Chapter 6 – Défait

"Bria? Are you there?"

Celene's voice brought her back to reality.

Back to the hair.

It was an odd sensation, being lost in thoughts like that while actually having a conversation. Well, and a duty to fulfil. But while her hands were still at work, fixing Celene's hair after the morning toilette (she was – besides everything else – still the Empress handmaid, after all) and creating an elaborate style which most supplicants and nobles she'd meet today would undoubtedly wish to copy soon enough, it was much harder to cover up the fact that her mind had not been fully concentrated. She cursed herself for letting things slide like that. It was not worthy of a spymaster.

"Apologies, I was...distraught." The chance of Celene not noticing her absent-mindedness was slim. Also, Celene's last remark had escaped her ears anyway, so there was no use pretending she had been listening.

"Oh, still heartbroken over the loss of your little admirer?" Celene said rather amusedly, obviously not too agitated about her spymaster's lack of concentration.

"Yes, very much so, Your Radiance." Briala replied drily, hiding the truthfulness of the statement under an ironical tone.

It was no actual heartbreak, of course, as Celene well enough knew, but a rather serious concern over the fact that the young man who had given her the eye for weeks had so suddenly disappeared without a trace.

"Poor Bria. Not used to being the one left behind, are you?" Celene smiled, blessedly ignorant of how Briala's concerns were very real, even if in a different way than their ironic conversation suggested.

It's better this way. No need to alarm her over something that might just be my mind playing tricks on me. She has enough to worry about as it is.

And yet the timing couldn't have been more curious: Young Pierre had allegedly left the Palace's service just before the ball and not been seen since. Since the whole staff had been too busy preparing for the big event to even notice his absence, the letter stating his immediate leave in order to tend to his ill-gotten mother (what a dubious reason!) had only been found the next day.

Suspicious timing indeed! Leaving just before the grandest event a commoner like him is likely to witness in his whole life...

His mother must have gotten very ill, very sudden, then. He had not even asked for last week's pay, which was even stranger – though there was the distinct possibility that he might have taken his fair share before leaving...

And yet, Briala wondered if she might have missed something. Could he have been connected to the burglary? Or one of Alexiane's men – which could, by extension, also make him one of Gaspard's? Had she underestimated the man?

Still: No need to let her know about that.

"That must be it," she replied simply, willing to end this part of the conversation as well as that stupid hairdo. "But you were asking?"

"Ah, yes. I was just wondering if the Lady Morrigan has settled in well enough?"

"As far as I can tell." Briala answered sourly.

She still did not trust that woman or believed in her usefulness to an extend that would justify her new position at court. If it had been Briala's call, Celene would have just forgone the whole 'arcane advisor'-business for good. But there was little to do about that now, except to keep her eyes open. "I will meet her in the afternoon to discuss setting up that laboratory of hers," she continued, not really looking forward to that meeting at all.

"Good. Any news from Madame Vivienne?"

"She has been delayed and sends her regrets. She shall be here the day after tomorrow if all goes well."

"Very well, then I shall make the announcement tomorrow."

Yes, of course. The arcane advisor has to be installed before Vivienne even hears rumors of it, right?

"This will...certainly not go unnoticed," Briala stated carefully. It was the understatement of the year, naturally. Madame de Fer would be outraged to hear of Celene taking an arcane advisor beside her court mage. And she most definitely would not be the only one in shock – something like that was unprecedented after all. Concerned voices would arise of the Empress giving the mages too much influence. And it would be Briala's task to see that these voices did not grow too loud...

It is very much typical for Celene, is it not? When she considers something necessary, she does not care in the least if it is unprecedented or unconventional.

Celene smiled a triumphant smile. "Just make sure Lady Morrigan is well prepared for what she is about to expect. I would not want her to fall prey to Madame de Fer."

"I see little chances of that happening, Celene."

Indeed the mere notion of Lady Morrigan simply bowing to Madame Vivienne was ridiculous enough to make them both chuckle. More likely, those two would be at each other's throat after a few seconds.

Briala sighed. It sure never got dull in the Palace.

"One more question, Bria." Celene's voice was getting serious again. "I want the Divine informed about the last night's events concerning Lady Alexiane. Would you see to that?"

