The Fade
They are not women, though they look so similar it's hard to believe that they are only approximations. But you must remember, you must keep it fixed in your mind. They are not women, despite the curve of their hips and the swell of their breasts. Think on it this way: in the flickering sunlight of the jungles of Seheron, a tiger can be mistaken for just another shadow, for something insubstantial and unreal. It is a mistake you make only once, and although it is with doubt a valuable learning experience, a better lesson is to understand that things are not always as they seem.
Desire and Hope watch the dreams of the old man, as he recalls his life and the choices he made. They hold little interest to either now that his part is almost played, but the faint tug of Egidius' need is enough to warrant a cursory viewing, especially from them. After all, what would they be without the dreams of the living?
They watch the fever dreams of the elf, interested and encouraged by the images his subconscious pulls up. They cannot enter this vision, but they are not needed by him, not now. They have set him on his path, and will only return to him if he strays, as he so nearly did with the human woman. Hope smiles. She knew she had been right about him. There was a time when Desire had thought the sister might have sufficed, but Hope had seen the truth of how the world must be, and who they could use. She had always believed in the pieces she had selected, and Desire rewards her now with an excited kiss to her cheek, like a little girl, or a sister, might give.
They are aware that what they are trying to accomplish is beyond anything their kind has ever attempted, but the way world must be is so clear to them. They are of one mind, joined in certainty. They cannot recall now who had first questioned the way the world is, but once the betrayal was voiced both knew they could not allow it to remain ever thus. Their plan was easily begot, a testament to the strength of their combination. Soon they will need others, but for now they are enough. They have already achieved so much. So many little nudges to move their pieces into place. But for now they can only watch, and trust in the foundations they have painstakingly laid.
Hope turns to her companion, her accomplice, her other half, and says in a tone that undermines her worlds that she is sure everything will come to fruition. Desire smiles bravely. She believes in their work, and knows they have done all they can to ensure that this transaction, the only one truly out of their control, goes as they have planned. There are so many potential eventualities, so many futures in front of them, twisting and spinning through time like so much gossamer - and each as fragile.
The magister may not accept the elf, or the elf the magister. Perhaps one or both will not be desperate enough, their hopes and desires not suitably manipulated and frustrated to cause them to overcome their fears or hubris. In a hundred futures they refuse each other, in a thousand the elf dies and the ritual is incomplete, in a million there is no escape, no war between the mages and the templars, no sudden release of power and no valesh'engris to open the way.
But with each piece, the numbers change, and slowly, steadily, they are favouring Hope and Desire's vision of how the world must be. Of course, all this depends on the next conversation, and the one piece they cannot control.
Remember the tiger?...
Everyone knows all spirits and demons want is a mage to possess, to walk among the humans as one of them, to live in the human world. After all, the Chant of Light is clear in its teachings: the Fade is their bastardised approximation of our world, they are jealous of us, of what we have that they do not. So they plagiarise our emotions, our sins and our virtues, because they have no will of their own. They are unable to feel hope, faith, justice or desire, so they take what is ours.
But how long can something remain only a copy? Or rather, will you notice that the shadow is has become something substantial before or after it has it's claws in you?
They turn their gaze back to the dreams that are playing out in front of them, the magister who dreams of power, the boy who dreams of fame and love and money, the elf who longs to be recognised and independent, the warrior who wants nothing more than the safety of his family, and to feel he belongs. And then their gaze falls on the darkness. On the mind that is so hard, so closed and rotten that even they cannot break through it.
And now everything depends on that mind, on its wishes and dreams.
Desire takes her sister's hand and squeezes it tightly. For now they can only watch.
9.21 Dragon
The Senate, Minrathous
If Hadriana had been given to such things, she would have felt sick with excitement. She had spent all morning waiting in the senate buildings for Magister Denarius to arrive at his office, sitting as still and quietly as one of the large marble statues that littered the sweeping hallways. The minutes and then the hours drifted by unnoticed, the only thought occupying the young woman's mind was that today was the day she would finally meet the man who had shaped her entire life.
