Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The rising sun bathed Café Pietra in shimmering orange. Normally, the café wouldn’t have been open so early in the morning, but Illario must have made some arrangements. Antonia didn’t even have to utter a word before the owner rushed to serve her. The Crow symbol on her leather armor did the talking for her. 

The scent of freshly brewed coffee hit her as she walked up to the counter, mixed with Antivan brandy. For a moment, her mind tricked her into believing she was ten and back in Salvador’s office after yet another clash with the other recruits. The boys used to beat her up ruthlessly, whether for being a girl, an elf or a mage, she wasn’t sure. The Crows didn’t intervene, of course. To them, the only thing that mattered was who came out on top. Thankfully, it was usually Antonia. After a dozen burns and one open fire that nearly burned down the entire east wing of Crow Manor in Rialto, the others had finally left her alone.   

Of course, she’d always received a different kind of beating in that office for only hurting her bullies instead of killing them. When she cried, Salvador would beat her harder. But when she fought back, he would stop as suddenly as he had begun, bend down and caress the cheek he had just bruised.  

“Remember, little one. To be a Crow is to be bloodthirsty, ruthless. Most people need to be taught this, but not you. You are a natural-born assassin.”   

She ordered tea.  

It wasn't long before a red-headed dwarf and a human with dark hair and sharp eyes walked down to the café. When they saw Antonia, they faltered, as if they’d just spotted a dangerous predator. She supposed it was fitting.  

“Oh! Hello,” the dwarf said, equal parts cautious and excited. She was clearly Ferelden judging by her accent. “You must be the... uhh...” 

“Assassin, yes,” Antonia helped her out with a wry smile. It was always funny to see how unsettled foreigners were by the very notion of her profession. “Call me Toni.” 

“My name is Lace Harding,” the dwarf said and pointed to the woman towering over her, “and this is Neve Gallus.” 

Antonia’s eyes drifted over to the human. She was beautiful. Strikingly so, in fact. What was even more striking, however, was the way she was dressed. Antonia had never seen anything like it. Instead of robes, the mage wore mint green pants that matched the ruffles of her blouse that peaked from underneath her white coat, cinched at the waist by a black corset. A black mesh veil covered one half of her face while the other was shadowed by a thick curtain of hair. To top it all off, there was a small top hat tilted to one side of her head. How did it even stay there? By magic?  

Antonia told herself not to stare too hard.  

“Ah yes, the Tevinter mage. Not someone I would have expected to rush to the rescue of an assassin who specializes in killing mages,” she quipped. 

“Well, he doesn’t have a contract on me ,” Neve retorted in the quintessential Tevinter drawl. “Not that I know of, anyway.”  

“Here’s hoping.” 

Antonia couldn’t help but feel nervous around Tevinters, especially Tevinter mages. Their homeland was a popular location for contracts, but she had never taken one herself. She told herself it was simply because there was always something more lucrative to do, but in truth, she feared what she might see if she went there. Hearing about the fates of Tevinter’s elves was already harrowing enough. She had seen the slave chains designed for pointed ears, heard of Tevinter magisters who liked to hang their sacrifices upside down before slitting their throats to speed up the process of bleeding them dry. The great machinery of a past empire built on the bones of her people, now running on their blood. Was this mage imagining Antonia in chains as they spoke? Did she feel repulsed standing so close to her, as equals?  

They sat down. Neve ordered a nafaba , a Tevinter coffee so bitter Antonia had never tried it again after her first time. Harding ordered a cioccolata calda , to the surprise of both Antonia and the barista. It was considered a drink for children.  

“This place is lovely!” the dwarf exclaimed a tad too loudly as they got their drinks. “Do you come here often?”  

“I’m not a local, so no.”  

“Oh.”  

Awkward silence ensued.  

“But if I lived here, I probably would,” Antonia amended.  

“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Neve interjected. “How much do you know about the place we are going?” 

“Only that it’s underwater,” Antonia admitted. “I hear you have a way of getting us in.”  

Neve nodded.  

“The name of the prison is the Ossuary. It’s an ancient structure, probably elven in origin, that the Venatori have repurposed as some kind of detention center and research facility.”  

“Any idea how we’re going to get in?”  

“With this.”  

The mage dangled a pendant-looking device in front of Antonia, a silver ribcage protecting a red crystal heart.  

“It’s a sending crystal,” she explained. “They’re usually used for long-distance communication, but the Venatori have created a new prototype, one that uses red lyrium and functions as a key of sorts. They come in pairs, both crystals oscillating with the exact same frequency. This one is the twin of the one the warden inside the Ossuary has. It’s our way in.”  

“Impressive,” Antonia admitted, her eyes fixated on the dark swirls inside the red lyrium crystal. “How did you manage to get your hands on one?”  

Neve’s lips curled into a smirk. “I have some friends in high places. A Tevinter Magister, to be exact. He was able to procure one for me.” 

Antonia’s attention immediately snapped from the crystal back to the mage.  

“I'd have thought a Tevinter Magister would be all for the Venatori taking over,” she said pointedly.  

“Not everybody in Tevinter wants to rule the world. Some of us would actually like to focus on improving things back home,” Neve shot back. Antonia heard shuffling under the table, followed by a sharp exchange of glares between Harding and her companion. Neve straightened her back. “But that’s hardly a discussion we need to be having right now.”  

“Agreed,” Antonia conceded. Regardless of how she felt about Tevinter, these were still her clients. “So, when are we doing this thing?”  

“As soon as possible,” Harding said, determination settling on her freckled face. “We’ve no time to lose.”  

Antonia nodded.  

“I’m ready to go whenever you are.” 

“Hold on. There’s one more thing,” Neve said. “The only way we’re getting in is if they believe we have legitimate business there. I’ve devised a cover story for us. I am a rich Altus who’s coming to trade one of my ancient elven scrolls for one of their prisoners. Not the Demon though, unfortunately, as he seems to be too important for them to want to trade away with. Once we’re inside, we’ll likely have to kill our escort and sneak into his cell. Hopefully, we’ll be able to do that without drawing the attention of the entire prison on us.” 

“And in this scenario, my role is...?”  

“You are to be my... servant.”  

And there it was. Antonia wanted to kick herself for ever believing all that crap about her being the best for the job because of her skills. They’d just needed someone who was an elf to play the role of a Tevinter slave.  

Her clients exchanged worried looks. Antonia’s grievance must have shown on her face.  

“Is that going to be a problem?” Neve asked, not unkindly. 

“Why would it be a problem? I’m sure it’s considered a great honor in Tevinter for someone like me to be chosen as a slave to a high-born family,” Antonia said, her voice dripping with barely concealed contempt. 

“I wish there was some better alternative, I truly do. But we’re short on options. If you’re not okay with it— ” 

“Please. I’m a professional.” 

And she was. Despite everything that had happened, there was still a part of her that took a certain pride in that fact. It spoke of her resilience, her adaptability. It meant that she had become someone who could survive anything and still come out on top. 

It’s just another job , she told herself.  

Antonia turned her gaze to the dwarf. 

“What about you? Are you to be another ‘servant’ as well?”  

“Harding’s not coming,” Neve answered for her companion. “Too suspicious. It’s just going to be the two of us.” 

“Wonderful,” Antonia said with as little sarcasm as she could muster. “Let’s go, then.”  

She got up and marched outside, the sound of hastily abandoned coffee cups and scampering footsteps following her. The marketplace was a mélange of Treviso merchants and Antaam soldiers observing them on the sidelines with their long spears and sharp pauldrons.  

“So, Toni...,” Harding said as she finally caught up with her. “You’re an assassin.” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“So, you kill people for a living?” 

The corner of Antonia’s mouth tugged upwards. She had known to expect this conversation, but it still amused her. 

“Does that make you nervous?” 

“What? No! No, we kill people all the time, too! I mean, not all the time, but you know, frequently enough for us to be very much used to... uhh, dead people.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“What I wanted to say was, being an assassin certainly is an... interesting career choice.”  

“Less of a choice and more of a consequence of being sold to the Crows at a young age, but yes, I can see why it would be considered as such by foreigners.”  

“Oh. I... had no idea the Crows did that. Buy people, I mean.”  

“The Crows would hardly be able to rule Antiva if they relied on volunteers alone,” Antonia let out a dry laugh “Some are lured in by the promise of money and prestige, but it’s hardly a secret that the Crows also face a high turnover rate.”  

“So, what happens to those who choose to leave the Crows?” Neve asked, curiosity lighting up her dark eyes.  

“Nobody leaves the Crows. That’s the whole point. You either die on the job or while waiting for a new one. Those who abandon their contract or their house are hunted down and killed. It’s a life-long commitment, although our lives tend to be shorter than most. That’s a small mercy, at least.”  

“That’s... quite extreme.”  

Antonia shrugged.  

“That’s the Crows for you.”  

They arrived at the docks where Antonia had to pay a dockworker a ridiculous amount of money to borrow his skiff and take it out into open water. The Treviso dialect sounded almost like Rivaini at times with its soft consonants, but in the end, Antonia still managed to haggle the price down to two sovereigns instead of the exorbitant ten the sailor had opened with. 

“So, I guess I’ll just stay here and see the sights,” Harding said petulantly. She clearly wasn’t happy about being left behind.  

“It’s for the best, Lace. We’ll be back soon, I promise,” Neve assured her.  

Antonia started rowing.  

“So, how exactly do we find this thing in the middle of Rialto Bay?”  

“The crystal will start pulsing more frequently the closer we get,” Neve explained.  

“Best hold on to it, then.” 

“Oh, I should say, given that we’re both supposed to be from Tevinter, it’s probably best if you let me do the talking.”  

“Don’t worry. Your slave will be as silent as the grave.” 

Neve frowned but said nothing.  

Antonia’s arms started hurting by the time they were out in open water, but she was not about to let her companion know that. Neve held the crystal in her hand, observing the way it pulsed as they made their way further and further away from Treviso. After a while, Antonia could have sworn she heard a low hum.  

“You’re very quiet,” Neve remarked. 

“I was getting into character.” 

“Have you had dealings with the Demon before?” Neve pushed past Antonia’s barbed comment like she hadn’t even heard it, evidently determined to make the conversation happen whether Antonia wanted to or not.  

“I haven’t worked with him, if that’s what you’re after.” 

“But you know him?” 

“I know of him, like everybody else does.”  

Neve tilted her head slightly.  

“Where are you from?” she asked.  

“Rialto.”  

“Is that where you were born?”  

“So far as I know.”  

“How old were you when you were recruited into the Crows?” 

“Ten.”  

“Any siblings?” 

“Five.”  

“What are their names?”  

Antonia stopped rowing.  

“Okay, what is this? Are you planning to write my memoir or something?”  

“I’m an investigator. It’s my job to suss out the truth and trust me, even somebody without my skill set would be able to tell you’re hiding something.”  

“So you’re just going to bombard me with questions, hoping I’ll slip up? Does that actually work on anyone?”  

“You’d be surprised,” Neve said with a wry smile.  

Antonia was about to say something that would have earned her a scolding from Viago for insulting a client when she noticed the crystal. It was glowing intensely now, strong enough to paint the entire skiff red. It was also pulsating erratically, the dark tendrils inside hitting up against its walls like angry vipers trying to break free.  

Neve looked at her and nodded.  

“We’re here,” she said.  

Antonia pulled up the oars.  

“Now what?”  

“Now I cast the spell that lets us into the Ossuary.”  

Neve waved her staff in a pattern. The air became charged with magic. The water around the boat started to swirl, yet they remained perfectly still even as walls of seawater closed in around them. Antonia watched in awe as the red glow of the sending crystal bent to form a bubble around them. Soon they were underwater, descending straight down as if by an elevator. At first, it was completely dark, but then she saw lights coming from below.  

Antonia wasn’t sure what she had expected an underwater prison to look like, but it wasn’t this. The Ossuary resembled the ruins of an old city or temple, surrounded by imposing statues of the old elven gods, protected from the waters and its many curious fish by a massive lyrium dome.  

“This is incredible!” Antonia gasped as she spotted the skeleton of a dead dragon right outside the dome.  

“Say what you will about the Venatori, but they certainly know magic,” Neve said. “The warden will know we’re here. He should be there to— ” 

Neve’s voice cut off as her eyes fixated on something below. Antonia followed her gaze and frowned. The sight that awaited them guided her hand automatically to her dagger.  

The sea floor was littered with corpses. 

Chapter Text

The ripples on the Ossuary floor reminded Antonia of the last time she and Serena had gone down to the pier in Rialto. One of the merchants behind them had a large aquarium filled with colorful fish from Rivain. The turquoise pattern reflected at their feet had made Antonia feel as though they were walking on the shell of an enormous sea turtle. The smell of salt had hung heavy in the air that day, and the waves had lapped against the algae-stained stone beneath their feet. 

“When I die,” Serena had said, “bring my ashes here, to the sea.” 

“What brought this on?” Antonia had replied, concerned.  

Serena had simply laced their fingers together and leaned her head against Antonia’s shoulder.  

“I just think it would be nice,” she had said wistfully, “to fly above the waves like a seagull. Forever.”  

Neve bent down to examine one of the dead Venatori.  

“Scorch marks on the edges of the wounds,” she muttered. “This was the work of— ” 

“Demons,” Antonia finished her thought. It was eerily quiet in the bubble. The lyrium dome seemed to isolate them even from the sounds of the sea. “Well, I’d say our chances of getting Dellamorte out of here alive just diminished significantly.” 

“Venhedis! ” Neve cursed. “He’s probably dead by now. Or worse.” 

“What do you need him for, anyway?”  

Neve gave her a wary look.  

“What, is it a secret or something?” Antonia scoffed.  

“No, but it never hurts to be cautious.”  

“Suit yourself,” Antonia shrugged and looked around. “If Dellamorte is dead, we’ll need to recover his body, at least.”  

“I’m surprised you care for such things,” Neve said.  

“Please. This isn’t about sentimentality. If I go back to the Dellamortes without any proof that the Demon was already dead before I got here, they’ll probably kill me for failing my contract.”  

“How very sensible of you,” Neve purred in a way that made her words sound more like an insult than praise.  

They soon gave up on the idea of being sneaky as the whole place seemed to be crumbling around them. The ground shook under their feet, breaking down the scaffolding holding up one of the ancient stone pillars. Half the time they were walking on sand instead of tiles. The state of dilapidation made Antonia worry about the strength of the wards that separated them from certain death.  

Then they heard the screams. 

Antonia and Neve rushed to the scene of a full-scale battle between demons and Venatori. At their feet lay shards of red lyrium crystals, the bones of corpses which were periodically possessed only to be swiftly cut down again by the struggling Tevinter cultists.  

Neve glanced at Antonia.  

“Should we...?” 

“Are you kidding me? Let them have at it,” Antonia smirked as she saw one of the demons cleave a Venatori mage right in the middle like a fish. “Whoever survives will be — ” 

A flash of purple light cut through the skirmish. It moved so fast it was difficult for Antonia to discern anything beyond a fluttering pair of ethereal wings. When it stopped moving, everyone and everything in the courtyard was dead. Save for Antonia and Neve. 

The creature turned towards them, seemingly more by instinct than anything else.  

Antonia could have sworn her heart stopped beating for a fleeting moment when she saw his face. Despite his shaggy hair and beard, his wan complexion, and the fact that his eyes still glowed with the same malicious purple as his wings had mere moments ago, she still recognized him. 

“Lucanis? Lucanis Della— ” 

Before Antonia could even blink, the man had her pressed against one of the tilting stone pillars, his hand gripping her throat like a vice.

“Year?” he croaked in a hoarse voice. 

The pain helped bring Antonia’s world back into focus. She slid the dagger hidden in her sleeve down to her palm.  

“How about a name first,” she snarled and pressed the dagger hard against Lucanis’s side. Distracted, he looked down and moved to disarm her. She headbutt him hard in the face.  

“Mierda! ” the man cursed as she slipped out of his grasp. In one smooth flurry of movement, Antonia kicked his feet out from under him, yanked him up to his knees by his hair, and pressed her dagger against his throat. She leaned in.  

“Mine’s de Riva.” 

“De Riva...” Lucanis repeated slowly, as if struggling to put the syllables together. “You’re a Crow.” 

“Good to see your memory still works. Now, care to explain how come you’re an abomination?” 

“It’s... complicated.” 

Antonia tightened her grip on his hair. 

“Then simplify it,” she hissed.   

“Woah, woah! Toni, hold on,” Neve cried out. “We need him alive, remember?”  

“Not if he tries to kill us, we don’t,” Antonia reasoned, refusing to ease her hold on Lucanis. “Or did you miss the part where he sprouted wings and his eyes turned purple?” 

“No, I didn’t,” Neve said grimly, her eyes settling on Lucanis.  

Antonia let go of Lucanis’s hair but kept the tip of her dagger pointed at his throat as she made her way in front of him.   

“So, my question is...” she looked down on him, tilting his head up with her dagger. “Can I trust you?” 

“You. ”  

Antonia flinched. Lucanis spoke in a voice that both was and was not his own. His eyes were once again briefly drowned in purple, only to return to deep brown a mere moment later.  

“I... My apologies,” he stuttered.  

“I’m guessing that was your visitor talking,” Antonia grimaced.  

“Yes,” Lucanis admitted begrudgingly. “But don’t worry. I have him under control.” 

“Evidently not,” Antonia scoffed. “Were you anybody else, I would just kill you. It would probably be a small mercy.” 

Lucanis gave her a level stare. She took in the dried blood splattered across his face, the dark circles under his eyes. It was hard to believe this haggard man was the same person she had seen years ago, dressed in an exquisite doublet and swirling a glass of red wine—so down-to-earth, and yet beyond anyone's reach. What remained seemed more like a cruel imitation, a husk.  

Something inside Antonia's heart twitched. How long had he been down here?   

She lowered her knife.  

“Lucky for you, I was paid by your House to get you home. So that’s what I’m going to do.”  

“Caterina sent you?”  

The softness in his voice caught Antonia off-guard.  

“Your cousin, Illario. Although it was Caterina who made the arrangements.” 

“She would,” Lucanis agreed tersely and got to his feet. His eyes turned to Neve. “And you are...?”  

“Your future client,” Antonia retorted before Neve could. “You can get better acquainted once we’re out of here.”  

Lucanis shot her a questioning look.  

“So, you’re not...?” 

“I’m just here to make sure no Venatori survives this place.” Antonia ran her finger over her blade and glanced at the pile of corpses. “Although by the looks of it, it seems you may have already taken care of that.”  

“No, there’s more. The prison warden. Calivan. He was my target before they captured me. I must finish my contract.”  

Antonia quirked an eyebrow. 

“Glad to see being imprisoned and possessed hasn’t interfered with your work ethic, at least.” 

“I can still work,” Lucanis nodded, his eyes a little unfocused, as if he were mainly talking to himself.  

“That’s not what I— Never mind,” Antonia muttered, realizing Lucanis wasn’t catching her sarcasm. “I guess we’ll be making one quick detour to the warden’s office, then, before we...” She paused suddenly and turned to Neve. “How exactly do we get out of this place?” 

“The same way we came in,” Neve said, holding up the red lyrium pendant and eyeing the ceiling. “Although, with this entire place on the verge of collapse, we’d better hurry. I’m not sure how long we have before those lyrium wards give out.”  

Just as Neve finished speaking, there was a high-pitched ring, followed by the sound of cracking glass. Antonia turned to see a thin stream of water leaking in through a tiny hole in the lyrium dome.  

“Right. Let’s get going,” she said, her gaze wandering over to Lucanis. 

“I think you broke my nose,” he said.  

“Aww, don’t worry. I’m sure Neve here will set it right back once we’re done here,” Antonia cooed with mock sympathy.  

“I don’t know,” Neve retorted. “I quite like the way it looks right now.”  

Antonia felt a pang, sudden and unexpected like a dagger in the back, but pushed the feeling down as soon as it arose. 

They killed any stragglers they stumbled across, but for the most part, the walk through the Ossuary was a silent trek. They passed rows of cells inhabited by corpses with gaping rib cages; altars dedicated to the old dragon gods that still dripped blood. Antonia wished there had been more Venatori left for her to kill.  

Like most people, she had first learned of the cult’s existence ten years ago when they had allied themselves with a uniquely intelligent darkspawn to bring back Tevinter’s former glory. While the chaos they had unleashed had never fully reached the North, on clear summer days, the scars of what had almost constituted the end of the world were still visible in the sky even in Antiva. Green ripples of the Fade, mended by what some had considered divine intervention. But despite their catastrophic failure in the South, the Venatori had still managed to gather up their strength in the North while the Inquisition that stopped them had long since been dismantled. That the Venatori were able to set up an operation like this outside their own borders showed just how brazen they had become.  

Signs of torture, demon summoning and blood magic became more frequent the closer they got to the warden’s office.  

“This is... vile,” Neve said, covering her mouth as they approached one of the tables where the huddled skeleton of a torture victim lay in unceremonious display. 

“Very few people survive Calivan’s rehabilitation,” Lucanis remarked grimly. 

“You did,” Antonia remarked. There was a question lurking behind her statement, but Lucanis was either oblivious or opposed to it, for he did not reply.  

The state of Calivan’s office matched the chaos outside. Scattered papers, toppled chairs and a handful of corpses were strewn all over the floor. The man himself was scampering to gather documents and set them on fire with his fingers. As he heard their approach, he quickly straightened his back and placed one foot carefully in front of the other, as if striking a pose. He was dressed in the usual Venatori attire, with red robes and a headdress that imitated the horns of a dragon.   

His eyes swept over the three of them before settling on Lucanis. A cruel smile crept across his face.  

“Well, well. If it isn’t our favorite failed experiment,” he said in a nasal voice.  

“Wait!” Antonia cried out a moment too late. Lucanis had already drawn out his sword and charged ahead, only to bounce off a transparent barrier barely visible in the dim light. Calivan giggled in wicked delight. 

“Fools! You cannot touch me in here. My wards are impenetrable! I am protected by the great Lusacan! The Venatori shall rule this world, and I shall be the supreme...”  

While he droned on, Antonia scanned their surroundings. There were several red lyrium crystals floating around the entrance. She pointed them out to Neve. 

“What are the chances those aren’t just décor?” she asked. 

Neve nodded. “They all seem to be connected somehow, like the sending crystals. Maybe we could deactivate them somehow using a — ” 

Before she had time to finish, Antonia blasted a lightning bolt out of her left hand. The crystal glowed up briefly before shattering to pieces. Both Neve and Lucanis stared at her in wild-eyed shock. Antonia did her best to ignore them as she zapped another crystal. By the time she had destroyed the fourth, the barrier came down before them. 

Calivan cried out in frustration. 

“You insignificant little—!” 

He never had the chance to say anything more. The moment the barrier came down, Lucanis propelled himself towards the warder with an inhuman speed. A gasp escaped Calivan’s lips as Lucanis’s sword pierced his chest. His body twitched before going completely limp and landing on the floor. The headdress fell off his head and rolled over to Antonia’s feet.  

Lucanis wiped the blood off his sword on Calivan’s red robes.  

“The Crows send their regards,” he said, flashing his canines in a savage smile. His eyes fixated on something in the distance. Antonia followed his gaze and saw nothing.

She exchanged glances with Neve.

“Right. Now that that’s taken care of, how about we leave this place?” Antonia said. When Lucanis wouldn’t respond, she took a step towards him and snapped her fingers. “Hey! Can you try to keep it together until we get you home?”  

Lucanis blinked several times, seemingly trying to reestablish his grip on reality, before fixing her with an uncomfortably intense stare.  

“You’re a mage,” he remarked. 

“Yeah, fancy that,” Neve said with a mixture of awe and annoyance. It was the first time Antonia had seen her caught truly off-guard.   

