AN: This is my first story.
The idea came to me in Act3 of DA2 when Hawke receives a letter from some guy named Archim Falk about the "true heir" to the Starkhaven throne: Corbinian Vael. I had a flash of Sebastian's life before he went to Kirkwall, of life in Starkhaven, of how he could have gotten himself exiled - he is the son of the prince! Something bad must have happened, right? I thought about how every story in DA is based on perspective, and how the things that Sebastian tells Hawke about his life are probably skewed.
This is story that came to me in that moment. It's a story of friendship, of love, of tragedy, and of the lies we tell ourselves. There are heroes and villains, but sometimes they're the same person.
Reviews are welcome - please, tell me what you like, what you don't, and everything in between. I'd love to hear it.
Update: I have gone back an edited the chapters since finishing the story. Just a few additions and tweaks. Nothing major.
Part I
9:23 Dragon. The ruling family of Starkhaven, the Vaels, exile their youngest son, Sebastian, to Kirkwall, in order to live a chaste life in service to Andraste's Chantry.
9:27 Dragon. A short-lived battle at the Starkhaven Circle results in the death of an innocent girl, and as a result, greater restrictions are placed on the mages and templar presence increases.
9:29 Dragon. Sebastian Vael takes his vows to become an initiate of the Chantry, accepting a life of chastity, poverty, and contemplation.
9:30 Dragon. The Fifth Blight erupts in the Korcari Wilds in Ferelden.
9:31 Dragon. The Starkhaven Circle is destroyed as a group of mages flee the tower. During the chaos, the majority of the ruling family, The Vael Family, are brutally murdered by Flint Company mercenaries in the employ of Lady Johane Harimann of Kirkwall.
9:23 Dragon, Summer
The thing of it was, they were friends. And not just because their opulent lifestyles often found them thrown together. They had known each other since before they could form memories. Their parents' parents had known each other before their parents had formed memories. Although all were expected to be educated, thoughtful and give back to their city in some meaningful way, their current occupation was to sneak off as often as possible and indulge in spirits and vice. They had old names steeped in money and wanted for nothing.
But they were truly friends. They had grown up together, learned to walk and talk together, taken their first drinks, rode their first ponies, lifted their first swords and bows and shields together.
This was why Samantha and her brother Innley of the Mayweather's, brother and sister duo Ruxton and Flora Harimann, and royal cousins Corbinian and Sebastian Vael had abducted a large hat adorned with peacock feathers, snuck out of the Fortney's party, and clandestinely tiptoed across Starkhaven's granite streets to the Chantry. They had placed the hat atop the marble statue of the Prophetess Andraste, which stood directly behind the Grand Cleric's podium. With luck, no one would notice until service had begun. They had cracked open the bottle of Malbec they had swiped from the party, and drunk most of it in the pews at church – a terribly sinful to do.
They were about to exit through the doors when they heard the familiar sound of clinking metal that always preceded the Starkhaven City Guard's night patrol. Samantha thought it was a wonder they caught any criminals at all, announcing themselves the way they did. Not that she was complaining for it always gave her friends ample time to escape from getting caught.
On this night, they climbed the bell tower of the Chantry, an agonizing three story climb of steep, stone steps. The night air was thick with moisture as Samantha drunkenly tiptoed across the roof with her shoes in one hand and glass of wine in the other. The boning in her corset was giving her fits, and just as she was wondering how she was going to climb down the tree, Flora, her oldest and dearest friend, deftly maneuvered across the shingles past her. Flora flipped her bouncy hair from her shoulder as she passed, giving Samantha a curious wink.
Corbinian was laughing much too loud for prudence once he reached the ground, and lifted his arms to catch Flora, who, as it turned out, didn't need to be caught at all. She looked right at home climbing down the tree in her lavender party dress, ruffles and all. Samantha wasn't as graceful, snagging the bodice of her own sky-blue satin gown on several occasions, finally catching the hem on a stumpy branch and falling to the ground on her rump, a stumble which made everyone laugh ridiculously. The garment likely cost the yearly wage of a farmhand, but they had no concept of wealth; just that they had a lot of it.
Stifling their laughter, they ducked in and out of the shadows as they crossed the smooth stone streets of Starkhaven's richest neighborhood, Granite Circle, so named because of the famous path of granite that ran from the royal palace, passed dozens of noble estates to the center of the neighborhood, and finally encircling a very large and elaborate water fountain with the gentle likeness of Andraste watching over all.
