Author's Note: Giving a brief warning for some extremely graphic, violent scenes in this chapter. This chapter shifts the pace and tone from previous chapters by quite a bit and gets pretty dark. Also, I'd be remiss if I didn't credit Bathorybabe and dichotomous_dragon (over on AO3) for some of the inspiration for the darkness. That's not necessarily a bad thing ;)

Chapter 26: Wicked Game

Florianne's mask was scuffed and a bruise was forming around one eye beneath it; her makeup had run down in smudged rivulets at the edges of her mask, and yet she refused to take it off. "I am still the Grand Duchess," she said and hiccupped around her tears. "I have been harassed, but I still have my dignity."

Dorian, however, did not care one bit about her dignity. "Where is the Inquisitor?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and even. "I know him well. He's a gentleman and would never leave such a lady as yourself alone in the streets of this city—especially not after such an attack."

Florianne looked up. Her lip trembled and she pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders, scandalously exposed by a torn seam sustained in the attack. "He told me to run," she said with a shudder. "There was nothing I could do, we were outnumbered."

"By whom?" Leliana asked. She melted out of the shadows. Her sudden appearance startled Florianne.

Bull grunted. "Whoever did it waited until those fucking assassins came after me. They're smart, whoever they are." He swore loudly as Vivienne prodded at one of his knife wounds.

"Hold still. It may be poisoned," she ordered.

"Oh I know it is," he snapped back. "I've been dosing myself with the antidote since we got on the boat. Still hurts like a bitch, though."

"I think it was elves," Florianne said at last. "We were two obvious nobles walking the streets; it hasn't been long since the city was ransacked. Whispers of vengeance are in the air."

"Boss was walking in the elven quarter earlier without a problem," Bull said.

Theo wouldn't have been taken by elves; if anything, he'd have asked them to go have a drink, Dorian thought. He'd have apologized for a misunderstanding and promised to make it right. Besides, the elves were (albeit an unspoken) part of the peace negotiations happening later this week. He opened his mouth but Leliana flashed him a silencing look. He nodded concession. All they could do was wait, and that was something Dorian had never been good at.

"Kill him and take his marked hand. It will be a fitting gift for our master."

A voice, garbled and hard to discern over the sound of his pulse pounding in his ears. He may have heard it before. Nothing was certain.

Then blessed silence and darkness.

Theo didn't get seasick, but if he did this was probably what it felt like. Every time he tried to open his eyes the room moved. It didn't spin, the way it did when he was stupid-drunk and Dorian had to help him back to his room. It tilted like the deck of a ship in a storm and he couldn't reach out to grab anything to hold onto. His stomach twisted and heaved and he squeezed his eyes closed again.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before the room stopped tilting and his stomach stopped roiling. His skull threatened to split open from the throbbing pain, but he could open his eyes without wanting to die. It helped that the room was quite dim, aside from the sickly green glow coming from his left hand. He flexed his fingers and tried to move but he couldn't.

The pain made it impossible to panic. He picked up his head and blinked a few times, then squinted to focus better. He was surrounded by masked figures, made all the more terrifying by the glow of his marked hand. He tried to speak; his tongue felt swollen and his mouth tasted… well, unlike anything he cared to define.

"He wakes," one of the figures hissed and Theo tried to turn his head in that direction, but it made him nauseous all over again. Someone put a cup to his lips and helped him drink tepid water. He drank greedily, as if dying of dehydration, but the cup was pulled away and the rest of the water dribbled out of his mouth and down his chest. His head pitched forward again, and he noted that along with the water, there was blood; he'd also vomited on himself at some point. But more worrisome was that along with the blood and vomit, coils of rope wound around his chest and torso, holding him firmly in place.

This was either the worst hangover he'd ever had, or he was in serious trouble.

A thin thread of magic snaked into his mind and at first he jerked his head to the side as if he could escape it. But the magic was insistent and it soothed his throbbing skull to the point that he could open his eyes and hold his head up steadily. Magic crackled around the room and his palm, outstretched before him, flared and sent a sharp pain up his arm that he hadn't felt since Haven. There was a collective gasp; all the masked figures, at least a dozen of them, stared and waited, but when the flare died down they relaxed. The ghostly glow of pale blue magelight filled the room.

