11.


"I've a friend here," Anders started, following at Bartrand's heels like a kitten. "Someone my parents know. I'd like to stop by."

Bartrand snorted. "You think I give a shit?" he asked, not sparing a glance back. "Fifty sovereigns gets you a crate," he barked, his attention devoted solely to a merchant. "Twenty for a mixed sack."

"A crate, serah," the man replied, carefully counting out the gold pieces. "You'll deliver in the morning?"

"If these boys get off their lazy asses."

The merchant chuckled. "I can sympathize."

"It'll only take a moment," Anders insisted, cutting into the conversation. "Please, you don't understand-"

"I understand," he replied, gruffly, "That you'll have no dinner if you interrupt me again."

"But-"

"Get out of my face!"

Anders shrank away and hurried to make himself scarce. He'd go find Varric instead, or maybe just take off for a few hours unannounced. He'd prefer not to go alone in this unfamiliar city, but if that's what it came down to, so be it.

"Don't antagonize our ride," Leto chided him, appearing from the crowd and flanking him. "Especially considering you were the one so dead set on-"

"I need your help," Anders blurted. "We need to find that magister."

Leto raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "And you want an ex-slave to go with you?"

"Hey, now," he said, taking Leto's arm and winding through the throngs of people. "I was a slave-to-be, too. Both our asses are on the line, but he could get us emancipated."

Leto shook his head, but went along with him, anyway. "I don't like this."

"You don't like anything."

A fair point.

The magister lived in an estate on the east edge of the city, if memory served. The last Anders had heard of him had been a letter they received shortly before his parents had left for Antiva, asking them to look for a certain wine if they came across it. With his family abroad, this magister was the only hope they had. He was wealthy enough to send both of them to Nevarra, and then some. Safe passage would be gift enough.

"Excuse me," Anders said, smiling charmingly at a passing woman. "I'm looking for Danarius. My... my slave and I, we're visiting from Minrathous, and I wish to pay him a visit."

The woman, clearly a magister herself if her robes were any indication, scrutinized them for a long moment before relenting. "On that hill," she said, pointing off to her left. "Large olive tree out front. You can't miss it."

"Thank you, dear lady," he gushed, sweeping down for a quick bow before rushing off in that direction, Leto hot on his heels.

The mansion was absolutely huge, and several slaves were tending the lush gardens as they approached. Leto wished he had some way to mask his eyes, to hide his ears. Based on height alone, he might just pass for human if his other features were obscured. As it was, he was attracting plenty of stares from the workers as they passed. The elves had considerably less interest in Anders; what use was a human mage?

"We shouldn't be here," Leto whispered, staying close to Anders for fear of being outed as a slave. It felt like the others knew, just by looking at him. He hated them, resented them for being who he was just a month ago. It already seemed a world away.

They walked up the winding path to Danarius' home, both in awe of the fragrant, flowering trees that decorated the grounds. Leto recognized some of them from when he was very young on Seheron, but Anders had never seen most of them in his life. All the shrubs were trimmed just so, and the whole scene spoke of great wealth.

Anders steeled his nerves and knocked on the large door, his knuckles hardly making a sound. He reached for the brass knocker and tapped it against the rich mahogany door, chewing his lip as he waited for it to open.

Leto stood poised and ready to bolt at the first sight of trouble. Nothing Anders said could placate him - they were walking into a lion's den.

An elf with suspicious bruises answered the door, eyeing them warily.

"Yes?" she asked, keeping her gaze averted.

"We're here to see Master Danarius," Anders explained, smiling kindly at her. The girl refused to look at him directly, and kept her head down. "My parents are friends of his from Minrathous, the Adenauer family."

She nodded quickly. "Yes, messere. I'll tell him right away."

The boys waited in the foyer as she scampered off to Maker knew where. Leto kept glancing around, as if he expected a monster to jump out at any second. Anders folded his arms across his chest and rocked on his heels.

After what seemed like forever, an aging man descended the grand staircase, one wrinkled hand trailing along the banister to keep his balance.

