “If you were boasting, young man, that child will pay the price.”

Malcolm scoffed. How many times must he prove himself? “I don’t need to boast.” If only he could slip into the Fade right now and skip this charade. He still had a tile from Isaac’s toy bag, even though Carver had to ‘confiscate’ everything else Leandra brought which also included some sour gummy worms, a phone and a drawing his sister made for him. Still, the tile would be enough to track his dream. He didn’t need this witch’s brew.

Then Enchantress Karena pulled a vial from a case that was especially red, viscous. As soon as she uncorked it an iron smell filled the air. 

Malcolm didn’t like the way it tingled the hairs in his nostrils. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he drank that. He had never ingested lyrium before but he was sure it would make taking care of whatever demon assaulted Isaac a piece of cake. Malcolm wrinkled his nose in recognition. “Is that what I think it is?”

Enchantress Karena stiffened as she poured in the vial. “It’s the essence of life and will help tether you to Isaac.”

Malcolm shook his head. In other words, Isaac’s phylactery. 

He watched as a portion of blood was mixed into the blue shimmery concoction causing it to bubble, the whole cauldron taking a purple sheen as she stirred. It thickened the air with a copper rain-like smell.

“Soooo, how is this not blood magic?” Malcolm wrinkled his nose. Sure blood would be the easiest way to find his essence but he never expected the Chantry to actually resort to it. 

The Enchantress snarled. “This is nothing like blood magic, blasphemer!”

Malcolm held up his hands in mock innocence. “Hey, I’m just asking a question. Don’t bite my head off.” Still he couldn’t help but feel like the Chantry were a bunch of hypocrites.

An armored hand clapped his shoulder, gripping slightly in a warning to be quiet. “Let’s let the Senior Enchantress concentrate,” Carver’s voice echoed from underneath his square imposing helm.

Malcolm sighed, dropping his shoulders as he relented. Of course the Circle sanctioned blood magic under the circumstances they deemed fit. He wasn’t sure why he was even surprised, but it made Malcolm wonder what other secrets the Circle was hiding.

Carver bent over his eyes gleaming from the darkness of his helmet as he said in a low voice. “Don’t take any stupid chances in the Fade.”

Malcolm scoffed, whispering back, “This isn’t my first hunt. I know what I’m doing.”

“Still,” Carver drew his shoulders together, “it never hurts to be careful.” He lowered his helm to Malcolm’s ear and whispered, “what if it’s that terror demon?”

Malcolm stiffened. He had considered that as a possibility, and his leg swung impatiently from his seat. “Isaac’s managed to hold on this long. Have a little faith.”  

Carver nodded, the tension not releasing from his shoulders.

Soon the purple brew darkened a few shades and the Enchantress took her spoon tapping off the extra liquid back into the cauldron, the sound echoing like a dull bell through the chamber. “It is done.” The Enchantress poured the concoction into a goblet and passed it to Malcolm. “Now drink every drop and lie down immediately.”

Malcolm gagged as he stared at it. Thankfully there were only a few mouthfuls to swallow but along with blood he had seen animal organs and poisonous mushrooms ground in. His skin turned a shade greener as he held his breath, unable to take the raw odor.

But then he remembered he could change the flavor and took a moment to weave the spell over his tongue before he knocked it back into his throat. He tasted strawberries again, but the texture still made him gag and there was still a distinct coppery taste that overlapped the flavor and burned into his nostrils. He forced himself to swallow before he coughed wishing he had soured something else. The liquid numbed his mouth and his throat and he found himself unable to say anything as he tried his best not to throw up.

“Lie down,” she reminded him curtly, pressing his nails into his shoulder and back into the gurney. 

His head knocked against a firm cushion, the swirling feeling overtaking him as the room started to discolor and spin. 

She then snapped her head at Carver as she took Malcolm’s arm and strapped him down with the leather bindings. “Bind him firmly, Knight Captain.”

Carver obeyed, his helm obscuring his expression, but his fingers shook as he bound his friend’s limbs tightly to the gurney.

The ceiling melded into indescribable colors but then Malcolm realized it was because the Enchantress had activated the containment barrier they had drawn around Malcolm. The room was swirling as his skin prickled with energy, the lyrium buzzing in his blood so it seemed to be singing. 

The pull was immediate, the room melting away and replaced by images of a green sky, the stone walls growing into jagged hills as a road stretched before him, unpaved and uneven the hills glittering with the darkest obsidian. The Fade felt so real, the air smelling like the sea, the gravel crunching beneath his body as he pushed himself upright from the ground.

Usually traversing the Fade felt like walking through a memory, details not always in focus, but he could see every whorl on his fingers, feel the breeze wafting through his hair, smell the dirt coming from his clothes. He looked behind him and saw that he was trapped on an island, a sharp fall into a bottomless chasm that stretched out like the sea. The island stretched upwards and upwards into a tower so high that the clouds obstructed the view from the top. The other islands lay barren and pulverized, every path destroyed except the one forward.

Malcolm thought for a second that he had been deposited to the gates of the Black City but when he gazed over the chasm, there it hung in the sky, looking closer than ever. He plucked the Fade strings with his fingers, reaching out to Compassion. 

She didn’t answer him. 

In fact nothing did. 

That’s when Malcolm noticed there was something strange about the way the Fade here was constructed. For one the usual hum of spirit chatter was nonexistent, the Fade strings seemingly gnarled and cut up. He could sense no connection to any spirits like he was a shorting circuit, and it gave Malcolm a sense of unease. He couldn’t read the terrain like he usually could. It just seemed like the whole area was frozen in a silent scream. The memories of the Fade had been stripped completely blank somehow.

“Somniari?” Compassion’s voice finally rang out in his mind and he flinched like he had been burnt, but the feeling faded into discomfort. The hair on the back of his neck stood at end as the voice coated him, primal fear seeding in him, but he was quickly reminded of his previous conversation with Compassion and bit down the feeling as best he could so he would not warp her.

“A child is in danger of being possessed,” he said aloud, the connection starting to feel more familiar each second, the unease subsiding as he chalked it up to being in the middle of a demon’s web. “I could use the backup.”

“A child? Oh dear, I must come immediately,” her voice said with more enthusiasm than usual. Malcolm thought it odd, but before he could think much on it she appeared before him, her robes more fitted than before. Her eyes burned brightly, but the azure color a shade more lilac than he remembered, but no sooner than he thought that in a blink, the color looked more familiar, and Malcolm chalked it up to a trick of the light.

“Thanks for getting here so quickly,” Malcolm kept polite, but his eye never left Compassion studying her as she took in her surroundings in interest. 

She gazed down at the abyss, her braid dangling almost like a snake with how it moved.

Forcing down uncertainty he said, “I think I sense Zefuckwad here, but I’m not completely sure. Something’s wrong with this place, right?”

Compassion’s eyes flashed as the corner of her lips quirked in a smile for once not correcting Malcolm’s mispronunciation. “This realm is sundered, memories swallowed, but whether it is the work of Zelophehad remains to be seen.” Her voice tripped over the terror demon’s name, and for a moment it seemed like the Fade stirred, as if it flinched.

Malcolm could agree with her assessment. There was no memory in the stone, no whispers telling him of secret knowledge. “I’m certain,” he suppressed a shiver. “Only felt like this once before. And the fact Isaac was taken doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”

The spirit pricked up at Isaac’s name. “I sense your connection to the boy. He is precious to you?”

Malcolm’s gut twisted. “Not to me,” he admitted. He suddenly wished he had made more of an effort to build a connection. The boy seemed lonely. He never seemed to hang out with anyone his own age, but clung to his teacher’s skirts.

“Ah,” Compassion cocked her head in sudden understanding. “The connection is to the one is Bound to your heart. My mistake.”

Malcolm suddenly felt uncomfortable, unsure what was relevant about this conversation, though to hear Leandra was Bound to his heart did strike a sense of joy in him. He could sense the Compassion spirit watching his reaction in interest and he decided it was time to change the subject.

“I can track Isaac,” Malcolm said, feeling the block that still was tucked in his physical hand. He pinched his fingers, feeling the ridges, and soon the little plastic red tile formed shining brightly. He let the tile go, letting it take life. It blinked in it’s yellow light, flitting around in a circle as if it was trying to get a sense of direction.

“Impressive,” Compassion nodded, “and so what do you need me for?”

Malcolm touched the tile and it spun, glowing like a star in the murky Fade. “To keep me alive.”

The tile floated like a wisp, droplets of light leaving after images of where it flew. It darted up the rocky path bouncing up and down as it waited for it’s master to follow. Malcolm sighed, dropping his shoulders as his feet crunched up the rocky steps.

The castle hills were craggy that slid down and threatened to plummet them into the chasm below. The walls of the castle crowded them against the cliff, as if they were reaching for Malcolm. Some of the steps crumbled beneath his feet, the rocks clattering down to the bottom and into the pit. The beacon stayed in sight flitting just out of reach leading Malcolm higher and higher until they reached a deserted courtyard. Ruined rubble filled the area, the grass dead brown and dry. Two beheaded statues guarded a dark murky portal that served as the castle’s door. The beacon floated between the crossed axes of the statues spinning in place before it sucked into the hazy rippling portal with a bloop.

Malcolm looked to Compassion. “Isaac’s inside but I don’t like the idea of just charging in blindly.”

Compassion looked between the cracks of one of the large walls that caged them in, her lips in a small thin line. “What are you suggesting?”

Malcolm thought for a second. He had never had to be so careful on a hunt before and he wanted to do this as stealthily as possible. “Can you coat me with your essence? I can hide my physical form but if the demon can track my aura it would be pointless.”

Compassion looked hesitant, even though the request seemed simple enough. “Your aura is so powerful I’m not sure mine will do much to mask it.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

She smiled. “I do,” she then opened her hand and in a flash of white light a staff of dark gnarled twisted wood with long purple thorn spikes appeared in her hand. “This is Thornheart. Use it in the coming battle.”

As Malcolm’s fingers wrapped around the shaft, his hair raised up in alarm. He had never felt so much power in his hand, and he suddenly felt stronger, faster, more alert. He balanced the staff, feeling the ridges of the bark beneath his fingers, an unsettled feeling sinking inside him. “Not sure if a branch is going to help me.”

“It is my soul in solid form. It is the greatest aid I can offer.”

Malcolm felt her power seeping into him, her foreignness feeling like a leather glove over his skin. The way the magic melded together made him slightly nauseous, like he had gorged on too many sweets. The energy gave him a buzzing feeling, and he felt like he needed to run a few laps to burn it off. He ignored that and waved the staff instead, trying to pull parts of the Fade into himself to help mask his presence. By the second turn of the staff he was completely invisible.

“I’m right behind you,” Compassion spoke in his direction though it offered no comfort.

Malcolm gritted his teeth as he looked at the portal, feeling that familiar darkness lurking within. The demon could have wiped Isaac out at any second, but Isaac was alive, being toyed with. And Malcolm felt responsible for putting him there. If the demon was smart enough to use the boy as bait, then this changed everything.

With a steadying breath, he steeled himself for the worst and stepped inside.

Suddenly he was in a mansion, grander than he had ever stepped in before. Kids' drawings filled the walls and toys were everywhere, servants surrounded them in a flurry as they brought down luggage from a grand staircase. A tall brown man with a silky mustache that connected to his beard and a wide nose was walking down the stairs as two screaming children held his legs, one a little girl with long brown hair and bright brown eyes, and the other boy he recognized as Isaac.

“Daddy please,” the little girl held onto his pants leg as if she was holding onto her life. “Daddy please don’t go.”

Isaac just kept repeating the same phrase over again like a mantra. “I’m sorry.”

The man practically kicked his children off. “Get off me! I’m not your father. Your mother’s a cheating whore.”

Malcolm clenched his fist, ready to clock the man, but moving in dreams was not like moving through life. Each part was played by a different demon, only Isaac the true player. Malcolm stepped closer to the family, waiting for his moment to strike.

The man headed for the door, Isaac dragging on his heels. “Daddy,” he sobbed, snot bubbling down his nose. “Daddy. I love you.”

The man recoiled as if he had been hit. He bared his teeth, “You are a thing. You don’t even work right. There is no way I am your father.”

That’s when Malcolm almost swung, but before Malcolm could, another demon came from one of the back rooms and started throwing clothes at the man. She was a plump woman with warm caramel skin and a long satin dress. “Get out!” she screamed. “Say no more words to my children and leave before you infect them with more poison.”

The man’s nostrils flared. “Gladly. Just don’t come running after me for coppers to feed these creatures.”

She huffed, angry tears in her eyes. “As if I ever needed your money.”

The man slammed the front door in Isaac’s face, almost smashing his fingers. “Daddy,” he said in a broken voice.

His mother scooped him up as he cried on her shoulder, Malcolm breathing a sigh of relief. Now he just needed to find a way to speak to Isaac to wake him up without alerting the rest of the demons. He tried to find where Compassion was in the nightmare but she had gone oddly silent ever since he stepped through.

The boy sobbed into his mother’s chest, the other little girl reached for her with outstretched hands as she joined in the family cry.

“I’m sorry, loves, I’m sorry,” Isaac’s mother wiped her children’s eyes. “We’re cursed. We’re a cursed family. This is all my fault.”

Malcolm tensed as Isaac renewed his wailing. 

The little girl stopped crying and said. “Mama, how do we break the curse?”

The woman smiled through her tears as she cupped the little girl’s face. “It’s simple. We die.”

Isaac took fistfuls of his mother's skirts. “Mama, no. Mama, no.”

The woman took hold of his chin with a razor smile. “Oh, my sweet child, I should have drowned you at birth. It would have saved you so much suffering.”

That’s when Malcolm finally revealed himself, slicing the demon’s hand with a wave of his staff. He grabbed Isaac, and leapt to the top of the staircase, the boy struggling every step.

“Mama!” A frightened Isaac elbowed Malcolm in the face. 

Malcolm gave him some more room but didn’t let him go. 

“That’s not your mother, look at her more closely,” he struggled to keep the boy still. He was surprisingly strong for his small size.

The boy reached out for his Mother, her arm not bleeding as much as it should. Her teeth and eyes looked sharper but it didn’t seem to matter to Isaac. He couldn’t see past his nightmare.

The woman waved with her unhurt hand. “Isaac. Mama’s leaving now. And she’s never ever coming back.”

“No, that’s not your mom. Your Mom is waiting for you to wake up, little dude,” Malcolm forced the boy to face him but Isaac's eyes couldn’t leave his mother.

Isaac’s Mother grabbed his sister’s hand and with a sly smile turned her hand on the doorknob. And then Malcolm realized his mistake. He had forgotten to protect the portal.

As soon as the woman opened the door every corner of the room filled with blackness, the only slits of light now emanating from the goat's eyes splitting from the darkness. The servants and Isaac’s family started to warp as the nightmare changed into more sinister shadow forms. Isaac’s outstretched hand lay frozen as the face of his mother morphed into Compassion.

Except now Malcolm could finally see that it wasn’t Compassion at all. The demon was wearing Compassion’s face, but her skin was now too purple, her eyes darkening to a malevolent shade of violet glowing like embers. 

A desire demon. Her brown hair started to float as it mimicked the fire that should be on her head. 

Malcolm instinctively reached for his weapon but the staff wrapped around his wrists, thorns snaking into his arms and into his torso. Malcolm let Isaac go before the thorns could wrap around him, too. 

Malcolm tried to speak, tried to tell Isaac to wake up, but only blood coughed out of his mouth.

“Mama?” Isaac cowered from the figure in confusion, his eyes and heart seeming to wrestle with what was happening.

The Desire demon outstretched both arms, her hand regrown into thorn-like points, her robes turning into flowing strands of silk. “Bound and offered, Master, as you commanded. I told you my plan would work.”

The goat eyes swirled in amusement as another figure loomed in the portal forming in the tendrils. “So you said, Avarice. I am most impressed.”

Malcolm’s spine chilled, trying to move, but the more he struggled the more it hurt. He could feel something stabbing his heart, keeping him from speaking, but even if he could his words would be stolen from him. The voice the demon took raised all of Malcolm’s hair on end and he withheld a tremble as his father stood before him.

The elf was all lean muscle, his fists scarred and fingers broken from fistfights and punching walls. Malcolm forgot how much he looked like his father, the same nose, the same shaggy curls, the same smattering of freckles, even his eyes were the same shade of gold except instead of regular pupils they were square like a goat. They blinked eerily, the corner of his eyes and lips wrinkled into sharp lines.

 Malcolm knew he made a mistake but he was so focused on Zelophehad he had never considered the demon would team up with another to trick him, never considered that the demon would successfully dig out the thing in his psyche that would freeze him in place. He watched helplessly as the Desire demon sauntered up the steps towards Isaac, holding her arms out in a welcoming hug.

“Come to Mama.”

Isaac stood his ground, trembling in fear. “Y-you’re…not…” The boy couldn’t finish his sentence. He stood instinctively near Malcolm, even though there was nothing Malcolm could do to protect him at this point.

Malcolm tried to push through the pain, his panic riding against him in an oncoming wave, but couldn’t let himself be overcome. He saw only one option, and he started to subtly weave threads from the tips of his fingers towards Isaac.

The demon was coming closer, faster, it was hard to focus on weaving the magic with the fear eating at his nerves.

“Your mama’s never coming back. But I can be your mama. I promise I’ll never abandon you, child.”

Malcolm panicked as the demon closed in, about to grab Isaac but before she could Zelophehad blinked beside the demon and grabbed her wrist. He raised a thick eyebrow, his sneer almost a smile. “And what are you doing with my snack?”

The Desire demon looked too terrified to fight, but the confusion on her face was apparent. “M-master, I thought this was what was agreed?”

WIth a flick of Zelophehad’s wrist, he broke the demoness’ wrist and she howled in pain staggering back. “I agreed to let you have my scraps, but if you’re so impatient you’re welcome to be included on the menu.”

The demoness looked conflicted. The anger was apparent on her face. “This is how you repay my service? You will reap what you sow.”

Then she blinked away from sight leaving Malcolm alone with his terror demon.

Malcolm had forgotten how overpowering the demon’s presence was, blanking out thought. 

Isaac shuffled towards Malcolm grabbing his hand in fright, and Malcolm squeezed back, trying to offer what comfort he could.

“So shall I eat the boy first?” the demon circled them lazily, slouching with confident ease. Tendrils of dark tentacles circled around his legs and snaked up his arms reaching out to taste the fear on Malcolm’s bound body. “Or will you chivalrously go first?”

Every movement still shredded him, but he found with Avarice gone, her magic was no longer overpowering and he could force himself to speak. “Real cocky considering you made your servant do your dirty work.”

“And why not?” Zelophehad said with a gleeful smile. “Is it not what they are for?”

Malcolm scoffed, though that made a thorn stab deeper into his ribs. He held onto Isaac’s hand his Fade strings wrapping around his balled fist. He saw only one way out of this. “You haven’t won, yet.”

“Good,” the demon grinned. “I like a meal that has fight. Let’s see how brave you are after I eat your charge.” Then the tendrils wrapped around Isaac pulling him towards the demon.

Isaac screamed, squeezing onto Malcolm’s hand, and Malcolm pulled, wrapping the rest of the Fade strings firmly around Isaac. 

Malcolm closed his eyes, diving into the depths of his psyche and pulling Isaac along with him. He felt the pain intensify as Zelophehad tried to rip Isaac away from him, but Malcolm pulled them safely both into the safety of his mind.

Their spirits tumbled as the Fade tried to give form to their consciousness, Isaac and Malcolm’s memories melding together in projections in every corner he saw, the overlapping memories serving as the Fade’s usual hum. Malcolm could feel the terror demon ripping off the walls of his defenses, following him inside. He was at his most powerful since it was his mind therefore his dream, but he was also cornered, trapped. If the terror demon managed to overwhelm him here, he had no more tricks to pull, no hidden hole to dive in.

Malcolm wouldn’t have done this if he had another choice.

He needed to become conscious, take control of the dream, find Isaac and wake them both back to safety, but that was easier said than done. The Fade had not become so much as moldable clay but a projection of thoughts and wants sprung to life with just a breath. Any stray thought, no matter how tiny, could derail everything.

It took all of Malcolm’s energy to focus in the dream fog, like a dulling drug to his senses muting his thoughts. Isaac. He needed to find Isaac. He repeated the name in his head, not allowing any other thoughts to surface. He suddenly recalled something Leandra said after gifting him the rosary, which was like a warm tether on his neck. Without another thought he tore off parts of the Fade and reshaped them into brightly colored blocks.

And started building a simple wall. He clicked the pieces together, slowly building as he started to recite what he could remember from the book Leandra brought.

“In this big wide world,

We all have a place

Every bee needs it’s rose,

Every rose needs it’s vase.”

Soon the walls formed into a house where he left room for a couple windows and an opening for the door. The shadows of Isaac’s memories strengthened with each stack of the block, as Malcolm led his spirit back to him.

“But where do the broken and stinky things go?

When the pen in the ink refuses to flow

Do we keep all the clutter? Does anyone know?”

“Yes,” a small voice finally answered him, “it goes in Mr. Dumpdump’s tow.”

He looked up from his work to see that Isaac had joined him, taking the blocks in his hands with focused effort as he started crafting his build.

“Hey, little dude,” Malcolm sighed in relief. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

But Isaac wasn’t listening to Malcolm. His eyes never left his hands as he built up the walls of his structure with impressive speed, all while reciting the book like a mantra.

“He takes what is bad

So things can be good

Isn’t he the best neighbor

In the whole neighborhood?”

The Fade churned as the walls of the dream struggled to take shape in the competing mindscapes of Isaac and Malcolm, the familiar Circle the only common ground for the Fade to form in. Malcolm could tell Isaac was paler than usual, his eyes seemingly blank as if he was far away and not at all aware what his hands were doing. The Fade was practically responding to his creative urges forming walls around him, as if he was trying to block himself in.

Malcolm crept up to Isaac, his fingers reaching out hesitantly. “I’m going to wake you up, now, but I need you to trust me.”

“How can you trust him?” Revka’s disembodied voice rang shrilly across the Fade. Suddenly Revka was there dressed in fitted royal purple silk, her brown hair loose around her shoulders. She outstretched a pointed nail at Isaac, her pupils too square to be human but everything else was a remarkable likeness. Yet Isaac was frozen, staring at the image of his Mother with a tremble as he fumbled with his blocks. “Come to Mama, Isaac. Let me in.”

Malcolm stepped closer, imploring Isaac to listen. “She’s not real. Your real Mom is waiting for you to wake up.”

The demon smirked with a sharp toothed smile. “I’m your Mama. This elf is the one who is not real. Why would he help you?”

Isaac blinked at Malcolm, his eyes suddenly filled with distrust.

Malcolm held up his hands showing open palms forming no spells. “This is a bad dream, Isaac. You can end it now if you wake up.” 

“If you wish hard enough you could have more than just this little reality,” Revka’s laugh tittered as the Fade started to shape into what Malcolm could only guess was some twisted form of Isaac’s old bedroom. The building blocks seemed to take a life of their own building into the sides of the room. Kids drawings filled the walls and books filled dragon shaped shelves. Revka sat down on Isaac’s bed, her fingers beckoning him to come closer. 

Isaac’s eyes filled with tears. “I-I can’t.”

Malcolm dared to take one step closer to Isaac. “Let me help you wake up.”

The Nightmare growled, the room distorting color. “He wants to kill you. Don’t let him get close!”

Isaac froze, as if he didn’t consider that and backed away from Malcolm. When Malcolm took another step closer Isaac took another step back closer to the Nightmare. 

Malcolm gritted his teeth, wondering what he could do to prove to Isaac that he was really him and not some twisted imitation. He needed to prove to Isaac he was real, but he didn’t know how.

And then it hit him and Malcolm took a deep breath and belted out the loudest most obnoxious “HOOOOOOOONK!” he could manage. 

The Nightmare blinked in confusion as the boy broke down in a fit of surprised giggles.

Malcolm joined in the carefree laughter, ignoring the glaring Nightmare demon and said, “Hey, don’t leave me hanging. Your turn.”

The boy didn’t hesitate, he threw back his head and screamed, “HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!” in a louder, more obnoxious way that only a 9 year old could manage. 

The Nightmare’s forces seemed to be shrinking in the laughter and the demon scowled. “How undisciplined. I guess it’s time to punish you until you listen.”

Then the Nightmare leapt, his claws forming into long scythe-like points as he raked for Isaac.

Malcolm twisted the Fade around the Nightmare and turned into a crushing prison, paralyzing the demon for a moment but he wasn’t sure with its strength how long it would hold.

He turned back towards Isaac who was now huddling behind his constructed wall, his head in his knees and his hands over his ears. 

Malcolm crept beside him. “Little dude,” he said in a hurried voice. “You need to wake up now.” 

“I c-can’t,” he sobbed into his knees, holding fistfuls of his hair.

The demon howled in pain, causing Isaac to tremble. 

Malcolm reacted with haste touching his forefingers to each side of Isaac’s temples, pouring his magic into him. 

Isaac popped up socking Malcolm in the jaw as he gasped in shock. 

The jab hurt but Malcolm held firm and Isaac’s next fist went through Malcolm as he faded back into the waking realm where he was safe from the Nightmare’s grasp. 

Suddenly a claw wrapped around his neck, digging into his skin but no sooner did the Nightmare grab hold did he fling his hand back like he was burnt. 

Malcolm looked down to find the rosary around his neck glowing in what he could only describe as a heavenly light. 

Warm trickles of blood seeped down Malcolm’s neck and when he touched the cord it grew hot. A strange and unfamiliar sensation ran through him. 

Malcolm wasn’t sure what happened. That was no spell he weaved and yet the demon seemed to eye his rosary with a wariness that he didn’t reserve for the man himself.

The Nightmare’s face contorted, its shape shifting into several darkspawn like forms before it settled onto the face of Malcolm’s father, but Malcolm was a bit more ready for it this time. Still the sight of the man before him made him take an uneasy step back, his nerves instinctively screaming at him to wake up from this nightmare. 

“Are you going to face me like a man or run like a rabbit?” 

Malcolm clenched his fists, the slur even from a demon like a punch to the gut. Still, he knew when he was being baited. “Yeah real manly going after a child. You really do take after my father.”  Part of him wanted to throw every spell he knew at his disposal. It was his dream, but he was facing the Nightmare. He knew it was smarter to run.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” the demon examined his burn in disinterest, a casual smirk on his lips. “But I have to say if you don’t get rid of me now, I only plan to become a bigger problem.” He tapped a finger on his lip. “Shall I try to eat Charlie next? Taylor?”  

Malcolm’s heart froze in his chest as the Nightmare’s golden goat eyes seized him in place with the next name that fell from his smirking lips. 

“Leandra has been looking awfully delicious,” the Nightmare fell back to the rosary neck and gestured to his burned hand imprinted with its beads. “Shall I pay her a visit now that you’ve generously supplied her essence?”

Malcolm saw red, sending crackling energy at the demon but it disappeared in a blink and his lightning bolt hit a wall of colorful blocks scattering them. 

The demon suddenly appeared behind him delivering a stunning blow to the back of Malcolm’s head. 

He saw stars as he struggled to reorient himself. He sent a clumsy fireball at the demon’s direction, but even if the demon didn’t teleport out of reach again the ball would’ve barely grazed the demon. 

Malcolm was ready for the Nightmare to be in his blindside again, and moved to dodge, but his foot was caught. He looked down to see that a tentacled hand had wrapped around his ankle from the floor and prevented him from missing the crushing blow to his nose that made his eyes water.

Blood spattered from his face, streaming down his nose so he couldn’t breathe. It felt broken. Jostled, he picked himself up enough only for a blow to the chest that knocked the wind out of him. 

This went on for a while, Malcolm barely keeping his footing as he absorbed blow after blow that he was too slow to react from, each spell dying in his hand before he could fling it. He was unsure why the demon chose to use his fists over something more lethal like magic or claws or anything, but Malcolm realized that even with those goat eyes when he was staring at that face the punches hurt more, his reflexes were more hesitant, and that familiar taunting laugh tripped him off balance. 

This didn’t feel so much of a fight as a beating.

“What’s the matter, boy?” The demon punched Malcolm in the stomach, avoiding the rosary by inches. There was an unexpected weight behind each punch but this one felt like being hit by a freight train and Malcolm keeled over, almost throwing up blood. “Weren’t you supposed to be teaching me a lesson?” 

The demon then knelt beside Malcolm's crumpled form and caressed his curls fondly, which made Malcolm shiver as distant memories were quickly brought to the surface. “I’m going to take everything you love sooner or later. You have two choices, the painful way, or the less painful way. It’s up to you.”

Malcolm tried to flee, to wake himself up, but all he could do more was cough and gasp as he tried to breathe through his pain, the memories of his childhood terror so fresh, he was trembling. His voice was caught in a web he couldn’t get out of. All he could do is touch the rosary around his neck, praying for the help that burned the demon before.

The Nightmare seemed to sense this so he sighed, grabbing fistfuls of Malcolm’s curls. “The painful way, then.”

One punch shattered his nose. 

“Even if Leandra loves you, she’ll always love her status more.” Malcolm struggled to breathe as another punch knocked out a tooth. “They’ll laugh at your children.” Another punch dislocated his jaw. “What kind of a father will you be anyways?” By the fourth punch he was losing consciousness, and he struggled to grasp for his body in the waking world before it was too late. Suddenly the Nightmare stopped and took in a heavy annoyed sigh.

“You are intruding, little spirit.”

Malcolm’s spotty vision noticed a blinding glow in the darkness in the room. He raised his head to see Compassion, the real Compassion shining brilliantly, a rainbow crystal staff wielded in her hands. 

“Have you not feasted enough, Zelophehad? Is your hunger so great you must swallow everything in your path?”

The demon smirked malevolently, his bloody knuckles cracking as he clenched his fist. “My gluttony is boundless. My wrath is unquenchable. My greed unsatiable. A little compassion will do nothing to stop me.”

Compassion stood vigilantly, unshaken, her staff brightening with indescribable colors from the carved crystals. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

She met Malcolm’s gaze, his head trapped in Zelophehad’s fist, her azure fire eyes burning. “Somniari, trust me,” And then Compassion turned the crystals to the ground, and poured light that made the floor glitter like diamonds. 

“Awaken again, my friends,” Compassion poured more healing magic into the Fade, the air brightening to a more normal greenish hue.

The demon hissed, dropping Malcolm to cut off Compassion. 

Malcolm hit the floor with a thud, breathing in the magic, that seemed to soothe his aching, broken body. Suddenly, the Fade was no longer silent, a rush of hurried frightened whispers of the particles of the Fade woke up and filled up Malcolm’s thoughts with indecipherable chatter.

“Shut up!” Zelophehad bellowed as he dove for Compassion, his claws coming out to scythe-like points but she blinked out of sight and then beside Malcolm. 

She knelt down and touched him with her iridescent hand. 

The magic was almost instant. In one breath, everything ached, like shards of bone were digging into his gut, his eye was swollen shut, his nose too mangled to breathe through, and then in the next moment it was like coming up from a cool pond. There was an uncomfortable sensation of bones knitting back into place, as a cooling healing touch soothed his burning skin. In a few moments he could move more normally again, his vision clear, his mind alert.

Zelophehad growled holding up his hand and a beam of concentrated dark light shot towards Compassion. Malcolm, still grounded, threw up a barrier without thinking, and Compassion did the same. The double barriers cracked but held but the force still blew them back. Zelophehad kept the assault, making the beam bigger, the energy arcing wildly.

“Wake up!” Compassion ordered.

Malcolm balked, his energy being drained by trying to keep the barrier reinforced. “Don’t you need help?”

“You’re in the way,” she sneered, which was like a slap in the face to Malcolm. Still, as much as that stung he couldn’t argue that he pretty much had his ass handed to him that fight.

“Fine,” he scoffed, pulling back the magic, and reaching for his body back in the waking world. As he did, the barrier started to crack, light showing through. 

Malcolm hesitated, pouring more magic into the barrier. 

“I have this handled. Flee, you fool!” Compassion hissed, the crystals of her staff quivering in effort. Suddenly the Fade air shimmered around Compassion, sealing the cracks in her barrier as soon as they formed.

Malcolm wasn’t sure what Compassion’s plan was, but it was clear she knew more about what she was doing than Malcolm did, so he pulled back his magic completely, and concentrated on reaching his body. It was quicker with the lyrium in his system. He could feel the buzz of it speed up his magic in a way he didn’t think possible so that instead of falling he felt like he was flying back. He was unsure what magic Leandra had given him, but all he knew was that she saved him. 

Red light finally filtered through his eyes, and he opened them quickly to find blood all over his face and robes and every templar pointing a gun at him. Even Carver.

Malcolm gulped nervously, his limbs still bound to the gurney. He found himself struggling not to panic at the sight of his friend holding a barrel at him. “I’m not possessed.”

Carver lowered his gun slightly, but there was a hesitancy to it. “I’m sorry Malcolm, but we’re going to need a test.”

Malcolm’s gut dropped. He had forgotten that Carver was still a templar though it would be harder to forget in this moment. He gave a nervous, bloody grin and said. “Yeah, dude, whatever you need.”

Carver walked up to the barrier and turned to the Senior Enchanter and said, “lower it.” 

Enchanter Karena nodded and with a wave of her staff the red barriers around Malcolm and Isaac came down. 

Carver looked over at Isaac who was strapped to his own bed with a frightened look on his face. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Carver said in the most soothing voice as he could manage, though it was hard to believe with his gun strapped to his side. 

He took out a device that looked like a small tablet and scanned Isaac’s head. Isaac squirmed to the side as the device beeped and fed Carver information. It was supposed to be the templar’s foolproof way of thwarting possession, looking for extra brain waves or unusual activity. Though sometimes mages that looked completely fine were sometimes pulled because of weird readings so it never failed to make Malcolm nervous. 

Though whatever was on the screen seemed to satisfy Carver. He started unbinding the straps, turning to the Senior Enchanter and said, “get this boy into the infirmary. He’s very weak.” 

She nodded and hurried to Isaac, unbinding him fully so he could stretch out his arms and legs. He sat up reluctantly, helped by the Enchantress, who proceeded to cover him with a blanket to help with his shiver. 

Carver approached Malcolm with the scanner, and ran it over his head. 

Malcolm could hear the device whirring and beeping. This wasn’t the first time he’d been scanned but it never failed to heighten his nerves.

Carver’s voice was a whisper as he eyed the drying blood on Malcolm’s face. “Are you alright?”

To be honest Malcolm wasn’t sure. His body didn’t ache anymore, but the pain was like a ghost haunting him, his father’s cruel mocking laugh still ringing in his ears. He wondered for a second if Compassion made it out alright, or if he had gotten her killed. He might have gotten Isaac safely back, but this felt like a defeat. 

“I just need to see Leandra,” his voice was almost begging. He wasn’t even sure if it was protocol, but he just needed a moment, so it all could mean something. He wasn’t sure if he would last if he didn’t end the day at least seeing her face.

Carver started unstrapping his ties as the templars lowered their guns hesitantly, looking at each other in disappointment. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

---

Revka’s sobs filled the chapel as she squeezed Leandra’s hand in a vice-like grip. She had taken the first plane back to Kirkwall and had stormed the Circle, along with Guillaume, Mara and Gamlen who had generously picked her up from the airport. (Well Mara and Gamlen were supposed to, but Guillaume insisted on coming to show support to Leandra.)

Now the five of them were huddled in a group prayer as they begged the Maker for Malcolm to succeed. 

The nuns were all very accommodating, reciting the proper Chants with them, and invoking protections on Isaac and Malcolm from afar, though Leandra felt so powerless she felt like she was only doing it to keep her and Revka sane. Because they had to do something to make the time pass. 

When asked about the rosary during prayer, because Leandra always prayed with her rosary, she evasively said she lost it and hoped it would never come up again. She was surprised when Gamlen scolded her, because he wasn’t particularly religious. Still, she knew what he would think if she told him the truth.

“It’s my fault,” Revka sobbed, breaking from the Chant as she crumpled in exhaustion. The others broke off from the Chant, looking away to give Revka the privacy of a breakdown. Even Gamlen didn’t have anything smart to say for once.

“No,’ Leandra squeezed her hand. “You can’t think that.”

The tears streamed from her eyes as she shook her head. “What kind of Mother is not there for her children? Colette’s all alone at home. I had to abandon Anna during our visit and now Isaac...is lost.”

Leandra pulled Revka in for a hug unsure of what other comfort to offer. “Have faith in the Maker, Revka. He will deliver Isaac.” 

‘And Malcolm,’ she added silently. She didn’t dare say his name aloud while Guillaume was by her side.

Suddenly the doors to the chapel pulled open and all of them turned to see who disturbed them. Carver and the Knight Commander stepped through, side by side, Leandra deflated, thinking that they were by themselves when Malcolm finally lagged behind, a noticeable sag to his shoulders and a sluggishness to his steps. 

Revka stood up and pushed her way forward towards the Knight Commander. “Isaac. He is safe?” It was a command rather than a question.

“He is, my lady, you can rest easy,” Carver bowed his head with a warm smile on his lips. 

Revka’s eyes then overflowed with tears. “Thank the Maker. And thank you Commander.”

The Knight Commander preened at the gratitude. “Only doing our part.”

Revka’s hands flew to her eyes as she hastily wiped them. “Can I see him? Just for a moment.”

Carver looked imploringly at the Knight Commander who seemed uncomfortable with the idea. “It would do wonders for Isaac’s recovery.”

Leandra stepped up beside Revka glaring at the Knight Commander, joined by Guillaume and Mara. The Knight-Commander’s eyes passed over them, seemingly wanting to avoid a fight, and turned to Carver and said. “Yes, yes give her five minutes and then they all need to leave.” 

Revka looked overwhelmed with relief and eagerly held out her arm to be escorted.

Only for Carver to be distracted by the fact Mara was there. Their gazes seemed to catch, her face going red as she avoided his shocked stare. He seemed frozen, as if he had not expected Mara to be there at all, and he didn’t notice he was staring until Gamlen put a possessive arm around her. 

“Captain?” Revka asked impatiently.

Carver shook his head as if he was breaking from a daze and said, “Sorry, my lady. This way.” And then he took her arm and started leading her out of the chapel. 

The Knight Commander then stared at the rest of the group as if they were ruining his day. “Your mage wishes to return your trinket.”

Leandra bristled at the phrasing the Commander used and she found herself arguing. “It was a gift.”

Malcolm bowed deeply to Leandra, the rosary draping from his fingers. “My lady, the protection magic on this saved my life, and for that I thank you, but I would rest easier knowing it's guarding its true owner.” 

Gamlen looked outraged seeing the rosary in Malcolm’s fingertips. “A gift? I thought you said you lost it? Leandra what were you thinking?” 

Leandra opened her mouth to argue when Guillaume put a warm hand on her waist and said, “My lady only ever has the purest intentions, Lord Amell. Do forgive her.”

Gamlen barked out a laugh as he eyed Malcolm, a shit eating grin as he muttered “Poor schmuck,” under his breath. 

Mara elbowed him in the stomach with warning eyes to be quiet. 

Leandra stiffened at Malcolm’s sudden glare, not able to voice what she was thinking and took the rosary back feeling conflicted and partly rejected. Their fingers brushed as the necklace exchanged hands, the feeling like a shock to her heart. She wanted to insist he keep it, but she knew that it would be inappropriate and rude so she bit her lip and examined the beads, noticing some new stains on the metal. She gasped. “Is this your blood?” 

Malcolm looked sheepish. “Sorry, I thought I cleaned that better.” 

The Knight Commander put a warning squeeze on Malcolm’s shoulder as he pulled him back from Leandra and changed to the real subject he wanted to talk about. “As you can see Malcolm is the finest mage we have to offer.”

Guillaume put a finger on his chin. “Yes, ser, I quite agree,” he said. He offered his free hand in a friendly shake. “You are quite talented, serah. This means everything to Leandra. I can’t thank you enough.”

Malcolm gritted his teeth staring at the hand as if it stunk, but one glance at the Knight Commander had him schooling his face and he took the hand politely. “Anything for my lady,” he said while looking straight into Leandra’s eyes as he gave Guillaume the firmest shake he could manage.

“And a man’s handshake at that. I’m very impressed,” Guillaume beamed amusedly.

It took everything Malcolm had not to snort. He wiped his hand on the side of his robes feeling vindictive and petty. To see Guillaume’s hand so casually on Leandra’s waist was like sitting down for a good meal only to find a dead fly in it.  

The Knight Commander gave Malcolm’s shoulder another squeeze. “We look forward to your renewed bids on Hawke’s services. We assure you we’re training him daily and instilling the best manners and education so he can best attend to your needs.” 

The Knight Commander's words made that two dead flies. 

Malcolm looked at Guillaume, a tall handsome man with everything and the world, who could hold Leandra’s hand in a crowd and kiss her openly in the sunlight, or the moonlight, and everything in between. He found himself trembling as he tried not to scream or cry or punch the man senseless. 

Guillaume pulled Leandra closer and took one of her hands as he stared seriously into her eyes. 

Leandra shied away from him but didn’t stop the embrace from happening which was like a dagger in Malcolm’s heart. 

“Ma cherie, after everything that's happened with Isaac I wouldn’t dare put us at odds any longer.”

Leandra couldn’t meet Guillaume’s gaze, her eyes pulled unwillingly to Malcolm who was not looking at them at all. “Guillaume, I don’t know what you mean.”

Guillaume patted her hand. “I’m withdrawing my family’s bid for Ser Hawke. If there is truly a curse, then I shall not have you unprotected.” 

Leandra didn’t know what to say so she went with a diplomatic, “That’s very generous, Guillaume.” 

“Not at all,” he said, kissing her cheek, his mouth lingering near her face as he said, “Besides we’ll be husband and wife soon, so chances are he’ll be serving us both in time.”

And that’s when Malcolm turned to the Knight-Commander and said, “I think I should go check in on Isaac, yes?”

The Knight Commander seemed surprised but pleased by Malcolm’s initiative and said, “Do that. I will escort everyone else out.”  

Leandra immediately launched after him as he stormed away, forgetting anyone else was there. “Malcolm!” she cried out. 

He turned to meet her, stopping her with a glare and she went red, realizing that Gamlen was smirking at her as he raised an eyebrow about how she would play this. 

“Leandra, is something wrong?” Guillaume stared in confusion, a hand touching hers imploring her to spill her troubles.

But her attention was on Malcolm. She bit her lip as Malcolm watched her along with everyone else and unsure what she was doing she stuck out her hand like Guillaume did. “I’m truly indebted to you. I won’t forget my whole life, what you did for me.” 

Malcolm’s face softened into a smile, truly the only thanks he was actually looking for, and he couldn’t help but take her hand since it looked so warm and inviting, “And I’d do it again,” he said as he brought her hand to his mouth and put a chaste kiss on her knuckle. 

It was proper, but so very intimate that her face flooded with warmth, her breath caught in her throat.

"Serah Hawke,” The Knight-Commander barked strictly, causing the both of them to jump. 

Malcolm cleared his throat and left without a word, the Knight-Commander glaring daggers into his back. 

---

Every goat eye searched the whole surface of the Fade, but it seemed that the Compassion spirit had indeed escaped his labyrinth. How she managed to get in, he did not know. Everything in this realm was supposed to be loyal to him. If there were whispers of her coming he should have known about it.

And yet the Fade protected her. Hid her. His own minions of his realm would not raise a hand to fight her. 

What was she to them?

And why was it so hard to kill one measly Compassion spirit? They had hardly any offensive powers. They spent their days healing the sick, not taking on embodiments of darkness. Still if the Somniari Bonded with her, it would prevent his Bonding to take place. The Spirit would have to die first.

An eye alerted him that it found something and he teleported to a wing of the palace that he had forgotten about but seemed to have been altered. Drapes of fabric held from the ceiling and it seemed like collected human artifacts like statues and goblets filled with gold and shiny jewels was scattered through the room. In the middle was a bed draped in silks, the roof overhead broken so the moon shone on Avarice in a masculine form, wearing nothing at all. Her chiseled muscles were relaxed in the plush bed as she stared at Zelophehad with a smirk on her face.

“So he got away.”

Zelophehad almost killed the demoness out of pride but his need for her kept him from lashing out. “There was an intruder. Why did you not take care of it?”

The demoness’ long fiery purple hair danced on her head lazily, “I thought you didn’t need me.” 

The taunting jab made Zelophehad punch a decayed wall. A new crack ran up it all the way to the ceiling. “I can always find a smarter demon.”

That only made her smirk widen. “I delivered the Somniari gagged and bound, as ordered. I could have had him for myself, Master, but I only spared him because of my loyalty to you.”

Zelophehad sneered, his ugly mouth a mess of gnarled teeth. “That Compassion spirit will regret toying with me. I’ll burn every ounce of Compassion until there is none left in this world.” 

The demoness chewed on her cheek, her violet pupiless eyes not masking disappointment. “You could do that, or….”

“Or…” the Nightmare echoed impatiently.

The demoness perched herself up on a pillow. “We approach a mortal and make a strike in the waking world.”

Zelophehad cocked his head at the idea, a malevolent smile spreading on his inky lips. “I know just the one.” 

Chapter Text

Leandra thought going to Revka’s would give her a little peace before she went home to face her parents. What she didn’t count on was Guillaume gallantly insisting he come along to attend to anything she and Revka needed. What Leandra needed was space, time to be thankful of the miracle Malcolm pulled and some quality time with her remaining niece, but when Guillaume cleared his usually busy schedule for Isaac’s exorcism she couldn’t refuse him.

Colette was thrilled to have company. Guillaume was generous enough to keep Colette entertained while Leandra attended to Revka. Her aunt was still shellshocked from the whole affair, covering up her nervous breakdown in prayer. Every time Colette looked her way, Revka tried to force a smile, but she was too worn out to put any real effort into it and so Colette hovered near her mom, sensing something was wrong. 

Leandra tried her best to stay in the moment with her family but all throughout the evening she couldn’t help but check her phone for any sign of Malcolm, but he hadn’t said a word. It should be his day off from classes and though she told herself she had no idea how grievous Isaac’s condition was or how exhausted Malcolm must be, it wasn’t like him to leave her on read. Every time her phone chirped it was a mad dash to see his reply, but the only responses were the usual check-ins from Mara and a rather ominous text from her Mother saying they needed to discuss matters of the estate. 

She knew that the discussion with her Mother was most likely the unforeseen consequences of asking for Malcolm’s aid in the Circle, an unavoidable cost, and yet she dreaded what price would be asked of her. She hoped she could pay it. 

Dinner was mostly peaceful, but then Revka grew tired early, without even touching her meal and asked Leandra and Guillaume if it was ok if they put Colette to bed so she could get some rest.

Guillaume was delighted at the opportunity. “It will give us good practice for when we have our own young ones.”

Leandra choked on her steak, and Colette being the little devil she was couldn’t help but make kissy noises as Leandra went red.

It was clear that Guillaume was a total pushover when it came to children. He read Colette five stories and let her initiate three different tickle fights, which were not exactly helpful since he was winding her up rather than settling her down, but eventually Leandra corralled Colette under the covers and turned off the light. Though whether that light would stay off and Colette tucked in was another matter.