"Inquisitor Trevelyan," one said, stepping forward and bowing in mock salute. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance." Theo squinted up at the man, who wore an elaborately carved mask with gilded horns. He was clad in a mustard yellow tunic accented with deep blood red markings. Theo sifted through his wrecked mind, trying to remember where he'd seen such things before. "You've met many of our people before… and killed them as well," he said.

Masks. Last Theo recalled they were in Orlais, so that wasn't out of the ordinary. But he'd seen the horns before. And the red and gold livery.

"Many of our people who've met you speak in awe of what you've done," the man said, sitting down across from him. "As if you're a god among them." He snorted derisively. "But now… you're just a man. A young, inexperienced man who knows nothing of this world, or the world beyond." The other masked figures tittered with nervous giggles. "Enough," he said, waving his hand, and the laughter ceased. "Our Master has promised to make us more than men."

Theo's heart skipped a beat and his stomach clenched. He now recalled where he'd seen the masks before: it was long ago, but it was also in a future that never happened, in a world of green light and red lyrium.

Every time he'd engaged the Venatori he'd had the support and firepower of others, whether it was Cullen's army or Dorian's magic, or Bull's maul. Even in the nightmare future, that now felt more like a figment of a dream he may or may not have ever had, he'd had help. But now he was alone. He was bound to a chair and his marked hand was stretched out in front of him, shackled and bolted to a table. And he was surrounded by at least a dozen Venatori; he had no way of knowing where he was or if there were any others in the shadows beyond.

He swallowed. "What…" he began, but 'what do you want' was a pretty stupid question, all things considered. He settled for, "Where are we?"

"It's not important. Especially since this petty place will be destroyed once the Elder One's plans come to fruition."

Theo shifted, trying to test his restraints. The cords holding his torso to the chair were secure, and the cords around his other wrist were tight enough to make his fingers tingle. His ankles were secured as well, and even if he could free himself, what would he do? He didn't have a bow and he was surrounded by mages—mages who likely practiced blood magic.

"What plans are those?" Theo asked.

The Venatori seated in front of him peered down at Theo's hand. He produced a curved knife and Theo instinctively tried to draw back, but the man instead sliced open his own hand and let it hover over Theo's mark.

Pain shot up Theo's arm as the blood dripped onto his palm, but the mark crackled and a pulse of light and magic shoved the Venatori mage backward against the wall.

"I told you it was useless, Brabantio; the Master tried already," another Venatori said. The interrogator managed to get to his feet, clearly shaken; Theo could tell that much, even behind his mask.

"We will return the Elder One's magic to him," Brabantio snarled, waving his hand at the other man. A gout of flame sprung from his bleeding palm and engulfed his opponent. Theo squeezed his eyes closed and wished he could cover his ears to drown out the screams and sounds of burning skin. The reek of burning hair and cooking flesh made him retch, but his stomach was empty.

"That could be you, Inquisitor," Brabantio said, sitting down across the table from Theo once more.

"So that's what you want? My magic?" Theo managed to ask. "If I could give it to you, I would; it's caused me more trouble than it's worth." He tried to sound nonchalant and cooperative: two things he was not even remotely feeling at the moment. The smell of crisped human flesh was still strong in the air and he did not doubt that this Venatori meant it when he said that Theo would be next. He had to buy time… time for what, though? No one would know where he was, or how to find him, assuming anyone realized he was actually missing. The thought was bitterer than the acrid char smell in the air. Everyone had been so focused on their own personal failings, himself included, that now all he could do was hope his luck held out one more time.

"Oh, you will give me your magic," the man said. "Even if it means cutting off your hand and leaving you to bleed to death." He stood and moved around the table, to Theo's side. He rolled Theo's sleeve back and held up his knife, still red with blood. "But first, a little payback for an old friend. I believe you remember Livius Eremond."