Briala turned her head in surprise. "I am fairly certain the tidings have already reached her, Celene. Or do you expect the Seekers to keep this a secret?"

"Maybe not," Celene shook her head, "but they might leave out the part where it was us that gave the crucial information...which would be a shame. Justinia has been a dear ally so far and I consider it only just to send her a little reminder of how we lent the Chantry a hand in this issue, do you not? After all, it would not have bidden well for the Divine if her own people had demonstrated their inability with a dangerous threat that emerged from their own ranks. Oh, the scandal!"

Clever woman. That's why you're still on the throne. And why I love you.

"So that is your way of saying 'You owe me' to the Divine, then?" Briala asked.

"I wouldn't put it this way." Celene said gravely, "But I fear that dangerous times lie ahead of us, Bria. And it can never hurt to remind your friends that they are your friends – with all the benefits that come along with that...as well as all the duties."

Indeed. Friends, or at least loyal allies, were a rare resource in Orlais these days. And the Divine would without a doubt be a useful one. Though they had to be careful, considering that Justinia had a potential dispute at her own doorsteps – and the way the underlying conflict between mages and templars would develop, would reflect on how the Divine was perceived as well. Depending on the outcome she could be an ally as well as a liability.

Briala smiled.

But isn't that the beauty of it?

"I shall see to it, Your Radiance," she answered more formally than necessary.

As always, the Game would go on.


Just when Alexiane thought that the cacophony of agonized wails and howls would finally make her eardrums burst, hopefully bringing an abrupt end to the endless screams and sobbing, it ceased.

Well, not all of it. There was always crying and despair in the deeper cells of the White Spire; young mages left alone and terrified by the mere thought of the things to come once the templars or Seekers returned for the questioning – or the judgement. But at least the loudest wails had suddenly stopped.

It took some time for her to realize that those had been her own.

She had never been down here. Being of noble birth and coming here on her free will had spared her this fate. So she had only heard horrible tales of the cells.

Never had she expected to end here herself.

Maker, what has gone wrong?

When she had awoken on the cold, damp stone floor of the tiny cell, she had panicked. Of course.

Then, for a moment, she had calmed herself. This was all a mistake after all. She was one of the good mages. One of those who had always cooperated. One of those that had been accepted. Someone would come to clear all this up. One of her friends.

But after being forced to listen to the sickening cries of young souls, thrown in here without comprehending what was happening to them – or, for many who had just shown the first signs of magic: what was happening inside them – after a few minutes (or maybe hours?) of that something inside her had just broken.

No one would come.

She had attacked people. She had wounded people. By Andraste's Grace, she had attacked a Seeker! There was no coming back from that.

And somehow they knew everything. Somehow they learnt about my allies.

Her allies. None of them would come either. They would be on the run already, knowing what fate awaited them if they got caught. She would be lucky if none of them jumped to the conclusion to silence her for good. They could do that, could they not? A little bribe here, a little favor there...

That's when the tears had come. The first wave, anyway. She had constrained herself to not cry out aloud, not become part of this maddening orchestra. She had wept in silence instead.

Next: Thoughts of her father – he would come to save his girl, would he not?

Oh how silly those thoughts had been!

He had been a kind man, understanding even – and she had burnt all the bridges with her loud, arrogant, defiant nature, claiming (even when she went with the templars) that she was destined for something greater, that he was a fool to not join in the Game and at least try to raise above his station. That, someday, she would succeed where he had failed. Become someone of note.

The second wave of tears had followed.

Pride. He always said that it would undo me. And it lead me to my 'friends'...

Well, this had turned out for the worst. Now she was here, facing judgment alone, forgotten to the rest of the world. Even if her father had somehow forgiven her, he would never even hear of this.

Her friends would not come. Her father would not come. No one would come.

No one except for the woman with the blue eyes.

She had entered Alexiane's cell after the second wave – alone. That had seemed odd, considering that she was arrested for being a potentially dangerous apostate. And yet the woman had not shown any signs of fear. She had almost seemed compassionate.

Alexiane remembered the pale, but friendly face under the grey hood, and red hair. Well, maybe red, maybe brown. It was hard to be certain with the little light down here.