On the ride home Guillaume chattered mindlessly to fill the silence. 

Leandra found so much anger unburied today it took everything in her not to break down in tears as she struggled to keep up with the conversation. She couldn’t believe that it was legal for her niece and nephews and Malcolm to be trapped in that horrible place, couldn’t fathom why candy or toys could be considered contraband, couldn’t stomach the thought of how close Isaac came to dying. She was so scared Colette would have magic and this whole cruel cycle would start anew. 

She was a good Andrastrian that was taught the good should be rewarded and the wicked punished, but there was no question Malcolm was a hero today, and yet he would not be seen as one. Because he was born with magic? Something the Maker himself created. 

That didn’t make sense to her, and the arguments about him being too dangerous made no sense either. If a man could be condemned for what he might do and not what he has done then what could he do to prove himself innocent? 

She fiddled with the returned rosary around her neck, mindlessly fearing that he gave it back because he lost interest and found a prettier girl closer at the Circle. She checked her phone once again for Malcolm, but still no answer and now that dusk had fallen she knew that something was wrong.

“Checking your phone a lot,” Guillaume mused as he eyed her screen over her shoulder. “Someone I should be jealous of?”

Leandra instinctively hid her screen, not wanting him to see the title ‘Dream Guy’ because she could not survive that line of questioning. “Of course not,” the lie tumbled easily enough from her lips, though suddenly she felt shaky with nerves.
“I’m just teasing,” he said, though his tone seemed to indicate he wasn’t. Was Guillaume suspicious of Malcolm? Leandra thought how he couldn’t be, there was no way, and yet there was a distinctive jilt in his voice, a hurt he was masking. 

“It’s been a long day,” he sighed, his long wavy red hair shocking against the dark interior of his town car. He looked at her with those amber eyes, warm like Malcolm’s, and yet they didn’t set her aflame. And she realized at this moment she no longer wanted them to. “Are you alright?”

No, she wasn’t alright, because she didn’t want to talk to him, she wanted Malcolm. And she almost caught herself confessing that.

But when the words came up her throat they got caught. Isaac almost died. To confess to cheating seemed like too much to put in one day and she said, “I’m just tired.”

“Of course,” Guillaume took her hand and squeezed fondly. “You should know I already called the Opera House and they’ve given you the next few days off for rehearsal so you can focus on taking care of yourself and pray.”

“Guillaume!” Leandra cried a little too harshly, taking back her hands.

“What?” Guillaume’s shoulders went back in confusion. “What did I do wrong?”

Leandra held in her snappiness, though the fact he had rearranged her schedule like she was a child did remind her a little too much like her parents. “I was actually looking forward to using rehearsal time to forget about…” she gestured around herself, “all of this. And we’re rehearsing a very difficult part. I don’t want to get behind and let everybody down.”

Guillaume bowed his head in shame, as if he didn’t think of that. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.” He rubbed her shoulders trying to ease them back down though it was not doing the trick. “But you’re so tense, ma cherie. You could never let anyone down. You should take this opportunity to rest. It would do you some good.”

“I can manage my affairs,” Leandra snapped, stopping the shoulder rub and handing his hands back forcefully before she realized what she was doing. Thankfully they had pulled up to her estate and the conversation was now over.

Still, Leandra realized she was still leading him on with false assumptions and most of her irritation with him was guilt. “I’m sorry,” she said placatively. “You’re only thinking about what’s best for me.”

Guillaume smiled with less ease than before. “You have nothing to be sorry for, ma cherie. I promise I won’t push anymore.”

She smiled back thinly. “Thank you.”

The windows in the house were still lit up, and Leandra deflated realizing her parents were still up. She gave Guillaume a quick hug goodbye, allowing a small peck on her cheek before she escaped the car. Her smile dropped as soon as her back turned. Her shoulders slumped as she climbed up the porch, finding that the door had been left unlocked for her. She entered the foyer to find both of her parents waiting for her in their usual chairs by the fireplace, each catching up on late work. 

Leandra’s shoulders raised again, prepared for another battle. 

“Leandra,” her father said warmly. “How was Aunt Revka’s?” 

Her Father always the politician broke the ice with an innocent enough question. Still Leandra knew better. “Fine,” she said, choosing a careful short answer as she walked into the room fully and stood before them, adjusting her posture. "We had a lovely dinner."

Her mother swirled her wine glass as her razor smile returned, the warmth of the fireplace dancing between the fine wrinkles of her brown skin. “I am very impressed with your initiative to take on the cost of Mara’s salary. You’re absolutely right that you should take on more responsibility over the estate's affairs.” 

“I’m glad you think so,” Leandra nodded, knowing that she had somehow walked into a trap. 

“Perfect,” her mother raised a glass with a smile, “then you shall cover the cost of Isaac’s exorcism.” 

Leandra almost dropped her purse. She dreaded and suspected something terrible but for her parents to actually resort to this. “You’re doing this so I’ll have nothing to cover Mara’s salary.”

“Is that so?” her Mother sipped her wine feigning surprise but she wasn’t a very good actress. Her pleased smile still tugged at the corner of her red lips.

“It’s awfully expensive doing business with the Circle. We could cover Isaac’s exorcism but then how would we afford your House Mage as well? Even an elf isn’t cheap,” Leandra flinched at her father’s callous words and she found it like bile bittering her mouth. “Since you seem so intent in meddling with estate affairs you can shoulder them as well.” 

“I’m not firing Mara,” Leandra affirmed even though she was not sure how she was going to balance Mara’s salary with such a bill. She knew something had to give but at this moment she didn’t dare think of what could happen.

Her Mother sighed. “That’s too bad. We might have considered a compromise if you decided to be rational. We would be happy to pay for a suitable replacement.”

“There is no replacing Mara,” Leandra snapped back. She found her shoulders trembling as her voice was barely not a scream. Her parents weren’t even hiding their real reasons. She couldn’t believe they would be sick enough to use Isaac’s possession as a way to control her. 

Her Mother sipped her wine glass, not noting Leandra’s impolite tone. “Suit yourself. I’ll make the withdrawal from your account in the morning.”

Leandra tried not to scowl or show any sign that her Mother had gotten under her skin. She held her head high and said, “I understand. Am I dismissed?”

Her parents shared a look but seemed rather pleased with themselves. Her father stifled a yawn. “Yes, it is rather late. Do go to bed.”

Leandra gripped the strap of her purse and marched up the stairs almost stomping, and all but slammed the door. 

When she was safe in her room she slumped against the door, wishing she never came home. Absent-mindedly she looked at the phone and saw that there were still no new messages from Malcolm, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. 

She wasn’t sure what she was doing, pining after a man that she could have no real future, but they were only an evening apart and her heart was wrecked, especially when her parents failed to be the support they were supposed to. She needed to hear his voice, and her thumb hovered over his name as she debated calling him. It was late enough that he should be in his room, but the returned rosary still hung from her wrist, making her hesitate.

Then miraculously her phone started ringing on it’s own, “Dream Guy” plastered on the screen. 

She answered immediately. 

His voice came through like a caress, easing her nerves. “I’m sorry I called so late. I passed out after checking in on Isaac and I barely woke up like right now.” 

Leandra wiped a tear off her cheek, her shoulders already relaxing. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad you got some rest.” Her voice was slick with tears. She tried to cover up her sniffling but it was too late.

“What’s wrong?” his voice was filled with worry, and a part of her was relieved to hear he still cared. 

Still after everything he already did for her, she felt selfish laying down more burdens on him. “Nothing, just a silly fight with my parents,” she cleared her throat as she moved away from the door and sat on her bed, paranoid they might somehow overhear. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he offered.

She desperately wanted to, but she found herself feeling guilty. “You don’t have to. You’ve already had such a long day.”

“I want to. Besides, I miss your voice so much I feel like I’m going mad.”

A smile found her lips. She knew exactly what he was talking about. So she relented, marveling at how easy it was to talk to him. “My parents have been trying to fire Mara for dating my brother and since I won’t, they’re draining my accounts to pay for Isaac’s exorcism and now I can’t pay Mara’s salary.”

“That’s fucked up,” came his reply. Something simple and yet to know she wasn't crazy made her feel better. 

Leandra collapsed back on her bed. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell Mara. She’s depended on me for so long and she still has her grandfather’s medical bills to worry about.”

“Well I’ll be your House Mage, soon, won’t I? Send him to me. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of.” 

Leandra found the tears welling up again, not able to comprehend how she found a man so sweet. “Thank you,” was all she could say. Still, the reality of her parents' news was sinking in. “I’m not going to have a choice, still. I might have a week, maybe two weeks pay left, but without my savings to lean on, I won’t even to be able to pay minimum wage.”

“A wage is better than no wage. Everything I earn goes straight to the Circle.”

She winced, for a moment forgetting that at this moment he was in basically a cell. “I’m sorry,” she said reflexively.

“Me, too. I just wish there was something I could do about that.” 

“You’ve done more than anyone else has already. I l-” her voice caught in her throat as she realized what she was about to say. The line echoed with silence as they listened to each other breathe. Did he catch it? Was a week too soon to know if one was in love?

After what seemed like forever Malcolm finally spoke, his voice a little strained. “I know you’ve had a day but can I talk to you about something?”

Her heart sank, fearing the worst. “What about?”

A few more seconds of silence that seemed to drag but finally he said, “You’re engaged. You told me when we met, but...if you weren’t what would I be to you?”

Leandra didn’t even have to consider. “I’d imagine I would introduce you to my parents as my intended and you'd officially court me.” She could just imagine their faces as she did? Would her Mother scream? Cry? Would her father give her that look of disappointment that always curdled her stomach. Still, the thought of it did give her some kind of thrill as she played it out in her head. “We’d date openly and if things go well eventually we’d...marry.” 

“And where would I live? In the Circle?”

“Well you’d be my House Mage so ideally that would be minimal. So hopefully you'd live in my mansion with me.”

Malcolm hummed as if he was considering that. “I don’t suppose you’d ever consider running away with me?”

She sat up suddenly, surprised by the idea. “And go where? There’s nowhere we won’t be hunted.” 

“I hear Ferelden’s Chantry can be lax. Rumors are that lots of apostates can disappear there if they’re smart.” 

“Ferelden?” Her first thought was her parents would have a heart attack. They thought Ferelden was a backwater country full of dog worshipping savages. Then her next was her best friend. “I couldn’t leave Mara. She needs me.”

A beat of silence passed between them. “Of course. Your place is here,” came the reply tinged with disappointment. 

“And your place is beside me,” she said, surprising herself with how fervently she meant it. 

“Oh?” She could hear the smile in his voice. “And what of that pesky fiancé ? I’m not exactly the sharing type.” 

Her heart wrenched, thinking of that suspicion on Guillaume’s face and the hurt she would inevitably cause. How long could she possibly put off choosing? She knew now what her heart wanted but wasn’t sure if she could handle the consequences. “Malcolm, you know I l-like you.” She tripped over her words, almost saying it again. 

“I’m not asking you to introduce me to your parents. I don’t care if we have to be secret, I just don’t want another man claiming you. Can you blame me?” 

Her shoulders slumped. “No, if I were in your shoes I would want the same.” She recalled one of her last conversations with Guillaume and how she should have leaned into the family’s curse and sided with his Mother. Now she was going to have to find a natural way to do it herself.

As she was pondering a way to do that Malcolm said, “Did I tell you how beautiful you looked today? That dress looked amazing on you.”

A blush found Leandra’s cheeks, and she stared down at her lilac dress, worn for Lady de Launcet but with it’s clinging fabric and plunging neckline she did hope Malcolm would notice. “I wish I could kiss you right now,” she sighed.

“Be careful what you wish for, my Lady. I’ll break out right now just to kiss you.”

She held her breath. Her rational side told her it was a bad idea but with everything about Isaac’s exorcism so close she thought how easily Malcolm could die and saw she would miss her chance so she said, “If you do I might wish for more than a kiss.” She was scandalized by her own brazenness but something about the conversation and everything that happened with her parents and Guillaume made her want to do something brazen.

“Uuuh...what are you saying?” Malcolm suddenly sounded nervous and he was never nervous.

Suddenly impish, she turned on the camera and slid down her dress off her shoulders and snapped a picture of herself seductively peeling off her bra so the camera could capture one of her peachy nipples. She sent it to Malcolm and said, “check your phone and figure it out yourself.”

She listened as he shuffled his phone when he suddenly choked. She wished she could see his face right now but she was happy to know he’d have a private piece of her. After a few moments of strangled silence she giggled and asked, “Are you coming?” 

Malcolm cleared his throat. “There’s no way I’m not now.” 

As soon as she hung up with Malcolm, Leandra started to panic and second guess her decision. She didn’t know why she offered him to come over, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore this feeling.

Leandra suddenly rushed to the bathroom cleaning herself up from the day’s grime. She also touched up shaving, plucking, lotioning and moisturizing, haphazardly trying to perfect herself in preparation of Malcolm finally touching her. There were thoughts about how she shouldn’t do this, that giving him something as precious as her virginity was something she couldn’t come back from and yet there was something so perfect about him that she had to know what his touch felt like. No. It felt deeper than that. A need. Her heart was in her throat beating a mile a minute, her hands shaky with excitement and yet it had felt like it was finally meant to happen.

Or maybe she was impatient for it to happen.

Leandra had never been impatient before, but the night of the Ball seemed so distant. Her rational side immediately told her she should text him back and tell him she made a mistake, but it didn’t feel like a mistake. She was terrified. No doubt about that. She made sure the lock on her door was firm more than a dozen times. But she was also excited, eager even. She already knew he was magic with his fingers from the foot massage, and she was eager to know- what else could he do?

Part of her wanted to ask how many women he must have practiced on to get as smooth as he was. She wasn’t sure any girl in the Circle could resist that face, but she didn’t know if she could bear to hear the answer. She found herself already becoming possessive of him. Her Mother’s voice rang in her head, warning her that a man like him would only see her as a conquest, but Malcolm never seemed to be anything but honest with her. 

Would a man risk his life for her again and again just for the opportunity to have sex with her? Mara and her Mother would say undoubtedly but Leandra couldn’t bring herself to mind. She hoped she could trust this feeling and she wasn’t just being horny and stupid.

In her haste she suddenly remembered that she didn’t exactly have a condom and she wondered if Malcolm had any access to one in the Circle. She went to call Mara, knowing she would be willing to sneak to her mansion to bring one but as soon as she picked up her phone it blipped with a message from ‘Dream Guy’ that said, “Come to your window.”

That was much faster than she expected. Did he catch a cab or teleport somehow?

She pushed open the curtains to find Malcolm already shimmying up the rose terrace.

Leandra opened the window, the cold night air goosepimpling her skin and she leaned out reaching for him as she whispered loudly, “You’re going to fall.”

She could hear his chuckle as he got closer. “I’ve done more dangerous things lately than climbing a wall.”

He glanced up at her, noticed her outfit, and started to climb faster. As soon as he was within reach she pulled him inside. He collided into her brushing open her robe to reveal that she was indeed bare beneath it, her skin shining luminously from moisturizing. His eyes dragged down to her bare chest, his pupils dilating.

Now that she had his rapt attention, she took a step back and allowed the flimsy silk cloth slip from her shoulders and fall to the ground. The lust glazed over his eyes and his mouth was upon hers, thrusting his tongue in hungrily. She forgot how much she missed the taste of him, like the most dizzying alcohol, the feel of his tongue on hers flooding her warmly. 

One hand found her breast as the other was placed on her hip and yanked her forward so she was flush against him where she could feel him harden against her. He kept stroking her skin, kneading it soothingly as if he couldn’t believe how soft she felt, each pulse of his fingers leaving her in tingles.

Their mouths worked together in tandem as they stumbled towards the bed. 

Since Malcolm was too busy exploring her body, she raked her fingers over his smooth stomach and pulled off his sweater, the moonlight reflecting off the expanse of his dark freckled skin like constellations. As he cornered her onto the mattress, pressing himself between her, she unbuttoned and reached down the front of his slacks to find his throbbing cock. 

Leandra didn’t expect him to be so hot in her hands nor his skin to be so smooth. She was also pleasantly surprised with how big he felt. She gave his cock a squeezing stroke. A guttural moan filled her mouth encouraging her to continue.

He kicked off the rest of his clothes, leaving them scattered across her room as if he was marking the territory. Soon it was just his skin on her skin, his body like a furnace against her.

She kissed from his mouth to the shell of his pointed ear as she whispered, “did you bring a condom?”

That’s when everything stopped. He went rigid pushing off her as his face twisted in regret as he sucked in his teeth. “Shit, I knew I was forgetting something.”

Then Leandra let go of her grasp, as if just touching his cock would get her pregnant. She bit her lip, torn with indecision about what to do. “If you can wait I can call Mara to bring one. It shouldn’t take more than half an hour.”

Malcolm grimaced, retreating a little from her, and she already missed his warmth. “Sure, we can just talk for a bit.”

That would be the sensible thing to do. But then Leandra immediately thought of the questions she would no doubt get from Mara or how every second without him inside her felt like an eternity. She looked down as she felt the warmth of his cock rest on her stomach. The sight of it made her mouth go dry. Her hands weren’t lying to her. It was sizable in girth and curiosity burned in her, driving that needy ache deep into the pit of her.

So she shyly looked back up, her face on fire, her voice a squeak. “Or you can…pull out?”

Malcolm blinked as if he was surprised. Then he said in a voice that sounded less confident than she hoped, “Yeah, I’m sure I can manage.”

Once again her sensible side told her that this was too risky and that they should wait but when his mouth lowered back onto hers all those thoughts were gone. The length of his cock slid against her entrance, slickening it, but he kept his fingers exploring, stroking in a way that stoked her. 

She whimpered against his mouth, hips bucking to encourage him in.

He chuckled against her, his voice husky. “We’ll get to that,” he purred. “I wanna take my time with you. Do this right.”

“But I need-” her face flushed and she stopped, her request caught in her throat.

His golden eyes flashed. “What do you need?”

He looked absolutely devilish, daring her to finish her sentence, but she couldn’t. Years of shame caught up with her at this moment.

So she swatted him. “Must you be a pest? Honestly, you shouldn’t keep a Lady waiting.”

Malcolm chuckled, lowering his mouth against hers. “You’re not going to be a Lady by the time I’m done with you.” Then he finished his promise with a searing kiss that had her melting against him.

It was maddening how he teased her even now, but two could play at that so she wrapped her fingers back around his cock and gave it a few firm strokes, watching his face tense in pleasure. “Are you sure?”

His breathing became labored as she stroked. He just allowed it, his eyes fluttering closed so his lashes licked the freckles on his cheek, “I’ve had a million fantasies about what I’d do to you once we got here.”

Her breathing hitched once she felt his fingers on her slick entrance, her skin suddenly more sensitive and warm. He had the smirk of a demon as he licked his finger like he was tasting something decadent. “Mmmm and you taste better than I thought, too.” 

Leandra’s breath was caught in her throat, her skin flushed in response. 

This time he lowered his mouth over her right nipple, humming as he sucked, watching her face as he left love bites. 

She didn’t expect it to feel so good. A moan escaped her throat.

“Now that’s a pretty sound,” he said huskily, blowing on the bites. He grinned at her. “Don’t wake your parents now.”

She was going to say something, but she immediately forgot when his fingers crooked inside her and started to pulse. 

He lavished each breast with attention, his hot mouth leaving trails of bruises as his fingers worked inside her. 

She bit her lip to contain her moans but they still escaped her throat, as her body buzzed and tightened around him. 

His fingers seemed to crook deeper and deeper, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Just as she was getting used to this new sensation, his mouth trailed down her stomach and wrapped around her swollen bud and sucked loudly.

She made a strangled cry that escaped the window before she bit into one of her pillows to cut it off.

Malcolm seemed to take this as a dare, his fingers working vigorously as he slurped on his feast. Her back arched as her body tightened around his fingers, her legs squeezing as she was overcome with a crest of pleasure that seemed to be rising with each stroke. The pressure was almost painful and she choked out his name, her fingers digging into his curls. 

Then she broke, her body convulsing as an ecstasy so strong she could only ride the current of it. She screamed into her pillow and her muffled shrill cry filled the room. He didn’t grant her mercy, wringing out every ounce of her pleasure into shockwaves that rocked her until she was limp and spent.

Malcolm’s wet face was basking in a triumphant grin. He kissed her temple as he wiped her slick bangs from her forehead. “I’ve always wondered what you would look like all a mess,” his voice was unbearably arrogant as if he had just won a shiny trophy.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re very impressed with yourself,” Leandra’s voice was tired and she shoved him but there was no energy in the action. Her body was still floating on a cloud.

He cocked his head, his honey eyes gleaming. “You’re not impressed with me?”

At that moment Leandra was wondering if every time would be like this? Would her body be a puddle of goo, her limbs jelly and her heart at a frantic gallop. All she knew was that she had to feel that again. She grabbed his cock again leading him back down to her entrance. “I think if you don’t stop congratulating yourself and start fucking me I’m going get very cross with you.”

He raised his thick eyebrows in surprise, “Yes, ma’am.”

She gasped as he pierced her easily, stretching her in a way that felt deliciously good.

He stopped as soon as he entered her, groaning, “Fuck.”

She was suddenly filled with warmth, and need. Her hips wiggled, begging for friction. “Malcolm,” she whimpered.

He shuddered against her. “Just give me a moment to savor this.”

He held her there for a few moments and then he finally moved, incredibly slow, jolting her insides. His hips slowly worked up a pace, firm shocking thrusts meeting her in gasps. He captured her mouth so she tasted herself, his tongue mimicking the movement of his hips. 

Soon that delicious friction was back, but his moves remained sensual and deliberate, as if he was scared to hurt her. Leandra found her hips moving to meet him, and soon the pace quickened to something that left her throbbing, the tension inside her building to that maddening edge again. Her nails gripped his back as she pulled him deeper, needing every inch of him. But as soon as her pleasure began to crest, he slowed again as if he needed to catch his breath.

But Leandra was too far gone at this point and couldn’t give Malcolm the moment he needed. She flipped him over so she pinned him against the mattress. She then rode him in a furious passion as she drove him deeper and deeper, Malcolm paralyzed and only helpless to do anything but hold on.

He grabbed onto her hips, squeezing to steady her pace, but she was chasing that ecstasy again that was quickly building with each thrust of her hips. 

“Leandra,” he choked out in the midst of his throaty groans that drove her wild. She wasn’t sure what she was even doing at this point but her need was driving her to ride harder and harder, her nails raking against his chest as she left the same love bites on his neck.

“Wait,” Malcolm’s fingers squeezed into her hips, his jaw clenched as his body tensed. “Leandra, slow down.”

“But I’m so close,” Leandra cried. She arched her back, her whole body tightening around him as the current that overtook her came rushing back.

And then he burst. He cried out his voice strained and throaty as she felt the rush of warmth fill her as his body went rigid. He held onto her in a bruising grip as he swore loudly, convulsing. 

She could feel him twitch inside her, a jolting sensation like electricity ran through her and it pushed her over the edge. She collapsed on top of him, his name on her lips as the current overtook them both. 

They were only able to hold onto each other, their bodies melting together as the ecstasy flooded them.

And then Leandra realized what she had done as she slowly floated back into her body. “Fuck,” she mumbled against Malcolm’s chest, her hair sticking to the dampness of his skin. Part of her was mortified. She could feel his seed starting to drip out of her as he softened inside her, her heart quickening in panic as she realized this could change everything. What was she going to do now?

“Fuck,” Malcolm agreed, staring starstruck at Leandra. His fingers were still wrapped around her hips with a bewildered expression on his face, his body still twitching in the aftershocks. It seemed he didn’t know either.

Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door. “Leandra?” her Mother’s voice called.

They broke apart, Leandra scrambling for her crumpled robe and Malcolm his pants. They pulled whatever they could in a mad dash as the door banged. “Leandra,” her Mother cried angrily. “Why is the door locked?”

Leandra shoved Malcolm into her closet saying, “Hurry, my Mother has a key.”

Malcolm scoffed. “Are you sure she isn’t a templar?”

She shushed him angrily and closed her closet before she hastily walked up to her door and opened the jiggling doorknob. Leandra scowled. “Why are you bothering me? I was in bed.” 

Her Mother looked at Leandra suspiciously. “I heard strange noises.”

Leandra found a guilty blush blooming on her already flushed cheeks. “That was just me watching some shows on my phone.” 

Her Mother tsked disappointedly. “Phone before bed is bad for you. Do I need to cut that off as well?”

Leandra scowled. “Why must you control everything I do? I’m an adult and I can watch videos before bed.” 

Her Mother looked at the state of Leandra’s sweaty form disapprovingly, her robe covering her haphazardly. “Are you feverish again? You’re sweating quite a lot.” 

Leandra’s face went full red. “No, just exercising. I’m still wound up from the day.” 

Her mother frowned. “I thought you were watching shows in bed.”

“It was an exercise show. You know. Have to keep in shape for the wedding.” Leandra laughed nervously, trying hard to sell the lie and her Mother sighed and relented. 

“Well I’m glad you’re being proactive. I’ll ask the chefs to cut back on some of the carbs in your diet. You’re still getting some chin bloat.”

Leandra touched her chin reflexively as she ducked her head, the blow struck. Her Mother always knew how to make her feel fragile.

Her Mother, seemingly satisfied that nothing was amiss, smiled her razor smile and said, “Well do get some sleep dear. You have a big day with Guillaume tomorrow.”

“I do?” Leandra raised her head.

Her Mother raised an eyebrow. “I thought he told you. He cleared your schedule for prayer at the Chantry with Grand Cleric Elthina.” Leandra’s eyes widened in realization that Guillaume didn’t even tell her because she snapped at him. Before she could think on it more her Mother continued, “I would join you but I have court all day. Your Father will take you and make an appearance but he has an appointment with the Viscount to keep and can’t stay.” 

Of course Guillaume would go to her parents to change Leandra’s schedule. He’d need permission. Leandra wanted to scream but in that moment she forced a smile and said, “Lovely. Mara will have me ready as always.”

Her Mother sniffed sharply, her eyes narrowing. “Yes, I look forward to seeing how you run the estate.” Then she left back for her room and Leandra sighed, closing the door. 

She turned around and marched back to the closet and when she opened it Malcolm was holding a dress, and not just any dress. It was one Mara made her buy on one of her many shopping trips. It was a thing made of straps that snaked along the stomach and barely covered her breasts. The skirt was cut short and the dress had hardly any back. Malcolm looked at her with a devilish grin and said, “Well when are you going to wear this for me?”

Leandra felt like her head was going to implode. “Absolutely not.”

Malcolm’s lip puckered out in pout, his messed up curls looking absolutely ragged and yet he had never looked sexier. “C’mon I’ve seen you naked,” he put the dress over her frame and closed one eye as he tried to imagine her in it. “Now I want to see you in decoration.” 

Leandra covered her arms over her chest modestly, his teasing making her forget for a moment the terror her Mother was. Malcolm crept over pinning the dress between them and grabbed her chin. “Your Mother’s a real piece of work by the way. There’s no way you look anything less than perfect.” 

She flooded with warmth, the sting of her Mother’s words soothing at his reassurance. She took his hand and kissed him again, tasting him. “How are you so perfect?” she echoed back. 

His devilish grin was back. “Does that mean you’ll wear this dress for me?”

Leandra’s embarrassment was back, but being cradled in his arms it was hard to resist whatever he wanted. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good, cause there’s this party I think you’ll love and I want you there on my arm wearing this.” 

Leandra squirmed. “Oh, I don’t know if I should.”

That’s when he unleashed the biggest puppy dog eyes she had ever seen, his scent intoxicating her. “Please. It’s a real discreet place. You can even bring Mara and that ass you call a brother.” 

Leandra found herself giggling in spite of herself. “You don’t have to. I know you don’t like him.” 

Malcolm kissed her cheek whispering in her ear. “Yes, but I want to try to get on his good side for your sake. He is family.”

At this moment, nothing felt more right. She wanted to say those three words but instead she pulled him into another kiss flinging the dress aside as she pulled him back towards the bed, her hands underneath his clothes working to take them back off. She could show him. 

Chapter Text

Malcolm’s heartbeat was in his throat as he covered his pointed ears with his hands, shivering. Why was he in this memory, this dream? He hadn’t been locked in this musty closet for years, didn’t realize how much darkness would still quicken his pulse, make him tremble. There was only a sliver of light from the door, except when the shadows of his Mother and Father blocked it, and he closed his eyes, pretending he was anywhere else.

He tried to pull himself out of the dream, wake himself up, but something kept him here. Himself? His fear? He could hear his Father screaming, his Mother crying, the sound of it twisting his heart. He’d flinch every time he heard a sick thud, the sound of glass breaking, or things being thrown over.

He was too scared to go out there and face his Father, though the words ‘traitor’ and ‘coward’ jeered from within. Still, his arms and chest were covered with healing bruises of his Mother’s failed attempts to protect him. He was so small. What could he do against a full-grown man? 

He still remembered when his Mother woke him up in the middle of the night, bags already packed for a train and they rode for days until they reached the city of Denerim. He thought for sure those walls would hide them. Did his cousins tell? Were they tracked down like prey?

“You think you can just run off and fuck whoever you want? I’ll kill you!” His Father’s screams seemed to rattle the walls. He had threatened that so many times and yet he had never sounded so serious.

Malcolm jumped as something shattered against the door of the closet. “Then kill me you coward. I’m waiting! I’ve been waiting! Put me out of my misery!”

Malcolm’s whole body trembled violently as he panicked. No. His Mother didn’t mean that.

His mind swirled as he pulled at his curls. They had run away so many times. Those days of freedom were peaceful, filled with relieved laughter and silly games. The kids in the alienage welcomed him with open arms and he finally had friends. His cousins were annoying and pesky but were always willing to share their snacks and play with him. He shared the cramped living room with his Mother and slept huddled in front of the tv, sharing meals there as she fed them both like birds with her bare hand.

They had been healing. They had been happy. Then his Father appeared in the Marketplace saying it was time to come home and Malcolm learned how fragile happiness was.

“You think I won’t?” his Father's voice boomed, taking heavy steps. “You think I’ll let you fuck me over?”

The hair on Malcolm’s arm stood at end as a chill ran down his spine. He had to stop him. He couldn’t lose his Mother.

With wobbling legs, he steeled himself and pushed himself upright, opening the door.

No sooner did he open it a gnarled fist came out to meet him, about to ram his face.

Malcolm gasped awake, ready to retaliate, his fist in flames as he pinned Leandra to the mattress, his hand on her throat ready to burn her. Then his eyes met hers, not the golden ones in his memory but black and wide in shock, frozen in fear for the first time since they met.

The flame went out in an instant as he pushed off of her. Deep seated shame and guilt locked up his throat as his eyes flung to every corner, looking for the nearest escape. 

She must realize now that he was a monster.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out quickly as he ran to the window only to realize he was still naked. He rushed for his pants, not saying a word as he attempted to dress himself with shaky limbs, when two arms wrapped from behind him.

Malcolm froze, not wanting to be touched but too scared he’d break Leandra if he shoved her off. He hadn’t dreamed of that night in so long. Why now? Why didn’t he just go to the Fade like normal?

“Malcolm, I’m not angry,” Leandra’s voice was filled with pity and he hated it. He’d rather her be angry. “You were thrashing. It looked like a bad dream.”

“It was nothing,” he lied, his voice tense. He felt like an open wound already and he didn’t want to look more pitiful. ‘I’ve overstayed my welcome. I should go.”

He tried to untangle himself from Leandra’s grasp, feeling unworthy of her attention but she wouldn’t let go. She turned him around so she could look at his face and cupped his cheeks, gazing into his eyes. “You don’t have to talk,” she said, she smoothed his cheeks with her thumbs. “But if you want to, I’m here for you.”

Malcolm’s throat closed up, not able to tell her. He couldn’t relive that night again. He felt so pathetic. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep. He shouldn’t have expected that tonight would go normally. But he was so confused. He raised a fist to her, cast magic against her. That was unforgivable. Why was there still love in her eyes? Why was she wiping his tears?

“Come back to bed,” she wrapped her warm body around him and led him, even though his steps resisted.

“It’s already late,” Malcolm cleared his throat as he wiped his face, trying to control the wellspring of emotions that was suddenly unbottling. He’d already asked for too much. He knew it was risky to indulge any longer.

“It’s only 2am. Just for five minutes. Let’s not leave the night like this.”

She placed him onto her mattress, shushing his arguments and then climbed around and wrapped him so she enveloped him, making sure that the blanket tucked him in tenderly as she nestled close. She smelled heavenly, her breasts warm against his back. Her legs intertwined with his and she felt her breath on the nape of his curls as her arms wrapped around his chest and hugged him. He couldn’t bring himself to fight her, couldn’t shake himself to his senses to leave. He just felt her heartbeat against his back as he listened to her breathe, not prodding or trying to fill the silence.

He wasn’t sure how long he allowed himself to lie there, her wrapped around him. He tried hard not to think about the dream, not to think about the pain, not to think about his Mother. Instead he focused on Leandra, allowing himself to indulge in this moment though he knew it would be better to leave. Still, it was hard to resist pretending that he lived here, in this bed that seemed to be made of clouds, with Leandra warmly embracing him, always always by his side.

He perhaps indulged too long, because the next thing he knew he was being woken up by giggles as sunbeams hit his face. He opened his eyes to find Mara standing over them, with the widest shit eating grin on her face. “I didn’t think you’d prefer little spoon.”

Malcolm’s face burned as he pushed himself upright, Leandra trying to cover her naked body as much as she could, which unfortunately pulled the covers off Malcolm so Mara got an eyeful of him before he stole the covers back.

Mara whistled. “Well done, Leandra,” she met her friend’s gaze, cat eyes gleaming, “Should I come back later?”

Leandra continued to fuss at the blankets, smoothing them as Malcolm panicked. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. He wasn’t conscious in the Fade again. He couldn’t deny that he felt more rested than he had in a long time but this was an idiotic move even for him.

Leandra scowled, her face burning as she glared at her best friend, protectively holding Malcolm tightly. “Oh, sod off, Mara. It’s not like I haven’t caught you with Gamlen dozens of times!”

Mara laughed boisterously. “Oh, but being the catcher is so much more fun. Speaking of fun, did you have a good time Leandra?”

Leandra’s face burned as she just buried it in Malcolm’s chest.

“Oh, that bad?” she teased.  

Malcolm knew she was joking but he still found himself offended but before he could reply Leandra popped up and said, “For Maker’s sake I’ll tell you later!.”

The fact that the ladies would be discussing his performance made him nervous and he smiled, sheepishly. He had every intention of leaving, but he didn’t expect how powerless he’d be to Leandra’s spell, especially when naked. “We might have gotten carried away.”

Mara raised a finely shaped eyebrow. “You think?”

He scolded himself silently though it was hard to feel sorry with Leandra’s naked body still pressed against him. Still, he would no doubt be in trouble. There was no way he’d make it back to the Circle before class.

“Need me to sneak you out?” Mara asked Malcolm in a teasing tone.

“Sure,” Malcolm shifted nervously, unsure of what to make of the way Mara’s eyes were lingering near his crotch. “Mind leaving for a moment so I can get dressed?”

Mara smirked, meeting his gaze mischievously. “Oh, don’t mind me. Pretend I’m just furniture.”

“Mara!” Leandra’s face went ablaze as scowled so fiercely even Malcolm jumped. “Would you mind putting the kettle on for tea?”    

“As you say, milady,” Mara bit down her chuckle, backing away with an exaggerated curtsy.

“And lock the door!” Leandra called after her.

Mara answered her with giggles but the lock clicked in place like requested giving Malcolm and Leandra at least a little moment together before they had to part.

Leandra, still a rosy red, peeked up through her bangs at Malcolm. “I’m sorry about Mara. She’s…a lot.”

Malcolm chuckled, an easy grin on his face. He couldn’t help cupping her cheeks, watching her melt into his touch. “She’s a good friend. I’m lucky she approves of me so far.”

Leandra hummed as Malcolm ran his fingers through her hair. She knew she looked a mess, all sweaty, any trace of makeup gone and yet Malcolm looked at her as if she was divine, tracing each curve of her face into memory. 

“I wish you didn’t have to leave. I don’t think I can bear it,” Leandra pressed a soft kiss against his lips before their mouths moved on their own, their bodies stirring as they tasted each other.

He was already hard again, his hands still exploring the canvas of her skin. “Don’t tempt me. I think you’re the one thing I can’t resist.”

“Aren’t I lucky?” Leandra smiled against his mouth.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door that made them both jump. “Are you dressed yet?” Mara asked through the door.

Leandra groaned. “Just a minute.”

“Do I need to come back in with a squirt bottle?”

Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on Leandra’s face. He never expected a prim, proper noblewoman to have such lustful nature, but he wasn’t complaining.

“I really should get dressed,” he said reluctantly.

Leandra pouted which caused him to snicker but dutifully untangled himself from his arms.

Malcolm knew he fucked up. Stupid, reckless, idiotic, he told himself, but he couldn’t regret a moment spent with her. Plus, he had pulled many disappearing acts over his time in the Circle; it wasn't like this was unusual. As long as he was found on the grounds they would be none the wiser. In fact he was already making corrections in his mind and planning his next attempt. Could he get away with it again tonight? Leaving felt like cutting a piece of himself. 

Still, there was another anxiety niggling at the back of his mind. He definitely needed to get some condoms before he visited, that much was clear. He was praying he didn’t get Leandra pregnant. He didn’t know how to be a Father. He barely knew how to be a man, a lover, let alone take care of another human being, one he could potentially fuck up for good. His Mother tried to be the love his Father wasn’t but he inherited a lot more from his Father than his looks. He was aware he had a foul temper that was always getting away from him. It was said you were destined to become your parents. Malcolm feared he would follow his own Father’s footsteps, and one day become a monster to the very people he loved.

It took awhile to track down all his clothes, but eventually Mara sneaked him out like promised with Malcolm invisible, not wanting to even risk someone catching him. Thankfully that meant she also couldn’t interrogate him either. She tried to instigate a few conversations when they were alone but still but Malcolm kept quiet, not wanting to blow his cover.

He only spoke up when they parted at the secret tunnel in Leandra’s basement. “Thanks for the help.”

Mara smirked in his direction though since Malcolm was still invisible, she was looking too far to the left to be making eye contact.

“Not necessary. You owe me a favor now and I intend to collect.”

Malcolm did not like the sound of that.

The Amell tunnels which Mara had insisted were top secret seemed too well kept, with lit lanterns and spotless floors free of dust and grime. Still, there were a lot of things about the passages themselves that were queer. Mara said it led to Darktown yet the tunnels seemed dwarven, at least from what he could recall in his history lessons and places he discovered in the Fade. 

The walls glowing with runes and Malcolm couldn’t tell if his ears were ringing or if there was a faint hum. His footsteps echoed down the tunnels and he felt as if somebody was following him so he kept looking over his shoulder but finding no one. And yet he could not shake the feeling that something was watching him. 

It was so cold that he could see his breath and he shivered in the dark. He kept a mage light to keep the path lit but the shadows kept bouncing off the walls making figures seem to form in dark. At one point he heard a distinct whisper that chilled his spine. The speech was not in Common and yet he could understand it.

It asked, “Are you the end?”

The Voice could not be mistaken for human, so sharp was it that Malcolm’s hair stood at end. He could feel the wrongness of the creature, the familiar vibration in his bones that happened when demon’s came close. He closed his eyes, peeking into the Fade to see where it was, but the creature was Bound tight, energy leaking from it in some kind of curse.

He interpreted the demon’s question as a request for freedom. It would be no easy task. This was ancient magic keeping it’s cage firmly in place. “If I free you creature, it would only be to kill you.”

“Even that would be a Mercy, though I am not without skill, Somniari. I could find an arrangement that suits us both.” 

He had no idea how Mara could brave these tunnels by herself. The Veil was so thin it would not take a mage to understand this demon. What was such a demon even doing in the Amell basement? 

“There is no deal that interests me, demon.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” the demon simpered. He could feel it tasting his aura. It felt different than the terror demon, more prideful, but not a common strain. It wasn’t an immediate danger, so he didn’t press further. Still, he made a note that he'd need to find it eventually and tell Mara to steer clear of this passage in case the creature broke free of it’s bindings. It was just another pest that he needed to kill. The schedule he was juggling was getting busier and busier.

He had never been so grateful to see the exit. The gate was all chained up and there were signs all over it warning about cave-ins but the lock had long been broken off so Malcolm easily slipped through.

From Darktown it was easier to find the sewers. Malcolm walked the tunnels, his emotions swinging from high ecstasy to pregnancy panic. There were a few thugs that tried to mug him, but it only took one look at his face before they apologized and let him pass by. He had gained a reputation in the Undercity in his time in Kirkwall, and most of the gangs knew better than to risk their lives bothering him.

The sewers were dank and rank and Malcolm tried to avoid the puddles of filth. He hated how wet everything always was, how rats and spiders fought him as viciously for a meal as each other. He caught his reflection on the surface of some stagnant water, the face from his nightmares staring back at him. He tried not to think of how he might have messed things up for Leandra in more ways than one. He knew she asked him to come over, but he still felt like he had just ruined her future. He tried to shake off the feeling but it stuck to him like a bad smell.

By the time he had snuck back through lines that connected the Circle to the mainland, breakfast was far over and classes were already in session. He had missed morning rounds and he knew everyone would be looking for him, but he wasn’t quite ready to come out of his bubble and face the consequences.

Malcolm managed to sneak past the templars and to his room to find them turning it upside down. Deciding that wasn’t worth the hassle of revealing himself then, he went to the showers to wash off the evidence of the night for he surely smelled some weird combination of sex and sewer sludge. He knew he had to face the consequences of his slip up eventually but he figured there was no point of rushing. The showers were thankfully empty since this was not the designated washing time, so after Malcolm cleaned himself properly, he decided to take care of the heated state Leandra had left him in by revisiting some of the more passionate memories of the night.  

The water that came out of the shower heads were not very temperamentally heated but that was not a problem for Malcolm. Heating a pipe took concentration but not so much he couldn’t multitask and after he satisfied himself with the freshness of Leandra's memories, he started daydreaming under a stream of water, the steam so thick that it collected on all the linoleum surfaces that tiled the room and covered the mirrors in a fog. He was so deep in his dream he didn’t hear a pair of heavy boots over the running water thudding against the stone and stopping at his back.

“Skipping classes again, Hawke?” Meredith’s voice rang out.

Malcolm flailed, facing the wall so his manhood wouldn’t be exposed. He covered it with his hands, not sure what to do with his butt baring at her.

She looked like she hadn't slept yet, dark circles bruising under her bright blue inquisitive eyes. She was armored fully in riot gear, her handgun and taser strapped neatly in sight, her fingers strung lazily in her utility belt near them.

His shoulders raised to his ears that were burning in embarrassment as he glared. “Pervert,” he spat. “Do you fucking mind?”

She rolled her eyes not caring where she put them. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just here to keep you in line.” Her gaze zeroed in on his neck where Leandra had left a few love bites herself. “And when did you have time to get a hickey?”

Malcolm’s hand went to his neck, hiding the bruises. He hadn’t realized Leandra had even left them. If he could manage to look himself in the mirror he would have known to heal them, but as it was Zelophehad had done a number on his mind during Isaac’s possession and to see his Father staring back in his reflection was still painful, especially with the nightmare so fresh.

He was sweating, but he knew he had to keep her attention on him and not his clothes which still had his dead phone in his pants pocket. If that was caught, they’d eventually unlock it and his secret would be found. He averted his gaze, willfully not looking at Meredith as he muttered, “you know I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Ha,” Meredith barked in amusement. “No, I was under the impression no one cared enough to kiss you.” Malcolm scowled as she laughed at her own joke, adding with a rue smile, “But no matter. All secrets come out eventually.”

Malcolm tried not to shiver at that threat, aware of every exposed part of his skin wet and dripping. “Well, you caught me. Good on you. I’ll go to the clinic. Now get lost so I can get dressed.”

But Meredith stayed put. “The First Enchanter has summoned you to his office. I'm going to make sure you actually arrive.”

Malcolm stopped breathing at that. His shoulders dropped as he knew that this had to do with the events of yesterday. What did the First Enchanter want?

Meredith’s cruel smile widened as he cringed at the news.

Malcolm tried not to let her shake him but the fact that he was very much naked made it hard to feel like he had any semblance of control, especially when he was cornered with Meredith, the most unstable templar in Kirkwall. “So here for a show? You’ve sent your message. Stop being a creep.”

Meredith narrowed her eyes in annoyance. “Don’t mistake my interest in you. It’s purely professional.”

“Because that’s what you’re being right now? A pure professional,” Malcolm snorted.

Meredith seemed to relish Malcolm’s discomfort, enjoying the way he jumped when her hand grazed her gun, fully in sight on her hip. She knew full well that she had the advantage of the situation and was keen on prodding more. “Carver insisted last night you were turning over a new leaf but I see you’d rather prove him wrong again and again.”

The jab felt like it hit harder for some reason, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the state he was in or if there was some truth in what she said.

“I skipped class. It’s not like I murdered anyone,” Malcolm knew it wasn’t a solid argument but still the irritation of being a grown man and having every detail of his life planned for him did feel restraining and infantilizing, with the point of not even the demand for basic privacy to be respected.

Meredith cocked up an eyebrow. “You weren’t oversleeping in your quarters,” she sneered. 

Malcolm balled his fist when she took a step closer, unsure if she would strike. 

She glared, staring at him as if she could see the truth marked on his skin. “Take a little trip somewhere?”

Malcolm didn’t balk. He knew Meredith would be suspicious because she was suspicious of everyone. 

She had a nose for tracking runaways, sneak outs, and contraband. Since she had made Lieutenant not many dared to sneak out in fear of being caught by her in particular. If anyone was found breaking the Circle’s rules, punishment came quickly and harshly. She had placed many mages in a healer’s bed in an attempt to teach them a lesson. 

Malcolm knew he risked a worse punishment if he retaliated, so he called a sleep spell in his hands, not calling enough mana to show a charge, but if she tried anything he could touch her and escape to find Carver. As his limbs locked for a fight, he made sure to keep his voice low and steady. “I found a different place to nap. Didn’t want you disturbing my well-earned beauty sleep.”

Meredith stared pointedly at his hickeys. “You’re a terrible liar,” she scoffed. “Charlie vouched that he saw you this morning but no one else has.” Meredith narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “In fact no one seemed to know where you were, so I’ll give you a chance to explain.”

“Why do you think I need my beauty sleep?” Malcolm sidestepped the question, holding her gaze without flinching. “I exorcised a demon yesterday. Normal people get a break.”

“Yes, but you aren’t normal, are you?” Meredith’s smile was cold and calculating, the barb sticking firmly. Her thin lips curved into a sinister smirk. “I think you snuck out, and once I find the evidence, because there will be some, I will put you back in the dungeons where you belong.” 

Malcolm gritted his teeth, recalling when he got in the First Enchanter’s Office trying to drop a stink bomb in his drawer. He was thrown down below for a week, in a warded cell made of stone with only a hole to shit in.  

Meredith smirked, as Malcolm shrunk unconsciously, and couldn't help but press her advantage. “Or maybe the Knight-Commander will finally let us brand you? There’s a line of volunteers wanting to do the honors but I’m right at the front.”

