Carver added a hundred more lashes to Malcolm's back as the whole Circle watched. Flogging was a ritual where attendance was mandatory to ensure each mage knew the punishment of stepping out of line. Malcolm's back was already scarred with all the lessons he failed to learn.

Taylor held Isaac in her arms as he sobbed, begging Carver to stop, flinching with Malcolm at every blow but Carver could not hold back. If he did, another eager volunteer would take his place, and they would only make this moment crueler.

Carver tried to persuade the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter to be merciful. He emphasized that Malcolm had been sexually assaulted, but that didn't seem to matter to either of them. Malcolm had cost them a deal worth hundreds of thousands of sovereigns, and they were going to make him pay for every copper.

After the lashing was done, Carver helped Malcolm to his feet, ignoring the glare of his colleagues as he let Malcolm lean on him for support.

Malcolm shoved Carver away with the grit of his teeth, standing tall on his own two feet, his gaze hard and pointed forward. The mages parted for Malcolm, not daring to look in his eyes as he and Carver proceeded into the hall alone.

Carver was forced to send him to a magically warded cell with no healing. Malcolm was doing a good job of masking his pain but Carver could still hear his labored breathing and could see the stiffness in how he walked. Fresh new lesions bled from his bare back. Carver tried to make the moment quick, but he could see that he had left new scars upon the marks of the old ones.

Malcolm dutifully laid down on the cold hard stone floor, saying nothing.

The keys jangled in Carver's hand. He felt reluctant to lock Malcolm in. "Malcolm… don't make this worse by breaking out again. I know it's hard being locked in here, but the Knight-Commander was so close to Tranquilizing you."

Malcolm laughed bitterly, his voice echoing off the runes of the barren cell. "Dude, I've been skirting that line for so long, I don't know how I haven't crossed it."

Carver gritted his teeth, annoyance breaking through his pity. "It was me, Malcolm. I'm how you haven't crossed it. And Maker damn it you don't make yourself easy to defend."

Malcolm glared at him, his golden eyes glowing in the dark. "Why should I? Why should I make any of this easy?" Malcolm spat some blood at Carver's feet. "I played good mage. I kept my head down, did my homework, kissed the First Enchanter's ass, but what did that get me? Flogged and jailed for rejecting a horny old toad! What's the fucking point?!"

Carver looked down at his feet, not able to say anything.

Malcolm let out a fractured sigh. "I'm ragged, man."

Carver could hear it in Malcolm's voice. Malcolm wasn't just bleeding from his wounds but from his soul.

Malcolm didn't even try to hide how broken he felt. He curled up into a ball on his side facing away from Carver, his voice quiet. "I can't do this anymore."

Carver squeezed his eyes shut, not able to stand the guilt of knowing his hands caused this. He felt ashamed for even feeling guilty, knowing Malcolm was undeniably feeling worse. Carver's fingers trembled, still remembering each lash. In truth, he knew he had no idea what Malcolm was going through and didn't know how to comfort him. "I'm sorry. That's what I should have said in the first place."

Malcolm laughed, the odd and jagged sound piercing Carver's heart. "Why are you sorry? It's your job."

Carver grimaced. "It shouldn't be." He then sighed, dropping his shoulders, suddenly heavy in his armor. "I'll sneak you something from outside. What do you want?"

"Elfroot," Malcolm said immediately, a little perk back in his voice. "And burgers and fries. Maybe a milkshake, too." Malcolm was milking him, but Carver would let him.

"You'll have to be happy with edibles. I can't risk the smell." Carver sighed, rolling his stiff neck. "I'll bring it tonight between guard rotations."

"Whatever, dude, just get me fed and stoned. I have a lot of time to think in here."

Carver gritted his teeth. "Not if I can help it."

The door creaked shut. The keys jangled as he locked it. With anti-magic wards, most Templars assumed that mages were helpless, but Carver knew that Malcolm had his ways, and he prayed Malcolm would listen to him and stay put.

Carver made his way back to the forensics lab with a kink in his neck and guilt eating his gut. His mind burned, lack of sleep from exhaustively scouring the Circle trying to find the abomination. So far every brain scan reading they did on the mages came back clean. Technology was supposed to give them a sense of security, but knowing there were flaws in the system made for a disturbing reality.

As Carver stepped into the forensics lab, he could smell the nauseating aroma of preservatives. Matthew's body was left displayed out on the table as respectfully as they could manage. But he was just skin, bone, and bits of shredded organs, barely anything left to him, and they covered him with a crisp white sheet to spare looking at his contorted look of horror.

Doctor Akel's rich ocher skin made a striking contrast against her white lab coat. She had blue plastic gloves on her hands, and a long apron which was slightly bloody. Her shiny long black hair was tied back in a ponytail. When she heard Carver come in, she peeled off her goggles and turned her dark eyes at him. "I got the lab results back."

Carver's eyebrows shot up. "That was quick."

"Had to be. Didn't want this thing chomping on me next." She pulled a beige folder from her desk and handed Carver the file. "You were right. Saliva in the wounds, but so far we don't have a DNA match for anyone in the Circle save for Templar-Recruit Schmidt, which we can safely rule out."