Corbinian leapt into the fountain, the legs of his very expensive suit rolled up to his knees, announcing to the neighborhood that he was going to be the leader of the Royal Army. He used his wineglass, which quickly emptied into the fountain, to demonstrate his sword-skills. Marquess Corbinian was the first son of the Duke of Starkhaven, the prince's brother.
"Beenie couldn't hit water if he fell from a boat," Samantha announced, waving her own glass in the air.
"Hey!" Corbinian pointed a drunken finger at her. "I've never been on a boat!"
Ruxton and Flora, children of the Lord and Lady Harriman of multiple estates in the Free Marches, were laughing so hard they couldn't breathe. Flora, between fits of giggles, kept re-adjusting the flower pinned to her drooping hair. Ruxton, his bowtie retied so that it functioned as an ascot, had laughed so hard that he had fallen onto the ground from a nearby bench. Their brother, Brett, was rarely in their company. Already arranged to be married, he spent much of his time with the family of his betrothed. No doubt they were all still back at the Fortney Estate stiffly nodding to each other in affirmation of their position and wealth.
"That could be arranged," Sebastian Vael offered with a sly smile, his long overcoat was open, his tie removed and discarded somewhere along the way, and his shirt unbuttoned halfway down. Sebastian was the youngest prince, the third son of the ruling royal family of Starkhaven.
"You hear that, Andraste?" Innley, his golden doublet stained with wine and half-unlaced, lifted his hands to the giant statue of the warrior prophetess that stood atop the fountain. "The son of the prince of Starkhaven wishes the Minanter to flood! See about that, will you?"
Sebastian jumped onto the rim of the fountain, "Do not speak to her, foul drunkard!" he hiccupped. "I'll not have you disparage the Maker's bride!"
"Blasphemer!" Samantha laughed as she pointed at her brother. Long wisps of her deep brown hair came loose from the elaborate hairstyle that her maids had spent over two hours configuring, and tumbled over her shoulders.
"Yeah!" Corbinian brought his feet down into the water again and again, splashing it up. "Throw him in the royal dungeons!"
It was at that moment that Corbinian slipped and fell rear-first into the fountain and water sloshed over the sides onto the granite pathway. The group fell into riotous laughter at that, and Ruxton dropped the wine bottle, which smashed gloriously upon the granite as well, its contents exploding outwards in a cascade of red that sprayed him, his sister, and Innley… only adding to the stains on his doublet.
"What's going on out here?" an unfamiliar voice chimed in.
The wine had erased their caution for getting caught, and they turned wide-eyed to the two men in suits of shiny armor that appeared from out of nowhere. The shield on their backs carried the flag of the city guard and the swords in their hands indicated that they meant business. One carried a scowl that ran deep lines between his brows.
"Worry not, my good men," Sebastian said, still atop the fountain. He turned about and showed the official seal of the prince of Starkhaven that had been embroidered on the lapel his long coat. "Everything is under control here!"
"Your Highness," the guard said flatly. "You'd better come down from there."
"Run for it!" Corbinian called out, scrambling out of the fountain.
The others followed his lead without question, skipping into the shadows of Granite Circle. Innley pulled Flora along and Ruxton wasn't far behind as they disappeared between two estates. Samantha tripped over the hem of her ripped gown, twisting her ankle but laughing through it, and Sebastian paused to help her up, scrambling after Corbinian as they raced through the park. The guardsmen didn't give chase, even though the trail of loud laughter would have been easy to follow.
They maneuvered this way and that, around a corner and straight through another square with a statue to Corin, the Grey Warden who killed the archdemon Zazikel during the Second Blight. Samantha left her wine glass sitting upright atop his boot and the trio laughed again as they jogged out from under the lamplight.
Corbinian stumbled up against a marble column, his pants still rolled up to his knees. "Oh, I don't feel so good," he moaned. And then he vomited on the polished granite path.
Sebastian laughed at him, and dropped his glass to the granite, which exploded like cymbals crashing together. He wrapped a thick arm around Samantha's slim waist, holding her off her ankle while she threw her head back in drunken revelry. The last of her elaborate hair-twisting finally came loose and fell down her back. Sebastian looked down at her as she looked to a groaning Corbinian.
