Zelophehad searched the depths of Kirkwall for the right candidate to bend to his will. The search was tedious but fruitful. There were new demons forming in his legion every day, new souls to receive his commands. He sent his flock into his enemies' territories, whittling down what was left of the magical wards that once protected the Guardian Spirit's lands. Luckily the Somniari had already done the treacherous deed of defeating the Guardian Spirits himself, a task Zelophehad had not succeeded at since his inception. Sure, he had managed to slay one or two in his time, but the rest would rise up to resurrect their brethren and drive him back to his lair.
That the Somniari managed to defeat them at all spoke to his strength. And Zelophehad had not survived this long gambling his life aimlessly, when he could whittle away at his prey a Nightmare at a time.
A suitable candidate was near enough the Somniari to touch, and pointed in the right direction would speed up the Somniari's downfall. Zelophehad was a patient creature that would outlast man, but he also knew the risks of idleness. The Fade whispered of the Scholar spirit feeding wisdom to the Somniari, and in return growing stronger with every memory. If the Scholar unlocked the Somniari's true potential, then Zelophehad might truly be threatened.
But Zelophehad was a true hunter, knowing when to plot and plan and when to strike. And as impatient as he was to taste the true world, he had become the most feared demon because in the end he always got his prey. He would weave a web that not even the Somniari could escape. That the mortal escaped him twice did not matter. This would not become a pattern.
One of Zelophehad's many eyes alerted him that he was no longer alone and he turned his head to the coming presence.
"Are you sure you want to choose him?" He could hear the disgust in Avarice's voice. "Would you not prefer an empty vessel?"
"I already have a vessel," the smirk pulled on Zelophehad's lips. "I had a taste. Power like I haven't seen in ages." Zelophehad's many eyes were pulled to the corner where a Hunger demon was cowering, bowing its head so its eyes did not meet him. Its limbs were bound by Avarice's whip, its thorns snaking into the demon's form. Zelophehad smirked as the demon shivered. "You do not mind if I ask you a favor, do you?"
The demon picked up its head, its withered skin hollowing into its cheeks like a starved man. The Hunger demon avoided gazing directly. "I've already given you my allegiance. What could I do that you cannot?"
Zelophehad's goat eyes squinted. "Your vessel…I have an interest." His smirk widened as the demon flinched. "Do not worry," he added soothingly, "I seek not to make a claim on your Bonded. But I've been made aware that your mortal has recently spoken with the Somniari."
This seemed to be news to the demon who flicked their cloudy corpse-like eyes at Avarice who nodded in confirmation. "I have seen the Somniari, but I know well enough not to hunt him. He is your claim."
"Smart." Zelophehad's pleased sharp toothed smile glistened at it. "But perhaps I was to make an offer to you. Would you be interested?"
Hunger picked up its head, a quizzical look on their distorted face. "You would make an offer to me? What do you need?"
"Your vessel," Zelophehad simpered, raising the demon's chin with an elongated sharp finger. "Has it feasted?"
The demon looked visibly eager. "Close. Closer every day."
Zelophehad couldn't keep the glee off his face. This would make things so much easier. "Then how about I provide you with your first real meal?"
Carver had an impending headache and his vision was starting to blur. There was the distant ringing in his ears that told him that the lyrium in his system was wearing off, but he was too absorbed in studying the testimony videos to take a break to inject a draught. The screen from his computer strained his eyes after staring so long, and he had not noticed that the sun had long since set over the ocean. Only the light from his computer lit up his office.
This investigation was going nowhere. There were a lot of frightened nobles pointing accusations at their rivals, lots of servants just trying to duck out of duties, plenty of politicians and merchants with suspect debts, but nothing that tied anyone to the Haunting at the Betrothal Ball. Carver suspected any leads he might have had were starting to run cold. The only person that could possibly explain this event was Malcolm, but every time Carver brought up the Haunting, Malcolm would sidestep the question and escape as soon as he could find an opening.
Carver knew Malcolm was somehow at the center of it. He always seemed to be. Hawke had that strange kind of luck. If he was going to get Malcolm to tell him anything, he'd need to corner him with the truth first. But Carver was exhausted from working non-stop to uncover it.
Carver kept reviewing Taylor Filene's interview, replaying the conversation until he had it memorized. On camera she recreated an island on the Fade so their table sat amidst a green sea sky. It took awhile to convince the Knight Commander that she did not attract the spirits, though Taylor did indeed seem to have a sensitivity to them. And still Carver knew that he had only backed off because they found no further evidence. The Knight-Commander claimed that this was Taylor's intention, but Taylor's casting had been so controlled and purposeful, it was hard to imagine her creating the Haunting by mistake. And Carver knew better than to believe Taylor would have done so on purpose.
