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Cassandra wasn't in the camp when Ciri awoke the next morning. Varric gestured in the direction of Dennet's farm with his spoon, bowl of porridge in one broad hand.

"She's off negotiating for the horses," he said. "Have some breakfast."

Ciri accepted a bowl from a scout. Cassandra would have woken her if she'd been needed, wouldn't she? They'd argued long into the night about the mages, but in the end, Cassandra had seemed to accept their word about the mages in the Witchwood, however reluctantly. Ciri had sensed a certain tension when they'd turned in for the night, however. The matter was not yet settled, not entirely.

"Hello the camp!" someone shouted, and Ciri turned to see a tall, horned woman in hunting leathers approaching on foot, bow slung over her back.

Herah Adaar, that was her name. Triss watched her approach with wide eyes. Ciri didn't blame her for staring. She had, too, when she first saw Herah. The Vashoth looked like the offspring of a sylvan or a succubus and an oversized human.

"Morning," Herah said shortly as she stalked to the fire, holding out her hands to the flames. "Can I get some of that? I didn't eat before I left the villa."

A scout hurriedly scooped up a bowl of porridge and held it out to her.

"That's better."

"Malika said Shokrakar would send someone with a report," Ciri said. "What do you have for us?"

"Mmf." Herah swallowed a mouthful of porridge. "Lyrium smugglers were working with a Carta clan. Pulling lyrium out of the Deep Roads entrance in Lake Luthias, transporting it to Hafter's Woods, and shipping it out from there. We figure rogue Templars were buying it up or something. That scout gave you the key?"

Ciri patted her belt purse. "I have it."

"We killed off the guards outside the door to the Deep Roads and put some planks across it. If there are Carta in there, it'll stop them for a few days," Herah said. "They had an outpost on the East Road, too – took care of that easy enough. Helped your people set up camp out there. Don't go too far down that passage, though. There's a nesting dragon in the valley. Ashaad got singed taking a look around."

Sera, hair still a rumpled mess from sleep, lit up at that. "Wot, really?"

"No," Ciri said immediately. "We're not fighting a dragon."

"Piss."

"There were ruins up in that area with one of those orb things," Herah said. "Kaariss found an elf woman in them. She was pretty bad off. Looked like she'd been fighting demons by herself. We left her in the camp with your Dalish scout."

"I would like to investigate these ruins," Solas said.

"And help the woman," Triss added.

"We'll do both," Ciri promised.

"We'll stick around another week, make sure the smugglers aren't getting any ideas about coming back," Herah said. "Then we'll head back to Haven for another assignment."

Ciri nodded. "Was there anything else?"

Herah dug into the pouch hanging from her belt with her free hand and withdrew a folded sheet of parchment and a small sack that clacked gently. "Found more of those shard things your scouts said to keep an eye out for. And we made a map of Hafter's Woods. The exes mark the rifts."

Ciri took them from her, passing off her porridge to Olgierd. "We'll close them before we leave the Hinterlands again," she said. From the looks of the map, there were only two to be concerned about.

"And watch out for bears," Herah added. "They're fucking everywhere."

"We'll take care," Ciri said, re-folding the map and sticking it in her purse along with the little sack.

"Seeker's returning," Olgierd said quietly as he handed back Ciri's breakfast.

Cassandra looked rather pleased with herself as she marched back into camp. "The horsemaster has agreed to send his mounts to the Inquisition. We've acquired his services as well. He'll travel with them to Haven, and stay to oversee their care and training."

"How'd you pull that off?" Varric asked. "I didn't think anything was going to pry the old man from his farm."

"I appealed to his sense of duty as an Andrastian," Cassandra said.

There was something to her voice, something to the set of her jaw as she looked around at Ciri and her gathered companions – at Olgierd specifically – that put Ciri on edge. No, the matter of the mages wasn't over. Merely delayed. Somehow, in some way, they'd pay for Ciri's decision.

"Thank you for taking care of that," Ciri said.