Though just fifteen, Sebastian was known for his charm with the fairer sex. Samantha had seen him sneak off from more parties than she could count, always with some girl on his arm. Local gentry, nobles' daughters, visiting heiresses… no title went unrewarded, though he could never remember any of their names. Yet he had never stared down at her like he was doing now, his hand around her waist and the intensity of his blue eyes masked in the shadow of his brow under the lamplight. He had once waved the notion away with a drunken hand, claiming she and Flora were like younger sisters but, at almost-fifteen, she was stretching her way into womanhood fast. And it wasn't going unnoticed.
"I think Beenie is going to pass out," Samantha laughed drunkenly.
"Can you walk?" he asked quietly through a smile.
She shook her head, giggling. "My ankle is killing me!"
And then he kissed her.
He was very drunk, but so was she, though later she wouldn't be able to tell if she had actually kissed him back or just let him kiss her. His mouth was warm and wet, and she imagined she tasted much like he did; there was the famous Starkhaven Fish Pie that they had eaten at the party, a chocolate mousse for dessert, and of course the rich wine. She could smell the remnants of his cologne mixed with sweat and other spices, too. The trees and the dirt of the city park came into the mix somehow, but only just.
He kissed with passion, though he was perhaps too ardent in his affection. His shoulders rose and fell as he crushed her to his chest and she grew more uncomfortable by the second as her swelling ankle started to throb as she tried to avoid placing pressure on it. She was keenly aware of his body even in her wine-dulled state; she could feel the heat of his half-exposed chest against her breasts while his hands ran down her back and over her shoulders, across her neck and down over her chest. He squeezed and the sudden flare of pain made her cry out. She was certain she said don't or something to that effect, but Sebastian kissed her harder, pulling on the front of her dress. It was then she realized that he was trying to touch her underneath her dress – right here in the streets of Granite Circle! She squirmed and made more noises, but he was strong, and her efforts to get him to stop were going ignored so she did the only thing she could. She bit him.
"Ow!" He pushed her back, bringing a hand to his bleeding lip. "You bit me!"
"What did you think you were doing?" she demanded. The seams along the sides of her dress gaped open and she had to hold up the front, lest she fall out of it.
"You are a child," he slurred drunkenly before he turned and stormed away, his jacket billowing behind him.
He was leaving? But he hadn't escorted her home! And what about Beenie? She hobbled on her ankle, gripping the lamppost to keep steady. Corbinian was groaning, slumped down on the steps to an estate that belonged to someone they likely all knew. In her haze, she thought it was Lord Garrity. Samantha called to her Beenie, but his lids were red, the skin around his eyes puffy, and his hair was matted with drunken sweat. He was in no shape to help her, let alone himself. She could only let out a curse under her breath. She didn't want to leave him there, but she didn't have much choice. If the guards came by, she would be in far more trouble than he, and if they didn't, she felt very close to passing out from all the alcohol she had consumed. No, she had to move. Maybe she could get home before her parents made it back from the party. She could send a servant for Corbinian. Yes, that was what she would do.
So, with her tattered dress and her ankle turning more stiff and painful with each passing moment, she hobbled until she couldn't put any weight on it at all, falling to her knees and crawling through the streets. She was still drunk, and had to stop and vomit once which made the experience even more humiliating. But it was nothing compared to the reception from her parents as she was carried in through the front door by her house servants. She had not beaten them home after all.
She was a terrible liar, but she still tried. She told them it was just a bit of harmless fun, a walk through the evening streets to catch some air, she said. She slipped in her fancy shoes and the hem of her dress got caught on a fence – it was all so innocent, really. No, really! They didn't buy it, of course. The city guard had been by about ten minutes earlier, informing Lord and Lady Mayweather that their daughter and son were both observed drunken and disorderly in the town's center, debasing the most holy statue of the prophetess Andraste, an unfathomable offense in the eyes of the Maker. Innley, of course, was not home yet.
Her ankle was killing her, and when it became clear to her parents that she could not stand on it, they had servants carry her up to her chambers where a maid washed her up, dressed her in nightclothes, and put her to bed.
Samantha woke the next morning to the worst headache imaginable. Her parents had sent up a modest breakfast along with instructions that she was not to leave her quarters. Not that it would have mattered; her ankle had swollen to the size of an apple and the slightest amount of pressure was so painful that she couldn't breathe. They had at least been kind enough to include a tonic for the headache.
