Kylon stared at Anders in shock. "Stop being a mage? Can you do that?"

Anders shook his head. "I can't. But Melanie could."

"Did she ever tell you how to do it?"

"No. I think she was afraid to say anything—no telling what might have happened if the Templars knew she could do that. It explains how confident she was that she wasn't going to be found, especially once the Templars focused their attention on me instead."

"If she could suppress her magic, why would she destroy her phylactery?" Kylon asked, thinking aloud.

"She did that?"

"Not long after you escaped, apparently."

"Hmph," Anders snorted. "And she couldn't have destroyed mine while she was at it? There's gratitude for you."

Kylon held his breath, wondering if Anders would ask about where the phylacteries were now, an answer the Chantry refused to give even the King. Alistair was petitioning, but so far there had been no response to his appeals. "Did you ever tell anyone that Melanie could suppress her magic?"

"Are you kidding? Of course I didn't. I wasn't about to be questioned by the Templars about something I didn't even know how to do. Besides, I thought I had a better chance of figuring out how she did it if I didn't mention it to anyone. Once someone else found out … well, you know what they say about secrets."

"I take it you never figured it out, then."

"No. I even tried getting a straight answer out of Owain."

"Who's that?"

"He's a Tranquil—he's in charge of the stockroom at the Tower, has been for some time. The way I heard it, he and Melanie were close as apprentices, but the rumor went that he dabbled in blood magic and had to be made Tranquil. She never went to the stockroom, now that I think of it. I guess I can understand it, too, having to see someone you were close to once with no feelings—none at all—and little thought. It has occurred to me that maybe Owain knew that Melanie was working on learning how to suppress her magic. Maybe he was working on it, too, and the Chantry found out and made him Tranquil to keep him under their control. If we could suppress our magic at will, live perfectly normal lives outside the Chantry … that would be the Chantry's worst nightmare," Anders said bitterly.

"Given this a lot of thought, have you?" Kylon asked.

"Of course," Anders acknowledged. "And not just because I wanted to be free. I wanted to find her." There was something in his eyes that gave Kylon pause—what had his sister meant to this man in front of him?

The meeting at the other table broke up, and Kylon and Anders got up to mingle with the others.

"Arl of Denerim, hm? The two of you are quite the powerful couple." Nathaniel Howe's voice was deep and smooth, and it was impossible for Kylon to tell what he was thinking.

Kylon held Nathaniel's eyes steadily. "Neither of those appointments were my idea. Or hers," he said. "And I'd have married her regardless. I'd like to think she'd say the same."

"Fair enough." Nathaniel nodded. "If you'll excuse me, I have all the work of Arlhood without the title." He stalked off, leaving Kylon staring after him.

"He's an acquired taste," Anders said, grinning at Kylon's confusion.

As Nathaniel crossed the room, Velanna got up, moving toward the door as well, causing Nathaniel to bump into her. She gave him a withering look, and Nathaniel stepped back, waving her ahead with a cold, elaborate bow.

"Is it just me," said Kylon, "or did she get in his way on purpose?"

Anders sighed. "It looks like the brooding archer takes the girl this time, rather than the charming and witty mage. Still," he added, "maybe if she starts tending his tree regularly they'll both be in better moods."

"Little too much time with Oghren, I think," Kylon said, and Anders grinned.

"He grows on you. Like a germ."

"You might want to get that treated, then."

Anders laughed outright at that. "You know, it's good she found herself a man with a sense of humor. We used to call her the Ice Princess in the Tower, and there were bets on whether anyone could truly melt her."

"Did they?" Kylon found himself suddenly intensely curious about Judith's past in the Tower. Had there been anyone special there?

"Oh, no, you don't," Anders said. "I'll happily gossip about anyone else, but the Commander's past is strictly off limits."

"At least, it is if Anders knows what's good for him," Judith said, coming up behind Kylon. "Isn't there someplace you're supposed to be right now, Anders?" she asked pointedly, and Anders assumed a mock-terrified expression and dashed off.

"I see what you mean about him," Kylon said. "Alistair's looks and Zev's personality. Disturbing."

"It is, rather," Judith agreed. She took Kylon's arm, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I didn't get around to asking, can you stay? We're supposed to go to the Blackmarsh, looking for a missing Warden. Kristoff. He's probably dead, but he was researching the Architect." She couldn't suppress her shudder, and Daniel put his arm around her. "Anything he might have found out would be worth it. Plus, the Blackmarsh is supposed to be haunted," she added brightly. "It could be fun."

Daniel smiled at her. "You have a warped sense of fun, then," he said. He sobered. "Unfortunately, I really can't stay. There's a situation in Denerim—" He broke off uncomfortably. With everything she had going on, did he want to burden her with the knowledge of what some of her fellow mages were doing with their new freedom? He couldn't do that to her. "Nothing I can't handle," he added reassuringly, "but I do have to be there."

"How is Alistair?" Judith asked wistfully.

