It was late, but she doubted she would sleep soon. The chatter of the other female apprentices buzzed over her skin in her excitement and she covered her mouth to hide her own laughter. She was going to meet him tonight; they were going to try lovemaking while lying down for the novelty of it, instead of their usual quick trysts standing in corners. She imagined that, at nighttime, his dark skin might make him look like he was made of a shadow.

She went to the library to calm herself down, to wait. She pulled out a dusty-looking tome under the watchful gaze of the templar in the corner.

They ordered him to strip beside the rack and he made bawdy jokes while doing so. One of the pair of Crows beside him was particularly handsome and he gave that one a wink. It earned him a slap on the side of his head, but it wasn't a painful one, wasn't like what was to come.

He sat on the rack as if it were a comfortable couch, then laid back without fighting them. The ropes were thick and rough against the soft inner skin of his wrists. He complimented the less-handsome man on the make of his armor and asked him where it was made. The ropes on his ankles were tightened.

"Elvhenan." She had never read this word, never heard it. She had simply been told that elves had been slaves and were now free, so she should be particularly grateful to Andraste. The only sound in the library was the whisper of the page as it turned. Her lips parted as she leaned over the table to read.

It had taken two cranks of the ratchet before the pretty elf stopped talking. His eyes were heavy-lidded as if it were pleasure he took from the rack and not pain, but this was not so. He felt his shoulder blades rub against the wood and focused on this small irritation as much as he could. He slowed his breathing, for his arms stretched so close beside his head made him feel as if his throat would close off. They turned the handle again, and he wondered if his knees would snap first or his shoulders. He closed his eyes entirely.

"We will make you scream yet," said a voice beside him, deep and almost bored.

The elves had been immortal. Another page turned. It was they who taught the magisters how to use their magic. The Tevinter Imperium would never have been so powerful had they not learned their power from the elves.

The elves gathered wisdom in their cities while the humans yet lived in wandering tribes of barbarians. As her lover gave up his search and went back to bed, she read on.

The crank was so noisy as it was turned another notch and it was this rusty noise that filled the room when his right shoulder resisted, then tore from its socket. He felt several things snap, one after another, and his mouth turned a rictus around the screams that he kept silent. They left him like that for several minutes. Eventually he was able to force his breathing to calm again, though his face tilted toward the crippled shoulder.

"It is enough," said a new voice in the corner. "He can have healing magic. We will not kill this one."

When they unbound him he found he was no longer able to walk. His head, however, he could still hold high and it was with clear eyes that he left the room as a Crow.

That night, when she finally slept, her dreams were of golden-haired elven warriors, their blades flashing like silver in the sun.