He was almost ready to write this off as a natural Fade disturbance caused by overuse of magic straining the Veil. Malcolm had used the opportunity at the Ball to show off in spite of Carver's warning.
Still, his instincts were telling him differently.
"I recreated the Fade from my dreams," Taylor's voice was cloaked from static from the speaker, her eyes invisible due to the glare of the camera. There had never been documented evidence of the Black City looming in the sky, at least in Southern Thedas. Little wisps floated around their heads, idly passing them with no mind. "It's just light refracting. Illusion spells are no more dangerous than a movie projector."
Even on camera the illusion looked indistinguishable. They really seemed to be floating in the sky held up by nothing but magic. "So what could cause such a disturbance?" Carver asked. He had asked every mage that was present at the Ball this question and each gave similar but different answers."
"Well, it depends," Taylor allowed her illusion to dissipate so the interview cell faded back on screen. "While it's possible that it could have been an attack, who were they attacking? The Fade tear started on the ballroom floor. If it was because we mages strained the veil with our performances, you would think that the tear would happen sooner. If it was an assassination attempt, there are easier methods and they clearly failed. If it was a terrorist attack, they risked a lot to send no message attached. So if this aggressor is human or otherwise, what was their goal?"
Taylor Filene always was a smart one, top of her class, and Carver knew she'd go far in the Circle. "So what is your assessment of the situation?"
She adjusted her glasses, the light flashing off them. "Well, I've had a lot of theories but there's a lot that's strange about this. I know Fade tears can happen naturally when too many spirits press against the Veil. Something attracted a lot of spirits, and it's possible that they weakened the Veil and created the Fade disturbance. But the timing is just…odd. So the real question is what attracted the spirits? And what triggered the tear? Find that out, and I think we can prevent it from happening again."
Even now, Carver was impressed with Taylor. He'd dare say she would do well on her own investigation if she could get the clearance. She had several encyclopedias worth of knowledge stored in that brain and was quite a good influence on Malcolm. He was rather glad the two of them were friends, even if listening to them argue was tiresome.
"Did you see anything strange before the tear?" A standard question.
"No," Taylor bit her cheek as she looked down guiltily. "Everyone was where they were supposed to be." An obvious lie covering for Malcolm. She quickly added, "I was focused on the food." She looked a little embarrassed at that, though Carver couldn't see why. He also was highly distracted by the banquet spread.
Taylor pushed her way forward conspiratorially with a whisper. "I heard Malcolm healed the Veil. What kind of spell did he use? I've read nothing like that. What exactly happened?"
Carver watched his former self frown as he failed to recall what lie Malcolm had made up. "An aura of some kind, to calm spirits."
Taylor blinked incredulously. "What aura could possibly be strong enough to repair an actual tear in reality. There must be more to it." A question that plagued Carver's mind constantly.
"There was," the Carver in the video paused, wondering if what he said should be recorded. "He also sang and cast bubble magic."
Taylor blinked a couple times, then frowned, crossing her arms in a huff. "Fine. Have your laugh. Don't tell me. I'll get it out of Malcolm eventually." She tucked a coil into place. "Am I free to go, yet?"
Carver remembered how surprised he was that Taylor didn't believe him. He knew Malcolm played pranks, but Carver made it a point to be an honest person. Still, perhaps it was best that the Knight-Commander disregard that as a joke. Malcolm had seemed nervous about the whole event anyways.
He'd nodded for Taylor to leave because those were the end of the questions he could ask. On camera that was.
Carver clicked the end of the video, looking at the pile of interviews he still had to decipher collected from his subordinates. He still had hours of work to do. The De Lancets so far were very forthcoming, perfectly willing to blame the Amell curse for the whole thing. Even Guillaume seemed to suspect it, even if he had more sympathy than anger with the Amell family.
This was becoming the Knight-Commander's official response to the issue, something that the Amell heads were doing everything they could to fight against.
It made sense why Aristride Amell needed that to not be the case. Perrin Threnhold had not named a successor to the Viscount's seat, but his daughter and son were unsuited and uninterested in politics, each defying their family lineage by taking careers in show business. Chivalry was a well-known B-rated actress and her brother, Humility, was her producer and director. They co-wrote their own films which Chivalry also starred in, often using their friends as fill-in actors.