Carver sighed bitterly. He should have known they wouldn't get that lucky. "Does that mean the culprit is not from the Circle?" He opened up the file skimming the report. The only organ left intact was Matthew's brain, which at least narrowed down the search by a few dozen species.

Doctor Akel peeled off her gloves with a snap. "Not sure. Demonic transformations can change the genetic makeup of a person, so I wouldn't rule it out yet. The DNA we were able to gather was definitely not human or elven. There were trace elements of sulfur mixed in."

Carver's lips pursed, knowing that would be the case. "So what do we know?"

Doctor Akel flipped the page in Carver's hand and pointed to some blown up pictures of microscopic cell samples, but there was definitely something wrong with them. The redness of the cells had turned grey and dull. "There weren't a lot of blood or organs left in Matthew's body, but the blood we did collect seemed to have their minerals and nutrients stripped from them. Something's definitely feasting, but because Hunger abominations are so common, it's going to be hard to narrow down what kind we're dealing with."

"Do you have any guesses?"

"It's not a vampire since the organs were removed. It's not a ghoul since the blood was drained. The victimology is wrong for a penanngal. It could be a pischaca since the energy has been stripped from the cells but it's too early to make the official call. It could easily be a species of aswang and you know how many there are."

Carver sighed. They were a little closer to the answer, but he knew that if Matthew's body wasn't contaminated they might have already found their monster by now and know what signs to look for. "Well, garlic and salt are at least common allergens for Hunger demons. The Knight-Commander already had the chefs add generous amounts to the mages' meals so, if we get any sudden illnesses, we might get lucky and catch our demon."

"Yum," Doctor Akel said in a monotone voice.

Carver rolled his neck again, a kink forming. His energy was flagging. He'd need to grab a nap somewhere between shifts eventually. "If you find anything else, Doctor, let me know right away."

Doctor Akel saluted. "Will, do Captain."

Carver gathered the report and started making his way back to his office. He planned to add the details to his notes and reconsider all the evidence he had managed to gather. The mages in the hallways shirked away from Carver, which made him grit his teeth in regret. It was always that way after a flogging, anxious mages jumping whenever a Templar moved too quickly in their direction. Carver knew he couldn't help the distrust. He had tried his best to foster goodwill, but floggings were always a reminder of how easily that trust could be broken.

It was hard enough to keep his Templars in line. They were all spooked, afraid of being the next kill. Carver had to lecture several juniors for manhandling their charges, Meredith being the worst offender. He couldn't blame his subordinates, even if they should know better. Matt's death was gruesome. Every Templar casualty was a reminder that, despite their rigorous training, none of them were invincible, and the grisly reminder was unwelcome.

When Carver got to the Courtyard, he heard the sound of irate yelling. Several of his Templar-Recruits were gathered near the train entrance, blocking someone from coming through.

"Messere, the Circle is in lockdown. We must insist that you go back to the mainland and call to make a request for an appointment to see the Knight-Captain. He's very busy with the murder investigation."

"Do you know who I am? I demand to be taken to the Carver, right now. He and I have business to discuss."

When Carver got closer he saw that the man yelling was Gamlen. It had been clear that he had been drinking. His suit was disheveled, his tie falling out lopsided, brown stains on his crisp white shirt. His black usually neat straight hair was a frazzled mess and his blue eyes were wild with fury.

Now, what business did Gamlen possibly have with Carver? Carver had only talked to the other noble once, and didn't remember having anything important to say to him. Carver tucked the file under his arm and approached the scene burning with curiosity.

"Lord Amell," he called out politely with an extended hand in greeting. "What brings you to the Gallows?"

As soon as Gamlen saw Carver approaching, his shoulders snapped back. "You!" he growled and shoved the Templars out of the way. He ran up to Carver and split his lips with his fist, knocking Carver backward. The forensics report dropped to the ground, and sensitive documents scattered everywhere.

Gamlen attempted a second punch but Carver caught it with his armored hand. Carver spat blood at Gamlen's feet. "Alright, you got one free punch, but that's all I'm gonna give you. Can I ask what I did to deserve that?"

Gamlen snarled. "As if you don't know!" Gamlen then brought out a gun from his belt and pointed it at Carver.

As soon as Carver saw the glint of metal, he reacted on instinct. He dove forward, disarming Gamlen with a twist of his wrist. The gun dropped to the floor and fired, making a hole in the column past Carver. Carver twisted Gamlen's arm behind his back and pushed it upwards, threatening to break it. "Don't make me hurt you," Carver said, his voice dangerously low and quiet.

"You asshole! I'm going to kill you! You hear that!" Gamlen snapped savagely trying to break out of Carver's grip, but Carver was not only bigger but had the advantage of wearing all his riot gear.

With quick precise movements, Carver yanked Gamlen's arms together, cuffed Gamlen's hands behind him, and stepped on his back, forcing Gamlen to his knees. Carver yanked Gamlen's arms upwards, shoving Gamlen's head down to the ground. "Now let's take a breath and calm down for a moment, Lord Amell. I have no quarrel with you and, as far as I know, you shouldn't have a quarrel with me. Let's talk this out."

Carver's subordinates watched with uncertain eyes as Carver manhandled Gamlen, uncertain of what to do or what was even going on.