Meredith never did get over the fact that Malcolm passed his Harrowing. He remembered how she used to lord the test over him, saying a lazy mage like him would never make it, but she was wrong about that. But not about him sneaking out.

Sweat dripped down his back along with the running water that was still pouring down his shoulders. “You done?” Malcolm said, making his gaze bored and lazy. “You get it out? Feel better about yourself?”

This time Meredith did sneer. “You’ll have detention at lunch today for missing morning count, and since you were lazy and skipped healing duties, you can probably say goodbye to your friends for the rest of the week.”

Perfect. Still, he didn’t even let a grimace show. Meredith was the type to feed on pain and to give her a scrap would just encourage more. Instead, he smirked. It was apparent she was trying his best to get under his skin and he wanted to see if he could return the favor and decided to turn to face her only slightly noticing her cheeks twinge a shade pinker. “You need to watch all this attention you’re lavishing on me, Stannard. You’re gonna give people the wrong idea if someone catches us in here. Or is that part of the fun?”    

She sniffed, clearly annoyed. “Always the jester,” she sneered. “But one day you won’t find it so funny one way or another.” She thrust her arm at him and Malcolm dodged out of the way to find her reaching for the shower knob instead, wrenching the knob off, not minding the water that beat against her arm-plate. “And stop wasting all the water and get dressed, already!” She pointed back down to the benches where his abandoned day clothes lay.   

Malcolm retreated to his towel and quickly flung it around him to at least cover the bare essentials. “I could’ve gotten dressed if I didn’t have a peeping tom trying to get an eyeful of the family jewels.”

Meredith snorted, shoulder checking him hard on her way past him. “You have a minute and then I drag you to the First Enchanter’s office no matter what state you’re dressed in.” Then she stomped out of the showers and slammed the door shut.

Malcolm dressed quickly, not even bothering to dry himself off so his clothes were sticking to his skin and his curls were still dripping. He knew Meredith was serious, and he didn’t want to be dragged around the Circle in his small clothes. Malcolm was suddenly mentally retracing all his steps to make sure he had covered his tracks. 

Did he make sure the entrance to the boiler room was covered? Nobody ever went there because it was said to be haunted. Occasionally a tranquil to go back there for maintenance which was often, since the Circle never used their funds to update anything but security. They searched his room but they had searched it before and though he did keep contraband there he was confident he had hidden his wards well enough. Still, there was always a chance he was careless with a spell and his stash would be revealed and maybe his misdemeanors would finally add up to tranquilization.

He was a legal mage, so technically tranquility should only be used for crimes like blood magic, but all it would take is one false witness. Or annoy the Knight-Commander one too many times. It had been known to happen even though it was technically illegal. Especially to elves like him who didn’t have fancy connections to powerful families. If you ran away too many times, or make a ruckus campaigning for more rights within the Circle- suddenly, all along they were a maleficar, either to be killed on the spot or tranquilized so they could have free janitors and maintenance men. 

It wasn’t long before Meredith deposited Malcolm at the First Enchanter’s office, the shelves lined with artifacts and scrolls and relics. Meredith took guard at the door.

The First Enchanter looked stern, frazzled and haggard. “Hawke,” he guttered. “I thought we were done with these antics.”

Malcolm shrugged, suddenly feeling sleepy as he waited for the lecture to come. He wasn’t sure why he was so tired today. He certainly didn’t expect to pass out twice at Leandra’s. 

“Look, I just needed some time to decompress after the demon fight. Is that a crime?”

“It is if you are not where you’re supposed to be,” the First Enchanter snapped back. “I have promised you to one of the most prestigious Houses in Kirkwall, and if you make a fool of me believe me you will not like the consequences.”

As much of a threat that was, Malcolm found himself heartening at the news. “So I passed? I’m a House Mage?”

“Preliminarily,” the First Enchanter replied. “Lord Amell agreed to house you at one of his minor estates on weekends. You may also be called out on weekdays should they have need of you, but if I am not confident you can behave properly I will be happy to recommend another mage for the position.”

Malcolm straightened up, adjusting the collar of his sweater. “No, Ser. This won’t happen again.”

The old mage nodded. “Good. You’ll finally be useful for once.”

Malcolm gritted his teeth, biting back the smart comment already barbed on his tongue.

The First Enchanter’s eyes landed on Malcolm’s neck still fresh with love bites. “I’m informed that Lady Amell gave you a gift and you returned it. That was good of you. As her House Mage you must remain a professional distance at all times, no matter what. You are a representative of the Circle and are only being released because the Knight Commander and I were merciful enough to give you this chance in spite of your heinous record. If I hear any whiff of impropriety you will be removed and receive the highest consequences. Am I understood?”

Malcolm was glad he was already wet because he was sweating again. He wasn’t about to say that line was already crossed before it was even drawn. “Yes, Ser. No impropriety here.”

The First Enchanter smiled at last. “I’m glad you understand.” His fingers steepled together over his desk. “Now on top of your new weekend duties you will be taking on your first apprentice for a class during the weekdays unless the family calls on you. I believe since you already have a connection to Isaac Amell and his family that he would make an excellent candidate.”

Malcolm could say on that front he was relieved. Kids made him nervous. He found their honesty cutting and their moods temperamental but at least Isaac’s goofiness was something he was familiar with. If he was going to get any apprentice, he’d prefer it be him. “When do I start?”

“You were supposed to start fifteen minutes ago,” the First Enchanter sneered and adjusted his glasses.

Malcolm blinked a couple of times, not sure he heard right. “The little dude just went through a possession. Don’t you think rest should be his priority?”

“His teachers know to give him light work so that should ease you into it. Routine is the best medicine for moving on from such an unfortunate incident. The sooner his mind is on something constructive, the better.”

Malcolm wasn’t sure he agreed but there was something that told him not to argue. He already felt his position was precarious enough with Meredith’s eyes literally on his back. 

He straightened himself up, already moving to get out of his seat. “Well, if there’s nothing else I guess I’ll go see my apprentice.”

The First Enchanter glared at Malcolm. “Be grateful you’re just getting detention, Hawke. If we find you out of bounds again, you can sleep in the dungeons, if that will teach you.”

“Has it ever, before?” the snark escaped Malcolm’s lips before he thought better.

The First Enchanter reddened, the air thickening with mana as his temper rose. “Watch that mouth, elf. I’ll have the templars silence you and you can teach your lesson through notes.”

Malcolm swallowed, flattening his tongue in his mouth, remembering the last time he pushed the First Enchanter too far. The whole day his throat was closed up, mana blocking so even if he screamed he could not make a peep. Malcolm wondered if the First Enchanter would feel so confident if he knew that Malcolm put hair thinner in his personal shampoo bottles, and from the look of the shine on his head it was working well. Though it was also a gross way for Malcolm to find out the old man didn’t wash his beard.

Satisfied that Malcolm would not make another comment he nodded to Meredith and said, “Take him.”

Malcolm walked to the door before Meredith could pull him, knowing she would use any excuse to handle him and he wouldn’t give her any reason to feel up his pockets and find his phone. He hoped she wouldn’t feel the need to do a pat down.  

Meredith seemed uneasy about the news that the First Enchanter told Malcolm. She glared at him as she escorted him, seeming to take less pleasure in the duty than before. Perhaps because she expected the First Enchanter to compound more punishment. Malcolm certainly did. However it seemed that winning the bid of one of the Great Houses was enough to get by with a scolding and detention. Malcolm wasn’t sure if he should be pleased or annoyed at that. Still, he knew as soon as he wasn’t making the Circle money that would change.

He was nervous about being Isaac’s teacher. It was one thing to hang out at meals. It was another to take responsibility for his education and Malcolm felt like somehow he’d fuck it up.

When he entered his old apprentice classroom he was surprised to see Orsino there already instructing the students in excitement as they fell asleep in their textbooks. There were never more than a dozen younger apprentices so they all were grouped together, from the youngest child to the oldest teenager. They all jumped up when Meredith slammed the door close as she left, always using any excuse to throw her weight around.

The students stared at Malcolm, their faces filled with questions but Orsino waved at them for attention, continuing his lecture as if he wasn’t interrupted. “Now creating a steady flow of mana takes time and endurance. That flow is taken directly from your own stamina and willpower. Now who knows how one naturally manifests more willpower?”

The children all stared dully at Orsino, fidgeting in their seats as they looked to the other for the answer.

Orsino sighed. “Apprentices, we just went over this last week. Does no one remember?” He stared pointedly at the older students who avoided his gaze.

Suddenly a small body stood up and no one was more surprised than Malcolm to see that it was Isaac. He didn’t spot the boy at first because he was hiding behind a heftier classmate that was almost twice his age and size. Malcolm couldn’t help but notice that he was rather isolated from the other students who seemed to glare at him warily.

“Daily meditation is the only natural source of enhancing willpower. Blessed and enchanted objects may artificially enhance mana, but their effects are usually not permanent.”

Malcolm raised his eyebrows, surprised to hear such articulate sentences from the boy when the most conversation he could usually get out of him was truck noises.

Enchanter Orsino’s smile was wide and bright. “Excellent, Isaac. You’re completely correct.”

The boy smiled, pleased with himself but it quickly dropped back to a tired expression and he sat down and tucked his head back in his arm.

“Since it’s so important you understand this, we’re going to spend the majority of today in meditation as you try to manifest shards of ice. Everyone, break up into groups for practice. Juniors, find your Seniors.” Orsino clapped and the class groaned and broke apart, muttering as they each went into their corners to practice. Only Isaac remained in his seat, ignoring orders.

Malcolm approached Orsino, who greeted him with a handshake. “Ah, Serah Hawke. I heard you were coming to help with Isaac. I’m really grateful. He could use one-on-one attention.”

Malcolm took his hand finding Orsino’s shake overeager, like they were already friends. “I’m surprised someone so young is in charge of a whole class.”

“Well, I’ve almost reached my first level of mastery under Senior Enchanter Jakoby," there was a distinct hint of pride in his voice, "but I only go over Basics. Still, Senior Enchanter Frank oversees and guides me when needed.” 

He pointed to a pale older man with no distinctive features that Malcolm had failed to notice because his straight nose was buried in a smutty Antivan novel where someone had drawn black bars over the heroine's busty cleavage so her bodice adhered to the Chantry’s rules of modesty. Still the cover was still scandalous with the way her suntanned lover cupped the undersides of her breasts from behind. He was sure that wasn’t Circle sanctioned but it was clear no one had bothered to snitch on the man yet.

At the mention of his name Frank grunted and waved his hand in acknowledgment, but his eyes didn’t leave the pages.

Malcolm decided to ignore Frank and nodded over to Isaac who looked like he was trying to sleep. “So does he do that a lot?”

“Do what?” Orsino asked. 

“I mean with me he usually only says like three words at a time. Didn’t know he could string sentences like that together.”

“I noticed that, too,” Orsino looked over at Isaac. “I think he’s just reciting from memory. That’s how it's worded in the textbook. He just seems to have a hard time finding the words on his own.”

Malcolm nodded, not liking the slump in the boy’s shoulder, the sag in his arms. 

“A familiar sight is it not?” Orsino interrupted his thoughts, a soft smile on his face.

“Huh?” Malcolm blinked.

“I mean only a week ago you were the same.” The words chilled Malcolm for some reason? Did he look lonely? Like everyone could see how the anger was eating him up. “He participates sometimes, and as you can see he’s very bright, but he’s failed to engage anyone else but me and I fear if nothing changes it won’t be long until he closes himself off completely.” Orsino put a warm hand on Malcolm’s elbow, and it took all of Malcolm’s willpower not to shrug off the overly familiar gesture. “I think that’s why you can help him. You and he are a lot alike.”

Malcolm sucked in his breath, unsure how to feel about the comparison. “That’s a lot of pressure, dude.”

Orsino smiled. “I’ve seen you interact with the boy during meals. Teaching doesn’t have to be all that different.”

There was a buzzing in the classroom that meant that the students were visiting rather than meditating and so Orsino released Malcolm’s elbow and said. “I should make sure those conversations are educational. You can do this, Malcolm.”

“Sure,” Malcolm breathed out as he stuffed his hands in his pants pockets, eying the boy. He strolled over and took the seat in front of Isaac, sitting backwards to face him.

If the boy noticed he didn’t acknowledge him. His breathing was shallow and uneasy. His posture was slumped as he collapsed into himself. 

“Lil’ Garbage Man?” Malcolm said softly.

The boy raised his head, his eyebrows rising up in surprise to see Malcolm there. He then lowered his head back on his desk, wordlessly.

Well, that wasn’t good. Malcolm drew nervous circles on Isaac’s desk. “Seems like you and I are going to be paired up for a while,” Malcolm leaned against his chair. “How does that sound?”

Instead of his usual odd happy vrooming, or really any response, he tucked his head between his arms, looking worn out.

Malcolm knew Orsino would want him to focus on the lessons, but it all seemed too cruel. “How are you feeling lil’ dude?”

For a long time there was nothing but silence but finally the boy spoke soft and slow. “Cursed,” his voice was muffled in his arms. He spoke with certainty, as if he was rehearsing facts about mana fortification.

Malcolm remembered Isaac’s dream, knowing the wounds from them would still feel very fresh. “That was just the demon talking.”

Isaac slowly shook his head, not raising it, sniffling heavily.

Malcolm thought back to how the other children seemed to avoid Isaac. Superstition was like a disease. He knew how vicious his classmates were when he was a boy, and he wished Isaac wasn’t going through the same thing. Orsino was right. Whether Malcolm wished it or not, he could fill a role in Isaac’s life that no one else could.

Malcolm leaned into Isaac’s desk trying to catch his eye. “You’re not cursed. One day you’re going to do great things, things that you can only do because you have magic.”

Isaac looked up at him, suspicious of his words. “Like what?”

Malcolm took a moment to think, and then he rubbed his hands together and snow started falling from it. Isaac perked up when he felt the flakes touch his cheek and he looked up in wonder as Malcolm shaped the snow, making the petal-like drops dance around Isaac’s head and clump together until they looked like bunnies chasing each other. A bright excited smile lit up his face as he reached up to pet one of the bunnies, his throat making a cooing sound.

Suddenly Malcolm realized that he had the attention of the whole class, the children’s eyes lighting up in excitement. He caught the eye of Orsino who was grinning at him broadly in approval.

“Can I do that?”

“Teach me! Teach me!”

“I want to pet the bunny!”

The children started to crowd around him and Isaac and the boy buried his head back into his arms to ignore the others.

Orsino clapped his hands in warning. “Alright, I know Enchanter Hawke is making a compelling demonstration of mana control, but this is a very advanced technique that may take years to master,” a mischievous smile crept on Orsino’s lips. “Though I suppose if you all work hard Enchanter Hawke might consent to give a more in depth lesson. He will tell you himself he’s easily the best mage in the Circle.”

Malcolm winced as the children looked back at him with begging eyes. The bunnies lost their shape as Malcolm fumbled with the spell, dropping all the snow to the ground and making a mess around him. He looked at Orsino sheepishly. “I mean, I am but I suck at explaining things.”

Orsino was undeterred. “I would be happy to assist in any way.” Was this payback for Lady de Launcet’s foot cleaning?

Could he say no? It didn’t feel like it. Malcolm’s shoulders slumped. “I mean, I guess I can try.”

A cheer went through the room and as Malcolm looked over at Isaac, even he seemed excited at the prospect of learning from Malcolm.

Malcolm was still nervous, nervous he was somehow going to hurt some innocent kid that didn’t deserve it, but if he could ease Leandra’s burdens by being there for Isaac he’d swallow his discomfort a thousand times with a smile.

As the children started focusing again on meditations, he nudged Isaac, whispering behind his hand. “You know if you want to just fall asleep. I’ll just say you’re in deep meditation.”

Isaac’s eyes seemed to flood with relief, but his face twisted in confusion. “Why?”

Malcolm wasn’t sure if he should start off his lessons by teaching Isaac to nap but the kid looked like he should be in bed not in class. So he answered honestly. “There are lots of different kinds of demons, much like the one you fought yesterday. If you don’t feel good, then they might come back, and you don’t look like you feel good.”

Isaac bit his lip, his thick lashes fluttering against his cheek. “I don’t...feel good.”

“I don’t blame you. It'll be hard after the day you had yesterday. But you have to take care of yourself so you don’t get worse, you understand.”

Isaac looked at his fingers. ”I’m scared to sleep.”

Malcolm remembered when he was small, before he mastered his powers. When the demons would call every night and claw at him. So many close calls that he’d become numb to the risks he took. 

Malcolm didn’t know what came over him but he patted the boy’s head soothingly, leading his head back down to his desk. “I’ll watch your dreams. Just like last time.”

Isaac’s face relaxed, apparently able to remember Malcolm’s rescue enough through the dream fog. It wasn’t long until his eyes drew closed, breathing shallowly and evenly.

Malcolm kept a hand on the boy, subtly weaving a memory of siblings in gardens, when he had a home and family and toys. A soft smile touched the boy's lips as his throat vroomed in his sleep. If Orsino or Frank noticed, they did not say a thing.  

Chapter Text

Leandra looked at her phone, her text from Mara saying that she had just made it to Darktown. Mara texted a picture of herself showing that she was safe, just like she promised Leandra. Darktown was not a place Leandra would ever send Mara, but it was the only place to get the medicine Leandra needed since birth control was seen as a slight against the Maker. 

Mara insisted that this healer was reputable and that she used her before, but still Leandra wasn’t sure if the Maker would forgive her if she went through with taking this medicine. Or did he even care? With Isaac’s possession, it seemed like the Maker was intent on making her life miserable anyways. Still, if something happened to Mara, she wasn’t sure if she could ever forgive herself and she feared that the Maker would strike Mara down as a way to punish Leandra’s foolishness.

As Leandra tried not to think of her impending sin, her mind wandered to Malcolm. She had never seen him look as scared as he did last night. She didn’t know what he wasn’t telling her, but she could tell by the way he shivered in her arms that his pain ran deep. She couldn’t imagine what he’d been through in the Circle. What stole the words from his throat? What could make him whimper like that? 

She only meant to give him some comfort. She didn’t mean to get him in trouble. She didn’t mean to fall asleep either. It was just so easy when he was beside her, making her feel safe and loved in a way that she never felt before. 

Already the ache in her heart was back as she counted the seconds for their next meeting, hoping that somehow time would pass faster. She missed the warmth of his skin, the taste of his lips and she found it hard to focus on anything else.

Leandra was dressed modestly, not just because she had a full day’s worth of prayer that she needed to do at the Chantry, but because throughout the night Malcolm had marked her body with many love bites. And though he had been careful not to leave them anywhere too noticeable, there were a few higher on her chest that left out some of the more daring designs Mara would try to get her to wear. 

Honestly, she preferred to dress in something modest and conservative when meeting Guillaume. She didn’t want to show off her body to anybody but Malcolm. Though that dress he was asking her to wear a few nights from now was pushing it. It would be the most skin she had ever shown in public. There was a little thrill at the thought of his hungry eyes on her all night. How long would it take for him to drag her off to a discreet corner and ravish her again? She wanted to drive him crazy as he did her, but she had to admit she wasn’t sure if she had the confidence to pull it off. Thankfully she had some time to gather some.

Her Father and Mother approved of the high necked long-sleeved dress that Leandra chose. It was pink and lacy, with light chiffon cut in a fashionable way, but still very appropriate for an appointment with Grand Cleric Elthina. Her Mother thankfully did not have time in her schedule to even stay for breakfast so it was just her and her Father, eating silently as she fumed, refusing to be the first one to talk. 

After last night, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be around her Father at all. He usually let her Mother be the bad cop so he could have a more agreeable relationship but she knew he was just as culpable. Her Father looked like he kept wanting to bring up a conversation, but her silent glares told him he’d be in for an argument, and her Father hated arguments. It wasn’t that he was a soft man. Leandra had known some of his criticisms to be cutting and cruel, but most of them were spared for Gamlen.

This new dynamic her Father seemed unprepared for, and she was pleased that he seemed at a loss to how to act around her.

Leandra had never had a reason to disobey her parents before, never found fault in their judgment even if they didn’t always agree. She was taught to heed her elders, show respect, appeal to their better senses and take in their wisdom. But she found no wisdom in her parents’ logic. And her parents were never easy to appeal to. The fact was that before now Leandra and her parents had been civil and she thought they were close. But Leandra was realizing that closeness was only given if she danced to their tune. 

Ever since meeting Malcolm, she started wanting more for herself, more freedom than the carefully planned future her parents had constructed for her. She knew they loved her, but she didn’t realize the lengths they would go to exert control over her. Leandra expected resistance when Mara and Gamlen came out to the public as a couple, but not threats of disownment, or draining Leandra’s accounts to keep her from paying Mara the wage she deserved. Were they always like this? Did she just fail to notice their cruelty?

Leandra still had hope that she would find a way to bring Malcolm home to her parents, and they would accept him as the son they never knew they wanted, but she knew from their reaction with Mara, that that path would not be without serious confrontation. She did wish she still had rehearsal, so she could let her mind wander as she played. She had never had more clarity than when her hands were plucking at her lute. Still, prayer was its own clarity of sorts. But she didn’t need prayer to know she couldn’t marry Guillaume, not after the night she had. She just didn’t know how to tell him the news, yet.

In the tensely silent car ride with her Father, the layers of her dress did not help with the nervous sweating. Thankfully her parents didn’t notice that Mara was gone for most of the morning and that Leandra mostly gotten ready by herself. 

Because of her little mishap she had no time to even tell Mara her parents’ new power play, which was not an easy thing on her mind. As she went through her closet and jewelry, she started noting the things she could possibly sell and let go, to give her more time with Mara if that’s what it came to.

Leandra let her hair down since her braids were always sloppier than Mara’s and she fiddled with the ends of her hair impatiently waiting to arrive at the Chantry. Perhaps her parents thought their plan had worked. They would be wrong.

Her Father looked up from his phone, the glare of his glasses obscuring his eyes. “What happened to Dulci? Or Heather? Or Amelie? You have other friends than Mara.”

Leandra went a shade darker at the implication. “Of course I do.”

“But you don’t go shopping with them like you used to. Are you at odds?”

“I don’t exactly have the expenses to go shopping, do I?” Leandra bit her lip as she kept her glare suppressed to the window.

“Well of course we’ll give you money to shop to hang out with your friends. We don’t want people thinking we’re in hard times,” her Father sniffed.

Though Leandra wasn’t sure that was the right reason, she had to admit she did kind of miss Dulci even if she could be even more Orlesian than Guillaume. And Heather, she had seen in rehearsal, but ever since the Ball it seemed like she was avoiding Leandra. And Amelie, as annoying as she was, was a very dear friend for years and she could always count on her advice, even if she was nosier than her Mother.

And yet she had been avoiding them because they all didn’t like Mara and she was afraid of what they would say about her new relationship with Gamlen. And she could not even think of how to tell them about Malcolm. But, she still loved them dearly. Perhaps she could find a way to make peace between all her friends but she froze as she suddenly realized the main problem. “Can I bring Mara?”

Her Father stiffened. She knew she should have taken a page out of Gamlen's book and just begged for forgiveness rather than ask permission. She could tell she was in for a lecture now and she crossed her arms at her Father’s glare. 

“I really thought you’d grow out of this on your own, and you might think your Mother and I are coming from nowhere, but we have felt this way for a long time. Frankly, we find your relationship with Mara to be…inappropriate.”

Leandra’s cheeks flamed. “How so?”

“People are talking,” her Father failed to elaborate more on who or the details as he took off his glasses and started cleaning them with a handkerchief from his pocket. “We are civil with our servants because respect fosters respect, but I think you’ve gotten confused as to who your real friends are.”

Leandra scoffed, raising a fine eyebrow. “And you would know who my true friends are?”

“It’s certainly not the help ,” Lord Amell sighed, placing his glasses back on his head delicately. “You’re my daughter. I know what’s best for you, even if you don’t know it yourself. I don’t want to see you get hurt or taken advantage of.”

“You’re being ridiculous. Mara’s never taken advantage of me,” Leandra looked solely at the window, grateful that the Chantry pillars were close.

“Does she not steal your clothes? Your makeup? I mean the other day I think I caught her wearing the blue sapphire diamond earrings your Grandmother Vittoria gave on your birthday.”

“She doesn’t steal,” Leandra scowled. “I let her do that.”

“You shouldn’t!” her Father snapped back. “What if she lost them? Her paycheck can’t afford replacements.”

Leandra couldn’t keep the scoff from her throat. “Mara keeps a better track of my things than I do. Besides, I wouldn’t be so vulgar as to ask my best friend to have that kind of debt to me. I would have hated to lose Grandmama’s earrings, but honestly I have so much jewelry most of it goes unused. What’s the harm?”

Her Father looked absolutely flabbergasted as if she asked to go to the moon. “What’s the harm?” he repeated. “You must know what it looks like?”

She couldn’t believe this. Or maybe she could, which was worse. Whose opinion was the great Lord Amell cowing to? Who got offended that their gift decorated a commoner? One of his political friends? Grandmama herself? Leandra looked her Father square in the eyes, sick of all the ways he controlled her and she just snapped, snarling, “I don’t give a fuck what it looks like. They are my things. I can do what I like.”

Her Father opened his mouth, his face reddening to a tomato color. He glowered. “See, this is why we must insist on a new Lady’s Maid. Mara has been a terrible influence on you.”

“I quite disagree,” she sniffed, thankful that Senhel pulled into their designated spot in the Chantry parking lot because she had enough of this conversation.

She got out of the car without waiting for Senhel to open the door, which only irritated her Father more, but she couldn’t stand breathing the same air as him. She didn’t know how Gamlen survived all these years under their intense scrutiny. She hated what her relationship with her parents had become but she couldn’t find it in herself to play peacemaker like usual.

She only managed to get halfway up the steps of the Chantry when she spotted Guillaume sitting on a bench, appearing to be waiting for her.

Her heart wrenched thinking of how devoted he always seemed to her, and how she knew hurting him was inevitable. Better sooner than later, right? Or was the bliss of ignorance better?

That was what killed her the most. She was going to crush his heart in her hand but she had to, if only to spare him greater pain. Stringing him along seemed crueler. Still, she wished she could have brought Mara for support, but her trip to Darktown took priority. She checked her phone again to find Mara giving a quick update where she took a picture of herself next to a beautiful wall mural she found in Darktown. Still, thankfully, safe.

Until Leandra landed herself questionably pregnant, she didn’t understand how people could be so irresponsible. She didn’t understand the rush of emotions that came with the heat of the moment, didn’t know how easily one could get carried away in ecstasy. But the Chantry had harsh ideas about things like birth control and harsher views on abortion and though Mara assured her that at this stage it could hardly be called a baby, she couldn’t think of herself as a person that could harm a child unborn or not.

Still, when Mara said she knew a healer in Darktown, Leandra thought immediately of her conversation with Malcolm, how he’d ask her to run away. What if she didn’t want to run away? Would he skip town and leave her to raise his baby?

She told herself he wasn’t that kind of man, but did she really know him? She reminded herself it had only been a week, and though their text and phone conversations went on for hours and they talked deeply, subjects like the future and what they wanted out of their relationship had been left vague.

But no matter how uncertain her future with Malcolm was, Leandra knew breaking up with Guillaume had more to do with her own cheating. She tried so hard to live her life with pure intentions, and no matter how things ended with Malcolm, she couldn’t be with Guillaume. Not after she betrayed him so deeply without him even knowing.

When Guillaume went to kiss her cheeks she allowed it, knowing this would be the last time he’d ever do this, even if he didn’t know it yet.

No sooner did his lips touch her skin did she shudder involuntarily. She felt her throat closing up, freezing so much it was hard not to notice.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t look well, ma cherie,” Guillaume rubbed her hand sympathetically, trying to ease her.

She knew he was just being kind, but it was tearing her up inside. “No, it’s nothing,” she smiled brightly, wondering if he could tell that the cheer in her voice was false. “I’m just looking forward to some peace and quiet,” Leandra shot a hasty glare at her Father as he started up the steps of the Chantry.

Guillaume’s eyes widened in understanding. He offered his hand to Leandra. “Shall we head inside, then?”

Leandra looked at the hand, suddenly paralyzed. She found she could no longer act normal around him, not with Malcolm’s touch ghosting her memory, and the promise she made to be true still on her lips. She couldn’t break up with Guillaume in front of her Father on the Chantry steps but she couldn’t think of a way to dodge his hand, so he tapped his shoulder and said, “Look! I think I spotted a demon!”

“Andraste’s Blood! Near the Chantry?!” Guillaume turned around to look where Leandra pointed, but she took off in the other direction as quickly as she could, scolding herself for acting so rashly, and yet it was all she could think of on the spot. Still, she ran up the steps like a madwoman and into the Chantry, unsure what she was going to say when they inevitably caught up to her.

She kept running through the Chantry, needing to escape Guillaume with all of her beings. She didn’t know what she was thinking. Every statue was peering down at her menacingly like they knew the sins were written on her skin. How did she expect to react normally when she could feel her life shifting directions like a ship knocked adrift into uncharted waters? Suddenly she was in the Great Hall where in the chapel the sisters knelt in prayer. They raised their heads, questioning eyes at who would dare run in the Chantry only to be surprised it was Leandra. She stopped mid-stride, her heels catching as she slowed to a more appropriate pace.

The nuns squinted their eyes disapprovingly, and Leandra bowed her head, curtsying quickly, before heading sideways into one of the alcoves and hurried upstairs, unsure what her plan was.

Perhaps she could sneak out the back and just go home. Fake sick. Maybe that would give her some time to write some speeches, and come up with the words to tell Guillaume she didn’t have right now. She could hear Guillaume and her Father calling for her from the Chantry lower chambers. She just ignored them and kept climbing and climbing until their voices grew distant and she reached a hallway that she wasn’t all that familiar with.

Leandra knew she should not be here. Most of the doors seemed locked tight and she went further in hoping to find a staircase that led back downstairs but not back towards Guillaume and her Father. Still, if she was caught she did not have a credible excuse. 

As she got further in she heard voices coming from an ajar door guarded by two imposing statues of Maferath and Justinia, Andraste’s most trusted advisors. They glared at her as if they knew she was guilty and she avoided looking at them as she tried to pass.

“Your Grace, do you not see the need for such a writ? I already have the support of the Rivain and Fereldan Circles,” the man’s rich timbre voice had a distinct Rivaini accent, with overly formal speech obviously taken from the most structured lessons.

“You’ve delivered your petition, Serah Jaheem. I will see that it gets on the desk of First Enchanter Elric,” Grand Cleric Elthina said with a tired voice.

Leandra knew this conversation was not for her ears and if she was caught up here she might be in big trouble so she tried to sneak past the doors seeing another alcove that looked like it had more stairs.

“First Enchanter Elric is a Lucrosian that would sell his own Mother if it fattened the Circle’s coffers. Do you really think a man such as him cares about keeping a Mother from being separated from her child? Brothers from their sisters? A Grand Cleric’s support in favor of the Maker’s forgotten children could change a lot of minds. The Circle need not be a trauma to endure.”

Leandra stopped in her steps, perking up as she had never thought to meet another soul that felt as passionately as her about mages. She considered this the working of the Maker’s Hand somehow guiding her and so she walked up to the door to listen in.

“Serah Jaheem, I think you must be mistaken. I do not have the power to dictate the minds of men any more than anyone else. Opinions are not easily swayed with a few pretty words. Besides, the Circles are sovereign. If the First Enchanter denies your petition, I’m afraid you’ll just have to accept that.” She could see the Grand Enchanter in her blessed garb, her blonde hair in carefully braided buns, not a hair out of place.

“But you are a close adviser, no?” Leandra pushed the door open and stepped fully into the room, not even apologizing for eavesdropping. She knew she should but she learned from her parents that admitting fault could also mean admitting weakness, and she could not seem that to the Grand Cleric. “Surely one who speaks for the Maker could sway a man’s heart in favor of such Mercy.”

Leandra raised her head to her full height, which unfortunately wasn’t that tall at all, and placed herself beside the towering dark handsome man as if she had been invited there.

The man’s full lips pulled into a bright white smile, his coarse coily thick hair was trimmed to a neat flat top and the sides of his head had patterns shaved into them. He had many golden piercings with delicate engravings on his face and a giant necklace on his neck that seemed to be choking him and many bangles on his wrists that jangled as he moved. He was dressed just as gorgeously, in silks that draped his muscled body in robes of rich oranges and reds so fine it billowed like a multicolored flaming waterfall. He offered a hand, his fingers having different colored stones on each ring that sparkled with some magic. “And to whom do I owe this pleasure?”

Leandra took the man’s hand eagerly, his hands surprisingly soft. “Leandra Amell, and I am quite interested in signing your petition.”

The man looked amused, grasping her hand warmly. “You don’t even know what I’m asking for?”

“I heard enough about families being reunited to know that I agree with what you’re proposing.”

Serah Jaheem widened his dark brown eyes, as warm as his skin, his face turning rather serious as his thumb swiped the side of his stubbled jaw. He plucked a clipboard off the Grand Cleric’s desk, “it’s not just about reuniting families.” He handed the clipboard to her with passion in his voice, “it’s about improving conditions in the Circle so we can minimize the amount of death we see from both mage and templar by working together to find solutions.” He swiped a pen from the Grand Cleric’s desk as she went red, suppressing the rage in her eyes with a stoic mask. “It’s about making the Circle a home rather than a prison and allowing mages to earn their citizenship like anyone else. It’s about redistributing the work so they don’t just die in our wars. They can create power sources for our cities, grow crops for our fields, do the good the Maker wanted them to do by giving them their powers. Can you imagine a world like that, Lady Amell?”

Leandra found her eyes watering, thinking of her Malcolm, how happy he would be if he could use that brilliant brain of his to be solving the world’s problems the way only he knew how. Would he be some magical scientist, making new and wondrous spells like how to make things taste better without adding any spice? She remembered how proud he was of that, how happy it made him that his friends could feast on the same things she did. In a world like this, no one could deny Malcolm his brilliance. And Anna and Robert could come back to Kirkwall, and Isaac wouldn’t be alone. She wouldn’t have to fear Colette having magic. She could see the smile returning to her Aunt’s face.

The Grand Cleric stood up from her desk, placing her palms upon the wood. “Lady Amell, don’t be taken in by his idealism. He speaks blasphemy. I’m sure your parents wouldn’t like this.”

Blasphemy? She could not agree, and the dig about using her parents to control her decisions sparked angry defiance she didn’t know she had. “They don’t have to. He’s making perfect sense to me and I make my own decisions.” Leandra felt a rush of glee, openly defying her parents and the Grand Cleric in such a way, and signed her name eagerly at the bottom, surprised to see that there were pages of people who felt like she did, though one name stuck out from the others. 

Ser Maurevar Carver.

Inspiration struck. “I know others who may be willing. Is there anything I can do to help your cause?”

His smile turned dazzling as he thumbed through his breast pocket for a business card. “It’s not my cause. I’m just a simple lawyer who represents a group of like-minded people who wish for mages to live in harmony with the world they came from.”

He placed the card gingerly in her hand and she found the touch made her stutter.

The Grand Cleric swayed, looking uneasy all of a sudden. “Lady Amell, these are political matters that don’t concern you.”

Leandra could barely suppress the glare in her eyes as she turned from Serah Jaheem. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I have to disagree. You know I have a niece and nephews in the Circle. You know my Aunt suffers the worst heartsickness from being separated from her children.” She spoke of these troubles to the Grand Cleric often. Did she forget? Or did she think her family secretly deserved what was happening? “My family has always been loyal to the Chantry. I see great benefit in what he proposes.”

The Grand Cleric paled, looking like she wished to find an argument to steer Leandra from this path, but not being such a direct woman, she seemed to be choosing her words carefully, but failing to find anything to fill the silence.

Suddenly Leandra heard her Father and Guillaume’s voices coming up the stairs and down the hallways and she cringed, not feeling so brave anymore. 

The Grand Cleric stood up calmly from her desk and walking across the room with grace as she pushed the door fully open motioning down the hallway to her panicked family, “Hello, Lord Amell. It seems your daughter has taken our appointment early.”

She put on a sheepish smile as her Father stormed into the room and snapped his blue eyes to her in fury, seeming utterly perplexed and shocked by her behavior. “Leandra Gloriana Amell, when the Chantry Sisters said you snuck up here I almost didn’t believe it. What is going through your head, young lady?”

Leandra balked, no good answer on her tongue. She looked at Guillaume who had his worried eyes on.

“I…” she dropped her eyes to the ground as her brain churned for an excuse that was not there.

“Lord Amell,” Guillaume tapped his shoulder, bowing my head. “She spoke of a demon. It may be its influence.”

The Grand Cleric widened her eyes, taking an unconscious step back from Leandra as she folded her hands in front of herself. “Did you see a demon, child?”

Leandra started stammering. She knew she should have said something else. Now they were going to think she’s haunted. “I-I might have…” she said, unsure if she should commit to the lie. She tucked her hair behind her ear, going as pink as her dress.

The Grand Cleric thinned her pink lips, “Seeing demons is often a sign of a guilty conscience. Perhaps you should hold a confession, child.”

Leandra balked, not able to keep the jitters from her throat. “I have nothing to confess to.”

The Grand Cleric raised one eyebrow. “How about breaking into my office in the middle of a private meeting?”

Leandra bowed her head embarrassed as the Rivaini man hid his chuckle behind his jeweled hand. “Of course, Your Grace. I’m so sorry.”

The Grand Cleric looked to Aristride Amell, seeming relieved of the distraction, and said, “It is time for our appointment, now, is it not?”

The other grandly dressed man bowed his head, placing the petition back on her desk with a bow. “At a later date, Your Grace.”

The Grand Cleric’s nod was rather curt as she retreated back behind her desk, her Father taking a seat across from her.

Guillaume stood dutifully by the door, escorting Leandra out by the arm as she shrank into a panicking ball and hugged herself.

She could see Guillaume wanted to fuss, but the other man seemed to be studying her intently, in a way she’d come to notice as attraction. She had to admit he was rather striking, tall with a strength in his gait, shapely features, and an open warm expression but his charm had no sway with Malcolm holding her heart and so she shrank at his rapt attention.

He followed them back down the steps of the Chantry, shadowing Leandra.

“I have to admit, I’m surprised. I brought my petition to Lord Amell, but he refused me. Do you disagree on a lot?”

She thought that was a rather forward question, and she found her cheeks heating in spite of herself. “Unfortunately, that does seem to be the pattern as of late,” she answered honestly.

His full lips turned upwards into a smile as if he was pleased about that. “I do like a woman who knows her own mind.” 

She found herself going completely red, the bold flirt leaving her response stolen from her throat.

That’s when Guillaume stepped between them, putting a possessive arm on Leandra’s waist. “I say, you’re being rather forward with my fiancée.”

Leandra did not need this right now. She tried to squirm out of Guillaume’s grasp, but he seemed to want to make it clear that her hand had been claimed. Still, she was grateful that the man swallowed his disappointment and bowed his head in apology.

“How impolite of me. I did not realize this was the same, Lady Amell.”

Leandra wondered how they knew each other that she might have already been introduced. There was a tension in Guillaume that she did not notice before now.

She had never seen Guillaume look so cross, and didn’t think the man capable before now. His mustache was twitching against his cheek and he was squeezing her so hard it almost hurt as he hurried their pace down the steps.

Still, Serah Jaheem seemed more amused than put off. “I have to say, Lord de Launcet, are you going to follow Lady Amell’s suit and sign the petition? Your support could sway others to follow.”

Leandra turned her big doe eyes to Guillaume, wide and hopeful, to find his shoulder’s shrinking as he suddenly avoided both their gazes. “My House made a decision.”

“Yes, your House Heads made a decision, but what of yours?”

Leandra stopped at the base of the stairs, her steps faltering. “You knew about this petition? And didn’t tell me?”

Suddenly Guillaume let go, the guilt written on his face.

Serah Jaheem closed his mouth quickly, realizing the new tension in the room was his fault and he took a respectful step back.

Guillaume was caught suddenly stammering as he retreated from her a little. “L-Leandra, you know my parents are rather conservative.”

She squinted her eyes. “And was it they who told you not to tell me? Or did you deny me my own choice?”

Guillaume’s face twisted. “To sign that petition would mean to take such a radical stance. Leandra, I have to think of my company. There could be boycotts on my hotels. Good Chantry folk will see this new writ as a threat. This could lead to riots. Revolts, even.”

Leandra couldn’t keep the disappointment on her face if she tried. She felt like she was seeing Guillaume for the first time. He was a nice man, perhaps, but not a man that would ever stand for a cause or fight beside her for her family. His name and profits would always come first. 

No, she thought firmly in her head, no matter what happened with Malcolm, she couldn’t marry Guillaume. This moment confirmed it.

Guillaume could seem to sense that this was the wrong thing to say. He tried to put a hand on Leandra’s. “I’m sorry, Leandra. I only meant to protect you.”

“Protect me? Or protect yourself from what I might do?” She glared at him so fiercely he took his hand back.

Guillaume flushed a shade redder almost matching his mustache, stammering his reply. “Maker, I never meant- Leandra, it’s not like I- What I mean to say is-”

“Save it for confession,” she held up her hand to silence him, unable to look at him right now.

She caught Serah Jaheem staring at her again, and he didn’t seem all that broken up about losing a potential petitioner. When his eyes met her she couldn’t help but compare how the brown was so warm like Malcolm’s, but also just as mischievous. His face was properly sympathetic but a smile tugged at his lips.

“Ser Jaheem, was it?” Leandra stepped in front of him, dropping to a more familiar tone.

And then the smile broke out into a full grin, bright against the deepness of his skin, twisting her heart. “Yes, Lady Amell?” She hated the hopeful tone in his voice.

She hesitated for a moment, thinking of Malcolm, but she knew she needed this man’s help to save her family and him too. “Perhaps we could discuss ways I could assist the cause over lunch sometime?” she offered, hoping the request was innocent enough.

Guillaume looked like he had been punched in the gut, and from the way the Rivaini man started beaming as brilliantly as his jewelry that the question had only encouraged him. “How could I deny such a gracious offer? How about dinner? I know a restaurant on the Docks that serves a divine grilled tandoori I think you'll die for.”

“Leandra?” Guillaume’s voice sounded so broken Leandra immediately wished she had waited to ask until she could call the number on his business card.

Her face got hot in embarrassment. Malcolm definitely wouldn’t like this. She could barely believe she was so close to breaking it off with Guillaume only to have to fend off another man’s advances. If she didn’t need this man so much she might have rejected him completely, but she said, “let’s keep it at a professional lunch,” and tried to keep her smile natural and not at all like she wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

“Of course,” if the man was disappointed by her rebuttal he didn’t show it. His smile stayed brilliant, and she still found butterflies in her stomach in spite of herself. “You have my number, already. Call me when you have time. I’ll clear my schedule for you and arrange all the details.”

The blush bloomed on her cheeks before she could stop herself at his forward proclamation, her fingers still wrapped around his card. She only meant to get more information, but she could tell from the mischief in his eyes that he had something else entirely in mind.

If Guillaume was jealous before, he was seething now. He looked at Leandra with questioning eyes and before she could stop herself she bowed her head hastily and said, “Good day,” and suddenly she was fleeing again.

She ran in her heels straight out the Chantry, not caring who saw. As soon as she hit the street she hailed the nearest taxi and just told them to drive to Midtown. She needed to go to Mara’s and figure out how to get herself out of this mess and hopefully, her friend had luck on her trip to Darktown. She texted Mara that she was coming over to raid her ice cream and Mara just gave her usual double thumbs-up emoji. 

Why would the Maker’s help come from such a hand? She needed to make sure to nip this nonsense in the bud before more misunderstandings happened and she hurt Malcolm. 

She pressed her hand over her stomach, feeling the flutters still there, knowing that it was too soon to even know if something was growing and yet as her fingers rested there she couldn’t help but feel hope bubble. She found herself thinking about the future, how complicated this will all become if the medicine failed and Malcolm’s seed planted anyways, and yet the image of her holding his baby, their baby, warmed her heart in a way she didn't think possible.

What would her life look like? She knew it was too soon for her and Malcolm to be parents, but she thought of one day having a little boy that looked just like Malcolm. Would he have his big laugh? His sharp wit? His mischievous smile?

She started fantasizing about who their child would take after. She wished they would have Malcolm’s curls. She would love to run her fingers through them. Perhaps they’d have a little girl and she could give her all sorts of cute hairstyles. Little braids and pigtails with ribbons and bows. Mara could show her how. Suddenly her heart burst thinking of all the little miniature outfits she could put them in, their chubby faces so cute and cheeks so pinchable. She knew she would feel blessed with whatever the Maker gave her. She would fill albums worth of pictures trying to document every moment of their journey into life. The wishful thinking got away from her before she knew it she was conflicted about taking the medicine at all. 

Her fingers wrinkled her dress as she clutched it, as she scolded herself. She couldn’t think like this. She didn’t even know what Malcolm wanted. Perhaps he would not even want to be a Father. Where would she be left? Would he actually abandon her if he got too scared? 

She needed Mara’s counsel, her brutal honesty and her ability to help her prioritize what was important to her. She knew she had made a mess of things, but Mara had a way of cutting through the crap and helping her feel sane again. She hoped Mara was home, though she knew she was welcome either way. She would pour her heart out to the only person she trusted to give her the truth, though she feared what the truth would be.

Chapter Text

The good thing about detention was that Malcolm could nap and continue his demon hunt right under the Circle’s nose. Technically he should be catching up on homework from his past classes, but yesterday’s visit from Zelophehad had Malcolm focused on finding more information about his foe in the Fade. Most of the Fade remained vacant to him, spirits fleeing in his wake, but thankfully he had earned the trust of Scholar and the curious wisp. Instead of wandering aimlessly, Scholar and the wisp guided his journey deeper into the heart, showing him new wonders and ruins he had never seen. The Fade’s whispers were barely audible but constantly humming. In every shadow Malcolm was aware that the Nightmare could be stalking him.

Compassion no longer answered his calls , which worried Malcolm. But he was assured from Scholar that she was safe, for the moment. He was told if he wanted to meet Compassion again then he needed to focus on his training, which didn’t seem to be anything but examining old memories. 

Scholar said in order to ward off Zelophehad, Malcolm had to focus on his fondest memories, ones untainted by grief or sorrow. But Malcolm had precious few moments like that save for when he was with Leandra. And he knew he was on borrowed time with her.

He could not dwell on what could go wrong. He knew the Fade was not the place to have such thoughts. Still, he knew he had no right to Leandra’s hand, even if he knew they belonged together. He could feel it in his heart, the way holding her hand felt like coming home. Her touch made him come alive like nothing else did, her smiles soothed the scars on his soul. Every other girl could not compare to Leandra, couldn’t outwit her, outcharm her. Malcolm could boldly claim that she was more grace than even the Empress of Orlais. 

Those doe eyes saw straight into the pit of him and stripped him bare. Her kindness had softened the hard edges of his heart.

He often found himself absentmindedly sketching her eyes and lips on the margins of his homework. He could draw page after page trying to memorize her expressions, though every piece failed to capture her true beauty. He had pages of hidden sketches memorializing his obsession with her, and his last visit with her had inspired a new sensual piece from their night of passion.