Cassandra nodded shortly. "It was no trouble, Lady Hand."

"Ciri," she insisted.

"I think not," Cassandra said. She looked troubled. "I need the reminder. You are the Hand of the Maker, despite your protests – and despite your unorthodox choices. I must respect that."

Ciri felt a pang at her words. She'd thought they were becoming friends. Clearly, she'd pushed her too far. But what other choice did she have? She came here to assist Triss with the mages. Even with all that had happened, she hadn't lost sight of that.

"Not my business," Herah said. She handed off her empty bowl to a scout. "Thanks for breakfast, Your Worship. I'm heading back to my people."

Ciri bade her farewell, casting a quick look around the camp. Everyone was up and awake, either eating or finished with breakfast. The scouts were strapping on weapons and heading out for the day. The requisition officer handed off orders to one of the departing scouts, who shook her head in disbelief.

"Puzzle boxes, ser?"

"To entertain the troops," the requisition officer replied.

"Yes, but drakestone, ser? Doesn't that explode?"

"Don't set it on fire, and it'll be fine."

Ciri turned back to her companions. "We've a few options," she told them. "Redcliffe lies south of here. We could take Grand Enchanter Fiona up on her invitation to meet with the mages, learn more about the rebellion's goals and plans. The rifts in Hafter's Woods need to be dealt with. And Triss and Solas both wish to go to the East Road, for the elven woman and the ruins."

Triss looked torn. "It sounded like this woman needs help, but if the mercenaries got her to the camp, she'll probably be all right without us. The rebellion is where we need to be. The more people we can help, the better."

"Merigold's right," Olgierd said. "And I've questions for them about their policy on booting out their fellow mages, unwelcome magic or not."

"The ruins have sat empty for hundreds of years, possibly longer," Solas agreed. "They can wait another day."

"But – demons," Sera protested. "We could go do something useful and kill demons. You already recruited a bunch of robes. Why go to Redcliffe to make nice with more of them?"

"To be fair, there's nothing to Hafter's Woods but smugglers and bears," Blackwall said. "And it sounds like your mercenaries have dealt with the smugglers quite nicely."

Varric just shrugged. "Whatever's good, Songbird. We'll have to deal with the rebellion one way or another."

"I would prefer to consult with the advisors back in Haven first," Cassandra said, frowning. "But it is up to you. If you're certain you wish to meet with the Grand Enchanter, then I will go with you to make certain no treachery is intended."

"Be on the lookout if you wish, but I doubt Grand Enchanter Fiona intends to cross us," Ciri said. "She seemed more interested in aligning her cause with ours."

"Which is exactly the sort of thing we do not need," Cassandra said. "The Chantry will not let this slide, Lady Hand."

"If the Chantry wanted a say, they would be out here doing this work themselves," Ciri retorted. "We go to Redcliffe."

She knew this would make things harder for Grand Cleric Oudine, but what other choice was there? Certainly not the Templars. And doing nothing wasn't an option. No – it pricked at her conscience to throw this world's religion into upheaval, but doing the right thing often came at a cost.

Cassandra grimaced but didn't argue further, so Ciri turned her attention to finishing her breakfast. One of the remaining scouts took the empty bowl off her hands, and she ducked inside her tent to change into her armor and grab her weapons. She returned promptly, ready to face whatever problems the day would throw her way. Cassandra stood apart from the others, beside the stand for Leliana's ravens. As Ciri watched, she tied a message to one of the birds' legs and sent it winging its way westward.

Ciri made her way to the picket line, pleased to see that the scouts had seen to saddling their mounts for the day's ride. Zephyr pushed her velvety nose into Ciri's hair, exhaling loudly.

"Hey, Zeph," she said fondly, rubbing her neck. Her sweet mare wasn't quite as odd as Geralt's Roach, but she was certainly more loyal and intelligent than the average horse.

She untied Zephyr's lead from the picket line and mounted up. "Come on," she said. "There's a shortcut through the gorge. One of the mages showed us last night."