She shuffled her feet.  

“In this line of work, having a few surprises up your sleeve tends to work out in your favor,” she said and gestured at Calivan’s dead body. “Case in point.” 

“But you don’t carry a staff. The way you fight... It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen from a mage before,” Neve argued, clearly struggling to make sense of it all.  

“That’s for sure,” Lucanis muttered. Antonia tried not to think about the implications of his words.  

“Well, you are from Tevinter so that’s hardly a surprise,” Antonia said to Neve before turning to Lucanis. It was only when their eyes met that she realized she had no clever way of responding to his comment. “Let’s just get out of here. We can exchange notes on mage fighting styles later.” 

“Smells like sea air and avoidance. ”   

“Excuse me?” Antonia frowned as the demon’s voice once again echoed through Lucanis’s mouth.  

“S-Sorry,” Lucanis uttered with visible discomfort. “He’s being... difficult.” 

“You don’t say,” Antonia retorted dryly. “Although I suppose I’d be cranky too if I was stuck inside a body against my will.” 

Lucanis stared at her in amazement.  

“How did you know that?”

“Well, while we've just established that appearances can be deceiving, the fact that you carry two weapons and chose to attack a magical barrier with a sword tells me you are, in fact, not a mage, which means you can’t be possessed the traditional way. We're inside a prison run by a cult that specializes in blood magic and just passed through a whole bevy of demons, yet the Veil is relatively thick here. So it doesn’t seem likely your demon would have had the chance to just slip through on its own. More importantly, you still appear more or less human, which tells me this is no ordinary case of demonic possession. I’m guessing the Venatori are behind it, somehow?”   

Something shifted in Lucanis’s eyes, like he was truly seeing her for the first time.  

“Damn,” Neve said, clearly impressed. “Maybe you should be the investigator.”  

“I’ll pass,” Antonia retorted. “Now, how about we finally get out of here?” 

As they left the desolation of the Ossuary behind, passing between the statues that had born witness to the cruelty of humans, the extravagance of elves and the pain of dwarves, the eyes of a stone wolf flickered to life for a fleeting moment before fading out forever.  

Chapter Text

“You’re back!” Harding cried out as they docked in Treviso.  

The sun had sunk behind the mountains, its warmth replaced by the chill of a light grey drizzle. Antonia rubbed her shoulders with her hands.  

There was a small pause as Harding took in the state of Lucanis. Antonia had kept a close eye on him as they approached Treviso, but so far, nothing in his demeanor hinted that he was about to transform into the raving flesh monster abominations were known to be. If anything, there was something profoundly human in the way he was slowly becoming more and more aware of his surroundings. By the time they were back on solid ground, even the lightest touch of rainwater on his face seemed enough to distract him.   

“And you must be Lucanis, right?” Harding said, her voice as soft and comforting as a warm blanket.  

“Yes,” the man replied. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“So polite! And here I thought all the Crows were... Well...” She stopped short as her eyes turned to Antonia, clearly embarrassed.  

“We should head back to Villa Dellamorte,” Antonia said curtly, turning her attention once again to Lucanis. “Your family will want to know you’re alive.”  

“And you’ll want to get paid,” Neve said a tad pointedly.    

“That’s right," Antonia retorted in kind. "Thank you for reminding me.” 

Instead of trying to catch a gondola ride, they decided to walk. Harding and Neve engaged immediately in animated banter.  

“How did it go down there? Tell me everything!”   

“Everything? That might take a while.” Antonia could hear Neve smiling. “Things didn’t go quite according to plan, but we accomplished what we set out to do, so all in all, I’d call it a success.” 

“That’s it? Come on! You gotta give me a little more than that!” Harding complained.  

Neve chuckled. “All right, all right. Get this. Toni’s a mage.”  

“What?” Harding exclaimed and hurried her steps to catch up to Antonia. “You’re a mage?! Antivan Crows can be mages?”  

“Why wouldn’t we?” Antonia replied. “A mage can kill people just like everyone else. Better, in a lot of cases. Right, Dellamorte?”  

When Lucanis didn’t answer, Antonia turned around and saw that he had wandered off to the edge of the market. She approached him cautiously.  

“Lucanis, what are you doing?”  

He jerked when she called his name and turned to look at her slowly. 

“Why are the Qunari here?” he asked, his voice carrying the confused timbre of someone who was lost.  

That was when she realized he must have spent at least a year in that prison, and the weight of the time he had lost in isolation hit her just like it must have hit him. Her thoughts turned to who she had been just a year ago, and the stark contrast of that image with her current self made her feel like she was staring in the mirror. Even now, all the things that had changed continued to ripple outward, like the surface of a pond, long after the stone had been dropped. In that moment, it was painfully clear to them both that the world they once knew was gone, and that a part of them had died with it.

Antonia swallowed.  

“Let’s get you home first. We can catch you up on the news after that.” 

Lucanis nodded.  

The elven butler greeted them with a much warmer welcome than the one Antonia had received when she had arrived on her own.  

“Master Dellamorte,” the butler gasped as though he were the King of Antiva, despite his disheveled state. “Words cannot express how pleased I am to see you!”  

“Likewise, Aenor," Lucanis said, shaking the butler’s hand as his eyes flicked toward the staircase. “Where is Illario? And Caterina?” 

“We are right here, cousin,” Illario’s voice came from the dining room. He sprang to his feet, nearly toppling his chair as he rushed to meet Lucanis. The two men regarded each other for a long moment, Illario’s hands resting on Lucanis’s shoulders. A choked up laugh escaped Illario's lips. “Maker, you look terrible.” 

“My apologies. I didn’t have time to shave,” Lucanis gave a wry retort before pulling Illario into a hug.  

“Lucanis...” a wheezy voice came from behind them.

Seated at the head of the table was an elderly woman, holding a cane with a shiny brass handle shaped like a crow's head. Her wispy hair was inlaid with silver, and the hard lines on her face spoke of a life shaped by adversity. Although Antonia had never seen her before, she recognized her immediately. Caterina Dellamorte, the matriarch of House Dellamorte and First Talon of the Antivan Crows.  

Lucanis went down on his knees to kiss his grandmother's hands and cheek. Antonia, Neve and Harding stayed back and focused their attention on the many oil paintings decorating the walls. A gallery of past Talons and House Dellamorte family members.  

“Alright, enough,” Caterina Dellamorte said finally. “We shouldn’t keep the clients waiting.”  

She signaled for Neve and Harding to step forward.  

“You have kept your end of the bargain. House Dellamorte is in your debt.”  

“It was a team effort,” Neve said and smirked at Antonia. Only then did the First Talon spare her a glance. Her beady eyes pierced Antonia like an ice pick.  

“Ah, yes,” Catarina Dellamorte said, as if she had learned Antonia’s entire life story from just one cursory glance. “Salvador's prodigy. I see the Fifth Talon wasn’t exaggerating. You do your House proud, child.”  

Antonia bowed her head slightly. She was suddenly very eager to be elsewhere.  

“Your reward has already been delivered to Viago,” Illario said. Apparently, he also wanted her to leave.  

“Thank you,” Antonia managed to say. “I believe it is time for me to go, then. I’m sure you all have much to discuss.”  

“NO! She stays! ”  

As the demon’s voice boomed from Lucanis’s mouth, the whole room shook to the rhythm of clinking glassware. The chandelier above their heads swayed dangerously.  

“Maker’s breath!” Harding exclaimed and took out her bow. 

“Lace, wait! It’s okay,” Neve said, raising her hand to keep Harding from shooting.  

“Okay?! He’s an abomination!”  

“Andraste preserve us,” Caterina Dellamorte whimpered and crossed herself, the gesture invoking the image of the Maker’s bride burned at the stake. “Not my Lucanis...”  

“My cousin, possessed by a demon?” Illario uttered. His lips had gone white, his fury nearly matching that of a demon as he turned to face Antonia. “What is the meaning of this? I sent you to rescue him, and you return with this?!” 

“I'm not the one who put a demon in him!” Antonia bristled. “He was like this when I got there.” 

“You’re a mage! Can’t you do something?”  

“What, an exorcism? As far as I know, the only way to get rid of a demon is to kill its host, so unless you’re suggesting I do that, I don’t know what you expect me to do!”  

“Discord and terror. Thorns that sting both ways. Delicious!” the demon remarked, clearly savoring the chaos it had wrought.  

“Oh, shut up!” Antonia snapped. “What do you want, anyway?”  

“To. Talk. To. You! ”  

Everyone in the room turned to look at Antonia. She closed her eyes and sighed.

Great. Just perfect.   

“Oh, yeah? Fine,” she said. “You want to talk? Let's talk.” 

“No!” Lucanis’s voice rang out as he wrested control of his own body back from the demon. He raised his head from his hands as the danger passed and the glasses grew quiet again. His nose was bleeding. 

“My apologies. I’m okay now,” he said in a shaky voice that convinced no one. “Caterina...” 

Caterina raised her cane as Lucanis tried to approach her. He winced, as though she had actually hit him.  

An oppressive silence descended upon them. Antonia kept glancing at the door.  

“You could have given me a heads-up,” Harding muttered to Neve.  

“I’m sorry, Lace. I thought...” Neve’s voice trailed off as her eyes settled on Lucanis. She shook her head. “I’m not sure what I thought.” 

“I don’t understand. How could you be possessed?” Illario asked.  

“The Venatori. They... did something to me,” Lucanis said, his fingers curling into fists as if he were trying to fight off the memory. “But it’s fine. I can still work. Just give me a new target.” 

“A new— You're joking! Cousin, we must take you to the Circle of Magi. There has to be something they can do!”  

“I’ll contact the Circle, but it’s unlikely they’ll be able to get back to me right away. Please, Illario. I... I need something to focus on. Something that has nothing to do with the Ossuary. And you’ve already signed a contract, haven’t you? The reputation of House Dellamorte can’t be allowed to suffer because of this.” 

“Indeed,” Caterina Dellamorte spoke, having finally regained herself. She addressed Harding and Neve. “I understand that the situation has changed. However, nothing I have witnessed here leads me to believe that my grandson’s capabilities as an assassin have been diminished by this... complication. In fact, he might be more capable than ever. If you still wish to have him, we’ll waive off the discounted fee of the original agreement. You’ll have his services, free of charge.” 

Harding and Neve exchanged glances. While the dwarf looked much more hesitant, Neve needed only a moment to deliberate before nodding.  

“We’ll take him.” 

“Very good,” Caterina Dellamorte nodded in return and got up from her chair. “Our lawyers will make the necessary changes to the contract and send a copy to you.” 

“There is one more thing,” Lucanis interjected, his eyes shifting from Caterina to Harding, to Neve, and finally, to Antonia. “Spite has agreed to join you. On one condition.” 

“Spite?” Antonia repeated.  

“The demon. He... wants you to come, too.”  

“What?” Antonia, Neve and Illario all said at the same time. 

Lucanis’s cousin shot a seething glare in Antonia’s direction.  

“What is your connection to this demon?” he demanded.

“Nothing!” Antonia exclaimed.  

“Then why is it so interested in you?”  

“How the Blight should I know?!” 

“Regardless of its motivations, is it really a good idea for us to bend to the whims of your... visitor?” Neve asked, frowning at Lucanis.  

“If we don’t, he’s just going to keep throwing tantrums,” Lucanis argued. “He’s always difficult, but not like this. I don’t know what he’ll do if we refuse him outright. Think of this as a... compromise.” 

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” Neve said dryly. 

“We weren't really prepared to hire more than one assassin,” Harding interjected. “I mean, no offense, but you Crows charge a lot .”  

“Don’t worry about that,” Lucanis was quick to reassure her. “De Riva will work at the discounted rate you originally agreed on and I’ll work for free. So, in a way, you’ll be getting two Crows at the price of just one.”  

“Oh, I will, will I?” Antonia raised her voice slightly. 

Lucanis frowned.  

“We can discuss it with Viago or your Guildmaster if you wish, but given the circumstances, I’m sure they’ll agree to it.” 

“Oh, sure. They’ll agree to it. Never mind what I think, right?” 

“You’re an Antivan Crow. You’ll go where you are told,” Illario said.  

“Right, of course. How could I forget?” Antonia grunted, spreading her arms in exasperation.  

“Toni, of course we only want you to come if you truly wish to,” Harding said, shooting a disapproving glare at Illario.  

“Well, it’s a little hard to say whether I wish to or not, considering I know absolutely nothing about the mark,” Antonia pointed out, the memory of Neve’s cagey response at the Ossuary still playing in her mind.  

Neve and Harding exchanged glances. Harding eyed the Crows warily.  

“Do those, uhh... contracts of yours come with some sort of confidentiality clause?" she asked.

“Please. We’re professional assassins, not gossiping fishwives,” Lucanis said, seemingly offended on their behalf.

“Well, in that case...” Harding took a deep breath and leaned in closer. Her voice drop to an almost reverent whisper. “We are hunting the Dread Wolf.” 

Whatever effect the dwarf had hoped for fell flat. Antonia glanced at the Dellamortes only to find them as nonplussed as she was. She turned back to Harding.  

“Who’s that? Some Avvar warlord?”  

“What? No! He’s an elven god! Or at least he pretends to be. He’s been recruiting elves all across Thedas to join his cause to bring down the Veil and reestablish the old world of the elves.” Harding cast an almost accusatory look at Antonia. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard of him!” 

“What, because I’m an elf?” Antonia raised one eyebrow. “Does every dwarf honor the ancestors and worship the Stone?”  

“I... No, of course not. I-I'm sorry, Toni. I didn’t mean to offend.” 

Guilt pricked at Antonia as she saw Harding hang her head.

The elven butler Aenor cleared his throat. “If I may, my clan often told stories of the Dread Wolf or Fen’Harel, as he is known to most elves.”  

“Please, Aenor,” Lucanis invited the old elf closer. “Tell us what you know.” 

The elf approached the table. Antonia suddenly felt as though they were all gathered around a campfire rather than an expensive Orlesian table to listen to a hahren recount tales of Dalish legends.  

Aenor began:  

“He is said to be the elven god of lies and trickery. According to legend, Fen’Harel tricked the other Creators—the elven gods—and the Forgotten Ones, the evil gods who opposed them, and locked them away so that they could no longer harm the people. The Creators were sealed in the heavens, while the Forgotten Ones were imprisoned in the abyss, also known as the Void to those who follow the Andrastian faith.” 

“Superstitious hogwash!” Illario blurted out.  

“Illario,” Lucanis hissed in the admonishing tone of an older brother.  

“While some myth has undoubtedly mixed with fact, as in all faiths, many of my people still hold the belief that the Creators were real,” Aenor said evenly.

“They are real,” Harding said. “The threat that Solas poses to Thedas is unlike anything we’ve seen before!”  

“Solas?” Antonia frowned. 

“That’s his name. Or at least, that’s what he introduced himself as when he was part of the Inquisition.” 

“Hold on. He was part of the Inquisition?”  

“He was. He left shortly after Corypheus was defeated.”  

“So which is it?” Lucanis asked, clearly just as confused as Antonia. “Is he an agent of the Inquisition or an ancient elven god? 

“Neither! Both. It’s complicated. Look, we’re not entirely sure what he is. But we do know he is an incredibly powerful mage and needs to be stopped.” 

“And this is the job you have for me,” Lucanis concluded, then glanced at Antonia apologetically. “For us, I mean.” 

“Yes. You are the best mage killer in the world, Lucanis. If anyone can kill Solas, it’s you,” Harding said, then quickly added, “Not that I have any doubts about your abilities, Toni! I’m sure you could kill a god too!”  

“Well, if all goes according to plan, I won't have to, will I?" Antonia retorted with a crooked smile. It wasn’t lost on her how she was already fading into the background—an afterthought of a Crow who existed only in Lucanis Dellamorte’s shadow.  

Just as she had planned.  

*** 

Antonia saw him that night in the Fade—his tall, lean frame and pointed jaw, his eyes that brimmed with secrets and regrets. The only sharp figure in the soft grey haze of dreams.  

“Well?” Fen’Harel said.  

“I’m in.” 

Chapter Text

The Fade was a place of dreams, but for Antonia, it was also the stuff of nightmares. No matter how many times she visited its halls, she could never feel truly comfortable in the ever-shifting ether. She had heard that mages in the Circle were forced to confront a demon in the Fade as a rite of passage. One of the many reasons why she was glad she had never been sent to one. 

Well, not successfully, anyway.  

“So,” Fen’Harel spoke, his voice thundering all around Antonia, as if woven into the very fabric of the Fade. The power emanating from him was unlike anything Antonia had ever felt. She knew he was no god, but in this place, in his realm, he might as well have been. “You are part of the team now.”  

“Yes. Although I expect I’ll meet more of them soon. Right now, we’re just four people.”  

“That is unsurprising. The whole reason why the Inquisition was disbanded is because it is much more difficult to infiltrate a tightly knit group than a large organization.” He tilted his head slightly. “How did you manage it?”  

Every syllable was like a hammer that struck Antonia’s quivering heart, but she forced herself to stand tall.  

“It was more by chance than skill,” she admitted. “It turns out the Venatori bound a demon to the assassin they were originally planning to hire.”  

“Indeed? Such experiments are certainly what I would expect from the Venatori, but it is still a crime against nature.”  

“Does that mean you want me to kill him?” Antonia asked. 

Fen’Harel’s eyes narrowed.  

“You mean you haven’t done so already?”  

Old shame struck Antonia like a cane. 

I did not raise you to be a weakling! Salvador’s voice rang in her mind. The cries of a child echoed in the Fade around her. She felt her cheeks flushing.

“He’s more useful to us alive than dead,” she argued. “His reputation still makes him their first choice, but in truth, he’s a walking time bomb. Sooner or later, the demon will take over and when it does, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”  

The crying stilled, as did Fen’Harel. His silence was even more oppressive than his words. When he finally spoke, the faintest ghost of a smile played on his lips.  

“I see I was not mistaken when I chose you.”  

Antonia felt something dislodging inside her chest.   

“You mean you didn’t want me to kill him after all?”  

Fen’Harel shook his head. “No. If my use for you boiled down to murder, I would have simply hired you through official means like any other Crow. I do not need you to be my knife. I need you to be my eyes and ears. More importantly, I need someone who can see past the situation that’s right in front of them and think about the bigger picture. You have just demonstrated yourself capable of this.”  

“You mean this was all a test?” Antonia asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.  

A wolfish grin spread across her leader’s face. 

“Partially. Congratulations on passing it.”  

The edges of the Fade were becoming frayed. Their meeting was drawing to a close.  

“And your end of our deal?” Antonia blurted out.  

Fen’Harel’s frame came into focus once more. He clasped his arms behind his back, looking every part the rebel leader his followers believed him to be.  

“Do not worry. You shall have your vengeance.” 

*** 

The salty gale beat against Antonia’s face as the ship set sail. They were headed to Afsaana, a Rivaini port just a day’s sail away from Treviso.   

“More sails than you’ll ever see in your life, lass!” the captain—a Rivaini man with sun-burned skin and faded tattoos—told Antonia when she asked him what to expect in Afsaana. “I’ve sailed all the Thedosian seas, visited many a port, but Afsaana... Afsaana is the one place where restlessness turns to calm, and the wind is home.” 

Antonia smiled at the man’s wistful phrasing. One might have thought he was speaking of a former lover. 

“Are you part of the Lords of Fortune?” she asked, eyeing the golden jewelry that covered him from head to toe.  

“Aye, that I am, lass. The Lords are a common sight in Rivain. Less so in your fair Antiva.” 

“Why is that?” Antonia asked.  

“Too much arm-wrestling with the Felicisima Armada. Things tend to get territorial real quick with that lot.”  

“You mean to claim Antivan pirates are more territorial than you Rivaini?” Antonia suggested with a quirked brow.  

The captain shook his head meekly.  

“I don’t mean anything by it, lass. As I see it, the seas belong to no one. That is why the sea is the only place where a man can be truly free.”  

They slipped into a comfortable silence after that, each mulling over the meaning of freedom as they gazed out at the waves. After a while though, Antonia’s eyes drifted to Lucanis who was leaning against the side of the ship.  

He had hesitated to climb aboard at first. Antonia had noticed the stiffness in his movements as he had made his way across the gangplank, every step like a small victory in a war against himself. But now, all that unease had vanished, seemingly swept away by the strong sea wind. She approached him from behind.  

“It is still a crime against nature.”  

What did it mean for a human and a demon to share a body? Had parts of Lucanis been carved out like melon so that there was room for the demon to settle down? Or were the two of them doomed to keep fighting over the same living space, the same mind, until one of them inevitably came out on top? Or would they eventually merge into something completely new, neither quite as they were before but also not entirely separate from it?  

Antonia halted, realizing she had walked much closer to Lucanis than she had intended. Just as she was about to back away, he turned around to face her, as though she had announced herself instead of sneaking up on him.  

“You’re watching me,” Lucanis said in a perfectly even voice.  

Shit.    

He had cleaned himself up since leaving Villa Dellamorte, his beard neatly trimmed once more and his hair styled into a glossy, slick mullet. The dark circles under his eyes lingered and his complexion retained a faint waxen hue, but there was no denying that he looked good, especially for a man who had spent a year in a Venatori prison. 

“Isn’t that why I’m here?” Antonia said, endeavoring to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Your job is to kill a god, and mine is to keep your demon in check.” 

“You need not concern yourself with Spite. I have him under control.”  

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Antonia muttered and started walking away.  

“Have I done something to offend you?” Lucanis’s voice called out from behind her.  

She froze mid-step, her pulse quickening, and spun on her heel.  

“You mean, besides trying to kill me?”  

Lucanis frowned.  

“In the Ossuary? That was a misunderstanding. I had just broken out of my cell and… I wasn’t myself.” 

“Meaning you were possessed.” 

“Yes. Does that trouble you?” 

A disbelieving laugh escaped Antonia.  

“Does it trouble me that you’re sharing your body with a demon who seems capable of taking you over any time it wants? No! Why would you think that?” 

Something shifted in Lucanis’s eyes then, but Antonia couldn’t tell what it meant. She was quickly discovering how frustratingly difficult this man was to read.  

“Trust me,” he said. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be here.” 

“Oh, really?” Antonia took a step forward, arms akimbo. “So you choking me was for, what? Personal gratification?”  

“I… N-No, that’s not what I meant,” Lucanis stuttered, all of his former bravado gone in a wink. “I-I just thought that, since we’re going to be working together, we should try to get along.” 

“Is us getting along a prerequisite for you to be able to do your job?”  

“I—Of course not! I’m a professional. I’ve always completed my contracts, even when they involved people I could barely stand.”  

“As have I,” Antonia said with a poisonous smile. She looked him up and down. “And I will once again.”  

This time she walked away before Lucanis had time to stop her. 

Neve and Harding were below deck, chatting about something that involved lots of wild hand gestures and giggles. Antonia told herself to go join them, but her feet felt as though they had been riveted to the floorboards. Her heart thudded uncomfortably fast inside her chest, the encounter with Lucanis still fresh in her mind. 

“Seriously, Toni, you’re like a porcupine!” Serena’s voice rang in her head. “You’ve got to learn how to let more people in.”  

“Why? Are you trying to get rid of me?” She had said it jokingly, but part of her had truly been afraid of what Serena was going to say. Serena had put down her book, one of those Orlesian bodice rippers she used to hide under her pillow. The bed had squeaked as she had crawled over to the other end of the bed where Antonia was. She’d stopped mere inches from her face. 

“You wish.”  

A sharp pain cut through Antonia like a knife. She wished she could talk to Serena. She wished she could tell her being a spy was nothing like those books of hers made it out to be.  

“Oh, hi, Toni!” Harding called out. “Would you like to join us?” 