Gamlen seethed as he wriggled. "Fuck you, you puffed up prick! Don't act all high and mighty! You stole my girl and knocked her up! And I'm going to fucking murder you and piss on your ashes for ruining my life!"

Carver blinked, not sure he heard right. "I did what?"

His subordinates all dropped their jaws and looked wide-eyed at each other in shock. Carver was aware that there was a growing crowd watching in the Courtyard, Isaac's wide fearful eyes among them.

The cuffs jangled as Gamlen strained against them, unshed tears in his eyes. "You heard me, asshole! That was going to be my wife! The mother of my children! And you ruined everything and if you don't kill me right now, I swear on my life I will find a way to ruin you!"

Mara had claimed Carver was the father of her child. To what end? Carver was so surprised by this news, he was at a loss for words and completely forgot that he was holding a struggling Gamlen.

Gamlen was spiraling, a few tears running down his cheeks as he drunkenly ranted on. "We were supposed to grow old together. We were supposed to stick together through thick and thin, good times and bad. She was my everything and you ruined her!"

Carver's eyes narrowed as he huffed. "A woman like Mara could never be ruined."

Gamlen sniffled, throwing his head back yelling, "Just kill me, you bastard! Get it over with! Put me out of my fucking misery!"

Carver sighed, a stress headache piercing him from the cacophonous noise. "I'm not going to do that, Lord Amell. Please calm down."

Gamlen sobbed pitifully, broken and defeated, banging his head to the ground as the sun began to set in the west, turning the sky pink and orange.

Carver looked up at the passing clouds as he considered his options. Sure, he could tell the truth, deny everything, but then he wouldn't be able to ask the question: why did Mara choose him to be the stand-in father in the first place?

Carver turned to his subordinates, as he lifted his foot off of Gamlen's back, leaving a dirt impression of his steel toed boots. "Please take Lord Amell back to the mainland, gently."

The Templars looked at Gamlen, snot running down his nose, blubbering as he curled into a fetal position.

"Do you want us to call the Guard to press assault charges?"

Carver's lips thinned, considering the idea for a moment before dismissing it. "No need. It seems like I provoked the man. He's also clearly drunk and not in his best state of mind." Carver was never one to rub salt in someone's wounds, even with a man as foul as Gamlen.

Two of his subordinates took Gamlen by the arms, and this time Gamlen didn't fight. They led him, still cuffed, back into the train shuttle.

Carver rubbed his lip, still tasting blood in his mouth, very aware that all the mages and Templars present were currently whispering gossip about what they had just witnessed. Carver's eyes met Isaac's, and the boy ran off back towards the apprentice quarters.

Carver couldn't blame Isaac as much as it hurt to be feared. The boy had seen nothing but violence from him lately. Carver sighed bitterly, and started picking up the report scattered on the ground.

Carver was baffled by this turn of events, but there was part of him that was pleased. That Mara chose him for her lie meant she was thinking of him, and the thought thrilled him.

He knew Matthew's murder was more pressing, but he couldn't help but be filled with thoughts of longing and hope. He didn't know what any of this meant yet, but his mind swirled with the possibilities.

Carver's heart pounded at the thought of seeing Mara again. He shivered at the thought of those dark cat eyes glimmering in mischief as those delicious lips playfully called him 'Officer.' The primal urge that stirred in him, though he kept it locked away for no one to see.

He quickly chastised himself for getting too eager. He didn't even know if Mara felt the same way. For all he knew, he was just a convenient cover, a name she picked at random.

But why would his name hurt Gamlen so badly? Was he imagining the hunger in her gaze the last time they met? He ached to know what he meant to her.

An eager smile found Carver's lips. "I guess I have to ask."

"Sinag, wake up! Please wake up!" Leandra sobbed as she held Malcolm's broken body in her arms. He was bleeding from every orifice on his face and his chest was still, devoid of life, his dark freckled skin cold.

Leandra's throat was hoarse as she clutched Malcolm's corpse, trying her best to shock life back into his heart with her hands. He jerked and convulsed under her electric touch, but his eyes refused to open.

With a tear-blinded gaze, she glared at her parents. They were wearing clothes she didn't recognize, intricate robes with red and gold thread and pointed hoods, not in any current Kirkwall style. They frowned at Leandra with the same withering disappointment she had come to remember.

"We tried to warn you," her father said with glassy blue eyes.

"Why?" Leandra sobbed, her throat raw. "Sinag was my heart! My soul! You've destroyed me!"

"Don't be so dramatic, Dalisay." Her mother tucked a smooth black hair back into place. "He was a slave. Replaceable. You are not. You forced our hand when you tried to marry him. Now you have no choice."

Leandra snarled, pulling out a dagger from her belt. "There's always a choice." Then she stabbed herself in her heart. She could feel the jagged edge of the dagger pierce her chest and she coughed up blood, dark power coming from the pain. With her dying breaths, she gasped, "I curse the Amell's! May misfortune shadow all your footsteps! Your descendants will fall into ruin until your line ceases to exist if you do not learn from your pride!"

A deep malevolent purple aura surrounded Leandra's body as a voice from the dark depths of the Fade answered her summons. "Your curse is a gift to me, Dalisay. With my power, I will end your bloodline."

Leandra could feel herself smile as she plunged into darkness.

Then she woke up with tears in her eyes.

