MALEDICTUS
25.
The morning brought a hearty and bountiful breakfast, and news.
"So we just…wait?" Aja asked, for perhaps the fourth time, "There was nothing else? Just wait and hope they send for us?"
Hadiza nodded, picking over the spiced bean sauce and boiled yam she'd ordered. "Yes. We wait. I'll give them a full day to recover from the nuptial festivities and then we go to them."
"Hadiza," Vivienne said, "we aren't common beggars to go scraping at the front gate. Have you forgotten who you are?"
"I can't go as my title, Vivienne," Hadiza countered, "remember…this town has never been taken, never submitted. That title will avail me nothing in this place. But, I can go on the claim that I am family, and as such, deserve an audience to make my petition at least."
Dorian was reading through a book he'd picked up when they arrived, and he smiled, sipping his coffee.
"It says here House Fayé has a very good reputation for honoring tradition and laws of the land. It is the main reason Zazzau has prospered for this long, despite Ravin's history with the Chantry. Hadiza, your mother's family is…not a minor house at all."
Hadiza chuckled. "Really? Growing up we were always told it was a minor house of no note. I guess that was just more Marcher gossip attempting to belittle her." She said with a sneer. "The more I learn, the less I'm beginning to like anything south of Rivain's border, truly."
"That so?" Samson asked, "Hard to say that, being Marcher-born, yourself."
Hadiza froze and dropped her fork.
"You all continue without me," she said pushing back from the table, "I'm going to explore the town." She shot Samson a cold look, "I have suddenly lost my appetite."
And then she left without another word.
Aja glared at Samson. "Was that really fuckin' necessary?" She demanded.
"Language." Vivienne warned but Aja ignored her.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Trevelyan." Samson said returning her glower with one of his own, "She hates the place where she was born. I merely noted how strange that was. Kirkwall was a shit hole, but I didn't love it any less. It was still home."
"It's a lot more complicated than that, and you know it." Dorian told him, "Or maybe you don't, considering the circumstances."
Samson's hands came to rest on the table slowly, and he hazarded a slow glance toward the mage.
"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked quietly.
"It means you're a fuckin' dunce," Aja snapped, "it means in all the time you've spent with Hadiza you don't know a damn thing about her. Except what position she likes to fuck best, I suppose."
"Aja!" Vivienne hissed, "You left your raider days behind you. Please see to it that you leave your raider vulgarity behind as well."
"Sod decorum," Aja said, "this fuckhead has been acting like an ass since father told him he'd never marry Hadiza. As if what father says matters. And you can't talk either, Vivienne, you damn well agreed with him. Now we can't go one day without them sniping at one another."
"I will say the nights have been a great deal quieter without the two of them carrying on," Dorian said casually, "but she's right. With you two constantly fighting, it's making it hard for us to get anything done."
Feynriel remained quiet throughout the ordeal, watching as the three older Inquisition members argued amongst themselves. Having finished his breakfast, he excused himself from the table, and left the inn to do some exploring of his own.
Her anger made it hard for her to hear anything. It was a roar in her ears, a fever in her blood, a coiled and dangerous energy begging to lash out at anyone—anything. She wanted nothing more than to do some sort of damage, but she found no outlet, so she paced the streets of Zazzau angrily, with no destination in mind, and no intention of getting anything done. During the day, the sun baked the streets, and folk retreated indoors or into the relative shade of the covered market and bazaar near the grand central intersection of the town. Hadiza had no intention to buy anything, but her curiosity got the better of her, and she found herself browsing.
It never occurred to her that she was being followed.
So far-flung from the politics of the Chantry, of Orlais, of Ferelden, and even of her father's scheming machinations, Hadiza never gave thought that she would be anything but free to roam in this place, where none knew her name or title or why she came. So when curious whispers started up within earshot, she paid them little heed.
Instead, she began browsing a textile seller, who began to show off his best pieces. No silk or satin here. But finely spun cotton and wool, brightly colored, with intricate patterns. Hadiza ran her fingertips over one, wondering how many bolts of the fabric she would need to create a suitable dress. A hand came to rest gently on her arm, startling her. She turned to face a man a half a head taller than she was, with rich dark skin, and a head full of springy, curly hair. What startled him was not his touch, but his eyes. They were silver.