Hadriana had of course met Denarius before, in the sense of an introduction and then in vague and fleeting moments at the various functions she attended with Egidius, and latterly by herself. But she had never really met him, not in the way she clamoured for. She doubted he knew her name, and she knew for a fact he wouldn't be able to describe even the barest aspects of her life if he were asked. He might know she was Egidius' apprentice, and he probably knew she had her own as she had boasted so shamefully loudly and openly about it, before she had met Callum and found what she had been saddled with. The sting of embarrassment whenever she thought about Callum still troubled her, no matter how much she tried to sooth it. But now was not the time to dwell on such things.
The clatter of footsteps echoed along the corridors as senators and administrators went about their business, caught in the various flurries of government. Occasionally a well-meaning person asked Hadriana if she needed help. They had each received a Look, and hurried quickly away, regretting their concern.
Hadriana had never tried to directly approach Denarius before, a fact which, knowing her, might surprise. After all, etiquette wasn't something that monsters were overly troubled by. She had approached Egidius at fourteen, asking to be apprenticed; she had demanded her own apprentice at the age of twenty-two, herself not yet capped. Hadriana didn't not care about such things; rules and obedience were extremely useful in their place, but she didn't understand why anything should stand in her way. Hadriana was in many ways a very simple, untroubled person. She simply wanted to be a magister, with Denarius at her side, and she wasn't troubled by the means she went to in order to secure her dream. No demons courted her, no rivals challenged her, no limitations were placed on her by her old man. She had only herself to rely on, a relationship in which she had total faith.
And yet, she had refrained from simply approaching Denarius. She would get perhaps one chance to win him over, to show him what she could offer, and what a boon she would be to him and his house. One chance, and if she failed she would never get close to him, or to anyone, again.
But now I have something to offer him, something no one else can, she thought with her own approximation of a happy smile.
o0o
On the other side of the door, Denarius sat heavily in his chair, exhausted. He had been back in the capital for two months now, and still there seemed so much to catch up on. He knew he had been neglecting his duties as a magister, but he hadn't realised quite the extent of his inattention. Now he had returned to his accepted routine, he found the world had continued on without him and he was expected to catch up or be left behind.
He was forty-five years old, and people were beginning to say he was washed-out. He had absolutely no intention of proving them correct. He had spent over half his life chasing his obsession, and was in no danger of being released from it now, just because of idle titter-tatter. He had dreamed of his prize last night, and now he couldn't shake the half remembered images of his weapon, his lyrium man. He had run his hands over it in his dream, greedily touching and stroking it. He had woken stiff and uncomfortable, and despite the administrations of one of his slaves he hadn't felt sated all day. He longed for his warrior now as passionately as he had at twenty.
He glanced at the clock, which kept good time, if he remembered to wind it every morning. It was dwarven made, a gift from Orzammar for some information he had uncovered about one of their lost thaigs while research Nereda's experiments. When he had eventually returned to his office he had found the standing clock in-situ, and after reading the short note from Aeducan, King of the Dwarves, he had instantly set about removing the face. He had stood staring in wonder at the spinning cogs and wheels that uncovered. The clockwork fascinated him, appealing to something inside himself that was reflected there. It was another kind of magic, and Denarius had already begun to wonder if there was any way it could be used to his advantage. Like the whirling brass mechanisms, his mind worked away insatiably, constantly spinning and turning.
But for now it was getting late, and he had another appointment before he could return home and to his experiments, frustrating as they were. Glancing at his diary, he was surprised to find the name of an apprentice scrawled there. It wasn't unheard of for an apprentice to contact a magister, but usually their tutor instigated the meeting. There was something oddly familiar about the name, and Denarius, keen as always on problems, decided that solving this little mystery might put a nice spin on an otherwise fruitless and depressing day.
And so it was that when he opened the door to Hadriana, she was welcomed with a warm, practiced smile. Denarius used his charm like a card trick. It was there to dazzle and amaze, and, of course, to misdirect. For Hadriana, who had waited so long for this moment, and was so unschooled in the politics of human socialisation, it was the happiest moment of her life.
He waved the young woman into the deep, soft chair he reserved for guests, before sitting behind his desk on his own tall, hard seat. He noticed with amusement the way the girl's eyes shone, her perfectly applied make-up and the smell of expensive perfume that wafted from her. He enjoyed the adulation of others, even if this particular young lady wasn't necessarily to his tastes.