It was not a secret that the Viscount was very disappointed in his children, and Aristride Amell was capitalizing on that disappointment to put his family as the new ruling head. Lord Amell had done well isolating himself from the curse by ostracizing Revka, but now with the Haunting it was getting harder to deny that there might be some merit to the rumor. And with the Amells doing their best to use their influence to dodge the interviews, they were not exactly looking innocent.
Carver pulled out Leandra's file, still waiting to be filled with the report. He knew that going behind the Amell's backs to talk to Leandra would cause a ruckus with the Viscount's seat if he found out. But her testimony he knew was vital.
Still, as he eyed her known contacts a name popped out at him that made his heart flutter, Mara Hartling.
All the servants of the Amells had the same story, obviously instructed, that the Amells were the most devout nobles of all of Kirkwall and that they were a blessed house, free of sin. But Mara's name had been left off the Amell's witness list, and Carver was wondering what reasons the Amells had for doing that. From his impression of her, she seemed to be more than just a regular family servant. Rumors about her relationship with Gamlen Amell were brought up by many of the rival nobles, but every servant of the Amell's claimed the Mara was just a normal lady's maid, and that it was idle gossip spread by jealous Houses. But Carver saw the possessive way Gamlen looked at Mara. Even if their relationship the night of the Ball was rocky, Carver knew the gossip was more than rumors. That it burned him to know that truth was something he was struggling to find peace with.
Carver pulled out his phone and punched in Mara's number. He told himself that calling her was simply a professional due diligence, but he still hoped that she would be alone and not with Gamlen, who seemed to stick to her side like flypaper.
The tone rang on for an uncomfortably long time, long enough for Carver to realize he'd called late. It was almost midnight, and she might not even be awake. He was about to hang up, and put the matter to rest for the moment, when she answered the phone with her usual spunk. "Did Darlene give you this number? 'Cause I'm here to tell you she's not interested. Does the word 'no' not mean anything to you? Back off!"
Carver found himself chuckling before he could remind himself to be professional. "There seems to be a misunderstanding. This is the number of Mara Hartling, is it not?"
"Yeah?" her voice sounded a little worried. "You're not a stalker, are you? 'Cause my lolo taught me how to shoot since age five and I have pretty good aim."
Why was Carver so disappointed she didn't recognize his voice? Hers never seemed to leave his head. "Well, I hope that won't be necessary as I'm not attempting to stalk you. This is Maurevar Carver, Knight Captain of the Templars?" He wrinkled his nose at his terrible first name. He felt awkward even saying it.
"Oooooooooh," she breathed out a relieved laugh. "That's why you sounded familiar. Why didn't you say from the start, Officer? You should know better than to call a lady so late at night. But are cops just above manners like they're above the law."
Carver felt sheepish, properly scolded, and wished he had thought to check his clock. "Apologies, I was working late and didn't quite realize the time when I called."
She hummed at that and he wondered for a second if she was doing that thing where she tucked her tongue in her cheek as she thought, a habit he found terribly distracting. "Figures you'd be a man that didn't know how to relax." A quip not too far from the truth. "So what can I do for you, Officer?"
The way she would wield the word Officer seemed so playful. From her tone it could be taken more of an insult than an honorific. Carver found his throat dry, unsure of what he wanted to say, so he resorted to his usual professional demeanor. "I'm calling to follow up on the investigation. You haven't been interviewed and I was hoping to arrange an appointment."
"Sure you're not just trying to get me alone?" there was a distinctive teasing lilt to her voice that made Carver sputter.
"Of course not. In fact, you may bring Leandra. She hasn't been interviewed yet either, as I understand."
There was a pause that told him trouble. "Have you asked her parents?"
Perhaps he should, but maybe there were plenty of reasons he shouldn't. The Amells still had the backing of the Viscount's seat, and tensions have been rising between the Viscount and the Templars. The Viscount had been a terrible nuisance about the Haunting. He had given the Knight-Commander a strict lecture about the incompetence of his command and that if he didn't get to the bottom of this, he would use what influence he could to remove him from his post. That made the Knight-Commander rather eager to pin the blame on someone. Anyone. But even though the Knight-Commander agreed that the Amell's strange lineage could be what caused the Haunting, the Knight-Commander didn't seem too keen on pointing his finger in the Amell's direction. If Carver didn't find a real lead quickly, another elf would be tranquilized for being deemed 'too dangerous'.
