He had to push himself to keep up with her. It was exhilarating, in a way, but so, so painful - the only other person with skills even approaching hers had been Rinna.
Over the rooftops of Denerim, through alleyways, even onto the city walls at one stage (and didn't the city guard need to improve their powers of observation - Zevran was ashamed of Aedan, the man surely knew better!) never once letting him get close enough to catch her. In the end he suspected it was his wealth that saved him. For all she was well trained, determined and skilled, he was those - and well fed and healthy - Crow discipline again. A master would never let an apprentice work under the conditions most elves had to suffer in the alienage, no matter what their race. Zevran was completely healthy (thanks to his frequent contact with healer mages) and well nourished, and as such his stamina was far, far greater than the elven girls'.
When she stumbled and nearly fell, from a rooftop near the Cousland family estate, Zevran was fast enough to catch her, stop her from killing herself. Although she fought him, silently, trying to twist out of his grasp, she simply didn't have the strength, and in the end she went limp. Her hood fell back from her face and he could see now, the white hair, cut short and wild around her heart-shaped face, the clear, light brown eyes flecked with green, the gentle swirls of her tattoo on her delicate cheek. Pale lips parted as she gasped for breath.
"You win," she said finally, once her breath had returned. He allowed himself a smile.
"So, white lady," he said. "Shall we talk?"
The tavern was suitably shabby, near the docks where people looked the other way if elves were out of the alienage after curfew. Zevran and his companion kept their hoods up, in any case, and Zevran took the opportunity to order them both food. As he watched the girl wolf down the simple stew he realised his earlier assessment was right - she was weak from hunger and exhaustion and it was only a matter of time before the city guard would have taken her down, despite her skill.
"So, my dear," he said, once she paused in her mouthfuls long enough to reply. "I am interested in your story."
"I bet you are," she said roughly, pushing her bowl out of the way and leaning back in the booth.
"What compels a young woman to take up arms against a monarch?"
Her mouth took on a sneer and she looked away. "What does it matter why I do what I do?" she said. "I fulfill a need of my people. We deserve justice - I give it, wherever I can." His lips twitched in a smile. She caught his expression and drew in a breath full of anger. "You never lived in an alienage, that much is obvious."
He spread his hands. "No indeed, dolce ragazza. I grew up in a whorehouse - before I was sold into slavery that is. I have no idea what life in an alienage is like."
She swallowed, looking suddenly guilty and he let himself chuckle. She was so very young. He caught himself wondering exactly how young and as such almost lost the beginning of her answer.
"I was supposed to be married," she said. "Just before the Blight. Vaughn Kendalls - the Arl of Denerim - well, he wasn't the Arl then but..." she bit her lip. "He decided to... amuse himself with some alienage women - he took me - as well as my cousin and several others - to entertain him at a party he was holding."
Zevran raised an eyebrow. This sort of behaviour was not unheard of - although it was the first he'd known of it in Ferelden. "And?"
She showed her teeth. "I killed his guards and managed to escape with the help of my other cousin. But he kept the others for four days. Four days. The man who was supposed to be my husband... he was killed trying to rescue us. My cousin was imprisoned for more than a year - forgotten in the bowls of the Arl of Denerim's estate..."
"Wait, - your cousin - red hair? Large eyes?"
"Soris. Yes."
"Ah - I believe I was the one who released him," he said. "While my warden friend was distracted by Arl Howe."
Her eyes flashed as she looked at him, and he caught a hint of gratitude in her expression. "You have my thanks for that, then," she said.
"While this certainly explains some of your motives, it does not explain where you learned your considerable skills..."
"My mother," she said shortly. "She trained me."
"Indeed?"
"And then she was killed. By shems. Like the Arl of Denerim."
Zevran leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. "So, you take up the cause of the downtrodden, yes? You kill murderers and rapists - so long as they are human - and you speak treason against the throne in an effort to bring down Aedan Cousland."
"Yes," her tone was defensive. "Yet you tell me I am a fool. My name is spoken in every tavern - on ever corner, by shems and elves alike, yet you say I know nothing..."
He tutted. "Veramente, I did not mean to insult you..."
A delicate white eyebrow was raised. "Oh?"
He shrugged and smiled. "Well, perhaps I did. But I am suitably impressed with what you have managed to achieve with so little training. I suggest, however, that you suspend your activities for the time being."
"Why?"
He lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, pulling her forward across the table. She flinched, but was not strong enough to break free. "Because I can do this, la mia bellezza bianco. You are tired, and you need proper food. You have been doing this every night, I guess. For weeks. The city guard, no matter how incompetent, will catch you just as I did this evening."
She snorted in disbelief. "They could never keep up with me," she said.
"Overconfidence kills more fools than any assassin," he said harshly. "You have set such things in motion, it would be a true pity for you to fall before you see their conclusion." She was reluctant, he could see that, but his words were reaching her. He had hope. "There are rumours," he continued. "Rumours brewing in this city which we can use to our advantage." He allowed her to twist her arm free and she sat back, glaring at him and rubbing her wrist.
"Rumours?"
"You fight with your daggers, yes? I tell you that of them all - words are the more powerful weapon. Aedan Cousland is in far more danger from words and ideas than he is from violence. You and I, bellezza bianco,can turn this city so completely against him that when the time comes he will step down from the throne willingly."
"If I disappear now, the people will lose faith in me," she said. "I must continue..."
He smiled. "Oh, I do not believe so," he said. "We shall have to orchestrate your appearances a little more carefully, that is all. And a short absence will give us time to manipulate the people even more. Trust me on this."
Her eyes narrowed. "You ask a lot of trust," she said. "I'm still not entirely sure you're not working for the Cousland."
Zevran hissed. "I do not work for the man," he said. "I have another employer."
"Who? The Crows? Do they wish him removed?"
Zev nearly gasped. Rinna's face - her ravaged voice, the hatred in her green eyes - visions flashed through his mind with an intensity that hurt. The Crows. For a brief time he had thought he owned them. For a brief time he had been the man he had always thought he would be - from the moment the master came to take him from the brothel.
He forced his voice level. "I no longer work for the Crows," he said. Her eyes went shrewd and he knew he hadn't completely managed to hide his reaction from her.
"The Wardens then? I can't imagine they're happy about Aedan Cousland's current position. Aren't they supposed to be divorced from politics?"
"Let us just say that there are more people than just Denerim elves who have a problem with Aedan Cousland," Zevran said.
She folded her arms across her chest and eyed him. "Trust needs to be earned," she said finally. "Come on a job with me. Help me do something that needs to be done. Then I'll do as you ask."
He sighed. "If it would please you. What do you wish? A robbery? Some vigilantism?"
Her teeth flashed white under her hood. "Why don't we take advantage of your training, master Crow?" she said.
"My training?"
"How about a murder?"