Leandra didn't know what the dream meant, who Dalisay or Sinag was, or why this kept happening, but she was sick of having dreams of Malcolm. Sleep used to be a comfort, and now it was just a cruel reminder of everything she lost.

She looked at the time, 5:07. Her crying-induced nap had made her sleep in. She was meeting Jaheem for dinner at six and she wasn't even showered or dressed yet.

Despite being late, Leandra was reluctant to get ready. She had agreed to this dinner rather impulsively, and she found nervous butterflies in her stomach. She told herself that this was good, the kind of feeling that came with new love, but the sinking pit in her gut told her differently.

She shaved rather quickly, only focusing on her calves, and stared at her reflection as she blow-dried her hair, which felt dry and dull. It had been apparent that she had been crying from the redness in her eyes.

Her last meeting with Malcolm had left her so confused and angry. He'd protected Colette without thought, and yet Leandra he'd manhandled. He'd pinned her to the ground and scared her half to death. She couldn't help but feel violated and betrayed by her own body. She remembered how Malcolm's touch had made her melt and just how little in control she'd felt in his intoxicating presence. When he was near, all sanity went out the window and, while that once excited her, now it terrified her.

She didn't know how far he would have gone at that moment at Colette's party. She didn't know how far she wanted him to. She was too conflicted about her feelings to sort them out. She hated him. She wanted him. He was impossible to live with. But living without him proved harder than she'd thought. No matter how Leandra tried to get Malcolm off her mind and focus on her date, he came creeping back in, like a cockroach crawling under the door. She had to resist banging her head against the wall in an attempt to knock him out of her head.

Mara spotted a new dress for Leandra's date, while they were shopping for Mara's maternity clothes. It was a flowy red fabric cut open in the back and was ruffled so it hung loosely above the knee. Her waist was cinched tight with a statement belt, Mara's idea. She had matching red pumps that were rather high and, for a moment, Leandra's heart panged as she thought of how she would miss teasing Malcolm in these.

As she painted on her makeup she couldn't help but notice how dry her skin had gotten, and how her eyeliner didn't cover how red-rimmed her eyes were. Not even her foundation could mask the evidence of her irritated skin.

She felt so depressed, it was hard to convince herself not to text Jaheem to cancel. She dreaded leaving Mara's house, but she told herself that going out with Jaheem would be fun. She reminded herself of all the things she liked about him: how handsome and ambitious he was, and how kind and gentle he always seemed to be. His job was something to be admired, and he had the moral compass to match. He was perfect.

And yet her heart yearned for Malcolm. Even with Malcolm's laundry lists of faults. Even with his insufferable arrogance and broken promises and lies.

It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense.

She cursed the Maker for sending Malcolm into her life.

As she walked into the living room, Mara and Harvel looked up from the evening news channel they were watching and nodded to her. The red-headed anchor stared at the screen grimly as a picture of a pale bald man posing in his Templar service uniform hovered above her head.

"The city is on high alert now that Knight-Templar Matthew Marks was found brutally murdered on the job. While authorities have not released any details, witness testimony suspects blood magic, or worse, an abomination. At the advice of the Knight-Commander, Viscount Perrin Threnhold has issued a mandatory curfew effective immediately."

"Terrible business. Maker save us." Harvel grimaced, changing the channel to a sitcom where a father was lecturing his son for elfroot found in his room.

Mara smiled at Leandra. She was wearing her new nightgown, a loose ruffled powder blue dress meant to accommodate her growing body. "Good morning, sleeping beauty," Mara winked at her. "How do you feel?"

Leandra huffed, her bangs ruffling off her forehead. "Ask me later tonight."

Mara made an 'o' with her mouth. "Dreamed of the asshole, again?"

"Language," Lolo reminded Mara, his eyes transfixed on the TV.

Leandra threw her head back on the couch. "I've been having the same weird dream since Malcolm and I broke up. I wonder what it means."

"It means you should move on and focus on the handsome man who's taking you out tonight." Mara put a hand on Leandra's knee. "I know it hurts right now, but try to remember to have fun. This'll be good for you."

Leandra looked at Mara through her lashes. "Even though it's the day after the end of my engagement?" She felt like she should be more broken up about that, but she was just relieved that it was done and in the past. She hoped Guillaume could find it in her heart to talk to her one day, but she wouldn't blame him if he never did.

Mara patted her knee. "Guillaume's a big boy. He'll move on. So should you."

Leandra nodded, trying to erase the gnawing in her gut.

Soon enough there was a knock at the door. Leandra glanced at the time and it was still five minutes until six. Leandra was panicking, not realizing how much she needed those five minutes to prepare.

Mara gleamed her eyes mischievously. "That must be him. I'm going to do some sussing."

Leandra widened her eyes, opening her mouth to stop Mara, but Mara was already rushing to the door and pulling it open.

Jaheem was standing in an ocean blue silk suit with a sash that wrapped around him and draped loosely off his large frame. He had the same golden jewelry studding his face, gleaming and shiny. There were two new notches shaved into his right eyebrow, a curious intriguing look. His flat top was more relaxed today and the designs sheared into the sides of his head were freshly cut. He had a bouquet of pink lilies in his large hands.

Mara craned her neck up to Jaheem's towering height, her eyebrows raising to the top of her forehead as her mouth fell open. "Do you have a brother?"

