"A binding contract?" Scholar twisted its neck as it gobbled up the rest of a canape it held in its claw-like hands. "I thought I told you I was not interested in fighting."

"You won't be fighting. I need your magic to help me heal, instead," Malcolm's legs dangled off the hard frame of his bed, staring the spirit down. It wasn't Malcolm's idea. He thought he was a pretty decent healer in his own right, but he found that calling upon random energies of the Fade was draining his reserves of mana much faster than his new classmates and he was constantly casting rejuvenation spells to keep up with the demand at the healer's clinic which left his mind like a fried circuit by the time his duties ended.

Malcolm was not used to using magic for such long periods of time, and though he was still able to knit wounds together, and ease panic attacks, relying on his own strength was quickly depleting him.

It was a conundrum. Before Malcolm could be fully recognized as a Spirit Healer, he'd need well, a spirit, but most spirits still fled in sight of him, and though that was his preference, if he couldn't find a spirit that would agree he wouldn't be able to heal serious injuries without diving into his own life force, not something he wanted to make a practice of.

Scholar paused mid-bite, and the way his sharp teeth twisted made him look like they were frowning. "Healing is beneath me. You should ask a spirit of Faith or Compassion."

"Are you saying you can't?" Malcolm said in a taunting tone.

"I can," the spirit poked at him with the canape. "My memories may be fragmented but I know I once had power greater than yours. You fumble with your magic, flinging spells with no understanding of how they are powered, but in another time I had the knowledge to shape the heavens, to unite the land and sky. You are but a fragment."

"But aren't you, too?" Malcolm grinned. "All washed up and scavenging for memories of tastes like a starved vulture?"

It looked like steam was coming out of the spirit's ears, and Malcolm knew he had hit a nerve. The truth was Malcolm didn't want to get to know any more spirits than he had already met. Scholar at least seemed uninterested in possessing his mind, even if he was very keen to poke around in it. An old annoyance was better than getting used to something new.

"Such a mouth on you," the spirit gobbled up the canape angrily and grabbed another. "I told you I would aid you in knowledge of Zelophehad and you agreed to get me a tongue and you haven't even done that." The spirit shook the next canape from the platter he held. "I am not interested in being bound to one's soul. I am a Scholar of the Fade. I seek knowledge, conduct research and experiments and impart wisdom but I do not want to be at someone's beck and call, especially to a somniari idiotic enough to anger Zelophehad. Do not ask again."

Malcolm pouted, "but I'm a somniari. Didn't you say you haven't found one in ages?"

The Scholar laughed. "I am not as impatient as you, young one. You answered one question, and you may answer a few more, but you will die soon. What happens when Zelophehad possesses you? I do not know but it might make an interesting change."

Malcolm grumbled. He didn't expect Scholar to say no or that he'd be so callous. "Well forget about the taste deal, then. I'll find Zelophewad on my own."

Scholar gasped, dropping his tray, the rest of the canapes floating down and sticking in the air as the platter clattered to the ground. "You're going back on our deal?"

"You didn't sign anything, so technically no deal," Malcolm shrugged.

The spirit quivered in anger. "Mortals. You're as deceitful as demons." The spirit crossed its arm, its torso swirling at its midsection, where his body was cut off at the legs.

Malcolm glared. "You don't understand. I have to pull my grades up and kill a demon at the same time. I don't have a lot of options."

"Well coercing me is not going to get you anywhere," the spirit huffed. "I am not suited, but I know those that are. I may introduce you to them but only if you keep your promise."

Malcolm sighed. "I guess I can work with that."

"But I need a tongue. You promised that, too," the spirit pointed.

"That I can't help with. It's not like I can get away with cutting off someone's tongue. Also that'll get me accused of blood magic in two seconds."

"Then how will I understand taste?" the spirit whined.

"There are other ways," Malcolm said. "I'll lend you my memories," but he put up a finger, "but first, lead me to a spirit who will help."

Scholar looked hesitant. "I have a friend of Compassion who may agree." The Scholar stooped over, the platter floating up as he plucked the canape's from the air. "But I must fetch her. Your aura repels Compassion spirits." He focused his hollowing gaze on Malcolm. "You have to ask her, not demand, and if she says no, you must respect that, and ask someone else."

Malcolm rubbed the back of his neck feeling ragged and annoyed. "Fine, fine, just introduce me."

Scholar snapped his fingers. "She's very sensitive so keep those foul emotions in your head."

Malcolm felt more irritated, but at the spike of emotion the spirit snapped again.

"No! No! The opposite of that. Think of something different, like when you're tasting that girl's lips."

Malcolm's face burned in embarrassment, wondering how many spirits were peeping into those private thoughts. He spent a lot of his idle time thinking of that night with Leandra, but he guarded that memory, not wanting the spirits to sully it.

Scholar sighed. "That is better, I guess." Then Scholar blinked away.

Malcolm leaned into the brick wall of his bedroom. His sanctum looked a little different. For one, there was homework from his previous classes that he was catching up on, though the pile he had to go through seemed impossibly larger each day. He found the stress easier when he could text Leandra in between questions. They were slowly getting to know each other, often chatting until long after midnight. When the Fade interference allowed it, they snuck in a video call, and Malcolm had to say he was grateful he could at least see her face at least once a day.

All contact remained tame and almost chivalrous. Malcolm told himself he was being a gentleman, not a coward. Still, he couldn't deny that he did want to know all about the woman whose dream he stumbled into. She was smart for one, and though she seemed to take herself rather seriously, she did have a sharp sense of humor and he did love making her laugh.

Malcolm also learned Leandra was not only valedictorian with honors but she happened to also be an award winning lutist, just one of the half dozen instruments she played. She was currently first chair at Sacred Heart's Symphonique Orchestra at Kirkwall's Opera House. Real fancy stuff. What she saw in a flunky like him, he didn't know, but the more he learned about her the more he was in awe of how incredible she was. And he made a promise to himself to do everything in his power to deserve her.

He had a frame of the picture Leandra took on his dresser, though in his real bedroom that could never happen. It was something he added to his Sanctum the night after the Cleansing after Leandra claimed him as a House Mage.

There was nothing official yet, but Enchanter Jakoby was already preparing him for the role, teaching him the common spells requested, as well as assigning him more reading about demons and curses. Malcolm had to admit he was a little worried about who would win the bid. The thought of being in Lady de Launcet's clutches put a pit in his gut, but on the other side of that coin was a chance to be by Leandra's side. He couldn't fail.

He needed a spirit that would help him and trudging around the Fadescape had turned up nothing and so Scholar seemed the logical choice, but even he refused Malcolm.

He didn't know who else to turn to.

