A/N: Guys, I impulse purchased Tevinter Nights, and I'm so excited to start reading it! In all the free time. That I don't have. Ahahaha…
Between Devil and Sea
Inara nervously wiped away the sweat beginning to collect on her palm as she stepped from the carriage onto the frozen dirt. She briefly took in the massive house – no, palace – that belonged to Archon Radonis, which made Dorian's home look like a cozy cabin in comparison. The cough of a nearby slave prompted her to alight the stairs of the main entrance. Maybe Leliana was right; this was not exactly wise.
"And where are you off to looking so cheerful this early?"
The Inquisitor kept up her practiced smile while passing Leliana in the upstairs hallway of House Pavus. She had dressed in an off-white tunic with a brown trim, and knee-high boots over thick leggings. A burgundy cloak was draped over her shoulders in anticipation of the pervading cold outside the mansion.
"The Archon has sent his carriage to fetch me for a personal audience in his home."
"Are you sure that is wise?" the other woman hummed doubtfully.
"It's not as if he can risk having me assassinated in his own mansion," Inara laughed. "Besides, with how poorly things are going at the moment, I will take every shred of favor I can manage. We need the resources of these people to stop Solas' plan, and I'm becoming less sure that that they need us anymore. If I can't have control over the situation, I at least need to know what I face."
Inara gaped at the entry hall while an elf girl no older than twelve took her cloak. The Herald caught the child's hand briefly, however, upon spotting the gold collar around her neck and a glimpse of purple bruises above her collarbone.
The anger over the Magisterium's demand for help against the slave rebellion came bubbling back to the surface. She had worked so hard to stifle that anger under the pretext of diplomacy and their need for the Imperium's aid. Every time she saw the beaten and hopeless eyes of these people, however, her conscience would not stand idle. If the Archon couldn't be trusted to deal fairly with his own charges, how could she turn a blind eye to the rest?
She was half-tempted to abandon their negotiations altogether, but it was becoming more apparent that this place would be the center of the next world stage. A Tevinter patrol had detained a shipment of red lyrium. Word of the Blue Wraith's wrath continued to spur the rebellion. Assassinations across the country were focused on mages with expertise in the Fade and history of the Old Gods – anyone who might help discover Solas' full plans. And Morrigan – or at least Mythal goading Morrigan – considered the Qunari conflict important enough to go swooping into the middle of it all. It only made sense to stay.
The undernourished slave squeaked in terror when Lavellan failed to instantly release her wrist. She looked up at the visitor with wide blue eyes, tears brimming in fear. When the child raised her chin, her blonde hair slipped away from her neck enough to display a fresh burn mark puckered into the shape of two entwined snakes. With so many escaped slaves and countless other calamities, Inara worried that men like Radonis would take their frustrations out on those who stood helplessly beneath them.
"What is your name? Who hurt you?" the woman asked softly.
The child didn't answer, instead pulling away and fleeing with the visitor's cloak into an adjacent room. Inara's initial awe of the place was being tempered before she had barely passed the threshold.
The slave who had initially guided the Herald from her carriage waited patiently while she looked around for any more hints of her host's true face. The entry alone was intended for shock and awe. Glittering gold and black tapestries hung on the lofty walls. Precious statues of gods, warriors, and kings sat proudly on display in shoulder-high little alcoves cut into the stone walls.
While red carpeting clearly led toward the dark-wooded archway to the rest of the house, it was the two side doors that caught Inara's real interest. The little girl had disappeared through the one on the right, quite likely leading to some servants' quarters or kitchens. Standing opposite was another, darker corridor with cold steps leading into a downward murky spiral. She swore she heard a pained moan coming from the blackness. And was she imagining a hint of blood on the chilling whiff of breeze emanating from it?
"That leads to the Archon's private laboratory, my lady," a new face declared from the main archway. The man possessed sharp features and wore what Inara guessed to be the attire of a butler. "He also has access from his own quarters; however, his cohorts tend to prefer the convenience of this entrance. If you will allow me, the Archon has instructed me to escort you to the garden-view tearoom."