He smiled at her, showing even white teeth. "Mai kyau-da yamma kada ka zo nan sau da yawa?" He asked. Hadiza swallowed, uncertain. Her mother had spoken her milk-tongue to her growing up, but it had been so long since Hadiza had been able to utter a word of it to anyone save herself, that she had trouble understanding.
"Ina…" She began, "…Ina tuba. I do not speak the tongue so well anymore." The man's brows went up and he laughed.
"My apologies," he switched to the Trader's Tongue, heavily accented but not a word nor syllable out of place, "it is just that you resemble our family so closely. Who are you?"
Hadiza sighed with relief. "I'm family…in a sense…a daughter of a daughter, so to speak. I came seeking an audience with the matriarch." The man, as yet unnamed, offered his arm.
"Then allow me to escort you, Daughter of a Daughter," he said with a sly wink, "perhaps you can tell me a bit more about yourself on the way." Hadiza stopped walking, making him stop as well.
"I'm sorry," she told him, "but I don't remember agreeing to come with you. I have to get back to my friends."
The man never stopped smiling, and now his even white teeth and smooth, unblemished skin were beginning to unnerve her. She tugged her arm, finding his grip to be akin to iron shackles. His hand squeezed her elbow until she felt the pressure ease into the sharp, grinding pain.
"I'm afraid that I am unable to allow that." He said in a friendly voice that was decidedly not friendly at all. Hadiza narrowed her eyes and instinctively reached for her magic…and found her mana depleted.
"I wouldn't if I were you." He said with a breathless laugh, "Let's take a walk, and we can talk on the way there. The rest of the family is very anxious to meet you."
Feynriel found the color and sound of the town of Zazzau to be a bit overwhelming at first, but eventually, the noise of the market and the bustle of the streets turned to background noise while he explored. Petals and blooms of jasmine still littered the streets from the day prior, and their fragrance helped to beat back the stench of slaughtered meat, of offal, of human excrement, and the general stench of unwashed flesh. However, as the day grew hotter, the scents mingled, making the town aromatic and pungent. Even that became a background distraction and he learned not to breathe too deeply.
Normally, everywhere he went, Feynriel did not feel so out of sorts, did not stand out save for the subtle quirks in his appearance.
Here, in Rivain, he was as stark in contrast as night and day. Yet, for all that, he did not feel as if this were an inherently bad thing…merely an uncomfortable one. He walked amongst people with skin the color of earth, sand, and wood, their teeth stark against their faces when they smiled. They chattered in a tongue he had never heard, and knowing him for a foreigner, made attempts to speak in an amalgamation of tongues until Feynriel could catch a word here or there.
He got his first true taste at haggling at the market—or attempting to—as he clumsily argued over the price of a bronze ewer, etched with the same intricate patterns seen on Zazzau's outer wall. He'd been about to settle on the price when a hand clapped his shoulder.
"You almost got swindled there," Aja said cheerily, giving him a toothy grin, "you don't speak a lick of Rivaini, eh?"
Feynriel shook his head, smiling shyly. "Wasn't exactly in the repertoire all the way in Minrathos." He said, watching as Aja examined the goods, speaking in a rapid tongue that seemed to come only from the roof of the mouth. He noted how the merchant seemed genuinely surprised at her fluency, and she smirked, tilting her head so that her silverite gaze caught the light.
The merchant blanched, citing that any goods she wished were hers at an obscenely discounted price.
"Anyting for the most exalted House Fayé." The merchant said, bowing low, eyes on the ground as Aja and Feynriel collected their purchases.
"Strange way to thank me for cheating him…" Aja muttered with a laugh, "Have you seen my sister? She left in a huff this morning but she never came back to the inn." Feynriel shook his head, trying to keep in step with Aja even as he sought to take in the sights, smells, and sounds of the vibrant town in full swing. With the wedding festivities ended, people were busy clearing the streets, sweeping stoops and patios vigorously as shops and taverns resumed their usual activity. Carts pulled by oxen rumbled through the streets, collecting the tossed jasmine blooms. Even then, the city was still fragrant with the scent, and Feynriel caught flashes of white beneath the grime of the street of petals that had been trampled underfoot.