Scholar blinked back with a shimmery figure of a woman made of white light. She had long hair kept in a braid and heavy robes that hid her figure but her gaze was piercing as she glared at Malcolm.

"Murderer," she spat.

Malcolm was taken aback. He wasn't sure what he was expecting from a spirit of Compassion but hard anger was not it. She had a fierce snarl and Malcolm wondered if she would attack but she kept her balled fists at her sides, shaking.

"Warping, wailing, withering. Why? I hear my friends' last moments on your blood-soaked hands. You reek of death and destruction, you want to face the embodiment of fear with that darkness in your heart? You will only be swallowed by him. What point is there in helping you?"

Malcolm wasn't sure what to say, but he remembered Scholar's warning to stay calm, even though everything screamed at him that he was in danger.

The Compassion spirit flinched.

"I've only killed demons," Malcolm said, "If your friends turned, that's not my fault."

Her eyes flashed out blue flames. "You do not even see your hand in this? Part of me wishes to warp just to avenge them, but Zelophehad will consume you and perhaps that will be justice."

Malcolm gaped at Scholar who was just busy finishing off his canapes. "Are you really a spirit of Compassion? How many will that monster kill mercilessly if no one stops him?"

"You have provoked him most of all. They will all die because of you. Stalking in the mists, slinking in the shadows. Zelophehad is patient and is waiting. You have put us all in danger by rousing him."

Malcolm gaped at this news, feeling the raw fury emanating from her walls soften just a bit as she looked at him with what looked like pity.

"You are raw with pain and I see that Zelophehad has been mapping your wounds. I see his marks on you. If you were smart you would fortify these walls and never leave."

Malcolm felt himself whirling. This wasn't his fault, this was the demon's and he wouldn't accept her blame or her pity advice.

"Great," Malcolm said sarcastically. "But I think I'll stick with the 'kill the demon' plan."

"Mortals. You can find no other path. Your blood sings of war," Compassion spat, and took a step forward a flower blooming before her bare foot. "Life is precious. Even Zelophehad has his place in this world. Fear, as ugly as it is, is sometimes necessary." Then the flower decayed and fell to the ground disappearing in a sliver of light.

That sounded like bullshit. "A world without fear sounds actually nice. Might be more peaceful."

Compassion shook her head. "A man must fear fire or be careless and get burned. Fear teaches. Fear makes one wise."

"Really?" Malcolm drawled finding the irritation crawling up his spine like a spider. The rant that had been building in him started spilling out like a rushing waterfall that he couldn't reign in. "Because I think fear makes men stupid. I'm locked away from the whole world and if anyone finds out what I am they'll tranquilize me, because they fear what I'm capable of. Humans lock away elves in alienages because they fear the retribution they deserve for how they treat us. Then mages are locked away even though there's so much good we could be doing with our powers. Fear divides us, makes us enemies when we could be allies."

"Then why did you kill my friends in fear?"

It was then Malcolm noticed that Compassion was trembling, crystals forming on her skin and icing over her balled fists. He then remembered to reign in his anger and she seemed to breathe easier, but her skin was glittering in crystal tears. "You killed Prudence, Patience, Benevolence, Temperance. Even Fortitude. So many fell because of your fear. This land was filled with life and now it lies barren and only their wisps remain thanks to you. To us you are as great a calamity as Zelophehad."

The words echoed inside Malcolm, feeling like a rock rattling in his head. Malcolm often felt like a monster, the Chantry made sure of that. But in this moment, he felt like he really fit the word. Chantry rhetoric said spirits weren't people, but now they had friends? Until recently, Malcolm believed the Chantry rhetoric that spirits and demons were just mindless dangerous beasts. Sure they had personality, but their minds always seemed so simple and foreign, their needs one-sided and bizarre. And slaughtering them would keep his Circle brethren safe from possession.

But he acted in fear so often were the demons actually demons? Was he a murderer like Compassion claimed? He thought he was protecting himself, but her accusations made him stop and retrace his actions in new thought.

The way Compassion was trembling looked like she was expecting him to strike out at any moment but she held her head high and defiant, her azure eyes burning brilliantly straight into him. Her pain was radiating from her like an open seeping wound, still fresh as if he had just stabbed her in the chest.

Malcolm didn't know how to fix this.

He looked at his hands and found they were also trembling, as the choking guilt closed up his throat. He didn't know the lives he took would be missed. Didn't know that tears would fall because of him.

"I'm sorry…" Malcolm knew it was not enough. "I…didn't know." It was a lame excuse and he knew it, but he didn't have the words.

Still, Compassion could feel the new hollowness in his gut at the news and she absorbed it looking more at peace.

Compassion closed her eyes, a crystal droplet falling from her chin. "Are you sorry enough to make amends or is that another hollow mortal word?"

Malcolm felt uneasy, not sure what she would say, but he felt shitty enough that he asked, "How?"

Compassion put a hand over her heart. "You seem intent on stopping Zelophehad even at risk of death. I, too, have that common goal, but I offer another path." Her robes started to billow slightly. "Zelophehad will thrive if you start a war against him. You must offer him peace."

"Peace?" Malcolm snorted. "With the demon that wants to ride my head and destroy reality?"

Compassion glared, continuing. "I offer a Bond with you on three conditions."

Malcolm perked up. That's what he was after in the first place so he shut up to listen.

"First, you will release me when Zelophehad has been put to rest. I do not wish to be on your tether forever."

Malcolm didn't plan on staying a Spirit Healer forever either, so that suited him just fine. "Sure, what's number two?"

"You must listen to whatever I say when Zelophehad strikes," Compassion said strictly.

That was debatable, but Malcolm said, "As long as you're making sense, sure. What's three?"

She looked at Scholar who was busy gnawing at the bone of his ham hock. "Scholar, you must teach him, because I for one cannot stand to be around the somniari's aura."

Scholar dropped his shoulders. "Well, I guess we are doing taste studies together."

"Precisely," Compassion nodded. "Which means it won't be a hassle. Only call upon me when you need me." Then Compassion blinked away without even saying goodbye.

Malcolm glared at Scholar. He really thought it was a good idea to put the two of them together? "That's your idea of help?"

"You're lucky she said yes," Scholar gestured with his bone. "Everyone else said no." Then he swallowed the bone, choking it down like a snake ingesting a mouse.

That was just his luck wasn't it? But the mission succeeded. Malcolm could tell Enchanter Jakoby he was successfully a Spirit Healer. Or at least on the way to becoming one.

