A splendid parasite

In the wounded gesture of incompetence

Swore to intoxicate the monster

A spellbinder underneath the sky

- Shifting Channels, Thorns

We did exhaust the Chant, at least for this part.

'This man,' Cassius said between gritted teeth, 'has no honour.'

Gladius instinctively nodded, not even daring to think that for the three weeks of the march, Cassius had said the exact same thing every night, at the exact same time of night.

The participation of the enemy of all the Gods to the war effort was knowledge restricted to very few, and in truth, Gladius felt rather privileged that for once, he was part of those very few. He knew, of course, that Magister Cassius preference might have been that the Elvhen called Solas would been dragged along by a horse, but even Cassius had had to surrender – or at least pretend to surrender – to the fact that no one could expect a man that had walked in chains for five weeks to produce any sort of meaningful magic, and, by all accounts, what Tevinter was looking for here was nothing short of a miracle.

Cassius' protests at Solas being allowed to travel in a carriage, albeit a completely sealed and dark one had therefore only been uttered with half the conviction that the Magister normally placed behind his Conciliarum disagreements. It was, in the end, bound to be a terrible journey for the elf, especially once the Legion passed on to warmer climates, and the coffin on wheels would essentially turn into a torture chamber. Only…

Veldrin Pavus and her insane assortment of…friends? Allies? had set up a compound within a compound. Not fully unexpected, for one of the great Houses of Minrathous – after all, the Cassius compound was as gaudy as they came too. The difference was that there was nothing untoward going on in the Cassius section of camp, while one could only wonder what unholy and downright shameful things were happening behind the decisively crossed halberds of the Pavus' guards.

One might have thought that Dorian Pavus would maintain at least some form of appearances, and shared a tent with his wife. It was obvious, however, that the man cared nothing about the fact that his wife was openly fornicating with the creature who had threatened the entirety of the world. 'Twas true, not all the menagerie – the Qunari, the elves, the false Gods, the strange woman who left her bosom on full display, Calpernia… - that dwell in the Pavus camp seemed appreciative of it, yet Dorian Pavus himself was impervious to behaviour that might have led any other decent man to repudiate his wife.

Nothing of the sort was happening; in fact, the Pavus compound oft resounded with laughter and cheering until late into the night. The Orlesian whore actually joined them more often than not, and Lusacan did not let himself be missed, though he was sighted in many places about the Imperial camp at the same time. It nonetheless invariably ended with Magistra Pavus leaving their fire and joining the prisoner alongside his lonely, and granted, heavily guarded one. What they spoke of when together they sat, no one knew: Cassius had managed to have a few of his own people infiltrated in the Pavus detail, but they did not speak the language of the slave race, and they did not have magical training.

What they did report on was that the two accursed elves spoke softly to each other for hours; that he read to her sometimes, while she leaned her head on his shoulder or was even bold enough to lie with her head in his lap. She always left the thing untied overnight, and they either slinked into her tent or back into the carriage that should have been a closed coffin, but wasn't one…

For what was even worse, Magister Cassius had dismissed bewildered reports that the bloody woman was nice, polite, and tipped well, as puerile attempts at making him increase his own spies' wages until he'd lost two of them to her, and he could reasonably assume the remaining two had been compromised too.

And nobody effing cared.

Maryam Tullius had even chuckled when the utter impropriety had been brought to her attention.

'So,' the woman had said, 'what you're bringing to me as greatly secretive news is that Dorian Pavus does not sleep with women, their portion of camp sounds like a barrel of laughs…and that your own people would rather work for them than for you?'

'There is unspeakable, unlawful fornication!' Cassius had exclaimed, clenching his fists.

She'd rolled her eyes. 'Well, that's just horrible,' she'd said, still snickering. 'I think I shall move my tent to their lines. I haven't had unspeakable fornication, lawful or unlawful, in twenty five years. Manaveris Dracona, you look like you've never had it in your life, Magister Cassius…What do you want from me?'

As usual when he could not immediately take out his fury, Magister Cassius had gone as red as pickled beetroot.