They followed her back across the shallow stream and through the high, narrow gorge. It looked different in daylight, less oppressive. Sunlight touched the tops of the worn gray stone sides. The occasional bright red flowering bush pushed its way out of thin soil.

The cave in the Witchwood stood abandoned as they rode past it – the glyph-covered boulders were dark, the ice melted. The mages must have left in the dark of night, or as the sun rose. Ciri could only hope that they'd reach Haven without incident, and that Cullen and the Chantry wouldn't pose a problem once they arrived.

The dark canopy of the Witchwood thinned and gave way to daylight once more, and Ciri looked out upon the far end of the East Road. A handful of huts dotted the fairway, and in the far distance, she could see a broken arch, a watchtower of some sort. Nearer, to her left, the gated town of Redcliffe stood. Inquisition scouts watched over a quiescent rift, hands on the hilts of their weapons.

Ciri rode to the nearest hut and slid from Zephyr's back, looping her reins around a fence post. "Let's take care of that."

They approached on foot, weapons ready. Ciri hadn't made it within thirty feet of the rift before it woke with a crunch, shooting out spikes of light. The scouts drew back with startled exclamations.

She darted in to strike at the nearest terror demon. It screeched and dove beneath her. Fuck. She stepped across the battlefield, pulling herself through the ether – except no, something pulled her back. Magic clung to her, something heavy, cloying, dragging her back to the here and now. She stumbled out, limbs trembling, and the terror demon shot up from beneath her.

Blackwall shouted and made his way to her aid with painful slowness, as if he were wading through molasses. His sword thrust took ages to connect. But the demon was trapped in the mire with them. Blackwall gripped her by the arm and yanked her out of the bubble of time.

Things returned to normal with dizzying speed. She nodded her thanks and raised a hand to the rift, disrupting it and whatever madness it was causing.

All the demons fell eventually. The fight was a tricky one – more than one of them fell victim to the bubbles of time that sped up or slowed down. Finally, she sealed the rift, and it ground shut, taking its time anomalies with it.

"What in Andraste's name was that?" Cassandra demanded.

"I don't know," Ciri said quietly. She had an intense urge to bathe, to scrape her skin raw, to remove the feel of the magic from her body. "But it stopped me from using my magic to step across the battlefield as I normally would."

Solas approached, eyes alight with speculation. "The Veil is weaker here than in Haven. And not merely weak, but altered in a way I have not seen before."

Sera blew a raspberry at him. "The Veil is fat here."

Solas ignored her. "Odd magic is at play. I suggest we investigate."

Scouts opened the gates for them, and they walked in to find another hooded scout waiting, a cautious expression on his face.

"We spread word the Inquisition was coming, but you should know that no one here was expecting us."

Ciri exchanged puzzled looks with Cassandra and Solas. "No one?" she asked. "Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?"

The scout shook his head. "If she was, she hasn't told anyone. We've arranged use of the tavern for the negotiations."

A skinny young elf in brown robes with feathered pauldrons bustled up anxiously. "Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies! Magister Alexius is in charge now but he hasn't yet arrived. He's expected shortly. You can speak to the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime."

For a second time, Ciri found herself exchanging looks with her comrades. A magister of Tevinter? The former Grand Enchanter?

"Oh, this gets better and better," she muttered.

Cassandra looked grim. "If the maleficarum of Tevinter have taken over–"

"Then it's even more important that we help them," Triss said. "We can't just leave them to Tevinter's mercy."

Cassandra hesitated, then nodded shortly. "Agreed."

The skinny elf looked relieved at their words. "The former Grand Enchanter is in the tavern," he said, pointing. "Just up the path."

Ciri thanked him and walked off, her companions falling into step with her.

"I mislike this," Olgierd said under his breath. "Look at them."

She did, and she could see what he meant. The mages milling about the town should have been at ease. Instead, their movements were quick and furtive, their voices hushed. These were the ones who should have been safe and secure, hidden away from the conflict. Instead, they seemed terribly frightened. Worse were the few who strode about proudly, triumph written across their faces. Had some of them actually welcomed the magister?