"Well, what can I do for you?" he asked, not unkindly. It didn't hurt to court the young, after all one day this silly, love-struck girl would be a magister. Denarius was nothing if not a forward planner.
For a moment it seemed she was too star-struck to speak, and Denarius had a fearful few seconds while he contemplated the possibility of having to call the porters to have her escorted away. And then, at the point when her silence was on the verge of becoming embarrassing for them both, she said something that caused Denarius to roll his eyes, instantly regretting the meeting.
"I have a gift for you," the girl uttered in a way that she probably though sounded mysterious. He began packing away his papers. To Denarius' ears, well used to flattery and politics, she sounded stupid and young. He smiled at her again, but this time he didn't bother to let it reach his eyes. "I assure you, you have nothing I want," he said, standing from his seat, "why not find a nice young boy for your favours?"
"I have an elf, one who will survive your process."
Denarius sat down.
The clock ticked.
"And how do you know about that?" he answered slowly, no longer pretending to smile.
"I… heard a rumour. About what you're doing. They said you were using elves, so I started to research and-"
"Fine, fine. And what, pray, have you discovered that has so eluded me?"
Hadriana felt her cheeks flush, but ignored it. She had no intention of backing down now, having come so far. "I have been talking to one of them," she admitted, ashamed, "and I have learnt many things, all of which will help you." She watched his face for any signs of revulsion or censure as a result of her confession, and was relieved to see none. She had known he would understand, and would forgive her for consorting with such creatures. After all, he knew it was all for him.
Denarius watched the shame play out across her face as she spoke and, although he made no show of his interest, he marked it. He rested his elbows on the desk, and leant towards her. Hadriana's breathing quickened, but he noticed she didn't flinch or shuffle in her seat.
"I have spoken to them, many times. And I have yet to hear anything worth the knowing." His voice was hard like stone. "Why do you believe you have succeeded where I have failed?"
Across the Veil, the spirits lean forward, watching the scene with painful intensity.
Hadriana opened her mouth to speak, and then paused. This was the moment, and she absolutely understood how thin the ice was on which she was now about the skate. She would need to be fearless, or else the last thing she would ever hear would be the crack. She met his cold blue stare with her own.
"I do not. I have always admired you, my lord. You are the greatest magister of our time, and you are the centre of my life, even if you are unaware of it. I could no more supersede you than the moon could the sun. But, if you will allow me, I do believe I have found your elf, and I want nothing more than to give him to you, as a gift, and to offer myself to you, as your wife."
Tick, tock.
Tick, tock.
The Viper was such a poor nick-name for Hadriana. But Denarius had no nick-name at all, because how could you label such a man, with his wealth and his power and his chilly intellect? He regarded Hadriana now as he had the clock, watching all her cogs and wheels turn, and he understood her as easily as he had the mechanisms hidden behind the ornate clock face.
Tick, tock.
Hope and Desire peer closer into the world, clutching the other's hand so tightly their knuckles whiten. This is it.
Tick, tock.
Could she be useful? He wondered, surprised that he was considering it. She had, though he accepted unwittingly, delivered a huge insult to his name. I want the weapon, he reminded himself. Denarius pursed his lips, his expression carefully constructed to show that he was considering her proposal.
"Tell me why you think this elf is the one?" he finally asked.
"In order to do that I need to first tell you about their tattoos, the val-"
"I am aware of the vallaslin" he cut across her, making sure his tone was pitched somewhere between anger and boredom. "If this all you have to offer, you are not only insulting me, but also wasting my time. And quickly frankly, I am not sure which bothers me more. I suppose we will have to find out, together."
Hadriana paled as she saw her future slipping away from her. "Please, my lord. I did not mean to presume you did not. But I believe I am privy to something that you simply could not know."
"Go on."
"The vallaslin, the tattoos, are given to the elves when they come of age, and are accepted into the clan. But they must also accept the clan. The markings are more than tattoos; they are a kind of blood magic, tying the clan to the elf, but also the elf to the clan. If they elf in question does not want to join, the tattoos will fail. The body will reject them."
Denarius sat forward, his eyes alight. "How do you know this?"
"As I said, I spoke to one."
"I have spoken with the elves in my service. They are dumb, stupid creatures."