It was the first Mass since Mara and Gamlen had been announced a couple, and though Leandra hoped church would be a uniting place for the family it was announced at dinner the night before that Gamlen nor Mara would be welcome to accompany them. Leandra tried to argue that this was too harsh, but her parents doubled down, insisting that Gamlen had a choice to make about what was really important to him. Gamlen said he was happy to sleep in and Mara said it would be nice to get the day off. Their shunning didn't seem to phase either of them, which only infuriated her parents more which meant they zeroed in on Leandra more than ever, acting as if she was an idiot for defending them.

"You can't possibly think this little fling your brother has is a good idea," her mother was adjusting her lipstick in her compact, the foundation a few shades lighter than her own skin tone which she also applied to her hands, neck and arms like a mask.

"They've actually been dating for two years," Leandra said impatiently, keeping her eyes to the car window. She wouldn't give them more fuel by saying they were currently tense. She didn't need to give her parents more ammunition. It already felt too stifling to be trapped in the car with just her parents. Every interaction seemed to be an argument now, and she was getting tired.

Her father shook his head, his glasses reflecting against the morning sunbeams. "It's one thing to dally. It's another thing to make a claim. She's a gold digger. All he needs to do is knock her up and where will our money go?"

"Mara's not a gold digger," Leandra snapped. "How archaic can you be?" Then she pointed with a perfectly painted nail. "She's no one's dalliance or property. If Gamlen and Mara get pregnant you'll have a grandchild, another heir. That's a blessing from the Maker and you're twisting it into something ugly!"

Both of their parents shared a heavy sigh looking at the other, communicating their frustrations in their own silent language.

"You're so naive, little girl," her mother sniffed delicately. "You see a friend. But you're just an easy paycheck. If you had no money to your name I assure you that slut would drop you and find another hog to suckle."

Leandra's face reddened and she bit her tongue, withholding a scream. "Senhel!" she said sharply. "Stop the car!"

They were still a stop from the Chantry but Senhel dutifully pulled out of traffic with a sharp right and pulled into a bus zone. Leandra hopped out of the car practically kicking the door away and started walking on the sidewalk, her heels clicking as she marched to the Chantry.

"Where are you going?" Her father's voice boomed as he rolled down the window. "This conversation is not over."

"Yes, it is, because it's inappropriate talk for the Maker's day," Leandra sniped back. "And if we continue talking I'm going to say some words that Maker might not forgive me for." She held her head high, not bothering to look at her parents as the car strolled lazily along the road to follow her.

They caught her at a stoplight where she was forced to wait at a crosswalk. Her father pushed the door open. "Leandra, stop making a scene and get in the car."

"Who's making a scene?" Leandra glared. "Get your priorities straight. Family is more important than reputation or money."

Her father's face burned as people dressed up in their Sunday best looked at the Amell's stretch and Leandra who was busy trying to pretend that everyone wasn't staring. Still, Leandra wouldn't put her head in the sand. The light turned green and she went across the sidewalk, but rather than the car jetting across the street like the stretch should, it followed Leandra like an obedient dog, slowing up Mass traffic.

"Leandra, get in the car," her mother said impatiently.

"I'm enjoying my walk," Leandra smiled brightly, and truly the sunbeams felt rather warm on her face, so different from the biting breeze.

"Now, you're being ridiculous," her mother growled. "We're going to get a traffic violation. Get in."

"Who's we?" Leandra quipped. "I'm a pedestrian right now."

Soon the vehicle was trapped with the shuffle of cars choking out the way for the Chantry parking lot and giving Leandra the distance she needed. She quickened her pace, walking the rest of the block and turned into a grand staircase that carved into the hill, the grand emblazoned stained glass sun glittering in the light of the towers above. She usually found Mass a time to contemplate, reflect, but she was rather impatient to get it over with so she could see Isaac.

Carver had contacted her letting her know the paperwork was rushed through and now that Aunt Revka was in Markham visiting Robert it would be a nice surprise for Isaac. She clutched her purse, rustling with her secret goodies, wondering if the templars would find and confiscate them, but she would just bring more if that was the case.

She thought her day couldn't get any worse when at the top of the stairs she saw Guillaume and his parents deep in conversation with the Chantry sisters between the grand arch of the bronze templar statues. She tried to sneak past them but Guillaume instantly spotted her and waved, "Mon amie!"

Leandra straightened up with a smile, reluctantly approaching Guillaume and his family. "Guillaume, good morning. I didn't see you."

They kissed each other on the cheeks, his lips lingering a tad too long, as he folded his hands into hers. Leandra let her hand go limp in his, not able to let go but not able to reciprocate the warmth either.

Lady de Launcet eyed her head to toe in an approving manner, her hands stretched out in greeting as she placed a fond kiss on Leandra's cheek. "Ah, my dear girl, it's so good to see you. Don't tell me you wore that fetching ensemble for me."

Leandra in fact did, even as that twisted her insides. She had been trying to courteously convince Lady de Launcet to drop the bid on Malcolm and had spent the better part of the week in soirees and luncheons bargaining for his life like it was a game. Maybe to Lady de Launcet it was a game, one she found very amusing, but for Leandra it was a match she couldn't afford to lose.

Leandra curtsied politely in greeting, allowing the lady to inspect her outfit, lilac colored, in honor of the de Launcet's house, with a rather daring cut that skimmed the edges of modesty with how the thin fabric clung to her curves.

Lady de Launcet touched the fabric of Leandra's arm fondly. "These sleeves are darling."

They also had giant holes that let in the chill. She was thankful that the winters in Kirkwall were rather mild because Orlesian fashion didn't account for cold. "You were right about that Boutique on Oak Avenue. They do have great dresses."

"We should go together and pick up some more," Lady de Launcet offered.

Leandra bit her tongue, not wanting to freely admit that she didn't have the budget anymore to go splurging on vogue dresses, but before she could find a tactful way to turn her down, Guillaume said,

"Of course, it will be my treat."

A thoughtful offer but Leandra still had to force the smile on her lips. The idea of spending more time with Guillaume or his mother was not what she had in mind. Still, she said, "that sounds lovely," and allowed Guillaume to kiss her chastely on the cheek.

"You two are adorable," an older sister with dusty spectacles said with a smile in her voice.

"Not too much longer until we chime that bell for you," the younger initiate smiled.

Lord de Launcet patted Guillaume's shoulder. "They're all grown up now."

"Yes," Lady de Launcet looked like she was tearing up. "And they're going to give me beautiful grandchildren."

The panic coiled inside Leandra. Everything was so perfect with Malcolm and yet did any of it matter? Her whole life was structured around Guillaume. Trying to tear it apart seemed like breaking her foundation. Suddenly she was picturing tea parties with nug children all over again.

The conversation carried on without Leandra. Lady de Launcet soon was bragging to the sisters about all the changes that they were planning to make to the wedding to give it an Orlesian touch, Leandra just nodding along to confirm the details. That was part of the deal for backing out of the bid, something Leandra wasn't sure Lady de Launcet would keep to, but it wouldn't hurt to keep her in good humor.