Antonia tried to speak, but it felt like her throat had closed up entirely. All she could do was shake her head before fleeing the scene.  

The sleeping quarters offered little privacy. The hammocks were stacked all the way to the ceiling with nothing to shield against unwanted attention. Antonia waited for the ship to quiet down before sneaking back out to the deck. Some sailors were huddled around a barrel-turned-table playing Wicked Grace, while the Rivaini captain remained at the helm. None of them paid her any mind. Antonia walked up to the mast and grabbed the rope ladder, casually at first, then with more intent. When nobody rushed to stop her, she began climbing.  

High up in the crow’s nest, with no one but the stars watching, Antonia finally allowed the tears to fall down on her face.  

“Sorrow. Is. Wet.”  

Antonia let out a startled yelp as she heard a voice coming from behind her. She jumped around to see Lucanis standing just one foot away from her. Only it wasn’t really him.  

The demon’s wings spanned the width of the crow’s nest, a canvas of purple that matched Lucanis’s glowing eyes.  

Did he just… fly up here?  

Antonia’s tears dried up in an instant, replaced by flaming hot rage.  

“Oh, for the love of the Maker, can’t you just leave me alone?!” she cried out.  

“Not. Alone,” the demon replied. Antonia closed her eyes and counted to ten, slowly. 

“Lucanis…”  

“Spite,” the demon corrected.  

“Spite. How did you even know to look for me up here?” she asked.  

“It’s. Called. Crow’s. Nest .”  

“Touché,” Antonia muttered, rubbing her eyes so hard it hurt. “Look, I’d really rather not deal with you right now, so if you could just go away and leave me alone, I’d really appreciate it.”  

“Smells like water lilies and lies.”  

Antonia bit her teeth together.  

“Is that a no I’m hearing?”  

The demon stood inhumanly still. She let out a long, exasperated sigh.  

“I guess we’re at an impasse, then.”  

“We. Make. Deal! ”  

“Unlike your host, I’m not foolish enough to make a deal with a demon!” Antonia snapped. 

“If no deal, I tell everyone you sneak up here to cry! ”  

Antonia narrowed her eyes. “I could always just kill you.”  

Spite produced a sound that could only be characterized as a gleeful hiss. “This is why we like you! You’re quick, sharp, like a knife in the dark nobody sees coming. You kill . ”  

Antonia blinked. Out of all the things she had expected to be doing that evening, getting caught and then complimented by a demon had not been one of them.  

“Speak, then,” she said, her hand on her dagger. “What do you want?” 

Lucanis’ face broke into a wide grin. An eerie purple glow sifted through his teeth.  

“Your words. They cut Lucanis, plant seeds of doubt under his skin. You make him uneasy . ”  

“So?” Antonia frowned.  

“You cut too deep he bleeds out. Shuts down. He won’t bring me to you! ”  

“What?” Antonia blurted out. “You want me to be nicer to Lucanis so that you can… spend time with me?”  

“Yesssssss !” Spite clapped his hands and did a little jump, something so uncharacteristic of Lucanis it was hard for Antonia not to laugh out loud.  

The absurdity of her situation was almost too much to handle. Here she was, sent to spy on the group of people that posed the greatest threat to the Dread Wolf’s rise, and the only one she was making any sort of headway with was the abomination. Not even the abomination, but the abomination’s demon. She had never felt more unqualified for her new job.  

But then... What if she wasn’t?  

What if this was exactly what she needed?  

They had hired Lucanis to kill Fen’Harel–the fact that Antonia was also a Crow barely seemed to matter to anyone–and Lucanis was controller by Spite. If she could get Spite on her side, maybe she could thwart their assassination attempt in the future. After all, what good was an assassin’s knife without the hand that guides it?  

Before she could think better of the crazy plan that was forming in her mind, Antonia squared her shoulders and said, “Okay, deal.”  

Spite stopped jumping. He seemed skeptical all of a sudden, leaning forward and breathing in heavily through his nose, as if he were literally trying to sniff the truth out of her.  

“Promise?”  

“I said deal, didn’t I?” Antonia scoffed but when the sniffing wouldn’t relent, she sighed and added, “Yes, I promise.”  

To seal the deal, Antonia offered the demon her hand. A malicious grin spread across Lucanis’s face once more and he grabbed her arm like a drunk man struggling to keep his balance. She suddenly felt a terrifying sense of regret, like a block of ice melting at the pit of her stomach.  

The purple in Lucanis’s eyes flickered, then vanished in an instant. He blinked several times. When he spoke again, the demonic timbre had disappeared from his voice.

“W-Where am I? What— Oh.” He faltered as he realized Antonia was there. “You.”  

“Well, don’t get too excited or anything,” Antonia grunted. She could have sworn she detected a flash of purple in Lucanis’s eyes.  

Right. I promised to be nice.   

“Spite took over you again.”  

Lucanis let out a barely audible groan, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  

“I must have fallen asleep,” he muttered, as if he were confessing to a minor crime.  

“Yes, well, don’t worry. I stopped him before he took you overboard.”  

Lucanis gave her a skeptical look.  

“You stopped Spite?”  

Antonia raised one eyebrow. “Your demon and I actually get along quite well.”  

Lucanis just stared at her, his expression indecipherable. When it became clear he wasn’t going to say anything, Antonia rubbed her hands together. She was suddenly feeling very cold and very awkward.  

“Well, since you’re back in control now, there’s no reason for me to be here, so...”  

She circled around the mast towards the ladder.  

“Thank you,” Lucanis said, his fingers briefly brushing against her arm. “For... stopping me.”  

She glanced up at him, forcing a smile that never reached her violet eyes, and then climbed down. 

Chapter Text

#2 Thought Fragments   

Where once there was nothing, there is suddenly too much. 

The world is a bittersweet sensation submerged in purple, too bright to take in all at once. He sees it all when he closes his eyes; the faces of his loved ones when they realize he came back wrong. He never thought he’d miss the dark, but it turns out he brought it with him, a small pool gathered in the left chamber of his heart just deep enough to drown in.  

It’s never quiet anymore. 

He focuses on the small and the familiar, things that bring him comfort when the nightmares become too loud. The warm caress of the sun on his cheek. The seagulls’ cries just as morning is about to break. The salty, comforting scent of the sea.  

Her. Scent.   

He keeps going back to that moment deep underwater, just as he was about to slip away forever. When his nothingness was punctured by a presence.  

What. Woke. Us. Up.  

The captain was right.  

Afsaana truly was home to more sailboats than Antonia had ever seen before. Coming from someone who grew up in Rialto, that was saying a lot. Stepping out to the docks, it was easy to get lost in the feeling that she was floating in the air, surrounded by clouds and colors that could take her anywhere in the world.  

Once, this had been the battleground for the Chantry and the Triumvirate, but now, it was the place where all the tongues and cultures of Thedas met. By the time they had climbed up to the city proper, Antonia had spotted a seer with his companion spirit, a Qunari women with a large snake wrapped around her arms like golden jewelry, and a group of Dalish elves haggling over the price of rum.  

Harding led them through the busy streets with Neve in tow while Antonia and Lucanis hung further back. One glance at her fellow assassin revealed to Antonia that he, too, recognized the danger of a chaotic scene like this. People often assumed assassinations only happened in seclusion, but in truth, this was the ideal place to strike; in broad daylight, where a dying gasp would be drowned out by the general cacophony and slipping into obscurity would be as simple as walking past the stumbling victim once the deed was done and never stopping.  

Their travelling companions, on the other hand, were seemingly not burdened with grim suspicions like this in the slightest. Harding strutted onward with the assured step of someone who knew exactly where they were going, casually dodging a group of boisterous Qunari sailors that nearly trampled her to death while chattering with Neve. After a while, Antonia was able to relax enough to take in more of her surroundings than just the parts that could potentially constitutes a life-threatening situation.  

Kneeling on the side of the dusty street was an ascetic man bowing down to what appeared to be a self-made idol that consisted of a human skull mounted on top of a spear. By his fifth prostration, the empty sockets of the skull started to glow with green light.  

“ Mierda!” Antonia and Lucanis exclaimed at the exact same time. Their eyes met briefly before snapping away again, like they had each accidentally gazed directly into the sun. It was the first time they had spoken to one another since last night’s encounter in the crow’s nest.  

“So,” Antonia said, letting her eyes wander over to the stone walls covered in vines, as if she were actually addressing them instead of Lucanis. “You and Illario are cousins.”  

She could feel Lucanis staring at her.  

“Why?” he asked.  

Antonia shrugged as she finally dared to steal a glance at Lucanis. 

“You two don’t seem to have that much in common. It made me wonder if the two of you were blood-related at all.” 

“We are.” Just as Antonia thought Lucanis wasn’t going to elaborate any further, he hastened to add, “And you’re right. Illario has always possessed talents that I lack.” 

“Oh? What talents might those be?” Antonia inquired with a wry smile.  

Lucanis cleared his throat, embarrassed all of a sudden.  

“Well, he has always been the… uhh… charming one.”  

“Charming? That’s an interesting word for it,” Antonia scoffed. 

“How would you describe it, then?”  

“Sleazy? Obvious?” Antonia said and immediately bit her tongue afterward.  

Shit! Why couldn’t I just say something nice and fake for once?    

To her great surprise, she heard Lucanis chuckle.  

“It is not often that my cousin fails to make a good impression on a lady so utterly.”  

Heat rushed to Antonia’s cheeks. She opened and closed her mouth several times before regaining control of her facial expressions.  

“I’m not a lady, so it makes sense your cousin wouldn’t waste his charm on me,” she said curtly and hastened her steps.  

Harding and Neve stopped in front of a tavern just as it spat out a dwarven gentleman in a much heavier state of inebriation than one might have expected at such an early hour.  A carved wooden sign hung above the entrance with the picture of a siren lounging on a stone slab, one hand holding a drink while the other was lazily submerged in water. The ripples formed the words The Siren’s Dive . 

“We’re here!” Harding exclaimed triumphantly and proceeded inside before Antonia had a chance to raise any concerns.  

The stench of cheap ale and pipe smoke inside was staggering. The dimly lit interior and lack of windows created the illusion of perpetual evening—a setting that seemed perfectly suited to the clientele.   Antonia held her breath as they proceeded past the bar to the far corner of the room where three humans—two women and one man—were gathered around a table-sized map of Thedas. As they approached, one of the women gave them an enthusiastic greeting. 

“Ah! About time you got here! I was starting to think Adrian had crashed the ship at Vidathiss’ Rest.” 

She was dressed in a pirate coat with unnecessarily many gilded buttons, knee-high boots and a tricorne hat with a majestic red plume that matched her cape.  

“Sorry to keep you all waiting,” Harding nodded to the two other humans before addressing the third. “And don’t worry. Your friend brought us here safely.”  

“I won’t be calling him a friend again until he pays back the four sovereigns he owns me,” the woman muttered.  

“As fascinating as the topic of your personal finances is, my dear, I believe introduction are in order,” the man cut in. He was impeccably dressed and groomed, the curve of his mustache immediately giving off the impression of someone who took good care of their appearance. Time had left its mark in the deep lines on his forehead, the thick streak of silver running through his black hair, but this did not detract from the fact that he was a very handsome man. “Magister Dorian Pavus, at your service.”  

Antonia’s face dropped.  

Great. Another Tevinter mage, she thought.  

“Right!” Harding said, gesturing Antonia and Lucanis to come closer. “Lucanis, Toni, this is Isabela.”  

“ Captain Isabela, if you don’t mind,” the woman with the red-plume hat corrected.  

“Theoretically, at least. You’ve yet to show us that ship you recently acquired,” Dorian muttered. 

“She’s waiting for us at the docks, Pavus. Once we’re done here, I’ll give you the grand tour,” Isabela retorted with a hint of annoyance in her voice.  

“And this is Lady Morrigan,” Harding continued, seemingly used to their squabbling.  

Antonia’s eyes met with the woman who had remained completely silent so far. The scrutiny of her yellow gaze caused Antonia’s skin to crawl. When the woman spoke, it was in a voice that was much huskier than what Antonia would have expected.

“It appears you have returned with more than you bargained for, Lace Harding. If memory serves me correctly, the Crows promised us one assassin, not two.”  

“Yes, things didn’t quite go as we’d planned in Treviso,” Harding admitted, casting a wary glance at Lucanis. “This was a compromise.”  

“Interesting,” Morrigan purred, her eyes never leaving Antonia.  

The waiter arrived to take their order, but Antonia declined. She wasn’t about to drink anything in a place with the word “dive” in its name. 

“What’s the situation in Minrathous?” Neve asked Dorian, glancing furtively at the map.  

“Unchanged, for the moment. Tensions are high, but so far, no one seems willing to cause the kettle to boil over. However, there are reports of unrest in the alienages. Violent incidents between masters and their slaves are also becoming more common. It won’t be long now before the slaves rise up in earnest.” 

“Hold on,” Antonia interrupted. “What’s this about slaves?”  

“And what does any of this have to do with the Dread Wolf?” Lucanis joined her, his arms crossed.  

“As it turns out, everything,” Dorian said, leaning over the map. “We’ve known for a while now that Solas has been gathering allies, both among the powerful and the powerless. However, we’ve recently discovered that he may be planning to orchestrate a coup in Minrathous under the guise of a slave rebellion.”  

“Oh, no. How horrible,” Antonia muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Neve shot her a sharp look.  

“While we can all agree that slavery is immoral, this is hardly the right way to try to get rid of it,” she said.  

“Yes, because Maker forbid those slaves sought to liberate themselves in anything but the right way,” Antonia scoffed. She caught Dorian looking at her.  

“What was your name again, my dear?” he asked.  

Antonia shuffled her feet, suddenly feeling like a child who had been caught speaking out of turn. She hated herself for feeling that way.  

“I did not raise you to be a weakling!”  

“I’m Toni,” she said as proudly as she could.  

“Toni, I swear to you on my father’s ashes that I share your anger at my countrymen’s treatment of your people. Solas’s opposition to slavery is the one moral high ground he can claim, and he has used it to its fullest. His agents have been working tirelessly to spread the message of the Dread Wolf’s rise in Minrathous, and we would be foolish to dismiss how many of them are responding to that message. However, nothing that we’ve learned so far suggests Solas plans to try to seize power for himself or that he intends to improve things for the elves of Tevinter. Instead, he is likely betting on the Venatori taking advantage of the chaos and seize power from the Archon. And trust me when I say, that would be bad news for all.” 

“So, what’s the plan, then?” Antonia asked, trying not to dwell on the implications of Dorian’s words. “Kill him before things escalate in Minrathous?”  

Morrigan chuckled.  

“Your industriousness is commendable, but I’m afraid the task before you exceeds the simplicity of an ordinary assassin's mark. A god he may not be, but Solas is still one of the first of your people. The magic that sustains him cannot be erased by a mere jab of the blade.” 

“Are you saying he’s... immortal?”  

“Not exactly. He bleeds like any other mortal, and should you indeed be so fortunate as to drive a dagger through his heart, ‘tis likely he would indeed perish. However, ‘twould be naive of us to think he has not made some contingency measures now that his plans to tear down the Veil draw ever closer.”  

“So, what can we do, then?” Neve asked, worry etched on her face.   

Morrigan, Isabela and Dorian exchanged weighted glances. Just as Morrigan opened her mouth to speak, the tavern door burst open, momentarily flooding the dingy tavern with natural light. A tall elf sauntered toward them, his long hair tied in a messy knot. A spindly tattoo spanned his face like veins.  

“Ah, Iovren. ‘Tis good of you to join us. This is—”  

Before Morrigan could finish her sentence, Dorian scurried over to meet their guest.  

“Amatus, where were you? I was getting worried!” he exclaimed, his voice a significantly higher pitch than usual.  

“I was just haggling with this merchant who was selling Nevarran jewelry. Most of it was fake garbage that wouldn’t even fool Isabela, but look!” The elf tilted his head to show off his left ear which was adorned with a fine gold chain and blue rhinestones. “Doesn't it match my eyes perfectly ?” 

“You and your cheap baubles! I swear, you can be such a magpie sometimes!” Dorian scolded, but his admonishment was softened by undeniable affection. He grabbed the elf by the arm and led him to the table.  

“Come! Let me introduce you. Everyone, this is Iovren. My life partner.”  

“You know I hate that word,” Iovren pouted. “‘Life partner’, like we’re in business together or something.” 

“Amatus, I can’t just call you my boyfriend, now, can I? It sounds so unserious, and we’re both getting a little too old for that.”  

“How about your lover ?” Iovren suggested with a devious grin, wiggling his eyebrows.  

“And have the whole world think you’re still young and available? Forget it!” Dorian frowned, then leaned forward to give Iovren a light peck on the cheek. “You’re stuck with me for life, I’m afraid.” 

Iovren collapsed on one of the chairs with a dramatic sigh and put his feet up on the table. “We could just get married, you know, if you’re so worried about it.”  

“We’ve been over this,” Dorian said with equal exasperation. “The Imperial Chantry, the silly sods that they are, does not recognize a union between two men.” 

“So why don’t we just get married outside of Tevinter, then?”  

“Amatus, I—”  

“Ahem! ” Morrigan cleared her throat loudly. “We were discussing what we should do next, remember?”  

“Quite,” Dorian was quick to agree, seemingly to silence Iovren. Unfortunately, he had no such luck.  

“Oh, that’s simple,” Iovren said with cheeky smile, taking down his feet that had left a stain over Ferelden. “You need to find my sister.” 

“Find her?” Harding frowned. “Wasn’t the Inquisitor supposed to return by now?” 

“’Twould seem her mission in Arlathan Forest has proven more difficult than we thought,” Morrigan mused. “We haven’t been able to reach her for some time now.”  

“Hold on,” Antonia interjected, turning to Iovren. “Are you talking about the Inquisitor? She’s your  sister ?”  

“Twin sister, to be exact,” Iovren winked. “I’m the pretty one.”  

“Sometimes I do wish you were the quiet one instead,” Dorian seethed.  

“What was the Inquisitor doing in Arlathan Forest?” Lucanis asked.  

“She’s been visiting the Dalish clans in the North, trying to warn them about Solas,” Isabela said. 

“Getting them to listen, however, has proven difficult,” Neve muttered, fingering the ruffles of her blouse.  

“Solas is one of their ancient gods,” Harding argued. “It makes sense that some elves might think his return is a good thing.”  

“My people might be idiots, but they’re not usually violent,” Iovren said, worry creasing his features for the first. “Not towards their own, anyway.”  

“Which means something else must have gone wrong,” Antonia concluded.  

“Arlathan Forest isn’t that far,” Harding said. “If we can get horses, we should be there in three days. Two if we only take short rests.” 

Dorian nodded.  

“Go there. Inform the Inquisitor of what we’ve learned. Once you are back here, we will set off to Minrathous together.”  

“Wait! Before you go,” Isabela cried out, causing everyone in the room to jump. A mischievous grin spread across her sun-kissed face. “I believe I promised you all a grand tour.” 

*** 

The ship—if you could even call it that—was undoubtedly the saddest vessel ever to impose itself upon Afsaana’s docks. The slightest breeze caused it to groan and sway dangerously from side to side. Its sails had more holes than an Orlesian wheel of cheese. Even its figurehead, a dragon missing both its left wing and a good chunk of its face, seemed to hang its head in shame.

Standing in its presence, everyone was rendered utterly speechless, even Iovren.  

“Well, this is...” Neve began but seemingly couldn’t find a way to finish her sentence.  

“It looks a little... rickety,” Harding said.  

“Rickety? The Ossuary was in better condition than this, and that place was already underwater,” Antonia scoffed.  

“Is there, by any chance, a better ship hiding behind this hunk of rotted wood and moth-eaten sails?” Iovren inquired, attempting to peer past the barnacle-infested hull.  

“Oh, quit your whinging, all of you!” Isabela cried out. “She’s actually in surprisingly good condition, considering how cheap I got her.” 

“You paid money for this?” Lucanis demanded.  

“Just you wait till you see what she looks like underdeck!” 

“No, no! ‘Tis quite alright,” Morrigan said hastily. “I’m not sure it can support the extra weight.” 

“My dear Isabela, did your mother ever tell you the story of a young girl who was sent to the market to buy bread, only to return home with a bag of sand that the merchant claimed to be Andraste’s sacred ashes?” Dorian asked.  

Isabela’s expression darkened. “My mother wasn’t one to tell stories. She sold me for a goat and a handful of coin when I was very young.”  

“That… explains quite a bit, actually.”  

Isabela shot Dorian a sharp look.  

“I’ll have you know, I’m a much better haggler than my mother ever was.” 

“You, my dear, are priceless. This vessel, on the other hand…” 

As Isabela, Dorian and Morrigan proceeded to discuss the value of gold coin and big boats, and with Iovren occasionally chiming in with a cheeky comment or two, Antonia, Lucanis, Neve and Harding slipped away from docks and into the unknown.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: The Gift  

As she struggled to assemble her tent poles, it occurred to Antonia that she had never spent a night out in the wilds before. Even when she had accepted contracts outside of Antiva, she’d always made sure to plan her travel route so that there was a town or at least a roadside inn for her to stay in. As the din of the city had faded, and the buildings and the people had been replaced by trees, fields and wildlife, there was an overwhelming sense of quiet, of unending space both around and above her that made her speak in hushed tones. She felt small; not in a demeaning but humbling sort of way, like she had stepped inside an enormous Chantry. It also made her wonder if there were any bears or other dangerous animals in the area, but in fear of sounding ignorant or skittish, she never asked. Instead, she focused her efforts on getting a roof over her head as soon as possible. Even if it was only made of hemp. 

“Looks great!” Harding offered her much-needed words of encouragement as Antonia finally held up her poles, which were just barely holding together.  “Now, insert the end of the pole into the grommet.” 

“The what now?” Antonia frowned, almost losing hold of her poles.  

“It’s one of these rings. Here, let me show you.”  

Harding bent down to help Antonia. She had offered to do the whole work by herself, but Antonia had refused. She may have been a city elf, but she didn’t want anyone to believe she couldn’t pull her own weight. Her eyes darted over to Neve who was sitting on a tree stump taking notes. She hadn’t even bothered to try setting up her tent before allowing Harding to do it for her.  

The hairs at the back of Antonia’s neck stood up as she heard Lucanis’s steps approaching her. He moved as silently as a cat, but the hilt of his sword always announced his approach as it thudded softly against his leather armor. 

Antonia made herself look busy, following up on tasks Harding had already finished for her. She only allowed herself to glance at Lucanis briefly as he came to stand next to her. 

“Do you need some help?” he asked.  

“No, thank you!” Antonia retorted a tad too quickly. “We’re pretty much finished here. Right, Harding?”  

“Huh? Oh, yeah! Just need to pull this one up here, and... We’re done!”  

The fact that she couldn’t reach the ceiling of the tent didn’t seem to slow Harding down at all. With the hemp in place, she dusted off her hands before placing them on her hips and regarded her handiwork with a satisfied nod. “It’ll do. Lucanis, do you need my help to—Woah!”  

Harding’s exclamation made Antonia turn around. Even Neve looked up from her notebook. They all stared at Lucanis’s tent, dumbfounded. 

It was big.  

So big, in fact, that all their tents could have easily fit inside it. The cover was made of rich black fabric, adorned with detailed purple embroidery that glimmered in the moonlight. The symbol of the Antivan Crows embellished the entrance. 

It was more of a pavilion than an ordinary tent.  

Harding whistled.  

“That’s some tent you got there, Lucanis! How did you manage to set it up so quickly by yourself?” 

“Illario and I used to go camping when we were younger. He was never one for manual labor, so setting up the tent always fell on me.” Lucanis glanced up at his temporary abode. “This one is very old at this point.” 