The inside of the tavern was dim and occupied by only a handful of people. The volume dropped as they entered, everyone turning to see who the newcomers were. Grand Enchanter Fiona stepped forward, a frown creasing her face.

"Welcome, agents of the Inquisition," she greeted them, hands folded tightly in front of her. "What brings you to Redcliffe?"

Ciri tensed. "Grand Enchanter, you invited us back in Val Royeaux."

"Me? But I haven't been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave," Fiona said. Her frown deepened. "Regardless of what brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium."

"An alliance with Tevinter?" Cassandra spoke up. "Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?"

"Nay, Seeker," Olgierd said. "You heard her. This is no alliance. This is servitude."

"It is slavery," Solas said severely. "I understand your fear, Grand Enchanter, but you and your people deserve better."

Fiona ignored them, seeking Ciri's eyes. She looked resolute – tired, grieved, but resolute. "As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you."

"Then tell me who does," Ciri said, "So I can pack them back off to Tevinter without you."

"Brash young girl," Fiona said softly. "It will not be so easy."

The door slammed open behind them. Ciri turned to see two men stride in, both dressed in reddish-orange hooded outfits with long, spiked vambraces. They were clearly father and son by the shape of their chins and cheekbones, though the son had a sickly cast to his light olive skin, and dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Welcome, my friends!" the older of the two said. His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I apologize for not greeting you earlier."

"Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius," Fiona said.

"I have taken command here. The southern mages answer to me," Magister Alexius stated. His eyes roved over their party, then narrowed in on Ciri hungrily. "You are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade? Interesting."

Ciri's skin crawled. "What exactly are your intentions with the free mages of Thedas?"

"Purely charitable, I assure you," Magister Alexius said. "I have taken on the southern mages personally, as their protector and overseer. They have no legal status in the Imperium until they have served for a period of ten years. Supporting them will be a considerable expense, but one I'm happy to pay if it helps them escape the brutality of the Templars."

That sounded highly suspect.

"Where are the Arl and his men?" Blackwall asked. "Arl Teagan would never abandon Redcliffe."

Alexius' smile slipped into a smirk. "There were tensions growing. As we did not want an incident, the Arl was encouraged to leave."

Ciri grabbed Cassandra's wrist and squeezed, sensing an imminent outburst. This was worse than she'd thought. Tevinter – star of Evelyn's tales of slavery, human sacrifice, and blood magic – had driven a Ferelden Arl from his seat and enslaved hundreds of mages. Someone had meddled in unknown magic to damage the Veil and make Fiona forget their meeting.

If this magister was even halfway intelligent, he already knew she suspected him. And she knew that he meant trouble. But from what she knew of politics, half the game was smiling politely at your enemy and waiting for them to make the first mistake.

She slid one of her grandmother's best smiles on her face and made to sit at an empty table. "We came to negotiate with Fiona, but I suppose you'll do. We need mages to close the Breach."

"Down to business? What a pleasure to meet a reasonable woman," Alexius said. "Felix, would you send for a scribe, please?" He joined her at the table. "Pardon my manners. My son, Felix."

The son bowed and walked off.

"How many of my mages do you think you will need?" Alexius asked, leaning back in his chair.

"As many as you can spare," Ciri declared. "We'll need equal the amount of power as it took to create the Breach."

"There will have to be–"

Alexius broke off as his son slowly staggered toward the table. Ciri stood, and Felix collapsed in her outstretched arms. As he pulled away, apologizing, Ciri felt him press a slip of parchment into her hand.

The meeting ended abruptly, with the magister hustling his son out the door, arm wrapped protectively around his shoulders. Fiona followed in his wake.

Ciri looked down at the parchment. "Come to the chantry," she read aloud, keeping her voice low. "You are in danger."

"Ooh, mysterious!" Varric said.

"Bet it's a trap," Sera scoffed.

"Either way, we'll find answers," Ciri replied. "Come on."