Apparently Lady de Launcet was losing interest in the wedding because she felt like her culture wasn't being represented enough and so she dangled Malcolm over Leandra, bargaining for more say of how it all should look like or maybe just to see what she could get Leandra to do. First, she just had a problem with the color scheme. Red was "too angry" and pink would match spring. Then they were updating the bridesmaids dresses to be from Princess Evangeline's new fashion line. Then that led into them talking about Leandra's dress.

Leandra had originally told Lady de Launcet that unfortunately her gown had been finalized but it didn't stop the lady from telling the sisters in rapt glee, "We're going to bring that old thing into the modern age, cut a little off, give it a new look," Lady de Launcet made a snipping motion for emphasis.

Leandra's eyes widened. Did she hear right?

"You're going to WHAT?" Leandra's mother stood on the steps cutting off Lady de Launcet's conversation short.

Leandra's shoulders tightened. Now her day couldn't be worse.

Lady de Launcet and Leandra's mothers met each other's eyes like they were in a match. Her mother stepped up the steps leaving her husband behind as she picked up the hem of her modest cream dress, her complimenting cardigan as sharp as her power suits. "That dress was my mother's and her mother's before me down to the founding of my line. It is a priceless antique with a rich history of powerful women who wore it. You are not going to touch one thread."

Lady de Launcet looked smugly at her mother, knowing she had her claws in deep. "Leandra has agreed that if I'm going to accept the loss of the protection of such a pristine mage from such a nasty family curse, I should get some perks, no?"

Leandra was about to say she did no such thing, but her mother beat her to it, saying, "We don't need that knife-ear's foul magic. We have the Maker's protection!"

Leandra's mouth gaped and the air sucked out of her. This was the first time she had ever heard that word come out of her mother's mouth. With Gamlen and now her mother, it was like an ugly wake up call about the deep prejudice inbred into her family that she had been be blind to. Or maybe as she looked back on how they reacted with Mara, perhaps she chose to be blind to it.

The whole room shifted uncomfortably as if something foul was in the air. Each looked to the other unsure of what to say.

Then Leandra recovered herself when Guillaume covered his reddening face with his hand, looking uncomfortable and said, "Bethann, please. We're in the Maker's house."

Her mother lifted her chin indignantly. "As if the heathens even pray to the Maker."

"You know what," Leandra smiled all teeth as she decided it was time to change the subject. She turned her attention, batting her eyes at Lady de Launcet, "I think it would be lovely to update the dress a little. Lady de Launcet, did you have thoughts on the design?"

"Oh, so many," Lady de Launcet clapped her hands. "Merveilleux! I'll send the number of my seamstress. We have binders for you to look at."

"Amelia, absolutely not," Leandra's mother's face went rigid in fury, more furious than when Gamlen had crashed his new car in a DUI and yet Leandra was still more angry over the word she had called Malcolm.

Ugly wretched shame sank Leandra's gut into a pit. She didn't know how to process the deep hate rooted within her family's heart. She wasn't sure how to get them to see Malcolm like she did. She questioned at this point if they were capable of it. Her mind started tracing over every cruel comment, every power trip, every backhanded compliment. There was all this posturing of appearances of perfection. If there was any curse on her family is that they had forgotten how to love and care for people. Her parents paid good lip service, donated their money to charities that they then wrote off in taxes, but it was all a pretty play. They had all forgotten warmth. Love even.

At the end of the day, she didn't care about a stupid old dress or the color scheme or any of the damned details of the wedding. None of that seemed important ever since Malcolm came into her life.

Leandra had never been so disappointed in her mother or anyone. So when Lady de Launcet said,

"Bethann, relax. This is Leandra's wedding. It should be her decision."

It seemed natural to respond with, "That's right. It is my decision, and I think I'm going to be open to possibilities today," Leandra smiled, turning it to her mother and father who were both taken aback by this new tactic. "And I hope you will be more open minded in the future."

"Leandra, how dare you-"

And then Leandra did something she never did before. She shushed her mother as if she was hushing a child having a tantrum. "This is the Maker's House. Let's not focus on our petty disagreements but on His Grace and Wisdom."

"Wisely said, child," the dusty spectacled sister adjusted her glasses with a thin smile.

Leandra smiled as her mother turned to her father in embarrassment but he seemed just as baffled. "Shall we go in?" he offered his arm to his wife, not seeming to want to take up the argument with Leandra.

Lady Amell chewed on her lip and took her husband's arm.

"Always good to see you, Aristride," Lord de Launcet nodded to her father cheerily.

Her father made a tight-lipped nod at the man as they passed, but that was all he mustered in greeting.

The service passed by, the time stretching on, and every second was uncomfortable. Leandra sat between Guillaume and her mother, singing the Chant, and she felt the words ring hollow in her throat.

And yet she couldn't help but think of Mara's words.

Yes, the Maker had sent Malcolm on her path, but she was not being honest. With her parents. With Guillaume. Maybe not even herself. She was a cheater now and Leandra never thought she'd be that. Yes, she was bound by a vow she made as a child to marry Guillaume, and yet she couldn't find it in her to resist Malcolm's pull. She felt like the Maker had crafted his hand to fit in hers.

Or did she just want the Maker to have sent him? Was he actually the temptation she was supposed to resist? It seemed like fitting him into her life was an impossible dream. His kisses were like heaven but they left her with desires that were all too sinful. So sinful that they kept her awake and aching long into the night.

"It was Andraste's purity that was what

Drove the Maker's Eye

Her devotion to her husband

And to Her Duties and to her Faith

She Drew His Grace into the World

Only for the Sin of Man to Drive Him back.

When all of Man is pure will we see His Return."

All Leandra's life she had taken that verse to heart, but that didn't stop her mind from wandering. Didn't stop her from remembering the feel of his tongue on hers and how it stoked a fire in her that still burned. Last night, she dreamed that she was back on the balcony of the Viscount's Palace. Malcolm fell on top of her again and she felt his hardness form on her thigh. That hardness that sparked that aching need deep inside her. Instead of being a gentleman, he gave her that wolfish smile and stripped her like a present, his hands like electricity on her skin, careless with her wrappings until she was bare in the moonlight. His gaze left her hollow and ready to be filled by him. His lips ghosted over her mouth, his breath tickling her skin until his mouth trailed lower and lower, until he had her spread wide, his head between her legs. Those honey eyes met hers as that half-smirk lowered his mouth.

But the dream ended. She didn't know what that felt like, where that would lead. And would it be salvation or ruin?