“This one? You mean you have several of these?” Harding gasped.  

“Of course,” Lucanis replied, apparently baffled by the notion that he might only have one.  

It took Antonia everything in her power not to roll her eyes.  

“Well, somebody certainly likes travelling in style,” Neve remarked with a look on her face that was half-sardonic, half-impressed.  

“Well, I am Antivan,” he said with a coy smile, looking down at his shoes. “And a Crow.” 

Neve turned to Antonia with a quirked eyebrow.  

“So, where’s your lavish tent, then, Toni?”  

“I must have misplaced it,” Antonia said through gritted teeth. “Together with my rounded ears and royal Crow bloodline. Oh, wait. I don’t have any of those, do I?”  

The air in the camp suddenly became heavy. Antonia locked eyes with Lucanis who had grown very serious and very, very quiet. 

“I’ve always wondered about that, actually,” Harding said with forced levity. “How do the Crow Houses work, exactly? Caterina is the Talon of the First House, right? Does that mean you answer to her as well, Toni?” 

“Not exactly,” Antonia answered when she realized Lucanis wasn’t going to. He was still staring at her, intensely. “Caterina leads the First House, and each House operates independently within its own area. In Rialto, where I come from, the Fifth House rules, with Viago de Riva as its Talon. He is my boss, officially. However, not all Houses are created equal. Some are older and wealthier than others and thus have more influence over how things are run,” Antonia said while shooting a pointed glare at Lucanis. “So, in that sense, yes, I guess you could call her the boss of all Crows.” 

“That’s not true,” Lucanis countered. “All the Talons are equal when it comes to deciding important matters that concern the Guild. Everybody’s voice gets heard.” 

“Well, I’m not a Talon, am I?” Antonia spat back. “Nor am I destined to become one. I’m just a rank-and-file assassin. The world looks a little different when you grow up in the gutter instead of a mansion.” 

This time no one attempted to break the silence that ensued, nor did they try to stop Antonia when she muttered something about going out to get firewood (because that was a thing people did when they were out camping, right?) before storming off into the nearby woods.  

It was childish, she knew. Childish and melodramatic and stupid. But what was she supposed to do? Pretend like it hadn’t been a shock seeing Villa Dellamorte for the first time? That it hadn’t felt like a slap in the face to someone like her who had spent her whole life trying to pay off her debt to the Crows? The debt of being bought, broken down and remolded in the shape of a blade while every morsel of food she ate, every piece of equipment she broke, was dotted down as an additional cost that accrued interest as the years went by, all to ensure that by the time her training was done, hanging over her head was a debt so large, it would take her a lifetime to pay it back. And for Lucanis to flaunt his wealth so casually, to act like it was nothing! It solidified in Antonia’s mind the thought that at the end of the day, every life she had taken and every drop of blood she had bled was so that somebody else could sit atop a mountain of gold while she and so many others barely scraped by. 

It was no way to live.  

There was no way to live…

Without realizing it, Antonia had broken into a run. She stopped dead in her tracks, knowing full well that one more step might mean she wouldn’t be able to find her way back. She closed her eyes and listened to the ambient sounds of nature. The leaves rustling in the wind, the happy gurgle of a brook somewhere close by. And then, footsteps.  

Antonia snapped to attention, listening more closely. It was a person, a human perhaps, and they were approaching her. As she reached out for her dagger, she discerned something peculiar in the sound of the footsteps; a metallic thud ringing in the rhythm of them. 

Antonia frowned.  

“Neve?” she called out just as the mage emerged from behind a thicket of bushes.

“Hey, you,” Neve called out, brushing through her silky-smooth hair with her fingers to ensure no leaves or sticks had stuck to her tresses. “How did you know it was me?”

“Your footsteps.”

“Perceptive,” she murmured approvingly. Antonia noticed she was carrying a staff. Apparently she was also aware of the danger the local wildlife presented.

Antonia rubbed her neck.

“Look, I really don’t feel like talking about what happened.” 

“Good, because that’s not why I’m here,”  Neve said with a wry smile. She offered the staff to her. “I wanted you to have this.” 

“What?” Antonia stepped back, staring at the staff as though expecting it to combust spontaneously. “Why would you give that to me?” 

“To practice, of course!” Neve laughed, clearly amused by her reaction. “Look, what you do with just your hands and a dagger, it’s impressive, don’t get me wrong! But you’re a mage. You should at least know how to use a staff.” 

Antonia gave her a wary look.

“Last time I checked, you weren’t exactly thrilled about me joining the team. Now you’re gifting me a dangerous weapon?” 

A crease formed on Neve’s otherwise flawless features, only to melt away a moment later. “Look, I know you and I got off on the wrong foot. And that’s largely my fault. I have a bad habit of being overly suspicious. It’s an occupational hazard.”  

Antonia stared at her in utter disbelief. She had not expected an apology, much less a gift.

She cleared her throat.

“Yeah, I’ve been known to be guilty of that myself.”

Neve offered her a smile. There was a warm glow to her face that Antonia hadn’t noticed before.

“What I wanted to say was, I’m glad you’ve joined the team. I’m sure your skills will be very useful to us. And I don’t mind your company either.”  

With no excuses left, Antonia grudgingly accepted the gift. The staff was made out of metal, with leather strips rolled around the middle to make it easier to hold. Held upright, it reached Antonia to the chin, a blue lyrium crystal blooming at the end.

Antonia felt it pulling at her, like the moon pulls the tides.

She lowered the staff.

“Couldn’t you just have given me something else? Like one of those really elaborate hats you’re always wearing?” she said.

Neve cocked her head, giving her a cheeky grin. “I’ll see what I can do the next time I visit my seamstress in Dock Town. For now, though, let’s focus on the staff, shall we?” 

“It’s so heavy!” Antonia complained, lifting the thing up and down like a dumbbell. “How am I supposed to move around with this?” 

“You don’t. You stay in the back and use it to create a shield in case someone approaches you.” 

“Sounds boring.”  

“Stop grousing! Come on, give it a go!” 

 With a loud moan, Antonia turned around, held up the staff, and closed her eyes. She felt the flow of mana coarsing through her. She directed it intuitively towards her fingertips, but this time it was pulled in a different direction instead.

The staff started vibrating in her hands.

Her eyes snapped open as a bolt of lightning shot out of the lyrium crystal, followed by rumbling thunder. She yelped as the tree a few feet away caught fire, but before it could do little more than singe the leaves, Neve was already there to create a pocket of blizzard that suppressed the flames in an instant. Even after the danger was over, snowflakes continued to swirl in the air.

Antonia swallowed.

“Neve, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

“You’re not used to working with a magical conduit,” Neve said matter-of-factly. “The boost that it gives to your natural power can feel overwhelming at first. It takes a while to learn how to control and direct it.”

Antonia offered her the staff back.

“I think it’s best if I just stick to what I know.”

“Oh, come now. You’re not giving up that easily, are you?” Neve quipped jovially, though a hint of real concern lurked behind her words. “That was only your first try! You should have seen the damage I caused the first time I held a staff.”

“Oh, and how old were you at the time? Ten?” Antonia scoffed.

“Six, actually. It was on my birthday. My magic had just manifested and my parents wanted me to start practicing as soon as possible. So, they gifted me my very first staff, and I used it to keep anyone from entering my room by conjuring a huge block of ice in the doorway. It was all fun at first until the ice wouldn’t melt or go away. For a while there, I was afraid I was going to be stuck in there forever.”

Antonia looked down, regretting her words.

“That must have been scary.” 

Neve shrugged. There were no traces of pain or bitterness on her face.

“Sometimes, making mistakes is the only way we learn.”

“It also makes you think whether it’s worth learning at all,” Antonia muttered, her eyes falling on the staff at her hands.

Neve took a step towards her, placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Look, I know things work differently outside Tevinter, but being a mage, having this ability to shape reality with your will alone... It’s a gift, and you should learn to use it.” 

“I’ve done just fine so far,” Antonia snapped, shrugging the hand off.

“I know. Frankly, I’m amazed at what you’ve achieved, considering you were never properly trained.”

Antonia blinked. She didn’t recall telling Neve she had never been to a Circle, although judging by what had just occurred, she supposed it was obvious at that point. However, Neve’s words didn’t sound like mockery or even like a direct question given the way she said them. Instead, they were like a door left slightly ajar; a subtle invitation to come in if she felt like it.

Antonia sighed.

“I was recruited to the Crows when I was ten. My powers manifested shortly after that. They hired an enchanter to come and train me for a while, just so I could learn how to control them.”

“So, why use a dagger instead of a staff? It must take so much concentration just to maintain a steady flow of mana that way,” Neve asked.

“I guess I wanted to fit in.”

Hearing the words spoken aloud forced a bitter laugh out of Antonia. She realized she had never admitted that to anyone. She wished she hadn’t done so now. It made her sound so… pathetic. Weak.

For a while, Neve didn’t say anything. Finally, she crossed her arms, nodded at the staff, and said, “Come on. Try again.”

***

Antonia knew her mother was still mad at her by the way she gripped her hand. Normally, she let Antonia set the pace, but that morning, she dragged Antonia behind her so forcefully that one of her sandals slipped off her foot. She tried to go back to pick it up, but her mother wouldn’t stop walking.

Mami, I’m sorry! Please don’t be mad.

Antonia tried to keep up but her feet were too short. She stepped on a piece of glass, and the sole of her bare foot started bleeding. The sun was high in the sky. Sweat mixed with her tears.

I didn’t mean to set Quito on fire! I won’t do it again, I promise! I was just trying to light the candle.

Human shapes towered all around her like pillars of salt. Had they always been so grey and uniform? Somewhere in the background, someone was auctioning a boy around her age.

If his eye doesn’t heal, I can help Quito with his chores.

Antonia saw the stand now. The merchandise was on display. It had no faces, just naked bodies.

I’m not a mage, mami! It was just an accident.

Her mother let go of Antonia’s hand. She tried to catch it again, but it got lost in the crowd. Antonia screamed, but all she heard were prices.

Mami! Please don’t leave me! Mami!

A rough hand yanked her onto the stand.

***

Antonia jolted awake and realized two things.

One, it was still nighttime.

Two, she wasn’t alone.

Just an inch from her face, a pair of vivid purple eyes pierced through the darkness, their unwavering gaze fixed on her.

Chapter Text

When faced with a nightly intruder, most people’s first instinct would have been to scream. But Antonia was not most people. 

Her first instinct was to act.  

She always kept a knife under her pillow, but she was in a compromised position, lying flat on her back while Spite hovered over her like an apparition. His eyes created a small bubble of light that sealed them both from the darkness that otherwise governed the night. It was as if the whole world existed in the glow of those eyes alone.

Frozen in place, Antonia’s senses sharpened to a razor’s edge. She racked her brain to come up with a plan.

She could grab his arm and shock him. That should be enough to jolt Lucanis awake. Even if it wasn’t, he would hopefully be incapacitated at least for a few seconds, which would give her enough time to knee him in the stomach, grab her knife, shove him off her, and—

“You were screaming.” 

Spite’s voice stopped Antonia’s train of thought dead on its tracks. Normally, every word the demon spoke sounded like the result of much struggle, but now, his speech flowed freely, like water out of a broken dam. There was still a trace of Lucanis in there—a dark, raspy undertone that always caused Antonia’s heart to beat a little faster—but it was more subdued somehow, as if he had been pushed to the furthest recess of his own body and mind.

“W-what?” she sputtered, unsure she had even understood what Spite said.

“You were dreaming.”

Antonia’s body tensed up. Falling asleep was difficult enough knowing that Fen’Harel might be waiting for her in the Fade. Now she also had to worry about a spite demon spying on her dreams?

She listened to the quiet night air and narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“If I was screaming, how come no one else is awake?”

“They don’t hear.” 

“What do you mean?”

“They are not in the prison.”

Antonia frowned.  

“Prison? What prison?”

Spite gnashed his teeth.

“We must get out!” he hissed.

Antonia sat up, pulled her knees against her chest.

“It was just a dream, Spite,” she sighed, raking her fingers through her hair. They’d only been on the road for a day, and her curls were already getting hopelessly tangled.  

“Who is Mami?”  

Her fingers stopped.

“My mother,” Antonia admitted. She was too exhausted, both physically and mentally, to even try to prevaricate. 

Spite leaned in close, inhaling deeply as the tip of his nose nuzzled into her matted hair.

“Stop that!” Antonia cried out, swatting at him. Spite blinked at her, dumbfounded, before resuming his sniffing. Had it been any other man, Antonia would have reached for her knife long ago and given him a bloody reminder of what it meant to treat her like that. But, for some reason, Spite’s intrusion into her personal space didn’t feel like a violation —just an annoyance.

Sweet Andraste, what does it say about the men of this world that I feel safer with an actual demon than with any of them?

“Bitterness and betrayal. The quickly fading warmth of her hand. The hollow ache of being unwanted.”

Antonia steeled herself, locking her face into a well-practiced sneer.

“That’s quite the talent you’ve got. You should set up shop with one of those Rivaini fortune tellers.”

“Why?”

“For coin, what else?”

“No,” Spite shook his head ferociously. “Why does she make you sad?”

The question caught Antonia off-guard. It should have been a relief, knowing Spite hadn’t seen what had happened in her dream, but to her great horror, Antonia caught herself wishing that he had. Because then, at least somebody would know. And it wouldn’t have been her fault. To let people know you was to give them the means to destroy you, but if somebody happened to eavesdrop on her dreams, she couldn’t be blamed for that, could she? More than anything, she wanted the decision of what to disclose and what to hide to be taken from her, because when it fell on her, she always ended up choosing one while secretly hoping for the other.

Only this time, she didn’t.

“Because she abandoned me,” she found herself saying. “When it turned out I was a mage, my mother took me to the market on the day there was a slave auction and left me there.” She scoffed, trying to cover up the hurt in her voice with derision. “She should have set up a stall and sold me herself. At least that way one of us would have profited from it.”

Saying the words out loud made her feel like she was about to choke. She could hear Salvador screaming in her ears, the bone-shattering crack of his cane as it hit her in the face, but she clenched her teeth, took a deep breath and refused to yield to it.

Spite gave her an unblinking stare.

“She should die.”

An incredulous chuckle escaped from Antonia’s lips.

“What?” 

“She should die for making you sad.” 

She smiled despite herself.   

“If that was a death sentence, you would rack up quite the body count.” 

“I would.” 

The unyielding certainty in his otherworldly voice made her laugh in earnest. And once she started, she couldn’t stop. She wasn’t sure if it was the sudden sense of immense relief or sheer exhaustion, but she broke out in hysterics, howling with laughter until her stomach hurt and there were tears in her eyes. She imagined Harding or Neve waking up to hear her cackling in the dark like a hyena, which only exacerbated the problem. All the while, Spite kept looking at her, his head tilted to one side, a small, confused smile on his lips.

“You know what, Spite?” Antonia finally managed to say between suppressed giggles. “You’re not that bad.”

“Neither are you.”

Antonia stopped laughing and looked at him, tears of laughter still gleaming in her eyes. His words prodded her, not like a cane but like a hand reaching out to her through a barrier she had erected around herself.

She knew that he meant something different by them.

An air of profound stillness settled between them. Antonia opened her mouth to say something—she wasn’t entirely sure what—when suddenly, all the light in the world flickered before going out, and she was submerged in the cold dark of night once more. She heard a drowsy grunt.

“What…?”

Antonia’s pulse quickened. Although she had known what was going on right away, hearing Lucanis’s voice still made her flinch.

Neither of them said or did anything. The silence between them was like a spider’s web, and they were both caught in it. A single movement caused the space around them to vibrate. Antonia could have sworn they were both holding their breath.

As she leaned back, she accidentally brushed against Lucanis’s forearm. She realized he must have rolled up the sleeves of his undershirt. A picture of Illario’s revealing silk shirt flashed in her mind. Was Lucanis’s chest bare at this very moment?  

She pulled back her hand as though his skin had just burned her. Her face heated up.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

The darkness swallowed the rest of Antonia’s words. Her voice was shaking.

“What’s wrong?” Lucanis asked, a sense of urgency in his voice. “Did Spite… Did I hurt you?”  

Antonia sensed him raising his hand tentatively, only to pull it back down again. The scent of cedarwood and leather overwhelmed her senses. His scent. She struggled to speak.

“N-No, nothing like that. I was just…” She shook her head and closed her eyes, as if that would help her block out the scent.

Pull yourself together, for Andraste’s sake!

She took a deep, shaky breath.

“It was nothing. I’m fine. You’re fine.”

Her eyes were getting used to the dark now. She could make out the shape of his body and face. Daytime was approaching.

When he next spoke, the softness in his voice was gone, replaced by feverish earnestness.

“I am so sorry for this. I will leave at once.” 

Before Antonia could object, Lucanis was gone.

She hugged her knees close to her chest and shivered.

***

As soon as she heard Harding and Neve had woken up, Antonia sprung out of her tent and informed them she was going to the nearby river to wash up. The morning air was crisp and chilly. Dry twigs rustled under her soles.

She leaned over the creek to splash some ice-cold water on her face, after which she grabbed the bar of soap she’d brought with her and started scrubbing her hair. Once she was done, she gathered her mahogany curls inside her towel and wrapped it around her head. The currents were soft enough for her to make out the contours of her face, splotches of discolored skin where her scars were. Her ears looked particularly big and pointed without the curtain of hair to cover them up.

Elves were often said to be beautiful, but in Antonia’s experience, that was only true for some of them. In that sense, they were exactly like humans. Serena had been a beautiful elf, with her big, round eyes and heart-shaped face, and the world had rewarded her for it by treating her like a soft piece of fabric everybody wanted to touch and wrap around their skin. Next to her, Antonia had always seemed plain, with her small, hooded eyes and long face, and she had learned to be grateful for it. Aside from the occasional scornful look and muffled slurs, Antonia could walk through life unnoticed, while Serena had never been left alone.

Antonia shook her head at her reflection. No, the attention of humans was not worth having.

By the time she returned to the camp, everyone else had already packed up their tents and were ready to set off. Antonia hurried over to her own tent, only to realize Lucanis had already packed it up for her, together with the rest of her things. Her gaze darted between the neatly folded pile on the ground and Lucanis who was busying himself with his horse. She grabbed her things and said nothing.

The landscape was gradually shifting from well-maintained roads and fields to a fully-grown forest. The great ruins of Arlathan Forest loomed ahead. Antonia almost expected to feel different somehow, as though she could sense the moment her horse’s hooves entered the land that had once belonged to her ancestors. But she didn’t. She felt nothing. The past was a dead, imaginary thing that held no comfort for her.

“I guess we’ve finally left Rivain behind us,” she said, trying to distract herself from the growing sense of unease gathered at the pit of her stomach.

“Actually, we crossed the border a few miles back. See those rock formations?” Neve said and pointed at the protruding boulders that stretched towards the sky like colossal arms. “They’re called the Perveniens. That’s old Tevene for ‘reaching.’”  

“I can see why they’re called that!” Harding chimed in.

“Right. The Perveniens is one of the seven national landmarks of Tevinter,” Neve continued. “Which means we’re on imperial soil.”

Antonia clasped the reins of her horse so hard, she could feel her knuckles turning white inside her gloves. She kept peering over her shoulder to see if they were being followed. Every time, all she saw was Lucanis.

As the trees closed in around them, the horses became more agitated. Even Antonia could sense something shifting in the air. It was almost like—

“Magic,” Lucanis said to the surprise of everyone.

“How can you tell?” Neve asked.

“Makes my eyeballs itch.”

Neve and Antonia exchanged looks. The treetops swayed gently in the wind. Antonia pulled her horse closer to Harding’s.

“We’re being watched,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Harding muttered. “There doesn’t seem to be that many of them, though. Maybe two or three?”

Antonia nodded, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was lurking up in the trees, to no avail. She stroked the mane of her horse to calm him down.

“I think it might be best if we just talk to them,” Harding said, loud enough for anyone who was spying on them to hear.

“Hard to have a conversation with someone who doesn’t even show their face,” Neve retorted dryly.

“It might goad them into attacking us,” Lucanis warned.

“What do you think, Toni?” Harding asked.

Antonia snapped to attention. She hadn’t expected anyone to care about her opinion.

“They know we’re here, and also that we know about them,” she mused. “If they wanted to attack, they’ve already lost the element of surprise. I say go for it.”

Harding nodded and pulled her pony to a halt.

“Hello?” she called out to the trees. “We know you’re up there. My name is Lace Harding. These are my travelling companions. We’ve come to this forest in search of a friend. I think you might know her.”

Antonia could have sworn she caught a glimpse of movement in the corner of her eye, but by the time she turned to look, it was already gone. Just as she was about to write off her observations as nothing more than a gust of wind, she saw three elves approaching them.

They were an imposing sight with their masterfully crafted bows and colorful clan tattoos. The one in the middle, a tall, dark elf in his middle age, came to stand before them, his brow furrowed in a critical scowl, while the two others—a man and a woman—stayed further back.

“You’re a long way from home, Ferelden,” the elf said to Harding before turning to Antonia. His expression softened ever so slightly. “An'daran Atish'an, lethallan.”

Everybody looked at Antonia expectantly.

“Uhh… Yeah. Hi,” she retorted.

There was a pause. Harding poked Antonia’s side with her elbow.

“What? I don’t speak Elvish.”

“The proper response would be, ‘Enaste’ or ‘Enastesha.’ Even I know that,” Harding lectured her.

“Well, excuse me for growing up in the city,” Antonia muttered.

“As did many of our brothers and sisters,” the elven man said, smiling now. “It is nothing to be ashamed of. Just know that you are as welcome here as any Dalish elf would be.”

“Right. Uhh… Thanks. I mean…’ma serannas?” Antonia felt the tips of her ears burning. Out of all the tell-tale signs of embarrassment, that was the one she had never learned to control.

“What brings you to Arlathan Forest?” the elven woman asked. She was even shorter than Antonia and very daintily built, yet there was an unmistakable air of strength and resilience about her.

“Right. Like I said, we’re looking for someone,” Harding proceeded. “Her name is Lealan. Lealan Lavellan. You may also know her as the Inquisitor.”

The elves looked at each other, an unspoken conversation passing between them. Finally, the tall dark elf nodded.

“Come. We will take you to our camp. Keeper Merrill will wish to speak with you.”

Chapter Text

“Imagine,” Fen’Harel had once said, “a world suffused with magic. A world so colorful, so bright, that the one before you now would appear monochrome in comparison. And on top of it all, an elven civilization more magnificent than anything that has come before or since. That is what was taken from us. That is what we seek to reclaim.”

Is this the world he spoke of? Antonia wondered as she regarded the floating island in the distance, surrounded by slowly revolving rings of debris.

The magical anomalies had been inconspicuous at first—droplets of water bending slightly too far to one side over here, unnaturally rich shades of green, blue and purple over there—but by the time the first aravels came to view, they became impossible to ignore.

“They’re caused by old elven artifacts,” the old elf, Strife, explained. “There’s a large concentration of them in Arlathan Forest, and they’ve all started acting up more and more lately.”

“Why?” Harding asked.

“Hard to say. We have theories, though. Everyone knows the Dread Wolf is planning something big in the North. Could be what he’s doing is weakening the Veil somehow.”

“That’s interesting. When he was with the Inquisition, Solas asked me to track down these old elven artifacts. He said they helped strengthen the Veil.”

“Some of them do,” the other elf, Irelin, said. “However, even the ones that weren’t designed for that purpose shouldn’t be causing anomalies such as these. Something has definitely gone awry. That is one of the reasons Lavellan set out to the forest, to look for answers.”

“Did anyone go with her?” Lucanis asked, no doubt thinking the same thing they all were. Setting out to the forest alone was a bad idea, even without the hazard posed by unprecedented magical anomalies. 