"And whom might you be?" he asked, his lip curling in a smile that Leto did not appreciate. Everything about this man rubbed him the wrong way.

Anders nodded to him in acknowledgement. "Yes, ser, my mother and father know you."

Danarius studied his fingernails intensely. "Do they now? Do your parents have names, child?"

Anders bristled at being patronized, but shrugged it off. He reminded himself that this man was their ticket out of Tevinter, but only if he could sufficiently win him over.

"Oskar and Eli Adenauer," he said, forcing a smile. "They write you letters all the time. They're vacationing in Rialto right now."

"Mmm." Danarius studied them much in the same way one would examine an insect pinned to a display. "And what, may I ask, brings you to my home?"

"I..." Anders faltered. He hadn't thought this through. No choice now but to be out with the truth, if they wanted their servitude absolved. "My master in Minrathous, he was going to make me a slave."

Danarius smiled again, and it made Leto's hair stand on end. "Why ever wolud he do that?"

Anders glanced away. "I can't do blood magic," he mumbled.

"Speak up, boy. You are addressing an elder."

"I can't do blood magic," he repeated.

"You won't do blood magic." Danarius chuckled, like the whole thing was a joke. To him, it may as well have been.

"It's not that I won't," Anders clarified, unable to completely mask his frustration. "It's that I can't."

"Well, not all of us have sufficient talent to be magisters," Danarius said, loftily. Anders started to say something, but the older man cut him off. "Tell me, who's your friend?" A cruel smile played on his lips. "He has such fascinating ears... just like knives."

Leto took a step forward, gritting his teeth at the slur, but Anders put a hand on his chest to hold him back. This plan was very rapidly deteriorating.

"Please," Anders begged, tears threatening to well in his eyes. "Please, I just want to go home."

Something resembling pity flickered across Danarius' expression, but his gaze quickly hardened. He smiled at the boys, his elevated position on the stairs intimidating.

"Oh, I'm sure we can arrange that, my dear boy."

"Anders," Leto said, a note of fear in his voice.

The mage glanced to him, and Leto had just enough time to watch Anders open his mouth to scream when he found himself completely paralyzed and rooted to the floor. He couldn't breathe, couldn't blink, and if the lack of a shout was any indication,

Anders was in the same predicament.

"Marcus!" Danarius called. "See to it that these fugitives are dealt with."

A burly man, who must've served as some manner of bodyguard, appeared a minute later. He bound their hands and feet with thick, scratchy ropes, and easily heaved them up, one over each shoulder. Leto watched the floor tile pass by as the lumbering guard carted them away.

"Let us go!" he shouted, struggling against the ropes as the magic wore off. "Put me down-"

"That's quite enough," Danarius remarked, almost bored by these events. He flicked his hand in their direction again and Leto was now mute, screaming soundlessly until his throat hurt. The guard's grip on him was viciously tight, his ribcage crushed against the man's shoulder. He could hardly breathe.

Anders was crying; Leto knew this only from the occasional droplet he saw splatter against the tile. He, too, was eerily silent, and Leto had no doubt he was under the same spell.

They were carried down several flights of stairs into what seemed to be Danarius' personal dungeons. Marcus dumped them onto the cold, stone floor with no regard for his relative height. They landed hard, and Anders startled them both when he yelped in pain. The silencing spell had worn off, but they were now behind strong cell bars. Some kind of glowing force field kept them in check even if they could get past the iron.

Anders fired an experimental blast of arcane energy at it, and his heart sank as the bolt dissipated into nothing. He slumped down against the cell wall and buried his face in his hands.

Leto got to his feet and began pacing like a caged tiger.

"You don't have to say it," Anders muttered. "It's all my fault."

"Yes," Leto agreed, fidgeting restlessly. "This is entirely your fault."

Anders' choked sobs were only slightly muffled by his arms, and his shoulders heaved with his labored breathing. Leto ignored him, and frantically examined every last inch of their confines, desperately seeking some kind of out. They would have no such luck today.