But the Nightmare’s warning echoed at him. “She may love you but she’ll always love her status more.”

Would Leandra ever run away with him? Was there any possibility that he could have her to himself, wholly, selfishly, with no one else in the way. He loved her so much it was hard to breathe at times and Scholar would yell at him and tell him he was ruining the flavor of the memories. But it was difficult for his mind not to fall in that pit. She was his happiness. If she didn’t choose him, what memories could he possibly use against this demon?

Without her as his shield he would be swallowed by the Nightmare.

In addition to Scholar’s company was one curious wisp who seemed to be the same one once called Shiny though its name changed to Floaty to Bouncy, Poky, Dewy to so many others that Malcolm just started calling it ‘the wisp.’ When he was more annoyed ‘fly.’ It had seemed to take a liking to Malcolm whatever it was called and hummed its eerie childlike voice, never straying too far out of reach. Sometimes it swirled around certain landscapes around the Fade pointing out features Malcolm wouldn’t notice, little treasures of energy that floated into him. He couldn’t tell for sure it seemed the wisp was feeding him bits of stray Fade energy that had been captured to make him stronger.

When Malcolm ignored it or tried to venture off on his own, it would shoot a burst of mana blinking in alarming colors. It never hit hard enough to hurt but the shock of magic was definitely attention getting and annoying.

Malcolm had seen a lot of wondrous things during this search; a cave of crystal of each color of the rainbow and some colors he couldn’t describe, a chain of floating mountains that danced in a circle, a swirling whirlpool that split a lake into a drain, but in each of these places other than little treasures that the wisp pointed out, no spirits showed themselves to Malcolm. Malcolm could sense they were there, hiding, and could taste their fear and wariness.

The wisp then led him into a forest of glowing flowers so big that the petals bloomed in the sky like redwood trees. There was a spirit in every blade of grass, in every blossom, even in the clouds, but they did not speak to him. Beneath his feet, the Fade trembled, as if in fear of him. This made him feel uneasy, restless. As they moved farther into the forest, the flowers that glittered in light seemed to lose their gleam, dimming until it seemed like they were walking in the dark and Malcolm suddenly felt a chill creeping up his spine.

Scholar trailed him, his mouth stuffed with bite after bite of his memories. It was true that focusing on Leandra’s love seemed to make traversing the Fade a lot less treacherous, but Malcolm couldn’t help but think that the Scholar demon was taking advantage of him with the feast he was having.

Reliving his memories with Leandra were not so terrible, but these moments were precious to him. Having them so openly on display felt wrong, like walking around naked. The Fade was like a treacherous sea, his emotions a turbulent wave, but she was his life vest keeping him afloat and being swallowed. 

The problem was in the Fade all of the creatures there were present to view his most treasured moments like some drama they were all tuned in for. He felt vulnerable, like he was back in the showers naked with Meredith’s gun at his back.

Scholar was there to redirect him at each turn, commenting on the flavor of his memories with analytical passiveness that only a spirit could. “Focus! You must not have fear or anger in your heart as you walk lest you corrupt the very ground you walk on. Do you not see how delicate the state of the forest is in?”

Malcolm understood that. Sort of. The problem was that it was hard to focus because Scholar wouldn’t stop telling him what he was doing wrong which seemed to be everything. Still in the wake of his anger the flowers were quickly withering and dying and Malcolm bottled up the emotions before he choked out the life of the forest.

He could see the impression of the Fade bringing Leandra to life around him. She was in the shadows of the leaves. Spirits borrowed her face to mirages and images of his wants and desires. The lesser spirits curiously tasted his happy memories and he felt all their emotions as his own, making ghosts of her around him, tainting her face with the violation of their prodding curiosity.

“No, not like that,” Scholar waved his arms. “Is the memory already losing potency? Perhaps you should think of something more stimulating?” 

“Excuse me?” Malcolm certainly hoped the Scholar wasn’t speaking what he was thinking of. 

“Like her laugh! Your heart is much more at ease when you’re listening to that.” 

The way Scholar reached into his head and pulled out his most private thoughts like a kid in a cookie jar made Malcolm have to snap back a lash of annoyance bubbling inside of him. 

No sooner than Scholar spoke the words, Leandra’s laugh echoed from the forest, springing from his thoughts. It had an eerie musical quality that slithered through the stalks of the leaves. He didn’t want these memories to be tainted by the spirits. He didn’t want these thoughts to belong to anyone but him. He wanted every piece of Leandra to himself and he didn’t care how selfish that was. 

Scholar smacked him on the top of his head. “What did I say about that emotion? Do you want to attract Zelophehad!” 

Malcolm scowled as the mirages of his memories turned to face him and watch, feeling the sudden hostility rising from them. He swallowed his anger though it felt like he was choking as he bottled up the instinctive fear of being surrounded in the heart of a spirit’s realm. .

Scholar was suddenly in his face, which made him jump. “Focus! On her smell. Like jasmine and spring.” 

Suddenly he could smell the wafting fragrance, flowing from all the flowers. He had to admit it did soothe the edges of his frazzled spooked nerves. 

Scholar crossed his arms. “If you’d show me the memory of last night, then we’d get to the heart much faster. I sense a great source of positive energy from it that can be potentially healing- much more potent than any of the paltry memories you’ve been giving me.”

Malcolm’s face burned, filling his mind with useless jarring chatter before the pesky spirit could glance through his thoughts. “Absolutely not! You’re lucky I'm showing you this much.” 

Scholar’s teeth snarled into a scowl. “Stubborn somniari. Doing things your way is going to take so much longer.” 

“Well, it’s my way or we can part ways and I do this on my own.” Malcolm knew he should not be so stubborn. That he was desperate for help, and that if Scholar did actually abandon him, that he would be truly fighting blind and that would most likely kill him. 

“Well I need to change this emotion,” Scholar grumbled, reaching into Malcolm’s head for a less guarded memory of his mother’s chicken soup that she always made when he was sick. He had almost forgotten about it and the sight of it brought an ache to his heart.

“Stop!” Scholar blurted, bonking him in the head with a spoon. “Spirits can be sickeningly addicted to pain. It’s too confusing and overstimulating.”

Malcolm knew what that meant. Corruption. Demons. But Malcolm was an open wound, bleeding and staining everything he touched. The forest was choking in his presence, the flowers twitching as his foul emotions gnarled them. “You don’t understand. I don’t choose to be in pain. There’s no off switch, or believe me I’d find it.” Malcolm ran a frustrated hand through his curls, feeling his bottled emotions bubbling to the top. 

“But you’re not in as much pain when you’re around Leandra. So summon her. It’s safer in the long run.”

“The anger sparked before he could reel it in. He pointed an accusing finger at the Scholar which jumped back like they were about to be struck. “Don’t you dare bring her into this!” 

Then a flower stalk collapsed behind him, withering into dust as it died. 

Scholar looked angry and started slurping up some chicken soup loudly, a full leaf of cabbage disappearing into his mouth. He talked as he ate, barely understandable. “Foolish somniari! Do you want to kill this whole grove!”

“Where are we? You said you could take me to someone who can help me defeat the Nightmare.” Still, Malcolm tried his best to bring the bottle his emotions back up, catching each stray thought before they stabbed the spirits around him. 

“You need to change it back into a dream as it was intended to be,” the Scholar slurped. “But that’s too advanced for your skills as of now. Just learn to walk to Fade without corrupting it,” The Scholar snorted as if he was impatient with Malcolm for not being able to do something so basic. “You’ll never be able to bring back the Guardian Spirits until you can manage at least that.”  

“Huh? Guardian Spirits?” Malcolm perked up his head. “What are those?”

Scholar grabbed a chicken thigh from his soup and pointed it at Malcolm accusingly. “Do you not recognize the land you walk? In each of these realms once lay an ancient spirit, from before the Sundering of the Veil. They brought balance to the land and without them Zelophehad can feast as he pleases.”

A pang of guilt tore through Malcolm, causing the Scholar to burp. Malcolm pushed down the feeling but he felt an ache as he looked at the Fade. He could not recognize these places at all. They looked like magical wonders of dreams he’d never thought he’d have. The Fade used to look like a gnarled twisted place but ever since walking with Scholar it seemed so serene. No demons had attacked them in all this time which was unusual. Or could this be normal? Could walking the Fade be like a nice afternoon stroll?

But the flowers were obviously wilting in his presence, the forest floor covered in dead petals that floated down from the canopy, rotting. The wisp led them through the twists on the thick rose bush stems, the thorns looking more deadly each passing second.

“Is there nothing I can do to stop the Nightmare?” It seemed all he could find were dead whispers. If the Fade had knowledge of Zelophehad’s undoing it kept it from him.

“You are Somniari. You weave our worlds together. You cannot bring back what is lost, but you can create something new.”

There was a comfort in those words even with the weight behind them. Malcolm wondered if fighting Zelophehad wasn’t the answer. In every encounter with the creature he seemed to barely escape with his life and he knew now that throwing himself at him wasn’t working. The Fade responded to the demon as actively as it responded to Malcolm. If he couldn’t overpower it, then how did others survive the creature? Could he bind it? Trap it? Reason with it?

“Yes, you understand now,” Scholar nodded as he bit into the bone, crunching it as he talked. “Zelophehad cannot affect you if there is no conflict in your heart.”

“But he’s a creature that seeks to possess my mind and destroy everything I care about. I can’t leave him alone forever,” Malcolm argued. He was used to controlling his thoughts but not to this precision. It was exhausting to keep this up and he wasn’t sure he could count on himself to not make a mistake.

“Precisely why we still need help,” Scholar hit Malcolm on the forehead with the chicken bone. “Now redirect that energy.”  

The spike of annoyance sharpened at the pain but it did distract him from the downward spiral of fear his thoughts were starting to go in.

At the sight of the spirit eating Malcolm’s tummy grumbled. The wisp came to investigate the sound, mimicking the gurgle with a little burp.

Scholar looked at Malcolm’s stomach. “What was that?”

Malcolm sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t have lunch today cause I’m being punished, so watching you eat is not helping.”

Scholar offered his bowl. “Well, this might help.”

Malcolm snorted. “That’s not real and it won’t do shit.”

Still, the demon held up the bowl to his nose. “Does it not smell real?”

The aroma of the heated stew filled Malcolm’s nostrils, reminding him of his Mother tucking him in when he was sick and feverish. His mouth watered in spite of himself and before he knew it Scholar placed it into his hands.

He sniffed his memory of his mother’s chicken soup suspiciously. It did feel real, well as real as the Fade could feel. Tentatively he tipped the bowl into his mouth and sipped some of the broth.

He was not expecting the memory to be so refreshing, and comforting, like a hug that warmed him to the core. He found himself slurping more up and before he knew it he had finished off the broth and was picking through the meat and cabbage still leftover from the stew with his fingers, strangely content with every bite. He could taste the emotions from the memory, the love from his Mother, the tenderness of her care, the joy of her presence. His belly didn’t feel any fuller but he did feel remarkably better, like he had woken up from a really good nap.

And suddenly the flowers started to sparkle a little brighter. A glimmer of energy flickering through the blossoms like an electric current. Malcolm followed the light with his eyes.

Scholar nodded approvingly. “Yes, with that emotion, Zelophehad will have no foothold in you and you’ll stop killing the forest. We can work in peace.”

With the flowers glowing brighter Malcolm suddenly realized they were at the foot of what looked like a giant altar, and for a second he did in fact recognize this place, or at least the statue.

A fierce mabari face stood protectively on the edge, pointing to the sky with its paw. Thick thorny vines choked its limbs and neck, its sapphire eyes gleaming at him in the glow of the flower light.

“I remember this,” Malcolm’s feet were drawn to the giant paws that dwarfed him, the statue crowned by a field of flowers that seemed too large for him to fathom. “I was here before. I don’t remember how I got here but a giant ravenous dog spirit attacked me out of nowhere and I…” Malcolm trailed off as he gulped. If this spirit was responsible for keeping Zelophehad at bay, then Malcolm had made a huge mistake. “What have I done?”

The statue started to glow and suddenly a cluster of wisps formed moving like a swarm of bees. The wisps started charging with mana, the air sparking with energy.

Malcolm raised his arms to protect himself, the glass of the bowl breaking against the ground. Malcolm drew fire to his fingertips but Scholar waved him down. 

“If you kill the wisps it’ll take forever for them to reform which will only make Zelophehad stronger!”

At that Malcolm lowered his hands, the spell dying, his fists smoking. Malcolm tried to keep calm but the wisps buzzed angrily.

Malcolm looked to Scholar. “What now?”

Scholar gasped as if he was offended. “What do you mean? Apologize!”

He raised his eyebrows. “How do you apologize for killing someone? ‘My bad. Here’s a gift basket?’”

Scholar shrugged as he gnawed at his chicken bone. “Perhaps that would be better than doing nothing.”

An arc of energy spat at Malcolm’s feet missing him by inches. He jumped away from the burst, his nerves screaming at him to defend himself. “Alright! Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t mean to kill you!”

Another arc shot past his head, deafening his ear. Malcolm threw up a barrier instinctively as the energy destroyed a blossom behind him. Malcolm dove behind a thick stalk of a flower, glaring at Scholar.

“You didn’t mean it.” Scholar harrumphed as he yanked another memory from his head, a tray of shrimp puffs from the Betrothal Ball, and started scarfing them down as he watched Malcolm expectantly.

“What am I supposed to do here? I’m not looking to get killed, demon!”

The Scholar burped and shivered in between bites. “I keep telling you I’m not a demon! And Kindness didn’t used to be!”

Malcolm blinked at the revelation of the spirit’s name. “I killed Kindness?” He peered behind a thick leafy branch and stared at the cluster of wisps hovering above the statue protectively, feeling twisted with guilt.  

“And turned it into Cruelty,” Scholar nodded as he chomped on another shrimp bite. “If nothing happens, this grove will wither into hatred and this forest will warp into weeds even without your corrupting influence.”

Malcolm could see what he was saying. There were invasive thorn plants wrapping around each flower like kudzu, choking the life from them and darkening their glow.

The wisps stayed buzzing but they didn’t send any more arcs of lightning at him. They seemed to be staying near the statue, swarming around the head of the dog aimlessly. Some of the wisps were fighting amongst each other in a chaotic fashion while others scattered to brighten up the flowers of the forests. Everything was a frenzy. 

He could feel the corruption from the wisps, the malice, the fear, the vindictiveness mixed up with the pain, the sorrow, the hopelessness. Whatever was left of the spirit had been warped into murderous intent but each wisp seemed to fight for dominance, it’s aggression having no real direction but to itself. Warped wisps seemed to be trying to corrupt the other wisps that attempted to heal the forest, chasing them away from their work.

Could damage like this even be fixed? Malcolm had doubts. Still, Scholar was right, if this was his fault, doing nothing would be cowardly. Still, even wisps could do major damage with enough provocation. He knew it would be easier to destroy the whole colony, but he could tell that those wisps were connected to the grove itself. It might destroy this wondrous place.

With a shaky breath, he stepped out from behind the giant flower stalk, facing the dog statue again. The wisps turned from their infighting and he could feel their united hatred as they saw their murderer again. The wisps buzzed angrily, the energy arcing wildly between them. Malcolm wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do here, and Scholar seemed more interested in his new tray of shrimp puffs to be of any help. In fact, Malcolm couldn’t help but feel that Scholar was yanking him around on purpose. Perhaps he even deserved it.

Malcolm made sure to keep calm, thinking only of Leandra, trying to remember how much her kindness changed him. He got on his knees at the altar, and bowed deeply to the ground, even as arcs of lightning shot past him. Still, each arc missed. It seemed even now the wisps were puffing up, trying to scare Malcolm off with their display of power. The energy from the altar arced wildly, but Malcolm cast no magic, not even to defend himself. He pressed his nose to the ground in a bow offering his bare back to the wisps. Perhaps they would try a few lashes. They would hurt but Malcolm knew he could take a few hits. Still, no blast of magic came to lash at him.

The wisps quieted down, one by one, the buzzing dying a whisper as they waited to see what Malcolm would do.

“I’m sorry,” Malcolm repeated, but this time his heart was open. He let down the walls of the barriers of his mind, so the wisps could taste each of his memories, regret, fear, confusion, guilt. The wisps seemed to gobble at the emotions hungrily tasting each one in a frenzy. With the wisps feeding he could taste their emotions as his own. They were hurt. They were broken. They’re confused. And they were no longer whole.

Suddenly he understood how this being was part of the forest, the heart of the land. He had crushed this place into pieces and the fragments were now breaking away into nothing.

He felt tainted, sinned. A true monster. Could someone with so much blood on his hands be truly worthy of Leandra? Would that fear in her eyes return if she knew what he was truly capable of? His head hung low. “You don’t have to forgive me. I know I don’t deserve it. But…please. How do I make you whole again? Is that even possible?”

The wisps were quiet and suddenly he realized Scholar was beside him, crunching loudly. “Now, you are asking the right questions.”

Some wisps started to buzz again, sparking with energy while other wisps floated in uncertainty, bobbing as they whispered to each other.

The wisp once called Shiny suddenly floated up to the colony and joined the conversation and soon undecipherable chatter filled the forest. Every cloud, every leaf, every petal was whispering to each other, discussing Malcolm’s offer together. Malcolm’s ears strained to understand them but it was too much. There were too many voices. It was all so layered, chaotic, but he could taste the uncertainty they had of him, the pull between hope and mistrust. The anger was definitely still there arcing in the lightning the wisps spat at each other. He could feel the aching loss in the songs they were singing to each other. And then all the sound stopped as the whole forest turned to Malcolm.

The flowers spoke at once, like a breeze carried through their leaves. “We want to be reborn. To sing. To heal. To play.”

Malcolm raised his head, looking as the wisps surrounded him, inspecting him closely. “I can help you, if you tell me how.”

The wisps danced around Malcolm, excitably bouncing and whirling. “Recreate us. Shape us. Nurture us. Bring us to life.”

The wisps swarmed him impatiently for him to work his magic, but Malcolm had no idea to do what they were asking of him.

They were pinching his skin and yanking at his hair and clothes, eager to be remade. Some were getting impatient and sparking his skin to urge him. Malcolm turned to Scholar and said, “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

Scholar then started waving his empty platter at the wisps shooing them away. “Now, now, Kindness, I know you’re always impatient, but this Somniari barely knows how to walk. It might take some work before you’re reborn.”

“Feed us. Feed us. Feed us.” The wisps chanted in unison. Some of them were turning an angry red, sparking again.

Malcolm gawked at the wisps. “What, you want a sandwich now?”

“No, feed it kindness of course,” Scholar said. For once he was not munching. “The more sincere the better.”

Malcolm blinked, not really sure how to do that. He knew that spirits fed on emotions and he tried to scan his memories for something that would work, but the only people he could think that he went out of his way to be kind to was Isaac and Leandra, and he felt strange using his memories as spirit food.

Still, the Nightmare had targeted both Isaac and Leandra and if this spirit of Kindness would make the demon weaker then Malcolm couldn’t pass up this chance. He picked up his last memory of cheering Isaac up with bunnies that he formed in snow. How that moment gave him hope and allowed him to go to forget his troubles as he drifted to sleep. 

With uncertainty, Malcolm offered it to the wisps. The wisps gobbled up the memory in a frenzy, like piranhas seizing a carcass. Suddenly the vines started to recede from the statue as the forest canopy opened up to the sun, covering the forest floor with an intense glittering light. From the bushes and underbrush little snow bunnies hopped out and cleaned themselves, little flakes of ice brushing off their whiskers and dusting the grass. They snuffled the forest floor and brought life to the world. 

The wisps had fused to a nebulous turquoise light, but no real form had been taken. Still, a healing energy pulsed with every breath. 

Malcolm turned to Scholar. “Is it fixed yet?”

“A good start,” Scholar nodded approvingly. “You’ll have to do more acts of kindness before it can take a shape. In the meantime we can at least start healing the forest.”

The new larger wisp started going from flower to flower, brightening it up with more color and unlike before the flowers actually rose their heads. Intricate patterns weaved through the petals as it worked. New small spirit animals formed under the leaves of the flowers, nebulous bees and birds and chipmunks and squirrels. Baby blossoms opened up in the light soaking in new life.

The small wisp that brought Malcolm to this place started dancing around him excitedly giggling in an eerie childlike voice. A healing energy started to strengthen the forest, making everything greener, but it was diluted and didn’t quite kill the weeds that were choking the flowers. The light from the canopy was already dimming so a shadow was cast across the dog’s altar, but the sapphire’s eyes had a soft blue light emanating from it. Malcolm wasn’t sure why but staring into that dog’s eyes gave him hope.

Suddenly he felt the pull from the other side of the Veil. His mind was awakening, someone was shaking his body.

Scholar looked at Malcolm as he started to phase out. “You can’t leave now. The work has barely begun!”

Malcolm tried to fight the pull but he could feel himself fading. “I told you. Real world stuff comes first.”

“But if Zelophehad strikes now, Kindness might die, again! ”

Malcolm paused, fighting the pull as best as he could, though his body was already transparent from fading. He yanked on the connection, though he could feel someone slapping him in the face and the sting was watering his eyes. “I’ll be back as soon as I can!”

Scholar crossed the crystal platter across his chest. “You better!”

He couldn’t fight the pull any longer. He could feel himself falling, the lurch in his stomach as his consciousness shifted from the Fade to his body. He jerked awake just as a hand smacked his cheek.

It wasn’t hard enough to bruise but it did shock Malcolm and he groaned, cradling his face. He shook himself awake to glare at none other than Carver, who looked steaming mad.

He noticed that the classroom had been emptied and there was no one else there, which could only mean that Carver was going to let him have it.

“Are you seriously slacking off? Now!?”

Malcolm looked at his pile of essays and tests that he still had to make up but he wanted nothing more than to burn the whole pile. He tried not to scowl, but his face still twisted in a grimace as he failed to come up with a believable excuse. “I know that’s what it looks like but that nap was important.”

Carver balled his fist. “Do you want me to hit you for real?”

Malcolm groaned. He didn’t expect to be believed. “If you do, will you let me go back to sleep?”

That earned him a smack to the back of the head. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you think that because we’re friends you can walk all over me?” Carver snarled, slamming his hand on Malcolm’s desk. “Do you understand I have a job to keep? That if I keep having to bail your stupid ass out I’m going to lose it quick!”

Malcolm shrank, knowing this lecture was coming but it didn’t take out the lurch from his gut. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

Carver lowered his head so his brown eyes were level with Malcolm, sympathy on his face. “Meredith went snooping for who your lover is, and Charlie...might have blamed Taylor.”

Malcolm’s face paled, his gut sucking in. “He didn’t.”

Carver chuckled as he pinched the bridge of his nose as if he was trying to fight off a headache. “It worked. For now. Meredith’s obviously smart enough not to believe it but this alibi and the fact you were found on grounds means the Knight Commander has decided you won’t get further punishment than detention. And Taylor at least didn’t deny it.”

Malcolm couldn’t believe this. “I’m going to kill him,” he growled. “He could have just kept his mouth shut and let her keep looking.”

“Right to Leandra?” Carver raised his eyebrows as he looked up to the sky for help. “You’re lucky Charlie was so convincing. Honestly, it’s safer this way. If the Knight Commander finds out about you and Leandra I don’t know what he’d do. He might have a heart attack.”

“Hey, free promotion, right?” Malcolm tried to break the tension with a joke, but it was clear that was a mistake from the fierceness of Carver’s glare.

He pointed a gauntleted finger at Malcolm. “No more sneaking out, Hawke. I mean it. You’ll see Leandra this weekend at her estate. Be happy with that,” then Carver grimaced. “Though you might want to bring her up to speed in case this gets back to her.”

The grin on his face dropped. How could he explain this. Still, he was looking forward to that, sleeping outside the Circle, in a real bed, with no bars on the windows. A templar would be there to guard him, but he was sure he could figure out a way to sneak past them and spend much needed time with Leandra.

Still, Malcolm couldn’t honor that promise. He already asked Leandra to go to that party and he texted his boss, Cross, he’d be there. He put on his most innocent grin and said, “Don’t worry, dude, I think I’ve pushed boundaries enough for a while.”

Carver’s shoulders relaxed at that. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Malcolm felt a little bad lying to Carver, but he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. Carver wouldn’t know a thing. He needed to see Leandra in that dress that he found in the back of her closet. It was hot pink, and the fabric so flimsy he wasn’t sure how it was held together. The sides had giant holes and he couldn’t see how that skirt would cover much of anything. He hoped he could convince her to wear it. He could just imagine the jealous looks of every man there if she was in his arms. 

The bell rang and Malcolm knew lunch was over and Carver wouldn’t hold him hostage much longer. Carver glared at him. “If you don’t want the Knight-Commander to change his mind about your assignment, you might want to get to the train so you can arrive at the clinic on time.”

Malcolm perked up. He actually did enjoy riding the train across the water to the mainland. Technically the clinic was part of the Circle, but it was one of the few places where Malcolm got to interact with Kirkwall’s citizens. Healing their ailments, hearing their stories about their families, eating their sweets and snacks that they brought as thanks, made him feel like he finally had a place in the world finally.

“Don’t worry, Carver. Today was just a hiccup. You’re not going to get any more problems from me, I promise.”

Carver examined Malcolm’s face, unsure if he should trust a word he was saying.

Students started to shuffle into the classroom though they paused when they saw Malcolm and Carver there. Malcolm noticed that they were all whispering to each other. From the growing crowd Arth shoved his way forward, saw Malcolm, and went red, scowling. 

Malcolm couldn’t resist saluting Arth mockingly, even if he was digging his own grave. 

With other people watching, Carver was all business again, and he gestured with his head to the door with strictness in his voice. “Get moving, Hawke.”

Malcolm slouched, grabbing his stuff as he ambled out of the classroom, whispers and snickers following his footsteps. He knew he should get back the flower forest and strengthen the Kindness spirit so Zelophehad couldn’t destroy it further. But his evening was promised to the clinic, and he couldn’t afford to ditch class again and lose his position as a House Mage. He could only hope that Zelophehad’s eyes were peering elsewhere for now.

Chapter Text

Zelophehad searched the depths of Kirkwall for the right candidate to bend to his will. The search was tedious but fruitful. There were new demons forming in his legion every day, new souls to receive his commands. He sent his flock into his enemies’ territories, whittling down what was left of the magical wards that once protected the Guardian Spirit’s lands. Luckily the Somniari had already done the treacherous deed of defeating the Guardian Spirits himself, a task Zelophehad had not succeeded at since his inception. Sure, he had managed to slay one or two in his time, but the rest would rise up to resurrect their brethren and drive him back to his lair.

That the Somniari managed to defeat them at all spoke to his strength. And Zelophehad had not survived this long gambling his life aimlessly, when he could whittle away at his prey a Nightmare at a time.

A suitable candidate was near enough the Somniari to touch, and pointed in the right direction would speed up the Somniari’s downfall. Zelophehad was a patient creature that would outlast man, but he also knew the risks of idleness. The Fade whispered of the Scholar spirit feeding wisdom to the Somniari, and in return growing stronger with every memory. If the Scholar unlocked the Somniari’s true potential, then Zelophehad might truly be threatened.

But Zelophehad was a true hunter, knowing when to plot and plan and when to strike. And as impatient as he was to taste the true world, he had become the most feared demon because in the end he always got his prey. He would weave a web that not even the Somniari could escape. That the mortal escaped him twice did not matter. This would not become a pattern.

One of Zelophehad’s many eyes alerted him that he was no longer alone and he turned his head to the coming presence.

“Are you sure you want to choose him?” He could hear the disgust in Avarice’s voice. “Would you not prefer an empty vessel?”

“I already have a vessel,” the smirk pulled on Zelophehad’s lips. “I had a taste. Power like I haven’t seen in ages.” Zelophehad’s many eyes were pulled to the corner where a Hunger demon was cowering, bowing its head so its eyes did not meet him. Its limbs were bound by Avarice’s whip, its thorns snaking into the demon’s form. Zelophehad smirked as the demon shivered. “You do not mind if I ask you a favor, do you?”

The demon picked up its head, its withered skin hollowing into its cheeks like a starved man. The Hunger demon avoided gazing directly. “I’ve already given you my allegiance. What could I do that you cannot?”

Zelophehad’s goat eyes squinted. “Your vessel…I have an interest.” His smirk widened as the demon flinched. “Do not worry,” he added soothingly, “I seek not to make a claim on your Bonded. But I’ve been made aware that your mortal has recently spoken with the Somniari.”

This seemed to be news to the demon who flicked their cloudy corpse-like eyes at Avarice who nodded in confirmation. “I have seen the Somniari, but I know well enough not to hunt him. He is your claim.”

“Smart.” Zelophehad’s pleased sharp toothed smile glistened at it. “But perhaps I was to make an offer to you. Would you be interested?”

Hunger picked up its head, a quizzical look on their distorted face. “You would make an offer to me? What do you need?”

“Your vessel,” Zelophehad simpered, raising the demon’s chin with an elongated sharp finger. “Has it feasted?”

The demon looked visibly eager. “Close. Closer every day.”

Zelophehad couldn’t keep the glee off his face. This would make things so much easier. “Then how about I provide you with your first real meal?”

---

Carver had an impending headache and his vision was starting to blur. There was the distant ringing in his ears that told him that the lyrium in his system was wearing off, but he was too absorbed in studying the testimony videos to take a break to inject a draught. The screen from his computer strained his eyes after staring so long, and he had not noticed that the sun had long since set over the ocean. Only the light from his computer lit up his office. 

This investigation was going nowhere. There were a lot of frightened nobles pointing accusations at their rivals, lots of servants just trying to duck out of duties, plenty of politicians and merchants with suspect debts, but nothing that tied anyone to the Haunting at the Betrothal Ball. Carver suspected any leads he might have had were starting to run cold. The only person that could possibly explain this event was Malcolm, but every time Carver brought up the Haunting, Malcolm would sidestep the question and escape as soon as he could find an opening.

Carver knew Malcolm was somehow at the center of it. He always seemed to be. Hawke had that strange kind of luck. If he was going to get Malcolm to tell him anything, he’d need to corner him with the truth first. But Carver was exhausted from working non-stop to uncover it.

Carver kept reviewing Taylor Filene’s interview, replaying the conversation until he had it memorized. On camera she recreated an island on the Fade so their table sat amidst a green sea sky. It took awhile to convince the Knight Commander that she did not attract the spirits, though Taylor did indeed seem to have a sensitivity to them. And still Carver knew that he had only backed off because they found no further evidence. The Knight-Commander claimed that this was Taylor’s intention, but Taylor's casting had been so controlled and purposeful, it was hard to imagine her creating the Haunting by mistake. And Carver knew better than to believe Taylor would have done so on purpose. 

He was almost ready to write this off as a natural Fade disturbance caused by overuse of magic straining the Veil. Malcolm had used the opportunity at the Ball to show off in spite of Carver’s warning.

Still, his instincts were telling him differently.

“I recreated the Fade from my dreams,” Taylor’s voice was cloaked from static from the speaker, her eyes invisible due to the glare of the camera. There had never been documented evidence of the Black City looming in the sky, at least in Southern Thedas. Little wisps floated around their heads, idly passing them with no mind. “It’s just light refracting. Illusion spells are no more dangerous than a movie projector.”

Even on camera the illusion looked indistinguishable. They really seemed to be floating in the sky held up by nothing but magic. “So what could cause such a disturbance?” Carver asked. He had asked every mage that was present at the Ball this question and each gave similar but different answers.”

“Well, it depends,” Taylor allowed her illusion to dissipate so the interview cell faded back on screen. “While it’s possible that it could have been an attack, who were they attacking? The Fade tear started on the ballroom floor. If it was because we mages strained the veil with our performances, you would think that the tear would happen sooner. If it was an assassination attempt, there are easier methods and they clearly failed. If it was a terrorist attack, they risked a lot to send no message attached. So if this aggressor is human or otherwise, what was their goal?”

Taylor Filene always was a smart one, top of her class, and Carver knew she’d go far in the Circle. “So what is your assessment of the situation?”

She adjusted her glasses, the light flashing off them. “Well, I’ve had a lot of theories but there’s a lot that’s strange about this. I know Fade tears can happen naturally when too many spirits press against the Veil. Something attracted a lot of spirits, and it’s possible that they weakened the Veil and created the Fade disturbance. But the timing is just…odd. So the real question is what attracted the spirits? And what triggered the tear? Find that out, and I think we can prevent it from happening again.”

Even now, Carver was impressed with Taylor. He’d dare say she would do well on her own investigation if she could get the clearance. She had several encyclopedias worth of knowledge stored in that brain and was quite a good influence on Malcolm. He was rather glad the two of them were friends, even if listening to them argue was tiresome.   

“Did you see anything strange before the tear?” A standard question.

“No,” Taylor bit her cheek as she looked down guiltily. “Everyone was where they were supposed to be.” An obvious lie covering for Malcolm. She quickly added, “I was focused on the food.” She looked a little embarrassed at that, though Carver couldn’t see why. He also was highly distracted by the banquet spread.

Taylor pushed her way forward conspiratorially with a whisper. “I heard Malcolm healed the Veil. What kind of spell did he use? I’ve read nothing like that. What exactly happened?”

Carver watched his former self frown as he failed to recall what lie Malcolm had made up. “An aura of some kind, to calm spirits.”

Taylor blinked incredulously. “What aura could possibly be strong enough to repair an actual tear in reality. There must be more to it.” A question that plagued Carver's mind constantly.

“There was,” the Carver in the video paused, wondering if what he said should be recorded. “He also sang and cast bubble magic.”  

Taylor blinked a couple times, then frowned, crossing her arms in a huff. “Fine. Have your laugh. Don’t tell me. I’ll get it out of Malcolm eventually.” She tucked a coil into place. “Am I free to go, yet?”

Carver remembered how surprised he was that Taylor didn’t believe him. He knew Malcolm played pranks, but Carver made it a point to be an honest person. Still, perhaps it was best that the Knight-Commander disregard that as a joke. Malcolm had seemed nervous about the whole event anyways.

He’d nodded for Taylor to leave because those were the end of the questions he could ask. On camera that was.

Carver clicked the end of the video, looking at the pile of interviews he still had to decipher collected from his subordinates. He still had hours of work to do. The De Launcets so far were very forthcoming, perfectly willing to blame the Amell curse for the whole thing. Even Guillaume seemed to suspect it, even if he had more sympathy than anger with the Amell family. 

This was becoming the Knight-Commander’s official response to the issue, something that the Amell heads were doing everything they could to fight against.

It made sense why Aristride Amell needed that to not be the case. Perrin Threnhold had not named a successor to the Viscount’s seat, but his daughter and son were unsuited and uninterested in politics, each defying their family lineage by taking careers in show business. Chivalry was a well-known B-rated actress and her brother, Humility, was her producer and director. They co-wrote their own films which Chivalry also starred in, often using their friends as fill-in actors.

It was not a secret that the Viscount was very disappointed in his children, and Aristride Amell was capitalizing on that disappointment to put his family as the new ruling head. Lord Amell had done well isolating himself from the curse by ostracizing Revka, but now with the Haunting it was getting harder to deny that there might be some merit to the rumor. And with the Amells doing their best to use their influence to dodge the interviews, they were not exactly looking innocent.

Carver pulled out Leandra’s file, still waiting to be filled with the report. He knew that going behind the Amell’s backs to talk to Leandra would cause a ruckus with the Viscount’s seat if he found out. But her testimony he knew was vital. 

Still, as he eyed her known contacts a name popped out at him that made his heart flutter, Mara Hartling.

All the servants of the Amells had the same story, obviously instructed, that the Amells were the most devout nobles of all of Kirkwall and that they were a blessed house, free of sin. But Mara’s name had been left off the Amell’s witness list, and Carver was wondering what reasons the Amells had for doing that. From his impression of her, she seemed to be more than just a regular family servant. Rumors about her relationship with Gamlen Amell were brought up by many of the rival nobles, but every servant of the Amell’s claimed the Mara was just a normal lady’s maid, and that it was idle gossip spread by jealous Houses. But Carver saw the possessive way Gamlen looked at Mara. Even if their relationship the night of the Ball was rocky, Carver knew the gossip was more than rumors. That it burned him to know that truth was something he was struggling to find peace with.

Carver pulled out his phone and punched in Mara’s number. He told himself that calling her was simply a professional due diligence, but he still hoped that she would be alone and not with Gamlen, who seemed to stick to her side like flypaper.

The tone rang on for an uncomfortably long time, long enough for Carver to realize he’d called late. It was almost midnight, and she might not even be awake. He was about to hang up, and put the matter to rest for the moment, when she answered the phone with her usual spunk. “Did Darlene give you this number? ‘Cause I’m here to tell you she’s not interested. Does the word ‘no’ not mean anything to you? Back off!”

Carver found himself chuckling before he could remind himself to be professional. “There seems to be a misunderstanding. This is the number of Mara Hartling, is it not?”

“Yeah?” her voice sounded a little worried. “You’re not a stalker, are you? ‘Cause my lolo taught me how to shoot since age five and I have pretty good aim.”

Why was Carver so disappointed she didn’t recognize his voice? Hers never seemed to leave his head. “Well, I hope that won’t be necessary as I’m not attempting to stalk you. This is Maurevar Carver, Knight Captain of the Templars?” He wrinkled his nose at his terrible first name. He felt awkward even saying it. 

“Oooooooooh,” she breathed out a relieved laugh. “That’s why you sounded familiar. Why didn’t you say from the start, Officer? You should know better than to call a lady so late at night. But are cops just above manners like they’re above the law.”

Carver felt sheepish, properly scolded, and wished he had thought to check his clock. “Apologies, I was working late and didn’t quite realize the time when I called.”

She hummed at that and he wondered for a second if she was doing that thing where she tucked her tongue in her cheek as she thought, a habit he found terribly distracting. “Figures you’d be a man that didn’t know how to relax.” A quip not too far from the truth. “So what can I do for you, Officer?”

The way she would wield the word Officer seemed so playful. From her tone it could be taken more of an insult than an honorific. Carver found his throat dry, unsure of what he wanted to say, so he resorted to his usual professional demeanor. “I’m calling to follow up on the investigation. You haven’t been interviewed and I was hoping to arrange an appointment.”

“Sure you’re not just trying to get me alone?” there was a distinctive teasing lilt to her voice that made Carver sputter.

“Of course not. In fact, you may bring Leandra. She hasn’t been interviewed yet either, as I understand.”

There was a pause that told him trouble. “Have you asked her parents?”

Perhaps he should, but maybe there were plenty of reasons he shouldn’t. The Amells still had the backing of the Viscount’s seat, and tensions have been rising between the Viscount and the Templars. The Viscount had been a terrible nuisance about the Haunting. He had given the Knight-Commander a strict lecture about the incompetence of his command and that if he didn’t get to the bottom of this, he would use what influence he could to remove him from his post. That made the Knight-Commander rather eager to pin the blame on someone. Anyone. But even though the Knight-Commander agreed that the Amell’s strange lineage could be what caused the Haunting, the Knight-Commander didn’t seem too keen on pointing his finger in the Amell's direction. If Carver didn’t find a real lead quickly, another elf would be tranquilized for being deemed ‘too dangerous’.

So Carver considered his answer and said, “Perhaps she would consider speaking to me off the record. In a private, neutral place.”

“Oooh you really are a bad boy underneath that goody two shoes act,” she hummed whimsically, and he wasn’t sure why he felt so pleased at that assessment from her. “Sure, I’ll talk to her. As long as I get the same deal.”

“You don’t want your words to go on record?” he asked, burning with curiosity.

“Some things shouldn’t be on record.”

He assumed this had to do with Gamlen, and though he could understand why she would not want anything getting back to Leandra’s parents, he did wonder if there was more to it. Still, that seed of envy that he felt for Gamlen grew. Perhaps in a different life, if he was born a little earlier, or if his parents weren’t so devout, he could have pursued Mara on his own terms. But he had to bury those thoughts deep. But still that seed of envy was rooting, gnarling him.

“Name a place and time and I’ll be there,” he said, feeling a thrill at the declaration. He knew she wouldn’t be alone, but any time with her was time he would take. He had never actually gone on a date before, even approaching forty. His work always seemed to get in the way of relationships. And though he knew this was not a date, and this was not the beginning of a relationship, he still couldn’t help but look forward to peeling back the layers of who Mara Hartling was, even if this moment was all they would ever have.

“Do you know a little place called the Hanged Man?” Mara mused.

A lot of the people under his command were regulars, and he would sometimes join them for a drink if they invited him. Not that that happened too often. “I’ve been,” he grimaced. Their alcohol was bitter and watered down, but it was drinkable...somewhat.

“Be there tomorrow at noon. I’ll bring Leandra. You buy us a drink, we talk, and you do what you will from that. But if you ask if we talked to you, we’ll deny it. Understand?”

Seems like she had reason to fear that the information she had would get her in trouble. “I won’t tell anyone.” He meant it. He knew his Knight-Commander was too interested in keeping his job to try to look for the real truth.

“Good, I’ll hold you to that.” Then she clicked off the phone without even saying goodbye.

Carver found himself staring at her number, wondering if he made a mistake. Carver kept secrets but that didn’t mean he liked to. He wasn’t sure what kind of skeletons the Amells had in their closets but he had a feeling this conversation would change everything.

---

Carver was right that Mara had a secret she was keeping. One she was keeping from everybody, even Leandra. Mara tossed outfit after outfit onto her bed but none of them seemed appropriate for a meeting with a sexy Knight-Captain with a soothing voice. 

Mara knew she shouldn’t flirt with the man or give him ideas. Not that she actually thought he was getting any. Flirting just came easy for Mara, and with a man like Carver, even easier.

Still, she felt a tinge of guilt as she obsessed over her outfit. With Gamlen she put in effort, but he was never one to give compliments easily. That was Leandra’s territory. No, the biggest compliment she could get from Gamlen was in how quickly she could get him to take her clothes off.

But there were a lot of ways she didn't quite feel wanted or appreciated. She was starting to wonder if Gamlen valued her as a person or just an easy lay. He had been a lot grouchier now that she’d started saying she wasn’t in the mood after that terrible night with Malcolm. When she withdrew her affections, so did he. And though his wandering eyes had been annoying before, they became more worrisome as she wondered if he would go to someone else to satisfy his urges. It wasn’t like he wasn’t a handsome man. 

She had suspected him of cheating before, but could never prove it. In one of her more mad moments she had broken into Gamlen’s phone and found deleted messages to several numbers. What she had made out from the conversations made her question everything. 

One text chain talked about a cryptic meeting. Another talked about a gift. But most of the conversation had been removed, as if they knew someone would come snooping.

Someone like a jealous lover.

Mara tried to explain it away with other reasons but nothing else fit. Much like most of her wardrobe.

Mara spotted an a-line dress that hugged the waist but flared out to make a cute skirt that just hit above her knee. Perhaps a little fancy for a place like the Hanged Man, but Leandra would be super overdressed. She took the hangar off and laid it over her small frame, which was steadily getting wider. She wondered if the cinch in the stomach would be snug just like those in her other clothes had become. She looked at all her outfits filled with clingy, revealing clothes, which were going to be impossible to wear very soon.

Because Mara was three months pregnant.

Nobody seemed to notice that Mara had stopped eating shellfish and cheese and lots of other yummy things like coffee and caffeinated sodas. Gamlen even seemed to appreciate her excuse in joining him in sobriety as a way to help him stay off liquor. 

On the last lunch date with Leandra, she’d made a comment about how they hadn’t gone for sushi in forever, but Mara was able to pass off that she was on a vegan cleanse. Leandra accepted that answer for now, but it was going to be harder and harder to not see the signs when her belly started poking out.

It wasn’t that Mara had been trying to keep it secret indefinitely, she just didn’t know the months would fly by so quickly. She wanted Gamlen to be the first to know. But every moment she tried to bring it up she chickened out, thinking of those deleted conversations and wandering eyes. She was scared of his reaction, and the truth.

And the truth was she knew Gamlen wasn’t cut out to be a father.

She loved Gamlen. He made her laugh, was always was spoiling her rotten with gifts, and the sex wasn’t terrible. In fact the sex was probably the best part. But they did argue often. Things that didn’t used to bother her before were starting to bother her now. He made rude comments that often embarrassed her and she found herself apologizing for. He was often entitled, and it was tiring to deal with. 

Children tested patience. She worried what he would say in his short temper. Would he take after his parents in more ways than one?

She couldn’t imagine him swaddling babies, or changing diapers, or picking up kids from school, or kissing boo boos and wiping snotty tears. She knew if it were up to him, he’d hire out help whenever he could and never lift a finger. He was a lazy man, who liked his wealth and his privilege, not that she could blame him. So did she. But now that she was at the crossroads of being a mother, she was starting to question a lot of her values, a lot of what she wanted out of life. Did she even want to be a mother? Would Gamlen ever consider leaving his parents’ house and moving into hers? When she first suggested it, he’d laughed at her. She knew he couldn’t see the value of being a regular person. Work a day job, nine-to-five, and come home for dinner. Do laundry and chores and cook meals and take out trash. She used to imagine him and her just growing old on her porch, watching the neighbors walking their dogs as they sipped tea. She wanted the kind of life she remembered before that idiot drunk ruined everything and stole her family.

Or would Gamlen somehow defy expectations and convince his parents to let her be a lady? Would the Amells ever raise her up like Leandra insisted they would? Would her child be a noble and live the life Leandra had? Would any other noble even see her child as legitimate? She had grown up among them, and knew they guarded the class gates with iron swords. 

But she could suffer terrible in-laws if it meant her child would have a whole family.

She was still sure she wanted Gamlen. That’s why she had pushed him into bringing their relationship to the light. She wanted to see if he would choose her, and he did. And she thought she would be happy about that, and she was. But there was an uncertain flutter in her belly, an anxiety about how Gamlen’s parents reacted to their relationship and how terribly they’d take this news. In turn, how would Gamlen react to them? 

Gamlen resisted the idea that they be out in the first place, which on some level she could understand with the backlash they were getting. But sometimes she felt like she was very alone in the relationship, supporting herself. And she wondered about adding a baby to that mess.

Leandra came into her room unannounced, shuffling a duffel bag and several suitcases in her hand. Behind her, Mara’s lolo, or grandfather, was hobbling behind her with his cane in his hand, shaking as he steadied himself on it.

“Now, Lady Amell, it's most improper for you to not at least let me take one bag.” His red hair had long since greyed into a fine silver, which he wore in a long braid tucked behind his pointed ears. Deep wrinkles were etched into his face. Each finger was knotted and swollen with arthritis, and his hand shook against his fancy cane.

“It’s quite alright, Harvel, I’ve got this managed,” Leandra dumped the bags unceremoniously onto Mara’s polkadot duvet, bouncing on the fluffiness.

Mara, still in her underwear, turned around with a raised eyebrow. She covered herself with her dress as her lolo and best friend bickered.

“At least let me put on a spot of tea since you’re visiting. I just got fresh chamomile and lavender from your favorite shop on the Docks. Or would you like something else? I can whip up some lunch if you’re hungry.”

Leandra put on her most diplomatic smile. “Harvel, I’m quite alright. Honestly, I won’t be here long enough to enjoy it. So please just relax.”