So Carver considered his answer and said, "Perhaps she would consider speaking to me off the record. In a private, neutral place."
"Oooh you really are a bad boy underneath that goody two shoes act," she hummed whimsically, and he wasn't sure why he felt so pleased at that assessment from her. "Sure, I'll talk to her. As long as I get the same deal."
"You don't want your words to go on record?" he asked, burning with curiosity.
"Some things shouldn't be on record."
He assumed this had to do with Gamlen, and though he could understand why she would not want anything getting back to Leandra's parents, he did wonder if there was more to it. Still, that seed of envy that he felt for Gamlen grew. Perhaps in a different life, if he was born a little earlier, or if his parents weren't so devout, he could have pursued Mara on his own terms. But he had to bury those thoughts deep. But still that seed of envy was rooting, gnarling him.
"Name a place and time and I'll be there," he said, feeling a thrill at the declaration. He knew she wouldn't be alone, but any time with her was time he would take. He had never actually gone on a date before, even approaching forty. His work always seemed to get in the way of relationships. And though he knew this was not a date, and this was not the beginning of a relationship, he still couldn't help but look forward to peeling back the layers of who Mara Hartling was, even if this moment was all they would ever have.
"Do you know a little place called the Hanged Man?" Mara mused.
A lot of the people under his command were regulars, and he would sometimes join them for a drink if they invited him. Not that that happened too often. "I've been," he grimaced. Their alcohol was bitter and watered down, but it was drinkable...somewhat.
"Be there tomorrow at noon. I'll bring Leandra. You buy us a drink, we talk, and you do what you will from that. But if you ask if we talked to you, we'll deny it. Understand?"
Seems like she had reason to fear that the information she had would get her in trouble. "I won't tell anyone." He meant it. He knew his Knight-Commander was too interested in keeping his job to try to look for the real truth.
"Good, I'll hold you to that." Then she clicked off the phone without even saying goodbye.
Carver found himself staring at her number, wondering if he made a mistake. Carver kept secrets but that didn't mean he liked to. He wasn't sure what kind of skeletons the Amells had in their closets but he had a feeling this conversation would change everything.
Carver was right that Mara had a secret she was keeping. One she was keeping from everybody, even Leandra. Mara tossed outfit after outfit onto her bed but none of them seemed appropriate for a meeting with a sexy Knight-Captain with a soothing voice.
Mara knew she shouldn't flirt with the man or give him ideas. Not that she actually thought he was getting any. Flirting just came easy for Mara, and with a man like Carver, even easier.
Still, she felt a tinge of guilt as she obsessed over her outfit. With Gamlen she put in effort, but he was never one to give compliments easily. That was Leandra's territory. No, the biggest compliment she could get from Gamlen was in how quickly she could get him to take her clothes off.
But there were a lot of ways she didn't quite feel wanted or appreciated. She was starting to wonder if Gamlen valued her as a person or just an easy lay. He had been a lot grouchier now that she'd started saying she wasn't in the mood after that terrible night with Malcolm. When she withdrew her affections, so did he. And though his wandering eyes had been annoying before, they became more worrisome as she wondered if he would go to someone else to satisfy his urges. It wasn't like he wasn't a handsome man.
She had suspected him of cheating before, but could never prove it. In one of her more mad moments she had broken into Gamlen's phone and found deleted messages to several numbers. What she had made out from the conversations made her question everything.
One text chain talked about a cryptic meeting. Another talked about a gift. But most of the conversation had been removed, as if they knew someone would come snooping.
Someone like a jealous lover.
Mara tried to explain it away with other reasons but nothing else fit. Much like most of her wardrobe.
Mara spotted an a-line dress that hugged the waist but flared out to make a cute skirt that just hit above her knee. Perhaps a little fancy for a place like the Hanged Man, but Leandra would be super overdressed. She took the hangar off and laid it over her small frame, which was steadily getting wider. She wondered if the cinch in the stomach would be snug just like those in her other clothes had become. She looked at all her outfits filled with clingy, revealing clothes, which were going to be impossible to wear very soon.
Because Mara was three months pregnant.
Nobody seemed to notice that Mara had stopped eating shellfish and cheese and lots of other yummy things like coffee and caffeinated sodas. Gamlen even seemed to appreciate her excuse in joining him in sobriety as a way to help him stay off liquor.
On the last lunch date with Leandra, she'd made a comment about how they hadn't gone for sushi in forever, but Mara was able to pass off that she was on a vegan cleanse. Leandra accepted that answer for now, but it was going to be harder and harder to not see the signs when her belly started poking out.
