Fiona gritted her teeth, pressing her forehead to the flagstones and concentrating on fighting off the scream of pain building in her throat. How many hours had they been at this, and why had no one come to help her? Surely one of the other Enchanters would have noticed the bastards bringing Tranquil after Tranquil into the room to slit their throats and use their blood, first to torture her, and now to try to bend her to their influence so they could present the rebel mages to their so-called Elder One. Long enough that the blood from the first one, a poor, sweet girl named Eugenie, had gone tacky and black around her fingers.
She didn't know what was worse, that so many of the other Circles had left their Tranquil behind, unguarded and defenseless for these Venatori to swoop in and scoop up, or that she had brought her Tranquil and the Kinloch Hold Tranquil to Redcliffe so they were readily available.
She brought her head up at the scuff of leather soles on stone, seeing Alexius's shoes through the blur of pained tears. Of course he wouldn't dampen his connection to the Fade with blood magic, he had his lackeys doing that. The thud of a corpse distracted her from plotting to spit on the fine leather just beyond her nose, and Fiona couldn't stop the choked sob that escaped when she saw that the latest victim had been Owain. He was the only connection she had to her son. He had survived the fall and rebuilding of Kinloch Hold's Circle ten years prior, and never seemed to tire of telling stories of the Hero of Ferelden and her companions. Even better, Owain hadn't noticed how many questions she'd asked, not about Gwyneth Surana, but about Alistair.
"Now, Grand Enchanter, are you prepared to bring the mages over to the Imperium, or do I have to lower myself even further?"
"Wh-what are you talking about?"
Alexius sighed dramatically. "Why do you force me to this, Grand Enchanter? Am I so unreasonable in my offer?"
Tilting her head away from him, Fiona sucked in deep breaths of stale air. Another Tranquil was brought in as Alexius muttered and the coppery smell of fresh blood filled the air again. She bit through her lip as her joints creaked under the strain of resisting the painful, crushing force of the magic being used on her, resisting again for every man, woman, and child under her care.
Then the Veil twisted and pulled in a way that it was never meant to, with a pop and a painful thrumming twang. A Fade-green flash filled the room, and the smell of burnt ether. Only moments later, the Veil writhed again, wrenching a cry of agony from Fiona as it tore and flashed, charred bits of the Fade falling away as Alexius stood before her once again. He shook his robes out and snapped at one of the Vints standing to the side, "Get her into a chair."
The other Venatori moved silently, bringing a chair over, then dragging her up and dumping her into it. Her short hair clung to her neck and the sides of her face, plastered there with rank sweat that burned her eyes and made them well up again. Alexius gestured, and the other Vints withdrew to the edges of the room.
"Now, Grand Enchanter. I am a reasonable man. You have something I need to help me save my son." His voice was low. Whatever he had to say, he obviously wanted to keep it between the two of them. "I know you have a son of your own. As a parent, you would do anything to protect him, wouldn't you? We Venatori have agents in the Denerim palace already, madam."
"I-" A cold pit formed in her stomach. No.
"Not to mention your four lovely grandchildren. How old is Crown Princess Moira now, almost eight, I believe? The twins, Maric and Bryce, they just had their fifth birthday, of course. I remember hearing about the celebrations. And little Elissa, poor child, a toddler growing up without her mother. It would be a shame for her to grow up without her father as well. Or not at all."
"How can you do this? How can you threaten children like this, as a father?" Fiona pleaded, hating the tremble in her voice, but she had to keep Alistair and his children, her grandchildren, safe.
It was the wrong thing to say. Alexius's face twisted, and he shoved his face into hers. She could see the redness in the whites of his eyes, the broken veins and bruising from sleepless nights. "My son. Is. Dying. And you have what I need. To. Save. Him."
"But-"
Alexius grabbed her by the front of her robe, pulling her off the chair and Fiona let out a terrified squawk. "I swear by everything I hold dear, if the next words out of your mouth are not a vow to give the rebel mages over to me, I will have your elf-blooded bastard flayed alive after being exposed for what he is and his brats tied up in a sack and thrown in the Drakon."
She hadn't been able to keep him safe from being turned over to the Chantry, from the Wardens, from being shoved onto Maric's bloody throne. In every way so far, she had failed him as a mother, but she could not fail him in this. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she whispered, "I accept your proposal, Magister Alexius."