Her face burned as she sang, sweating under her dress even in the chill of the chapel. As she sang she found herself asking the Maker for guidance. She knew what her heart said, and yet she wasn't sure what the right path was. Coming clean to her parents sounded so frightening. Would they threaten to disown her like Gamlen?

She wondered if loving Malcolm would mean giving up everything, and she was selfish. She wanted her parents to watch her children grow up, to be able to baptize them in this Chantry, to have family dinners and holidays. Plan month long vacations in Antiva and Rivain where they would learn about different cultures and try different cuisines and learn about the world like she did. Was it too much to ask for it all? She made the wish in her heart, even as she held the hand of the wrong man. She prayed for a way they'd all find happiness, even in the face of the odds.

Grand Enchanter Elthina stood under the Everlasting Fire, her silhouette giving the impression she was being burned like Andraste. She had her blonde hair in a braided bun, looking much like the statues of Andraste behind her. "My children, a great evil has visited us recently. It is truly a Blessing of the Maker that we all have been delivered unscathed."

A chorus of voices called out in "By the Maker's Will," the relief palpable in the room.

"The Knight-Commander assures me that all is under control. Still, the Veil has grown more restless, and so we must do our part to help. All of us must confess the evils in our hearts before they become sins. Out of sin, demons rise. It is our own hubris we must save ourselves from. I invite you all to join me on a fast and pray with me for contrition. May He spare us from more evil by seeing the pureness of our own hearts."

And there Leandra felt trapped. Lying was a sin, and yet the truth would unravel everything. Still, she wondered how long she could keep up the act around Guillaume, with every detail of the wedding reminding her that she would soon be tied to him on a timeline that was soon running out.

She clutched her family's rosary in her hand, knowing she would make the vow with the Grand Cleric, even as she knew she would not let Malcolm go.

The closing hymns echoed through the stone as the tithing basket passed around, both Guillaime's parents and her own matching their sizable checks to which they left open faced in the basket for all to see. Soon the hymns bounced off the stone, the echo keeping the song for a moment. The Grand Enchanter said her final blessing and then the bell rang from the tower in a deep clanging sound that echoed in the ribs. Everyone rose, a cluster of voices rising as everyone started dispersing.

"Shall we do the usual family luncheon, then?" Lady de Launcet fluffed up the new curls she added to her usually limp red hair, already forgetting the fast she had audibly promised.

"Actually, I'm going to visit with Isaac at the Circle, but do have a lovely visit without me," Leandra feigned an apologetic tone as she gathered her purse trying not to seem like in the hurry she was. Malcolm knew she was coming. Would he manage to get away to see her?

Her father's eyebrows shot up in surprise, "You got past regulations?" Her father sounded impressed which brought a scowl from her mother.

Leandra couldn't help the secret smile on her face. "Like you said, Daddy. I always get my way."

Guillaume and her father shared a fond laugh which caused his mother's scowl to deepen. She was silent, social etiquette keeping her usual claws to herself, but the way she was glaring at Leandra, she knew that she was in for it later.

But Leandra didn't care. The worst of her day was over. She could see Isaac and hear his laugh for the first time in half a year. And she could thank meeting Malcolm for that. Surely that meant something good.

She would walk this path towards Malcolm with unsteady steps, even as she knew that all these threads would unravel one day.

Malcolm would normally sleep through Mass, but today he had several books on his lap, scratching his head as he tried to put together the puzzle he was clearly struggling with in his mind. Taylor and Charlie sat on either side of him exchanging looks as Malcolm muttered to himself and it appeared like something was distracting him, though that could have been the chorus of singing that he was opting out of.

Charlie looked over Malcolm's head at Taylor who was trying her best to sing along to the Chant, and Taylor tried to pay attention, but she was just as puzzled. The books Malcolm were reading were advanced, alteration magic theory along with complex anatomy books. He had one page turned to a detailed diagram of a tongue and he kept flipping back through the index and glossary as he wrote notes he adamantly hid with his arm and flipped over when he wasn't writing in it.

Everyone had noticed the change in Malcolm and though there were a lot of theories, an elaborate prank yet to be unleashed, a chance to walk outside the Circle, that the Knight-Commander threatened tranquilization, or that Carver finally had some serious dirt on him. Malcolm barely noticed the gossip as he worked through his lunches, often falling asleep on his homework. Still, by all standards, Malcolm had become a model student, minus the sarcasm and arrogance. He wasn't shy about boasting how he graduated without trying, but no one could explain why he was. Trying.

Sure, being a House Mage was an esteemed position, and the fact that he had earned the bid of not one but two major houses was enough reason for some, but those that knew Malcolm understood that he didn't obey or bend his will for anyone.

At least not without ulterior motives.

But as his friends looked over him they weren't sure what those motives were.

The Chant died down and so Sister Margaret took over the sermon. It was the usual. 'Repent thy sin for being born of sin.' The same as last week and the week before.

"Are you finally doing it?" Charlie whispered over with a sad look.

"Hmmm?" Malcolm answered, only half paying attention.

"Escaping," Charlie said hushedly.

"What? No!" Malcolm snorted a little too loudly, which brought an annoyed glance from Sister Margaret, but since she was used to Malcolm snoring through her sermons she quickly moved on.

Malcolm suddenly pulled out a dictionary from his backpack, flipping through for a definition. That was when Taylor leaned forward, her eyebrows raised. "Not that I would normally deter studying but can't this wait until lunch?"

"Might be busy at lunch," Malcolm crossed out what he was writing as he shook his head. At least he hoped to be. Carver said that it was possible for Leandra and him to have a little window together today. He didn't know when but he was just waiting on his summons.

"Might?" Charlie repeated. Then he looked between the elves. "Oh, I get the studying now! You're finally dating."

Malcolm's laugh filled the small cramped stone room that served as the chapel drawing shushes and an outraged scowl from Sister Margaret.

Taylor looked mortified to be associated with Malcolm, let alone dating him and she looked apologetically to the Sister imploring her to go on. When the sister finally did, Taylor leaned over and whispered to Charlie, "Maker preserve me, will you get that out of your head?"

That's when Taylor looked down at Malcolm's backpack and saw something strange peeking out between the pages of his homework. She pulled it out with wide eyes. "But maybe Malcolm's dating someone else?"

"What?" Malcolm looked up from his work, only to notice too late what Taylor was staring at.

"What's that?" Charlie snatched it from Taylor before Malcolm could grab it.

Malcolm wrestled Charlie for the paper, tearing the page in half, making a loud riiiiiip that echoed through the chapel. Charlie's face paled as he held the other half in his hand. There stared half of Leandra's face in graphite, a mole dotting under her starry eye creased in a laughing smile punctuated by dimples in her apple cheeks, her hair drawn in careful loving strokes framing her bare neck and delicate collar bones, shapely lips rendered done with care.