Jaheem laughed good-naturedly, "I'm afraid I don't, but I do have a sister."

Mara quirked an eyebrow, smirking as she fanned herself. "If she's as hot as you then go ahead and give me her number."

Jaheem laughed again, his deep timber voice warm and bright as he extended his hand in greeting. "You must be Mara. Leandra told me about you. You're everything she said you were."

Mara took his hand and shook it firmly. "Better take care of my girl tonight. I'm putting a lot of trust in you."

Jaheem did a playful salute. "Definitely don't want to disappoint, ma'am."

Mara giggled, pushing him flirtatiously. "Oooh, ma'am. I like that."

"Mara," Leandra tapped her foot impatiently behind her.

Mara put an innocent hand on her chest. "What? I'm being good. This is me on my best behavior."

Jaheem smiled. "Would hate to see you at your worst then."

Mara waggled her eyebrows. "I dunno, maybe you would."

Leandra felt she should be more horrified by Mara's blatant flirting, but she just was relieved that she didn't have to talk yet. Even so, as Jaheem talked to Mara, his cocoa eyes never left Leandra. She didn't realize how nervous she was, and she found sweat running down her back. Was this attraction jitters? Her stomach did flutter under that intense gaze, but she had a sinking feeling in her heart at the thought of being alone with him. What if he wanted to kiss her? Would she want him to? Was she even ready to?

Harvel rose from his seat and reached out his hand to greet Jaheem. "I heard you're helping dear Revka. Awfully good of you, Messere. I know our Leandra's very grateful."

Jaheem took Harvel's hand and shook it firmly. "I'm only doing my job, Ser. No need to thank me."

Harvel looked at Leandra with a sparkle in his leaf green eyes. "I like this one better."

Leandra's cheeks flamed as she found a flustered warble in her throat. She grabbed the flowers from Jaheem's arms. "Thank you, these are lovely."

Jaheem smiled. "I wasn't sure what you liked, but lilies seemed to suit you."

She smiled, inhaling the fresh scent before placing them in an empty vase. She grabbed Jaheem's hand and started leading him out the door, hoping to avoid more of Harvel's and Mara's interrogation. "We'll be late for our reservation if we don't hurry, yes?"

Jaheem chuckled, letting himself be pulled. "I'm sure they'll save our spot."

Harvel followed them out onto the porch. "There's a curfew now with that abomination out! Bring Leandra back before they shut down the streets."

Jaheem saluted again more formally this time. "I'll have her back early, Ser, I promise."

It was clear that Jaheem had come from money. He had a sleek dark blue Antivan Mercado Benz. It seemed to fit the more serious side of his personality, but he had a bobblehead of the Rivaini Tigers Wallop team mascot on his dash that made Leandra smile with warmth, despite her hesitancy about this date.

Jaheem helped Leandra into the front seat, taking care to help her buckle in. His long legs quickly walked around to the other side, where he slid into the driver's seat and put his keys into the ignition. The engine purred smoothly, barely audible.

Jaheem's cocoa eyes bored into her. A nervous flutter was back in Leandra's stomach.

"Are you alright?" he asked with such tenderness, Leandra's heart skipped.

Was her grief so clear on her face? "I haven't been sleeping well," Leandra confessed, her eyes falling to her lap.

Jaheem nodded. "Want to tell me about it?" He offered as he pulled away from the lot.

Leandra couldn't confess she was dreaming about another man so she said, "Just silly things. Nonsense dreams."

"You know my mother was a Rivaini Seer. I know a bit about interpreting dreams."

Leandra looked at him, true curiosity burning in her. "What's a Seer?"

Jaheem's smile dropped and he was suddenly serious. The streetlights reflected bright highlights on his deep skin. "Well, they're not exactly Chantry sanctioned mages. My mother has always been close to the Spirits, and she must commune with them to know how to balance the energy of the land and impart their will." He glanced at her, nervousness in his tone. "I know it's not exactly teachings of the Chantry, and we do believe in the Maker, but the Spirits are also of His creation, as is the Fade."

Leandra had never thought of it that way. Sure the Fade was thought of as the Maker's domain, but it was always a thing to be feared. "How do they view magic in Rivain? The things you say, and this petition you're building… it seems so different than what I was taught."

Jaheem smiled, though it seemed strained. "Well, Rivain wasn't always ruled by the Chantry. I wouldn't admit this to just anyone, but a lot of us still worship the Gods of old along with the Maker: the Spider-Trickster and Savior Anaanse, He Who Does Not Speak but Knows Everything Nyumee, Goddess of the Land Asaasse Afua who blesses both earth and wombs with life. I guess there are many others but I won't bore you with those details."

"So you don't believe in the Maker?" Leandra raised an eyebrow. She wasn't sure how to reconcile this new information with her beliefs.

"We do," Jaheem said quickly. "The Maker just became part of our tapestry of Gods, no higher or lower than any of the others. Without His Sun to guide us, we would forever be in the dark."

Leandra furrowed her eyebrows, at a loss. "But you worship other Gods along with the Maker? He is the Creator."

"Or a Creator," Jaheem countered. "The Spirits themselves are acts of Creation. And man takes place in Creation all the time with art, music, literature, and architecture, sparking the Divine within us. The Divine is all around us if we know where to look for it."