So Samantha was stuck in her bed all day, with her foot propped up on pillows. She hadn't heard from her brother, from Corbinian, from Flora or Ruxton, and not from Sebastian, though she fully expected to hear from him. A formal letter emblazoned with the official seal of the prince of Starkhaven would arrive at any moment, she suspected. Surely, he would remember the previous night just as she had and would be monumentally embarrassed by his impropriety. Sure, they had both been intoxicated, but that didn't excuse his absolutely ungentlemanly behavior. Ripping her dress like that… But a letter never came. Not the next day, either.
Samantha asked the maids about Innley, who hadn't come by her room even once, but the elvish girls wouldn't look her in the eye or answer . She knew they spoke the common tongue, but perhaps her parents had instructed them to refuse her questions.
On the third day, she was able to move from her bed to her sitting desk by the window, and in her boredom, she stared out longingly over the gardens of her parent's estate. Why wouldn't Sebastian send an apology? Where was her brother? Why wouldn't anyone talk to her?
On the fourth day, she heard a rustling outside her window, and it was somewhat of a struggle to undo the latch and open it out wide, but she forgot about her pain when she saw Flora and Ruxton climbing the tresses.
"There you are!" She smiled at them both. "It's about time someone came to see me."
"Yes, well, you're under house arrest." Ruxton's head popped out from behind Flora, who appeared to be an adept climber. "A bit of espionage and some cunning and here we are!"
His smile was enigmatic, and she couldn't believe how happy she was to see them. They climbed in through the window and hugged her hello. Flora eyed her foot propped up on the chair.
"Does it hurt badly?" she asked girlishly.
"Terribly," Samantha said dramatically, and they all snickered. "How much trouble did you two get into?"
"Severe trouble," Ruxton stated solemnly.
"Indeed." Flora sighed. "My mother isn't going to buy me that white velvet dress that I wanted. I'll have to wear last year's fashions to your name day party! And Ruxton isn't allowed to ride his horse for a tenday! I don't see why they have to be so severe. It was just a bit of fun!"
Samantha rolled her eyes. Parents.
"You are the talk of the town, Sammie." Flora's eyes twinkled. "They say that Sebastian and Beenie engaged in a duel over you! What happened?"
"What? What duel?"
"Someone saw Sebastian with a cut lip and two black eyes. Beenie's eyes were black too and he was walking with a cane. I knew those boys had it for you."
The cut lip Samantha remembered, but the black eyes, she did not. Clearly, the rumor mill was hard at work. "There was no fight," Samantha said. "Sebastian evaded the guards last I saw, and Beenie passed out on the steps of… I think it was the Garrity's!" She paused for a moment. "Have you seen them?"
"No," Ruxton responded distantly, inspecting the little glass bottles of perfume that lined her vanity. "The prince of Starkhaven is said to be very upset at his son. Who knows about Beenie. His father is not even in town."
"Oh…"
"By the way…." Flora lowered her voice and eyed the door. "Why didn't you tell us about Innley?"
"That he's a daft monkey? I thought that was obvious."
"Too true." Ruxton spoke absentmindedly as he fiddled with the perfume bottles on her vanity, flinching as one spritzed his face unexpectedly.
"No, stupid!" Flora lowered her voice even more. "That he was a mage."
Flora's words hung in the air.
"What?"
"You two are thick as thieves! I'm so impressed that you kept that secret for so long!"
"A mage?"
"Well, he's done it, because the guard saw him last night. It's probably well known by now. I'm sure Lady Luxley is crying into her tea; she had eyes to match her daughter with him."
"Don't make her feel bad, sister." Ruxton lifted a pair of Samantha's underthings from an open drawer and then put them back stealthily. "Every family has a bad apple. Can't blame the rest of them for it."
Samantha was sure that her face was turning white. Her brother? A mage? Innley? And no one had told her? He had never told her? They said that the gift of magic usually manifested itself at a very young age, sometimes as young as three but never older than eight or nine. Innley was thirteen, and he had never told her? His own sister! Samantha felt too much to give a proper answer: confusion, anger, betrayal, sadness.
"Sammie?" Ruxton plopped down on the bed.
"I didn't know."
"Oh."