Smiling graciously, Inara allowed herself to be led into a gigantic foyer with stairs and hallways leading every direction from the cavernous space. They passed through the crossroads, up a single flight of stairs, and down the hall to the left. Finally, they landed in a long, brightly lit room with recessed windows on every side. Each window provided a different view of the endless foliage below, with small dining tables and chairs strategically placed to boast the best angles of the estate. The Archon was waiting at a spot that overlooked the rose garden.
"My Lady Inquisitor!" the man bellowed warmly, his arms spread in greeting before he swept towards the woman to kiss her hand. The Archon's at-home attire was not much less grand than what she had seen at the Magisterium, but his current green robes were at least collarless and less stiff. "It is such a pleasure for you to grace me with your presence."
"My Lord Archon, the pleasure is mine," she bowed, accepting the offered chair.
"Please, in my own home, you need not be so formal."
The elf took a moment to appreciate the spread of sliced fruits, cheeses, breads, and, most importantly… The scent of the richest, most intoxicatingly divine coffee possible distracted her entirely for a moment.
"I confess, after my last meeting with the Magisterium, I wasn't sure you would want to lay eyes on me again. And if you called me here for my answer about the rebellion, I'm not sure I have a very well-thought-out response at this time."
The guest nearly jumped out of her skin when a furry orange creature zipped behind her legs and launched itself onto the mage's lap. Though the Archon made no comment, it took Inara an embarrassingly long time to mask her alarm as the cat scowled indifferently in her general direction.
"I did not ask you here to talk of such politics." Radonis waved his hand dismissively as he observed the red-haired slave who was pouring their coffee. "You come from a very fine people, Inquisitor. You once bore the markings of your Dalish kin, yes? Vallaslin, I believe they are called. Blood writing."
"That is correct. A spell erased mine." She allowed herself to wince behind her mug while taking a sip. The memory of that day held a dozen mixed emotions. "My people wore them to honor the elven gods. In my case, it was to honor Mythal."
"I understand word has spread among the elves that the vallaslin began as slave markings," the mage continued conversationally. "Slaves who served gods. It must have been a marvel – if the stories are true. I have always found the vallaslin to be fascinating, yet they are difficult to find in Tevinter."
Inara could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as Radonis smugly stared at the slave who had served their coffee and had yet to be dismissed. Since her encounter with the girl at the entrance, she had avoided looking into the eyes of the Archon's vassals. Guilt knotted her stomach at the sight of the brilliant, twisting vallaslin on the other redhead. She had seen this elf once before, being carted away like a piece of meat at the market right before Fenris and his people blew the whole thing to bits.
Despite the heat rising in her cheeks, Inara hoped she was quick enough to reclaim her polite smile when the man gestured for the slave to depart.
"You look tired, my lady," he suddenly worried, spreading a thin layer of cheese on a sliced roll. "Are you quite alright?"
"I haven't been sleeping well; that is all."
"I can recommend a tea that might assist you with that."
Inara sighed into her drink, annoyance beginning to surface.
"While I appreciate your concern, I get the feeling you aren't a man who typically invites foreign dignitaries into your home without purpose."
Radonis smiled widely, leaning back in his seat and stroking the feline in his lap.
"You are smart one. Whatever decisions are made, I want you to understand my position. I could easily be assassinated at any time; therefore, I must do what I can to appease those who would uproot the balance of my homeland. Whatever happens in the Senate is out of my control; I can only guide their hearts so much." Hardly, Inara considered, recalling how the man had commanded the magisters' attention and assassinated at least one outspoken mage during her time in Perivantium – a little over a month now? Had it already been a year since the Exalted Council? "But I want to help you."
Inara sat tall in her cushioned chair, fingers secure around her precious coffee as she calmly looked her host in the eye.
"How?"
"I have always had an interest in the Fade and the science behind the Veil. I have followed your escapades with great detail. I know that, despite not possessing magic previously and no longer possessing the Mark, you have become a somniari. Walking in the Fade is, for you, as natural as breathing."
"I understand the ability to Dream without the assistance of lyrium is quite rare," the rogue replied, neither confirming nor denying anything.
How did he know? She talked of her magic freely among her few friends, but they all had her full confidence. Dorian swore that the circle who knew of her Dreaming was very small indeed. So, who told the Archon?