Leandra suddenly felt uneasy. She wasn't sure she could accept any Gods other than the Maker, and she wasn't sure she see herself long-term with a man who saw the Maker as just another God. She could already see arguments about how they would raise their children, but she stopped herself from that line of thought, telling herself they weren't even close to that part of their relationship.

Leandra didn't want to be rude about Jaheem's culture, so she changed the subject. "How does one interpret dreams?"

Jaheem didn't seem to mind the change in topic. "Well, every dream is a message from the Gods. Sometimes their message is hard to understand, so they might send it again and again. My mother taught me to look for reoccurring patterns and symbols that might hold meaning. Sometimes dreams are memories of past lives, and the Gods give us a glimpse of that knowledge in times of need."

Leandra let her frown show at last. "That's ridiculous. We have only one life. That's why we need to make it count."

Jaheem laughed, taking her dismissal in stride. "Perhaps. But in Rivain we believe sometimes the Maker sends back the lives with the most misfortune and gives them a second chance at life. Those who died too young, those who never tasted happiness, those who died with deep regrets. It is said love at first sight is the souls of doomed lovers recognizing each other from a past life."

Leandra considered her dream in that light for a second. It would make sense, but she couldn't accept that explanation. She still didn't want anything to do with Malcolm and to think her fate was tied to him in some way just made her angry. "I don't believe in love at first sight," Leandra stared out the window, bitterness lacing her voice. "Lust at first sight, maybe, but love at first sight is too ridiculous to be true."

Jaheem's cocoa eyes sparkled as he looked at her. "I wouldn't count it out just yet, my Lady. Life might surprise you."

Soon enough they pulled into a Branding Iron Steakhouse in Hightown, a rather busy spot on a Sunday night. Jaheem escorted her out of the car and gave her his arm for her to take.

She slipped her hand into the crook of Jaheem's arm, feeling the hard muscle there. She blushed, wondering if she would actually like those arms wrapped around her.

They stepped into the restaurant and there was a buzz in the atmosphere. The air smelled thick with meat and perfume. Leandra didn't actually feel hungry, but she followed Jaheem to the waiter's greeting line.

Jaheem nodded with a brilliant smile. "Reservation for Jaheem Omenma."

The waiter pulled two menus aside and bowed. "We have your usual table in the back, Messere."

Jaheem pulled Leandra forward to a cozy reserved spot with candles. White cloth was spread across the table and more pink lilies were set in a vase in the center.

Jaheem pulled the seat out for Leandra. "My lady."

She blushed and sat down, feeling his strong arms scoot her chair in.

Then he sat down across from her, turned to the waiter, and without looking at the menu said, "Can you bring a bottle of the Rivaini Bloodspice Carbernet Sauvignon?"

The waiter bowed. "We've had a bottle ripening since the Storm Age. I'll have it right out."

Leandra raised her eyebrow uneasy again. "Bloodspice?"

Jaheem's smile was mischevious. "Just a drop of wyvern blood. It really gives it a robust flavor."

Leandra gulped nervously, not sure if she would really like it, but she didn't argue.

She felt Jaheem's eyes on her as she tried to study her menu. She felt like she should just get a salad, but she wasn't sure if she was actually in the mood for one.

It seemed like he already knew what he wanted and had his menu set aside as he waited patiently for her to look.

Leandra felt overwhelmed by the options. How could there be so many ways to cook a steak? She even saw lobster, veal, and scampi on the menu, but it all sounded so filling and her stomach was still uneasy. "I'm not really sure what I want. Do you have any recommendations?"

"Well, I'm partial to their filet mignon, myself."

Leandra didn't want to actually make a decision so she said, "I guess I'll get that, too." And she set aside her menu, keeping her eyes on her empty plate.

Soon the waiter came and poured the Bloodspice wine into their glasses and Jaheem gave their orders.

The waiter was gone just as quickly and the awkward silence was back. Leandra had no idea what she wanted to talk about and it seemed like Jaheem was politely waiting for her to say something.

But Leandra's brain was blank. It was like all her conversational skills had gone out the window. She was alone with a man that wasn't Guillaume or Malcolm, and her stomach was doing flips at the guilt.

Jaheem sipped his wine and cleared his throat. "I admit, my Lady, I'd very much like to get to know you, but I'm afraid I'm so nervous I don't know where to start."

Leandra widened her eyes in surprise. Jaheem's posture oozed with confidence. It would have never occurred to her that he was just as nervous as her.

"I'm an open book." Leandra picked up the wine and took a tentative sip. It was definitely spicy, leaving her tongue tingling, but it was much tastier than she expected. "What would you like to know?"

Jaheem traced the rim of his wine glass with his large finger. For a moment she let herself imagine that finger tracing her skin. Would that tingling feeling come back? But his question soon startled her out of her thoughts.

"Well, let's start with the basics I guess. What's your favorite color?"

Leandra found her breath stutter in her throat, suddenly caught in a memory.

She remembered when Malcolm and she were first still getting to know each other, asking these types of questions. It was late at night and she was lying on her bed, spread out on her many many pillows, phone to her ear with just Malcolm's voice as company. At that point she was still wondering what it would be like to lay next to him, what it would be like to feel his touch, to taste his lips.