Flora reached for her hands. "I'm sure your father will keep him out of the Circle. I mean, you are the Mayweathers."
"Our father would send us to the Circle without hesitation!" Ruxton laughed. "Right git, that man."
Flora laughed and Samantha couldn't help but break from her thoughts. He was right; his father was a right git. His mind was often elsewhere, and it was a well-known fact in Granite Circle that their mother, Lady Johane Harriman, made all the important decisions in that household. Some had even whispered that she had a mage in her employ to exact her influence over him. But these were just rumors, often spread by the jealous nobles of Starkhaven.
"But your mother—"
"Would probably be glad to have the house all to herself!" Flora finished, laughing.
Samantha smiled weakly; at least they were trying to cheer her up.
Unfortunately, their visit was cut short by the servants; at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Samantha had to rush her friends back out of the window, the way they'd come. Part of her punishment for her terribly embarrassing behavior was that she wasn't allowed visits from her friends. And when they were gone, she went back to staring out at the gardens.
After a week of solitarily eating her meals and sparse visits from Flora and Ruxton through her window, Samantha was finally allowed to leave her room. There was still no word from the Vael cousins, nor about her brother. Where was Innley now? Was Corbinian alright? And where was Sebastian's apology? Knowing his father, he would have been forced to write the letter. Right?
That night at dinner, which was too quiet, Samantha sat alone along the length of a too-long table. Her parents sat on either end. Her brother's chair wasn't even drawn up to the table. The house servants lined the walls of the room, standing solemnly as always, ready to refill their glasses with wine and hand them clean silver should they drop their fork on the floor.
After what seemed like forever, Samantha spoke up. "Mother. Father. I would like to apologize." As if waiting for this, they both lowered their silver to the table and looked to her expectantly. She rose and clasped her hands together. "I am very sorry for my immensely poor judgment and unseemly behavior. I am the daughter of the Lord and Lady Mayweather, a name that is synonymous with good breeding, manners, and impeccable character. I have done my family a great disservice and I humbly ask for your forgiveness. If I can do anything to restore our good name, I will do it."
"A fine apology and well spoken," her mother said gently, looking to her husband with hopeful eyes.
His face hardened, and he gave her a lingering glare before finally relenting. "All right, then."
And then they all picked up their silver and finished their meal.
After dinner, they retired to the sitting room; a high-ceilinged chamber lined with dark wooden bookcases. A thick red rug with intricate pattern of vines stretched the length of the floor. Samantha settled herself on the divan, a plush sofa made of red velvet with a dark wood. A servant appeared, the candlelight glinting off of his tray, which he lowered to Samantha, offering her a small cup of tea. She waved it away, staring at her mother from across the room.
Her mother sat at a writing desk, quill in hand, with a stack of stationary in front of her. Lady Mayweather wrote a huge number of letters, responding to invitations and corresponding with nobles in Starkhaven or faraway places like Cumberland, Kirkwall, and even Orlais. Her mother loved the fashions of Orlais; of course, anyone who had any taste at all loved the fashions of Orlais.
Normally, her father would hand her a book and she was expected to read for two hours and then be able to talk about what she read with him. Tonight, as he examined the shelves, Samantha sat anxiously.
"Father," she respectfully called as he stood at the bookshelf with his reading glasses held up to his eyes. "I want to ask about Innley."
Her mother's writing ceased with a harsh scratch and she sighed, setting the paper aside and beginning anew.
"We will not speak of him," her father said dismissively as he removed a thick volume from one of the higher shelves.
"So, is it true that he is a mage," her words were met with silence. "Why was I not told?"
"You were injured and resting. We didn't think it prudent to interrupt your healing."
"But father… I would have preferred to know."
"Your preference isn't our concern," he turned a crinkled page. "Your education and position in society is."
"Whatever he did, I'm sure it was a misunderstanding!" Samantha tried to sound diplomatic.
"Whatever he did sent him to the Circle. And need I remind you of your own behavior that night? Public intoxication! Spilling wine into the fountain of Andraste! Ripping up your dress! You came home looking like a common streetwalker!"
Samantha lowered her gaze back into her lap.
"We will not speak of him," her father said again, but not as calmly as before.
"But… " But he is family! She wanted to scream, instead she held it in. "Can I visit him?"
"No."
She stared at them both. "Why not?"
"He is mage, darling," her mother said gently. "He's dangerous."