Her lolo’s dentured smile fell a little. “Of course, but if you change your mind, do let me know. You’ve been so good to my Mara.” He glanced over at Mara only to go red. “Heavens, girl! Why aren’t you dressed, yet?”

Mara scoffed as she pressed the dress over her body and did some model poses that made Leandra laugh. “I haven’t found an outfit yet. What do you think?”

Her lolo scowled. “Have some respect for your elders, girl! It’s not proper to be dressed in only your smallclothes!”

Mara stuck out her tongue as she took off the dress from the hangar and started angling it over her head. “Well you were the one who came into my room unannounced.” Her voice was muffled but still loud.

Her lolo was already retreating as hastily as he could hobble. “Fine, fine, I’m leaving. But behave! I don’t want to hear from Leandra’s parents that you’ve been mouthy again.”

“Sorry, lolo,” came the automatic reply, even though Mara had no intention of changing her ways, ever. She felt a distinct moment of relief when the door clicked shut.

Mara adjusted her dress over her body, which was definitely a smidgen too tight, she eyed Leandra’s suitcases. “You moving in?”

“Not quite.” Leandra had a mischievous look on her face as she unzipped one of the cases to show a pile of fine dresses, jewelry, even valuable books, gathered together like the neatest pirate treasure chest.

Mara’s eyes popped out of her head. “Leandra?”

“This is your advanced payday. I thought we could have a yard sale and gather funds to help pay for your salary. I know we can’t get the full price but it should help in the coming months.” There was a distinct hint of pride in her voice and Mara could tell she had spent a long time sorting through all of this.

When Leandra told Mara that her parents had drained her accounts to prevent her from paying her salary, Mara had already given up. She knew that Leandra’s parents wouldn’t let this go. And she felt terrible that Leandra had suffered because of her.

Mara wasn’t sure what else she could do but move on. Sure, she was supposed to keep this job until she retired. And her child was supposed to inherit her position. Any other job she took would not have the same security.

Mara’s eyes fell upon the open suitcase. She could tell that these gifts might have not meant much to Leandra, but they meant a lot to the people who gave them to Leandra. If any of this was found missing, Mara would be the first to be blamed.

“Leandra,” she started carefully, not wanting to ruin her bright idea. “I love you, but your parents will kill me if you sell any of this.” She picked up a pearl necklace dripping with rubies. “And didn’t Guillaume give you this?”

Leandra blushed and took it back from Mara. “Well, I hardly wear it, do I? I don’t think he’ll notice.”

Mara sighed and squinted at her friend. “You really think no one will notice three suitcases worth of stuff are missing?”

“Well of course my parents will notice. I made sure to leave a note informing them so they wouldn’t panic.” Leandra huffed, face wrinkling at Mara’s expression as she realized the flaw in her logic. “But what else am I supposed to do?” she cried out, throwing an angry hand in the air. Passionate tears pricked Leandra’s eyes and she quickly wiped them away, her shoulders straightening in resolve. “I can’t lose you, Mara. You mean more than a few trinkets. I’ll take the guff from my parents. So, let’s just...focus.” She took a deep steadying breath. “ So, how does one…organize a yard sale?”

Mara couldn’t help but laugh. Leandra was endearing and wonderful and the dearest thing to her heart. And she was so utterly beautiful Mara couldn’t help but wrap her arms around her and inhale the jasmine scent wafting off her silky black hair. Her heart ached knowing this was all they could have, but she knew she would never be able to compete with Malcolm. All hope that the drunken kiss they shared so many years ago meant something died when she saw how fervently Leandra kissed Malcolm in the karaoke club. It wasn’t like their kiss, so tentative and hesitant, like if they pressed too hard they would break each other. With Malcolm, Leandra was a drunk with her lust, taking every part of him greedily.

They could never be that. They never had that. Mara knew it, and that’s why she’d settled for Gamlen so long ago.

Not that she didn’t love Gamlen, too. But Gamlen was jealous of Leandra, and didn’t know he had good reason to be. If Gamlen knew what Mara kept in her heart, it would break him. And she didn’t want that. She loved him, in her own way, but not like Leandra. Never like Leandra.

But Mara would never do anything to ruin their friendship.

“Look, I’ll sort through this with you later, but we can’t do a yard sale.”

Leandra twisted her face crossly, ready to argue. “And why not?”

Mara chuckled as she forced herself to pull away, even though every part of her wanted to pull Leandra closer. She picked up a pair of diamond earrings, one of several one-of-a-kind pieces. “I’m sure these are twenty-four karat and you’re not going to get your money’s worth at a yard sale, honey. I know for sure my neighbor Nat will try to convince you to part with these for, like, ten silver.”

Leandra looked horrified. “The diamonds alone are worth at least six hundred eighty sovereigns.”

“Exactly,” Mara nodded in confirmation. “So, let’s hit some pawn shops and jewelers instead. That way we won’t be set for months, but years.”

Leandra’s eyes started to sparkle. “I’ve never set foot in a pawn shop!” She looked down at her outfit, a white floral winter dress, the fur lining of her neck looking quite fluffy. “Do you think I’ve dressed appropriately?”

Definitely not, but Mara wasn’t sure if Leandra had anything appropriate for selling her family’s jewels. Boy, Leandra was sure asking for trouble, but Mara would follow her anywhere. “Let’s worry about that later. Right now, we have a date with a Templar.”

Chapter Text

The morning-after pill that Mara got for Leandra was a little white thing that could be mistaken for aspirin and Leandra was half convinced that was all it was. Still, Mara gave her a thorough explanation of what it could do to her body. Nausea, sickness, possibly one of the worst periods of her life. It was certainly more preferable to pregnancy but the pill stayed tucked in its package in her bag unused for the moment in spite of the little voice in her head silently screaming that that was a mistake.

Malcolm had finally convinced her last night to wear that pink sexy party dress he found in her closet to go to that Darktown Rave. And if the dress had the effect on Malcolm she wanted she didn’t want her plans to be ruined by an early period of sickness.

Leandra told herself she could take it as soon as she got home from the rave tomorrow. Technically it would fit in the window of efficacy. There was a nagging feeling in the back of her head telling her that she should take it anyways rather than deal with the consequences of an unplanned pregnancy. But there was another stronger feeling originating somewhere lower, a hunger to feel Malcolm again.

Leandra had such a vivid dream last night that left her aching. Malcolm visited her again, just like he did every night, with visions of flower forests and the ghost of his touch setting her aflame. When would she get another chance to feel him again? She wasn’t sure she had the patience to wait for another opportunity.

Trying to put that out of her mind only added to Leandra’s nervousness about going to a Lowtown bar. She knew what to say and do at a noble party. She didn’t know the protocol of Lowtown’s manners and she was scared she would make a fool of herself.

She clung closely to Mara as they exited her SUV in the Hanged Man squeezing into the only spot that would fit. Mara’s SUV was not fancy but sure was a lot shinier than the cars parked next to her. In fact, one car had a mirror duct-taped on and a grocery bag sealed the broken window.

Leandra couldn’t help but worry about the trinkets that were to serve as Mara’s salary. Was this a safe enough neighborhood to leave such valuables in the trunk?

But it seemed like a worse idea to lug it all inside for this secret interview that her parents would definitely disapprove of. She knew she could trust Carver if Malcolm did. He’d been nothing but a blessing.

Leandra thought she would be used to crowds having lived in one since birth, but in this one, she felt like she stood out. Everyone seemed to be staring at her like she was lost. Mara, always a dear friend, pulled her in closer, wrapping an arm around her, allowing Leandra to lean in as they made their way out the lot and into the Lowtown market crowd. There were so many more people down here, and the rank smell of sewage and trash that she could blithely ignore in Hightown seemed to cake the air with a film. Without Malcolm to distract her she found herself overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds she was unused to.

It wasn’t that she didn’t ever go to Lowtown. Mara had shown her a few restaurants that might not look like much on the outside but were real hidden gems. Like this little elven place that served the most delightful adobo. She even tried to hire out the family as personal chefs at one point but they turned her down even with the higher pay because that shop was their home. Leandra wished they were going there for lunch instead of at the Hanged Man since Mara had warned her that she might want to get drunk before she ate, which didn’t give her much hope for a decent meal.

Leandra looked at the burly swarthy men with suspicion, clinging to her purse as she passed by. She didn’t mean to flinch when they looked at her. Her parents had warned her about a woman of her status going out of the High Town territory. Pickpockets, muggers, and all sorts of gangs would find her easy prey and though she had the basics of self-defense down, she was not exactly a fighter. Her instructors were always telling her she was too afraid to hurt someone, too afraid to commit to the hit. She wondered if her fears would be validated and if Mara and she were attacked would her training kick in, or would she falter like she usually did?

Mara rubbed her arm soothingly, always able to sense her distress. “I’ve been to the Hanged Man countless times.”

Leandra bit her lip. “Didn’t you say that place is always breaking out in bar fights?”

Mara chuckled, winking at her, her short hair spiky pigtails bobbing. “It’s part of the fun.”

Leandra frowned, unsure how that could be fun, but the way Mara laughed at her expression, she was sure she was exaggerating just to get a reaction. But then again with the stories her parents brought her up with she wasn’t sure.

There was a group of men parked in front of the Hanged Man that looked rowdy, with bruises healing on their knuckles and nicks on their faces. Their vests were matching black leather and their sleeves torn off to show thick muscles. They each balanced a beer bottle on their lips as they talked loudly amongst each other, just barely covering the hum that came from inside.

As the ladies approached, the men quieted, their eyes fell unabashedly on their curves. Low whistles sounded appreciatively.

Immediately Leandra felt hot and tense, her steps slowing as she reluctantly approached the entrance. Lowtown men weren’t known for their respect or their manners. She realized they’d need to get past the wall of men in order to even enter and though she hoped to pass without incident, an incident seemed to be what the men intended. Leandra immediately drew her eyes down in instinct, clinging closely to Mara but that only seemed to encourage the men.

“Well, what are you pretty little dolls doing outside of Hightown? Looking for an adventure?” A bald man with a large scratchy scar on his face smirked at her.

Another skinnier man with a greasy rat-tail and a lopsided grin gestured at Leandra. "Or trouble?"

Leandra shuddered, hugging herself. 

Mara stepped in front of Leandra not meeting any of the men's eyes. "Don't feed the dogs. You’ll only encourage them."

The rat-tailed man laughed. “Ah, Mara, always a charmer. Maybe your friend might be more inclined.”

Leandra felt her insides freezing at the way the men were leering at her. She was used to being treated like a respected noblewoman, not a piece of meat. If her father had heard any of this, these men would be in jail for at least the night, but she definitely couldn’t call upon him at this moment.

So instead she ducked her head, her whole body turning towards Mara as she made herself small.

Mara scowled as she held Leandra. “If you don’t want my knee between your legs again you’ll lay off, Wheezer.”

The other men laughed and pushed the jowly man as he snarled, spilling his swig of beer.

Mara squeezed Leandra’s arm and pulled her past the men and into the safety of the bar as quickly as she could. Leandra tried to breathe in a sigh of relief, but she was suddenly hit by the smell of rank alcohol and sweaty bodies packed in a humid room. There was some soft rock playing on the speakers above drowning out the noise of the conversations from the patrons. The room was poorly lit, half the light bulbs blinking in and out. Suspicious stains decorated the wall rather than art or flowers. Leandra found herself swelling in anxiety from the cacophony of noise but when she looked at Mara, she could see a radiant smile glowing on her face.

Suddenly Leandra saw what made that smile. She followed Mara’s gaze to see Maurevar Carver waving them over with a grin so wide it was cheesy. Leandra noticed he was not in uniform, but in a black dress shirt and slacks, much nicer than the other patrons were dressed in. She noticed he had even trimmed his beard into neat edges. He looked much smaller out of uniform, less imposing, and intimidating.

Mara hurried them over, dragging a reluctant Leandra behind as Carver stood up to greet them. “Well, Officer, don’t you clean up nice?” Mara winked flirtatiously, causing the man to stutter.

Carver stood up with a bow, allowing the ladies to seat themselves across from him. Leandra couldn’t help but notice the way Mara had those same bedroom eyes that she usually reserved for Gamlen as she inspected every detail of Carver’s appearance. Suddenly Leandra felt a wave of discomfort run through her as she realized that the two of them had electricity between them that she couldn’t ignore. She placed her purse at the side of the booth decidedly sitting in between them hoping to break the spell. “Shall we get a drink?”

“Of course,” Carver nodded, lowering his eyes to the table as if he was having trouble concentrating. “Let me go to the bar real quick and pick some up for us.” The man then bowed again and retreated from the table without so much as taking their drink order.

Mara’s eyes followed him a little too closely for Leandra’s comfort. Mara didn’t even realize Leandra was staring until she looked away from Carver. Mara avoided Leandra’s questioning gaze as she quickly checked on her makeup with her compact mirror.

Leandra leaned in to whisper, though it was pointless since no one could hear her over the noise. “Is there something going on between you two?”

She prayed Mara would laugh and call her crazy like usual, but instead, Mara blushed a deep crimson. “What are you talking about?”

Leandra bit her lip, nervous about what this would mean for her brother, but she couldn’t bring herself to prod any further. She bit her cheek and muttered, “never mind.” She willed herself to believe Mara would never cheat on Gamlen. That she wasn’t that kind of person, but when it came down to it, Leandra was afraid to even ask.

A few moments later, Carver came back with a tray of cold beers and set both of them down before the ladies before taking his seat, which was quite distant from them. He immediately cleared a stutter from his throat and chugged a few gulps of his beer, causing the ladies to follow his lead.

Leandra found herself choking down her beer. It was the most horrid thing she had ever willfully put in her mouth after caviar, and immediately set it down after one drink. Mara downed almost her whole glass before she made a sighing gasp, licking the frothy beer from her lips, which Carver’s eyes darted to.

“So,” Leandra cleared her throat, trying to get the awful stale taste out of her mouth. “Exactly what information did you need from me, Ser Carver.”

Carver finally tore his eyes away from Mara's mouth only to clear his throat again. He seemed more nervous than usual. "Well, to be frank, my Commander wants to tranquilize a mage who I'm sure isn't involved to make sure your family's curse isn't to blame for the Haunting. While I’m sure the curse is just a rumor, I can only prevent more harm if I know what happened between you and Malcolm."

"You think Malcolm is responsible?" Leandra raised her eyebrows, fearing Carver was seeking to blame him.

"It seems unlikely he was directly involved in summoning demons, but if I know Malcolm, he is somehow at the center of it."

Leandra bit her lip, unsure if she should say anything. She thought she trusted Carver, but if the Knight-Commander was looking for an elf scapegoat she didn't want it to be Malcolm.

“Well everything was normal for the most part. We were just dancing on the balcony when those demons attacked. To be honest I don’t really know what happened.” She made sure not to mention that when she found Malcolm he was leaning off the balcony speaking to the air. She couldn't imagine Carver would think anything good of it.

"Shouldn't you tell Carver about those dreams?" Mara prodded her with an elbow.

Leandra flushed as Carver raised his eyebrows in interest. "What dreams?" he asked.

She knew she agreed to come but how could she say anything to get Malcolm in trouble. Her dreams were precious, private, and she was mad at Mara for even mentioning them because she had sworn Mara to secrecy. "It's really not anything serious, just dreams."

"If they are just dreams then there shouldn't be any problem with me knowing." Carver took another conservative sip of his beer.

Leandra glared at Mara, unsure about this whole ordeal. Leandra knew her parents would be furious if they knew where she was, knew who she was talking to. She felt like this was a trap waiting to spring. 

Mara squeezed her hand. "I think he needs to know."

Leandra took another foul sip of beer, almost gagging on it, but she needed the courage. She set it down, her fingers twitching as she fiddled with the rosary on her neck. "So I dream of Malcolm every night. In fact, I had a dream of him several nights before we actually met at my betrothal ball." She could feel her cheeks flushing as she admitted this. It sounded crazy to her, wishful thinking at best, or demonic if one were to take that view. She feared what Carver would think.

She expected Carver to scoff and brush off what she was saying but he leaned in as if this was important news, his face as serious as a stone. "What happens in these dreams?"

Leandra's voice grew quiet. "I'm usually stalked… by a shadowy creature with large swirling goat eyes. At first, it attacked me, tried to drown me but ever since Malcolm rescued me, it just watches me like it's waiting." She shivered, wondering if the creature was watching now. “Sometimes I feel like I can see it in the corner of my eye.” 

Carver squinted in suspicion. "Did this demon attack the party?"

Leandra shook her head unsure. "I didn't see it but…" she met Carver’s gaze, full of fear. "But I felt it."

"Shit," Carver hissed, brushing back his hair with a palmed fist. "And what about that demon that you stopped me from attacking at the party? How does that fit in?"

"I'm not sure," Leandra admitted. She saw Mara gape in surprise at that. She never told Mara that part of the dance because even she would have panicked. "I don't think it's evil. I've also seen it in my dreams, leading Malcolm through wondrous lands that can't possibly exist. It calls Malcolm something strange… a word I've never heard before." She hesitated, unsure if she should tell Carver, but the way he was waiting expectantly, she knew he wouldn't rest until he knew.

Still, she waited for him to ask, "what do the demons call Malcolm?"

Her fingers fiddled with her rosary before she blurted out the word, "somniari.” The word felt strange on her tongue. “They always call him somniari."

At that Carver's mouth dropped open as his glass fell to the table with a sloshing thud. "Somniari? Are you sure that's what you heard?"

"What does it mean?" Leandra asked. She had tried to look it up herself but there was nothing on the internet or her extensive library on the subject.

Carver suddenly looked uncomfortable. "You should ask Malcolm that." The tremble in Carver's voice told her it wasn't anything good.

She wanted to ask Malcolm but he was awfully secretive about his past and even more so about his magic. Maybe he was scared of frightening her or maybe he was scared she'd look at him with disgust. But she couldn’t think of anything that would make her fall out of love with Malcolm.

Suddenly Carver got up. "Thank you for your testimony. You've been most helpful." He started to dig for his wallet, supposedly to take care of the bill when Mara placed a hand on his arm casually, looking more upset than she should.

“Wait, you call me way past midnight and now you don’t even want my testimony?”

Carver blinked and quickly sat back down, hunching in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, my lady, where are my manners?” His posture was stiff, but his eyes fell to his silver watch as if he was impatient about the time. “So where were you when the demons attacked the party?”

Mara’s face split into a huge grin. “Gamlen and I were fucking in the bathroom, of course.”

Leandra spit her drink all over the table as Carver suddenly swayed looking green with envy.  

Still Mara continued, “The poor guy needed to relax after getting reamed by Leandra’s parents about us coming out about our relationship.”

Carver’s fist suddenly clenched tightly as he cleared his throat. “I…see,” he said uneasily.

Leandra eyed her friend, knowing that this wasn’t unusual behavior for her, but she seemed very keen on tormenting poor Carver.

“Did you need more details? I can give you positions? Maybe I can set the scene,” she licked her top lip as she watched Carver’s face carefully as he suddenly inhaled a huge gulp of alcohol finishing off his glass.

“Maybe we should stick to important details,” Leandra offered, feeling very uneasy about the turn of the conversation. She didn’t like the sudden tension she felt steaming between Mara and Carver and felt like she needed to leave.

“I was getting to the important details,” Mara’s joking face turned suddenly serious. She placed a gentle hand on Leandra’s. “Maybe you should give Carver and me some privacy.”

Privacy? She didn’t know what Mara was planning, but all Leandra could think of was Gamlen, and if Mara was falling out of love with him, she couldn’t bear to watch. But still, she felt she had to. “If this has to do with my brother, I should hear it, shouldn’t I?”

Mara bit her cheek as she stared down at the table. “It’s not just about your brother. It’s about your parents, too, and trust me…You’re not going to like it.”

Leandra couldn’t leave now. Not with an ominous warning such as that. Leandra squared her shoulders. “Whatever it is, I want to hear it. I should know.”

Mara sighed but instead of arguing, she fished through her purse and placed an envelope folded in half with the Amell seal broken open. “I found this in your brother’s pocket.”

Leandra snatched it off the table before Carver could and tore it open. It had no greeting addressing her parents. The letter was stiff and business-like. She took a deep breath and read the words aloud to Carver.

“Your last shipment was insufficient to cover your last loan. We need fifty more heads or we will not be able to make this month's quota. Find the supplies, or we will lend our support to another candidate for the Viscount’s seat.

-Council of Five.”

The letter was short. Too short. And it was confusing. Her parents were known as one of the richest families in Kirkwall, but this letter seemed to imply that they were in debt and borrowing money from this mysterious council. Leandra stared over the letter to see Carver looking shocked. “Can I see this letter?”

Leandra handed it over without complaint, studying the graveness of Carver’s face. “I don’t understand. Who is the Council of Five? I’ve never heard of them.”

“That’s by design, but they’re the true powers of Kirkwall. Higher than the Viscount,” Mara said in a low voice as if she was scared of being overheard. “Nothing in Kirkwall is done without their say so.”

“What?” This was news to Leandra. Surely if there was a secret power behind the Viscount’s throne her parents would have told her about them. “And what’s this about merchandise? Fifty heads? Fifty heads of what?” She couldn’t imagine what that could possibly mean.

Carver’s jaw clenched as his fingers wrinkled the page. He stared quizzically at Mara, who was looking down at her folded hands in what looked like shame. Finally, Carver said, “The Council of Five is…in charge of Kirkwall’s slaving network.”      

That’s when Leandra’s world came crashing down. All the air seemed like it was knocked out of her as she trembled struggling to breathe. “No,” she shook her head. “No, you’re wrong. My parents would never- could never-” but she couldn’t take her eyes off of the Amell seal, the very same seal that she saw used in her parent’s offices, the same seal that they stamped onto everything with pride. That same pride that was tainted with this sin, this horrible fact. How could she even face Malcolm again knowing her parents would willingly ship him off to Tevinter if they got the chance.

But that picture didn’t match the parents she always saw in her head. Her father was a gentleman- her mother a woman of the law. How could they knowingly send elves to their deaths in a country like Tevinter? There was no slavery in Kirkwall. Not that she was aware of.

Suddenly Leandra felt dizzy and she collapsed into her seat with heavy breaths as she tried and failed to digest this information. All she could see was the letter. All she could hear was her mother calling Malcolm a knife-ear with that same voice of hatred. Tears stung her eyes and fell off her chin as she stared numbly at the letter in Carver’s hand. Instinctively she wanted to tear it from his hands and rip it apart, but that wouldn’t change the ugly fact that her parents were slavers.

“Leandra?” Mara asked quietly, a soft hand on hers gently rubbing her thumb.

Leandra squeezed back, grateful to have her friend there. A sudden rage took her. Her shoulders started to shake as she fought back a sob. “I can’t go home. I just can’t.”

“You can stay at my place tonight,” Mara nodded, and Leandra echoed the nod, grateful for the offer.

Carver folded the letter back up carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles. “If this checks out, we might be looking at a completely different suspect pool.” He looked at Mara and Leandra in concern. “Don’t spread this around. The Council of Five will want to plug up this leak as soon as possible and I’d hate to see either of you in danger.”

“So you’re not going to tell your superior?” Mara squinted warily.

Carver’s lips thinned. “My Commander will be informed when the time is right. For now, we keep up appearances.”

“How can I?” Leandra cried. “How can I pretend nothing’s wrong when my family’s reputation was built on…built on…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. It would make it real. That’s what it always came down to. Reputation. That must have been why they borrowed money from the Council of Five in the first place. To upkeep their appearances. How many lives were sacrificed for her comfort?

“I’m sorry, Leandra,” Carver’s face looked as grim as she felt.

Leandra wiped her eyes angrily. “Fuck our reputation,” she spat. “Burn it all to the ground for all I care. I’m not their daughter anymore.”

Mara’s face twisted in pity. “You can’t say that.”

“Well, I did,” Leandra almost screeched, causing heads to turn in their direction before she composed herself. “I need that letter. I need to confront my parents about it.”

Carver nodded gravely. “I’ll make a copy and send you back the original.”

“Good. If you find out my family is cursed after all, we deserve it.” And with that Leandra took Mara’s hand and stormed out of the bar, her face so full of fury not even the brutes who hooted at them earlier dared to mess with her.

She cleaned out every pawnshop to sell off the trinkets her parents gave her with their filthy slave money, knowing that it would be a stain that would never wash off. And in the back of her mind, she prayed Malcolm could forgive her.

Chapter Text

Leandra spent the evening pawning off all of the many trinkets her parents had given her: first edition books, finely made dresses too opulent to be worn for any real occasion, and jewelry, oh so much jewelry. Any time there’d been a new occasion, there’d been a new piece of jewelry. The only thing Leandra still had gifted from her parents was her lute, which she loved too much to part with. She had effectively cleaned out all the pawn shops in Hightown and Lowtown and Leandra felt free. Freer than she had in a long time. The money was promptly wired to Mara’s account and while Leandra knew the money would run out eventually, she’d bought Mara some time.

The Council of Five’s letter was still  burning in Leandra’s pocket as Mara drove her back to her parent’s mansion. The porch light was still on and she could feel her spine stiffen in anticipation of the fight that was to come. She had no idea what she would say or what she should do. But she knew she needed to confront her parents.

Leandra sat in Mara’s front seat of her SUV, her hands twisting as she fidgeted with her dress, making sure she looked presentable. She glanced at the front door.

Mara placed a hand over Leandra’s. “No matter what they do, or say, you have options. I will always be here to have your back.”

Leandra’s eyes pricked with tears, sudden grief overcoming her. “I’m just so ashamed of them.”

Mara pulled her into a hug. “Then tell them that. Maybe it will mean something coming from you.”

Leandra felt like she shouldn’t dare to hope that there was any way her parents could change. And yet she couldn’t help but try to get through to them. She held Mara, grateful to have something in her life that made sense.

“I might need a place to crash tonight, well many nights if this goes badly, Maker save me.”

Mara pulled away and brushed Leandra’s bangs into place before cupping her cheek. “Your home is my home.” Then she pinched Leandra’s cheek teasingly. “And with the money you gave me today, I have time to look for another job.”

Leandra rubbed her cheek, a little sore from Mara’s sharp nails. “Let’s hope you won’t need to.” Leandra sighed deeply as her back hit the car seat, sending a few tears dangling from her eyelashes down into her lap.

Her hands and feet were shaky as she got out of the car, her legs wobbly in her heels as she fumbled with the empty suitcases out of the trunk. She tried to open the door to find it was locked. She floundered for the keys in her purse, but the door opened on her just as she pulled them out.

It was one of her parent’s many servants, a quiet elven lad with slick black hair and almond skin. He was rather skittish around her and her family and was always overly polite and quick to leave so Leandra never got around to asking for his name.

“Lady Amell, your parents missed you at dinner. They are expecting you in the study.” His voice was high with false injected cheer.

That was code for ‘your parents are in a bad mood.’ Well, it wasn’t like what Leandra had to say would make them feel any better.

Leandra nodded. “Thank you. I’ll go see them.” She tried to remember all the servants’ names, but there were so many that it was easy for her to confuse Gabby with Abby, Arianna with Brianna, and Chloe with Zoe. And her parents were never satisfied with anyone’s work so new Dobs were being hired to replace Bobs every day.

Leandra entered the foyer to see the fireplace was nice and bright. Maids were doing the evening dusting and vacuuming and they curtsied as Leandra approached. She barely got to the stairs when her parents burst out of the study, looking infuriated. In her mother’s hand was the letter explaining to her parents that she had sold her things to pay for Mara’s salary and to not call the Guard.

“How dare you!?” her mother screeched, scattering the maids from their work like mice running from the light.

Her father was angry, but his anger was quieter, like a snake in the grass. He slithered behind her mother, giving her a strong foundation to lay her hand on. “Leandra Gloriana Amell, we are both very disappointed in you. You betrayed us. And for what? Some servant?”

Leandra felt unsteady at her parent’s united front but she was determined not to be shaken. She calmly set her suitcases on the bottom step and rooted herself firmly to the ground. “What choice did you give me? You drained my accounts.” She crossed her arms, glaring at them.

“They were not your things to sell. They belonged to the family!” her mother screamed, shaking the glass of red wine in her hand as she shoved a finger in Leandra’s face.

Leandra turned her nose up at the finger, daring her mother to strike her. “Oh, was Gamlen going to wear my betrothal ballgown? He’d look so fetching in my jewelry.” She found a wry smile on her face as she imagined him trying to squeeze into her skirt.

Her father scowled, reddening all the way to his balding head. “When did you get such a mouth on you? What in Andraste’s name has gotten into you, young lady? Are you cursed after all?”

“If we’re cursed it’s because you brought on that karma,” Leandra huffed, tearing into her purse and bringing out the letter showing the Council of Five’s ominous inverted triangle stamp. “You’re slavers!? Please tell me I’m wrong!”

Her parents froze, their faces paling. Her mother took a step back. “W-where did you get that?”

Leandra took a deep steadying breath before she said, “I found it in Gamlen’s room. Is he… part of this?” She wondered if even Aunt Revka knew. Was she the only one in the dark about this?

“Useless boy,” her father muttered under his breath.

Her mother looked nervous but defiantly angry. She tucked a bang back into place. “Leandra, it’s not the same thing.”

Leandra scoffed. “Oh, so I suppose I’m misinformed.”

“Yes, you are. It’s all above board. We’re doing nothing illegal,” her father crossed his arms.  

Her mother touched her arm, her nails digging in slightly. “The criminals I hand over would not have made any contribution to society and, left to their own devices, would only harm themselves or others. I gave their lives purpose.”

Leandra pulled away, her ears burning with what she just heard. “You…you really believe that?” But she could see her parents looked more upset about being accused of being slavers, than about the lives they had irrevocably ruined. Suddenly everything her parents did made sense. “The charity events, the outreach programs in the alienage, are they all just a smokescreen for your hunting grounds? Have you done nothing out of the goodness of your hearts?”

Her father looked uneasy, but her mother looked outraged. She slapped Leandra, marking her face with her nails. “How dare you! The good we have done for Kirkwall is immeasurable. We cleaned up the streets of the filth that would sully it. You dare judge us for doing the Maker’s work!”

Leandra held her burning cheek, tears stinging her eyes. “That’s what you call it? Is this what my legacy is built on?”

Her mother had never looked so furious. She threw her wine glass to the ground and it shattered, wine oozing on the carpet like blood. “You should be grateful for what your father and I have done for you. What we have given you, most others would kill for. I’ve never thought you would be so ungrateful! Leandra, why are you doing this?”

And suddenly Leandra couldn’t hold in the truth any longer. “Because I fell in love with a man you would have sold off!” She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth, uncertain about what she had really said aloud, but she could see her parents freeze in shock as they shared a panicked look.

“Leandra?” her father furrowed his thick eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She said too much, but she couldn’t find herself regretting it. It felt freeing to say. Love. She held her head high. “You heard right. My heart belongs to someone other than Guillaume.” And then she squared her shoulders and glared defiantly. “You can find another heir. I won’t marry to secure your future anymore.”   

“Leandra,” her mother’s voice was quiet with fury. “Don’t think you can go through with this lightly. Go to bed, and we’ll discuss this when you’re more clear-headed.”

Leandra laughed. That would have worked on her a few weeks ago but she felt like a new woman. “I’ve never been more clear-headed. And since you’re both so proud of yourselves, I’m telling everyone the truth about our family.” Her parents widened their eyes and started to argue over each other but Leandra straightened her shoulders, tucking her hands together as she stood her ground. Her voice was not a shout, but unwaveringly carried over her parents. “You should inform the De Launcets the wedding is off. And, if you want a relationship with me, you’ll stop immediately and help me make amends if that’s even possible.”

Her parents stopped shouting and their mouths went gape as they looked at each other so confused. “Leandra,” her mother’s voice was shrill and panicked. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yes, I do,” Leandra snapped. “Because right now I’m too ashamed to be your daughter.”

That made both of her parents flinch. Her father looked down at his feet and her mother’s eyes glistened with the threat of tears. “Leandra,” her mother said thinly. “You cannot tell people about our connection to the Counsel of Five. You do not understand. It will be dangerous.”

“I thought everything was above board.” Leandra narrowed her eyes, watching her mother’s lips thin and quiver.

Her father stepped forward, wide-eyed and frazzled. “Forget about that, Bethann. Leandra, you’re in love. Since when? Who is this man?”

Leandra crossed her arms, looking away as her cheeks heated. “You already know he’s a good man, Daddy. You just can’t see it yet.”

“I’ve met him?” His brow furrowed as he searched for the connection. He shoved his glasses back up the long bridge of his nose and snarled, “how good of a man can he be if he doesn’t even consult me first?  What kind of standing does he have?”

Leandra gritted her teeth. She was not having this conversation right now. “You can meet him if you try to make amends. Otherwise, you can forget it. I won’t let you hurt him.”

“Leandra, you’re obviously not thinking straight.” Her mother was clenching her hands so tightly Leandra thought they would crack. “Go to your room!”

Leandra picked up her suitcases and started marching up the stairs. “Oh, I’ll go to my room, alright, but I’m packing. I’m moving out. Tonight.”

“And going where?” Her father chased after her, his blue eyes wild with panic.

Leandra stomped to her bedroom door, yanking it open. “To Mara’s.” Then she slammed the door shut and locked it. She threw the suitcases on her bed and started haphazardly folding clothes into her bags.

Her parents pounded on the door, screaming her name repeatedly, but she ignored that, angry tears in her eyes. She knew tonight could only be a disaster, and yet it felt necessary. She was scared. She didn’t expect to cut her parents off, but she couldn’t be a part of what they were doing. She wondered if this could even be resolved, if it was hopeless to keep faith for a better future.

As she tucked her lute into her suitcase, she saw a strip of red cloth with the Amell insignia, that she often wore as a hair ribbon. It had also been passed down through the family, although its only real value was sentimental. It had been expected after her betrothal ball that she give this ribbon to Guillaume to wear, so everyone would know he belonged to her, but she'd never gotten around to it. As she tucked it into her bag, she smiled, knowing who the rightful owner should be.

“Leandra Gloriana Amell, if you think you’re leaving through this door then you have another thing coming!” her mother was screeching, her fist shaking the door vigorously.

Leandra had to hurry. She knew it was only a matter of time before her father left to grab the key.

So she couldn’t go out through the front door. If Malcolm could come in through the window, she could leave through it. She threw the suitcases down below where they fell with a thud. When she peeked out the window her heart lifted to see that Mara had not left the driveway yet. She turned on the engine of her car, waving with the same mischievous grin.

Leandra peeked over the ledge. It was a long way down, and if she wasn’t careful she could easily break her neck. She took off her heels and threw them onto the grass. She was halfway out the window before she realized she forgot something. She rushed back to her closet and pulled out the skimpy pink dress that Malcolm had begged her to wear.

Leandra threw the dress out the window, and it fluttered down like a hot pink butterfly. Then with a deep breath, she shimmied out the window, barefoot, her skirt rising up to flash everyone.

Thankfully only Mara was present for that.

She slowly stepped her way down, her arms shaking and burning with unused strength, her toes slipping in the wood graft of the rose terrace. The wood bit into her skin and she could feel splinters threaten to pierce her. About two-thirds of the way down, she misjudged a step and slipped, yelping as she fell onto her suitcase with a crack. Leandra groaned, stars in her eyes. Thankfully the suitcase was padded and soft, but when she pried open the suitcase, the stem of her lute had been snapped.

She found herself crying, the dam breaking at last. She was terrified about what she had just done. She couldn’t take this back, and while she couldn’t regret it, she knew home would never be the same. She hugged herself as she held the broken pieces of her lute. She had no idea what to do.

Mara touched Leandra’s hand, bringing her out of her trance. Her dark eyes were misty with sympathy. “Let’s get you home, babe.”

With shining eyes, she smiled at Mara, grateful for the reminder, and intertwined her fingers into her friend’s hand. She still had a home. She had people who wouldn’t abandon her.

All was not lost.

Leandra smiled through her tears, inexplicably excited at the thought of the freedom that tomorrow would suddenly bring. She was no longer an Amell. She was just Leandra.

She didn’t know who that was, yet.

————————————

By the time Leandra’s parents unlocked the door, Leandra and Mara were already speeding out of the driveway. Bethann was fuming, making loud angry phone calls to the Guard, demanding that they bring Leandra back immediately. Aristride was busy calling up an inspector to figure out who had managed to seduce his daughter. Leandra’s determination to reveal the family’s ties to the Council of Five had worried them both, and they knew they would have to move quickly to get ahead of this.

Gamlen came home late around 3am and, as he dragged himself into the foyer, the Amell parents waited in ambush.

Gamlen looked surprised to see them at all. “Mom… Dad… What are you doing up so late?” he adjusted his collar, loosening his tie as his back straightened into a better posture.

Bethann folded her hands in her lap. “I could ask you the same.”

“Was just out with some friends,” he muttered looking down, his cheeks flushing. His hair was a mess and his suit had food stains on it.

“Well, thanks to you, Leandra found out about how the family’s been paying off our debts and now she wants to go public with the knowledge,” Aristride’s voice was sharp. “How could you let this happen!?”

Gamlen tightened his shoulders. “Leandra knows better than that.”

“Does she?” Bethann cocked her head, some greying black hair falling out of her loose bun. “No matter, she’s determined to destroy herself and we can’t let her take us down with her, and so I must ask you, what do you know of the man Leandra’s seeing?

Gamlen shifted uncomfortably, biting his lip. “I didn’t know she was seeing anyone.” He dropped his gaze, unable to look at his parent’s eyes.

His parents shared a look that remained unconvinced. His mother sniffed sharply. “In light of recent events, we think Leandra might be too unstable to be considered an heir, so you’re going to have to step up.”

Gamlen blinked. “Me?” he pointed to himself.

“Do we have another child we can depend on?” His mother squinted her dark eyes harshly.

Gamlen puffed up his chest. “No, no you can depend on me.”

His mother smiled sharply. “Good, because I believe I can convince the Baudelaires to renew the betrothal.”

Gamlen’s mouth gaped, as he shifted from one foot to another. “But Mara…”

His mother glared harshly. “You can keep the slut as sidepiece for all I care, but hear me boy if you want to be heir, you’re going to have to show some commitment. Do you understand?”

Gamlen was silent, gritting his teeth as the decision wrestled inside him.

His mother fumed, her slipper tapping impatiently. “Is there something unclear about what I’m asking?”

“No, ma’am,” Gamlen nodded automatically at the sharp tone.  

Aristride drank deeply from his glass. His glasses were balanced on top of his head, and his eyes rimmed red. He seemed uneasy about the whole situation but, as usual, he displayed a united front with his wife in front of Gamlen.

“Good,” Bethann smoothed a wrinkle in her eyebrow. “Now find me some dirt I can use on your sister.”

————————————-

“I don’t understand. I’ve fed countless memories to the Kindness spirit. Why is this not working?” Malcolm knew frustration would not help, but he couldn’t keep the irritation from biting him. Every night was spent rebuilding the flower forest, every day spent feeding false compliments to people and biting down his more snarky remarks. He couldn’t help but feel resentful that his actions were tied to the Fade and to Kindness’ health. He missed the times when he could act in ignorance.

“Do you think Kindness can be brought back by pretty words? Kindness is an action! Why is this so hard to understand?” Scholar waggled his piece of lumpia angrily before crunching the rest of it down.

The nebulous blue form hovered around Malcolm curiously, playing with the roses, whispering melodies to their petals. Clicky, which Shiny was now called, was harmonizing with Kindness in a foreign song that Malcolm could almost understand. The forest was looking much brighter and healthier, but it needed constant maintenance, and Malcolm was running out of motivation to keep going when his efforts seemed to make little difference.

Malcolm leaned on some large stalks of grass, so thick they could have been used as a hammock. There were more wisps than ever gathering in the forest, all adding to the music. The clouds in the Fade green sky floated on a gentle breeze, forming indistinct shapes that almost looked like a dance in time to the beat the wisps were drumming.

“I don’t get it. The forest looks at peace. What could I possibly do to make this better?”

Scholar chomped loudly, shoving three sticks of lumpia in his mouth at once and swallowing. “Perhaps you are finally ready to begin shaping the Fade.”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “I can do that?” It still sounded unbelievable.

Scholar plopped down in front of him. “Quite easily. Now that you aren’t corrupting the Fade with your touch, I’m sure that it would be open to suggestions.”

Malcolm looked at his hands with uncertainty, unsure of the power he held. “How do I do that?”

“Well, first, why don’t we re-energize you? Why don’t you try giving yourself something to eat for once?”

Malcolm touched his chin, thinking about what he’d like. He wasn’t really hungry but he would kill for something to soothe his nerves, like a beer. He concentrated, seeing the Fade strings like normal. The Fade was peering into his memory bringing up the burn of alcohol at the back of his throat. The strings looked so easy to maneuver and reshape that he reached out and tore a chunk of the Veil off and started molding it in his hands.

Immediately the Fade lashed back screaming, the flowers whispering shrilly, the memory souring to bitter acid on his tongue.

Scholar smacked at his hand, the Fade substance dissipating. “Why would you do that?”

Malcolm rubbed his hand with confusion. “I thought you told me to shape the Fade!”

“The Fade has feelings like you do Somniari. How would you like it if someone ripped off a piece of you!?” Scholar then yanked one of his pointy ears in emphasis. “Now apologize!”

Malcolm rubbed his ear, scowling, but found the flowers were starting to quiver at his anger and he quickly tamped down his fury. He held up his hands, trying to open his heart out in apology as Scholar had taught him. “I meant no harm. Didn’t realize that hurt you.”

The Fade quieted to a whisper, a nervous bristling energy rustling through the leaves.

“Now ask this time.” Scholar took Malcolm’s hands and brought them together.

Malcolm furrowed his eyebrows, seeing the strings at the tips of his fingers. He held his breath, the Fade all of sudden looked so delicate. This time he reached out with a brush of his mind, the memory of soothing alcohol melting his tongue.

The Fade responded eagerly to Malcolm, its energy moving through him, and soon in his hand materialized an ice cool can of beer.

He tipped the can up to the sky nodding his head. “Thanks,” and began to drink. Immediately his nerves felt less frazzled and on edge, and he felt re-energized. He looked around and found even more flowers were budding from the ground, their petals opening up to the sky in greeting.

Suddenly Clicky started popping in Malcolm’s ears excitedly, pulling at his hair with an urgency.

Scholar cocked their head. “Are you sure? You’re ready?”

Clicky was blinking with red energy, bouncing up and down as it rapped out rapid drum-like beats.

“What?” Malcolm turned to Scholar. He knew that the wisp wanted something from him, but he still could not understand it.

“They want your help to find their true name.”

The wisp tugged at Malcolm’s shirt. “Huh? How do I do that?”

Scholar picked up a piece of lumpia that had dropped on the ground and ate it without thought. “How have you been shaping the forest? How did you ask for your nourishment? When the path is open, you only have to walk through.”

Malcolm set the beer aside and cupped his hands. The wisp settled eagerly within his fingers, feeling like a warm ball of light, not quite physical but it definitely had a sense of weight. The wisp tingled his fingers, clicking rapidly. Suddenly he could see the strings that made up the wisp’s shape, the energy feeling very much like clay that would mold at the slightest touch. But he remembered how the Fade screamed when he forced it. Just a brush of fingers, and it was like something in his mind unlocked. The wisp and he were connected, the creature searching his knowledge for its truth.

Malcolm could feel the wisp start to mold on its own, needing only the gentlest of nudges to coax it along. It grew like a heartbeat shaping his memories. Malcolm let the wisp explore every sensation he had ever felt, feeling its child-like joy as it tasted each experience. It seemed to attach to the happier memories, love, hope, comfort, pleasure, and joy, but it still had a sense of incompleteness . Words in Malcolm’s head echoed and were rejected. The wisp buzzed in dissatisfaction at each name and began digging deeper.

Then the wisp found the memories of Malcolm’s mother cooking for him, and Malcolm could see something changed in its energy. Malcolm found his tongue reliving his childhood palate, chicken adobo, pancet, lechon, bulalo and so much that he had forgotten about. Soon he could hear the wisp chant, “tasty, tasty, tasty,” over and over again as they ran through a menu of memories.

The wisp was borrowing his energy, Malcolm feeling like a battery. It was starting to feel more solid as it chose its shape. The wisp guided Malcolm’s hands, molding it into a tiny flopping tongue the size of a small bat. It flapped in the air, blowing triumphant raspberries for everyone that would hear, “Tasty, Tasty, Tasty.”

Malcolm pulled his hands away, the strings fading. “So that’s your name. Tasty.”

“Tasty!” The tongue waggled excitedly and then licked Malcolm on the cheek. “Salty. Sad. Bitter.” The tongue shivered and then licked the lumpia in Scholar’s hand. “Salty. Meaty. Tasty!”

Scholar handed the piece of lumpia over to Tasty. “A scholar after my own heart I see.”

Malcolm rubbed his slimy cheek. “Well, I’ve never seen a spirit like that before.”

Scholar petted Tasty affectionately as it somehow licked away at its piece of lumpia. “They’re probably the only one of their kind. You did well, Somniari. Even Kindness thinks so.”

The Kindness spirit floated down from their altar, looking more solid and humanoid rather than a nebulous blob, though there were still no defining features on their face. They giggled melodically, covering their hand where their mouth should have been.

Suddenly the sun darkened into night and a chill ran through the forest. Malcolm could feel something crack in the Fade, like a lock breaking open and darkness pouring in. The forest began to wither rapidly, aging into decay. Malcolm jumped to his feet, feeling the painful buzzing of demons drawing near all around him. In the shadows, shades began to form, choking out the forest flowers.

“Zelophehad!” Scholar shirked into Malcolm’s shadow. “He wants to destroy everything you’ve done. Do not let him!”

Malcolm jumped to his feet, readying spells at his fingertips, but Kindness and Tasty blocked him from slinging them. The wisps all gathered around Malcolm buzzing at him, forming a wall of energy. Tasty spat at him darting up and down.

“If you get dragged into battle, Zelophehad wins!” Scholar cried. 

“But isn’t that what you want?” Zelophehad’s warped voice echoed through the forest as the demons chittered excitedly, clawing at the flower stalks and ripping them into pieces. The shadows elongated over Malcolm, blocking him in. “Enact your revenge. Strike at me. Tear out my heart before I eat yours.”

Malcolm’s nerves were screaming at him to defend himself, but the last time he tried to fling himself at this demon, he barely made it out alive. But he couldn’t abandon the forest and leave the Kindness spirit in Zelophehad’s clutches.

A spell flung out. Malcolm blocked it with a barrier, and found the wisps reinforcing its wall with a hum of their magic.

Kindness floated to the center of the wisps, harmonizing brightly. The wisps weaved in dance, taking the energy of Malcolm’s barrier and dispersing it around the heart of the forest. Tasty danced in the middle with Kindness, circling them like a planet in orbit. 

Projectiles and tentacles and claws tore at the barrier, leaving scratches like nails in a glass.

“At last, I will devour each and every last one of you,” Zelophehad screeched.