“No, she insisted that she go at it alone. She said it helps her to…” Irelin’s voice tapered out. She suddenly seemed embarrassed.

“Helps her to do what?” Neve asked.

“To…” Irelin hesitated. “To hear the voices better.”

Before any of them could inquire further, Strife announced they had arrived. Antonia looked around her and felt a strange sense of relief, like she had unwittingly been holding her breath this entire time. It took her a moment to realize why.

She was standing in an elven community. A thriving elven community.

Serena used to speak fondly of her alienage, but to Antonia, it had always been a place of misery, a prison with bars made of inequity and squalor. The sense of belonging Serena had described had sounded as foreign and fairytale-like to Antonia as the stories about the Dalish. But here they were, in the flesh. A vibrant community filled with people whose eyes weren’t glazed from working multiple shifts at whatever menial jobs they could get or passed out in a puddle of their own urine. Some even spoke Elvish! They weren’t rich by any means, that much could easily be gleaned from the patchwork sails of the aravels, but they radiated a sense of joy, of vitality that seemed like the antithesis of what Antonia had thought possible for people like her. A small child smiled at her as he scampered past. She couldn’t help but smile back.

They passed all the way through the camp until Strife stopped before a woman leaning against the fence of the halla pen, munching on an apple while reading an old scroll. Like all Dalish, she wore the markings of her culture and her people on her face, although the style of her facial tattoo differed from the ones Antonia had seen so far. Her black hair reached down to her shoulders. A crown of daisies sat atop her head.

Despite appearing deeply absorbed, the elf seemed to sense their approach.

“Hello, Strife,” she said before their guide ever had the chance to speak, her eyes never leaving the scroll. Her voice carried a foreign lilt that reminded Antonia of a songbird’s trill.

“Keeper Merrill,” Strife retorted, bowing his head slightly. “We have guests.”

That was finally enough to draw Merrill’s attention away from her scroll. Her inquisitive moss-green eyes scrutinized them from head to toe, but Antonia got the sense that it was out of child-like curiosity rather than an attempt to intimidate.

Merrill’s face broke into a dazzling smile.

“Oh! An’eth’ara! What brings you to these woods? You’re not poachers, I hope.”

Antonia and the team exchanged puzzled glances.

“What makes you think we would be poachers?” Harding asked. 

“Well, you’re carrying quite a few weapons. I suppose you could also be mercenaries.” Merrill’s eyes settled on Lucanis, who was by far the most heavily armed of the four. He bristled.

“Please. An assassin has little in common with a simple sellsword,” he declared proudly.

“Oo! An assassin! How exciting!” Merrill squealed, utterly unperturbed by the fact that a professional killer (or two, unbeknownst to her) had just entered her camp. “Do you have a contract on one of us? Strife, do you remember those Tevinter assassins that one magister from Ventus sent after us?”

“You remember the incident far more fondly than I do, Keeper,” Strife grunted.

“I do wish you wouldn’t call me that,” Merrill reproached him gently. “We’re not Dalish, you know.”

“You’re not?” Antonia blurted out. Merrill shook her head so vigorously, it caused one of the white petals of her daisy crown to fall down on the matted fur of her shoulder pads.

“Many of us were born as such, but it is not who we are anymore. We’re Veil Jumpers.”

Antonia shot a questioning look at Neve, Harding and Lucanis. They all appeared equally confused.

“Who are the Veil Jumpers?” she asked.

“I suppose we’re less well-known in the South,” Merrill said. Her brow creased into a deep furrow. “When Fen’Harel started recruiting elves all over Thedas, there was a split among the Dalish. Some clans considered him a dangerous madman. Others believed he was the actual god of lies, trying to lead the elves astray. And then there were those who… well..”

“Those who would follow him,” Antonia finished her thought. Merrill nodded.

“And which faction do you fall under?” Neve asked. “Not the one plotting the end of the world, I hope.”

“No! We’re different,” Merrill chirped, her eyes lighting up once again. “Not just from them, but from the other clans as well. We have no intention of joining the Dread Wolf, but we also recognize that if we are to stand against him, we must learn how to control the artifacts of our ancestors.”

“We’ve dedicated ourselves to studying ancient elven magic,” Strife added, his voice edged with bitter defiance. “Even if it means we are ostracized by the rest of the Dalish.”

“I don’t understand. Why would the Dalish have a problem with you studying ancient elven magic? Isn’t that what they’re all about?” Antonia said.

Merrill sighed.

“Superstition is rife among the Dalish, I’m afraid. Even if they do not wish to help the Dread Wolf, they don’t want to do anything to anger him either. We know that many of these artifacts interest him, which makes some Dalish believe that studying the artifacts will bring his wrath upon them. Meanwhile, those who have joined him see our research as malicious meddling.”

“So, rather than standing united, the Dalish choose to bicker among themselves?” Harding exclaimed, incredulous.

“I’m afraid so,” Merrill shook her head morosely. “Sometimes I truly fear this will be the end of my people.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Strife interjected, patting her on the shoulder. “No matter what we call ourselves, we elves aren’t going anywhere.”

“That’s right,” Irelin joined him, laying a hand on Merrill’s other shoulder. “We will safeguard our people’s history and also their future.”

Antonia watched the three of them as they huddled together. In the shadow of their sad resilience, the bustling camp and its people appeared in a whole new light. They were fighting against the inevitable, she realized, for a world that had never truly been theirs. Worse, that world had never really existed. Whatever conception they had of the elves and their history was nothing more than a dream, and they would soon be in for a rude awakening. The Dread Wolf was going to rise and usher in a new age that spelled the end of everything they knew. Refusing to accept this was to give in to the weakness of denial.

And Antonia despised weakness.

“That’s all well and good, but we’re actually looking for the Inquisitor,” she said brusquely.

Merrill turned to look at Antonia, her eyes suddenly brimming with a fierce, fiery light.

“Lealan? You know her?”

She pronounced the Inquisitor’s name like a long-held promise, secret and precious.

“Yes. It’s imperative that we find her,” Harding stepped in. “Where exactly did she go?”

“We don’t know,” Merrill frowned. “She’s been tracking down a particularly potent artifact for a while now. A few weeks ago, she found a strong lead and decided to follow it. We haven’t heard from her since.” She covered her face with her hands. “I shouldn’t have let her go on her own.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Harding comforted her. “The Inquisitor can take care of herself. Besides, I’m a pretty good tracker, and Neve here’s an investigator. I’m sure we’ll find her.”

“No. You’ll need someone who knows the forest to go with you. Otherwise, you’re bound to get lost,” Irelin insisted.

“Bellara will go with them,” Merrill said resolutely, addressing Harding. “She’s one of the best Veil Jumpers we have. If you encounter any magical anomalies, she should be able to take care of them.”

“Bellara returned recently from another expedition,” Strife said. “I’ll go find her.”

Antonia and the rest followed him, leaving Merrill and Irelin to discuss something in hushed voices. They soon stopped before a young woman with long dark hair who was crouching down over what at first appeared to be an ordinary spyglass, only for it to suddenly sprout open like a flower. The blue glow of lyrium emanated from inside the device’s core.

“Aha!” she exclaimed jubilantly. “Got it!”

Strife cleared her throat. The woman jumped up, large earrings jangling in her pointed ears. Her eyes widened as she turned around to face them.

“Oh, wow!” she gasped, her gaze flitting frantically between the four of them.

“Bellara,” Strife said in a stern voice, forcing her to focus on him instead. “Merrill has a job for you. You need to go back to the forest and help these people find Lavellan.”

“Lavellan?” the woman called Bellara repeated, confused. “But didn’t she specifically say we should just wait here until she got back?”

“The situation has changed. Something bad is brewing in Minrathous, and Lavellan needs to be informed. Also, Merrill is getting worried.”

“Hmm,” Bellara mused, quickly retreating to the deep chambers of her own mind. “I suspect she headed west. The concentration of magical anomalies is particularly strong there. That’s also where the old palace is. Maybe if I could somehow trace the residual energies of the power crystal oscillations, I could…”

“Great! You can figure out the details among yourselves,” Strife cut in, clearly eager to remove himself from the conversation.

Left alone with Bellara, Antonia suddenly felt like they were all a bunch of kids whose parents had just shooed them outside and shut the door behind them with little idea what to do next.

Bellara scuffed her toe on the ground.

“So, who are you people, exactly?”

***

Antonia had thought that ancient elven artifacts would stick out in nature like a sore thumb, but instead she soon realized that the forest had grown around them, claiming them as its own, to the point where they appeared, to her untrained eye, as part of the terrain. In no time at all, she had passed by countless relics that Bellara immediately spotted and wanted to inspect more closely.

“Some of these have been activated recently,” she explained after tinkering away at yet another power crystal. She seemed to carry an entire toolkit in the various pouches and pockets of her outfit. “Which means we’re on the right track. Probably.”

Antonia jumped as tiles appeared out of thin air to form a bridge in front of them.

“Don’t worry! It’s perfectly safe,” Bellara assured them. “Most of the time, anyway.”

Antonia looked at her like she had lost her mind. But as Neve and Harding stepped on the bridge, she had no choice but to swallow her fears and follow their lead. She heard Lucanis uttering a displeased groan behind her. She was secretly grateful for it.

And so their journey through the forest continued with Bellara prattling on about her theories about the Veil and the Fade, all the while performing quick fixes to age-old elven technology. Although she was not a mage, she had a much deeper understanding of magic than Antonia did.

“We know Fen’Harel created the Veil, but we’re still not entirely sure how he did it,” Bellara said. “There are theories, of course. Some say he used blood magic, others think it was with interconnected artifacts placed all over Thedas, like knots in a giant invisible fishnet. There are even theories that say the Veil is actually sustained by the lives of spirits, but I don’t think that’s true. Fen’Harel was a friend to the spirits, right? He wouldn’t use their lifeforce like that.”  

Wouldn’t he? Antonia wondered to herself.

She always tried to steer her thoughts away from questions regarding Fen’Harel and his motives. Such speculation was a fruitless endeavor that served only to frustrate and confound. More importantly, no good could come out of knowing, because if nothing else, Antonia knew with absolute certainty that the answers to those questions would only bring pain. She recognized another desperate soul when she saw one.

But sometimes, she just couldn’t help but wonder.

In the short time she had known him, Antonia had learned that Fen’Harel was a man driven by a singular purpose—to fix what he thought was wrong with the world, all the while knowing that what had once made it worth saving was long gone. She understood that about him, and she respected it. She didn’t need to believe what he believed. She only needed to believe in him. Because through him, she could achieve the one thing that was left to her.

Revenge.

Antonia staggered to a halt as she realized Bellara, Harding and Neve were all staring up at something. She tilted her head and opened her mouth in awe.

Before them stood the ruins of a multi-tiered castle, floating in the air. Its white spires hovered around the structure, separate from the main building whose vine-covered walls had withstood millennia of neglect.

“Mierda…” Lucanis uttered.

“Yeah,” Antonia agreed and swallowed. “Is this…?”

“The city of Arlathan,” Bellara said, her voice a reverent whisper. “Or, more specifically, Mythal’s palace.”

Chapter Text

#3 Thought Fragments

They force it down his throat.

It’s no bigger than a piece of ravioli, but his body resists it every step of the way. He doesn’t recall the taste. He only recalls the pain, the physicality of that moment when Zara’s lackeys pry his mouth open, the feeling of their gloved fingers against his teeth, the cold touch of metal on his tongue.

He’s strapped to the table, his arms and legs tied down in several places by lyrium-threaded rope that cuts into his skin if he resists. For weeks after, he keeps touching the throbbing gashes in the dark of his cell. Only now can he see the scars.

But still, it takes three of them to keep him still long enough for the magic to do its work. He learns to derive satisfaction from that fact.

Zara’s hands glow as she casts the spell. Her whole frame is enveloped in a dark, terrifying halo. The thing inside him responds, bouncing off the walls of his stomach like a sharp piece of metal. The pain comes in waves. First the heat, then the cold. He bangs his head against the table, hoping it will drive out whatever has just hatched inside him. When that doesn’t work, he tries to at least knock himself unconscious. That doesn’t work either.

His body twists and convulses until the pressure inside him forces the thing out of its shell, turning it—no, turning him—into something monstrous.

He vows never to sleep again.

Ancient elven architecture, much like the ancient elves themselves, was ostentatious and extravagant. Even though much of the building was lost to time and deterioration, the details engraved on the walls of Mythal’s old palace were still discernible; the statues of the elven gods embedded in the stone, the colorful mosaics that paved the way inside, each detailing events that took place when the palace was first built. The main tower, which was the only one still attached to the building, reached all the way up to the sky, so high that Antonia imagined the inhabitants gazing out of their large windows and seeing only clouds.

Even the bridge that led up to the palace differed from the others. Conjured up in midair, it was flanked by massive columns that made Antonia feel like they were walking through a long tunnel. Sentinels made not from stone but from metal stood watch between the columns, weapons in hand, their lifeless gazes seemingly fixed down on Antonia. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She quickened her pace.  

At the end of the bridge, they were met by a creature whose transparent form was a grotesque imitation of the human torso. The ribcage and spine were formed the way you would expect, but its limbs were nothing more than shriveled tendrils, like the bare branches of a parched tree. Instead of a head, the creature’s neck supported a nebulous concentration of blue light. Its voice was like an echo of three different voices.

“Atish’all vallem, viralas.  Ela Mythalr’enastal.”

“It’s a spirit!” Bellara exclaimed.

“Maker,” Antonia muttered, her muscles suddenly tense and ready to pounce.

“No, it’s alright!” Bellara hastened to add. “It just welcomed us to this place.”

The spirit’s tendrils flickered, its transparent form suddenly flashing red.

“Ahn esayal? Dirth’anun amahn.”

“What does that mean?” Neve asked, also unnerved.

“It… It’s asking us about our purpose here, I think,” Bellara said and cleared her throat. “Ar'an en’atisha’an. Nuvenir gara.”

The spirit gave an angry shudder.

“Tel'aronas, var’len. Amahn tel mar’an.”

Translating that sentence proved unnecessary, for no sooner had the spirit stopped talking than the sentinel to their left sprung to life. Then the one on their right. And then another. And then another.

“Run!” Antonia screamed right before ducking her head as one of the sentinels swung its greataxe at her. Lucanis tried to stab it, but his blade did nothing more than cut away the vegetation that had grown over the metal plating.

“I thought you said it welcomed us!” Harding shouted.

“It did, at first! Something must have set off the alarms!” Bellara retorted, running backwards while shooting arrows at the sentinels that ricocheted off them with a high-pitched cling.

As they reached the entrance, Neve erected a wall of ice between them and the mouth of the bridge. Bellara observed the humongous door that stood firmly shut before them while Harding and Lucanis tried desperately to pull it open by force.  

“It’s locked!” Harding exclaimed.

“How do we get in, then?” Lucanis shouted.

“The door must be protected by a warding spell to ensure that only those who are welcomed can enter,” Bellara reasoned, seemingly unfazed by the imminent danger. “There has to be a way to bypass that though! Maybe, if we could figure out how to counteract the spell’s effects with a dispel spell of our own… Neve, could you come over here and help me?”

“I’m a little busy at the moment!” Neve responded through gritted teeth as the sentinels kept chipping away at her ice wall.

Antonia inspected their surroundings. The walls on both sides of the door were far from impenetrable, with large glassless windows and even occasional breaches, but getting in that way would have required wings. Her eyes wandered instinctively over to Lucanis who had given up on the door and moved over to help Neve as the ice wall continued to dwindle before their eyes. All the sentinels were pushing themselves against it in mindless repetition that sent shivers down Antonia’s spine. One of the sentinels was pushed down on one knee. As it stood back up, Antonia’s attention was caught on the way the tiles under its foot seemed to momentarily come apart ever so slightly, as though the magic holding them together was being tested.

And suddenly, she had an idea.

“Neve! Go help Bellara! I’ll handle the sentinels.”

“What?” Neve and Lucanis exclaimed in nearly perfect unison. She added, “Are you sure you can keep the wall up by yourself?”

“I’m not trying to keep the wall up,” Antonia said, taking out the staff Neve had given her. “In fact, I want you to bring it down.”

“What?!”

“Just… trust me, okay?”

Antonia and Neve’s eyes met for one, pregnant moment. Neve gave the faintest nod.

“Fine. Just don’t do anything stupid and get yourself killed, okay?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she doesn’t,” Lucanis asserted. Antonia was irked by his need to insert himself into the conversation, and even more so by the fact that Neve seemed slightly relieved. Did these people truly think she could not take care of herself?

After one last look of appraisal at Antonia, Neve put her hands down, and the ice wall went down with them. The sentinels came marching in. Antonia took a deep breath, gathered her power until it made the lyrium crystal of her staff glow, and directed it at her feet.

She’d never tried what she was about to do with a staff before, and judging by how her first few attempts at proper spellcasting had gone, it was very possible she would end up hurting herself rather than her enemies.

But she had to try.

Time seemed to slow down around her. She suddenly felt like she was made of nothing but thin air, as though the slightest gust of wind could carry her. At the same time, she felt more powerful, grounded. It was an uncanny feeling, but thankfully also one she had felt before. In the corner of her vision, she saw Lucanis opening his mouth in a ridiculously slow fashion, but before he could even begin to say what he wanted, Antonia was already gone.

Technically, Fade stepping was not the same thing as teleportation, as the mage still needed to move their legs to get from point A to point B. True teleportation, according to the Circle of Magi, required either no movement at all on the mage’s part, or for the distance traversed in a single step to be so great that the movement could effectively be regarded as the consequence of magic and not physical exertion. This was theorized to only be possible using some kind of magical conduit like a portal, but the efforts to create such a device had so far proven too unstable for practical use. Serena had taught Antonia all this after reading a book one her clients had procured for her in lieu of an actual fee for services provided. To Antonia, however, who was neither a scholar nor particularly interested in magic theory, such distinctions were meaningless. Especially since the effects of Fade stepping seemed virtually identical to real teleportation. She had lost count of all the times she had scared Viago witless by Fade stepping from in front of him to behind him. The memory of his girlish shriek brought a smile to her face.

As she felt the pull of the magic wane, Antonia stopped and turned around to see how far she had gotten. Her jaw dropped. The sentinels had barely taken a step closer to the door while she had made it to the middle of the bridge. Normally, the distance she could cover was half of that, at most, and even that came at the cost of great concentration and will.

Damn, the staff does make things easier, she admitted to herself begrudgingly before casting chain lightning on the horde of sentinels. Her accuracy still left much to be desired, but at least it got their attention.

“That’s right!” she goaded them on. “Come and get me!”

“Toni, what are you doing?!” Harding shouted, shooting arrows at the sentinels that had now turned around to chase after Antonia.

“Just trust me!” Antonia shouted back before zapping the sentinels a second time. One of them came charging at her, its movements much faster than she had anticipated. She was about to roll out of the way when she realized there wasn’t that much space between her and the edge. For one terrifying moment, she just stood there, grasping her staff.

Then, she tapped the ground with it, and a sphere of blue light enveloped her. Just like Neve had instructed.

The barrier shattered as the construct swung its greataxe at it, hurling her backwards and knocking the wind out of her as she hit the ground. A wheezy grunt escaped her lips as she rolled to her side. The sentinel swung its axe again, and Antonia knew she had neither the mana nor the strength to block it this time. She tried pulling herself out of the way, but she was too sluggish, too tired.

The axe fell.

There was a flash of purple.

Lucanis attacked the sentinel like a bird of prey, flying at it and stabbing it multiple times. Unfortunately, constructs didn’t bleed. Still, he managed to force it to back off long enough for Antonia to get back on her feet.

“What’s the plan here, de Riva?” Lucanis cried out.

“Lure them on the bridge!”

“I think we’ve already accomplished that,” he remarked dryly. “Now what?”

Antonia looked over her shoulder, zeroing in on her target.

“Can you keep them busy for a while?” she asked Lucanis who was dueling three sentinels at the same time. Harding was giving him support from the other end of the bridge with her impeccable marksmanship, but there was no doubt that it was mostly Lucanis’s skill that kept the constructs at bay.

Lucanis let out an aggravated grunt which Antonia chose to interpret as a yes. She started forward, then halted and turned around once again. “Prepare to fly. Okay?”   

Lucanis shouted something after her, but Antonia didn’t listen. Instead, she ran as fast she could until she was within shooting range of the power crystal lodged in its slot at the foot of the bridge.

Her mana was running dangerously low. Magic had only ever played a supporting role in her melee combat. It was like a muscle that she used all the time but never trained or tested. But now she was forced to push herself to her limit. The sounds of combat booming behind her, Antonia raised her staff, aimed at the crystal and shot.

A beam of magical energy hit the crystal. Antonia angled her staff so that the beam bent slightly to one side. The crystal didn’t budge.

“Come on, come on!” she gritted her teeth and forced even more energy down the staff and into the beam. “Move!”

The crystal inched to one side. Antonia let out a roar of frustration and desperation. The staff was vibrating so strongly, she had to hold it with both hands. She could feel the weight of the crystal at the other end of the beam. With the last ounce of her strength, she pulled her staff to the right and then to the left, as if she were swinging a bat.

The crystal catapulted to the forest.

The tiles started disappearing immediately, starting from the beginning of the bridge. Antonia shouted for Lucanis and Harding to retreat. The sentinels were concentrated at the midpoint of the bridge, seemingly unaware of what was occurring. When she was at their range, they immediately started attacking her, forcing her to waste precious seconds on parrying and dodge rolling. For one last time, she called for the magic inside her, preparing for another Fade step. Only this time, her calls went unanswered.

She was out of mana.

She tried to find a way to squeeze between the sentinels, but already she could feel the tiles underneath her feet vibrating. And then, they disappeared entirely. The sentinels fell, just as she had planned. And she fell with them.

The sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach relented faster than she would have thought. Soon, plunging down felt more like a dream than anything else. It was almost a relief.

She thought of Serena, then; what her last thoughts might have been before she died. They never let Antonia see her body. They had just shoved an urn into her arms and told her it was Serena’s ashes. She realized that a part of her had held on to that last shred of false hope all this time, that maybe Serena wasn’t dead after all; that maybe it had all been an elaborate lie concocted by Viago and all the other Crows. To what end, she didn’t know. Nor did it matter. Because Serena was dead. And so would Antonia be, soon.

She closed her eyes.

Something smashed against Antonia’s side. She opened her eyes only to realize she couldn’t see anything past a curtain of ethereal, purple feathers.

That was when they hit the surface of the lake.

In her shock and terror, Antonia accidentally gulped down a mouthful of water. She watched as the precious bubbles of air escaped from her mouth to the surface; the surface that was becoming more and more distant.

It was frighteningly dark underwater, but she could just make out Lucanis’s face. His eyes were closed. Antonia shook him, but the water stole all the force from her movements, rendering them sluggish and feeble. She floundered, trying to pull herself and Lucanis upwards, but her efforts were in vain.

She couldn’t swim.

She couldn’t swim, and Lucanis was unconscious, and they were both going to drown.

As the realization hit her, a sense of finality settled over Antonia, but it was nothing like when she was falling through the air. When it had just been her, death had made sense. But this? There was no sense in this. Things weren’t supposed to go this way, surely. After surviving a year of torture and imprisonment, Lucanis couldn’t die like this! Not for her.

She tried shaking him again, but her strength was waning. All she did was bring him closer to her face, unable to push him back.

He shielded me from the fall. Maybe if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have lost consciousness.

Strands of his midnight-black hair flowed dreamily around his face. The lines of consternation that she had thought were a permanent feature of his countenance were smoothed out by the bliss of oblivion. He looked younger, serene.