It was she who first asked him that question.

"Black," Malcolm had said without thinking. "Definitely black."

"Black's not a color," Leandra had argued with a giggle. "It's the absence of light."

"Sure black's a color. It's a crayon, isn't it?"

Leandra had rolled her eyes, even though Malcolm couldn't see it. "It's so boring, though. Couldn't you choose something interesting?"

"Black's plenty interesting. It's the color of your eyes and I can stare at them for hours."

She remembered how hot her face had gotten, how badly she'd wanted to reach through the phone and kiss him.

"Besides, black is the color of night and night is freedom. Night is when I can hear your voice. Come see you."

Leandra had looked down at her hands, wishing she could hold Malcolm's. "Well, I happen to like all the colors. I don't discriminate."

Malcolm had laughed brightly. "Sure you do. Your favorite's pink."

Leandra still remembered being baffled by his arrogant proclamation. "It is not! I like all the colors! I do!"

She'd heard the smugness in his smile. "I'm sure you like all the colors, but your lipstick's pink, your purse is pink, your cellphone's pink, your nails are pink, hell, even your nightgown is pink."

Leandra had stared down at her nightgown and nails and sure enough, he was right. "How do you know what my nightgown looks like? Are you stalking me?"

Malcolm had laughed again. "Just a lucky guess."

Leandra didn't realize that she had been so caught in the memory that she hadn't answered Jaheem.

Jaheem raised an eyebrow. "Are you alright, my Lady?"

Leandra's cheeks grew hot. She cast her eyes down into her wine glass and took another tasty sip, letting the alcohol give her some confidence. "My favorite color's pink," she said reluctantly.

She didn't want to admit she was fighting tears. Malcolm was infuriatingly arrogant at the best of times, but he had a way of pointing out things she didn't even notice about herself. Could call out the lies she was telling herself, and at that moment she missed that about him.

Jaheem grinned. "I should have known, considering that's the color you've been wearing the last two times I saw you. I'm glad I guessed right with the flowers."

Leandra blushed as she stared at the lilies at the center of the table. So he had noticed that about her as well. Perhaps she could let herself fall for him, and he could make her forget all the pain she was feeling.

"What's your favorite color?" she asked back politely, even if she found herself disinterested in the answer.

"It's hard to say. Every color has its charm, but I'm quite partial to blue. It makes me think of the sky touching the sea." He had a fond smile on his face, as if he was reliving a good memory.

Leandra had to admit that the ocean blue suit did look stunning against his dark skin, the contrast making the colors seem more vibrant.

Jaheem asked her other basic questions: how many siblings she had, about her aunt's family, what kind of music she liked, and what her job was. Leandra made every effort to be engaged, but her mind kept wandering back to Malcolm, his presence like an annoying gnat in her ear.

Soon their steaks were delivered and Leandra was relieved to pause the conversation to focus on eating. The food was unexpectedly delicious, and she did feel a little perkier as the night went on.

After a while, Jaheem said, "I don't mean to be rude but I'm surprised you're not living at your estate."

Leandra blinked, not sure if she should admit the truth to Jaheem, but she couldn't find a reason to lie. "My parents and I aren't on speaking terms at the moment… In fact, I've resigned from being their heir."

Jaheem raised his thick eyebrows in surprise. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up a sore subject."

"It's not a sore subject," she lied, cutting a delicate piece off of her filet mignon. She tried to think of a diplomatic way to respond. "My parents and I… fundamentally disagree on terms of morality."

Jaheem nodded. "Oh, they disagree with your signing the petition?"

Leandra's shoulders dropped. Certainly if her parents had found out about that, it would just be another item on their laundry list of things to lecture her about. Usually, she would talk about these things with Mara and, at one time, Malcolm. She wasn't sure she wanted Jaheem's ear on this subject, but she told herself she should give him a chance. "What do you know about the Council of Five?"

Jaheem cocked his head as he picked up his wine glass. "This is my first time hearing about this council."

Leandra stopped cutting into her steak. "I'm not surprised. It's Kirkwall's dirtiest secret."

Jaheem raised an eyebrow, sipped his wine, and waited for her to continue.

Leandra set down her knife and fork and looked at him with seriousness. "The Council of Five is the true power in Kirkwall and runs an underground slaving network. My family is actually in huge debt. My parents have been selling criminals and homeless people on behalf of this Council of Five." She dropped her eyes back to her plate. "I found out only a short time ago, and I… couldn't be a part of that."

Jaheem's eyes were so wide she thought they would fall out. He squared his shoulders and set his glass down, discomfort clear on his face. "That's quite a confession, my Lady. I'm so sorry. You must be devastated."

Leandra lowered her head, refusing to show the tears that she was fighting. "I need to tell everyone the truth about my family, but I admit I really don't know who to go to. If this Council truly runs everything, then whoever I tell might be in danger. I fear I might have endangered you just by telling you."

Jaheem put a hand over his heart. "You don't need to worry about my safety. I'm a lawyer, and I know my way around a battle, legal or otherwise." He ruffled into his front pocket where he had a stack of business cards. "I have a friend I can introduce you to that does investigative journalism. He might be interested in this story. I'll let him know to expect your call."