"I would have been insulted if they didn't send anyone," Bull was telling Leliana and Josephine, as he swatted away Madam de Fer and her offer to heal the poisoned knife wounds the now-dead assassins had left. "It's their way of saying that now I'm really Tal-Vashoth, as if I wasn't going to know that," he said. "What pisses me off more is that assholes used it as a cover to get at the Boss."

Dorian clenched his jaw and tried to quell the anger and worry swirling like a storm inside of him. Ever since Florianne had come back bruised and sobbing and worst of all, alone, he'd felt himself losing control; only years of careful training held him together and kept him from releasing all of his emotions in a burst of magic that could very well level this whole section of Halamshiral.

Bull stood and turned to stare at Dorian with his single eye. "Hey. I was fighting off Qunari assassins. Why didn't you do anything? Where were you?" He snapped and took a step forward.

Dorian held up his hand and a ball of crackling lightning coalesced in his palm. "Come any closer to me, and I will release this in your face," he said in a tightly controlled voice. "And if Theodane is indeed dead, I will do it anyway."

"If you live long enough," Bull snarled. "You say you love him? Where were you?"

Everyone stared at Dorian, who struggled to answer that question himself. Guilt crashed into anger and made him feel ill. He'd been upstairs in bed, still resting from the lingering sickness that plagued him. It was worse than any other time he'd sailed; all he could do was lie in bed and sip the weak tea a serving girl brought him. And of course he had to feel better now, when it was too late. He kept staring at Bull, eight feet of muscle and scar tissue and anger that would crush him in an instant; only sheer will kept Dorian from throwing the lightning at him with every last mana reserve he possessed.

Vivienne stepped between them. "My dears," she began. "I hardly see what any of this shouting will accomplish. I was led to believe that the Inquisition was civilized." She glanced between Dorian and Bull. Bull was still breathing heavily, but he stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. Dorian waved his hand and the lightning disappeared, though he kept glaring at Bull. "We can argue until sunrise about who may or may not be at fault, but that will not save the Inquisitor," she said at last. She gestured to the chairs scattered around the room. "Please. Let's sit and discuss this like rational individuals."

Dorian had to give her credit for so easily diffusing the immediate tension; and also Josephine, for gracefully standing down and allowing Vivienne to handle the situation. And really, Vivienne was probably the best suited for this as she didn't know anyone very well yet, and had not been involved in anything that had led to this.

Florianne again recounted what had happened. "It had to have been elves," she insisted, wrinkling her nose and dabbing at her eyes under her now-scuffed mask. "It was foolish of my brother to suggest we be housed here, and I shall have some strong words with him."

"Unfortunately strong words will not bring our Inquisitor back," Vivienne said, and only Dorian was able to detect the subtle change in tone she directed at Florianne.

"I have spies in this city," Leliana said, glancing up. Her face was pale, eyes shadowed and jaw clenched. "I will send them out immediately, with orders to bring back any information."

"That is a good start, Madam Spymaster," Vivienne said. "Grand Duchess, I believe the evening's events have been trying for you and it would be in your best interest to retire for the night." She turned hard, cold gray eyes on the Grand Duchess. "I believe Gaspard's men are available to escort you?"

Her tone brooked no argument, and after a moment of tense silence Florianne rose and curtsied gracefully in spite of her injuries. "Thank you for considering my pains, Madam Enchanter," Florianne said stiffly. She turned, her dirtied skirts swishing, and exited.

"Dorian, dear, if you would?" Vivienne asked once the door had closed. Dorian wasn't sure how she'd figured out his trademark spells, but he just nodded once and wove a web of muffling and secrecy that he cast over the doors, walls, and windows of the room. "I do not believe a word she says," Vivienne said when he was finished. "The elves in this part of Halamshiral are wary; they wish to rebuild, and fear retribution from the nobility."

"They especially would not attack the sister of Grand Duke Gaspard. It was Empress Celene who burned the city," Josephine said. "Gaspard has never been a friend to the elves, but he did not set fire to their homes. We have another enemy."

"Who else would want the Inquisitor dead?" Vivienne asked.

"Plenty of people," Bull said.