As they began to walk away, Triss gasped. Ciri looked around to see what distressed her friend, and her heart dropped. Standing placidly by the window was a pale brunette man with bright blue eyes and a livid sunburst brand on his forehead. Triss broke from their group and approached him.

"Are you all right?" she asked gently.

"My needs are sufficiently met," he said with an even voice. He looked at them with dispassionate eyes, then back to Triss. "The magister will approve of you. He does not approve of me."

"Why doesn't he approve of you?" Triss asked.

"He does not like to be reminded of what mages can become," the Tranquil said.

"This shouldn't have happened," Triss said. Her voice shook. "I'm so sorry they did this to you."

"The letters were against the rules," the Tranquil said. "I remember that I was happier before, but I do not find this state disagreeable."

Olgierd swore. "Seeker, if you've the gall to defend this…."

"The Rite of Tranquility should only be used as a last resort," Cassandra said defensively. "I am aware of its overuse in certain mage Circles, but I had not thought that it was being used punitively."

"Letters, Seeker?"

"I heard, Olgierd."

"You're the first Tranquil mage I've seen in Redcliffe," Triss said. "Why?"

"The magister says that all Tranquil must leave Redcliffe," the Tranquil replied. "I do not know where the others went."

"Where will you go?" Triss asked.

There was a shadow of emotion on the Tranquil's otherwise calm face. "I do not know. Who would take me in?"

"We would!" Triss said fiercely. "The Inquisition would help."

Another shadow of emotion. "I am an alchemist. The Inquisition must require potions. I could be of assistance to your cause."

"Yes," Ciri interjected. "Please. Find one of our scouts and ask them to escort you back to Haven. Tell them that Ciri asked them to do it."

"Thank you," the Tranquil said. "While one lives, it is good to believe there is still a use for one's talents."

"What's your name?" Triss asked. Ciri scolded herself for forgetting to do so.

"Clemence," the Tranquil said.

The name rang a distant bell. "We'll see you back at Haven, Clemence," she said and walked off toward the exit.

They huddled together outside the tavern, heads bent to keep the conversation from carrying.

"We can't all go to the chantry," Ciri pointed out. "All of us together? It will look suspicious."

"Agreed," Cassandra said. "But you cannot go alone. I will go with you, Lady Hand."

"You, Solas, Triss, and Olgierd," Ciri compromised. "Varric, Blackwall, and Sera, will you go through Redcliffe, take a look around? Ask questions? Sera, I need you especially to poke your nose where it doesn't belong."

"I can do that easy," Sera said.

"We'll meet back at the gates?" Varric suggested.

"Unless you find something pressing," Ciri said. "Then come straight to the Chantry."

Blackwall, Varric, and Sera left – Blackwall with a firm nod, Varric an easy smile, and Sera an irreverent salute. Ciri led those left up the hill past the clusters of tense, quiet mages, past the shops and the homes, to the chantry that stood alone. It was the sturdiest building in Redcliffe, constructed of light gray quarried stone and heavy timber beams. Its curved peaked roof reminded Ciri strongly of the prow of a Skelligan ship.

She paused by the door, listening, but the thick wood blocked any sound from traveling in or out. If it was a trap, there was no way to know. They'd simply have to chance it. She tried the handle and found it unlocked.

"Let's see who sent this note," she said quietly and opened the door.

She stopped abruptly once inside, hand flying to the hilt of her sword at the sight before her. A mage – for who else would have a staff? – bludgeoned demons with his weapon in front of another rift, demonic ichor spattering the hem of his tailored robes with each blow.

He cast a glance over his shoulder and called out, "Think you could lend a hand?"

Ciri unsheathed her sword and rushed to help, her companions fast behind her. She swung at a shade, and it blurred away, too fast for her to follow. She darted a look at the floor of the chantry and saw the faintest outline of green circles – time bubbles.

Shit.

"It's like the last one," she called out. "Mind where you step."

She raised her marked hand to disrupt the rift. The sooner this was over, the better.