Outside of the barrier, flowers began to drop dead as the demon’s presence poisoned them. The corruption felt so virulent Malcolm thought he would be swallowed by it. He lost count of all the demons clawing at the barriers, pride and rage, despair and desire all systematically rooting out every seed he had planted, every flower that bloomed. Soon every stalk was torn down, every mushroom smashed and the forest was flattened into a desolate desert. The only patch of green left was safely locked within the barrier.

A few of the wisps began to whimper as the barrier began to crack, dark mist seeping in. With it came a creeping chill that made Malcolm shiver. He braced himself. “I will not let you destroy this.” His hands sparked as he readied for the first attack. Scholar zipped in front of Malcolm, waving his lumpia for attention.

“Zelophehad breathes war. But all war must end. Someone must make the first step towards peace.”

“He’s killing everything!” Malcolm’s voice was strangled, unsure that what Scholar preached was realistic with a creature so intent on violence.

“And I will leave nothing left,” the demon laughed.

“It is his nature,” Scholar shook his head, his skeletal teeth elongating as the Fade around him began to warp, the green hue of the Fade fading to grey. “Somniari you shape the Fade as much as he does. If you look for the path of peace you will find it!”  

Malcolm clenched his fists, which smoked with the unspent energy. He looked out towards the dead stalks on the ground, the torn petals, feeling the ache of its loss.

More demons joined the ranks, the warped fallen spirits of the forest unlucky to have been caught on the wrong side of the barrier. Dead skeletal animals wrapped in thorny vines rammed the barrier, their bones crunching sickeningly.

Tasty and the wisps kept dancing around Kindness, and their harmony kept the barrier up, but more and more cracks were forming. It was just a matter of time before the demons swarmed.

Malcolm looked at his hands. “I shape the Fade?” he asked in disbelief. How could he change that?

Scholar took his hands and folded them together. “And the Fade will help. Let it.”

Malcolm took one last look at the dead forest. That was a mistake. Only a few feet away, waiting outside of the barrier was the warped twisted image of his father. He looked more monstrous, with long nails and sharp teeth, golden eyes too bright and hungry. Malcolm froze at the sight of him, and his father smiled.

“Malcolm, you’ve been a naughty boy.” He cracked his knuckles into a fist.

Scholar turned his head. “Remember you’re in control!”

But it was too late.

Malcolm staggered backward, still remembering the last beating he took. His whole body was trembling. He closed his eyes and suddenly he was back in the closet, listening to his mother scream in agony.

He opened his eyes again and everything was different. He was a child, in the house he grew up in. He could see his old legos stacked in the corner, his action figures scattered on the floor, his drawings tacked to the wall.

His father loomed over him, picking up a stuffed dog in disgust. It turned moldy and ragged in his hands, the buttons shriveling out of its socket as the toy disintegrated to dust. “Such a stubborn child only knows how to learn one way.” He turned to Malcolm, smiling malevolently.

All of a sudden all of Scholar’s teachings were gone. Malcolm’s panic overtook him and he tried to dash out the nearest exit, which happened to be the kitchen. Malcolm ducked behind the counter, his heart galloping frantically in his chest. “You’re in control,” he reminded himself but he didn’t feel in control. Not when he was too panicked to even think. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself but all he could hear was his father’s cruel laughter as his heavy steps came closer.

Malcolm bit his tongue, tasting blood. His breath stuttered in his chest. He tried to think of something, anything that would anchor him back to himself. He reached out into the Fade as Scholar told him, his heart screaming for help.

At first, nothing happened. He could only hear the sound of his own whimpering as the footsteps inched closer. Then a hand brushed his curls.

He looked up to see Compassion wiping his tears, and he couldn’t help but notice how much she looked like his mother.

She cupped Malcolm’s cheeks and touched her forehead to his and suddenly he felt more like himself. He looked down at his hands noticing they were his normal adult size again. He gazed out and the barrier was almost completely broken and claws were poking through reaching for them.

Compassion held onto Malcolm’s hand as she brought him to his feet. She stared defiantly at Zelophehad still borrowing Malcolm’s father's face. “You have been left unbalanced too long.”

A sharp sneer curled the demon’s lip. “Aw, Compassion the spoilsport. Come to ruin my playtime?”

“No, I’ve come to join the playtime.” Compassion actually looked excited, her face radiating a bright enthusiastic smile. She still did not let go of Malcolm’s hand and he felt very much like a child holding onto her and almost let go, but she squeezed on tight. She looked at him, her own blue ember eyes burrowing into him. “I will show you how to fight as I do.”

Kindness floated down, their voice shrill and fading. Kindness took Compassion's hand, cupping her cheek with the other. The wisps followed, their tired voices harmonizing, as they sluggishly danced in rhythmic circles, flashing in unison like the beat of a heart.

Then the barrier cracked and the demons swarmed. The sound was like a cacophony of nails on a chalkboard. Compassion let go of both Malcolm and Kindness’ hands and stepped forward. A terror demon launched its spindly arm at Compassion grasping her by the arm. Compassion grabbed it back, spinning it on its back like a tango. And then she began to sing.

“Hush now, Terror. Let go of your fear.” She was speaking elvhen but Malcolm could somehow understand it. She pulled it in close for a hug, its gangly limbs flailing in confusion. “All your doubts will become clear.”

The demons stopped their attack as if entranced by the song. The wisps dispersed to all the demons carrying the tune with a hum. The Fade clouds parted and the sun peeked out shining brightly on Compassion, her voice weaving into the Fade. From the dead barren dirt, sprouts started to bloom and entwined the demons, trapping most of them.

Zelophehad scowled and stomped on a growing flower, but it stubbornly wrapped around his foot and tripped him. He ripped the rose vine out by its root and snarled at his demons. “Attack the Somniari! Bring me his heart!”

The demons seemed to shake awake from the song spell. Several shades sharpened their claws and darted in on Malcolm.

Scholar was now joining the song, but his contribution was a more spoken word beat that the wisps started whispering back. “Weave the Fade. Feel the beat. Stay your blade. Move your feet.”

Malcolm felt ridiculous. Would he need to start blowing bubbles again too? The demons swiped at him and Malcolm found himself ducking ice and fire spells and weaving through limbs in time to music somehow. Malcolm gritted his teeth. His life depended on it, but he didn’t want to sing. This was ludicrous. Was it really necessary for life to become a musical to defeat his greatest nightmare?

Still, as he dodged and sidestepped each swipe, he found the ridiculous feelings overriding his fear, and he could start to think clearly again.

The terror demon trapped in Compassion's arms tried to jerk out of reach but Compassion spun it around, warding off more attacks with its body. All the while her elvish words seemed to unravel the demon, changing it into something else. “You can find yourself again. Be brave enough to break the chain.”  

The terror demon’s limbs started to enlarge, growing brown fur and a very piggy snout. Suddenly Compassion was twirling the spirit of a bear, its side torn into with a jagged battle scar, but otherwise a very normal-looking spirit.

Zelophehad scowled, zeroing in on Malcolm who was busy trying not to be mauled by three shades. He moved like a blur, grabbing Malcolm by the collar, ready to rip his throat out. But instead of making the killing blow, he held Malcolm there as if waiting for something.

Compassion’s voice fell to a hum. Kindness flanked her, grabbing her hand, and Scholar linked his hand too. Their voices carried through the Fade, weaving an aching harmony as they started to glow.

Malcolm could feel the terror wanting to eat him alive, but as he listened to the strange choir he couldn’t help but break down in manic laughter.

Zelophehad narrowed his eyes, sneering. “What is so funny?”

Malcolm let the laugh go all the way to his belly as it shook away the nerves. This was so absurd. “I get it now,” he chuckled. “You’re like a mirror. You reflect whatever energy is flung at you, but you can’t make a killing blow unless I do. That’s why I can’t kill you.”

The demon’s lip curled up revealing sharp teeth. “But I can kill you. I might be bound by certain laws, but I have reached beyond the Fade.”

The demon tightened his grasp around his neck but Malcolm found that, though the grip was vice tight, he didn’t need to breathe. For a moment he could see the strings that wove Zelophehad together and how easy it would be to reach out and unravel his malice like a loose thread.

Zelophehad seemed to sense this too and he threw Malcolm into the altar, his back slamming against the statue knocking the wind out of him. He then tackled Malcolm, his fist slamming in for a punch, but it stopped when Malcolm did not even flinch. He threw Malcolm to the ground, a roar bellowing in the back of his throat. “Fight me, damn it!”

Malcolm grinned, feeling triumphant at last. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, but I finally caught on.”

“Finally,” a chorus sang back before it faded to humming.

The spirit’s song was growing more complex, each of the wisps taking their own melody, but they somehow weaved back together into one refrain.

Zelophehad seemed to shirk at the music. The dirt under their feet grew green again and the flower stalks and mushroom blooms were steadily overtaking the land, growing to the beat.

Compassion, Kindness, and Scholar still holding hands floated over to Zelophehad, their voices harmonizing in unison. “Is your hunger not endless? Are you not weary of pain? Are you not tired of waking? Let us heal you again.”

Zelophehad swiped at the spirits in frustration but they just floated out of reach. “You will pay for your meddling. I will feast on your souls!”

Then Zelophehad morphed into a mass of tentacles with goat eyes warping out of sight and taking the ominous dark feeling with it.

The forest was definitely shorter now, more of grassland than a proper forest, but Malcolm figured that feeding more Kindness to it would fix that in time. The rest of the demons had fled and what spirits were left had been changed back by the song and were now acclimating to their new home.

The bear spirit nodded its head at Compassion and then slowly lumbered away, dragging a bad foot that looked like it had been mauled in a trap. It parted the growing flowers with its mass, only the top of its head visibly bobbing as it wandered away.

Malcolm breathed a sigh of relief, his head falling against the stone of the altar of Kindness. The dog statue’s sapphire eyes shone brilliantly. The heart of the forest was still tall and strong, the flowers drinking up the sunshine with bright open petals.

Then a giant white jasmine flower spat out a golden owl that floated down to Malcolm’s chest and bore at him with big inquisitive eyes.

The other spirits stopped their song and crowded around Malcolm, cooing in delight. Tasty sputtered flapping as it spurted raspberries. It licked the owl. “Soothing. Refreshing. Tasty!”

Compassion scooped up the little owl and held it to her chest. “Oh, Honesty you came back!”

Malcolm cocked his head feeling like the day couldn’t get weirder but he could feel something was different about that spirit. Like he had met it before. “Another guardian spirit? How did it get here?”

“By a great act of honesty, of course.” Scholar ruffled the top of the owl’s ears fondly. “Just in time, too.”

“Huh? When did I do that?”

“It was not you,” Compassion’s voice was sharp. “In fact, you’ve made it very hard for Honesty to come back.” She placed the spirit on top of her head and it nestled in her curls like an ornament. She crossed her arms. “It’s going to take some work before we restore Honesty and Kindness, so heed your actions in the waking world. They have taken shapes from you; they will be intrinsically affected by your actions.”

Malcolm could feel his insides shrinking. He was already having the damnedest time restoring the Kindness spirit. Adding another spirit to juggle into that mess seemed like too much.

“So I’m supposed to kiss people’s asses and now I can’t lie? What’s next? If there’s a celibacy spirit, I quit!”

Compassion buckled over looking queasy.

Malcolm sat up alarmed, only now just remembering to check his emotions.

Compassion winced in pain. “Be more careful with your rage. Zelophehad might not kill me but you might.”  

Malcolm winced, feeling guilty and the spirit turned a shade of green and gagged.

“Not that emotion either,” she held her mouth as if she might vomit. “You’re too volatile, I can’t stay around you.” With shaky hands, she plucked the owl spirit off her head and deposited it on Malcolm’s lap. “Just try not to kill this spirit- again.” She turned to Scholar, scowling. "Teach him better."

Then Compassion blinked away leaving Malcolm with Scholar, Kindness, and Tasty who seemed to be much more used to Malcolm’s mood swings.

Kindness hummed happily turning a shade of pink. They were still buzzing from the sing-along and they even looked healthier. More corporeal in every sense.

Scholar cocked their head, summoning some balut eggs which he started eating whole. “Well, that’s a pretty color? Are you trying it out?”

Kindness hummed and floated to the dog statue touching the sapphire eyes and turning them into pink diamonds.

Scholar nodded resolutely. “Ah, I see. That’s who you are now. Well, that’s one step closer to finding the rest of you.”

Malcolm cocked his head. Spirit conversations sure were confusing.   

The Kindness spirit floated up towards Malcolm like a puppy showing off its sheen in a glittery glow. “Yes, you're very sparkly,” Malcolm reassured Kindness, though he wasn’t sure if that was what Kindness wanted.

Kindness hummed in delight, their speech almost recognizable, and then giggled. The owl in Malcolm’s lap reached up their stubby wings at Kindness’ glittery sheen and Kindness picked them up and whirled them around in excitement. They looked like two friends greeting after a long absence.

Malcolm sighed deeply as he laid back on the grass and looked up at the Black City looming eerily in the sky. He had survived another attack by Zelophehad and knew well enough how to stop the next encounter from being deadly. But as he stared up at the City defying gravity, he wondered how long he could balance on this knife edge before he fell off.

At least he got through it without singing.

Chapter Text

Isaac had learned the word ‘fuck’ and was now using it liberally. Malcolm was sure Leandra would murder him.

Malcolm didn’t mean for this to happen. Looking back, it had only been a matter of time since the word came out of his mouth so often as a reflex. But he’d tried so hard to censor himself around Isaac.  

Malcolm already felt like he was under a magnifying glass, with his actions being tied to the Fade. Now a little nine-year-old was imitating his every move and Malcolm was really feeling the pressure.

Isaac had become surly with Orsino and the rest of his teachers, though he would never dare show sass to a Templar. And even Malcolm was having a hard time convincing Isaac to do his work. Malcolm even made it a point to start doing more of his classwork in front of him to encourage him, but Isaac would just draw and draw and draw like his hand was possessed.

Orsino finally pulled Malcolm aside and told him to pull Isaac in line before the First Enchanter came down hard on them both. Malcolm knew Orsino was right, but he was starting to feel resentful that his carefree days of slacking off were far behind him.

It was dinnertime and Isaac was in his usual spot beside Malcolm, kicking his feet under the table as he worked on his latest doodle, too engrossed to even eat. More people were crowding Malcolm’s table than usual. Murphy and Mandy were gossiping away, and Taylor was helping Melissa, Malcolm’s Spirit Healing classmate, who had recently successfully connected with a Spirit and needed to strengthen her bond to it. Technically Malcolm knew the material better than Taylor, but Taylor was eager to get a look at what the ritual entailed and played teacher much better than Malcolm ever could. He could imagine her in front of a classroom explaining the basics of the ritual, using a lot of technical terms that Malcolm was still learning, but he knew it was similar to what he’d been doing with Kindness and Honesty, feeding the proper memories to nourish and shape them.

Malcolm was too busy with his own work of defeating Zelophehad. Knowing it would raise eyebrows, he nicked a demonology and binding spell book from the Circle’s forbidden section. He was busy pouring over the tomes, making notes on what he would need to make his own binding spell. The problem was there was power in names, and Zelophehad’s name was not in the demonology book. He knew that the spell for a greater terror demon needed incense of bark burned from a flowering vhenedal, consecrated holy water, and purified salt from a dead sea, and even if Malcolm could somehow gather those ingredients he had no way of knowing if it would work against Zelophehad. Plus the ritual required lyrium, much more lyrium than what the Circle allotted Malcolm. It seemed like Malcolm had found a promising solution only to run into a brick wall. 

Alas he was too excited at the thought of seeing Leandra to focus on studying. He was flavoring his soup so it tasted of dinuguan, the texture a similar earthy and brown. The taste helped him concentrate on his task but he was hardly hungry. 

The cooks, not knowing that Malcolm’s spell had become common knowledge, were rather pleased that there was less food waste as people were coming back for seconds and even thirds. There was an unmistakable cheer in the voices of all the mages gathered at the cafeteria tables, the conversations livelier with laughter layering together.

Charlie was busy drawing with Isaac. Every once in a while Charlie would kick Malcolm under the table and he’d remember that he’d have to act lovey with Taylor, but it didn’t help that Taylor wasn’t bothering to act at all, and treated Malcolm with the usual disinterested disdain.

Isaac put down his pen, and shoved the drawing in Malcolm’s direction, his eyes wide and begging for attention. Malcolm looked up from his notes to check out the drawing. He could make out a truck in the sky, flying with rockets. It appeared to be flying away from the Gallows. There were two figures in the front seat, one with swirly hair and pointed ears.

Malcolm smiled. “Is that supposed to be us?”

Isaac nodded and then took the page back and scribbled out the Gallows.

Malcolm ruffled his hair and scooted his bowl in front of him. “C’mon Lil’ Dude you hardly touched your meal.”

Isaac wrinkled his nose and scooted it away. “Fuck that.”

Charlie and Malcolm burst out laughing. Malcolm didn’t mean to, but that tiny baby face didn’t match that phrase. “Dude, you’re going to get me in so much shit.” He wrestled Isaac into a headlock, the boy giggling wildly.

Charlie chuckled, going back to the superhero comic he was working on. His drawing skills were more on the mediocre end, but Malcolm recognized a lot of the scenes taken from places in the Gallows. “You just don’t know when to quit.” 

“Malcolm,” Taylor groaned, taking off her glasses to rub her sore temples. “You’re just going to encourage him.”

Malcolm could see that Taylor was right. Isaac was hiding his naughty giggle in his hand.

“Aw, look at you two,” Mandy giggled as she latched onto her giant boyfriend’s arm. “It’s like you’re married and have a child together. It’s cute.”

Both Malcolm and Taylor couldn’t contain their shudder which only made the table laugh at their misery.

Charlie’s pen stopped moving, his grip suddenly tight.

Isaac started making kissy faces in Malcolm’s direction, his fingers waggling near his head in a taunt.

Malcolm couldn’t help the irritation in his spine trying to pretend to be Taylor’s lover. It didn’t help that Charlie was being weird about it, glaring at him every time Malcolm took Taylor’s hand like this wasn’t Charlie’s big idea in the first place. It took everything in Malcolm not to scream out that he loved Leandra, but he already knew the trouble he would get in if it ever got back to the First Enchanter or Knight-Commander. For better or worse, this arrangement would have to do.

Isaac seemed to know this was really bothering Malcolm and wouldn’t stop making obnoxious kissy noises.

Taylor looked up to the ceiling. “Control your child, Malcolm.”

There was a part of Malcolm that wanted to snap at Isaac. He really needed to study and the kid was giving him a headache. It didn’t help that Isaac was taking on his worst traits. He wondered if he ever should have been allowed to be in charge of a child in the first place. 

Malcolm forcibly pushed down the irritation, reminding himself how not too long ago Isaac was barely cracking a smile. The fact that Isaac felt good enough to tease him meant that he was feeling better, and wasn’t that what mattered? Malcolm smiled wickedly, his fingers wiggling in the air. “Oh, you want to tease us, do you? Does that mean you’re ready for retribution?”

Isaac widened his eyes, a grin splitting his face before he stuck out his tongue playfully. That was all Malcolm needed for him to start digging his fingers into Isaac’s sides. Isaac’s squeals of laughter echoed across the Circle cafeteria, stopping the conversation. Malcolm laughed too, finding Isaac’s joy infectious. His bad mood faded away like the sun parting the clouds.

The girls around Malcolm seemed to soften as he played with Isaac.

“Oh,” Mandy twirled a pigtail. “He’s actually rather good with kids.”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “That’s because Malcolm is a big kid.”

The table laughed as Malcolm scowled. Isaac was holding his sides as he still shook with wild giggles.

Suddenly a gauntleted hand slammed against the table, scattering food everywhere. Matthew, the Templar, flared his nostrils in a snarl, his face red and splotchy. “Shut up!” he bellowed, then pinched his temples, wincing as he glared at Isaac. “That god-awful noise is giving me a headache.”

Isaac buried himself in Malcolm’s chest, trembling as he clutched a fistful of Malcolm’s robe. Malcolm rubbed soothing circles into Isaac’s back as he glared at Matthew. “Do you have to be such a fucking prick?”

All the other mages quieted and looked away, their faces tense, their eyes downcast on their hands.

Matthew grabbed Malcolm by the shoulder, yanking him out of his seat and out of Isaac’s arms.

Isaac cried out, reaching for Malcolm, but Matthew shoved him back in his seat.

“You,” Matthew snapped at Malcolm, “we have business to talk about.”

Taylor grabbed Isaac by the stomach to keep him from running off, but he reached desperately for Malcolm, fat tears running down his cheeks as he yelled his name. Charlie grabbed his hands and held them as he pushed himself in front of the ugly sight of Matthew manhandling Malcolm. “It’s ok, Lil’ Dude. Malcolm always comes back.” 

Malcolm gritted his teeth as Matthew twisted his arm out of his socket, but he caught Isaac staring past Charlie, and tried his best to slap on a carefree smile through the pain. “Don’t worry,” he called out. “I’ll see you soon.”

Malcolm could hear Isaac still screaming for him as Matthew dragged him out into the hallway.

Matthew’s grip was vice tight, his arm threatening to break. He shoved Malcolm into an empty classroom and slammed the door shut behind him. “How can you stand that brat? Voidstricken noise machine that is,” Matthew growled, rubbing the inside of his ear with his pinky.

Malcolm’s hip hit a desk and he braced himself, glaring defiantly at Matthew. “He’s a kid. What’s your fucking excuse?”

Matthew set his hand down on his gun threateningly, his eyes narrowing. “Knight-Commander did an early sweep and found my stash. I’m going to need a new shipment. Tonight.”

Malcolm’s stomach dropped. Tonight was supposed to be the rave with Leandra. It would be risky holding lyrium with her around, not to mention he had invited Mara and Gamlen. And he had not planned to be interacting with his boss tonight. Pleasure and business never mixed well. He gritted his teeth as he weighed his options. 

Matthew’s eyes were bloodshot and yellowish. His skin had turned a sickening pale color and he was sweating, his fingers trembling with withdrawal. He wouldn’t be in a negotiating mood.

Malcolm straightened up, adjusting his robe as he grunted. “You know I charge extra for rush orders.”

Matthew glowered. He shoved his hands into his pockets and threw a stack of sovereigns at Malcolm’s feet. “It’s all there. Spend a copper of it, and you’re dead.”

Malcolm picked up the cash and slipped it into his pocket. “And I always dock travel expenses.”

Matthew clenched his fist. “Watch it, knife-ear. I’m not in the mood.”

“When are you ever,” Malcolm muttered, the slur burning in his ears. He turned to leave but Matthew blocked his path.

“Remember, I know where your girl sleeps, and if you want her to get a restful night, you’ll promptly be bringing back my order.”

Malcolm froze. Something in him snapped and, without thinking, he grabbed the air, seizing Matthew with a giant ghostly hand and slammed him against the door, cracking the wood with the force. “Don’t you dare threaten me!”

Matthew snarled and reached for his gun but Malcolm yanked it away with a wave of his hand. It floated in the air, aimed at Matthew’s head, the safety cocking off. Malcolm’s fists darkened with energy, fury in his eyes. “If you so much as breathe in Taylor’s direction, I will force feed you your own dick. Understood?”

Matthew went cross-eyed as the gun pressed against his forehead, sweat dripping down his temple. “Y-you wouldn’t dare hurt a Templar.”

Malcolm smiled as he juggled a vapor of black smoke in his hands, Matthew’s eyes nervously following the ominous billowing energy. It had a malevolent heavy aura to it. “I have ways of making you disappear. Care to test me?” 

Matthew gulped as a fly fell into the smoke and disintegrated to nothing. His eyes fell to his feet, his lip curling. “No,” he muttered bitterly.

The bell rang nine times, signaling it was time for all the mages to go to their rooms to sleep.

Malcolm snuffed out the spell, the aura dissipating, and he rolled his shoulders, sauntering up to Matthew. 

“Good,” he grabbed the gun floating in the air, flipping it in his hand. Matthew flinched as Malcolm shoved it back into the Templar’s holster before patting him on the chest. “I’ll text you when I’m ready. Meet in the usual spot.”

Matthew glowered, swatting Malcolm’s hand away. “I’m on camera duty tonight. I’ll create a distraction, but you’re on your own if you get caught.”  

Malcolm scoffed. “I never do.” And he shoulder-checked Matthew on the way out of the classroom.

He rolled his neck, cracking out the tension he was feeling. Part of him wanted to tell Leandra that tonight would be a bad time, and arrange to see her another night, but he had been counting down the minutes since he last saw her and he was already so impatient. She also agreed to wear that sexy dress, and he knew that if he backed out, she might not agree to wear it another time.

He waltzed to his bedroom, eager to get ready, when he found Melissa waiting outside of his room. She was twirling her hair on her finger, as she leaned on his door, seemingly distracted by the men passing the halls to enter the washroom for the last time or tuck themselves in their room. 

Malcolm waved to her as he approached. “You need something, Melissa?” He hadn’t talked to her much outside of class and couldn’t see a reason why she’d be outside his door.

Her brown eyes widened with worry as her toes tucked together shyly. “Oh, Malcolm,” her round cheeks were flushed with a blush. “Are you ok? Matthew didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. He didn’t even realize Melissa cared about him. “No, Matthew’s more bluster than action. But, uh, thanks. I’m good.”

“Good,” she echoed, looking down at her feet. She shuffled something in her arms and then Malcolm noticed she was holding the books he had stolen from the Circle’s forbidden section and his mouth dropped.

She seemed to notice and handed them over with a smile. “You left these behind. Interesting research.”

“Yeah,” Malcolm tucked the books under his arms, shifting nervously. “It’s…extra credit.” 

Her mouth made an ‘o’ and she nodded like that made sense. “Taylor wants to borrow those when you’re done. She almost didn’t let me give them to you.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Of course, she didn’t.” 

Melissa tucked a brown wave behind her ear. “Taylor was really worried. She and Charlie took Isaac to the apprentice quarters. You might want to stop by and see Isaac and let him know you’re alright. He wouldn’t stop screaming for you.”  

Malcolm gritted his teeth, his body already turning back downstairs. With all the adrenaline in his system, he almost forgot. “Thanks, I’ll have to hurry if I’m going to make it back to bed before curfew.” Isaac wouldn’t get any sleep otherwise.

He turned his head to find Melissa shadowing his footsteps. When she noticed Malcolm looking at her, she shyly ducked her eyes down and said, “Taylor still has all my spell books.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Better be careful or she’ll steal them, too.”

Melissa pouted her bottom lip, her eyelashes licking her cheek as she looked down. “She’d get better use out of them than I do. I’ll be a mediocre mage until I die.”

Malcolm shifted awkwardly, unsure what to say. “Hey, you got your Spirit for good or ill. We need every Spirit Healer, mediocre or not.” Was that a nice thing to say? It would be a lie to deny Melissa was a mediocre mage. She was the first one there but she was always the last one to finish her work.

But still, she smiled tenderly. “Thanks, Malcolm.” She met his gaze, warmth behind her eyes. “ I’m glad you’re ok.”

—

“Mistress Amell, you know your home is my home, but your parents are beside themselves with grief. I’ve never heard your mother so upset.” Mara’s grandfather wrapped his leathery hands around Leandra’s, his cloudy green eyes pleading. “Please for my sake, make peace with your parents.”

Leandra pulled the white fennec fur coat tighter around herself, skillfully hiding the provocative display of her dress underneath. The kitchen all of a sudden seemed too crowded and small. The little families of wallpaper ducks looked judgmental. 

Mara’s grandfather was up unusually late, no doubt due to a phone call from her parents, and it took everything in Leandra not to roll her eyes. It was just so devious of them to use Mara’s grandfather in some petty attempt to get her to come home.

“Harvel, I’m sorry, but it’s more complicated than that.”

“What could be less complicated?” He clasped her on both of her shoulders. “I don’t know what’s happening but, at the end of the day, they are still your parents. You can’t just cut them out of your life.”

Mara placed her hand on her hip, not caring her midriff was out. “Lolo, you really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mara’s grandfather glared at Mara. “And I heard plenty about you. Apparently, you’ve been causing all kinds of trouble in the Amell household.”

Mara wasn’t afraid to roll her eyes as she adjusted her lipstick with her compact mirror. “Oh, absolutely. I nicked all of Leandra’s jewelry, corrupted her innocence, and plan to steal her away to another continent where no one will protest our marriage.”

Leandra laughed at Mara's joke.

Mara waggled her eyebrows playfully at Leandra. 

Gamlen was slouched in the corner, gazing grouchily off into the distance bitterly ignoring everyone until Harvel snapped his fingers for Gamlen to pay attention. “Boy, don’t just sit there. Talk some sense into Mara. And tell her to put on some clothes!”

Gamlen did scowl when he looked at how little Mara was wearing. Her matching top looked like a bra and her nugskin skirt barely covered her ass. Her halla fur shrug only covered her arms but the rest of her was bare. “C’mon Mara, it’s cold out.”

Mara snuggled up to Gamlen, batting her thick eyelashes. “Then you’ll just have to keep me warm, right?”

Leandra looked away when Mara pulled Gamlen in for a kiss, silencing any further protests. She ran her fingers down the front of Gamlen’s suit, pulling him flush against her.

Mara’s grandfather scowled, rubbing his eyes. “Andraste’s Flaming Fanny, you shouldn’t be tonguing men you’re not married to, girlie! Especially in front of your Lolo.”

Mara stuck out her tongue, still cradling Gamlen’s face. “Maybe Lolo is up past his bedtime.”

Harvel grumbled, waving his hand as he hobbled out of the kitchen into the hallway to his bedroom muttering, “get no respect in this house…”

The kitchen fell into silence as they waited for Malcolm to show up. Gamlen and Leandra hadn’t really talked since the blowup with Leandra’s parents, though Leandra knew that Gamlen knew everything. Or at least the version that Mara and his parents told him. Gamlen kept glancing at her nervously as if he had something to say but couldn’t bring himself to. Leandra couldn’t bring herself to look at her brother, for fear if she did, she would blow up at him.  

Finally, after five minutes Gamlen said. “So you’re really giving it all up for him?” Gamlen looked so confused.

Leandra narrowed her eyes at Gamlen. “You know very well what our parents are doing and you went along with it.”

Gamlen shifted uncomfortably. “Leandra, you don’t realize how much debt the family’s in.”

She scowled, hugging herself in disgust. “There were better ways to pay it off. How could you justify this?”

“Like I could change Mom and Dad’s mind! I just did what they told me to.”

Mara grabbed his hand, her shaped eyebrows knitted together. “But you are going to stop, right? You’re not just going to go along with what they say forever?”

Gamlen bit his lip, his eyes dropping. “No,” his voice was thick. “Of course not.”

Mara smiled, though there was a nervousness behind it as her hand rested on her belly. “Good, cause…I need to tell you something important.”

Leandra raised her eyebrows, wondering what news Mara had to share, when her phone chirped a familiar tune. Leandra grabbed her phone eagerly and squealed, rushing out of her chair. “He’s here!”

Suddenly whatever Mara had to say was far from her mind as she flung open the door to the night air to see Malcolm coming out the back of a cab.

He was dressed in a simple white button-up that opened up to reveal his toned chest tucked into tight black jeans. His golden eyes gleamed brightly into the night, and his shapely lips quirked in a cocky half-smile.

Leandra felt impish, and unbuttoned her fur coat, revealing the dress Malcolm had begged her to wear. Her hair was held high in a ponytail with the Amell ribbon, so he had a full view of her chest, her breasts held together by hot pink straps, the bottom skin peeking out of the cloth like a present. The dress was only made of strips, hugging her curves closely. It covered her more private areas strategically, but every bra she had would have shown through so she went without and her nipples were hardening in the cold night air.

Malcolm froze, his eyes dilating as his mouth went gape. “Fuck me.”

Leandra grinned, sauntering up to him with the click of her high stiletto heels until they were face to face. She grinned to see these heels made her slightly taller and grabbed his chin, bringing him to her mouth. “I certainly plan to.” She kissed him, thrusting her tongue boldly into his mouth as she took a fistful of his curls.

Malcolm responded eagerly, his hands dipping between her legs to scoop her up by her thighs so she could straddle his growing hard-on. She felt weightless as she drank him up, inhaling his heady musk as she clung to his warmth. He was like a furnace against her. Suddenly her back was pinned against the idling cab as he pressed himself against her, grinding into her as he kissed her.

She relished the feeling of his tongue caressing her, of his hands eagerly feeling the fabric of her thin dress, his fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. 

Suddenly someone hit Malcolm on the head, pulling him off her. His heat receded leaving her shivering cold.

Mara’s grandfather was scowling, his ‘Retirement on a Budget’ magazine rolled up like a baton in his hand. “What do you think you’re doing with Mistress Amell, you hoodlum! Unhand her this instant!”

“Lolo, please!” Mara was trying to pull him away, but Mara’s grandfather had a fury in his eyes that would not be deterred.

He kept swatting at Malcolm pushing him away from Leandra with expert swings. Malcolm held up his hands blocking the swats with gritted teeth. “Wait, Ser! I can explain!”

Leandra went red, covering her pebbled chest with her furs as she tried to put herself between Malcolm and Mara’s grandfather. “Harvel, please! Malcolm wasn’t attacking me. He’s my boyfriend.”

Malcolm’s ears were twitching nervously, as he hid behind Leandra unsure what to say. Leandra pulled him up so he was beside her and confidently wrapped her fingers into his. Mara’s grandfather looked at Malcolm and Leandra’s intertwined hands and then Malcolm’s pointy ears, a sense of understanding coming over him. The old elf crossed his arms, sniffing at Malcolm.

“You don’t kiss a woman like that unless you plan to marry her. You understand?”

Malcolm looked at Leandra, a seriousness overcoming him and he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “I kiss her like that because I do plan to marry her.”

Leandra gasped, her heart fluttering as she felt him squeeze her hand.

Mara’s grandfather’s frown cracked into a smile when he saw how happy those words made Leandra. He covered his mouth with his hand, his lips thinning. “And your parents…You do need to tell them.”

“I will,” Leandra nodded, her stomach dropping at the thought. “When the time is right.” She stepped forward so she was holding Mara’s grandfather’s hand, too. “But I need you to trust me and keep this a secret for now.”

Mara’s grandfather looked uneasy and he swayed. “Your parents have been so good to me. If they ask, I’m not sure I can lie.”

“Don’t lie. Just say it will be better if the news comes from me, because it will.” She brought his wrinkled hand to her cheek. “Please.”

The old elf’s eyes went misty and he patted Leandra’s cheek fondly. “You’re probably right. And none of my business.”

Mara sighed exasperatedly. “I told you that.”

Harvel turned his gaze on Malcolm, and he squinted, as if inspecting him.

Malcolm straightened up, not sure where to stare, his lips a wobbly line. Then Mara’s grandfather stuck out his hand for a handshake. Malcolm stared at the hand before grasping it firmly.

“My Layla’s father didn’t approve of her marrying an elf either. She ended up getting disowned by her parents, but she never complained or held it against me. I spent countless ways trying to think of how to get them to accept us.” He covered Malcolm’s hands with his own, his face falling. “I didn’t get that, but Bethann and Aristride would do anything for Leandra. Give them a chance.”   

Leandra wasn’t sure what Malcolm would do but he placed his hand on top of Harvel’s smiling tensely. “I’d do anything for Leandra, too.”

Mara’s grandfather yawned exaggeratedly and said, “oh, excuse me. But I do believe I’m up past my bedtime.”

Mara stepped up and took her grandfather by her arm. “Here, Lolo, I’ll tuck you in.”

—

As the cab drove from the suburbs of Midtown back to the crowded buildings of Lowtown, Leandra leaned her head against Malcolm’s neck, listening to the sound of his heartbeat as their fingers intertwined. Gamlen was ostracized to the front seat and Mara quietly watched out the window, giving Malcolm and Leandra some privacy.

“So…” Malcolm rubbed a circle into her palm with his thumb. “That was Mara’s grandpa?”

“Ever since my grandfather died, he’s acted like my grandfather.” How she wanted every moment to be peaceful like this. “I think he liked you, by the way.”

“Did he?” Malcolm twisted his face in a frown. “Think I made a bad first impression, grinding up on you.”

Mara laughed. “Believe me, if he hated you he’d have grabbed his shotgun.”

But Leandra wasn’t laughing. Malcolm turned her head, finding tears dotting her eyelashes.

“What he said about your parents… Something’s wrong?” He touched her cheek, still marred with faint scratches.

Leandra buried her head in Malcolm’s chest and sobbed as she told him everything. The fight with her parents. The fact they were slavers. That she called off the wedding and moved into Mara’s. Malcolm’s eyes widened and he shared a look with Mara, who simply patted Leandra’s back as she told the tale. He let Leandra cry into his chest, watching the neon street signs cast shades of pink and blue across her skin. By the time she was done crying her mascara had run clear down her cheeks and her eyes were smoky.

Malcolm rubbed soothing circles into her back as they pulled into Lowtown Market. The driver pulled over to the curb, his eyes tired and droopy. “Where do you want to be let off?”

Malcolm fished into his pocket pulling out a wad of sovereigns. “Right here’s fine.” He paid the man and tipped generously.

Gamlen eyed the wad of cash with a raised eyebrow. “Where does a Circle elf make that much cash?”

Even Mara was staring at Malcolm’s hand in suspicion.

Malcolm suddenly looked tense, and he rolled his neck. “I mean, there are ways to make money at the Circle if you know how.”

Gamlen squinted his eyes. “Oh? Care to explain?”

Leandra scowled swatting at Gamlen. “Stop! He’s a very talented healer and a House Mage. Of course, they have to pay him something.”

Malcolm’s lips thinned into a line but didn’t offer anything else to deny or support the argument. He quickly escaped the cab, tucking the cash deep into his pocket.

Leandra quickly followed him out, wrapping her arms around him from behind.

Malcolm pouted, his shoulders slumping. “Did you have to wear such high heels? I look so short next to you.”

Leandra laughed, finding it welcome after confessing so much heaviness. She turned him around, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Oh, don’t be so silly. We’re the same height.”

Malcolm squinted in annoyance. “Actually, I’m taller by a whole two inches, and you usually only wear two-inch heels.”

Leandra couldn’t help but laugh again at the scowl on his face and, with an impish grin, she patted the top of Malcolm’s head like he was a kid. “Awww you’re sensitive about your height. That’s cute.”

“I am not!” Malcolm scowled, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her in close, causing her to giggle as his hands shamelessly cupped her ass. “Keep that up and I’ll have to think of a way to punish you.”

“We’re in public. Keep it PG-13 you two,” Mara chuckled as a scowling Gamlen helped her out of the cab. 

As a group of five gruff-looking men passed Leandra and Malcolm, one of them threw a beer bottle at their feet, scattering glass everywhere. They leered at Leandra, disgusted sneers curling their lips. One man with dark circles under his eyes and a prominent five o’clock shadow whistled lowly at Leandra. “Want a real man, sweetheart? I bet I can show you a better time than pencil dick.”

Malcolm scowled, his fists balling up as he took a step forward. “Need to taste a fist, asshole?”  

“Wait,” Leandra held him back by his hand, fear in her eyes about how outnumbered he was. She glared at the man. “And you’d think I’d be interested in your smelly unwashed dick?”

Soon Mara and Gamlen flanked Leandra and Malcolm, Gamlen flashing the pistol on his belt, and Mara bringing the hilt of her handgun out of her purse. “You want trouble?” Gamlen sneered, clicking the safety of his gun off.

A crowd was starting to gather, their breath tensing as if they were unsure if someone should call in the Guard. The cab pulled back into traffic, disappearing into the array of neon advertisements and moving commercials displayed on the sides of buildings. Wrappers and empty coffee cups and cigarette butts were piled up in the corner waiting for someone to clean them up, and there was a lingering smell of alcohol, fish, and urine in the air.

Malcolm’s fingers tensed in Leandra’s hands and she looked at him to find his teeth gritted in a line, his fist balled in her hand, his eyes on his feet as he trembled in anger.

The man gave a vulgar laugh, a string of spit flecking out on his chin. He gave Leandra another lecherous look then muttered, “rabbit fucking whore,” before strolling off, his friends following.

The crowd looked at each other and started dispersing, pretending to be busy browsing the stalls for hats and sunglasses or enjoying the hot street food that the night market had to offer.

Leandra gave a sigh of relief, as they strolled down the crowded street. “Assholes,” she spat.

Gamlen snorted. “It wouldn’t have happened if you two wouldn’t stop drawing so much attention to yourselves.”

Malcolm flinched, his hand loosening in Leandra’s grip.

But she wrapped her fingers tighter, throwing Gamlen a nasty glare. “You’re such a hypocrite. You and Mara are always sucking face.”

Gamlen rolled his eyes. “You know people look at Mara and Malcolm differently. Don’t act obtuse.”

Malcolm went rigid, his eyes hardening as his lips thinned. If he wanted to say something, he didn’t.

Mara threw Gamlen’s hand away. “So if my ears actually were pointed, you’re saying it would be a problem?”

Gamlen sputtered. “Of course not.” He tried to grab Mara’s hand to continue walking but she smacked it aside, crossing her arms. “C’mon Mara. Don’t give me grief. You know it’s not the same.”

“And yet your parents will never approve of me because of my drop of elf blood and you know it.”

At that Malcolm’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

Gamlen’s lips thinned and he looked away, his hands dropping to his sides as he avoided Mara’s glare.

Leandra could tell that the men’s catcalls in conjunction with Gamlen’s words were bothering Malcolm. His usual smile was gone, his jaw and ears twitching tensely. She placed her head on Malcolm’s tight shoulder, her hair falling down his back. He froze for a moment, but then looped his arm around her so they were linked as they strolled down the street, keenly aware of the eyes on them.

“There’s no one else I’d want to be with,” she murmured in his ear, delighting in the way it wiggled at her breath.

Malcolm smiled at that and kissed the top of her head as he brushed her bangs to the side, his golden eyes soft and tender. “I love you.”

Leandra felt her breath catch in her throat. That was the first time he had ever said it. To hear it at last felt like her life had clicked into place. She cupped his cheeks and captured his mouth in a kiss, not caring that her brother was groaning in complete mortification. “I love you, too,” she whispered back against his smiling lips.

Soon enough they were at the long stairs that descended from the Lowtown Market to the dark depths of Darktown. Leandra dragged Malcolm eagerly down the stairs. “Oooh, I’ve never been to Darktown. I can’t wait to see it.”   

Leandra was relieved to hear a chuckle back in Malcolm’s throat. “You better stick close down there.” He pulled her so his side pressed up against hers.

“Don’t sound so excited. It’s nothing special,” Gamlen grumbled, hands deep in his pockets.

“When have you been to Darktown?” Leandra asked, crossing her arms.

Gamlen stopped in his tracks, shrugging. “Y’know…business.”

Leandra squinted her eyes at Gamlen crossly. “Oh, important business lining our parents' pockets with dirty money?”

Gamlen glared. “You’d fit right in, sis, since you like rolling with filth.”

Malcolm flinched, and this prompted Leandra to glare at Gamlen.

“You’re such an ass!”

As they got to the bottom of the steps, the sea of tents started, malnourished elves, humans, and dwarves all huddled together around barrels of burning garbage choking the dusty air. Leandra’s eyes swelled with pity, seeing children with knobby limbs and swollen bellies clinging to their parents, their clothes rags hanging off their bones, their eyes glassy and unaware of their surroundings.

Gamlen put a protective arm around Mara, his hand hovering near his gun.

Malcolm led Leandra deeper down the corridors, the sea of tents seeming to stretch for miles. Before she knew it her feet brought her in front of a pregnant mother holding two small children no older than three. The children looked so frail, their bones looked like they would break if any weight were put on them. Leandra let go of Malcolm’s hand and started digging through her purse, placing a fistful of silver into the woman’s knobby hands.

The woman clasped the silvers to her chest. “Th-thank you, Messere.”

The open purse suddenly drew every eye in the camp. More hands reached up, voices wavering.

“Miss, I haven’t eaten in a week.”

“Please, Messere, just one silver.”

“My children are so hungry.”

Voices cried out all weaving their own sad tales and Leandra found herself passing out her whole wallet until everything was gone. Tears filled her eyes as she realized there was no possible way she could help everyone. “I’m so sorry. That’s all I have.”

Gamlen scowled, glaring at anyone who dared look at him. “So much for getting mugged, you idiot.”

Suddenly a man with a missing hand grabbed the silvers out of the pregnant woman’s hand and ran off, and the whole atmosphere changed. It was a free for all to grab the coin. Children wailed as stronger men wrestled weaker men and women to the ground, fighting for whatever scraps they could nab. Malcolm pulled Leandra away as she watched in horror wide-eyed at the scene she’d accidentally caused. 

Gamlen blocked Mara with his body, his gun waving at anyone that got close.

Malcolm’s hand slammed to the ground and a shockwave of energy stopped the crowd in a hush. Malcolm glared, his golden eyes glowing with rage as he stepped forward, hands sparking with energy.

“All of you scatter, now!”

“Mage!”

Everyone who could fled to the tunnels or disappeared into their tents. The pregnant woman looked too swollen to even lift to her feet. She pressed her spindly hands together, pleading with wide tear-filled eyes. “P-please, Messere. Spare me and my children.”

Malcolm gritted his teeth and dug into his pocket, taking out a sovereign and placing it into her flinching hands. The woman widened her eyes and quickly hid it out of sight in her pocket.

Malcolm grabbed Leandra’s hand, leading her into one of the side tunnels. “We should hurry before we run into Coterie thugs.”

Leandra stared at her hand, her heels clicking in the dark, Malcolm’s mage light casting long shadows across the wall. The tunnels were winding, and she had no idea or sense of direction. Puddles pooled on the ground that she couldn’t avoid, and she couldn’t help but cringe at the smell that would cling to her shoes.

Malcolm and Mara made some awkward attempts at conversation but it wasn’t long before Leandra and Gamlen started sniping at each other, so most of the walk in the dark was spent in irritable silence.

Leandra wasn’t sure how long they were walking when Malcolm opened a door that said ‘Do Not Enter’. The air cleared out to a graffiti-filled subway tunnel separated by two large platforms. The fluorescent lights flickered to a crowd of people smoking elfroot. Malcolm wrapped his arm around Leandra, his hand resting warmly on her hip as he led her, a swagger in his walk. 

There were a lot of dwarves, but plenty of humans, elves, and even a few Tal-Vashoth mingling together. They were all dressed in provocative bright rainbow dance clothes, with glow sticks that wrapped around their limbs, and their faces were painted with patterned makeup that looked more like art pieces than nightwear. Leandra felt like she was underdressed in her skimpy party dress and fur coat.

She snuggled closer to Malcolm, noticing that there was a distant drumbeat echoing from deep within the subway tunnels. Malcolm’s nose followed a trail of smoke and he turned to Leandra, pulling an elfroot joint from his pocket. “Feel like a hit before we go in? The sound can get pretty intense.”

Leandra’s eyes widened at the elfroot, her mouth drying up. “I’ve never tried.”

Gamlen scowled. “Stop corrupting my sister. She doesn’t need that.”

Leandra raised an eyebrow knowing full well that Gamlen indulged in elfroot and indulged in it often.

Malcolm shrugged. “She doesn’t have to. I’ve just been under a shitload of stress with these House Mage exams so if you don’t mind.” Malcolm lit the joint with his fingers and inhaled. He held it in for a few moments before the smoke exited his nostrils in a plume.