"But none more than the Venatori," Dorian said softly. He closed his eyes as his heart clenched in his chest and his stomach dropped. "This ball is the talk of the empire, and half of Thedas. If the Inquisition wasn't here it would be political suicide for Orlais. We haven't been secretive about our movements," he said. He rubbed his eyes and tried to tell himself that the warm prickling feeling there was from being overtired. But in his mind he saw Theo's earnest green eyes, remembered that first shy non-kiss, the tentative brush of his calloused fingers on Dorian's cheek. The lump in his throat was made out of broken glass.

"We dealt a significant blow to Corypheus at Adamant," Leliana said. "We were foolish not to expect retribution."

"Regret isn't going to change this," Bull said quietly. "Fuck it, regret started all of this. I'll get Krem and the boys out looking with your people."

"What do we do?" Dorian asked. His voice was hoarse and he tried to tell himself it wasn't from the desperate need to scream that was building in his chest. What do I do?

"We wait here for more information," Vivienne said decisively. Dorian stared at her, mouth hanging open. "Do shut your mouth, dear; it's most unbecoming on one so handsome," she said lightly. "We can do no good all scattering about." She surprised Dorian with a hand on his arm. "Go. Rest, collect yourself. As soon as any news returns you will be the first to know."

Dorian headed back up to the room; but where he'd early on found comfort and relaxation, he now only noted the emptiness. The spacious bed was too large, and Theo's clothing, left in a pile by the bed, only made him want to hit something. Or someone.

A sharp rap sounded on the door and he wiped his tears away quickly before opening it. "Madam de Fer," he said, pleased at how even he was able to keep his voice. "I'm probably wrong to hope that you've already received news."

Vivienne entered and closed the door behind her. "Leliana's people are good, but not quiet that good, I'm afraid," she said. She gave Dorian another one of her looks, and he sighed before weaving another privacy web.

"How do you know I'm able to do that?" he asked, curiosity winning out for one minute.

She smiled ever so slightly. "My dear, last night was the first night in weeks you and your love were in a proper bed, and yet no one heard a thing. I, however, could hear the Iron Bull snoring two rooms away." It had been a long time since anyone had made Dorian blush, and he had to give Vivienne credit. "Rest assured I do not pass any judgment. While I know we have differing opinions on Circles, you at least have an excellent sense of taste and style, so I daresay you are good for the boy," she said and for a moment her gaze was almost warm. "You're concerned," she said at last.

He sighed. "My only complaint about him is that he makes it nearly impossible to keep my emotions in check."

Vivienne nodded. "He will need you when this is through," she said. "For those of us who value survival, sentimentality is not an option."

Dorian knew as much to be true; one did not grow up in Tevinter society attaching importance, or worst of all, love, to anything or anyone truly important. It was a surefire way of attracting one's downfall. But this wasn't Tevinter, he was very much in love, and it was impossible not to worry.

Theo's forearm was covered with shallow cuts that stung even as the first layer of blood crusted over them. He thought the fracture in his skull was the worst pain he'd ever felt, but that was before he'd been hit with a spell that made him feel every bone in his body was being crushed. He slumped in the ropes, his left arm trembling and his fingers twitching while the green light of his palm flickered wildly. Sweat soaked his hair and trickled down his back in a cold line. Every breath sent agony like knife blades through his chest.

"Did you enjoy debasing such a great Magister?" Brabantio asked. "Beheading him for all to see?"

Brabantio must have been at Adamant; his voice was strangled with the rage of someone who'd seen firsthand what Theo had done. "I could have… ordered him Tranquil," Theo countered in a hoarse voice. "Isn't that worse than death for mages?"

Brabantio grabbed a hunk of Theo's hair and pulled his head back, holding the bloody knife to his throat. The blade stung as it trailed across his skin and more warm blood trickled down his neck and over his collarbone. "Eremond would never beg for death," Brabantio said, releasing his grip. "But you? You may."

Theo wanted to; he really did. "I'm the Inquisitor," he instead said between clenched teeth. "I don't beg for anything." He wondered vaguely when he'd become so stubborn… or so stupid.