A sudden, sharp ache pierced Antonia’s chest.

Why on the Maker’s green earth did you fly after me?! she thought as loudly as she could, as though that could somehow make him hear her. You should have just let me die!

She gulped another mouthful of water, then. Because Lucanis opened his eyes. Only it wasn’t really him.

It was Spite.

Chapter Text

Antonia coughed up a puddle of water onto the grassy shoreline. It tasted distinctly fishy.

Great, she thought as she spat out the last of the disgusting liquid. Not only did I almost just die, twice, but now I’m also probably going to have the runs for at least a few days.

Spite had propelled them out of the water, swirling in the air like a ballerina, only to come crashing down on the ground a moment later like a chicken that had suddenly remembered it couldn’t fly. Antonia rubbed the grass stain on her shoulder while peering around her. They were back on the forest floor, surrounded by dark, looming trees that made her jumpy every time the wind moved through the branches.

“We’d best get going. No telling what sort of creatures lurk in this…”

Her voice trailed off as her eyes fixed on Lucanis’s unmoving body.

“Lucanis? Lucanis!”

Antonia rushed to his side, scattering sand as her knees broke her fall. She shook Lucanis’s shoulders, but all that accomplished was that his head lolled to one side. When she righted it back up, his cheek was crusted with small pebbles. His skin was waxy and cold to the touch. His complexion looked even worse than when they had rescued him from the Ossuary.

How was this possible? He had been moving just a moment ago! But no, that had been Spite, moving Lucanis’s body. Now, Spite was dormant again, and Lucanis was…

He was…

He was breathing, wasn’t he? He couldn’t be… No, no, Spite wouldn’t allow that to happen. His life was tied to Lucanis’s, after all. So, why wasn’t he awake? Why didn’t his chest move?

Antonia racked her brain, trying to recall the time she and Viago were hired to assassinate Duke Oliver, a distant relative of King Fulgeno II’s who must have angered someone in court, considering the contract had come from within. As a result of a series of unfortunate events, Antonia had fallen through the Duke’s bedroom window straight into the castle moat. Unfortunately, her memory was cut short after that, given that she had been unconscious for most of what had followed. All she remembered was waking up to the sound of her ribs cracking as Viago pressed his palms hard against her chest, his eyes red-rimmed and slightly swollen.

“You idiot!” he had shouted the moment she had let out a pained moan.

Antonia’s gaze flitted between her hands and Lucanis’s body. Viago had done something to resuscitate her, then. Was she supposed to do the same thing to Lucanis?

A sudden sense of helplessness washed over her. She wasn’t trained to keep people alive.

What if I break his ribs? she thought, only to castigate herself a moment later. Who cares if you break his ribs?! He’s not breathing, for Andraste’s sake!

Antonia placed her hands on Lucanis’s chest gingerly. His black leather armor was like a carapace. She was going to have to put in some effort to push through it. Taking a deep breath, Antonia hunched her shoulders and pressed down.

What happened next was so fast, she hardly had time to process it.

Just as she was beginning to exert force, Lucanis’s eyes snapped open. He grabbed her, flung her off him like a ragdoll and locked her wrists on both sides of her head with his calloused hands, his inner thighs pressing hard against her, pinning her supine on the ground. Too stunned to even resist, Antonia simply stared at him, wide-eyed and at a loss for words. Strands of his hair brushed against her cheeks. He was leaning in close enough for her to take in all the minute details of his face; the eight beauty marks that dotted his forehead and cheeks, the barely visible scar on the left side of his lower lip. She searched his face for answers—anger, fear, maybe even contempt—but it was devoid of all emotion, like his body was simply reacting to a perceived threat without any forethought, like a hand jerking away from a hot stove before the pain registered. As the moment stretched, however, Lucanis’s expression remained disturbingly blank while Antonia became more and more aware of the sharp rock pressing against her spine.

“Lucanis…?”

Her voice sounded a lot feebler than she would have liked, but it seemed to have a sobering effect on him. His eyes remained half-closed and glazed, like he wasn’t fully awake, but something lit up in his expression just then, like a spark of sacred and terrible light that pierced through his usually impenetrable composure. And in that fleeting moment, Antonia saw something that caused her breath to catch.

She saw pain.

Wanting, longing, agonizing pain. It burned in his eyes like a fever, glistened in them like tears about to brim over. A mere glimpse of those unspoken emotions that he usually kept under a lock and key struck Antonia like a physical blow. She was both horrified and mesmerized by their intensity. She wanted to pull back. She wanted to lean closer.

But then, the moment was gone, and Lucanis’s eyes were wide-open and alert, his expression wiped clean of all emotions, save for one.

Indignation.

“Por el amor del Hacedor! What were you thinking?!”

Antonia’s mouth fell open. He hadn’t raised his voice, yet the way he spat out each word, with so much emphasis and frustration, carried as much force as Viago’s red-faced castigations.

He was mad.

Antonia’s cheeks burned, all the tenderness of the previous moment gone in an instant.

“What was I thinking? What were you thinking, flying after me like that?!” she spat right back at him.

“I saved your life!” Lucanis hissed.

“Spite saved both our lives,” Antonia corrected him. “You just nearly jumped to your death, for no good reason!”

Hearing the words said out loud, Antonia felt a sharp pang of guilt. This was not at all how she had wished this conversation would go. She had wanted to thank him. Truly, she had. But defending herself in the face of antagonism, no matter how deserved, was something she had learned to do without thinking. It was a reflex she couldn’t just turn off, even when she wished she could.

“No good…? No good reason?!”

Lucanis did raise his voice then, the veins on his temples pulsating dangerously.  “I promised Neve I’d keep you from doing something stupid and getting yourself killed. Although I never anticipated how difficult you were going to make it for me to keep that promise!”

Antonia felt a pang of a wholly different kind at that.

“Oh, I see,” she drawled, trying to drown the uncomfortable feeling in as much venom as she could muster. “It’s about Neve, is it? Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll give you a hero’s welcome when we get back.”

Lucanis frowned, this time out of consternation.

“That… is not what I meant.”

“Sure it wasn’t,” Antonia scoffed and raised her knee just high enough to let him know where she was aiming. “Now, would you please let me go?”

It was only then that Lucanis seemed to become aware of the fact that he was still pinning her against the ground. Antonia could have sworn she detected a hint of red on his cheeks.

“I… Of course,” he muttered, suddenly flustered. He offered his hand to help her up. She didn’t take it.

A gust of wind made Antonia shiver. Her soaked clothes felt like a coat of ice against her skin.

“We should start a fire and dry our clothes,” Lucanis said, although the cold didn’t seem to bother him at all.  

“No. We need to get back to the others as soon as possible,” Antonia countered, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. She eyed the sky and its low-hanging sun suspiciously. Evening was approaching fast.

They started making their way back up. The castle was a fortunate landmark, big enough to be seen from almost everywhere, guaranteeing they never strayed too far off the intended path. Still, even after hours of climbing, it didn’t feel like they were getting any closer to their destination.

Antonia watched Lucanis from the corner of her eye. He was holding his shoulder, sweat pearling on his forehead.

“You’re hurt,” she observed.

“It’s nothing,” Lucanis grunted.

Antonia stopped walking.

“It’s getting late. We should set up camp.”

“I said I was fine,” Lucanis countered, arms akimbo.

“It’s not about you,” Antonia lied. “You were right. My clothes are wet and I’m freezing. Besides, it’ll be dark soon. We should set up camp for the night and continue tomorrow morning.”

Lucanis raised one eyebrow. “Sorry, could you repeat that first part?”

Antonia frowned. “What, the ‘my clothes are soaked’ part?”

“No, the ‘I was right’ part,” Lucanis said, a wry grin spreading across his face. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye Antonia had never seen before. She rolled her eyes, trying to keep her own smile at bay.

“Yeah, yeah. Enjoy it while you can, Dellamorte.”

***

They were lucky enough to find a cave that must have been used by Dalish hunters, for someone had left behind some camp supplies, like a kettle and some bowls. Lucanis had set up a fire before heading out to forage whatever he could find in the forest. Meanwhile Antonia had set up their clothes to dry and assembled two makeshift beds out of fallen leaves, grass and moss. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but given that they had left their sleeping bags and tents at the Dalish camp, it was the best she could do.

Lucanis returned with a handful of berries he assured her were safe to eat as well as pine needles which he used to brew some tea. He offered Antonia a cup but never poured one for himself.

“Let me take a look at that wound,” Antonia said as she saw Lucanis grimace for the umpteenth time as he moved his arm.

“It’s really not necessary,” Lucanis objected.

“What, are you shy or something?”

“I… Of course not!” Lucanis exclaimed a tad too forcefully. Antonia wanted nothing more than to make fun of him for this, especially when she noticed the tips of his ears were turning bright red, but she was quite concerned about his injuries and feared that any additional teasing would just cause him to shut off completely.

“Think about it like this,” she said instead. “If you get an infection, you might die, and then you’ll never fulfil your contract.”

Lucanis opened his mouth to say something, only to realize he had no way of countering Antonia and her flawless logic.

“Fine,” he groaned and started pulling off his undershirt.

Antonia turned her back on Lucanis to give him some privacy, only to realize that she was the one getting embarrassed. She was suddenly reminded of the night before, when she had tried to imagine what he looked like in the dark. Only this time, in the light of the campfire, she wouldn’t need to imagine anything. She shut her eyes and shook her head to banish such thoughts from her head before turning back around to face Lucanis. He had turned as well to give her a better look at his shoulder and back.

She stifled a gasp.

The wound itself was manageable. Antonia always carried basic wound dressings on her person for obvious reasons, and given her profession, she was not squeamish about blood. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.

Lucanis’s skin was marbled with scars.

Some were the kind she expected. Small nicks and thin cuts from unsuccessful blocks and surprise attacks. Antonia had her own share of those. Others bore the unmistakable signs of torture; wounds that never had a chance to heal properly, as if the pain and screams they once caused were forever etched into his skin. Just looking at them made her stomach twitch.  

Then, there was the third type of scarring. Purple streaks that snaked down his arms and back like veins beneath his skin. She had never seen anything like it.

“Not a pretty sight, I know,” Lucanis said with a self-deprecating laugh. Antonia realized she must have been quiet for a long time.

“N-No, that’s not it,” she stammered, suddenly unable to formulate sentences. “I just…” Without thinking, she reached out, her fingers hovering over the strange scars but never touching Lucanis’s skin. “What are these?”

“Most are from the Ossuary. Some are from Spite.”

Antonia’s fingers curled back, like she’d suddenly been electrocuted.

“Spite did this to you?” she asked, horrified.

“When we were… bound together, he didn’t understand what had happened at first. He tried to force his way out.”

Antonia swallowed. “And now that you’re out of the Ossuary?”

“He… still has some trouble understanding that we are.”

She recalled the pain she had glimpsed in his eyes earlier. And suddenly she understood just how very little she truly knew about Lucanis Dellamorte.

All this time, she’d thought she had him all figured out. The pampered prince of the First House. A man born into luxury and privilege who’d never learned to appreciate either. A playboy like Illario. She’d never realized just how much of her perception of him had been colored by her past experiences with men in similar positions as him. She had known so many of them, and they had all been alike. But there, before the canvas of his life that included so much suffering, both past and present, a seed of doubt was planted in her heart.

She poured alcohol over his shoulder.

“Mierda!” Lucanis cursed loudly.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be! That hurt like the blight.”

“No, I mean…” Antonia’s voice tapered off. Lucanis glanced at her over his injured shoulder.  She began dressing the wound to buy herself some time to figure out what she wanted to say. “I’m sorry about before. You were right. That bridge stunt was reckless, and I almost got us both killed.”

Lucanis was quiet for a long while.

“If you hadn’t come up with it, those sentinels likely would have killed us all,” he finally said, just as Antonia finished with the dressing. Their eyes met.

Something passed between them just then. A sense of camaraderie, perhaps, from having shared this moment of sincerity. Or something else entirely neither of them could put their finger on.  

With their clothes dry, they could finally step away from the fire. A full moon bathed the landscape in its silver light. They admired the view in companiable silence.

“All of this must have been quite different from what you imagined you’d be doing after the Ossuary,” Antonia remarked.

“If I’m being honest, I wasn’t imagining much of anything after the Ossuary,” Lucanis admitted, then continued after a contemplative pause. “But… yes. As far as contracts go, this has got to be one of the strangest ones I’ve accepted.”

“One of the strangest ones?” Antonia repeated incredulously. “You mean to tell me you’ve encountered something stranger than an ancient elven god who’s secretly gathering supporters all over Thedas as part of his plan to destroy reality as we know it and a secret society that has ties to both the Tevinter Magisterium and the formerly disbanded military organization of the Chantry itself?”

Lucanis laughed, a genuine laugh that caused his eyes to crinkle.

“Alright, you got me. This is the strangest one by far.”

Two rabbits hopped past the cave. Antonia yawned.

“You should go get some rest,” Lucanis said. “I’ll make sure we aren’t ambushed by bears.”

“What about you?” Antonia asked.

“I’m not really sleepy.”

Antonia raised a skeptical eyebrow but said nothing. She returned inside the cave, but instead of heading towards the freshly made beds she’d assembled herself, she poured herself another cup of pine needle tea and returned to Lucanis.

“Actually,” she said in response to his questioning look, hugging her knees close to her chest and looking up at the stars. “I’m not that sleepy either.”

Chapter Text

Have you found it?

“Not yet, but I’m getting close. I can feel it.”

And you are certain this is the path you choose?

“Positive.”

The wolf paused.

I will not ask you to risk your life for me.

“I’m not.” Because I’m not doing it for you, Antonia added in her mind before she could catch herself from doing it. Could he read her thoughts here?

The oily shadows of the Fade curled around her like tendrils, caressing her cheek. Fen’Harel’s eyes burned like six torches.  He seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once.

When the time comes, you know what to do.

***

Antonia woke up to the scent of pine needles. They had pressed lines on her face during the night. She didn’t remember lying down on her bed, much less falling asleep. She realized she was covered with Lucanis’s tunic, which he usually wore under his leather armor. Had he carried her there? The thought forced her up briskly, as if she were yanked by invisible strings.

She saw Lucanis stretching at the mouth of the cave, his back arched, and his face turned toward the sun. Missing his tunic, his arms were bare under the chest piece. The sight pulled at Antonia’s heartstrings gently, like the small hand of a child shyly tugging at the hem of her tunic. The same thing had happened when she had seen him the first time, then the second time, then the third… Seeing him always hurt a little, like staring directly into the sun. And yet, she couldn’t look away.

Antonia bit her teeth together and jumped out of her bed. Putting on her armor felt like banishing the lingering warmth and softness of the previous night. She marched out of the cave, Lucanis’s tunic in hand. Everything was sharp and clear in the cold morning light.

“Good morning,” Lucanis said as he finished his morning workout. “Did you sleep well?”

“I suppose,” Antonia retorted curtly. “I don’t remember falling asleep.”

“It happened shortly after we saw that shooting star,” Lucanis explained, his lips curling into a hesitant smile. “You… leaned your head against my shoulder.”

Antonia kept her expression blank, even as her heart started racing. She realized she had slipped up last night by letting herself forget why she was here; why any of this mattered. She had let her guard down and in so doing allowed weakness to worm its way into her heart. No more. She was here on a mission, and nothing else. Everything she did, every word she spoke had to be for that purpose alone. She was to analyze, but not empathize; build trust, but also keep her distance.

She wasn’t here to make friends.

And so she didn’t thank Lucanis for his thoughtfulness, but instead told herself that his actions must have served some ulterior motive of his she had yet to uncover. A familiar sense of apathy took over her, numbing her to every feeling, save for insipid contempt.

She threw his tunic at him and said, “We should get going.”

Lucanis’s smile vanished in an instant. Like Antonia, he had had to learn how to read the smallest changes in people’s behavior in order to survive. In no time at all, his face disappeared behind the mask of detached professionalism, and a door that had been nudged open the night before was slammed shut between them once more.

“Of course,” he replied.

***

They made the remaining trek to the old elven palace in silence. Lucanis occasionally muttered something to himself, but Antonia refrained from commenting on it. That is, until the floating spires came into full view and Lucanis’s monologue became impossible to ignore.

“No… I’m telling you, no.”

“What is it?” Antonia asked, casting a questioning look at him over her shoulder.

“Nothing. Spite’s just being his usual, insufferable self.”

“Oh, really?” she said, the corner of her mouth tugging upwards. “What’s he saying, then?”

Lucanis averted his eyes, his cheeks turning a healthy shade of red. “I… don’t really care to repeat it.”

“Why? Is he telling you dirty jokes or something?” Antonia suggested with a wry smile.

“La madre que me parió, why would you even think that?!” Lucanis cried out, equal parts exasperated and shocked. Antonia couldn’t help but smile to herself. It was just too easy to get him flustered.

“Well, if it’s not that, how bad can it be then?” she said flippantly.

When Lucanis wouldn’t respond, Antonia stopped walking and tried to stare him down. It didn’t work. The man was as unyielding and unresponsive as a rock. Clearly, her cold demeanor earlier hadn’t put him in a chatty mood.

“Fine,” Antonia said, a note of challenge in her voice. “If you’re not going to tell me, I’ll just ask him directly.”

“What? No, you wouldn’t da—”

“Spite?”

Lucanis’s head twitched slightly. In the blink of an eye, the demon took over his body.

“You. Promised!” he hissed, purple eyes glaring at her.

“What are you on about, Spite?”

“You. Promised. To be. Nice. To Lucanis!”

Forming each word was an evident struggle for him. Lucanis must have been fighting back to regain control.

“And what have I done that has been anything but civil?” Antonia asked, arms akimbo.

“You. Hurt. His. Feelings!”

Guilt twisted like a knife in her chest.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said defensively. “And anyway, I doubt you pestering him about it helps matters.”

“Then. What. Will?!” Spite seethed.

Antonia sighed.

“If you let me talk to him again, I can try to smooth things over.”

“He. Is. Clueless!”

“Maybe so. But both of us are stuck with him, so we should all try to get along.”

“Make. It. Better!”

Lucanis’s head twitched again, followed by a litany of curses. He squeezed the bridge of his nose before shooting her a deathly scowl.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he said, his voice carrying a warning that sent a chill down Antonia’s spine.

“What? You wouldn’t answer my question, so I just asked Spite directly,” she shrugged, crossing her arms with feigned indifference.

“It’s bad enough to suddenly be turned into an abomination, having to spend my every waking moment fighting against this… thing taking control over my body. I do not need you encouraging him to do so!”

The memory of Lucanis’s scars flashed before Antonia’s eyes. She swallowed. It was so difficult for her to accept that those scars, and the suffering etched into them, had been inflicted by the creature she had just conversed with. She realized that she had begun to view Spite as harmless, a silly creature capable of little more than the occasional annoyance. She’d never considered that his perceived tameness might be the consequence of Lucanis actively fighting against him, or the toll that this must have taken on Lucanis himself.

She wavered.

“I… I’m sorry, Lucanis. I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about it.”

“Don’t apologize,” he snapped. Seeing Antonia flinch, he paused and let out a weary sigh. When he next spoke, it was in his usual, calm manner. “Just tell me why you hate me so much.”

The question caught Antonia completely off guard. She gaped at him.

“I… I don’t—”

“Don’t lie,” Lucanis cut her off, his voice once again edged with uncharacteristic intensity. “I thought it was Spite at first, but it’s not. If anything, you seem to get along with him better than you do with me!” He barked out an exasperated laugh, clearly struggling to understand how this was possible. “So why? Why me? What did I ever do to you?”

Antonia felt like she was backed into a corner with nowhere to run. Normally, a situation like this would have caused her survival instincts to kick in, prompting her to use every tactic, no matter how dirty, to claw her way out. But not this time. Lucanis’s accusation froze her in place. Her mouth was dry, she couldn’t think straight.

What was she supposed to tell him? That she looked at him and only saw the rift that existed between the two of them, with him standing on the other side as a human, as a man, as the future leader of the Crows? That she despised everything he stood for? That she was an empty husk of a person who was only held together by the terrible desire to see the world burn? That she couldn’t afford to feel how he made her feel?

A deafening screech echoed through the air. Antonia and Lucanis covered their ears, peering around them trying to detect the source. They sprinted the last stretch to the place where the bridge had been before Antonia had hurled the power crystal off its receptacle.

They stopped dead on their tracks. Two things registered at the exact same time.

One, the bridge was back up.

Two, the sound wasn’t coming from the palace.

Antonia heard something and tried to turn around, only to realize her feet were rooted to the ground. Literally.

“Maker’s blood!” Lucanis exclaimed as the roots that had suddenly appeared on the ground twisted and squeezed around Antonia’s ankles. She yelped in pain.

When Lucanis bent down to cut her free, a sickly-looking tree came hurtling out of the forest, much like a drunkard after a long night of drinking.

“Watch out!” Antonia yelled just as she managed to disentangle herself. She leapt against Lucanis as hard as she could and managed to push them both out of the way of the barging timber.

“It’s moving!” Lucanis said, an incredulous look in his dark brown eyes. “Why is the tree moving?!” 

Antonia merely shook her head, too stunned for words. She regarded the aggressive tree with equal parts horror and confusion. Upon closer inspection, she realized that the bark of the tree looked like screaming faces pushing through from the inside. Its trunk had split down the middle to form two legs, and it used its branches like arms that were now hurling rocks at the two of them.

“I fucking hate this forest,” she muttered under her breath before forcing herself up despite the throbbing pain in her leg. Staff in hand, she prepared to cast a fireball (because a walking tree was still just oversized kindling), when suddenly, a bursting arrow whistled through the air and found its mark in the tree. Neve, Harding and Bellara came running out of the forest, a fourth person in tow.

“Toni! Lucanis!” Harding exclaimed as she shot an arrow at the injured tree.

“You’re alive!” Bellara chimed in, equally surprised.

Before either of them had time to respond, the fourth person—an elf with a staff in one hand and some sort of contraption in the other—ran to Antonia and Lucanis.

“Get down!” she ordered them in a voice that commanded natural authority. She shot another bursting arrow with the crossbow on her left arm. Only she wasn’t actually holding the crossbow. It was embedded into her left arm!

As the elf lifted her staff, Lucanis pulled Antonia down, shielding her under his purple wing. Fireballs rained down from the skies, bringing the unnatural tree down on its knees. When Lucanis finally let Antonia go, there was nothing left of the strange creature beyond a singe on the ground.

“Everyone still alive?” Lucanis asked as he helped Antonia up.

“Venhedis!” Neve cursed as she came to stand in front of Antonia and Lucanis, a storm brewing in her dark eyes. “Didn’t I tell you not to do anything stupid?! We thought you both died!”

“You should be so lucky,” Antonia quipped with a wry smile, leaning on her staff. “Thanks for this, by the way. It really came in handy.”

“You really are a piece of work, you know that?” Neve shook her head but couldn’t keep herself from smiling. Her eyes lit up as she turned her attention to Lucanis. “Thanks for keeping her alive.”

“It was nothing,” Lucanis muttered, shying away from full eye contact.

“Inquisitor!” Harding called out from behind them. “These are the two friends we told you about.”

The elf who had just saved them all gave Antonia and Lucanis a friendly, if not appraising look. She was about a head taller than Antonia, which also pushed her above Lucanis. Her eyes were the blue of midsummer sky. A streak of moonlight silver glimmered in her dark hair.

She gave them a friendly smile.

“I believe introductions are in order.”

***

As they made their way back to the Veil Jumper camp, Harding filled Antonia and Lucanis in on everything they’d missed. Shortly after the bridge disappeared, Bellara and Neve had managed to figure out how to get the massive door open.

“We wanted to go down and look for you!” Harding assured them hastily. “We just didn’t know how to get across once the bridge was gone.”