But she was certain about the blue eyes. Calming, gentle, friendly.

A soothing voice, too.

And for a moment, Alexiane had hoped again. Hoped that if she cooperated, answered all the questions and – for once in her life – stayed humble, the woman might put in a good word for her and help to end this in a good way.

The woman's questions were mainly about names. About who was and who was not involved in the plan.

Alexiane eagerly gave every name that she knew but it didn't take long to realize that she had little information that was new to the woman. That's when the blue eyes started to assume a bored look, slightly annoyed even when Alexiane had to admit that some other names the woman gave were unknown to Alexiane.

The longer the talk held on, the more Alexiane realized that she was proving to be without and value to the woman. She tried her best to give any little detail she could remember, but it did not seem to help.

Just as the woman was about to leave, Alexiane had grasped for a last straw and cried out in despair: 'She's a witch! Lady Rione! She is an apostate!'

Big mistake.

She had no idea what she had done, but when the woman had turned around, all the warmth had been gone from her glance. 'You better forget that name, Lady Alexiane.'

In her numbing desperation, Alexiane had not understood at all. Frantically, she had insisted: 'But it is true!'

'Nothing of that is true.'

Dumbfounded, Alexiane had just stared at her, unable to shut up. 'I'm telling you, my lady! She is...'

'She is an illusion. A memory of some woman you knew as a child.'

Alexiane had opened her mouth in disbelief. 'I don't understand...'

'I do,' the woman had said coldly. 'I have read your journal.'

'My...journal? I don't have a journal!'

And then the woman had told her all about the journal. About the manic ramblings inside. About her supposed love for the Grand Duke. And about Lady Rione, a woman who, depending on which page you were reading, either was an old childhood friend, a rival back at the Circle, a whore she had frequently visited, a mistress of her father's – or some random woman she had (obviously) imagined to meet at the court.

According to the journal, Lady Rione – or at least everything Alexiane said about her – was a delusion of a madwoman.

Mind-boggling as that was, the way the woman with the blue eyes had told the story, Alexiane was almost on the brink of believing it herself. Oh, she had protested, claimed that she never had written any journal, that this was all some trick.

It mattered not.

She couldn't even tell if the woman actually believed what said or if she knew the journal for the lie it was and just didn't care. And yet, Alexiane knew that it made as little difference as her protests.

They had a journal. They had a confession. They had names. And they had a mage who had attacked a Seeker.

They had her.

The rest had been screaming and howling (the third wave of tears and agony), but the woman had already left by then.

And here Alexiane was now. Alone, defeated, knowing that the worst was yet to come. Again the sobbing started. Tears of one who knew she was damned.

They will kill me. Or worse, they will make me...

She wanted to scream, but there was nothing left in her lungs.

Why not just...

...lie down and die? She closed her eyes, despite better knowledge hoping that if she could just stop breathing and hold that long enough, she might manage the inevitable in a less painful way. She tried to clear her mind, for a moment not thinking of anything else and diving into the blackness. But as soon as she did, the blue eyes were there again. Gentle and comforting at first. But then, the moment she had mentioned Rione...

"Eyes like ice. Cold and cunning, calculating what must come..."

Yes, I couldn't have said it any...

Her eyes sprung open in sudden panic as she realized the words hadn't come out of her mouth at all, frantically searching the room...

Then she saw him.

Alexiane spun around violently, pressing herself against the wall because that's all there was – a wall. Spreading her arms in front of her she stared at the boy in front of her. A filthy little creature, light hair, messily covering his pale face.

And he just stood there and stared at her.

"Who...are you?" she managed, panting.

It took a moment of utter silence, as if he didn't know how to speak – or didn't want to. "I," he said slowly, as if seriously contemplating the question, "I don't know."

Then he tilted his head to the side, eyeing her curiously just as if he had never seen a person before.

Maker, what is going on?

"But you...can see me." He suddenly said. "Why can you see me?"

"What?"

A shiver of pure terror ran down her spine, trying to figure out who he was. Trying to make sense of his words.

"They never see me," he continued, lowering his head and looking at his feet. "Alone, abandoned, avoided. They don't see me and yet they evade me. Must I fade away? But you can! You can see me. You can talk to me."