"You motherfucker!" Malcolm shoved Charlie angrily into his seat, scattering the books on his lap.

"Sorry, dude!" Charlie handed the other half back but the damage was already done.

"Malcolm, that's enough!" Sister Margaret shouted, paying no attention to Charlie. "If you're going to curse in Maker's house you are not welcome here."

Malcolm held both halves, noticing that others were staring and he quickly crumpled it up before anyone could get a good look. He cursed himself and Taylor and Charlie. What use were friends if all they wanted to do was pry into your private life and spread all your secrets? Now his surprise gift was ruined, and his good mood with it.

He threw the ruined art piece back into his backpack with a huff gathering all his stuff and shoving it all in so it all crumpled into one wad. "That's fine, you're a broken record anyways."

Malcolm stormed out of the chapel, the templars usually stationed outside strangely not there to escort him out. He was going to head to his room but Taylor and Charlie followed him, both with remorseful looks on their faces. He made his way through the hallways which were emptied since everyone was left at Mass.

"I didn't mean to, I'm sorry," Charlie repeated.

"It's fine, drop it," Malcolm spat, not looking back. They descended to the stairs and back into the lower chambers, not noticing that even the halls were barren of the usual templar or two.

"Wait, wait, wait, don't shut me out like that," Charlie jogged up and caught Malcolm by his backpack, pulling him back. "I messed up. That's on me. You would have won major points for that gift, I'm sure. But don't I have a right to be mad, too?"

Malcolm turned around with a glare clenching his fist into a ball. "Why, you picking a fight?"

"No, but you can punch me if it'll make you feel better," Charlie offered his cheek and Malcolm found his hand unclenching on it's own.

When it was apparent Malcolm would neither leave nor punch him, Charlie shoved him and said, "Dude, who is she? She was hard to recognize with half a face but she's a babe. You're holding out on me."

"I can't tell you," Malcolm's eyes flicked around the halls for people listening but though he didn't see anyone that didn't mean someone couldn't overhear.

"Why?"

Malcolm glared, lowering his voice to a whisper. "You told Mandy McConnells I wet the bed in 7th year and that's why no girl will even look at me."

Malcolm shifted his glare to Taylor who barked out a short laugh before she bit her bottom lip to contain her smile. "I'm sorry, it's just you think that's why? Not your ogreish personality?"

Malcolm's nostrils flared, ignoring that point. "I'm NEVER trusting you with a secret, again."

Charlie placed his palms together in a prayer as he pleaded to Malcolm. "It slipped out, dude. You kept doing it."

That's when Malcolm swung at Charlie but he ducked instinctively, a habit he had grown used to being friends with a Ferelden.

"Sorry doesn't fix this!"

"How many times do I have to say I'm sorry! I've given you tons of back and foot massages and I was your personal servant for like a month. I swear I won't tell anyone about it like no one knows about my secret diary."

"Dude," Malcolm snorted in disbelief, his fist full of Charlie's robe, "you've read me poetry from your diary."

"Like you should tell me who you're dating. It's vital bro info."

Taylor pushed them apart putting her back to Malcolm as she placed a hand on Charlie's chest. "In this instance, I think Malcolm's right. You should just let it go."

Charlie looked confused, watching Malcolm's anxious breathing in renewed light. "What's wrong? It's not like you're dating someone outside the Circle?"

Malcolm's and Taylor's dead silence answered the question for Charlie. He dropped his jaw. "Holy shit. You're dating someone outside the Circle?"

Malcolm reached around Taylor and grabbed Charlie's head and wrestled him into a headlock. "Will you not say that so fucking loud?"

Still, Charlie's muffled ecstatic laughter could be heard from Malcolm's death grip, the sound soothing his anger. So Charlie finally got the whiff of his secret. He hoped he had a little more time.

Malcolm dragged Charlie by the head through the hallways until they came out into the courtyard, Taylor following like this was a normal thing cause it was.

"So I can't even know her first name?" Charlie continued the conversation. "I mean what's the harm in that?"

"It's too obvious once you put it together," Taylor explained for Malcolm. "She's not just anybody. This can get Malcolm in a lot of trouble." She then added with a shake of her head. "You're not hiding it very well."

"Well I didn't plan on people going through my private things." Was he relieved that he at least had someone in on the secret other than Carver that could keep their mouth shut?

Malcolm found that without Charlie fighting back, this wrestle really wasn't going anywhere, so he shoved Charlie's head away.

Taylor walked ahead of him, her mood seeming impish with the way she stopped in front of him and started walking backwards so her dark skin reflected the sunshine like stained glass. "Tough tiddies. It's the Circle. You're not going to get privacy."

As if to answer that the train of thought the real train that connected from the mainland pulled into the station, it's gears squeaking against the rail and no sooner did they stop did a squadron of templars came rushing past the mages and towards the upper chambers in a rush. One of the templars in a helmet broke rank and stopped before them. It was hard to tell who exactly, but their armor marked them as a ranking officer.

They pointed to the three of them and with a deep voice, he said, "What are you doing in the courtyard? It's out of bounds."

"Sister kicked me out of Mass for saying fuck on the Maker's day," Malcolm said like he was commenting on the weather.

Both Taylor and Charlie exchanged uneasy tense glances, unsure what would happen.

But this templar seemed more used to Malcolm's snark and didn't acknowledge it other than to say, "Everything's on lockdown. Back to the cafeteria or to your rooms."

Lockdown? What was going on?

Taylor frowned. "Is the library on lockdown?"

But Malcolm waved his hand and said. "Wait, more importantly where's Carver?"

Taylor flashed a violet glare. "My question is just as important."

"Carver's in an emergency. Library's not restricted," then the man marched off back towards the hallways where the upper levels reached. The only thing up there other than the Chantry hall was the restricted areas like the Harrowing Chamber.

Malcolm couldn't help but feel something queer was happening and he feared that the terror demon made his move. He nodded to Taylor and Charlie. "Well I'm off to grab lunch before my nap. Want to join me?"

As if to answer him, the lunch bell finally rang, echoing through the courtyard.

Charlie hopped on the balls of his feet, excited at the prospect of lunch and they all headed towards the mess hall. Sunday was the chefs day off so all that was served all day was things that could be made the day before which usually consisted of soup you had to warm up yourself and dry cold cut sandwiches but that was no longer a problem for the mages now that Charlie blabbed the whole taste illusion spell to the Circle.

"Dude, I almost got tacos right. Taylor helped me."

That brought a warm smile to Taylor's full lips. "Oh, I also tweaked the spell so it has crunch now, too. I'll show you," she added enthusiastically.