Leandra thought the elfroot smelled skunky and awful, but she was very tired of her family making decisions for her. She crossed her arms. “If you don’t mind, I think I might like it.”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You would?”

Leandra felt her heart thudding, her stomach shrinking, but she reached out her hand for Malcolm to hand the joint over. “Well, I don't know if I don’t try right?”

Malcolm’s golden eyes glimmered with mischief and instead of handing it over, he put the joint in his mouth and inhaled deeply. Leandra pouted, thinking he had changed his mind when he grabbed the small of her back and captured her mouth in a kiss. He breathed out, filling her lungs with smoke. Her head felt suddenly floaty, buzzing with energy, but she couldn’t tell if it was from the elfroot or Malcolm flooding her system. Suddenly the crowd around her whooped in encouraging cheers as Malcolm’s fingers squeezed her ass, smashing her body flush against him. She held onto him, suddenly feeling dizzy and lost in the sensation.

A screeching came down the railways, interrupting their kiss, and soon a beat-up subway train squealed its way onto the platform. The car seemed to be held together by duct tape, wires sparking at the connections. Graffiti caked every inch of the car, competing tags and art layered over together in a cacophony of color. The crowd poured into doorless openings taking whatever seats were available. Malcolm grabbed Leandra and pushed his way to the front, snagging an empty seat, and pulled Leandra into his lap, the joint smoking from his lips.

Leandra yelped in surprise, feeling awkward and shy as her dress rode up, but pleased when she felt Malcolm hardening against her back. The elfroot was making her feel giddy and she couldn’t help but wiggle a little, feeling him twitch as she settled in, a mischievous smirk on her lips. Mara took the only empty seat next to Malcolm, her hand resting on Leandra’s knee. Gamlen was left holding the railing standing.

Gamlen scowled as he looked at Malcolm and his sister. “You can sit in my lap,” he told Mara.

“No thanks,” Mara sang. She batted her eyelashes innocently, which only made Gamlen glower deeper.

The subway screeched from its stop, slowly rattling into the tunnels. Malcolm tried to hand the joint over to Mara but she immediately blocked it with her hand, saying “I don’t smoke anymore. Had a real bad high last time.”  

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “You sure? This is a royal strain I nabbed from the Circle’s stockroom. It’s pretty dank.”

Mara shook her head, her spiky pigtails bobbing. “I’m pretty sensitive. I’ll pass.”

Malcolm shrugged and handed the joint to Gamlen who took it from him with a snap and inhaled irritably.

Leandra glanced at her friend, thinking it strange that she was abstaining when she had never before. Mara noticed Leandra was staring and shrunk sheepishly.

Gamlen put the joint back to his lips, inhaling greedily. “More for me.”

Leandra rolled her eyes and leaned back into Malcolm. The railway plunged into darkness as they entered a tunnel. Suddenly she felt Malcolm’s hands wandering over her dress, his breath tickling her ear. She was flooded with warmth, the pulsing sound of a beat getting louder and louder until it seemed to thrum from within her. Leandra held her breath, feeling his fingers inch lower and lower.

Then, too soon, the train arrived at its destination, the wheels screeching to a halt. People poured out of the train car and into what looked like another abandoned train station, since turned into a club. It was dark, the air thick with smoke and fog only illuminated by the ravers writhing with their glow sticks as they grooved to an endless hypnotic beat. At the center of the stage was a DJ, who was swimming in the air as lasers danced around her. Mages casting ambient colored fire as they swirled rhythmically around the platform, their bodies glowing with neon paint. Where ticket sellers used to be, were dwarven bartenders serving drinks and drugs of all kinds in colorful martini glasses.

As Leandra stepped out into the club, she had a feeling that she had traveled to another world. Apostates were using magic openly, humans were kissing dwarves and elves and even Tal-Vashoth. There was this sense of infectious joy in the air, like the world’s troubles couldn’t touch this place. The room was hot, the strobing lights giving them only moments of light before plunging them into momentary darkness, and Leandra had a sense that she was already losing time. Drinks flowed like waterfalls, people snorting dust-like substances off of each other’s bodies. If Leandra’s parents could see her now, she was sure they would both faint.

Malcolm placed his chin on her shoulder, his cheek touching hers as he wrapped around her possessively. “Want a drink, babe?”

Leandra turned her head to capture his lips in a sweet kiss, feeling the thrill of the taste of elfroot on him. “Mmm, let me drink you.”

Malcolm chuckled, his voice husky. “Keep that up and I’m going to take you to a corner and peel this dress off of you.”

Gamlen pulled Malcolm off Leandra with a jolt of his shoulder. “Keep that up and I’ll kick your ass to Thursday.”

Mara swatted Gamlen with her purse. “You said you’d butt out, tonight.”

Gamlen growled. “You can’t expect me to do nothing while that elf puts his hands all over my sister.”

Mara’s nostrils flared, and she shoved Gamlen away. “If that’s how you feel then you forget putting your hands on me, tonight.”

Gamlen’s eyes widened in outrage. “Mara!”

Mara threw up her hands in exasperation. “I’m going to see if they serve soda in this dump.” And she disappeared into the crowd, Gamlen chasing after her still smoking the stolen joint.

Malcolm’s shoulders slumped as he rubbed the back of his head, his eyes on his feet again.

Leandra wrapped her arms around Malcolm. “Ignore my stupid brother.”

Malcolm wrapped his fingers in hers, his grip weak. “Is it stupid that I still want him to like me?”

Leandra could feel her heart breaking. She wished she had been born to a kinder family who would have welcomed Malcolm instead of scorning his existence. She grabbed his hand. “I know you’ve been holding back with my brother. Don’t. He’s either going to have to learn to accept you one day, or he’ll learn to live without me.”

Malcolm seemed surprised by how resolute she sounded, and she surprised herself at how sure she felt. Her brother was irritating her so much that it seemed better to get it over with and cut the whole family off and be done with it, rather than try to force whatever this was.

Malcolm cupped her face, his golden eyes glowing in the darkness. “Don’t say things you’ll regret.”

Leandra bit her lip, all of her resolve gone. Suddenly the music seemed too loud and the smell of elfroot was nauseating. She glanced over at Mara and Gamlen at the bar and they were yelling at each other. Leandra’s heart twisted. There had been something off about Mara all night. Instead of joking with Malcolm, she had been snapping at Gamlen, and though she had done it in defense of Leandra and Malcolm, Leandra realized she hadn’t heard Mara laugh all night.

A low whistle interrupted Leandra’s thoughts. She turned to see a dwarf with a brand over his eyes splitting his face in two. His skin was russet brown and his beard red and curly with tiny micro braids. His coily hair was coifed neatly on his head, his ears studded with several heavy gold piercings. “Damn, Hawke, what divine creature did you bring into my fine establishment?” The dwarf grabbed Leandra’s hand without asking and placed a bold kiss on her knuckles, lingering a tad too long on her skin. “Welcome to the Pulse. If you need anything, anything at all, do let me know.”

Malcolm stepped in front of Leandra blocking her body from view with his own, a hostile edge in his tone. “Cross. I thought I told you I’d meet you in your office.”

“And deny me the chance to introduce myself to this fine woman? I think not.” He winked one of his grey eyes at her. “If you need a place to sit, my face is open anytime.”

An embarrassed blush bloomed on Leandra’s cheeks as her voice stuttered in her throat. She suddenly had a need to cover herself, because she did not like the way Cross’ eyes leered at her curves.

Malcolm’s fists clenched in Leandra’s hand. “Say that again, and I’ll rip out your tongue and shove it up your ass so you can taste what you sound like.”

Leandra stepped back, unsure if Malcolm really meant what he said. She found herself a little frightened, but the dwarf laughed as if Malcolm had said something amusing.

“Woah, touchy. Must be your girl, then.” He held up his beefy hands in a peace-making gesture. “Fine, I’ll behave. Just wanted to say I packed up the special order-”

Suddenly Malcolm leaped forward and clapped Cross on the mouth. “Not here!” he growled.

Leandra’s ears were burning. Special order? What about it did Malcolm not want Leandra to know about?

Cross shoved Malcolm off, scowling. “Who do you think you are putting your hands on me, boy? I’m the hand that feeds you.”

Malcolm’s voice was dangerously quiet but Leandra still heard. “And if you want that beneficial arrangement to remain fruitful we’ll take this conversation somewhere else.”

Cross rolled his neck, glaring at Malcolm. “To my office. I have a guest to introduce you to,” he crooked a meaty finger for Malcolm to follow him, but Malcolm lingered behind.

Malcolm turned to Leandra. She furrowed her eyebrows, puzzled. “What was that about?”

“Business,” Malcolm simply said. “I’ll take care of it and be right back.”

He kissed her on the cheek and then followed Cross down a dark hallway.

Leandra was left rubbing her arm, confused about the conversation, when Gamlen and Mara appeared behind her. And it appeared they had overheard.

Mara crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing in disgust. “I knew he was too good to be true.”

Gamlen seemed to be positively beaming, a smug smile on his face. “No, you didn’t. But I did.”

Leandra puzzled at Mara, not understanding what was happening. “What?”

Mara’s lips were thinned in a line as she brought her mouth to Leandra’s ear so she could be heard clearly over the beat. “This is a Carta club. Look at the bouncers, they have military-grade gear. The security system is off-market, and there are traps rigged in the floor and walls.” Leandra looked around, seeing that the dwarven bouncers did indeed look like soldiers, a little over-geared with assault rifles and body armor. There were some deep grooves in the tiled floor but it was too dark to make out any real details. She glanced at the walls, noticing shiny-looking security cameras dotting in even intervals watching each exit, but she wasn’t sure how Mara could tell what was what. It was so dark that the only light was illuminated from the raver's glow sticks making trails of light as they danced.

People’s faces were shrouded in shadows, but dwarves still clearly heavily outnumbered humans and elves three-to-one on the dance floor. The only people in some form of uniform were small folk. Leandra tried but couldn’t find a single elf or human on staff.

Her heart was sinking. “So this club belongs to the Carta? What does that matter?”

Mara didn’t answer. “Who was that dwarf talking to Malcolm?”

Leandra bit her lip. “His boss, I think? I’m not sure.”

Gamlen guffawed in a smug laugh. “That settles it. Your new boyfriend’s either a lyrium or drug dealer. Mom and Dad are going to flip.”

Leandra couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “That’s not true,” she said automatically. She wanted to cover her ears, but she couldn’t erase what she just heard. 

“Think about it,” Gamlen dragged on, seeming to enjoy the distraught look on Leandra’s face. “No elf is walking around with a pocket full of sovereigns they earned legitimately. That’s just life.”

Leandra swatted Gamlen on the shoulder crossly. “You’ve never liked Malcolm. You’re just making things up to get me to doubt him.”

Gamlen smirked, his blue eyes glimmering in a dare. “Well, if you’re so sure why don’t you drop in on their conversation? I’m sure everything will get cleared right up.”

Leandra’s mouth opened to protest, but she found doubt in the back of her throat closing it up. Her eyes fell on Mara who looked strangely determined.

Mara grabbed her arm. “If you go, I’ll cover you.”

Leandra bit her lip, unsure if she really wanted to know. She had just upheaved her whole life for Malcolm, and the answer scared her.

But still, she wrapped her fingers around Mara’s and started marching to Cross’ office.

As they moved away from the dance floor, the room got even darker, the beat echoing off the wall in a reverb. They entered a hallway where foundation cracks lined the columns. At the end was a plaque stuck out that said ‘Security Room’ in bold black writing. A lone square dwarf guarded the door with a shotgun loaded in his hand.

Leandra wanted to turn back but Mara grabbed her by the arm and sauntered up to the dwarf with hooded eyes. “Why aren’t you a cutie? I don’t suppose the bathroom is this way?”

The dwarf shifted nervously, lowering the barrel to the ground as his eyes fell on Mara’s bare midriff. “Wrong hallway, miss. You want the other end of the room.”

Mara made a dramatic heavy sigh. “It’s so dark and scary out there. And my hand is so heavy. I don’t suppose you’d hold it and show me where it is.” Without asking she slipped her hand in his meaty palm and trapped it in hers, batting her eyelashes sweetly at him as she gently led him away.

The dwarf seemed mesmerized by Mara and shuffled away aimlessly. Mara caught Leandra’s eye over her shoulder and encouraged her through with a nod of her head.

Leandra’s heart was in her ears, the music seeming to fade as her hand clutched the doorknob.

She opened it slightly, peeking inside the room to see an office much nicer than the rest of the club, with wood paneling on the walls and antique dwarven furniture decorating the office. Liquor bottles lined the cabinets and several glasses had been poured out. Malcolm sat at a large octagonal table, his back to her, rigid and tense, gripping a backpack in his hand, his glass untouched. Cross sat across from him with another man in heavy blue and silver armor, two griffons emblazoned on his chest. He had reddish brown hair that was balding at the top and a full shiny beard. His eyes were focused on Malcolm, an urgency to them.

“Are you sure you won’t consider being recruited? Would it not solve all your problems with the Circle?”

“I reckon the Grey Wardens are bound to give me more problems than solve them,” Malcolm clutched a strange backpack in his hand. “You really looking in the slums for recruits? Thought Grey Wardens only took the best.”

The Grey Warden steepled his fingers together. “We need a mage of uncanny ability for this mission. We came to Kirkwall for its…reputation for uncontemporary magic. This mission is important but might not be granted sanction by the Chantry, you understand.”     

Malcolm shook his head, his curls falling to one side. “Sounds like it might entail blood magic.”

The Grey Warden’s blue eyes hardened and he leaned forward nodding his head in confirmation. “And some demon summoning. But you’ll be protected in the ranks of the Grey Wardens.”

Leandra’s breath caught in her throat. What kind of mission would be so necessary that required the summoning of demons? She had always respected the Grey Wardens, but now she was scared for Malcolm. He couldn’t possibly go through with this.

Malcolm scooted out of his chair, his back tense and rigid. “Yeah, I like my life too much to waste it in the Deep Roads, smelling rot and puke. Good luck finding another sucker, though.”

Leandra breathed a sigh of relief. She knew her Malcolm would do the right thing.

The Grey Warden’s lips thinned in a frown but didn’t say anything more.

Cross scowled. “In that case, I expect you here in two nights for the next shipment. No excuses this time.”

Leandra’s heart dropped. There was that phrase again.

Malcolm slung the backpack over his shoulder and Leandra realized that he was heading for the door. She backed away, but she moved a little too quickly and tripped in her heels, and fell onto her butt, hard. She groaned, rubbing it, when Malcolm opened the door, finding her sprawled on the ground.

His voice was panicked and strangled. “Leandra?”

She immediately straightened her spine, picking herself up with as much poise as possible. She crossed her arms, her face going indignant. “What shipment is he talking about? What’s in the backpack?”

“It’s nothing you have to worry about.” Malcolm grabbed Leandra’s hand trying to pull her further down the hall, but she slapped it away.  

“Then show me,” she reached for the backpack but he pulled it out of reach.

His eyes darted to Cross, who was smirking smugly, and the Grey Warden, who looked confused.

Malcolm was sweating, with a nervous energy to him. He gritted his teeth and glared. “Do you trust me?”

Leandra paused, realizing that sneaking in on his private meeting was a violation of his boundaries, and yet her instincts were screaming at her that he was hiding something. “Of course, I trust you. And you know you could tell me anything.”

Malcolm stared at Leandra, his throat gulping hard. Slowly, he dragged the backpack off his shoulder and reluctantly zipped open the pouch. It wasn’t lyrium or drugs at all; dirty magazines, candy, thick circle textbooks, some different brands of cigarettes, and all kinds of snacks. “It’s just stuff we can’t get at the Circle. It doesn’t look like much but people will trade me whatever I need for porn and the taste of a blondie.”

Leandra’s shoulders slumped, hanging her head in shame. “I’m sorry, Malcolm. Mara and Gamlen got it in my head that you were a dirty drug dealer.”

Malcolm stiffened his face cracking but he covered that up with a chuckle, zipping up the backpack quickly. “You know me better than that, babe.”

Leandra couldn’t tell how relieved to know this was just a huge misunderstanding. She felt like a weight had been lifted off of her.

The square dwarf waddled back in scowling, and pointed at Leandra, as if he just remembered she existed. “You-”

“I’m sorry,” she bowed quickly. “I made a mistake.”

“It’s fine, Jarkel,” Malcolm grabbed Leandra’s hand. “She’s with me.” 

Leandra dropped her eyes to the ground and followed Malcolm out of the hallway and back to the dance floor, the guilt eating her alive. Mara and Gamlen soon rushed in on Malcolm as if they were about to yell at him but Leandra intercepted them with a fierce glare. “You were wrong. About all of it.” She felt so foolish.

Mara raised an eyebrow as Gamlen guffawed. “Then what’s in the bag? Let me see.”

Leandra slapped his grasping hand away. “I already looked and it’s nothing like you said. I’m so mad at both of you for making me doubt Malcolm.” 

Mara had the sense to look guilty but Gamlen scowled as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re blind, sis.” 

Leandra grabbed Malcolm’s hand, her cheeks burning in shame. “I’m not listening to you anymore. You’ve done nothing but try to ruin the night. Malcolm and I are going to go dance without you.” Then, fuming, she led Malcolm deep into the crowd until Mara and Gamlen disappeared. Suddenly they were surrounded by a sea of people they didn’t know all bouncing to a beat, their bodies illuminated by brightly colored lights.

The music was hypnotic, so loud it was beating in their heads like a heartbeat. The lights on the dance floor were low and gave them plenty of privacy. There were so many bodies writhing on the dance floor that they had to press right up against each other.

The DJ danced under the bouncing mage lights, the lasers weaving in chaotic, mesmerizing patterns. A new song started to rise from the death of the previous one.

Leandra could see Malcolm was still hurt, his body stiff as he awkwardly held onto his bag, his eyes shifting out into the dark for Gamlen and Mara’s judging eyes. She cupped his face in her hands, capturing his mouth in a tender, apologetic kiss. She stroked his cheek as she started to sway to the beat, the bag thumping against her side. “I’ll never doubt you again,” she whispered into his pointed ear.

His ears drooped at her confession and he stiffened, an uncertainty in his golden eyes, but she pulled him in for another kiss. His taste was dizzying. He relaxed into her, sighing as his arms wrapped around her, holding her in the darkness. The music picked up to a sweet refrain.

“Let’s make this fleeting moment last forever

So tell me what you’re waiting for.

I’m going to keep it frozen here forever

There’s no regretting anymore.”  

Leandra pressed her body against Malcolm, her hands rubbing down the front of his shirt and around to his ass where she squeezed and pulled him flush against her. He raised an eyebrow in surprise as she ground her body into him to the beat of the music.

“All alone just the beat inside my soul

Take me home where my dreams are made of gold

In the zone where the beat is uncontrolled

I know what it feels like

Come on, make me feel alive!”

Malcolm turned Leandra around, cradling her close so her ass fit into his hardening crotch like a puzzle piece. He brushed her hair off her shoulder, as he whispered in her ear, “this dress is driving me crazy.”

Leandra smiled at him, her eyelashes thick against her cheek. She liked the way his eyes felt on her. “I like driving you crazy.” She leaned back into him turning her head to kiss him, as his arms wrapped around her, cradling her close. She let his hands slide down her stomach, feeling the open skin peeking out from the ridges of her dress. The beat moved through their bodies, his fingers sliding down her bare legs to savor the smoothness of her skin. His fingers teased the edges of her dress, lifting her skirt slightly leaving a trail of goosebumps as he caressed her.

Malcolm’s breath was hot in her mouth, his tongue eager, and her body throbbed against his. Malcolm’s smell was heady, and she was dizzy drinking it in. She rubbed her ass against his erection, her hands leading one of his up to her breast where he could feel her, uncaged without a bra. His thumb ran over her hardening nipple as he kissed a trail from her ear to her shoulder, his pants tight and constrained as his erection grew. How she wanted him to take her right in the middle of the dance floor, and she didn’t care who saw.

It seemed Malcolm’s control was slipping in her presence. He slipped his hands under her dress, groaning to find her bare ass greeting him. “You’re killing me,” Malcolm hissed. 

She gasped as his fingers hooked into her folds, daring to slip in. 

“Should I return the favor?” He grinned wickedly. 

Leandra bit her lip, her eyes darting around to see if anyone was looking but everyone seemed to be in their own worlds, moving to the beat of the music, or in their own throes of passion. Leandra’s heart was in her throat as she took Malcolm’s hands and guided his fingers in.

Leandra’s eyes fluttered close as she enjoyed the blissful sensation of him filling her.

Malcolm grinned against her cheek. “You’re already soaked,” he chuckled, his voice low and husky.

Suddenly she was warmer, her skin tingling as his fingers crooked to that special spot, his thumb settling on her swollen clit. Her legs shook against him and she whimpered into his mouth as his fingers started to pump in and out, his thumb rubbing her nub. She leaned her weight into him for support and he held her hostage, grinding his erection into her ass as his tongue thrust into her needy mouth. 

Soon his hand was soaked and she was dripping down her thigh, her nails digging into his arms, as she bit in her moans. It was like a dare, to see how far he could push her. She melted into him, her breath short and ragged as soft moans escaped her throat.

She pulled away from his mouth, panting. “Malcolm.” Her voice was a whine as her hand reached back to fist his erection. “Fuck me, right now.”

Malcolm groaned, his cock twitching in her hands. Feeling impish, she turned around and pounced on him, wrapping her legs around his waist. She reached for his shirt buttons, her mouth seizing his in a fierce kiss. Malcolm was almost knocked over, but he grabbed her thighs, steadying himself. He stoked her lust with aching kisses as he shoved her through the crowd, blindly trying to find a discreet corner.

Their hands explored each other shamelessly. Leandra slid his shirt down his shoulders so she could leave love bites on his chest. She was well aware he was hiking up her dress. She could hear the sound of his pants unbuckling. Eventually, they kissed their way into a bathroom, evacuating those present with annoyed groans.

As soon as the last girl left, Malcolm locked the door behind her, his pants already at his ankles showing off a simple pair of white boxers. When he turned around, Leandra was on the stained graffitied bathroom counter, her coat and heels abandoned on the filthy floor, her dress shoved down her waist so her peachy nipples were perked up to greet him.

Malcolm’s eyes zeroed in on her breasts. “Fuck,” he groaned and he tossed his bag aside. There was a cracking sound as it hit the floor, but it was blissfully ignored as his feet moved towards her in a trance. His fingers reached out for her.  

Leandra untied the ribbon holding her ponytail together so her hair cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall, framing her body like a classical painting. She looped the ribbon around Malcolm’s wrist and tied it tight.

Malcolm held up his wrist, the ribbon now dangling from it. He raised a thick eyebrow. “Dressing me up now?”

Leandra used the ribbon to pull him closer, settling him so he was between her spread legs. “It’s tradition. The women in my family give this ribbon to whoever their heart belongs to.” She fingered the Amell crest on the ribbon. “Wear it and everyone will know that I’m yours.”  

Malcolm’s eyes glimmered, his smile turning wolfish. “You’re mine, now?”

She looped her arms over his shoulders pressing her breasts against his bare freckled chest. “And you’re mine.”

Malcolm’s head dove to her neck, a chuckle on his breath. His hands kneaded her breasts, the sensation blissfully soothing. “And these are mine, too?” 

Leandra tipped her head back, enjoying the feeling of his hands on her skin. “All yours,” she smiled in rapture as his tongue wrapped around her nipple and sucked. Suddenly his fingers traveled down her belly and crooked in between her thighs, sliding into her wetness. “You know I won’t be satisfied until I can claim every inch of you…”

She gasped as his fingers buzzed between her thighs, a delightful tension running through her body. “You can have it. Every inch.” 

Malcolm left a trail of hot kisses from her breasts down her stomach, spreading her wide on the dirty counter until she was splayed out for him. With a wicked grin, he licked a solid line from her slick entrance until he came to the top of her swollen nub. His tongue flicked against it before he wrapped his lips around it sucking loudly. “Good, cause I want everything and I’m not sharing.” 

Leandra’s whole body tensed in shock, her hips bucking into his mouth as he worked her. A whine overtook her throat, echoing off of the bathroom walls, only the graffiti as a witness. She could feel herself melting against the mirror, cold against her back. Malcolm’s tongue felt so warm, even better than she remembered. Soon all her troubles, all her doubts, and all her tensions relaxed on a rising wave of pleasure. He knew how to tune her body, his fingers stretching her deliciously as he held her at the mercy of his magical tongue. Soon she was begging, pleading, praying for him to give her some release.

“Oh, Maker fuck me! Please, Malcolm! I need you inside me!” His tongue and fingers were suddenly not enough. She needed to feel every inch of him against her skin. 

He shuddered against her, his mouth leaving her warmth and so she was left cold and aching. She looked down to see Malcolm reaching into his pants for his wallet where he fished out a condom and started unwrapping it, the wrapper crinkling. 

Leandra found a sly smile on her lips. “You remembered this time.” 

Malcolm’s boxers dropped to the ground, revealing his hard cock, the veins throbbing. Leandra found her mouth going dry in want as he settled himself between her thighs. 

“Of course. I won’t make the same mistake twice.” He reached to put the condom on, but Leandra took it from him, and with gentle hands rolled it on for him, enjoying the way his cock twitched. Then she hooked him with her legs and guided him inside her.

Leandra moaned as Malcolm pierced her, stretching her in that delicious friction she craved. She rolled her hips, grabbing his curls as she pulled him in for a kiss, his tongue leaving her in tingles, her own taste becoming familiar. Malcolm grabbed her hips, thrusting hard, as he pinned her to the counter. Soon the friction was back, pressure building inside her.

“Malcolm,” she cried, nails digging into his back. Leandra was caught off guard as her fingers dipped into the old scabs and scars across his skin, and she absentmindedly traced their jagged edges with her fingertips, silently wondering what happened.

Soon his throaty groans joined hers, their bodies slapping together, the counter slick with her juices. He lifted her hips, tipping them as he slammed into her, his pace desperate and savage. His gaze was tigerish and intense, raptly observing how she came undone. He caged her in and, trapped in his grasp, she knew she was completely at his mercy. She could feel herself burning inside, every sense coming to life in euphoria. All she could smell was the sweat on his skin. All she could hear was the sound of his moans. All she could feel was this delightful pressure stretching her taut. 

“Malcolm, please more! I need more!” 

He grunted, responding eagerly to her begging, his ramming thrusts jolting her to life. He was everywhere, consuming her, lighting her up. She was prey and he was devouring her whole. He took fistfuls of her ruined hot pink dress, balling them up in his hands as he pounded into her, and repeated her name like a mantra. Each thrust gave a wave of bliss riding higher and higher until Leandra no longer recognized her own name on his lips.

Leandra’s back arched, her hair sticking to her sweaty skin as she felt a tidal wave of pleasure overtake her. Her hips burned almost painfully, squeezing Malcolm. She convulsed, clutching onto Malcolm as a liquid fire burned through her shocking her so she was more awake than ever. Her mind and body buzzed, floating as her orgasm curled her toes and rocked her senseless. She screamed Malcolm’s name as her nails broke his skin.

Leandra could still feel Malcolm pounding into her as the crest of her orgasm slowed, only for the pressure to start rising again as he buried his head into her neck, his body covering her like a blanket. He continued his furious pace, his jaw clenched tense and tight. Suddenly with a grunt he pulled out, flipped her around, and shoved her face against the counter so she could see herself in the mirror. There was a wild expression on her face she didn’t recognize, her mouth open and panting, her dark eyes hooded and fierce with lust. She looked absolutely a mess, her makeup melting off of her face, her skin shiny with sweat, her hair frizzy and sticking. And yet seeing Malcolm take control of her, seeing him dominate her, refired her arousal so it dripped down her thigh. Malcolm grabbed her ass hanging in the air and thrust in hard, his eyelids fluttering closed in bliss as he reworked his pace.

The new angle plunged him even deeper than before, and then he lifted her leg and she felt herself splitting in half. He kissed the back of her neck, his fingers digging into her thighs as he fucked her mercilessly. She watched her breasts bounce in the mirror, his hips grinding into hers.

“Tell me you’re mine, again,” he demanded. 

There was a fragileness in his voice, like he didn’t quite believe it was true.

She arched her back, this angle’s friction building her crest of pleasure even faster than before. She broke, her body melting into a puddle under his expert touch. “I’m yours,” she cried, her composure coming apart once again as another climax crashed into her, taking her breath from her lungs. An involuntary scream overtook her, ending in a mewl as her body curled in on itself, tensing wildly.

Malcolm’s body went rigid as she squeezed against him, but he continued to pump his hips until she was shaking in aftershocks. 

Finally, he broke at last, his fingers digging into her hips in a bruising grip. “Fuck!” he swore as he convulsed inside her, hot seed filling her. He was paralyzed for a few seconds, enraptured by pleasure until his legs collapsed against her, pinning her to the counter. He smiled contently against her neck, and sighed as he placed a soft kiss there. “Mine… All mine.” 

She hummed, depleted, ecstasy running through her veins, a tired smile on her lips. Her body was still floating in a high she wasn’t sure she could come down from. 

She felt him slowly slip out, her insides jolting in tingles as he moved. “Fuck,” she heard him repeat.

Her eyes fluttered open to find Malcolm peeling off the condom, his seed dripping out of a hole.

Leandra’s heart froze. “Fuck,” she collapsed into the counter. This was not happening. “The Maker is conspiring against us.” 

Malcolm’s lips were in a thin line as tossed the condom into the trash, nervousness in his eyes. “Well, uh…you’re on the pill, right?” 

Leandra twisted her face with an offended frown. “Only loose women need to go on the pill.” 

Malcolm raised a confused eyebrow. “Oooookay…but this is the second accident. We’re just asking for trouble if we don’t play this smart.”

Leandra crossed her arms over her breasts, scowling. “Are you saying you won’t step up and be a man if I get knocked up?” 

Malcolm's eyes widened in offense. “Of course, I’ll step up. But a kid’s a huge responsibility. I want us to be ready, and we’re still getting to know each other.” 

Leandra’s eyes fell to the ground, her eyelashes heavy. Of course, Malcolm was right. They were moving so fast. These stolen moments were so far and between she found herself wanting to skip steps, but how easy to forget they had barely known each other a few weeks. 

She hugged Malcolm, feeling his heartbeat on her chest. “I still have a morning after pill. I’ll take it tonight, and hopefully we’ll have nothing to worry about.”

“Even if there is, I’ll be here for you,” Malcolm said.

Leandra smiled, pressing her forehead against his. That was all she needed to hear.

She held Malcolm there for a second, feeling at peace when suddenly she noticed something strange was leaking out of Malcolm’s backpack, making a puddle on the dirty bathroom floor. It was a blue liquid that shimmered, bringing with it a faint scent of rain.

Wordlessly, with a sinking heart, she pushed Malcolm away and kneeled down to touch the blue glittery substance. It reacted to her, sparking her with a feeling that unmistakably had magic. Tears pricked her eyes as the betrayal sunk in like a hot knife.

“Leandra-” 

But she cut Malcolm off with a glare. “You lied to me!”

Malcolm’s golden eyes were wide and pleading, his pointed ears drooping with guilt. “Leandra, it’s not like I have a choice-”

Leandra wiped her eyes but more tears replaced them. “Don’t give me that! Of course, you have a choice!”

His shoulders hunched up and he flung his hand at her in desperation. “You think I want to be selling dwarf dust to Templars? Do you think it’s fun being subjected to their tantrums? Money gives you options, options I don’t have the luxury to enjoy.”

Leandra twisted her face in a snarl. “Oh, so I’m spoiled now?”

“Spoiled, no. Privileged, yes.”

Leandra snapped. She couldn’t see the difference in those words. Her ears burned and she angrily strapped on her heels. “I gave up everything for you; my status, my money, and you don’t have the decency to be honest with me!”

Malcolm’s shoulders slumped. “I wanted to be honest, Leandra, but…” he gritted his teeth. “I saw the way you looked at me. I didn’t want that to change.”   

The tears dripped off Leandra’s chin and hit the floor. “But it did change.” 

Malcolm flinched, his eyes glistening. “Leandra? Don’t say that. You know me.”

Leandra grabbed her coat from the ground and started to angrily adjust her dress back to its proper place. “Do I? I feel like you’re a stranger to me right now.” 

Malcolm’s face cracked, as he reached out for her. “Leandra, please-”

But she smacked his hand and shoved him away. “Don’t touch me! My brother was right about you.” 

He flinched and his shoulders slumped, his hands falling to his side. 

The dress was horribly ripped and crumpled, so Leandra flung her coat over her frame, zipping it up so she was completely covered, and fled the bathroom. She thought that would be the end but, a few moments later, Malcolm chased after her, haphazardly still throwing clothes on, the backpack still dripping off his shoulder.

“I love you,” he said resolutely. Like a fact.

It only felt like a stab to the heart.

Leandra hurried her pace, her eyes darting around for Mara and her brother. She couldn’t see anything in the sea of rainbow lights. “That doesn’t matter.”

“You love me.” Another fact. 

She winced and closed her eyes, her chest caving in as her heart split to pieces. She was blinded by tears. Nothing made sense anymore. She shook her head, feeling dizzy, and repeated, “that doesn’t matter!”

Malcolm stopped her by the arm, his fingers digging in desperation. “Of course that matters.” He wrapped himself around her, his grip tight and trembling. “ I’m not giving up on us. Please, don’t run away from me!”

She banged her fists against his chest, trying to break free but her fists just bounced off. “Let go, you liar! I have nothing to say to you! Just leave me alone!” 

Malcolm just absorbed hit after hit, too afraid to let go. “Please, Leandra, talk to me. Please, just talk to me.” His voice was thick, as he tried to get her to look into his eyes. 

Suddenly Gamlen pulled Malcolm off Leandra and clocked him straight in the jaw.

Malcolm flew, landing on his back, contraband spilling from his backpack.

Gamlen rubbed his sore fist, shaking it with a smirk. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

Mara pulled Leandra into a hug, pressing her head to her chest. “Babe, what happened? What did Malcolm do?” 

Leandra clung to Mara, sobbing heavily. “J-just get me out of here.” 

Malcolm groaned, stars in his eyes as he rubbed his jaw.

Gamlen stepped on his neck, digging his heel into Malcolm’s throat and cutting off his airway. He squinted his blue eyes in a glare. “If I ever see you near my sister again, I’ll kill you. Understand?”

Malcolm gritted his bloody teeth but couldn’t say anything more.

Gamlen kicked off him, leaving a shoeprint on his shirt, and grabbed Mara’s hand, whistling sharply. “C’mon. We’re leaving.” 

Leandra left with her brother and Mara, too scared to look back. 

—---

After everything was said and done, Malcolm still had to deliver what was left of the lyrium to Matthew. He would no doubt be angry that several of his vials had been broken, but Malcolm figured he could talk his way out of getting a broken arm by offering something like free delivery.

The problem was, Matthew wasn’t responding to Malcolm’s texts, nor had he shown up at the drop-off. Malcolm waited for over an hour for him to show, rubbing his sore jaw, not bothering to wash the taste of blood out of his mouth. The night played over and over in his head as he puzzled for a way to get Leandra back.

He fiddled with the ribbon still wrapped on his wrist. Leandra hadn’t asked for it back, and Malcolm took it as a sign that there was still hope. Though he had irrevocably blown it with Gamlen and undoubtedly fell out of Mara’s good graces. He knew he shouldn’t have lied, but he knew his lyrium dealing wasn’t going to win him any favors with anyone. If he only had the chance to explain himself… to redeem himself…

He felt it was too soon to fall into despair, not when her taste still lingered on his tongue. But it was hard not to feel bitter and ragged. 

He tiptoed invisibly through corridors back up to his bedroom when Matthew failed to show, grumbling about the temperamental nature of the Templar. When he got to his room, though, he knew immediately something was wrong. The door was left ajar and there was a strange sulfury smell wafting in the air. He heard the sound of flapping wings from far away and a faint tik-tik.

Malcolm pushed open the door to his room to find Matthew his body sprawled out, his limbs deforming at odd angles, his cheeks sunken and deflated so he was just mummified bone and skin, a look of terror frozen in his eyes as his mouth gaped unnaturally wide. There was a huge hole in his abdomen where it looked like something had sucked out his organs through a huge straw, his skin sinking into a cavern where his stomach should be.

Malcolm dropped the backpack in horror, gagging as bile threatened to overtake his throat. After the shock wore off, he swallowed hard. With shaky hands, he reached into his pocket and called Carver. 

O

Chapter Text

Carver liked to think there were limits to what he’d do to help Malcolm. After all, one doesn’t rise up to second in command of the Templars without demonstrating discipline. It was a disturbing realization that moving a dead body of a colleague was not on that list of limits.

If Matthew had been found in Malcolm’s quarters, Malcolm would be tranquilized without trial, no question. It would be bad enough even with trying to draw attention away from Malcolm when he was the last person to see Matthew alive.

Luckily enough, they knew all the cameras’ blind spots and were able to move the body without incident. However, Malcolm was being worse than useless.

“I shouldn’t have called her privileged.” He was lying face down on a shower bench like he had been for the last five minutes, groaning in self-pity. “What the fuck was I thinking?”

Carver was trying to be supportive, but Malcolm was really starting to irritate him. He was having difficulty unrolling Matthew’s body out of the sheet they carried him in. The dump site of choice was the men’s washroom. It was only a few feet away from Malcolm’s room but there weren’t a lot of options when Templars were still actively patrolling.

Carver finally got the sheet out from under Matthew but he was upside down. “I really don’t know, but try to focus. You’ve got bigger problems. Help me turn him the right way up.”

Malcolm turned his head to face Carver, his bottom lip stuck out in a pout, his cheek squished up against the bench. “Why? He looks better facing down.”

Carver groaned, not in the mood for his jokes. “I need to recreate the murder scene as accurately as possible.”

Malcolm sighed. “Are you sure you won’t let me disintegrate him? It would be a lot fewer questions.”

“Did you forget that someone framed you and we don’t know who the culprit is?”

“Wouldn’t it be better if there was no body to frame me with?”

Malcolm’s callousness about Matthew’s death combined with the apprehension that anyone could walk in at any moment made Carver snap. “You might not have liked Matthew, but he was a colleague of mine and his murder deserves to be solved. And his remains are all the evidence I have to catch this murderer. So will you get your head out of your ass because this could very well happen again and I have no idea how to stop it!”

Malcolm’s shoulders slumped, and he relented and rolled off the bench onto his feet. “Don’t cough up a lung. I’m coming.”

Carver sighed in relief, glad some sense was coming back to his friend, because at this point he was moments away from strangling Malcolm. He felt he should be more considerate. He knew that Leandra broke up with Malcolm and it wasn’t hard to tell Malcolm wasn’t taking it well. Malcolm’s energy was nervous. He kept shifting foot to foot, yanking at his curls muttering to himself, but there was time for Malcolm to nurse his broken heart, when they weren’t standing at an active crime scene.

Carver grabbed Matthew’s shoulders, so bony and thin, the muscles emaciated so his skin was like dry paper. “Now what did Matthew pull you aside for earlier?”

Malcolm froze for a moment, before grabbing Matthew’s feet. “Asshole was just giving me a hard time like usual.”

Carver’s jaw tensed. “I thought you’d have more sense than to lie to me when it’s my ass on the line with you.”

Malcolm yanked the body upwards, a sound of cracking. “C’mon dude, you know I didn’t do this.”

Carver started to lift the body but something was wrong. The two halves weren’t quite segmenting together, tiny bits of viscera dripping out of the hole in Matthew’s torso making it steadily bigger.

“Ok, let’s turn the body before he spills out.” Malcolm started to twist but he was a little ahead of Carver.

 “Wait, I don’t have a good grip-” Instead of turning the body around, the two sections split in half, and snapped so Matthew’s horrified expression faced the ceiling next to his ass.  

Carver groaned. This could not be happening. “So much for preserving the crime scene.”

Malcolm shrugged sheepishly at Carver. “Is disintegration still on the table?”

Carver grabbed Malcolm’s sheets, which they had used to carry Matthew, and threw them at Malcolm. “Just burn these. And your clothes!”

Malcolm yanked them out of the air and then slumped. “These still have Leandra’s scent...” He did smell faintly of jasmine…and cum.

Carver pinched the bridge of his nose, a stress migraine coming on. “Maker forgive me but, if you mention Leandra one more time, I will throttle you.”

Malcolm threw the sheets to the ground, a scowl on his face. “I can’t help it, dude. I can’t concentrate. Nothing matters, nothing- until I get her back.”  

Carver was silent, his face unreadable as he picked up the sheets from the ground and threw them back at Malcolm. Malcolm caught them in one hand, stepping back from the force. And like promised, Carver grabbed Malcolm and wrestled him into a headlock, pulling his pointed ear to his mouth so he couldn’t be misheard. “Listen, you lovesick idiot. If you go down for Matthew’s murder, how will you get Leandra back?” He took a fistful of Malcolm’s curls and gave him a hard noogie trying to smash his words into his thick skull. “Get. Some. Fucking. Perspective!”

Suddenly there was the heavy sound of footsteps coming into the washroom. “Hello? Who’s in here?”

Carver lost his grip straightening up to see a flashlight pour on him. It was a Templar named Hilde, who was a built woman with blonde hair and razor green eyes. Her jaw dropped when she saw Matthew and screamed, “Oh, Sweet Blood of Andraste!”

Carver darted his eyes over to where Malcolm should have been. He was nowhere to be found, but Carver could see the faint outline of his shadow in the corner. Carver straightened up, slapping on his usual professional demeanor. “I came across Matthew only moments ago. I was just about to report this in.”

Hilde held her mouth, but she couldn’t stop the bile from leaking out. She gagged, upheaving her guts to the floor, further contaminating the evidence.

Carver groaned looking up to the Heavens for help.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” she was still holding her mouth and gagging. “Maker save me, I didn’t know bodies could contort like that.”

“Me either,” Carver said bitterly. He winced, holding his head as the migraine became pounding. “Look the Knight-Commander needs to be informed. I’m still investigating the body. Can you pull yourself together enough to alert him? We need to pull everyone in. There’s either a blood mage or an abomination on our hands, and we can’t rest until we hunt it down.”

“Right away, Captain.” She nodded, straightening up to salute before her eyes flew unwittingly down and heaved again.

Carver snapped a pointed finger out of the men’s washroom, his tone suddenly strict, “leave before you further contaminate the evidence!”

Hilde's spine straightened in a jerky salute, still holding her mouth. “Sorry,” she gagged out, before rushing out of the washroom like she was being chased by a whip.

As soon as Carver heard Hilde’s footsteps receding, Carver looked at the corner Malcolm hid in, but his shadow was gone. “Are you still here?” he asked.

Malcolm unveiled right beside him and Carver almost jumped out of his skin.

“Damn it, Hawke,” Carver muttered holding his chest to calm his racing heart.

“Sorry,” he muttered, a slightly mischievous smile on his lips. “If I tried to leave with her watching, she might have seen me moving. And you Templars tend to shoot first and ask questions later.”

“Fair,” Carver winced, his migraine piercing with annoyance. There was a question on the tip of his tongue, ever since he interviewed Leandra at the Hanged Man, but he knew it would make Malcolm jump out of his skin.

Malcolm turned to leave but Carver clapped him on the shoulder. “Wait. Leandra and I talked… I needed information about the investigation and she told me something about you.”

Malcolm hunched his shoulders, a guilty expression blooming on his face. “What did she say?”

Carver hesitated for a moment. This knowledge could change their relationship forever, and he found himself beating around the bush. “She said she dreams of you and the Spirits call you something…”

Malcolm’s golden eyes lit up in hope. “She dreams about me?” But then his face fell as he connected the dots about what this meant. He took a step away from Carver, Carver’s fingers dropping from Malcolm’s shoulder. “So you know that I’m…”

“Somniari,” Carver finished for him when Malcolm failed to say it.

There was real fear in Malcolm’s eyes and his hands clasped together pleading. “Dude, you can’t tell anyone. It’ll mean the end of me.”

Carver’s lips were a line. He knew that. If Carver went to the Knight-Commander the next step would be Tranquilization. It was the standard procedure when a Somniari was discovered. Somniari abominations were so powerful they could easily destroy whole cities, level mountaintops, continents even. There were a handful of tales of the dreamers, and the demons that craved them so deeply and seduced their fragile minds. Carver knew Malcolm would attract them like honey but, even knowing the risk, Carver couldn’t bring himself to turn in his friend.

Carver’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “Your secret is safe with me…but this attack…it’s related right? And it’s connected to the Haunting at the Ball.”

Malcolm was silent as his eyes fell to the ground, hard and unreadable. After a few moments, Malcolm said, “Yes… probably… Like, ninety percent sure.”

Carver grimaced, wishing it wasn’t true, but at least with this knowledge he could prepare his men better. “Thank you for being honest for once.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything, right?” Malcolm shrugged with a mutter.

Carver narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, but if I didn’t corner you with the truth, would you have told me at all?”

Malcolm flinched, his eyes darting away. “Look, you know now. Isn’t that what’s important?”

Carver knew he shouldn’t bring up Leandra but he couldn’t help but say, “You know, you might consider that it’s behavior like this that drove Leandra away in the first place.”

Malcolm widened his eyes and then snarled. “I didn’t even tell you what happened!”

Carver crossed his arms, the disappointment clear on his face. “The last time I met Leandra she was so in love with you she was willing to defy her parents and status just to be with you. Now she wants nothing to do with you. I don’t need to hear the details to know you must have fucked up bad.”

Malcolm’s shoulders slumped, for once not arguing.

Then Carver swatted Malcolm in the back of the head. “You couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see Leandra? The moment you ditch I have a dead Templar on my hands.”

“I didn’t kill Matthew!” Malcolm’s head steamed, his voice was getting loud again and Carver clapped a hand over his mouth.

“I didn’t say you did,” Carver hissed. “But someone knew you wouldn’t be in your room. Or someone planned to attack you in your room and found Matthew instead. Either way, you’re being targeted.” He unclasped Malcolm’s mouth, Malcolm’s nostrils flaring. “You’re going to have to actually let me in on what you know before someone we actually care about gets hurt.”  

Malcolm’s jaw set into a hard line. “You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”

Carver glared. “I’ve stuck my neck out for you how many times now? Defended you when no one else would. Promoted you so you could actually apply your skills to something useful. Covered for you so you could actually see Leandra. What else must I do to prove my loyalty to you?” He wanted to shake Malcolm, but he resisted the urge and he crossed his arms instead. “If you don’t trust me to have your back by now, I don’t know what to tell you, man. You need to work with me, or I’ll be forced to go to someone with what I know.”

Malcolm’s eyes widened in alarm. “I thought you weren’t going to tell anyone I’m a Somniari.”

Carver rolled his eyes before giving Malcolm a hard stare, sneering, “I’m not stupid. I won’t tell them that. But a Templar is dead, Hawke. The Knight-Commander will be out for blood. I’m obligated to tell my colleagues what I know about this demon so they can protect themselves from the next attack. It’s not my preference, but it’s ultimately your choice.”

Malcolm’s shoulders slumped, bitterness in his voice as he avoided Carver’s eyes. “Fine. I guess I’m already in too deep to turn back anyways.”