Brabantio's mask hid his expression, but he was probably smiling. He dragged his knife over his own palm, which began to glow red. He reopened a cut on Theo's forearm, digging the blade in more deeply. Theo bit his lip and tasted blood. Brabantio gripped Theo's arm with his own bloody palm.

And then there was a roar in his ears and he was screaming. Someone jammed a wadded up cloth in his mouth, muffling the worst of it, but the pain was too intense for Theo to stop. Brabantio clutched at his bleeding arm, as if his blood were infusing the pain into Theo. It felt like his blood was boiling in his veins. "Beg, Inquisitor," Brabantio shouted, fingers bruising Theo's arm.

Waves of red and acid green light assaulted Theo's vision and he couldn't breathe but somehow he still kept screaming himself hoarse. He strained against the ropes, and when that did nothing he strained against his own skin. His marked hand pulsed violently and it felt like the shackle was searing into his wrist.

He wanted to die.

It took a long time for the pain to fade enough for him to realize that Brabantio was no longer clutching him. It took even longer to realize he was alone. The blood was congealing around his wounds and his limbs still trembled against the ropes. The cloth now secured in his mouth tasted like soot and blood. He could breathe again, but it was shaky and shallow and it still hurt, as if his broken ribs had shredded his lungs.

He stared at his glowing hand through a haze of pain. The light pulsed softly, reacting to residual magic in the room. He hated it. Hated what it meant, and that if he wasn't so marked, he wouldn't be going through this.

Exhaustion overcame him and he dozed, but the flash of his palm woke him suddenly and he gave a muffled gasp when he realized Brabantio and his Venatori contingent had returned. He tried to muster a defiant glare, but they would have to settle for wariness instead. "Our plans must be accelerated," he told Theo, setting his knife, now with a clean and gleaming blade, on the table. "Apparently people finally noticed their precious Inquisitor was missing, and all of Halamshiral is crawling with roaches looking for you."

He reached out and trailed his fingertips over Theo's sliced up forearm. The touch stung and Theo twisted his arm in a fruitless effort to get away. Brabantio reached to his side and slid a scimitar out of its sheath. It was a larger version of the curved knife he'd used for his blood magic. He let the blade hover over Theo's arm. He turned and Theo saw his eyes, dark and malicious, through his mask. "You deprived us of Alexius and Eremond. But your marked hand will be a fitting remuneration for our master," he said.

Theo had wished for death before, but now he was really going to die. Brabantio would take his severed hand to Corypheus and leave him here to bleed out in some burned out hovel somewhere in Halamshiral. The Inquisition would fail and Corphyeus would have his nightmare red-lyrium-green-sky future.

"After your death, the next to fall will be your Tevinter lover," Brabantio said. The blade of his scimitar reflected the violent green glow. "He will be made to kneel before the Elder One and beg forgiveness for bringing such shame to the Imperium. The Elder One will have his head. Perhaps he'll even put it in a place of honor next to your hand." He laughed.

The fear of pain had been bad enough, but now the real, deep seated fear of death filled Theo with panic. He struggled and strained with everything he had. The ropes cut into his ankles and his other arm. His left wrist was rubbed raw and bloody and stung badly, but he tried to pull away as Brabantio lifted the scimitar overhead. He was screaming, begging unintelligibly. Tears rolled down his cheeks. The light of his palm glowed bright, filling the room and casting shadows on the masks.

Brabantio brought the sword down. Theo's palm flared blindingly bright. A cloud of green crackling Fade energy exploded overhead. The wooden table splintered; Theo was thrown backward and the Venatori were screaming in panic. The green light was hungry and sucked at the Venatori, pulling them in piece by piece: a hand here, a foot there, patches of skin, pieces of bone.

And then darkness.

Author's Note: Many thanks to all who have read and reviewed! I appreciate the support for the story so very much! Thank you karebear for encouraging me to break boundaries and go dark, and to Kaeberlily, who caught some foreshadowing ;) Redrosemary, Ioialoha, Spazapho, AgapeErosPhilia, Melysande, and FenZev-thank you all! :D