It wasn't that Mara had been trying to keep it secret indefinitely, she just didn't know the months would fly by so quickly. She wanted Gamlen to be the first to know. But every moment she tried to bring it up she chickened out, thinking of those deleted conversations and wandering eyes. She was scared of his reaction, and the truth.
And the truth was she knew Gamlen wasn't cut out to be a father.
She loved Gamlen. He made her laugh, was always was spoiling her rotten with gifts, and the sex wasn't terrible. In fact the sex was probably the best part. But they did argue often. Things that didn't used to bother her before were starting to bother her now. He made rude comments that often embarrassed her and she found herself apologizing for. He was often entitled, and it was tiring to deal with.
Children tested patience. She worried what he would say in his short temper. Would he take after his parents in more ways than one?
She couldn't imagine him swaddling babies, or changing diapers, or picking up kids from school, or kissing boo boos and wiping snotty tears. She knew if it were up to him, he'd hire out help whenever he could and never lift a finger. He was a lazy man, who liked his wealth and his privilege, not that she could blame him. So did she. But now that she was at the crossroads of being a mother, she was starting to question a lot of her values, a lot of what she wanted out of life. Did she even want to be a mother? Would Gamlen ever consider leaving his parents' house and moving into hers? When she first suggested it, he'd laughed at her. She knew he couldn't see the value of being a regular person. Work a day job, nine-to-five, and come home for dinner. Do laundry and chores and cook meals and take out trash. She used to imagine him and her just growing old on her porch, watching the neighbors walking their dogs as they sipped tea. She wanted the kind of life she remembered before that idiot drunk ruined everything and stole her family.
Or would Gamlen somehow defy expectations and convince his parents to let her be a lady? Would the Amells ever raise her up like Leandra insisted they would? Would her child be a noble and live the life Leandra had? Would any other noble even see her child as legitimate? She had grown up among them, and knew they guarded the class gates with iron swords.
But she could suffer terrible in-laws if it meant her child would have a whole family.
She was still sure she wanted Gamlen. That's why she had pushed him into bringing their relationship to the light. She wanted to see if he would choose her, and he did. And she thought she would be happy about that, and she was. But there was an uncertain flutter in her belly, an anxiety about how Gamlen's parents reacted to their relationship and how terribly they'd take this news. In turn, how would Gamlen react to them?
Gamlen resisted the idea that they be out in the first place, which on some level she could understand with the backlash they were getting. But sometimes she felt like she was very alone in the relationship, supporting herself. And she wondered about adding a baby to that mess.
Leandra came into her room unannounced, shuffling a duffel bag and several suitcases in her hand. Behind her, Mara's lolo, or grandfather, was hobbling behind her with his cane in his hand, shaking as he steadied himself on it.
"Now, Lady Amell, it's most improper for you to not at least let me take one bag." His red hair had long since greyed into a fine silver, which he wore in a long braid tucked behind his pointed ears. Deep wrinkles were etched into his face. Each finger was knotted and swollen with arthritis, and his hand shook against his fancy cane.
"It's quite alright, Harvel, I've got this managed," Leandra dumped the bags unceremoniously onto Mara's polkadot duvet, bouncing on the fluffiness.
Mara, still in her underwear, turned around with a raised eyebrow. She covered herself with her dress as her lolo and best friend bickered.
"At least let me put on a spot of tea since you're visiting. I just got fresh chamomile and lavender from your favorite shop on the Docks. Or would you like something else? I can whip up some lunch if you're hungry."
Leandra put on her most diplomatic smile. "Harvel, I'm quite alright. Honestly, I won't be here long enough to enjoy it. So please just relax."
Her lolo's dentured smile fell a little. "Of course, but if you change your mind, do let me know. You've been so good to my Mara." He glanced over at Mara only to go red. "Heavens, girl! Why aren't you dressed, yet?"
Mara scoffed as she pressed the dress over her body and did some model poses that made Leandra laugh. "I haven't found an outfit yet. What do you think?"
Her lolo scowled. "Have some respect for your elders, girl! It's not proper to be dressed in only your smallclothes!"
Mara stuck out her tongue as she took off the dress from the hangar and started angling it over her head. "Well you were the one who came into my room unannounced." Her voice was muffled but still loud.
Her lolo was already retreating as hastily as he could hobble. "Fine, fine, I'm leaving. But behave! I don't want to hear from Leandra's parents that you've been mouthy again."