“So how did you?” Antonia asked.

“We found the Inquisitor!” Bellara told them excitedly. “The spirits and the sentinels actually listen to her! That’s the reason why she never had to fight them like we did. So she asked their help to bring the bridge back up. It was so cool!”

“If you don’t mind my asking, what were you doing in that palace in the first place?” Lucanis asked the Inquisitor directly.

She gave him a long look.  

“It’s okay, Inquisitor,” Harding said to ease the tension that had suddenly built up between the two of them. “You can trust Lucanis and Toni.”

A moment of silence passed, until the Inquisitor finally relented and said, “Of course. My apologies.” She reached for something in her satchel. “This is what I was looking for.”

She held out an orb covered with strange grooves and markings. Antonia’s eyes lit up at the sight.

“What is it?” Lucanis asked.

“Mythal’s orb,” the Inquisitor explained. “An incredibly powerful artifact. As far as we know, only one of these remains in existence.”

“And what do you intend to do with it?” Lucanis asked.

A meaningful look passed between the Inquisitor, Bellara and Harding.

“That remains to be seen,” she finally said.

Merrill was there to welcome them back to the Veil Jumper camp. Upon seeing the Inquisitor, she ran up to meet her, taking her hands in her own.

“Lethal’lan! A’vegarast sul’ema nehn,” Merrill gasped, tears gleaming in her eyes.

“Tel’sulevan tua’telsilast ma,” the Inquisitor replied, squeezing Merrill’s fingers.

A moment of tenderness passed between them, one that made Antonia instinctively turn her gaze to the aravels.

Merrill guided them inside one of the caravans for some privacy. The interior was clearly not designed with seven people in mind, but they still managed to squeeze in somehow. After catching Merrill up on everything that had occurred, the Inquisitor placed Mythal’s orb at the center of the tight circle they were all sitting in.

“So, this is it, then,” Merrill said as she stared at the orb. “All we need to do now is unlock it.”

“Unlock it? What does that mean?” Neve asked.

“The magic of the orb is currently dormant,” Merrill explained. “Such magic was commonly used in times of old Elvhenan. All we need to do is find the key.”

“And how do we do that?”

“Oh, trust me, this won’t be the first ancient artifact the Veil Jumpers have unlocked,” Merrill assured her with a hint of pride in her voice.

“This isn’t just any ancient artifact,” the Inquisitor said grimly, rubbing her prosthetic arm which Antonia had initially mistaken for a crossbow. “The only known example of someone trying to unlock this type of orb was Corypheus. He came into possession of Fen’Harel’s orb. By all accounts, he should have died attempting to unlock it. The only reason he didn’t was because the taint in his blood made him effectively immortal. Even touching the orb after it was unlocked wiped my memory for a short time. It’s incredibly dangerous.”

“We can’t let fear stop us now,” Merrill argued. “I’ll do it.”

“But—”

“But nothing!” Merrill snapped, her voice breaking a little toward the end of her sentence. “I owe it to Varric, Lealan. I owe it to Hawke.”

An oppressive silence settled over them. This was clearly an argument the Inquisitor and Merrill had revisited many times before.

“You don’t understand,” the Inquisitor said, her voice now pleading. “Mythal was the only one designed to carry the orb. Even if you manage to unlock it and survive, its power will eventually overcome you.” She flinched and clutched her arm, as if the words were causing her physical harm. “It’s a death sentence.”

“Well, not necessarily,” Bellara peeped. “I-I mean, the mark on your hand was a death sentence, because the magic had no other outlet. But the orb functions as a conduit of sorts, like a mage’s staff, only much, much more powerful. It is possible that without the mark, the magic won’t take such a toll on the body of whoever unlocks it.”

“You see?” Merrill chirped, clearly eager to seize any chance for optimism. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“We don’t know that for sure!” Lavellan insisted, then glanced at Bellara apologetically. “Bellara, I know you’re brilliant, but we’re dealing with the unknown here. I can’t let any of my people take this sort of risk.”

“Then don’t,” Antonia interjected. “Let me do it instead.”

Her suggestion was first met with profound silence, followed by a very loud What?!, Lucanis’s being the loudest among the dissenting voices.

“Think about it,” Antonia continued, totally unfazed. “I’m the spare Crow, so it won’t be a huge loss if I die.”

“Antonia...,” Lucanis began, but she waved him off.

“Also, my magical abilities are pretty weak, which means the damage I’ll be able to cause if something does go wrong are minimal.”

Lavellan crossed her fingers and leaned closer. She was clearly considering Antonia’s words carefully.

“And you’re sure you’d be willing to do this for us?”

Antonia shrugged, endeavoring to appear as nonchalant as possible.

“Whatever helps the team, right?”

“Hold on!” Lucanis interjected, his voice laced with urgency. “What are you even planning to do with this orb? Is it just another weapon to use against Fen’Harel? Because if so, I’m not at all convinced we even need it.”

“No,” Lavellan shook her head. “The orb is more than just a weapon. And trust me, without it, we don’t stand a chance against Solas. The sacrifice must be made. By someone.”

“So, theoretically it could be made by anyone, right?”

Lavellan’s eyes narrowed as she regarded Lucanis.  

“A mage would be preferable, but theoretically, yes, I suppose anyone could do it.”

“Anyone who is of the People,” Merrill added a tad pointedly. “This is our history, after all.”

To that, Lucanis could say nothing. Had Antonia looked at him then, she would have seen the look of utter helplessness verging on panic; the look of someone trying to grasp a lifeline as it slips through his fingers.

But she didn’t look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the orb.

“Lealan is right, you know,” Merrill said to her. “We can’t in good conscience ask you to risk your life for us.”

Antonia had to concentrate to keep her face from breaking into a sardonic grin. It was ironic to her that everybody was so quick to assume that her risking her life had anything to do with them or their agenda, when nothing could have been further from the truth. This wasn’t for the team, or for the world, or even for Fen’Harel. This was for her and her alone. This was the reason she had agreed to this whole charade to begin with.

She was close, so close to finally being free. All she had to do was recite her last few lines.

“I’m not,” she said. “Because I’m not going to die.”

Not yet. Not until her mission was done. Not until she had her revenge.

Lavellan, Merrill and Bellara exchanged glances, then nodded at the same time.

“Let us begin, then,” Lavellan said.

Chapter Text

The altar of Mythal was covered in blood. A pair of weeping candles stood on each side of the rust-colored stone slab, a ritual dagger placed between them. An effigy of the old elven goddess loomed over the gruesome sight; a woman with dragon wings smoothed out by centuries of rainfall. To her left, a wolf statue stood vigil.

It was windy on top of the hill. After explaining the situation to Strife and Irelin (neither of whom had been particularly thrilled by the plan they’d concocted), the Inquisitor had led them away from the Veil Jumper camp to this spot. Neve, Harding and Lucanis had been given the option to stay, but they had all chosen to follow. None of them had said anything, but Antonia could feel their worry like an electric charge in the air. Lucanis especially seemed completely out of sorts, judging by the erratic conversations he kept having with Spite.

“He’s possessed,” Merrill said, shooting an accusatory look at the rest of them, as though they had purposefully kept this information from her.

“Yes,” Antonia admitted. “But due to no fault of his own.”

Merrill frowned.

“I knew a man who was possessed once,” she said after a long pause. Though she chose not to elaborate, the gravitas with which she declared this fact made it clear things had not ended well.

The Inquisitor stopped before the altar, turned around and beckoned for Antonia to come closer. As she took a step forward, Antonia felt something tugging at her sleeve. She turned around to see Lucanis, agitated and clearly struggling to maintain his composure.

“Antonia,” he said, his voice shaking ever so slightly. “Don’t do this. Please.”

Their eyes met for a moment that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. His fingers curled around her wrist, her pulse quickening as she became aware of the spot where his fingers brushed against naked skin.

With a quivering breath, Antonia pulled her hand back.

“It’s too late to turn back now,” she said, knowing that only she understood just how true those words were.

“No!” Spite’s voice hissed through Lucanis’s lips, reaching for her hand again.

“Back off, Spite!” Antonia forced herself to say, her voice breaking a little. “This does not concern you.”

Everyone was staring at them in hushed awe. It occurred to Antonia that none of them had been there to witness what had happened between her and Lucanis during their brief detour. Antonia didn’t fully understand it herself. She could hardly claim they were suddenly fast friends, yet neither could she deny that there now existed a familiarity between them that hadn’t been there before.

Not that it mattered, of course. It couldn’t matter.

She turned to face the Inquisitor, doing her best to ignore the fact that Lucanis’s arm was still outstretched toward her.

“So, how do we do this?” she asked.

Merrill grabbed the dagger from the altar.

“First, you need to draw some blood,” she instructed. “Then, you must—”

“Blood magic?” Lucanis’s voice came from behind them, saturated with disgust. Antonia could also hear Neve drawing a hasty breath.

“It’s the only way,” Merrill said.

Lucanis was back by Antonia’s side in an instant, grabbing her arm and pulling her to the side. “Now will you finally see reason? You cannot possibly be considering willingly taking part in some kind of blood ritual!”

“Now, hold on,” Merrill argued. “Just because the ritual requires a bit of blood does not mean that—”

“What? That you don’t intend to cut her open and bleed her dry like a pig for slaughter?” Lucanis snarled.

Antonia’s mouth dropped wide open. To hear Lucanis speaking like this to a client was unthinkable. For a moment, she was convinced it must have been Spike speaking through him again, but there was no hint of purple in his eyes.

Bellara cleared her throat ever so gently.

“Actually, what we’re about to do isn’t blood magic. I mean, I guess you could call it that, considering a little bit of blood is involved, but… that is, blood isn’t the main source of power for the spell. We only need a little bit of it because these orbs were personalized. That is to say, they were tied to the life essence of their wielder. In this orb’s case, Mythal’s. What we’re trying to do is get the orb to accept someone else as its wielder. Namely, Toni.”

Lucanis locked eyes with Antonia. He seemed somewhat mollified by Bellara’s explanation. After a few more seconds, he finally agreed to let go of her arm.

“As I was saying,” Merrill continued somewhat prickly before handing Antonia the orb. “You’ll need to repeat these words to activate the spell. Evunean ta’sal’in. Be sure to enunciate each word as clearly as you can. That and pressing your bloodied palm on the orb should do the trick.”

“There might be a slight problem here,” Harding interjected. “Antonia doesn’t speak Elvhen.”

“What? How is that possible?” Merrill exclaimed, her moss-green eyes wide with terror. She regarded Antonia like she had just grown a tail or been found deathly ill. Antonia bristled under that look.

“I grew up in Rialto, with the Crows,” she declared testily. “Believe it or not, teaching me Elvish was not at the top of their priorities as far as my lessons were concerned.”

Merrill’s shock shifted to pity, which Antonia cared for even less.

“Da’len, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you had to grow up in such… harsh circumstances.”

“Don’t call me a child,” Antonia snapped, recognizing one of the few Elvish words she did know. Her mother used to call her da’len.

“I think what Merrill means,” the Inquisitor interjected, “is that, regardless of where you grew up or what you were taught, you’re still one of the People.”

Antonia bit her teeth together so hard, she feared she might break her jaw. After 30 years of life, she could count with one hand the number of people who had ever made her feel like she truly belonged, only to suddenly have everyone trying to claim her as one of their own. The People, the People, the People!

“The People need you,” Fen’Harel had said in that glade where Antonia and so many other elves had gathered in the Emerald Graves of the Dales. Sunlight had sifted through the verdant leaves, touching the top of his head like a hand from the heavens. “They need all of us to see what has happened to them and the civilization they once helped build. They need to understand that the greatness of everything that exists today is because of us. Our magic. Our work. Our blood. Humans would be nothing without us. It is high time we reminded them of that fact.”

Antonia couldn’t deny that his words had stirred something in her. It felt as though he was speaking to her, specifically, to address her wounded pride that had festered after a lifetime of small indignities, combined with a general sense that, at some point, life had taken a terrible turn for the worse, and that he alone knew how to reverse its course. She’d soon realized she wasn’t the only one who felt that way. By the end of his speech, Fen’Harel had managed to transform a crowd of skeptical observers into a veritable army of spies, agents and assassins with nothing more than the power of his words. It was as though he’d installed in all of them a violent current of energy waiting to be guided and released.

Later, Fen’Harel had summoned her to a private audience.

“I know who you are,” he’d told her. “A Crow who is all but done with her order. I believe you and I can help each other.”

How he had spotted her in a crowd of hundreds, perhaps thousands, she would never know. At the time, that hadn’t even been Antonia’s first concern.

“What makes you think I’m in the market for a new contract?” she’d asked with all the air of bored indolence.  

“Because I can give you what you want,” Fen’Harel had said and continued at the questioning quirk of her eyebrow, “a chance to recreate a world where we, the People, are in charge.”

“That sounds more like giving me what you want,” Antonia had scoffed, to which Fen’Harel had responded with a wolfish grin that had sent shivers down her spine.

“Very well,” he had retorted, drawing out each word. “Why don’t you tell me what it is that you want, then?”

The answer was right there, at the tip of her tongue, but she’d still hesitated before uttering it aloud. “I want to destroy the Antivan Crows.”

Fen’Harel didn’t seem shocked, merely contemplative.

“You’ll need power for that,” he’d told her.

“You have your answer, then.”

“Yes,” Fen’Harel agreed, his grin widening still. “And I also have my assassin.”

He’d taught Antonia the words long before Merrill ever uttered them to her. He’d even translated them for her.

“Evunean ta’sal’in. The Moon has two faces.” Fen’Harel’s face had softened when he spoke those words, his gaze becoming unfocused and tender. “It was one of Mythal’s favorite phrases. Later, it became a proverb. It means there is a duality to each situation. One side that is apparent, and another that is hidden.”

Ever since then, Antonia had repeated those words to herself every night before going to sleep, ruminating on each word, each syllable, trying to absorb them like dry soil absorbs the rain to make them truly her own.

“Your success will depend on whether you will be able to channel the essence of Mythal,” Fen’Harel had instructed her. “Remember, she was the all-mother, the protector of her people, the goddess of love.”

“But I’m not any of those things,” Antonia had despaired.

“Then focus on something the two of you do share,” he’d told her. “A burning desire for justice, perhaps?”

Yes… It was justice that had been denied to Antonia so far. Justice would set her free of this suffocating feeling that haunted her every night. Justice was what she needed, what she deserved. Not just for Serena but for everything that had come before and after.

The Crows ruled Antiva just like they ruled Antonia, with ruthless efficiency. They’d raised her to know nothing but murder, and so murder had become her entire life. She was so very tired of it, and yet, it was all she knew.

I’ll bring death on their doorstep for a change, she thought. I’ll tear their rule down brick by brick.

“Antonia?” Merrill’s voice snapped her out of her ruminations. She realized she must have been quiet for a long time. “If you don’t want to do this, we can—”

Before she could finish, Antonia had already sliced her palm, pressed it against the orb and uttered the words.

And then, the world went white.

The orb glowed burning hot against her palm, sucking rivulets of blood out of her sliced hand. Everyone around her was shouting, but the only voice she could make out was her own. She’d told herself she wouldn’t scream, but she couldn’t help it. The pressure inside her head was unbearable. Her vision was blurring.

Her blood sunk into the grooves of the orb. It started hovering a few inches above her palm. A shooting stream of magic hit the orb, momentarily easing the pressure inside Antonia’s head. But then it came back, worse than ever before. Antonia sunk to her knees, waves of nauseating pain washing over her. She suddenly felt as though her body was made of jelly.

Fen’Harel’s voice echoed in her mind as she finally sunk into blissful oblivion.

“If you wish to remake this world, you must start with yourself.”

***

Antonia opened her eyes and saw countless stars. The night sky greeted her awakening with a shimmer unlike any she’d ever witnessed in the city. The warm caress of campfire touched her cheek. She realized she must be back at the Veil Jumper camp.

“—know, but… An assassin, Harding? Two of them?”

Antonia’s senses sharpened at the sound of the Inquisitor’s voice. She lay perfectly still.

“We talked about this, Inquisitor. It’s just a precaution,” Harding responded with strained politeness.

“But… Are we sure things have gone so far?” Antonia strained to catch every detail in the Inquisitor’s voice. It sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

“I’m afraid so. Dorian and the others asked us to find you. Things are moving fast in Minrathous.”

“Then we mustn’t delay. I’ll have Merrill get the eluvian ready. We will leave as soon as—”

“You’re awake.”

Lucanis’s voice sprung Antonia to a sitting position.

“Careful!” Lucanis admonished her. The firelight cast shadows on his worried face. He looked tired, yet his tiredness was undermined by visible relief.

“W-What happened?” Antonia asked, her voice hoarse from disuse.

And then she felt it. The orb. She needed to do nothing more than think and it was in her hand, hovering over her palm just like it had during the ritual. Only now, it was glowing with pure magic. She expected the pain she had felt before to hit her at any moment, but instead, she felt a rush unlike any she had ever experienced before. She felt powerful, like she could level down an entire city with just one spell. The very thought sent sparks flying through the air. Lucanis jumped up, cursing, while Antonia gasped for breath.

“Would you please put that thing down?” Lucanis said, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. Antonia was completely enthralled by the orb. The surge of power she felt every time she allowed even one iota of her magic to flow through it was intoxicating. Lucanis, however, appeared anything but pleased.

“You realize this is the second time in just two days that you’ve nearly gotten yourself killed?” he said pointedly, followed by a heavy sigh. “You are by far the most reckless woman I have ever met in my entire life.”

“It worked though, didn’t it?” Antonia said, her lips curling into an insuppressible grin as she played with her orb.

“That’s not the point!” Lucanis cried out indignantly. “You could have gotten yourself killed. You very nearly did!”

“Naww,” Antonia drawled, her voice saturated with sardonic sweetness, never allowing herself to acknowledge the genuine worry in his voice. “Were you worried about me, Dellamorte?”

Lucanis blinked several times, then grunted and pinched the bridge of his nose, like he was suddenly suffering from a blistering headache.

“Mierda, you’re impossible.”

His exasperation only widened her grin.

“Ah! You’re awake. Good,” Harding said as she and the Inquisitor joined Antonia and Lucanis. “How are you feeling, Toni?” she asked, eyeing the orb in her hand warily.

“Never better!” Antonia declared, and for once, she spoke the truth. She jumped up from her bed roll, her orb briefly escaping the orbit of her palm but never leaving her side. It was truly tied to her now, responding to her every move. “Did I hear you saying we were leaving?”

Lucanis, Harding and the Inquisitor exchanged worried glances. Harding was the one to finally break the silence.

“Well, yes, but Toni… Are you sure you’re well enough to travel? The world’s not going to end if we stay for one more night before travelling to Minrathous.”

“That’s the hope, at least,” the Inquisitor muttered just loud enough for them to hear.

Antonia’s pride demanded that she assure them she was fine. Better than fine, really. However, she forced herself to swallow her pride and agree with Harding that perhaps delaying their trip for one more night truly was for the best. In truth, one more night was all she needed. Because she was done now. She had accomplished what she had come here to do. The orb was hers, and with it the keys to her revenge. By the time they woke up tomorrow, she would be on her way to Rialto, and this whole affair with the gods and their schemes would be long behind her.

She waited until the whole camp had quieted down before sneaking out. The moonlight was blissfully bright that night, masking the glow of her orb. She made her way to her horse, shushing it as it neighed at her unexpected arrival.

“Where. Are. You. Going?”

Antonia froze. She realized she wasn’t surprised he’d caught her, merely annoyed.

“I’m leaving, Spite,” she said as she worked to saddle her horse in the dark.

“Why?”

She tied the buckles. “There’s something I must do.”

“Why?”

Antonia sighed. Maker’s mercy, it’s like talking to a child!

She turned around to face him. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand. I just need you to keep quiet before anyone else wakes up.”

Spite stood before her, as expected, slightly huddled like a wary animal.

“Don’t. Go.”

Antonia’s breath hitched. She felt her anger rising.

“Listen, I still have no idea why you’re so obsessed with me, but let me tell you right now, it’s not cute. It’s creepy. More than that, it’s useless. Because I’m leaving. I was always going to leave. And there’s nothing you or anybody else can do to stop me. So, just… back off!”

She wasn’t sure why she was arguing with a demon in the middle of the night when she could have just as easily smitten him, especially with her new-found powers. Was it cruelty or some ill-advised sympathy that guided her to hurt rather than to kill?

Salvador raised me better, she thought bitterly.

“You. Don’t. Remember.”

“What?” Antonia frowned.

“How. We. Met.”

Her confusion gave way to exasperation. “Of course I remember. We saved you from the Ossuary not a fortnight ago.”

“No. Not. Then. Before.”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

But Antonia realized she couldn’t lie to herself anymore. Up until that point, she’d been able to convince herself that she was just being paranoid, that Spite’s fixation with her was nothing more than an eerie coincidence. She’d ignored all the signs because facing them would have also entailed acknowledging the horrible truth; that the demon of her worst nightmares had come to reclaim what he had once possessed.

Her.

Chapter Text

At the age of ten, Antonia’s world was built on three important truths. One, she was younger than her brothers Antonio, Filipe and Emiliano, but older than her brother Quito and her sister Ellowen. That made her a middle child, which meant she was only ever noticed when she misbehaved. Two, Sunday was the best day of the week, because that was when a Chantry sister names Clarissa visited the alienage and brought with her biscotti they were all allowed to eat after they’d listened to yet another dreadfully boring lesson about the Canticle of Threnodies. And three, being a mage was a very, very bad thing.

And so it was that when her own magic manifested, Antonia found herself in the crossfire of conflicting desires. On one hand, she realized that if anyone found out, they’d call the templars who’d take her away to the Circle. She wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly, but she did know people who went to the Circle were never seen again, which meant she’d miss Sundays and Sister Clarissa’s biscotti if she was forced to go. On the other hand, the temptation to show off was almost too much to resist.

In the end, Antonia chose to reveal the truth to her brother Quito. Out of all her siblings, he was the only one Antonia actually got along with. She didn’t like any of her other brothers and Ellowen was still a baby, so any meaningful relationship with her would have to wait a few years before it could be formed. However, even Quito hadn’t believed her when she’d told him. He wanted proof.

“Light this candle with your mind!” he’d demanded, holding up the waxy stick like a fishing rod. And so she did. Only, she ended lighting up a whole lot more than that.

The flames had engulfed half of Quito’s face and set his hair on fire. His screams had brought the whole alienage running. Later, the story of how she had tried to murder her own little brother would be weaved into the story of Antonia de Riva, the natural-born assassin. But that would be years later. At the time, all her family and neighbors had done was stare at her in abject horror. The next morning, Antonia’s mother took her to the market and left her there.

The slave auction was loud and sweaty. Antonia and two other rail-thin children were pushed to the side of the stage while the adults were stripped naked from the waist up. Many of them had saggy skin and swollen bellies—a telltale sign of permanent hunger—but a few were actually strong and healthy-looking. They were sold first.

There was no refuge from the blistering sun that shone high above Antonia’s head. Sweat ran down her temples in salty rivulets, her dark hair soaking up the heat. Her head felt like a slowly boiling egg. She tried to escape twice. The first time, the auctioneer dragged her back on stage by her hair. The second time, he tied her to the central pole. The rope around her wrist chafed her skin raw. She tried gnawing at it.

“What is this? A child or a wild animal?”

The sunlight was blocked by a man-shaped shadow. Antonia looked up and saw a human dressed in a white suit, paired with a matching top hat and gloves which seemed wholly unsuitable for such hot weather. Only his shoes were black, matching his glossy hair and sharp eyes.

Antonia realized the cacophony of the auction had ceded, replaced by a revered silence people usually reserved only for the Chantry.