"Frustrated. Loghain keeps coming back—apparently farming dead, blighted land isn't nearly as interesting as needling his son-in-law. So the two of them are at dagger-points, but politely, of course, and Anora's ready to throw them both in Fort Drakon. Teagan and Fergus and I have all tried talking to him, but you know Alistair."

Judith smiled affectionately at her husband's casual mention of three of Ferelden's most powerful men by their first names. He was growing more comfortable with nobility. She felt a pang, thinking of him building a whole life as Arl of Denerim without her. Were there other women, high-born women skilled in the arts of flattery and of drawing men's attention, who were waiting to pounce when he was vulnerable? She clung to him more tightly. "Maybe I should come back to Denerim," she said, "talk to Alistair myself."

"Please do," Daniel said, and the light in his eyes at the thought made Judith feel even more guilty that she couldn't be with him all the time.

"Let me figure out what this Architect is up to, and I'll come back. I promise," she said, reaching up to kiss him.

"Aw, get a room," Oghren bellowed from the table. "Or ask the rest of us to join!" He chortled lustily.

Kylon started to toss off a jovial reply, but he remembered Shianni and stopped himself just in time. He wished he knew where she'd gone. She wasn't in Denerim, so where was she? He forced a smile for Oghren and turned his attention back to Judith. "I can stay for the day, if you're not planning on rushing off to the Blackmarsh immediately."

"That sounds good," she said. "We have to reoutfit, anyway."

"Who are you taking?" Kylon asked curiously.

"Oghren," she said decisively. "He's sturdy in a fight and not so likely to run if he sees a ghost."

"You really think the Blackmarsh is haunted?" They were walking out of the dining hall now, toward the front entrance of the Keep. Judith was too pale—he wanted to see her get some sun while he was there.

"That's the rumor. Nathaniel certainly thinks it is."

"I'm surprised he'd admit to being inconvenienced by a few ghosts."

"Oh, he doesn't. Mostly complains about it. I think I'll leave him here, though—he'll be happier, and more useful, running the Arling full-time. As long as Riordan's better, he's as good at locks and traps as Nathaniel, and more proficient with daggers."

"Zev certainly seems to have worked wonders on Riordan's mood," Daniel said. He stopped at the edge of the parapet, looking out over the city.

"You did a good job getting him here so quickly," Judith said. "I suppose he was just sitting around Denerim, enjoying his leisure time and the fact that no one's trying to kill him?"

"Oh, I think there are a few cuckolded husbands—and at least one wife—who would like to see Zev's head on a pike," Daniel said, chuckling affectionately. It occurred to him that they hadn't told Judith about Zev tracking Morrigan, either. "He wanders a bit, but we agreed on a system so I can get hold of him if I need to."

"Wouldn't that be lovely, though?" sighed a wistful voice from behind them, in a passable Antivan accent.

Daniel jumped, whirling around. "Zev, will you—Riordan!" he cried, scandalized. "Isn't one of you enough?"

Riordan laughed. "What can I say, I was promised most interesting rewards if I could pull that on you successfully."

Judith giggled at Daniel's reddened cheeks. "I would call that successful, Riordan. You earned your reward."

"Thank you, Commander." Riordan's gaze grew serious. "And thank you to both of you. I know who it was who brought the light into the depths of my despair. Your concern is most appreciated." He bowed gravely to them both.

"I'm just glad to see you with your sense of humor back," Judith teased gently. "You bring some refinement to Anders and Oghren's constant barrage of innuendo." More seriously, she said, "You feel up to a trip to the Blackmarsh tomorrow?"

"Indeed. I will be glad to be able to fight demons I can see again, instead of the shadows in my imagination," Riordan said. "Tomorrow?"

Judith nodded. "The rest of the day I intend to take off, and spend it with my husband." She put her arms around Daniel, looking up into his eyes, and neither of them noticed when Riordan made his way off the parapet.

Stana lifted her head wearily, her mind barely registering the sound of a voice echoing in the stone hallways. She wondered fuzzily where she was, but she couldn't focus, thoughts sliding away before she could fully form them. Stana tried to move, bringing a hand up to her face. She wasn't shackled. But why did her hand smell like blood? It was wet, too. Sticky.

A bright light shone into the room, then was gone. There was the sound of a metal bolt being shot home.

A new voice nudged at Stana's fading consciousness. A familiar woman's voice whispered something in her ear, something about the Maker? Stana wanted to listen, but there was warmth in the darkness, if she could just reach it. A door opening? She could see the lumpy yellow landscape of the Fade through it, the Black City just visible, waiting there for her. All she had to do was step through, so easy—

Stana's head fell back onto the floor, lifeless, and a hand reached out, gently closing her eyelids. "May the Maker accept your soul with forgiveness, Stana," whispered a voice. The mage Keili sat back on her heels, waiting patiently for those who had captured her to come and deliver her Maker-ordained punishment for being born a mage.