"Jasmine is such a coveted flower in Tevinter," he said at last, "it is so strange to see so much of it in abundance here."
"Jasmine is native here, that's why." Aja said, "So there's no feverish clamor for it when one can simply go into the bush and find some. Although, knowing how the rest of the world covets the flower has led to a very booming trade, so now there's likely entire farms of the stuff." They walked for some time before Aja stopped.
"Alright, we've been all over this town. Are you sure you haven't seen Hadiza?" Aja asked him as they stopped to buy bread. Feynriel sighed.
"I truly haven't." He said, and after a moment's hesitation he looked around, "I could…enter the dreamscape and find her that way."
Aja was about to speak when Nadja came to stand before them.
"That's a disaster waiting to happen," she said brightly, "because House Fayé would kill you in the Fade and then where would you be?"
Feynriel blanched, even beneath his rapidly browning skin. "Where did you come from?" He asked.
Aja snarled. "She's been tailing us for some time," she sneered, "isn't that right?"
Nadja idly took a bite of the apple she held, chewing thoughtfully. "I might have been. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that Hadiza is already at House Fayé."
"What?!" Aja and Feynriel cried in unison. Nadja blinked, staring at both of them, amused. She gestured to the west of the town, where the pristine white walls of a great house could be see in the distance, nestled among the foothills of the great mountains along Rivain's western coast. Aja followed her gesture, frowning. Feynriel swallowed hard.
"If I were you, I'd gather the rest of your friends and join her." Nadja finished off her apple, glib as one could be in a situation in which the misery of others was but idle amusement, "They didn't seem too thrilled when they took her in earlier."
"Shit." Aja muttered, "Shit. Alright, alright. Feynriel, go back to the inn and get the others."
"But—" Feynriel began in protest. Aja turned her terrible expression on him, quelling his protest.
"Go and get them. I have to head over to…well I have to go rescue my sister. If they know she's the Inquisitor, they may not have any qualms causing her harm."
Nadja chuckled. "I knew you were smart beneath that fake brainless brute routine. Good job." She turned to leave but Aja's hand shot out, a snake strike and a grip like stone. For the first time, the glib demeanor Nadja employed faded and Aja saw the sinister leviathan that lurked beneath. Her dark eyes were hard as onyx, and there was something akin to a cobra flaring its hood in her expression. Aja was not cowed, having a beast of her own kept beneath her skin, and for a moment, it was a war of wills—Reaver and Killer—as the two women stared one another down.
"You would do well not to insult me further," Aja said quietly, and despite the din of the bazaar and the town in general, somehow she pitched her voice just so to be heard, "it is only by my sister's grace that I did not strike you down or move against you."
Nadja did not smile, and Feynriel became increasingly unnerved by it. She reminded him of Ariadne, only there was no bond of blood-kinship to stay this woman's hand. Quicker than Aja had been, Nadja revealed the blade she held poised with her other hand, and pressed close to Aja so that she could feel it against her ribs. One hard push and Nadja could find the woman's heart easily.
"You will learn soon enough," Nadja said, and her voice was wintery in the afternoon heat, "that you are a snarling pup in the presence of wolves, child. I have been at this for far longer than you and your precious sister. I have been kind and patient. Do you rebuff this, then I will be left with little choice but to hurt you, and little excuse as to why I should not."
Aja was very still save for the intake of breath that let Feynriel know she was still alive. Nadja waited and Aja let go of her arm. After a momentary heartbeat, Nadja pulled back, and the blade was gone, sheathed somewhere on her body.
"Now," she said, the glib and lackadaisical demeanor returning as if it had never gone, "shall we get your friends and head to the house?"
Hadiza had known extravagance of wealth in Orlais, and had known the comforts of being nobility both in Skyhold and in Ostwick. She had born witness to the ostentatious decor of manor houses outside of Val Royeaux, of the severe but majestic spires of Ostwick reaching toward heaven, and in the lush and comfortable chambers she had been afforded in Skyhold.
And yet, as she passed through the elegantly wrought gate, guarded by severe-looking men in brocaded livery, Hadiza knew what she had learned before paled in comparison to what she now witnessed. The inner courtyard was desert gold, and date palms lined the the path leading toward a large fountain. The fountain itself was a marvel of wealth, with the holding pool shaped like a jasmine flower in bloom, and a rearing unicorn spouting water from its open mouth. She laughed, because she imagined briefly a unicorn vomiting. The house itself was crowned with an enormous blue dome that glittered in the sun like glass, and a spire tipped with a crescent moon.