In the end, after the demons lay dead and the rift had cracked into nonexistence, the mage turned to her with a curious light in his eyes.

"Fascinating! How does that work?" he asked.

"It's sympathetic magic," Ciri explained. "The magic in my palm is the same as the magic in the rifts. I forge a connection between the two and will it shut."

He laughed, face alight with good humor. "How extraordinary."

The mage was exceedingly handsome, warm brown skin and prominent cheekbones, a sharp jaw and perfectly coiffed black hair. He had an impeccably groomed mustache and goatee, and his robes were an interesting combination of silks and leather, with buckles everywhere.

"Watch yourself," Cassandra warned. "He's another Tevinter."

"Suspicious friends you have," the mage said, voice still light.

"We just came from meeting Magister Alexius," Ciri told him. "You can hardly blame her."

"Well then, allow me to put your minds at ease," the mage said. He sketched a shallow bow. "I am Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. Magister Alexius was once my mentor."

"I'm Ciri – Morhen," she added. "These are my friends and companions, Triss Merigold, Olgierd von Everec, Solas, and Cassandra Pentaghast."

"A true pleasure," Dorian Pavus said.

"Alexius 'was' your mentor," Olgierd said. "But no more?"

"We had a falling out," Dorian said dismissively.

"I was expecting Felix to be here," Ciri said.

"He'll come," Dorian said. "He was supposed to give you the note, then meet us here. But if he had to fake ill as I suspect he did, then Alexius is likely being a mother hen. It'll take Felix a while to shake him loose."

"Did you send the note?" Triss asked.

"Yes," Dorian said. "Look, surely you can see the danger here. Even without the note."

"The danger to the mages is obvious," Triss said.

"As is the danger to Ferelden," Cassandra added.

A ghostly echo of that cloying, heavy sensation outside the gates of Redcliffe crawled over Ciri's skin as she met Dorian's eyes. "No," she said. "It's the magic, isn't it? Alexius did something. He tampered with time."

"You catch on quick," Dorian said. "That's how he stole the Grand Enchanter out from under you. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself."

Ciri's gut clenched. "There's no possible way that's safe."

"It's not," Dorian said. "You saw this rift – the way it sped some things up and sped others down. Soon, more rifts like this will appear farther and farther away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable. If he's not stopped, it will unravel the world."

"That's fascinating, if true," Solas said.

"I believe you," Ciri said and watched relief cross Dorian's handsome face.

"Good," he said emphatically. "I helped develop this magic. It should never have seen the light of day. When I was still his apprentice, it was just theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don't understand is why. Ripping time to pieces just to indenture the southern mages?"

Felix spoke up from behind them. "He's not doing it for them."

Dorian brightened immediately. "Took you long enough! Was he suspicious?"

"No," Felix said, shaking his head. "But I shouldn't have faked being ill. I thought he'd be fussing over me all day. My father's joined a cult," he said to Ciri. "Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves 'Venatori.' And I know this for certain: whatever he's done for them, he's done it to get to you."

"That makes no sense," Ciri said. "What's the point of damaging time and enslaving the mage rebellion just to get to me? Aren't there easier ways to do that?"

Felix shrugged. "I can't explain how a cult thinks. But they're obsessed with you. Perhaps it's because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?"

"They may see you as a threat," Dorian suggested. "You can close the rifts. Maybe there's a connection."

"If the Venatori are behind the rifts, or behind the Breach, then they're even worse than I thought," Felix said.

Ciri thought to ask Felix why he turned against his father, but she understood. Fathers were difficult. Duny wasn't real, Emhyr was a tyrant whose plans for her nearly ruined her life, and Geralt was a Witcher who hadn't known what to do with her at first. Poor, ill Felix was a brave man.

"Thank you," she told him sincerely.

"It's the right thing to do," Felix said. "For his own sake, you have to stop my father."

"We will," Ciri promised.

"You know you're his target now," Dorian said. "Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage."