"I am no Dreamer. And blood magic tends to remove one from the Fade, so my personal skills are nearly non-existent." He tossed the term 'blood magic' into the conversation with utter abandon. Then again, Solas had also considered it simply another form of the art, though one in which he did not indulge. "If you would permit me, I would be honored to assist you in discovering how these abilities of yours came to be."
"You wish to study me," Inara stated carefully, glancing at the roses below their perch. The Archon truly did always have his own agenda.
"I wish to help you," he corrected. "If you can Dream so easily, clearly the magic of your Mark was not erased with your arm. Perhaps, with enough research, you could unlock more abilities." He was right about that. And she had just been wondering of the potential of her magical connections. "Think of the possibilities. A non-magical creature becoming a mage – it would be historic."
The idea of having help to uncover answers regarding such things was tempting. Briefly. Then she recalled that the man who was offering had also openly threatened to withhold aid from the entire world if the Inquisitor did not help tame his slaves.
"Pity I am not a mage then," she smirked, breaking the contemplative mood and tearing into a piece of buttered bread with her teeth. "I trust this offer is not tied to your slave problem."
She stared into his scheming eyes in quiet defiance. Men like Radonis did not sit well with her; they plotted and teased, and one could never tell when their intentions were sincere. And, the more familiar she became with the Archon, the less she liked him.
"Not at all," he murmured, continuing to serenely scratch his cat behind the ears. "The matters of the Magisterium remain in the Magisterium. This is my personal favor. Though I appreciate your caution."
Inara's tolerance for this cloak-and-dagger conversation was beginning to wane. Archon Radonis had two Foci. He had knowledge and resources that might help answer her questions of the arcane. He had the power and influence over a country full of mages who could help stop Solas. He had every advantage.
These days, however, she was becoming less confident in her more universal quest. She had sworn to redeem Solas, yet she also swore to protect Thedas. And she would soon be backed into a corner by these choices – the Fade or the physical realm; hero or rebel; the slaves or the magisters' support; this world or his.
When Inara stood from her seat, her movement was not quite as graceful as intended, thanks to the anxious queasiness of her stomach.
"As always, you have given me much to consider, Lord Archon," she managed smoothly. "I thank you for your hospitality, but I'm afraid I have reports that require my attention."
"Of course!" Radonis exclaimed heartily, sending the cat fleeing from the room. "I have heard much of your successes. Your spies are even now closing in on the Solasan camps in every corner of the world. Your many allies from afar have amassed the resources to survive an apocalypse. And your people are looking for a new base – a shame about Skyhold, truly." In other words, the Archon was watching. "I know you are a busy woman, but I am delighted by the time in your presence."
"You are too kind," the Inquisitor returned the flattery. Much more of this, and her face might crack.
"A small matter of business, however." The mage's tone dropped secretively. "I should warn you that the Magisterium will be requesting your presence two days hence. Our agent from Ventus is due to arrive then, and the others will be demanding your answer regarding the rebellion."
The others will be demanding… As if the Archon didn't have his claws puppeteering every movement of the Senate. Maker, she hated this snake. Any temptation of his magical knowledge was quickly abating at the reminder of this man's power-hungry ego. She had seen the fear and hatred of the other magisters. She had heard the reports of assassinations and threats that clearly had not stemmed from the upstart slaves.
"Thank you, my lord."
In a sweeping motion, Radonis captured Inara's hand to kiss it before pressing it in what was supposed to be a reassuring squeeze – it felt like a stranglehold. The queasiness of her stomach transformed into churning as she spotted the ring on the Archon's hand – a seal with two entwined snakes. The exact shape that had been freshly burned into the little girl who had taken her cloak. Any debate of her answer for the magisters was promptly stifled.
Pulling her hand free and conducting a shallow bow, she stiffly followed the butler out of the room and down the stairs. Another slave, not the little girl, helped the Herald with her cloak, and she was soon in the carriage back to House Pavus.
"Inara, are you alright? You're pale as a sheet!" Dorian cried upon seeing her pass through the foyer.
Inara waved him off silently, trotted up the stairs to her quarters, and closed the door behind her. The memory of the Dalish slave and the marked child finally overwhelmed her, and she promptly emptied the contents of her stomach into an empty water basin.
Thank you for reading, and don't forget to follow and review! Coming soon…Hawke and a new hero.