"So tell me, Daughter of a Daughter," the young man said as they walked the pathway toward the house, "what brings you to Rivain? You are so far from home…"
Hadiza, caught up in the fragrant beauty of the place, answered thoughtlessly. "I seek my family. Or rather, my mother's family."
The young man blinked. "Oh? And where are they?"
Hadiza turned her gaze to him. "I was hoping you could tell me. She was a scion of House Fayé after all."
When they reached the door, the young man turned to her. "Not I," he said, "but perhaps my uncle can answer that."
Something about his smile made Hadiza uneasy, but she nodded slowly, loathe to let even the slightest chance slip through her grasp. So she let him lead her inside, where it was significantly cooler. The floors were of polished marble from Tevinter, but she noted that the structure of the house was very open-aired, allowing breeze to pass through in a calming crosswind at certain places. She had become so accustomed to the high and unreachable windows of the homes and castles of southern Thedas that to see curtains from windows billowing gently in the warm breeze was astonishing to her. The place was one that clearly evoked calm and relaxation for all that passed through its pristine halls, and yet Hadiza could not have felt more fraught with uncertainty.
They passed through another set of doors guarded by men who stood guard with partisan pole-arms, wearing black and gold, and looking firmly ahead without so much as a glance in her direction. The doors opened into an enormous circular chamber, bathed in diluted blue light. That must have been the dome she'd seen earlier. There were people gathered within, all dressed in black and gold, but there were two figures dressed in white.
As they came to stand before these two figures, Hadiza noted with alarm and excitement that all of them had the same silver eyes she did…as her mother did. The young man bowed low before the two white-clad figures—a man and woman respectively—and then came to stand beside another young man who was virtually his mirror…his identical twin.
Hadiza was left standing alone before the man and women dressed in white and gold. The woman's face was impassive, but there was a softness in her gaze that gave Hadiza some comfort, but the man's expression was hard and unwelcoming, and his pale eyes were encroached upon by blue, his pupils small, giving him an eerie appearance. Hadiza stood straight-backed and proud, attempting to draw strength from her own legacy, and from the instructions her mother left her.
"Well," the man said, and his voice was rough-edged and deep, heavily accented but understandable, "you come to us in our time of peace while the south tears its own throat out. You are the Herald of Andraste—the pale bitch whose zealots slaughtered our sons and daughters in the name of their foolish and misguided faith. You are the Inquisitor. Do you bring the Chantry's forces on your heels? Have they finally decided to come and attempt to finish what they began? Was the annulment not enough for them?"
The woman rested a hand on the man's arm and Hadiza watched as his anger, which had been stoked by a steadily rising flame, quelled somewhat, banked in his pale eyes. Hadiza spread her hands, palm-up, in the gesture of surrender and peace.
"I have not come here in the capacity of Inquisitor, nor have I ever claimed to be a herald of anyone, least of all Andraste. I came seeking my mother's family. The scions of House Fayé."
She felt a dozen eyes on her, felt the man's curiosity licking at his mind like flames.
"And who is your mother? Why have we never seen you?" He demanded.
Hadiza smiled sadly. "Because had you seen me before this moment, ser, you would have killed me. My mother was known to the south as Evangeline Trevelyan, but before that, she was Maribasse Fayé, a warrior and scion of this House."
It was as if a storm had come, and the torrential downpour unleashed in the wake of her words was a hurricane. It began as a collective gasp, and then a cacophony of murmurs that were equal parts scandalized and equal parts excited. Hadiza saw the generation gaps clearly in this moment. The younger members were unsure of the name, but the older ones…they remembered. They knew who Maribasse was and what she had done to get herself disowned. The man seemed to grow in height, and he came to stand at the edge of the raised dais, towering over Hadiza.
"Who are you to come here, hand-in-hand with the accursed Chantry, and speak a name that is anathema in this house?" He demanded. Hadiza stood her ground, as her mother had told her to in the journal.