It was something.

Carver’s walkie-talkie chirped with a deep bass voice. “Knight-Captain this is Knight-Lieutenant Jiminez. All units are ready to rouse the mages for bed checks. We have the whole Circle on lockdown. Knight-Lieutenant Stannard is on her way with a forensics unit to secure the remains. Over.”

Carver grimaced, putting the walkie-talkie to his mouth. “This is Knight-Captain Carver. I have received your orders. I will continue my preliminary exams on the remains until the forensics unit secures the crime scene. Over.” Then hooking the walkie-talkie on his belt he turned to Malcolm. “Hurry and get back to your room.”

“You want me to burn it in my room? Won’t that smell?” Malcolm shuffled the sheet in his hands.

“Cloak it then. Disintegrate it. I don’t care, just hurry. And don’t forget your clothes. You’ve got blood on them.” He started to push Malcolm out of the washroom.

Malcolm’s footsteps were dragging despite the urgency. “What are you going to tell them?” Malcolm said, anxiety making his voice high.

“I’ll fill you in later. Just get the fuck in your room.” He shoved Malcolm out of the door into the hallway, Malcolm turning invisible at the last second. Carver heard the sound of receding footsteps running and Malcolm’s door soon opened and shut tight.

Carver grimaced, his migraine blindingly painful. He reached into his belt and pulled out a vial of lyrium, his emergency dose, and let the cool brisk liquid slide down his throat. It burned coldly, and a metallic taste filled his mouth as a familiar song rushed in his ears. He was overcome with a moment of bliss, the aches in his bones soothing, the migraine fading to a dull thud.

He leaned back against the door, enjoying the feeling of lyrium waking up his system. It was too early for this shot, but he’d need all his faculties to get through this.

Soon enough Meredith came marching down the hall with a regiment of Templars. The Templars proceeded to systematically wake up mages and pull them outside of their room for emergency searches.

Carver knew Malcolm would need some time to get rid of the evidence so he stepped out to greet his colleagues, a grim expression on his face.  

Meredith greeted him with a sneering salute. “Knight-Captain, you said we have a situation.”

“It’s Matthew,” Carver said, causing the Templars to mutter at each other. “Preliminary examination show post-mortem damage. It appears his body was desiccated, blood and organs removed. I recommend testing for saliva samples in the wounds.”

The color drained out of most of the Templar’s faces, except for Meredith who took the news with impartiality. “You’ve found evidence of cannibalism? Was there a sulfuric odor nearby?”

Carver watched his colleagues pull mage after mage, checking their rooms for anything suspicious. He sweated nervously as they got closer and closer to Malcolm’s room, strange lights coming from under the door.

Carver tried to ignore this and nodded to Meredith. “I’m almost certain we have some form of Hunger demon based on what I saw. To be safe, we should start scanning the mages’ brainwave patterns. With any luck, we might be able to weed out the abomination before it strikes again.”

Meredith turned to her juniors. “Darlene, go to the armory and grab the equipment. Darrell, help her carry it. We’ll start right away.”

Finally, his colleague came to Malcolm’s room, and Carver held his breath as the door opened.

Malcolm was sitting on his barren bed, naked as the day he was born, love bites still all over his freckled chest, his hand fisting his dick. He scowled, flipping the Templar off with his free hand, his other hand still jerking. “Little privacy, asshole?”

Landon, the Templar that was unfortunate to catch Malcolm shut the door, his face on fire. He looked like he wanted to stick pokers in his eyes. He turned to Carver, knowing he was the only one who could speak to Malcolm when he was like this. “Ser?”

A surprised laugh overtook Carver as he palmed his face. Malcolm never failed to surprise him.

Meredith scowled and banged crossly on the door, shaking it with the force. “Hawke, come out here this instant!”

“Let me finish first, you fascist!”

Meredith’s face went red with fury and Carver had to bite his lip before another laugh erupted from his throat.

The other mages were blinking sleepily, not at all surprised by Malcolm’s antics and they grumbled to each other about how he was making their lives harder… again.  

Meredith turned to Carver with a scowl. “You enable this elf! You deal with him!”

Carver sighed, snapping his fingers. “Everyone get back to your duties. I’ll take care of Hawke.”

Better he be the one to officially search Malcolm’s room anyways.

Carver walked to the door and rapped his fist against it. “Hawke, you have a minute to get dressed or I’m dragging you out by your dick.”

“That’s gay, dude!”

“Now you have fifty-seven seconds. Think I’m joking?”

He could hear Malcolm growl from within. Carver couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I’m coming! Keep your hands to yourself!”

“I’d like to,” Carver called through the door before he turned to Meredith who was scowling. “Well, you heard Hawke. He’s coming. Go back to your duties.”

“Damn right, I’m cumming.”

An unexpected laugh burst out of Carver’s throat before he could stop it.

Malcolm was hopeless.

Meredith harrumphed and turned on her heel stomping to the men’s washroom.

Carver sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a wince. It was going to be a long night.

——

Mara had never seen Leandra cry so hard. Not when her grandfather died. Not when her mother compared her to a hippo for daring to have seconds last Satinalia. Not when she lost Miss Kirkwall’s beauty pageant after winning three years in a row.

Leandra sobbed into Mara’s chest, clinging to her like she needed her to breathe. Mara felt a guilty thrill as she held Leandra in her arms, smelling the heavenly jasmine scent wafting from Leandra’s hair.

“I’m so stupid,” Leandra hiccupped between sobs.

“You’re not stupid. Playboys are like that.”

“He just didn’t seem like the type.”

“They never do.” Mara bit her lip, not sure if this was the right time to tell Leandra what she found out about Malcolm when Leandra was already so shattered. “He is, though. Just trust me on that and try your best to forget about him.”

Leandra’s face scrunched up. “How? I gave him my heart and he crushed it. I…” She started to weep. “I don’t think I’ll ever love again.”

Mara stroked Leandra's face tenderly, wiping the tears in her eyes. “Yes, you will, babe. It hurts. You gotta let it.” She held Leandra to her chest. “You’re going to cry and it will feel like shit for a long time. But someone someday will make you smile again.” She stroked Leandra’s silky hair. “While you’re hurting, remember that even this is temporary.”

Leandra sniffed sharply, pulling away. She wiped her red-rimmed eyes. “Why are you saying he’s a playboy? He never cheated on me. He’s just a filthy drug dealer.” Her voice sounded defensive even with the insult.

Mara cupped her face, her heart heavy with her words. “Yes, he did.” She bit her lip. “I did some snooping after we discovered the lyrium dealing and found out he already has a girlfriend.”

Leandra’s face scrunched up as her eyes flooded with tears. “What? Who is she? What’s her name? What does she look like?”

The questions tumbled out of Leandra’s mouth bullet fast. Mara bit her lip, not sure if she should indulge Leandra’s jealousy, but she said, “She’s an elf named Taylor and a childhood friend. That’s all I know. I’m sorry, Leandra.”

“Why are you sorry?” Leandra said, suddenly enraged and shouting. “I’m not! That just means I can get over the two-timing jerk easier!” She grabbed one of Mara’s pillows and threw it. “Fuck him! I can’t believe he fed me so much bullshit and I swallowed it like a silly little girl! I gave him my virginity, ended my marriage! He ruined my life and if I ever see him again, I’ll chop off his dick and feed it to a dog!”

Mara patted her shoulder, a proud grin on her face. “That’s right, babe. Feel that anger. Use it to move on.”

Leandra huffed, her shoulders shaking when her face broke again and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. “I always knew he’d prefer to be with another elf. She can understand him in a way I can’t.”

Mara took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Does that matter? He’s a fucking cheater and a lousy lyrium dealer. You’re Leandra, scion of the great Amells. He was never worthy of you and he’s a fucking idiot for not knowing that he had the best thing that could ever happen to him.” She grabbed Leandra’s chin. “Fuck him! He doesn’t deserve your time or tears!”

Leandra sniffed sharply, her dark eyes suddenly determined. With wet lashes, she blinked away the rest of her tears.  “That’s right! Why am I crying over a silly man-child? I’m Leandra Amell. I’m a motherfucking badass.”

Mara laughed, cupping Leandra’s cheeks. “That’s right, bitch. And if he ever crawls at your door to get you back you tell him that.”

Leandra smiled for a moment, before it slowly fell. Her cheeks bloomed in a blush. “Is it bad that I’m going to miss the sex?”

Mara giggled. There was definitely one thing she couldn’t deny that Malcolm did. He changed her. “Well if you ever need help in that department, I’m available.”

Leandra laughed at last. “Mara…” She shook her head droplets flicking off. Then a sudden yawn overtook her. “Oh, Maker, suddenly all that crying has given me a headache and I’m sleepy.”

Mara’s smile fell a little. She wished with all her heart that Leandra would take one of her flirts seriously. “Then sleep, babe. I’ll have breakfast ready in the morning.”

Leandra left to go to her room, but Mara pulled Leandra by the hand and uncovered the sheets on her bed, tucking Leandra into her polka dot duvet. She brushed Leandra’s bangs fondly, her face still so beautiful even red and splotchy. Mara kissed her forehead tenderly.

“Sleep sweet, babe.”

“Hopefully I don’t dream of him again,” Leandra muttered, turning on her side to face the wall.

Mara crept out of her bedroom to find Gamlen watching TV with her Lolo. It was a wallop game, and by the sounds of Lolo’s and Gamlen’s groans, their team was losing.

“Oh, c’mon dive for it. The ball was right there,” Gamlen shouted at the screen.

Her Lolo was just as heated. “The team just isn’t the same since they switched Joe Harrison for Rob McKinley.”

“No kidding,” Gamlen agreed, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth and crunching loudly, flecks dusting his shirt.

When they saw Mara they both nodded and turned back to the game. Mara tapped Gamlen on the shoulder, “Can we talk?”

“Can it wait ‘til after the game, Sugar Lips? It’s almost done.”

Mara crossed her arms, too tired to indulge in a pet name, and tapped her toe impatiently. “Gamlen, I’ve been meaning to talk to you all day. You’ve been avoiding me.”

Gamlen’s eyes darted to the screen. “No, I’m not,” he said defensively.

Lolo’s wrinkles deepened in a grimace at the argument starting to swell and, rather than subjecting himself to it, he grabbed his coat. “I’m going to head to the Hanged Man to see if the boys are playing Wicked Grace. Don’t wait up.”

Gamlen’s shoulders slumped as Harvel grabbed his keys from the rack and went out the door, leaving Gamlen and Mara alone at last.

Mara walked in front of the TV and turned it off with the remote. She turned around, arms still crossed. “We need to talk.”

Gamlen gulped. “Yeah… I know we do.” Then he dropped his eyes, a guilty look on his face.

Mara bit her lip as she hugged herself, plopping down on the couch next to him. “I don’t know how to say this. You might freak out.”

“You might freak out at my news, too,” Gamlen confessed, fidgeting with his hands.

Mara raised an eyebrow, a sinking feeling in her stomach. “What are you talking about? What news?”

“You go first,” Gamlen said, his eyes darting away.

“No,” Mara snapped her head suddenly anxious. “You first.”

She wanted to tell herself that it was nothing, but Gamlen was sweating. Every time she tried to talk to him about Leandra he changed the subject. She could feel he was hiding something and she knew it could change everything.

Gamlen’s lips thinned in a line, his blue eyes hard and glassy as his jaw tensed. “You know my parents are asking me to step up and be heir now that Leandra’s gone and ruined her standing. I have a real opportunity to do them proud.”

Mara’s jaw clenched, and her stomach squirmed. “When did you start caring what your parents think?”

Gamlen clasped Mara’s hands, a pleading look on his face. “Mara, I need you to work with me. Nothing about our relationship has to change that much.”

Mara shied away, backing into the couch. “What… What’s changing?”

Gamlen bit his lip. “My betrothal to Aldona Baudelaire has been renewed, but my parents gave consent to continue our relationship.”

Mara’s heart cracked. “In secret?”

Gamlen’s eyes dropped. “Well, it would have to be or it’s an embarrassment right?”

Mara threw away his hands, her eyes glistening. “So I’m an embarrassment?”

Gamlen’s mouth dropped. “Mara, no I didn’t mean it like that-”

Mara flew to her feet needing space from Gamlen all of a sudden. “So what about if you knock me up? What then? I abort the baby? Or make my kids call you Daddy in secret?”

Gamlen laughed nervously, rising to his feet. “Kids? C’mon, Mara, our relationship? We’re not built for kids.”

Mara found fresh tears stinging her eyes. “So you would want me to have an abortion?”

Gamlen looked confused. “I mean… Wouldn’t it be easier?”

Only one tear dropped from Mara’s eye. She dug into her anger, swallowing any sign that she was devastated. He promised to stay by her side and said he’d claim her openly. Was the last month a lie? Was dangling a position in front of him all it took for him to abandon her?

No, he wasn’t even brave enough to abandon her. He wanted her to tag along forever like a sad puppy begging for scraps of attention. She felt so used, like a dirty napkin he just threw away. She felt so stupid for believing him in the first place.

Mara wiped the evidence of her hurt off of her face and snarled. “Well, guess what, idiot? I got pregnant.”

All the color drained out of his face. She could see his blue eyes wild with panic. “I’m- I’m a father?”

Mara laughed, holding her belly. “You could never be a father.”

Gamlen’s face dropped, true hurt there.

Mara couldn’t help but dig her nails in deeper. She curled her lip. “Besides, I know you’ve been fucking around, but guess what? So have I! So lucky for you, you can breathe easier. It’s not yours.”

The hurt quickly turned to outrage and Gamlen exploded like a volcano. “What? Who the fuck have you been fucking? What do you mean it’s not mine!?”

Mara's eyes narrowed. She wanted Gamlen to hurt, hurt as he hurt her and she knew how to cut him deep. “I’ve been fucking Carver and, Maker, he knows how to treat me right.” She licked her lips salaciously. “Mmm… his dick is so much bigger than yours. It’s like fucking a horse.”

Gamlen’s throat rumbled lowly, but she continued.

“I’ve never cummed so hard in my life. He’s a fucking machine, not like your five-minute bursts. You wish you could be half the man Carver is.”

Gamlen’s hands balled into fists. “I always knew you were a slut! I could tell something was going on with you two, but I told myself I was imagining it. My parents tried to warn me! I should kill you for cheating on me, you fucking whore.”

“Oh, be a real big man and hit the pregnant lady.” Mara picked up the nearest thing, which was a vase of roses he brought her, and it swooped past his head and shattered a family photo scattering shards, water, and flowers on the floor. “I only ever wanted your money, anyways. I never loved you! Get the fuck out of my house, you bastard!”

Lie after lie kept tumbling out of her mouth, but she couldn’t stop. She could feel vindication as every one of her barbs stuck until he was trembling in anger. His fist punched a wall, leaving a hole in it, and Mara jumped not sure if those fists would turn in her direction.

Gamlen growled. “I’m going to fucking murder Carver for this.”

And he left her house, knocking a lamp to the ground as he passed. It shattered with a crash and he slammed the door, shuddering the windows.

Leandra crept out of Mara’s room, a puzzled look on her face. “Mara…Are you alright?” It appeared that she heard everything.

That’s when Mara broke at last. She couldn’t take Leandra’s pitying face. It reminded her that her heart was just torn out and stomped on the ground.

She fell to the floor, sobbing, “I won’t cry. I won’t cry.” She repeated those words, but still, the sobs ripped from her throat. Somehow this felt inevitable, this end. She saw it coming long before it happened but, still, it didn’t feel real. She believed in Gamlen. She still wanted to believe in him.

Leandra shushed her, placing Mara’s head on her chest as Mara sobbed. “I’m here, love. I’m here.” She kept repeating. She stroked Mara’s hair. “I don’t see you crying.”

Soon teardrops hit Mara’s back and Leandra was crying with her, still stuck in her own sorrow, but there was a comfort in shedding tears together.

Mara clung to her, never wanting to let go, needing her closeness, needing her warmth.

No matter what, she told herself she still had Leandra.

Chapter Text

“What have you done, Somniari? You’ve ruined everything!” Scholar kept swatting at Malcolm with his spindly claws, with such angry red energy it appeared he was on fire.

Malcolm gritted his teeth, dodging the swipes. “Look, things got out of my hands. It’s not like I asked for this to happen.”

Scholar picked up what was left of Honesty, just an oval yellow orb. “Honesty reverted to an egg! An egg! And Kindness has shrunk as well. How many times have I said your actions are tied to them?”

Kindness floated up to Malcolm in the shape of a fat pink baby without a face. It was kind of creepy to look at, especially with its echoing gurgles. 

Malcolm snapped, not able to take any more blame. “I didn’t mean to lie or be such a dick. But you Spirits don’t understand what the human world is like. Honesty can get you in lots of trouble. Kindness is hard when a gun’s in your face. I can’t always do what you ask.”

Kindness recoiled from Malcolm, hiding behind a long leaf two times its size, shivering.

Scholar shoved Honesty in Malcolm’s face. “Honesty almost died! Do you understand that? If you hadn’t fed it a scrap at the last moment, we’d be down a whole Guardian Spirit and that would just make Zelophehad stronger! At this rate, we’ll all be devoured!”

Malcolm put his head in his hands, a headache forming. With all this frustration, he wanted to cry. But he would never do so in front of anyone willingly, so unspent tears quickly turned to anger and he exploded. “I’m trying, okay?! Do you have to give me such a hard time? I’m already having a really shit day!”

The flower he was leaning on withered and died, and Malcolm fell over with it.

Scholar smacked Malcolm’s forehead with a stinging swat. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation, Somniari! Honesty and Kindness aren’t strong enough to stand up to Zelophehad at this point. If it weren’t for Compassion, this land would be swallowed by his darkness!” He grabbed Malcolm’s head and forced him to look at the damage he was causing. 

The flower forest was drying and tired. The green was fading, the flowers drooping. Even the rabbits nibbling the grass were sluggish. Tasty tried with Kindness to cheer up the flowers with consoling licks but they did no good.

Malcolm knew he could always lose Leandra. He knew his time with her was borrowed. But he couldn’t help but be greedy for more of her. He needed her to breathe properly, to think properly, to sleep properly. He was having a hard time shaping his memories to be filled with joy. Her laugh reminded him that he might never hear it again. The taste of her lips made his heart shatter like shards of glass. He tried to focus on her smile, but all he could see were the tears in her eyes, her disgust with him, and the pain in her voice from his betrayal. He couldn’t help but feel like he was broken, like his heart was bleeding on everything he touched.

Scholar cocked his head as he picked up one of Malcolm’s curls. “Why are these memories no longer working? Pain is laced in everything.”

Malcolm found a growl in his throat. “I’m warning you! Stop poking around. I’m really not in the mood.”

“Ugh,” Scholar covered his nose. “Everything’s bitter and rancid. You’ve become a toxic fume! What’s happened!?”

Tasty licked Malcolm and shivered. “Not…tasty…”

Malcolm rubbed the saliva off his cheek with a scowl. “Watch it, you weird tongue fly, or you’ll really feel a bitter taste.”

Scholar looked at Tasty, his scolding completely forgotten. “Tasty is a tongue fly? Is that at all related to the elusive tongue?”

Malcolm blinked, almost completely forgetting that he had promised Scholar he would get him one with everything else that was going on. “I dunno. It’s shaped like a tongue, though, so Happy Wintersend I guess.”

Scholar scratched the underside of Tasty affectionately. “I don’t suppose you would consider merging with me so we can continue the taste studies together. Your insight would be quite invaluable.”

Tasty bobbed right to left, as if considering Scholar’s offer, and then started to glow bright yellow. “Tasty!”

Scholar responded with a glow of his own, vibrating with excitement. “Oh, thank you for agreeing, Tasty. I promise we’ll do wondrous work together.”

Before Malcolm could ask what was happening Scholar and Tasty merged, melting into a blinding light. At first, the light just danced in a blob, almost like the liquid of a lava lamp nebulously floating. And then a shape started to emerge. It looked like Scholar but he no longer was cut off at the waist but had transparent legs rooted firmly to the ground. A huge mouth split his face with a lolling tongue but he still didn’t have eyes or a nose, just a flat expanse where they should be. Scholar, or the being that replaced Scholar, glowed with vibrant red energy, his tongue licking as if tasting the air. And then the tongue swirled and licked his mouth with curiosity.

“This is such a strange sensation,” the Spirit said with his tongue still out. “There is something layered with the emotions, a sensation I can’t describe. Is this the elusive emotion ‘taste’?”

Malcolm shrugged. “I dunno. Eat something I guess.”

The new Spirit summoned a bowl of halo-halo and with a hand scooped some up and deposited it into his mouth. “Mmmmmm…that’s new. There is a…what is the word that I’m feeling right now?”

Malcolm could all of a sudden feel the combination of sweet milky cream and fruit coating his tongue, easing his nerves for just a moment. “That’s flavor. You didn’t taste that before?”

“No, not at all,” the Spirit scooped bite after bite into his mouth, the cream dripping down his face as he moaned. “This is absolutely delightful!”

Malcolm rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah I’m happy for you Scholar.”

The Spirit continued to gorge, summoning more things to try, a turkey leg, a hamburger, lobster, adobo. “I don’t think my name is Scholar anymore, but Tasty doesn’t feel right either. I think I’m something new.”

“Figures,” Malcolm muttered, a twinge in his head. “What are you, now?” he asked, raising his eyebrow, the curiosity burning despite his annoyance.

Scholar, or the being who replaced Scholar, ripped the skin off a turkey drumstick with his new white teeth, looking sharp and jagged. “I don’t know. Is there a word you have for one who experiments and cultivates taste?”

Malcolm shrugged again. “I don’t know. A chef?”

Scholar stopped feasting for a moment as if drawn to the word. “What’s a chef?”

“Well, it’s their job to cook food and make it taste delicious.”

“What’s cook?”

Malcolm palmed his face, feeling like this conversation could take a while, but he knew how Scholar was when Malcolm brought up food. “It’s the process of making the meal. Without cooking, you’d have a bunch of raw ingredients and that’s not always tasty.”

The Spirit nodded resolutely. “Then it will be my job to cook, too. To make things tasty. I will go into mortals' minds and cook them delicious meals so we both may be nourished by the memories.” His tongue lolled up and licked a dollop of cream from the bowl of halo-halo. “You may now call me Chef, Somniari. Thank you for the gift of the tongue and name. I shall treasure them.”

Malcolm smiled despite himself. He almost understood, though it hurt his mind a bit. Spirits' names and identities seemed to be a lot more fluid than mortals and they changed so fast it was getting hard to keep track. “Well, just stick to your end of the bargain and help train me to defeat Zelophehad.”

Scholar- No, Chef smiled sharply at him. “We’d stand a better chance if you summoned Leandra.”

Malcolm’s eyes widened with alarm. “What did I tell you about that?”

“I’m sensing a broken connection with your Bonded. If it’s not fixed, then Zelophehad will have more of a foothold in your mind and it will be only a matter of time before you become his prey. Is that what you want?”

Malcolm yanked at his curls, growling, “I’m doing everything I can to get her back but she blocked my number and won’t even talk to me. What am I supposed to do? Stalk her?”

Chef picked up Honesty and plopped them in Malcolm’s lap. “What do you think? It was her actions that birthed this Spirit, her connection to you that makes it strong. You’ve damaged it. If you want to fix it, you must be honest.”

Malcolm’s shoulders slumped. If Carver and the Spirits were both saying the same thing, then maybe there was truth in their words. 

Malcolm’s eyes dropped down to the egg, still warm in his lap. A soft thudding like a heartbeat came from inside.

The truth was, he didn’t know how to be honest. Living in the Circle, he’d always begged for forgiveness rather than ask for permission. And this time it blew up in his face, and he’d lost the best thing he ever had.

But as he retraced that moment, thinking again and again about what he should have done, he remembered the look of disappointment in Leandra’s eyes when she first connected the dots about his drug dealing, how that judgment made him feel insecure and small. “She doesn’t want me…the real me anyways,” he said glumly.

A chilling voice ran through his head saying a familiar phrase that haunted him. “She might love you, but she’ll always love her status more.”

Malcolm jumped to his feet.

Honesty rolled away and settled near a rock.

Malcolm’s eyes darted in the darkness, searching for Zelophehad’s goat eyes watching him.

Then Chef swatted him in the head with a turkey leg, smearing grease in his hair. “Stop it! Stop spiraling! Zelophehad’s hooks sink further into you the more you entertain those thoughts.”

Malcolm rubbed his sore head, the self-pity and anxiety turning back to annoyance.

Chef reached for Malcolm’s head, where he plucked a memory out of a curl. “Here, perhaps this will remind you.”

The Fade started to come to life, forming the grand halls of the Viscount’s Palace, a swinging crystal chandelier replacing the Black City. Still, it was so hazy it was like a mist, forgotten in the recesses of Malcolm’s mind. 

Carver appeared in his gleaming ceremonial armor and suddenly Malcolm was surrounded by dancing nobles. The night of the Ball seemed so long ago, he forgot how nauseating the competing colognes and perfumes made him feel. How stuffed he’d gotten gorging himself on shrimp puffs. How his tie felt like a noose. How his fingers still tingled from holding Leandra during their dance. How badly he needed to taste those luscious pink lips. And his heart ached to know that that too could be a distant memory. 

Malcolm knew this wasn’t the real Carver but still, his eyes glistened. “You were right. I fucked up, man.”

Carver put a heavy hand on his shoulder, the ghost still warm like the rays of the sun. “It’s not important that you mess up. We all do. It’s what you do to fix it.”

The shade of Carver melted away with a gust of wind, leaving his words echoing inside Malcolm.

He had almost forgotten that Carver said that. A new determination came over Malcolm. “I know what I have to do.”

“Good, because this is getting tiresome,” Chef nodded and turned back to his feast, sampling different dishes at the same time. He dipped his turkey leg in the halo-halo’s cream and bit into it. “That’s disgusting! Marvelous!” 

Malcolm shook his head, chuckling, when the Circle’s bells started chiming in his ears. He could feel the heave of his stomach as he floated back to his body.

“Wait! Come back! There’s so much work to be done. Remember Honesty, the egg?” Chef called out, his voice echoing.

Malcolm gritted his teeth. “I’ll work on that later. Real life always comes first. I told you that.”

“How convenient for you. I’ll tell Zelophehad to wait then,” Chef snarled impatiently before his presence faded.

Malcolm’s eyes opened to his bedroom.

The barren stone walls were depressing. The metal of his bed had made his joints stiff and he was a little colder than usual having slept without a sheet to cover him. But none of that darkened his mood because today he was destined to see Leandra.

He practically hopped out of bed, eager to get his suit on. He was still hired to be her House Mage, so eventually she’d be forced to talk to him. He didn’t know what he’d say yet, but he just needed a chance. Her ribbon was still tied proudly on his wrist, and he touched it remembering that, no matter what, they belonged together.

Did she dream of him last night? He ached to know if he was still on her mind.

There was a line to get into the washroom since now the men and women had to share, meaning nobody could really shower. Malcolm washed his hair in the sink and styled it, making sure not a curl was out of place, not a wrinkle in his suit, and that his tie was straight and proper. He knew it would take everything he had to convince Leandra to talk to him. Still, he was confident enough that her feelings hadn’t just turned off overnight. 

The Circle was in full lockdown. The Templars were in riot gear, assault rifles instead of handguns, ready to pull any mage aside for brainwave inspections. If the demon was dormant though, it would be a fruitless venture, but still Malcolm knew they had to try.

Usually lockdown meant no one could leave. Even the Circle clinic would be closed to the citizens of Kirkwall. But Malcolm was a House Mage, so that made him the privileged of privileged, and he could hear his classmates' heavy grumbles as he skipped through the halls, eager to make up with Leandra. Besides, they’d checked his brain patterns at least three different times and he was clean.

Malcolm would be eating outside food today so, wanting to save room, he skipped breakfast and decided to report in early to the First Enchanter’s office. Today there was to be a party at Leandra’s estate, and he was eager to impress her with what he came up with.

It was a pain having to prepare for a magical performance on top of mentoring Isaac and providing healing services at the clinic, and that didn’t even include his House Mage exams and backed-up homework. Still, Leandra was on his mind, so his only thoughts were of how to get through to her.

When he opened the door to the First Enchanter’s office immediately he knew that something was wrong. It wasn’t Leandra’s mother there to collect him.

“Merveilleux! You’re here so early! And my, how cutting do you look in that suit, mon petit.”

Lady de Launcet was wearing a purple frilly dress with so many layers she made a voluminous shape, much like a loofa. She had on a large hat with long feathers in it that waved in Malcolm’s face and tickled his nose. Malcolm’s whole body clenched as she patted him on top of the head like a dog, mussing up his perfected curls. Her makeup was heavy and caked on and she scooped up his face, leaving two thick lip impressions where she kissed both his cheeks. 

Malcolm didn’t mean to recoil and push her away but it was instinct.

She tripped backward in her heels.

Malcolm stumbled forward to catch her and suddenly he was holding her, his arm wrapped around her bony waist, his other hand grabbing her arm to steady her.

She blushed and patted her cheeks, seeming to melt into his embrace. “Merci…”

“Hawke, what do you think you’re doing!?” The First Enchanter rose to his feet, red-faced. 

Malcolm stood her up on her feet and backed away until he hit the door. “I’m so sorry, Messere,” he bowed quickly like he was taught, his eyes to the ground, his cheeks on fire. “I was just surprised. I was expecting Lady Amell.”

Lady de Launcet tittered, fluffing up her hair. “Don’t mind me, mon petit. I like it rough.”

Malcolm squirmed under her hungering gaze, feeling very much like prey.

The First Enchanter folded his hands. “Unfortunately Lady Amell dropped her bid on your services, but Lady de Launcet was happy to renew her bid with interest so everything worked out in the end.”

Malcolm’s stomach dropped, forcing his throat to close up before he screamed.

Lady de Launcet stepped back up to Malcolm, her heady perfume choking him, and patted him fondly on the cheek. “The paperwork is being processed so it’ll all be official. Soon, I’ll have you all to myself, mon petit.”

———

Mara and Leandra sniffled, sharing a tub of cookie dough ice cream, neither of them in the mood to cook breakfast.

Mara shoved her spoon in the cookie dough, taking a heaving scoop angrily. “What was I thinking? That Gamlen could be a father? He can’t even put on his own socks.”

Leandra hiccupped a laugh before it became a sob. “And why did I laugh at Malcolm’s stupid jokes? Most of them are so idiotic, it’s painful.” She pointed at Mara, a rant coming on. “Do you know he likes puns? Puns! Ugh! He never took anything seriously. Why would I think he’d take us seriously?” She shoved ice cream in her mouth, still talking. “And he’s not even that cute. He’s not!” Leandra jabbed her spoon in the tub, taking another heavy scoop even though she hadn’t swallowed yet.

Fat tears ran down Mara’s cheeks as she scrunched up her face. “And you know Gamlen doesn’t even wash his hands? I heard him one time take an explosive shit, like massive, and then listened for running water and it never came. I had to scold him like a child! He didn’t even flush!” She swallowed loudly, sticking her spoon back into the ice cream tub.

Leandra wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Gross! Oh, Maker, I can't believe I’m related to that.”

“No kidding.”

Harvel hobbled out in his Sunday best, though it was a Saturday, a disappointed look on his leathery face. His silver hair was tied back in his usual long braid. “Are you girls still sulking over silly boys?”

“Yes,” Leandra admitted.

“No,” Mara lied.

They spoke at the same time and broke down in conspiratorial laughter.

“I swear, if I ever see that Malcolm again, I’ll shoot him myself. Only way to put down a dirty dog,” Lolo hobbled into the kitchen and started rustling through the fridge. “What do they say about men? They think about one thing and one thing only.”

Mara smirked, sniffling through her tears. “Was that you with Lola?”

“You’re damn right! I can’t tell you how many times I was chased out of Layla’s room with a shotgun, but I still came back.”

Leandra and Mara laughed together.

Mara then sighed. “I want a love like you and Lola’s, Lolo.”

Leandra dropped her spoon, sniffling. “I thought I had a love like that.”

Harvel grabbed a carton of eggs and started cracking them in a saucepan without looking. “It’ll happen girls. The Maker will take care of you. Just be patient.” The sound of sizzling eggs filled the kitchen, the air thickening with its aroma.

Both girls perked up at the smell.

“You think you can make us some too, Lolo?” Mara batted her eyelashes.

“Fine, fine,” Harvel waved his head, cracking in more eggs. “Just both of you get dressed. It’s Colette’s big day!”

Neither Leandra nor Mara felt like they were in the partying mood but they both scooted out of their chairs.

Leandra sighed. “Colette would be disappointed if I didn’t show up for her party.”

“It’ll be good for both of you to get your mind off things. The child was lucky enough to be born on Wintersend after all. Today is a day where we focus on the blessings the Maker gave us. Spring is on the horizon. This hard winter will pass,” Harvel said in the same sagely tone he always used. “Now both of you, hurry and get dressed. We don’t want to be late for Colette’s party.”

He shooed them out of the kitchen and they retreated to Mara’s bedroom where they both started getting ready.

Leandra felt so glum she wasn’t sure what she wanted to wear today. Nothing made her feel pretty. Nothing seemed to fit right, either. She rejected outfit after outfit with increasing dissatisfaction.

Mara was having similar trouble, though it was because of her widening hips and growing belly. It seemed like the outfits were rejecting Mara and she struggled to find something flattering that fit.

Leandra felt guilty and disappointed at the same time. Mara was not one to keep secrets from her, but this pregnancy was a huge burden she was carrying all by herself. “How far along are you? We should do some shopping.”

Mara pulled a loose shapeless dress over her head, not her usual style, but all her other outfits betrayed her. “Yeah, soon. I’m three months along so I’m only going to get bigger.”

“And how long did you know…”

Mara pulled the collar of the dress over her head, biting her lip. “Only last month. That’s why I pushed Gamlen to make our relationship public in the first place.”

“Even though it’s not his baby?” Leandra asked.

Mara’s cheeks burned. Leandra could tell she was anxious, but was it because she was hiding something or just breakup nerves? A chuckle overtook Mara’s throat and she quickly changed the subject. “Is that the dress you’re wearing? It looks cute.”

Leandra looked down glumly down at her ensemble, knowing Mara would just change the subject again if she tried to force it. Leandra had a fur collar that rimmed her neck, and a matching shawl. Her sleeves and the bottom of the lining were the same white fur. The rest of the dress was a bright shade of pink, cinching her waist, and was cut at the knee, both modest and stylish. Her hair was braided back with a pink ribbon. Mara had wrapped the braid around the base of her ponytail to make it extra fashionable. “Ugh, I don’t even know if I like this dress anymore. I feel bloated.”

Mara laughed pointing at the snug way the dress clung to her belly. “You think you feel bloated. I feel like a balloon filled with gas constantly leaking out. And I’m tired of peeing all the time.”

Leandra smiled. “I’m going to look forward to being an Auntie, again. I have to plan your baby shower.”

Mara found herself smiling, too. “Yeah, that’ll be fun.” Mara looked down at her feet. “Look, Leandra. I can’t be seen in public wearing my mom’s old duster dress.” She pulled at the shapeless fabric that did hide her growing belly but did her no favors otherwise. “I really feel like shit, today. Think I can skip the party?”

Leandra’s heart fell, not wanting to face her family by herself, but she knew it would just be worse for Mara. She patted Mara’s hand. “Of course. You focus on taking care of yourself and the baby.”

Soon breakfast was eaten, and Harvel and Leandra were driving back to Hightown. Leandra sat in the front seat as Harvel sped down the Highway back into the city. Soon the high towers of Hightown blocked out the clouds and hid them in shadows.

Harvel didn’t need to even look at the road, having memorized every street. He automatically drove to the Amell’s lesser estate. Balloons floated in clusters, colored ribbons wrapped around every column, all in a vivid purple color, Colette’s favorite. Leandra could already hear the swell of a band playing from the garden.

It wasn’t difficult to find a nice spot near the garden entrance. There weren’t a lot of cars parked in the lot. Most nobles avoided interacting with Revka and most would prefer to watch the Wintersend parade downtown than join a cursed seven-year-old’s party. But Leandra could see her parents' limo parked only a few spots away. Her heart sunk when she recognized the de Launcet’s limo parked next to it.

Leandra’s hands fell in her head, mortified. “I’m guessing my parents didn’t inform the de Launcets that the wedding is off.”

Harvel patted her shoulder consolingly. “Guess you’ll have to tell them yourself.”

Leandra’s heart sunk. “It’s Colette’s birthday…Is it really a good time?”

Harvel touched Leandra’s cheek, his fingers rough against her skin. “Will it ever be a good time, sweetheart?”

Leandra squeezed her eyes shut in a grimace. “You’re right. Ugh, I hate it when you’re right.” Her head fell into Harvel’s chest. “Can’t you do it for me?”

Harvel chuckled, stroking Leandra’s ponytail. “Sorry, dear girl. Above my paygrade.”

Leandra groaned knowing that would be the answer.

Harvel took Leandra by the shoulders, his already thin lips now a line. “Not too late to take it all back. Guillaume will treat you right.”

Leandra looked down at her hands, only considering it for a moment. Then she looked at Harvel’s leaf green eyes and said, “I want more than that, now.” Her eyes glistened. “Maybe Malcolm wasn’t my true love, but…I still want to have that feeling again.” She held her shoulders high like she was taught, tucking her chin primly. “I’m not settling anymore.”

Harvel chuckled, taking her answer easily. “I guess I can’t fault you for that, sweetheart. Just Guillaume’s a good boy. Don’t hurt him.”

Leandra nodded grimacing. “I’ll try not to.” But she couldn’t see how she could not.

The sun was bright and warm through the chill. The trees, though barren, had signs of budding on them. Leandra sighed, knowing what a long day this was going to be.

She walked to the gate to the side entrance where an arch of balloon animals greeted them. Strange colors poked above the high walls. She could hear a child giggling wildly.

“Again, again!” Colette’s little voice rang out. “Make it dance! It’s so funny!”

As soon as Leandra stepped into the garden she felt like she was dreaming again. Visions from her nights of witnessing Malcolm craft wonders in the Fade flashed before her eyes. Colette’s backyard had been turned into a flower forest, with stalks so high they were easily twice her size. They were such bright vivid colors they appeared to be glowing. She recognized that these were plants that the gardener had actually sowed, now somehow as tall as trees.

But how?

Leandra followed the sound of Colette’s laughter and froze, her face going red.

Malcolm was playing with Colette. A purple wisp was giggling in his hands, floating and bobbing and weaving, its shape changing nebulously. There was a sound of humming coming from it, and Colette echoed the hum, only for the wisp to repeat it. Colette was mesmerized by the sight of it. Even the adults who were watching from afar had gathered to watch Colette’s show.

Leandra’s heart ached. She told herself Malcolm was not that handsome, but he was even more breathtaking than she remembered. He looked so refined in a black tuxedo, sleek and suave. His unruly curls had been slicked back with gel so you could clearly see his handsome freckled face. She remembered that defined nose inhaling her like a bouquet, shapely lips that made hers tingle with the memory of his kisses, warm honey eyes that knew how to strip her to down to her core.

She found her heart seizing and she couldn’t breathe. Why was he here of all places? She was sure her parents would withdraw their bid as soon as she refused to be their heir.

Colette reached out her hand to Malcolm excitedly. “Can you ask it to make a rainbow?”

Malcolm laughed, the sound still warming Leandra. He appeared to tickle the wisp with his finger. “What do you say? I think we can do better than a rainbow.”

The wisp giggled and then shot up and suddenly the clouds parted. The whole sky was filled with wondrous colors, swirling like a galaxy. The stars seemed to rain down and hang close enough to touch. Oohs and aahs echoed from the crowd as everyone reached up towards the lights bathed on their skin. Suddenly Leandra noticed the stars were actually dancing. They were actually more wisps, helping Malcolm weave the magic humming a haunting tune. The whole world seemed alive with magic. It felt like Malcolm had brought a piece of the Fade into reality.

Colette laughed in delight, clapping her hands as she bounced up and down. Malcolm made the wisps dance around her, and she giggled and swirled her purple polka-dot skirt.

Then Malcolm noticed Leandra watching him at last and he froze. The rainbow aura receded to normal, the wisps popping back into the Fade, the swirling galaxy sky clearing to day.

Leandra could feel her cheeks get hot.

Malcolm started to walk up to Leandra, but Colette yanked him back.

“Awww, why’d you stop? It was so pretty!” 

Leandra ducked into the small crowd, trying to find her aunt and avoid Malcolm and her parents. She shuffled her present in her hand, intent on dropping it off at the gift table, only to find Guillaume talking to Jaheem.

Leandra’s mouth dropped open. She had no idea why Jaheem would even be at her niece’s birthday. She found herself paralyzed as she realized the three men she was romantically tied to were at the same party and she had foolishly let Mara stay home.

Jaheem’s eyes turned in her direction and Leandra ducked behind the servants. She held an unwitting and hapless waiter as she tried to make herself small, unsure how she was going to survive today.

“Leandra, how are you?” Lady de Launcet’s shrill voice rang through the air.

Leandra’s stomach dropped to her knees. She didn’t want this conversation. She unhanded the poor servant she was clinging to and curtsied to the Lady.

Lady de Launcet’s hat was bigger than usual and its feathers waved in Leandra’s face as Lady de Launcet pecked both of her cheeks.

“My, ma cherie, how long has it been since we last saw each other? Don’t tell me you’ve been avoiding me.” Lady de Launcet patted her hand.

Leandra forced a smile, though she wanted with all her might to run away. “Of course not. I’ve just been so busy with rehearsal.”

“Of course, but the wedding is in two weeks. We really should touch base. Refine the dress design.”

Leandra looked down at Lady de Lancet clutching her. She pulled her hand back. “About that…”

“You don’t mind that I snatched your elf from you, do you?”

Leandra’s eyes shot up to see Lady de Launcet staring at Malcolm with tiger eyes as she sipped her champagne.

Leandra’s face grew hot. So it was Lady de Launcet who took Malcolm’s services. The thought made her squirm, but still, she said, “Why would it bother me?”

“Because he’s wearing your favor, of course.”

Leandra’s eyes shot to Malcolm’s wrist and sure enough, it was tied, boldly for everyone to see. Leandra’s cheeks were now flaming. Had anybody else noticed, yet?

“It’s not what you think,” Leandra said quickly.

Lady de Launcet tittered behind her hand. “Oh, I know the young. All your urges. It’s quite normal to find ways to satisfy them.”

Leandra’s eyes widened, not sure she heard right. There was an embarrassed warble in her voice as her cheeks flushed. “Aren’t you upset for your son?”

Lady de Launcet put her hand on Leandra’s and said with a chilling smile. “I won’t tell him if you won’t.” She sipped her champagne, her finger running up the rim of the glass delicately. A droplet of sweat ran down the glass, mirroring the one running down Leandra’s neck. “Besides… it seems you’re done with the elf, right? Seeing as your family dropped your bid.”

Leandra’s throat constricted. She didn’t even know how to answer that question. Part of her wanted to wrap her hands around Lady de Launcet and wring her wrinkled scrawny neck, but wasn’t she right? Leandra had made it clear last night that Malcolm and she were over.

Lady de Launcet seemed to take this as an answer. “Well, whether you are or not, I think it’s my turn, no? I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.”

Then Lady de Launcet patted her arm and then sauntered in Malcolm’s direction, a hand raised out for him to kiss. “Mon petit, my feet are killing me in these heels. I don’t suppose I can trouble you for another massage?”

Leandra found herself following despite herself, intent on stopping Lady de Launcet by whatever means necessary.

Then all of a sudden her mother stepped in front of her. “Leandra,” she said stiffly, her full lips red like blood. Her dark eyes were sharp and her hair plaited in a braid wrapped around her head. “What were you speaking with Lady de Launcet about?”

Leandra choked, not able to admit the truth, and said, “The wedding, of course.”

She looked behind her mother to see Malcolm reluctantly massaging Lady de Launcet’s feet. Lady de Launcet was making moans not meant for children to hear. Leandra cringed, wanting to shove Lady de Launcet to the ground and claw her eyes out so she’d never look at Malcolm again.

Leandra’s mother seemed relieved. “I’m glad you came to your senses.”

That’s when Leandra realized what she said and backpedaled. “I was going to inform her the wedding was off, but I didn’t get a chance.”

Leandra’s mother’s eyes widened in outrage. “You would dare embarrass us at your niece’s birthday?”

Leandra narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. “It wouldn’t have been an embarrassment if you had done what I asked.”

Her mother gripped her hand, stroking it with her thumb like she was a child. “Little girl, your life was handed to you on a silver platter, and all you need to do is what I tell you. Is that so much to ask for?”

Leandra peeled her mother’s hand off, glaring. “I am not your puppet to just string along as you please. It’s my life and my choice what to do with it.”

And then she stomped away without being dismissed towards Lady de Launcet. She was intent on distracting her from Malcolm with her news of the wedding, only to find Lady de Launcet had fallen asleep on her plush recliner, snoring away.

Malcolm was gritting his teeth at the foot of the recliner next to Lady de Launcet’s painted feet, holding his head in his hands, looking like there was a noose around his neck. He looked so out of place, so anxious and uncomfortable. She felt guilty, knowing in a way she placed him here, and despite all her hurt, she wanted to reach for his hand and comfort him.

Her mother sidled up to her with a sneer on her face. “That’s Amelia for you, passed out drunk before ten in the morning.” She tapped her foot impatiently as she glowered at Leandra. “You know your brother is not suited to be the heir.”

Leandra turned away from Malcolm before he could catch her staring. She squared her shoulders. “Have you begged the Maker for forgiveness for all the lives you ruined? Have you even stopped?” she whispered, seething.

Her mother narrowed her eyes. “Only the Maker can judge me, and I think it’s clear he has shown his favor.” She raised her chin high, not a hint of shame in her voice. “Grow up and realize that there are only the strong and weak. There is a design, Leandra, a system which we all adhere to, and everyone must play their part, especially you. Even maggots are useful on the food chain if they know their place.” She grasped Leandra’s arms firmly, her talons digging in and leaving marks.

“Do you even hear yourself?” Leandra’s face grew hot, trying to yank her arm away but her mother’s nails just dug in.

“Do you? I have no idea what you’re thinking, young lady. Have you lost your mind?!”

That’s when a squeal cut through the banter. “Auntie! Auntie! You came!” Colette tackled Leandra, taking fistfuls of her skirt. “Did you see what Uncle Guillaume got me? A mage! A real live mage! Didn’t he make the garden so pretty?”

Leandra’s mother removed her talons, her nails leaving half moon circles on Leandra’s arm. She smiled thinly at the girl. “Ah, Colette. You’re seven now, yes?”

“Yes, Great Auntie,” Colette curtsied politely, suddenly timid.

Her mother patted the top of Colette’s head. “Ah, what a big girl you are now. Don’t grow up too fast.”

Colette giggled. She wrapped her tiny hand in Leandra’s and pulled her in Malcolm’s direction. “C’mon you should meet my mage! He can make eggs taste like cookies. And make music come from nowhere! And he can make pretty lights with his hands. He’s so cool and funny, you’ll like him, Auntie!”