"What do you want?"

Are you going to kill me? Did they send you?

Again he stared at her blankly as if she had asked him the most complicated question.

"I want to help. Do you want me to help?"

Help? He wants to help?

Nothing of this made any sense. How could he have gotten into her cell? Why was he surprised that she could see him?

Am I going insane for real?

Was this boy a creation of her own mind? A delusion like the Rione in the journal (...who was real, she reminded herself)? Was she finally losing it?

And what did he mean by 'help'?

Without a warning a dark image broke through her thoughts. No, it couldn't be, could it?

He suddenly appeared. No one saw him. He wants to help...

"Are you...are you a demon?"

It was impossible. She had succeeded in her Harrowing! She was safe, was she not?

No, we never are. We can train all our lives, but one moment of despair may still push us over the edge.

His facial features were distorted as he just seemed to grasp what she had asked him, as if he didn't comprehend the words at first.

Then he screamed.

"No! No, no, no! Darkness, dampness, damnation. Not the house again. Never again."

What is he talking about?

In one fluid motion, he was on his feet, but just as Alexiane braced herself for an attack, she realized that he didn't move toward her. He was pacing up and down the room, never turning his eyes from her, piercing through her skull. "Pale eyes. Pale face. Pale sheets."

Wait, what?

Her eyes widened, not understanding a word of what he said...

"Tears. Each breath is anguish. A promise. 'You must show them, Alexiane.'"

...but the words were not meant to be heard at all. Instead, they painted a picture. A woman in white. In her bed.

'You must show them, Alexiane. You must show them what you're worth.'

Her final words. No, not her final words. Those she had only read about in Father's letter to the Circle.

But they were her last words to me.

"They came too early. You couldn't even say goodbye," the boy said, his voice suddenly calm and sad.

Alexiane nodded in tears. Yes, they had come too early. Maker, she had been willing to go. She had not resisted at all. They knew she wouldn't run away. There was no need to take her to the Circle that day.

"Why couldn't they wait just one more day?" he asked.

Yes. Why indeed? One more day...and I might have said goodbye.

Her head sunk in her hands, half expecting more tears to come. But there were no more left. How could there, after all this?

"I want to help."

She pulled her hands back again and faced him defiantly, no longer caring if he might be a demon or a killer sent by her former allies. Why did he bother her at all? Why didn't he just go? Why all this madness?

"How?" her voice was hoarse already, but challenging. "How can you possibly help? Can you get me out?"

"Out? No, I cannot get you out. But...but I can get you out."

That didn't make any sense either. She shook her head at the weird boy, ready to give another angry reply.

But then she understood.

He is right. There is no way out of here. But there is a way out.

"You mean..."

"Frightened. Fear. Fate. No return. The things to come. They take your dreams, your heart, your mind. A shell."

The Rite of Tranquility. The only thing that's in my future. Only pain and misery. And then nothingness. The price to pay.

Unless it ended before that.

"Who are you?" she asked once more.

"I don't know."

And she believed him.

Slowly she nodded. There was nothing more here for her.

Not down here in these cells, where the walls constantly echoing the cries of the ones who shared her fate.

Not in the hands of the templars when they came for further questioning – or with the judgment already?

Not here in this life.

Maker have mercy.

"Do it. Help me," she could hear her own voice as if from a distance. The boy was only a silhouette that might have been in another world for all she could see. But she did see the shimmering of something shiny in his hand.

She took a deep breath as he moved forward towards her. Oddly enough, now that the decision was made, there was no fear. Only acceptance. And relief.

She knew that the boy was an ugly and filthy thing, but she couldn't see that now as she looked in his eyes. They were not as beautiful as those of the woman. But they, too, were gentle in a way.

Alexiane expected it to be cold when it happened, but as she opened up at the blade's kiss, it was actually warm. Warm for the first time in ages.

Alexiane smiled at the boy, for the last time trying to get an answer to the first question – this time putting it right: "What are you?"

Again, he hesitated for a moment.

"I...I am the Ghost of the Spire," he muttered, surprised at his own words.

And Alexiane believed him.