"He is Innley! He wouldn't harm anyone!"
"My darling Samantha, you don't understand magic. The Circle will keep him safe, not just from himself, but keep us safe from him."
"But mother—!"
"He'd been keeping it hidden from all of us!" Her father lowered his reading glasses, giving her a stern look. "No doubt the influence of a demon. I've seen firsthand what magic can do, and he needs to be locked up. All mages do."
"But not Innley—!"
"Enough." Her father's voice bounced off the walls of the room.
There was no arguing with him, and Samantha's face twisted in the sadness of losing her baby brother. She wasn't alive back when Adain escaped the Starkhaven Circle. Her father had been a young boy then. He had recounted the story of Adain of Starkhaven, a powerful mage that had escaped from the Circle in the winter of 8:76 Blessed, just fortyseven years ago and the coldest winter that the Free Marches had seen in decades. The story was that Adain broke out of the Circle during a blizzard, killing more than a dozen templars and mages alike as he fled into the white night. And those deaths were bloody. Storytellers loved to elaborate on how Adain made anyone who got in his way suffer needlessly. He had been almost inhuman, they said, and the streets had run red with blood and the sky darkened for weeks after his passing, as if he was issuing a threat with the elements of nature themselves. Some said he had even crafted the blizzard that suffocated the city.
They say the templars chased after him, but that's often disputed in retellings. When the spring thawed the lands, the templars mounted the hunt in earnest using his phylactery to track him into the Vimmark Mountains. But out of more than two-dozen Templars hat left that spring, only two returned by the end of summer and they declared the hunt over. Adain had prepared for them, and resorted to blood magic – the most foul of all magic – and the two templars that returned were never the same. They babbled of demons and horrors unimaginable until one of them took the other's life before his ending own on winter's night some ten years later. They wouldn't hear another breath about Adain until rumors of his passing reached Starkhaven sometime in the early Dragon Age. Even then, the stories about his memoirs hinted at research, offspring, and brutal killings…
The people of Starkhaven didn't like to talk about Adain much; it didn't do to dwell on nightmares, after all. But the Chantry's liked to speak of him often as he was their token reminder for why the Templars and the Circle were necessary. Her father agreed with them. His views on mages and magic had been fundamentally shaped by this event.
There was nothing left to say in Innley's defense, so she sat silently, her hands together in her lap and her spine straight and proper, just like a lady. She blinked back her tears and tried very hard to hold it together to the sounds of her mother's quill scratching across paper, thin pages crinkling as her father turned them, the crackling fireplace, and the candles that silently cast all their shadows across the room.
With her lips quivering, she finally asked her mother, "Have any letters come for me?"
"No, darling." The quill worked busily against the parchment. Scratch scratch scratch. "Were you expecting any?"
"Yes, perhaps..." She swallowed hard. "From Sebastian Vael? Or his cousin Corbinian?"
"No. " Scratch scratch scratch.
"I wouldn't expect we will hear from Sebastian," her father said solemnly. "He has been sent to the Chantry in Kirkwall."
Samantha's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "Wh-what?"
"He was a disgrace to the royal name." Her father handed her a book, it thumped heavily into her lap. "Hopefully, the Chantry can teach him a thing or two about being a man."
"He's gone?" Her eyes widened, still disbelieving. "Sebastian Vael is gone?"
"Don't sound so surprised, darling." Her mother always spoke so warmly, which belied all the coldness of her words. "The way he acted, the influence he had upon you and the Harimann's children…"
She couldn't really hear her mother ramble on and on about the Vael family and how ashamed they all were of their outcast son: drinking and whoring and lying… and his filthy mouth! If only her parents knew about her! If only they knew about them all.
"What about Corbinian?"
"Who knows," her father groaned. "His father is out of town, but I am sure a similar fate awaits."
Her heart sank deep into her chest. How could this have happened? First Sebastian and then Corbinian? Her eyelids suddenly felt heavy, like she might faint. She gripped something that felt hard and worn like leather. Yes, of course, the book. The book was still in her hands and she carefully turned it over. The Sermons of Divine Renata I. Inwardly, she lamented how boring this read was going to be, prompting another fit of silent despair to crawl up into her throat.
They had all been sent away. Corbinian. Sebastian. Innley. Exiled from their own families.
It would be a year before she would see or hear from any of them again.