Charlie's jaw dropped in awe, stopping in the hall. "No joke, you are the most incredible woman to exist."

Taylor tripped on her feet sputtering, clinging to Charlie so she wouldn't tip over. He caught her by the waist, easily pulling her small frame against his chest before she tumbled to the ground. They stood there stunned, clinging to the other awkwardly as if they weren't sure what to do next.

Malcolm coughed which broke the spell, pushing them apart.

Taylor looked embarrassed as if she didn't know what to do with her hands and she kept shifting positions, finally balling them up and placing them on her thighs.

Charlie scratched the back of his head looking at anywhere but Taylor. He was trying to play cool, but Malcolm could see that Charlie was now a nervous wreck, hiding his eyes under his dark bangs as if that would shield him from scrutiny.

Malcolm wondered if they would ever stop focusing on his love life and actually admit they liked each other. They seemed to have these weird moments more and more often. Projection, maybe?

"Hey, you have to pay homage to the genius. I made the spell," Malcolm joked trying to lighten the mood.

"But Taylor's an artist. She makes everything she touches better," Charlie said, his voice sounding shy, the picking of his nails adding to that effect, and Malcolm couldn't help but think how soft Charlie looked as he said that.

Taylor crossed her arms, huddling into herself as if she needed to hide. "I don't know about that."

Malcolm suddenly felt like there were one too many people in the room and so as the other uncomfortable party he did what any good friend would do. Tease them.

"Dude, why have you been trying to pawn Taylor off on me all these years? You've clearly got a thing."

This time Charlie sputtered, Taylor watching in a careful seriousness as his eyes went wide and he backed away as if he was going to run. "I mean we're just really good friends. Brother. Sister."

"Sure," Malcolm's voice lilted. "That's how I'd look at my sister."

This time Charlie swung at Malcolm which Malcolm darted out of the way. "Dude. Shut up. You're making things weird."

Taylor said nothing, still watching Charlie, unsure if this was another joke the two of them were playing.

"Ask Taylor out and maybe I'll tell you her name," Malcolm challenged, making Taylor audibly choke.

"So there is a girl," Charlie grabbed at the subject, desperate for the change in subject. "We're establishing that."

Malcolm couldn't help but laugh. The reach was so pitiful. "Dude, been established."

"Just checking," Charlie scratched his arm. His gaze kept flicking to Taylor who looked at him unwaveringly as he fumbled. "Just checking…"

Malcolm's dare hung in the air unanswered.

"Well I guess if you never ask the question, you never find out," Taylor clicked her tongue as she tucked a curl of hair back in place and then walked into the cafeteria leaving Charlie blinking dumbly.

Charlie looked at Malcolm for an explanation. "Why would she say that?"

Poor Taylor.

Malcolm slung his arm around Charlie feeling the brotherly need to help him out, even though he felt he knew as much about romance as Charlie did, but he needed to call upon Scholar somewhere safe and figure out if there was a problem that needed his attention, so he said, "When you figure it out, dude, come talk to me."

Charlie contorted his face, looking more lost and confused and he jutted out his lip. "Aww, now you're picking on me."

"Well you deserve a lil' payback for ruining my girl's portrait," Malcolm chuckled. Saying that aloud did make him feel lighter.

Charlie seemed to be giddy that Malcolm admitted that, too. "Can I tell people you've got a girl at least?"

"Dude," Malcolm's smile dropped back into a deadly expression. "I'll haunt your dreams."

Charlie's shoulders dropped in disappointment. "Fine."

Malcolm and Charlie broke apart and got in line for lunch.

They noticed that Taylor was several people ahead, Arth Elliot in deep conversation with her. He kept brushing his blond bangs away from his face, a flirtatious smile on his lips and for once Taylor was actually giving him the time of day.

Charlie immediately made an ugly grimace. "What's she talking to that idiot for?"

Malcolm nudged Charlie's shoulder with a smug smirk. "Do something about it."

Charlie immediately balked, rubbing the back of his head. "She can talk to who she likes. It's fine," but then he crossed his arms sulkily. "Arth's still a jerk and a playboy. She should be careful."

Before Malcolm could agree, a templar on a walkie talkie walked up to them from her guard post pointing straight at Malcolm.

"Are you Hawke?"

Malcolm looked over the templar not recognizing her face. She was tanned from the sun with a scar on her right cheek that looked like it had been sliced through and her eyebrows were sharp and rigid in contrast to her bald head that had black stubble growing out. She was built like a chiseled warrior that most of the templars were demanded of, and yet Malcolm could not place her face among the recruits. She wasn't one of Malcolm's harassers, nor one of Carver's friends. Was she new, or just very unremarkable?

"Am I in trouble?" Hawke cringed, knowing that was usually the reason.

"I am to escort you to the Knight-Commander immediately. Please, come with me."

Malcolm groaned. "I mean, can I get a sandwich first?"

Malcolm expected the templar to snap at him or start dragging him by the collar, but the woman actually considered his rather reasonable request. After a moment, she nodded and said, "It would probably be best if you have your strength. Do hurry, please."

Malcolm blinked, actually amazed. A templar that said please not once but twice. A third and it wouldn't be an accident.

Malcolm's smile turned smug as he left Charlie in line to cut it with the templar's permission, and snagged a sandwich not really caring which flavor. He stuffed one in his mouth before grabbing another while still chewing, deciding today he wanted to feast on lechon. He had been feeling extra famished lately and the taste of the suckling pig was extra filling and he could feel it reawakening him. By the time he had strolled back he had polished off one of the sandwiches and was savoring the next one bite by tiny bite.

He saluted Charlie with a sandwich on his way out. "Let me know when you finally grow some balls."

Charlie rolled his eyes and pretended to ignore him.

The templar silently led him to the templar quarters, the spaces tight as most templar initiates slept like apprentices, in communal bunks with absolutely no privacy. Templars, though, did not have to live in bunk beds, smelling each other's body odor and tripping on each other's laundry. Many templars only used the beds on shift and could carve their little slice of home somewhere in Kirkwall away from the Circle.

As they walked down the hall they passed by the highest ranking templar's office, passing Carver to the Knight-Commander's on the end, marked by the Chantry's sun being pierced by a blade engraved into the door and two suits of ceremonial templar armor that decorated each side.

The templar motioned for the door unceremoniously. "Go in, please. The Commander is waiting for you."

And with the third please that became a pattern. Malcolm remarked upon the fact he managed to walk beside another templar that wasn't Carver and didn't end up in handcuffs part of the way for his attitude. But she hadn't given him any lip, so he decided to keep the goodwill going and nodded. "Thanks for the escort. And lunch."