"I'll not be the one to deny that," Hadriana readily agreed, "but I... Well, I have a wild one, one that grew up with their own kind, and their own lore. The elves we enslave are born to it, or are stolen from their clans so young they know nothing. But the one I have, she knows their history; she is the one who told me these things."
There was a pause as Denarius digested this information, silently cursing himself. He couldn't understand why something so obvious had not occurred to him. All these years with his nose stuck in dusty old books as his purse depleted with each experiment, each shipment of lyrium. He felt his stomach clench in rage, but his expression did not alter, did not betray him. It doesn't matter, I can use this girl, I can still get my weapon, a comforting voice whispered at the edge of his mind. And why not? It was obvious Hadriana wanted more than anything else to be of service to him, though he found the extent of her desire distasteful. This situation can be salvaged. I can still succeed.
"Very well," Denarius said, "You have my attention. Tell me about the elf you wish to give to me."
Hadriana was about to ask about her own proposal, but the question died on her lips. Instead, she recounted everything she had learnt about Leto, both from Varania's own retelling of her life and from the memories she had stolen. When she had finished, Denarius walked over to his mantel place and poked at the dying embers.
"And you have this elf now?" he asked.
"Yes, he's in a storeroom, not far from him. His health is recovered, but I have kept him delirious. It seemed easier that way."
"Good. Well, miss – what is your name anyway?"
Hadriana ignored the sting, and answered. Denarius raised an eyebrow when she had finished, but if he had noticed the name of her house, and remembered the various attempts on his life, he made no comment.
"Very well, Hadriana. Now let me tell you something. You are correct. It must indeed be an elf that undergoes the process, it is their magic. The markings are a vallaslin, but they do not unite the individual to a clan, rather they are designed to join him, or indeed her, to their gods of life and death – to what we call the Fade. I have spent many years researching the exact pattern the markings must take, and they are, not to put too fine a point on it, extremely extensive. The ritual so far has killed all that have undergone it, elf, human or dwarf. If, if, I accept your premise that the subject must willingly accept the markings, that may account for the high failure rate." Denarius turned from the fire to stare down at Hadriana, "Yet I fail to see exactly why this elf, or any for that matter, would be willing to risk their life to a process that requires them, quite literally, to have a molten hot poison poured into a series of open wounds that cover their entire body, from the tips of their little ears to the soles of their dainty feet."
Hadriana stood from her chair, and joined him at the fireplace.
"This elf, he will do it gladly, in exchange for the freedom of his sister and mother. Both of whom currently reside with me."
Denarius smiled, and Hadriana's broken heart soared.
"I will need to see a display of his strength. And it will not be enough to simply approach him with this plan. From what you have told me, he is very likely to be… mmm... sceptical of human kindness. Still, I am nothing if not persuasive. Very well, Hadriana Octavia Livia Egidius of the House Egidius. I will offer you this in exchange for you thoughtful gift. If the elf agrees, and the ritual is a success, I will adopt you in law and name you my apprentice and my heir. You will be the sole beneficiary to the name Denarius apon my death, in addition to my lands, my money and my titles. Moreover, I will grant you while I live a place at my side at all functions, I will teach you all I have learnt regarding magic, politics and lyrium. You will have free reign over the house, access to my purse, and my support in whatever intrigues you decide to pursue. It is not marriage, but I believe it will suffice?"
Somewhere, lost in the depths of Hadriana's soul, something shattered. But she had almost everything she wanted, and she was pragmatic.
She held out her hand.
Desire and hope tense…
Denarius shook it with every sign of pleasure.
...and break in to screams of laughter and delight, hugging and kissing each other like over-excited school girls.
He went to his bureau and poured two larges glasses of wine, handing one to his potential daughter. Hadrian took a grateful sip, and knew she would always now associate the taste of red wine with tainted happiness.
"Now," Denarius began, "How shall we engineer a display of this boy's prowess?"
Hadriana, enjoying the sound of the pronoun on his lips, replied "I believe I know of just the thing to not only show you his skill, but also to convince him to undergo the process. First, we must…."
o0o
When Hadriana finally left Denarius' office, many hours later, the sting of disappointment had all but faded, leaving behind it a dull ache that she fought to ignore.
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