"Sorry, lolo," came the automatic reply, even though Mara had no intention of changing her ways, ever. She felt a distinct moment of relief when the door clicked shut.
Mara adjusted her dress over her body, which was definitely a smidgen too tight, she eyed Leandra's suitcases. "You moving in?"
"Not quite." Leandra had a mischievous look on her face as she unzipped one of the cases to show a pile of fine dresses, jewelry, even valuable books, gathered together like the neatest pirate treasure chest.
Mara's eyes popped out of her head. "Leandra?"
"This is your advanced payday. I thought we could have a yard sale and gather funds to help pay for your salary. I know we can't get the full price but it should help in the coming months." There was a distinct hint of pride in her voice and Mara could tell she had spent a long time sorting through all of this.
When Leandra told Mara that her parents had drained her accounts to prevent her from paying her salary, Mara had already given up. She knew that Leandra's parents wouldn't let this go. And she felt terrible that Leandra had suffered because of her.
Mara wasn't sure what else she could do but move on. Sure, she was supposed to keep this job until she retired. And her child was supposed to inherit her position. Any other job she took would not have the same security.
Mara's eyes fell upon the open suitcase. She could tell that these gifts might have not meant much to Leandra, but they meant a lot to the people who gave them to Leandra. If any of this was found missing, Mara would be the first to be blamed.
"Leandra," she started carefully, not wanting to ruin her bright idea. "I love you, but your parents will kill me if you sell any of this." She picked up a pearl necklace dripping with rubies. "And didn't Guillaume give you this?"
Leandra blushed and took it back from Mara. "Well, I hardly wear it, do I? I don't think he'll notice."
Mara sighed and squinted at her friend. "You really think no one will notice three suitcases worth of stuff are missing?"
"Well of course my parents will notice. I made sure to leave a note informing them so they wouldn't panic." Leandra huffed, face wrinkling at Mara's expression as she realized the flaw in her logic. "But what else am I supposed to do?" she cried out, throwing an angry hand in the air. Passionate tears pricked Leandra's eyes and she quickly wiped them away, her shoulders straightening in resolve. "I can't lose you, Mara. You mean more than a few trinkets. I'll take the guff from my parents. So, let's just...focus." She took a deep steadying breath. " So, how does one…organize a yard sale?"
Mara couldn't help but laugh. Leandra was endearing and wonderful and the dearest thing to her heart. And she was so utterly beautiful Mara couldn't help but wrap her arms around her and inhale the jasmine scent wafting off her silky black hair. Her heart ached knowing this was all they could have, but she knew she would never be able to compete with Malcolm. All hope that the drunken kiss they shared so many years ago meant something died when she saw how fervently Leandra kissed Malcolm in the karaoke club. It wasn't like their kiss, so tentative and hesitant, like if they pressed too hard they would break each other. With Malcolm, Leandra was a drunk with her lust, taking every part of him greedily.
They could never be that. They never had that. Mara knew it, and that's why she'd settled for Gamlen so long ago.
Not that she didn't love Gamlen, too. But Gamlen was jealous of Leandra, and didn't know he had good reason to be. If Gamlen knew what Mara kept in her heart, it would break him. And she didn't want that. She loved him, in her own way, but not like Leandra. Never like Leandra.
But Mara would never do anything to ruin their friendship.
"Look, I'll sort through this with you later, but we can't do a yard sale."
Leandra twisted her face crossly, ready to argue. "And why not?"
Mara chuckled as she forced herself to pull away, even though every part of her wanted to pull Leandra closer. She picked up a pair of diamond earrings, one of several one-of-a-kind pieces. "I'm sure these are twenty-four karat and you're not going to get your money's worth at a yard sale, honey. I know for sure my neighbor Nat will try to convince you to part with these for, like, ten silver."
Leandra looked horrified. "The diamonds alone are worth at least six hundred eighty sovereigns."
"Exactly," Mara nodded in confirmation. "So, let's hit some pawn shops and jewelers instead. That way we won't be set for months, but years."
Leandra's eyes started to sparkle. "I've never set foot in a pawn shop!" She looked down at her outfit, a white floral winter dress, the fur lining of her neck looking quite fluffy. "Do you think I've dressed appropriately?"
Definitely not, but Mara wasn't sure if Leandra had anything appropriate for selling her family's jewels. Boy, Leandra was sure asking for trouble, but Mara would follow her anywhere. "Let's worry about that later. Right now, we have a date with a Templar."