The templar looked surprised to be thanked. She nodded, attempting a smile too tense to not have nervousness behind it. "And thank you for not being difficult."

Malcolm blinked as the templar reddened, as if she only just realized that could be considered rude. But Malcolm just shook his head with a chuckle as he placed his hand on the brass knob. He'd rather make templars nervous than bold. "Back at you," he said and pulled the heavy door open.

He was expecting to see Leandra today, but he didn't expect to see her in the Knight-Commander's office, nor did she expect him to see her red eyed with a pile of soiled tissues upon the Knight-Commander's desk. She stood up when she saw Malcolm, as if she wanted to rush over to him before she realized that it wasn't only Carver there, but the the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter Elric, a short pinkish man that shared Malcolm's fondness for napping, though his love probably stemmed from the fact that he was approaching 80. He was looking rather comfy snuggled into the arm of his chair next to the Knight-Commander, looking oddly like he needed a blanket.

"Thank the Maker you came," Leandra crumpled up the tissue in her hand.

"I wouldn't thank the Maker, yet," The First Enchanter stroked his long wizardly beard. "Like I've told you, my lady, I'm not sure much can be done."

"At least let him try!" Leandra's voice was desperate and hoarse, as if she had just been yelling.

If Malcolm had known it was Leandra that needed him, he wouldn't have dragged his feet or stopped for lunch. He quickly stepped closer into the room, Leandra like a magnet he had to pull away from with force. He didn't know what happened but he couldn't stand to see her like this, mascara running down her cheeks, her face a red splotchy mess. Seeing her in such pain awakened a fierceness in him he didn't realize he had. It took everything not to fold her into his chest so he could comfort her.

So instead he bowed his head with all the respect afforded to a noblewoman and said, "If I can be of service, my lady, you need only ask. Just tell me what to do."

The Knight Commander and the First Enchanter shared a surprised glance at the other at Malcolm's response before the corner of the wizard's mustache tugged into the smallest smile.

Leandra nodded, grateful tears running down her cheeks as she tore up the tissue in her hand tearing it into little pieces. "It's Isaac. He has meltdowns...They can get ugly. He needs structure to help keep him calm, toys to soothe him and...and…" She repeated 'and' again and again as if she was stuck, unable to continue the next thought.

"The boy threw a tantrum when we told him today wasn't the day his mother was coming," the First Enchanter finished in a tired ragged tone that sounded callous and bored, "It is rather unfortunate but in the emotional distress he inflicted upon himself he fell prey to demon and is now an imminent threat to us all. We know what must happen."

His croaking voice said the last haunting words with such finality that Leandra renewed her wailing, the sound tearing apart Malcolm's heart.
"No," he said and he squared his shoulders facing the Knight-Commander. "Send me into the Fade. That's what I'm here for, right? To kill the demon?"

Both the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter seemed pleased that this was Malcolm's response.

"Well that is true but we still need to go over...business," the First Enchanter ruffled through a stack of papers he took from a folder he had in front of him and slid them across the desk before Leandra.

Leandra blinked through her tears as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "My nephew's life hangs in the balance, and we're talking price? Now?"

The First Enchanter shrugged. "It's ugly but the Circle is not a charity. To send your chosen mage into the Fade to rescue your kin will need a vast supply of lyrium, which unfortunately there is currently a shortage of. We need to keep enough on hand to supply our templars, you know," then the wizard placed his wrinkled hands to flip through the pages. "There is also upkeep of the mages; boarding, food, education and so that has to come from somewhere. Renting this mage's services will help absorb some of the debt we incur."

Leandra looked at the giant price tag at the bottom. She tried to do the calculation in her head but if she were to try to cover this herself it would wipe out almost her entire savings. She would have almost nothing left to cover Mara's salary. "Excuse me a moment," she bit her lip and dug through her purse for her phone, unblocking her father's number, and called.

The dial rang twice before he answered and said, "I'm surprised to hear from you, Sweetpea. I thought we were not communicating anymore by phone." She could hear restaurant music being played in the backgrounds, the rush of conversation and clutter muffling up his voice.

Leandra ignored the obvious attempt at an argument and said, "Father, Isaac's been possessed and we need to make a payment of 10,000 sovereigns to send a mage into the Fade to rescue him."

Malcolm coughed, choking on his own spit. "How many bottles of lyrium am I chugging?"

"The average mage needs to ingest about 5-8 bottles, though we don't know your tolerance. Most of that cost is you," the First Enchanter said flatly.

So this was how the Circle worked. Malcolm felt like it was stupid to keep good talent locked away to fester and rot, but when he could be rented like this to the highest bidder, it all seemed to be just parts of system placed there by design, not some random accident.

Malcolm fumed, he would not be anyone's tool. "Well, knock some of those zeroes off because I need only one bottle. Right, Carver?"

Carver bugged his eyes out before he blurted out, "Yes, right."

The First Enchanter widened his eyes impressed but seemed to take this in stride, as if this was just part of the negotiation. "We'd have to check the current marketplace value, but by our last estimates a vial of lyrium has been driven up to..."

He trailed off looking to the Knight-Commander for help who blurted out, "50 sovereigns now."

"Which would leave you with a savings of 200 sovereigns, that is if the mage can back his claims," the old mage adjusted his wire frame glasses.

Malcolm scoffed at the First Enchanter. The old bat knew his name because he had signed plenty of Malcolm's detention slips. 200 sovereigns was still nothing to sneeze at, but compared to 10,000, it seemed like he had only chipped at a mountain.

Still, Malcolm remained silent as Leandra relayed all of this to her father. Then she frowned deeply as she said, "What, why? Is that really necessary?"

He could hear the man's stern voice lecturing but the speaker obscured most of his words.

Eventually she hung her head and she walked up to Malcolm outstretching her phone with apologetic eyes. "I'm sorry. My father wants to talk to you." She looked truly scared to hand the phone over, her hands trembling.

Malcolm audibly gulped, unsure if he really wanted to take that call but finding no other choice left to him he took the phone from Leandra's shaky hands and put it up to his ear.

"You're not talking guff? You can save me 200 sovereigns?"

Was that really what warranted a one-to-one conversation? Still Malcolm kept his tone respectful and short, "Yes, ser."

"And you can save my sister-in-law's son? You guarantee it? You're still costing me a king's ransom."

Malcolm felt his mouth go dry, but he promised, "I'm worth it. He will not die under my watch."

"Good," he grunted, satisfied. "You gave your word. That means something. If you can manage this, then maybe there is a future here for you. Maybe."

It seemed a hollow promise, from a hollower man and yet when he looked at Leandra's tear-brimmed eyes full of hope he knew he couldn't afford to fail.

Malcolm slapped on his usual cocksure smirk. "You can count on it."