"That shouldn't be too difficult," Olgierd said dryly. "We've a talent for upending plans and foiling plots."

Dorian nodded. "Best of luck to you, then. I can't stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn't know I'm here, and I'd prefer to keep it that way. But whenever you're ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I'll be in touch."

"Stay safe, Dorian," Felix called after Dorian as the handsome mage began walking away.

"You too, Felix," Dorian replied. "Try not to get yourself killed."

Felix shook his head, smiling slightly, then turned back to Ciri. "I'd better get back to Father before he starts to worry. You should leave Redcliffe soon."

"We will," Ciri said. "We'll need to talk to our advisors about how to handle this. Thank you again, Felix. I know this can't have been easy."

"No," Felix agreed. "But I've never been good at choosing the easy path. Take care, and I'm sure we'll meet again."

He followed Dorian out the small side door, leaving Ciri standing with her three friends and Cassandra in the empty chantry.

"Trust Tevinter to come up with magic that could destroy the world," Cassandra said with disgust. "It would not be the first time."

"Dorian and Felix seemed sincere in their desire to stop this," Ciri pointed out. "And if Dorian helped create it, then he's the perfect person to help undo it."

"That is an argument in his favor," Cassandra said grudgingly. "Though only just."

Triss looked fierce. "We can't let Alexius get away with this."

"We won't," Ciri said. "I promise, Triss."

"You said earlier that the time distortions prevented you from using your unusual Fade step," Solas said. "Do you have any theories as to why?"

Yes. Perhaps. "No," she said.

His lavender-gray eyes peered deep into hers for a long moment. "It is strange," he finally said. "Perhaps we'll learn more of it together."

"Perhaps," she echoed.

She took a final look around the chantry – they'd left it in quite a state after their battle with the demons. There was nothing to be done about that, though, and it was past time they met up with Varric, Sera, and Blackwall. "Let's find the others and see what they have to say."

Varric and the others were lingering just outside the door rather than by the gate, grave expressions on their faces.

"What is it?" Ciri asked, heart lurching. "Has something happened?"

"There's something you've got to see," Varric said in a low voice. "Come with us."

He led the way back down the hill, the three of them filling in her group on the people they'd spoken to and the things they'd found. Sera had told a one-eyed farmer about the brightly-colored ram out by Lake Luthias. Blackwall had met an old elven widower who couldn't make his yearly journey out to place flowers on his wife's grave. And they'd spoken to a number of mages – Hanley D'Urvain of Cumberland, Linnea, Lysas of Ansburg, and Connor Guerrin of Kinloch Hold – most of whom expressed fear and uncertainty over Fiona's deal with Alexius.

Their journey ended by the docks in front of a small shed with a surprisingly sturdy lock on its door. Varric twisted the handle and it creaked open, and with a furtive glance over his shoulder, he slipped inside, beckoning Ciri to follow.

She stifled a gasp. An entire wall was covered in shelves filled with skulls, and each right eye socket held a glittering white-blue gem. The thing from the Lake Luthias camp – dozens of them, right here.

"They're called Oculara," Blackwall said gruffly. "See for yourself."

He held out a letter, and she took it from his hands, a nebulous dread creeping up her spine. "Alexius was quite clear in his orders. We must scour the countryside to find more of the shards…"

She read it through once, then twice, hands shaking. "This –" Her voice failed her. She tried again. "This is why Clemence didn't know where the other Tranquil were?"

Triss grabbed the letter and skimmed it. "Bastards!"

"Another thing to hold them to account for," Olgierd said. "Whoresons. There's naught to be gained from harming an innocent."

"Aye," Blackwall agreed. "We'll put an end to their schemes."

"Too late for these poor bastards, though," Varric said. "Shit."

Ciri had to look away from the shelves of skulls and their staring, glittering eyes. All of space and time at her fingertips, and she'd failed to save these people. And now it was too late. I'll avenge you, she promised.

"Let's go," she said, leading the way back out of the shed. "We still have enough time left to get to the other end of the East Road before it's dark."