 “Don Salvador! I thought this one might be of interest to you,” the auctioneer rushed to simper around the man. “Very ferocious. Good, strong teeth. Perfect for the Crows, yes?”

“The reputation of House de Riva is built on our cunning and talent, not strong teeth,” the man in white remarked dryly, eyeing Antonia as though she were a prize horse. “Are you sure this one is house-trained? She looks feral.”

Antonia didn’t know what feral meant, but judging by the condescending tone of the man’s voice, she doubted it was anything good. So she harked up a thick glob of phlegm and spat it on the man’s shoes.

It was as though the whole marketplace drew a sharp, collective breath. The man kneeled down to meet Antonia’s gaze. Up close, she could clearly read the story etched into the deep lines of his face.

This man was mean.

“You know I could have you killed for that, girl?” he said, his question teetering on the edge of being an outright statement. Yet, nothing in his demeanor or his voice suggested he was upset in the slightest. It was as if his behavior was guided not by emotion but something else entirely. By what, Antonia couldn’t say, but it made her nervous. Still, even at her young age, she knew better than to show weakness, especially in front of a bully.

“Not if I killed you first,” she declared defiantly. She fixed her gaze on his top hat, willing it to catch fire, but to her great disappointment, nothing happened. Her nascent powers, it seemed, were unreliable at best.

The tension at the market reached an unbearable breaking point. Even the chickens had ceased their squawking. The man regarded Antonia with incredulous consternation. Then, he let out a strange, wheezing sound, his whole body twitching like he was having some kind of a fit. It was only after Antonia sensed the wave of tangible relief washing over the crowd that she realized the man was actually laughing.

“You were right, Mr. Santiago,” the man addressed the auctioneer, wiping the corner of his eye with his gloved hand. “I do believe this one is of interest to me.”

***

The templars arrived six months later. At the time, it never occurred to Antonia to question why it had taken them so long to come for her, or who had sent them to Crow Manor. By then, rumors of Don Salvador’s newest protégé, whom he’d plucked from the marketplace like a rare blade, had spread like wildfire. Sending the templars after someone who had been taken under the Talon’s wing was nothing short of an insult to the entire House de Riva, one no commoner would ever have dared to commit. Which meant the call had come from within.

By then, Antonia had begun her training, which in her case involved as much accidental arson as it did swordplay and footwork. Despite this, Salvador encouraged her to use her powers as often as possible. Every day he summoned her to his office and asked her to tell him what she had learned. In turn, he would let her know just how lucky she was to have been taken in by the Crows, and also what terrible fate would befall her if that were to change. Salvador filled her head with stories of the templars dragging screaming children from their beds, cutting off the hands of mages who miscast their spells, stealing the dreams of those whose will was weak. The templars became Antonia’s worst nightmare, and the Crows her one refuge.

So when she heard them coming, their heavy steps announcing their approach as they climbed up the stairs, Antonia threw her arms around Salvador, screaming, crying, begging him not to let them take her. Salvador simply pried her arms off and shoved a knife into her hands.

“Remember, little one,” he said, his voice suffused with fatherly guidance, “an assassin always targets the weak spot.”

The blade was short and unremarkable, hardly something that would be of any use in a fight against an armed swordsman. Still, it was sharp enough for Antonia to accidentally cut herself with it as she quickly hid it inside her boot just as the templars barged in through the door. Salvador gave her back a small shove forward. As the templars reached to grab her, Antonia’s panic spiked again.

“Please, don’t let them take me! Please!” she pleaded with Salvador, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. Salvador slapped her across the face so hard, the sting of his hand on her cheek burning even hotter than her tears.

“What do you think this is, an orphanage? The Crows only keep the ones that prove themselves, girl,” he said, his face made of stone. The rejection hurt at least as much as the slap.

The templars took Antonia to a carriage with three other children. Two humans, a boy and a girl, were seated on one side, while a scrawny elven girl was hunched up at the far end of the seat opposite them. She appeared a few years younger than Antonia, her collar bone jutting out from the neckline of her ragged tunic, a haunting look in her wide, saucer-like eyes. As Antonia scooted next to her, the girl gave her a tentative smile. No doubt she was happy to no longer be outnumbered by humans.

“Hi,” she said. Her voice was timid but musical, like the tentative trill of a songbird. “What’s your name?”

“Antonia.”

“That’s a human name,” the girl opposite them declared haughtily.

Antonia shot her a sharp look. “So?”

“So, you’re an elf.”

Much to her chagrin, Antonia didn’t have a clever rebuttal to that, so she was forced to let the girl’s comment slide. With a slight jolt, the carriage lurched into motion. The weapon in Antonia’s boot chafed against her foot. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, but she knew she had to act fast. Once they arrived at the Circle, there would be no turning back. She would be a prisoner for life, completely at the templars’ mercy.

One knife. What could she possibly accomplish with just one knife?

“Are you a... mage?” the elven girl asked Antonia.

“We’re all mages, stupid. That’s why we’re here,” the human boy scoffed, causing the girl to burst into teary hiccups while the human girl sniggered. Antonia promptly decided she hated them both. Once again at a loss for words, all she could do was take the girl’s hand and squeeze it gently. This seemed to cheer her up somewhat.

“My parents have known I was a mage for a long time,” the human girl said, tossing her curls smugly. “Mama was quite proud, actually. Her family’s from Tevinter, after all.”

Her clothes were significantly finer than what the rest of them were wearing. Antonia realized she must be noble-born, or at least wealthy.

“You know they enslave you rabbits in Tevinter?” she sneered, casting a jeering look at Antonia and the elven girl.

Antonia’s nail dug into the crust that had formed over the cut on her finger. Fresh blood blossomed from the wound. A tingle ran through the air.

Growing up in the alienage, combined with the vigorous training she had received the past six months meant that Antonia could beat just about anyone her age in a fight, regardless of how much bigger or stronger they were. However, her skills relied on her ability to dodge and outpace her opponent. In close quarters like this, none of her training would do her any good.

Her eyes flitted over to the elf girl next to her.

An assassin always targets the weak spot.

Antonia swallowed. She couldn’t fight the templars, not with her silly little knife and certainly not with her magic. Salvador had talked at length about their ability to suppress magic. But there was something else that she could do. Something even the templars feared.

“Do you know what a maleficar is, child?” Salvador had asked her once in his office.

Antonia pulled out her knife.

Everything that followed seemed to happen all at once. The human girl screamed. The human boy lunged at her. The elf girl just sat there, paralyzed, like a wounded animal staring death in the face. The templars stopped the carriage and ripped the door open, but by then, Antonia had already sliced her palm.

The power of the blood magic rushed through her, but it was all too much, too soon, like a rubber band that had never been stretched, only to be pulled so far, it snapped. The recoil shuddered through Antonia’s body.

She heard a voice. A terrifying, otherworldly voice.

“Let me in.”

After that, her world was drowned in purple.

***

“You.” Antonia’s voice was little more than a whimper. The reins had slipped through her fingers. She couldn’t even see Spite anymore, just a vague haze of purple. Always purple… “It was you.”

The scent of smoke still took her back to that moment sometimes. The horrible realization that had hit her when she’d come back to her senses and seen the ground littered with Templar corpses. She’d looked down on her hands, the heat of roaring flames on her face, and realized they were covered in blood.

“To. Ni.”

“That’s why you insisted that I join you. Why you keep seeking me out.” Antonia’s lips moved of their own accord. She felt like she was no longer fully awake.

“Yes.”

This whole time, she thought she had been playing this clever game, pulling the wool over everyone else’s eyes, when in truth, Spite was the one who had been fooling them all. He had made himself out to be harmless, sought her out when she was at her most vulnerable, all so he could find a way to get her to let him in again.

She’d been so careful ever since that day. She had limited the use of her magic whenever she could, muzzled herself willingly, all to avoid attracting his attention again. Even though it caused Salvador to nearly tear his hair out in frustration and made her feel like a part of her was dying, bit by bit, every single day.

“You are a mage, yes?” Fen’Harel had asked her when they’d first met.

“How can you tell?” Antonia had asked. She never wore a staff or anything else that might have given her away.

“I sense your connection to the Fade. Only it is somewhat more… tenuous than usual.” It was the first time she’d ever seen him hesitate.

One mistake. One act of desperation as a child, and Antonia’s whole life and magic was forever tainted because of it. And still, she had almost gotten over it. She had thought she didn’t need to live in fear anymore. She had allowed herself to believe she could wield her magic freely again, that she was strong enough to resist the demons that lurked both without and within.

But she wasn’t.

She had opened up to Spite so easily, let herself be comforted by him, let herself care. Because… Because it had felt natural, somehow. Familiar.

Antonia flinched as she realized Spite was standing mere inches away from her.

“You. Are. Mine.”

“No!” she screamed and pushed him back. A lightning charge shot through her fingers, knocking him flat onto his back. By the time he got back up to his feet, Lucanis had regained control. No sooner had his warm, brown eyes opened than he was back at Antonia’s side, gently resting his hands on her shoulders.

“Antonia, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Stay back!” Antonia’s voice cracked, high-pitched and tearful like a child’s. “S-Stay away from me!”

Lucanis lifted his hands from her shoulders, but instead of backing down, he inched closer to her. His eyes brimmed with worry and determination.

“Antonia, please just tell me what happened,” he whispered, his voice both so tender and so fierce.

If only he had asked her about anything else. Had he asked her about Serena or Viago or Fen’Harel, she would have told him without hesitation, because in that moment, she wanted him to know her, wanted someone with whom she could share even a small piece of the pain she carried inside her, if not in detail, then at least in spirit. But this… She couldn’t tell him this. This was the most shameful part of her, the part that she had sworn to keep hidden from everyone. This was what made her who she was, what she was.

Irredeemable.

Broken.

He could never know.

She took a step away from him and pulled out her weapon. The movement felt mechanical somehow, like it wasn’t really her moving her arm or saying the words.

“If you or that demon ever come close to me again, I’ll kill you.”

Lucanis winced, like her words physically struck him. He swallowed, clearly struggling to form words.

“Antonia—”

“I don’t care about the Dellamortes! I don’t care about any vendetta they’ll swear against me. I don’t want either of you anywhere near me ever again! Do you understand?!”

Lucanis’s body was frozen in place. Only his eyes moved ever so slightly, betraying the inner turmoil raging within him as he retraced his steps, replaying every word, trying to understand where he had gone wrong.

Unable to bear his presence a moment longer, Antonia marched back to the Veil Jumper camp, any thought of escape long gone from her mind. Her fingers curled into fists as she fought the urge to look back. She walked away from him, and it felt like saying goodbye to something she had never had.

Could never have.

Would never have.

Chapter Text

#4 Thought Fragments

He keeps asking himself what he did wrong.

Was it what he said? Was it the way he said it? Was it the almost-touch, the almost-truth, the almost-longing or any of the million other things that never happened but that he wished had happened?

But then he realizes he’s asking the wrong question.

It was never about what he did but what he was, deep down.

Broken.

“I want out.”

Fen’Harel raised a questioning eyebrow. “My apologies. I was under the impression that it was you who summoned me.”

“No. I mean, yes, but that’s not what I mean.” Antonia bit her cuticles, a bad habit that she thought she’d quit a long time ago. She kept pacing around her small island in the Fade, the taste of blood in her mouth. The sensation gave her pause. Physicality was something she rarely thought about out here in the dreamscape. How real were the things that happened here, truly?

“What happened?” Fen’Harel asked, a sense of urgency undermining his languid self-assurance. “Did something go awry with Mythal’s orb?”

“Oh. Uhh… No, it’s not that.”

She couldn’t believe she had already forgotten about the damned orb. How many hours had she been allowed to bask in her success before everything had come crashing down?

“Then what is it?” Fen’Harel’s voice cut through the echoes of the Fade, bringing everything into an uncharacteristically sharp focus. He was clearly done trying to coax the truth out of her through leading questions.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Antonia forced herself to stand still and face him properly, only to start pacing again the moment the words were out of her mouth. Only, she couldn’t. Her feet suddenly felt like they were made of lead. When she looked up, she realized Fen’Harel was standing just a few inches away from her, his violet eyes piercing through her like a spear.

“Have you been compromised?”

His voice was calm, unwavering, but it still managed to stir in Antonia a kind of fear few had ever commanded over her. A terrible sense of regret settled in her chest. Why had she come here tonight? What could she possibly hope to gain from this? Panic had driven her to act irrationally, but now reality came crashing down on her once more. If he suspected anything, Fen’Harel wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate her.

She drew a deep breath.

“No. This isn’t about the mission. It’s about the demon.”

There was a brief pause, followed by a tangible sense of relief. Fen’Harel leaned back slightly.

“The spirit possessing the assassin? What has he got to do with this?”

Antonia opened her mouth only to find herself in the exact same situation she had with Lucanis. She racked her brain, trying to come up with a way to explain the gravity of the situation while also keeping personal details to herself.

“I… I’ve met that demon. Before. When I was a child.”

Fen’Harel blinked.

“I see. And of what relevance is this?”

“It’s of great relevance!” Antonia cried out. “It’s the reason why he insisted that I join the team!”

“I’m afraid I still fail to grasp what the problem is here.”

“The problem is that he possessed me once! And I believe he wants to do it again!”

Antonia realized she was pacing again, the spell that had bound her feet now lifted. She could feel Fen’Harel’s eyes on her.

“Even if that were true, the spirit is already tied to the assassin’s body, is he not? Meaning any hope of possessing you would require him to be unbound from his current host first.”

“I suppose,” Antonia muttered, although admitting it hardly made her feel any better.

“Which makes this fear of yours rather irrational, doesn’t it?”

She glanced up at him and saw that he was leaning back with his arms crossed, a spark of genuine curiosity in his eyes.

“It’s hardly irrational to be scared of demons!” Antonia countered. “Especially as a mage.”

“Spirits are the embodiment of emotion,” Fen’Harel said, his tone adopting the air of a haughty tutor. “They only ever show particular interest in individuals whose actions naturally align with their purpose. If this spirit in question truly has taken an interest in you, you should consider it an honor.”  

“I’m sorry?” Antonia gasped incredulously. “I’m supposed to be honored by the fact that Spite is obsessed with me?!” 

“Spite…,” Fen’Harel mused. “A spirit of devotion, then. Or perhaps determination.”

“How many times must I call him a demon for you to start referring to him as such?” 

Fen’Harel waved a hand irritably at her response, as if swatting away an annoying mosquito.

“The distinction between spirits and demons is an arbitrary one. An Andrastian notion that obfuscates the truth rather than elucidates it.” He scoffed with visible disdain. “Your superstition is likely thwarting your perception of this spirit, and Spite is merely adapting to your ill-conceived notions of him.”

“So you’re saying this is my fault?!”

“I’m saying that whatever unfinished business you have with the demon, you had better put the matter to rest. I cannot have your judgement be clouded by your emotions like this, not when the fate of the world is at state.”

Antonia clenched her teeth to keep herself from screaming. She couldn’t believe their conversation had veered into him lecturing her like a father scolding an unruly child. Not that she had much experience with that. The closest thing she’d ever had to a father was Salvador, and he had always preferred the cane to words.

To her surprise, Fen’Harel reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “But I also know how difficult it is to be at war with oneself. So even if it doesn’t seem fair, try to make peace, for your own sake.”

Their eyes met one last time before Fen’Harel vanished, leaving Antonia alone in the empty halls of her dreaming mind.

***

“What is going on with you?” Neve asked the next morning as they were having breakfast by the fire.

“Nothing,” Antonia replied perfunctorily while peering over her shoulder for any signs of Lucanis. From now on, she would have to learn his schedule so that she knew exactly how to avoid him at breakfast.

“You’re twitching like you’re hiding a mouse under your clothes. And you haven’t eaten anything,” Neve remarked sharply.

Antonia grabbed a steamed bun and shoved it into her mouth, chewing mechanically before forcing it down with a gulp of water, never even registering the taste. Neve, however, remained entirely unconvinced by her performance.

“Is it about the orb? Is it affecting you somehow?” she asked.

“Hmm? Oh, no. Not really.” Antonia’s fingers instinctively went to the pouch Bellara had kindly given her. The orb felt surprisingly heavy without magic coursing through it, but after learning who Spite truly was, she had no desire to use her magic again. For all she knew, that was what Spite had been “smelling” all along.

The furrows on Neve’s brow deepened.

“I never should have allowed you to go through with that ritual.”

“Allowed me?” The choice of words finally grabbed Antonia’s attention. “Since when was that your decision to make?”

“It wasn’t. But Lucanis was right. We have no idea what the long-term consequences of tying you to that artifact will be. Rushing into action without first knowing what we’re dealing with was reckless, and I fear you might suffer the consequences of that decision.”

Antonia’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Lucanis’s name, and then another after realizing Neve was genuinely worried about her. She pushed down her guilt along with a sip of her nettle tea.

“You know, Lucanis came to see me this morning,” Neve continued.

Antonia paused, then continued to slurp her drink loudly.

“He wants to find a way to separate him and Spite.”

Antonia nearly dropped her teacup as violent coughs shook her whole body, spilling the rest of the tea on her trousers. Neve slammed her on the back to get the rest of the tepid liquid out of her windpipe.

“Is that… Is that even possible?” Antonia gasped.

“I’m not sure,” Neve admitted. “He asked if I could look into what Tevinter scholars have discovered on the subject.” 

Antonia quickly wiped away the tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes and refilled her teacup, determined to act as if nothing had happened, even as her thoughts raced in every direction.

“Well, that’s… good for him, I suppose.”

Neve regarded her in blank astonishment.

“What is going on between the two of you?”

Antonia managed just barely to avoid another coughing fit.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice still a little hoarse.

“Usually you can’t wait to say something sly or sarcastic, no matter what the situation is. Now all you have to say is, ‘Good for him?’”

“Well, isn’t it?” Antonia retorted, having finally regained some control over her emotions.

Neve angled herself to face her fully. “Look, I know the two of you bonded after he saved your life. I’m just trying to suss out whether there’s more to it than that.”

“And if there was?” Antonia blurted out before she could stop herself. Neve regarded her with a wry smile.

“Then I guess I would congratulate you. Lucanis is quite the looker. Considerate, too. A bit broody, of course, but who am I to judge if you like that sort of thing?”

“Sounds like you do too,” Antonia remarked a bit more sharply than she’d intended. To her shock, she saw Neve looking away, a soft blush on her cheeks.

Oh.

Antonia’s mind went momentarily blank.

She had always sensed something in the way Neve looked at Lucanis, the way she pronounced his name, the subtle shift in the tone of her voice whenever she spoke with him. Up until then, she had been able to convince herself that Neve was simply like that with everyone, but now… Now there was no uncertainty.

Neve liked Lucanis.

Neve, with her glossy black hair, beautiful clothes and big eyes. Neve, with her ice magic, her notes and her charm. Neve with Lucanis. Neve…

Antonia was on her feet before she realized it, her teacup tumbling onto the grass.

“Well, if you like him, I say you should go for it!” she heard herself say in an oddly chipper voice.

“Toni, wait!” Neve rushed to grab her hand just as Antonia was about to make a quick exit. “Look, I don’t want to step on anybody’s toes. Nothing has happened between me and Lucanis. If there is something going on between the two of you, we can just forget this whole conversation ever took place.”

Something between her and Lucanis? That was even more absurd than this conversation! The only thing that had ever existed between them was Spite, and Lucanis was trying to get rid of him! Not that it mattered either way because she was with Fen’Harel and… It was simply absurd!

“Toni?” Neve repeated. “If you’re not okay with this—”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay with it?” Antonia cut her off, flailing her arms in the air like a bird attempting to take flight. “I think it’s great! It makes sense! It’s great! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go find Bellara.”

“But Bellara’s that way. Toni!”

Antonia turned, her feet already carrying her as far from Neve as possible, when she found herself face-to-face with Lucanis. Her body collided with his chest like a brick wall. She was paralyzed, not by the sudden proximity, but the look on his face; cold, austere, and completely devoid of emotion.

Before, she had assumed that was simply the way he was. But now she realized nothing could be further from the truth. Lucanis, like so many others, had locked a part of himself away from the world. But unlike most, this hadn’t made him unfeeling or cruel. He had done it not to kill, but to protect the parts of himself that still believed in the things the Crows tried to extinguish. Kindness, compassion, forgiveness.

He’d let her see that side of him because he trusted her not to hurt him. And yet, she had.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it. What was worse was seeing Lucanis’s eyes shift away from her to Neve—and soften.

Antonia all but ran away from the scene, trying to silence her thoughts that kept screaming at her to go back and… What? Say she was sorry? Like that was going to do her any good at this point! Tell Neve she had changed her mind? What right did she have to tell her not to pursue Lucanis? She hadn’t even planned on staying here for this long! Besides, it’s not like her words carried any weight at this point. Neve and Lucanis were already… They were…

“Miss de Riva?”

The ridiculous appellation caught Antonia’s attention. The Inquisitor was approaching her from the halla pen in long strides. Her hair was plaited into two braids, the grey strands gleaming like silver veins running through them both. Her smile was polite, if not guarded.

“I’m glad I could catch you before we set out. I…” The Inquisitor’s voice trailed off as her eyes latched onto something in Antonia’s hand. “Were you about to go get some tea?”

Antonia’s gaze followed the Inquisitor’s. She realized she must have picked up the fallen teacup from the grass and never returned it.  

“Oh, uhm… No. I just think it’s a good thing to always have a teacup at the ready.”

The words tumbled out without any thought. She felt slightly delirious. The Inquisitor stared at her in utter bewilderment, then laughed.

“That’s not a bad strategy to have.”

She gestured for Antonia to sit on one of the tree stumps set up just outside the aravels while sitting on the stump opposite her.

“First of all, I feel I owe you an apology. From what your colleague tells me, you were practically forced into this mission by circumstances beyond your control, and so far, I’ve hardly done any better when it comes to giving you a choice.”

Antonia tensed up at the mention of Lucanis. What exactly had he said about her? She forced herself not to fixate on that thought.

“If this is about the orb, don’t worry. I don’t regret my choice,” she said tersely.

“Perhaps not, but I’m afraid you weren’t fully informed on the exact reason why the orb is so important.”

Antonia frowned. “It’s to stop Fen’Harel, right? I mean, Solas.”

“That… is a large part of it, yes. But there’s more to it than that. Tell me, how much do you know of the orb that was destroyed? The one Corypheus used?”

“Didn’t you say unlocking the orb nearly killed him?”

“Yes. Unlike us, Corypheus attempted to unlock the orb through brute magical force, never paying any heed to the ancient elven customs. This was something that Solas, the Dread Wolf, anticipated. He was too weak to unlock the orb himself after he woke up from uthenera, the long sleep that he had been in since the fall of the ancient elven empire.”

“Right,” Antonia intoned slowly, unsure why the Inquisitor would choose to tell her any of this.

The Inquisitor hesitated for a brief moment, as if gathering her strength before the final push.  “The reason Corypheus wanted to unlock the orb in the first place was to enter the Fade in the flesh. That was the orb’s true purpose.”

She let her words sink in, observing Antonia closely. Antonia absorbed what the Inquisitor had said, mulling over each implication until one stood out clearly above the others.

“And now you want to use the orb to do exactly the same.”

The Inquisitor nodded.

“There is someone in the Fade. Someone who was left there because of a choice I made, a long time ago. I made a promise to an old friend to get them back.”

A myriad of questions raced through Antonia’s mind just then, but only one rose immediately to the surface.

“Who is it?”

The Inquisitor rested her elbows on her knees and leaned in slightly, as though mimicking the posture of a storyteller about to recite an epic tale. “Have you ever heard of a woman called the Champion of Kirkwall?”