"I am Hadiza Trevelyan," she said with a boldness she did not feel, "daughter of Maribasse Fayé and Edward Trevelyan. I bear the stamp of House Fayé in flesh and magic, and I come claiming the Right of Inheritance. You cannot gainsay me in this."
The silence was tense, thick and heavy like a bog, and Hadiza struggled to keep her breathing even, to keep her face fearless. She imagined staring down a dragon, staring down Corypheus, and it helped, but not by much. Staring down her uncle was so much worse. The silence shattered as a clay pot shattered outside, and there was a commotion out in the courtyard.
And the clash of steel.
Her uncle seemed torn between wanting to deny her, and needing to tend to the unrest on his doorstep. After a moment, he let out a frustrated shout, barking orders. The House mobilized, young mages heading toward the courtyard to aid the guards.
Hadiza followed, relieved and angry that she had not had to see the end of her life in this place.
Once she reached the courtyard, however, she was appalled to find it in chaos.
"Kill them!" The patriarch shouted, "The Inquisitor has brought agents! Kill them all!"
Hadiza's shout of protest was lost in the chaos that followed. She saw a flash of red, a flash of silver, and magic arcing this way and that, dispelled by the spell Samson had erected around himself and the rest of his companions.
Five guards were dead around him, broken and bloodied by his silverite sword, Redemption.
Hadiza tried to make her way to him, but found herself caught up in a dozen restraints from head to toe as a glyph of paralysis held her in rigid check. Trapped, she watched as Samson fought, and her friends attempted to maintain the defensive despite the order for them to be killed. Hadiza shouted, but her words died within the borders of the glyph, unable to be carried further. Samson saw her from across the courtyard, saw her trapped atop the massive glyph, and began to make his way toward her. Hadiza had forgotten, in all this time, why he had been singularly difficult to defeat in battle. Samson was the vanguard of a violent storm. He was wind and sea and hail, cutting a swathe with nullifying magic and sword alike, making his way to her. Hadiza wanted so badly for him to succeed, but she knew sheer numbers would overwhelm her friends soon enough.
So when the arrow took him in the shoulder, she should not have been so shocked. The shaft buried deep, and slowed him.
Another arrow.
Samson dropped to one knee, visibly anguished. Hadiza screamed, pounding against the invisible barrier of the prison she was trapped in.
Say it. The demon's voice swelled within her, filling her with heat, riding her fury and hysteria like an untamed mount. It clung to the darkest parts of her, and Hadiza knew if she did nothing, she would watch Samson die right in front of her.
"Yes!" Hadiza shouted into the prison. "Just save him! Save my friends! Please!"
Done.
And all at once, the glyph beneath her feet shattered. Hadiza felt something in her she could not describe. It was heat and poison, a flood in the pipes of her veins, threatening to burst. Seven eyes opened wide, and she felt herself receding, felt the red veins curling around her body, possessive and constricting, choking her, silencing her.
The pride demon that called itself Sethius turned her head, looked around with her eyes, and smiled with her mouth.
Power welled within her body, and Hadiza watched as if she were watching a nightmare. The demon left out an energy barrage the likes of which she had never seen, the likes of which she herself had never been capable of. And then it went to Samson, kneeling by his side where he struggled to breathe.
"Oh, Samson." The demon said with her voice, touching his face with her hands, in a mockery of a caress. "She loves you too well to let you perish like the snarling hound you are." Her hands wrapped around the shaft of an arrow, snapped it in two. Without much care, she tore them out.
Samson cried out, and blood gushed from the wounds. The demon laid Hadiza's hands over the ravaged flesh and smiled. Hadiza knew what Samson saw. Fanged mouth, a forked tongue.
"When I am done saving you all, I will lay House Fayé low before my feet, and raise Zazzau to naught but ash and dust to be dashed away in the next breeze." She healed one wound. "But you, Samson, I will keep. If for nothing else than to see her mewling and whimpering for mercy when I see and experience what she does in your worthless hide."
Samson tried to snarl, found no quarter or strength to muster anything more than a slight curl of his lip.
"I'll kill you…" He gurgled as the demon prodded the other wound with a clawed finger, making him cry out, "…fucking…abomination…"
The demon healed him only after he went unconscious.
Hadiza, from her mind's own prison, felt no relief and knew only the perfect, symmetrical blankness of utter despair.