Leandra took the card from his hand. The name 'Brett Bauer' was imprinted in bold letters with his number and the title, Lead Investigative Reporter for the Kirkwall Times.

Leandra's eyes raised back to Jaheem. "I can't express how much this means to me. I didn't even know where to start."

Jaheem shrugged nonchalantly, stabbing a sprig of asparagus. "Well, I'm very happy to help, my Lady. I'd like to be someone you can rely on."

Leandra found a blush bloom on her cheeks, and she found herself enjoying the feeling. Jaheem really was a reliable man. Maybe she could let herself lean on him.

The dinner continued more pleasantly, and Leandra was able to forget about Malcolm for a few moments. But then it was time for the check and to go to the museum, and Leandra found her stomach sinking once more.

She felt shy again, not able to bring herself to touch Jaheem. Her hands hovered near her hips, unsure what to do with them.

The sun had set behind the Hightown buildings by the time they left the restaurant. Jaheem walked beside Leandra as they headed to the museum down the block, keeping a respectable distance, but he kept glancing at her, mischievousness in his smile.

Finally, he reached out to Leandra. "May I be so bold as to ask to hold your hand?"

Leandra stared at his hand for a moment, his palms paler than the rest of him. It did look warm and inviting, so she wrapped her fingers in his.

She smiled shyly, his hand unexpectedly pleasant. He felt so foreign and big, a little rough but still comforting. They strolled down the quiet street, enjoying each other's company in silence.

Jaheem looked down at Leandra, his full lips pulled into a bright white smile. "I know the night is still not over, but there's a new Opera opening next weekend. I don't suppose you'd be interested in going."

"Les Larmes du Créateur?" Leandra found her smile widening. "I'm the first chair in the symphony, so I'll already be there."

Jaheem's cocoa eyes glimmered in the dark. "Well then I certainly can't miss it." He brought her hand to his full lips and placed a soft kiss that made her stomach flutter.

"You look incredible in this dress." Jaheem's eyes fell admiringly on her open back, making Leandra's cheeks hot. Then with a soft hand he turned her face up to him, tracing her jaw.

Leandra held her breath. It felt unexpectedly good, not the electric rush she was used to feeling with Malcolm, but pleasant and warm.

Jaheem's cocoa eyes darkened as his eyes hooded. "May I kiss you, my Lady? I admit I've been wanting to all night."

Leandra's heart pounded in her ears. His spicy citrus scent was lulling her but her heart lurched, unsure if she could handle the disappointment if his kiss didn't set her ablaze like Malcolm's did.

But she remembered Mara's words and she stepped a little closer, biting her bottom lip. "I think I would like that." Would she? Was she lying to him or to herself?

He smiled and cupped her face, bringing his head down to hers. She closed her eyes and let herself be surrounded by him. She held her breath as his lips brushed hers.

And then suddenly a man in a ski mask jumped out of an alley and pulled a gun on Jaheem. "Give me your wallets, right now!"

Leandra was frozen, terror caught in her throat. Her hands were shaking so bad she couldn't even reach for her purse.

Jaheem protectively pushed Leandra behind him, his other hand in the air. "No need for any violence. I'll give you what you want." He slowly started reaching for his front pocket.

The thug clicked the safety off and aimed it at Jaheem's head. "Not fast enough."

Leandra screamed as the gun banged and a deafening crack rang through the air.

Jaheem moved lightning quick, closing the distance with his long arms, and knocked the gun aside, the fatal shot whizzing past his ear. The gun bounced into the street, another shot firing into a nearby car window, shattering glass. Jaheem twisted his fingers around the thug's wrist, and then pulled him forward and kneed him in the head. There was a sickening crack. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth as the robber fell to the ground with a slump, knocked clean out.

Leandra's heart was beating in her ears. It was over so fast, it took her a moment to register she was no longer in danger.

Jaheem rolled the man over onto his back, pulling off his mask. He had a blond crew cut that looked military, his nose and mouth bleeding profusely.

"Funny, he didn't seem to want my money." Jaheem started rifling through the man's jacket pockets where he pulled out a picture with Jaheem's face crossed out in red. Jaheem sighed. "These assassins are getting sloppier," he said in a tired tone that told her that this wasn't the first time this had happened.

"Who would want you dead?" Leandra asked in a horrified tone.

Jaheem rolled his neck, cracking it as he rose to his feet. "Well when you have politics like mine, you tend to make a lot of enemies." He turned his photo around to the backside where there was an inverted triangle symbol made up of five thick lines. "Strange. I don't recognize this symbol."

But Leandra did. Her breath caught in her throat. "That's the Council of Five."

Jaheem hummed as he stared at the symbol as if trying to burn it into memory. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his razor black cell phone. "I'm sorry to cut the evening short, my Lady, but it seems that I have some investigating of myself to do. Will you be alright taking a cab home?"

Leandra could only say she was relieved. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Jaheem's eyes crinkled into a smile. "It was certainly a memorable night out. I hope we'll have another soon, though, perhaps we could skip the assassination attempts."

In spite of the pounding fear in Leandra's heart, she found that tonight wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. She allowed Jaheem to kiss her knuckles, feeling a pleasant warmness flooding her. "Yes." Her lips curled up hopefully. "I look forward to it."