'Veldrin Pavus is sleeping with…'

'So?' the woman had inquired, arching an eyebrow.

'…our sworn enemy!' Cassius had finished, in righteous fury.

'And, you want to sleep with our sworn enemy as well?' Maryam Tullius had shot back. 'Write a petition and bring it up in Magisterium – for the Eternal Gods' sake,' the woman had sighed, 'the Lord Watcher is walking amongst us. If he, in his glory, wished to put an end to it, he would. He doesn't seem to give an unspeakable fornication about it, so, in my considered opinion, neither should you. Anything else? Something war effort related, perhaps?'

'This is war effort related! What if…'

She'd finally lost both her patience and her sense of humour with him, then, and briskly stood from her campaign desk.

'What if this was a legally held female slave?' the Magistra had snarled. 'I think there are hundreds of them in camp, providing the same relaxation services to many other…shall I call them, honoured pater familiae? Who can't keep it under their robes for two months?'

'That is an entirely different…'

'How?' she'd interrupted, narrowing her eyes – uncharacteristically, Cassius had taken a step back, for once in his life looking like he was afraid of being slapped.

And perhaps, Gladius, who'd tried to make himself small and retire to the farthest corner of the tent, Cassius had actually been afraid, because Maryam Tullius was not someone whom he could punish or even retaliate against. She held Radonis' mandate as de facto leader of the Legion, and she'd already ordered, and witnessed, five decapitations for the crime of insubordination. She would not dare hold the same accusation against Cassius, but she could have had him removed from war council easily enough…and besides, the look on her face was that of one of a mountain tiger ready to claw one's eyes out, Archon's mandate or not.

'The only grounds on which your petty and disgusting concerns over how another Magister employs a slave could garner a moment further of my attention,' the woman had said, in an icy voice, 'would be if you were the legal owner of said slave, and your property rights were being abused. Since it is pretty clear to me, and the entire Imperium, that you do not own this…elf, all I am seeing here is you, Magister Cassius, attempting to impose on House Pavus' property rights, and that, in fact I should note this, then bring it to Magister Pavus' attention, to check whether he wants to raise it before a court or not.'

'How's that for unspeakable, but legal fornication?' she'd hissed.

Cassius had gritted his teeth too, in a way that had made Gladius' heart sink – he, the elf had considered, was safe for now, but he would not be safe for long. His master had a habit of taking out his fury at those who he could not retaliate against on those who could not retaliate against him. Much later, and after it had properly festered.

'Fine,' Cassius had chocked out. 'I shall depart knowing that you will do nothing to stop this rot. Knowing that your moral duty is meaningless to you.'

'I have no moral duty to defend Dorian Pavus' marital bliss…And to be honest, they look pretty blissful to me,' she'd shrugged.

'I care nothing about how House Pavus chooses to conduct itself!'

She'd frowned.

'Wasn't that why you were here?'

'No, Magistra Tullius, I came here to attempt to stir your national pride from its ashes – do you realise what will happen if that bloody elf gets pregnant? By one of her savage Gods? I…'

'Well, hm,' Maryam Tullius had said, sitting back down, 'I don't know the answer to the God-thing, but I can definitely help you on what happens when a woman gets pregnant. Woman gets pregnant. Woman has baby. I know this with great certainty, as I have been through it three times – what happened to your own wife, when she got pregnant?'

'Oh,' she'd added, resting her chin on the back of her hand, 'I forget. I know the answer to that one as well: she ran back to Vol Dorma, with eyes as swollen as melons and as black as late summer grapes, and her parents were so desperate to rid her unborn child of your name that they publicly declared her an adulteress. She's nonetheless happily remarried, and your daughter, the one you did not want, seems to be doing well. I should have been faster on that one, as I supervised her Circle admission examinations…'

'This is an elf we are talking about, an elf with a Magisterial seat…'

'No,' Maryam Tullius had swiftly contradicted. 'We are talking about a fellow Imperial citizen, and a sworn in Magister, who has the exact same rights that you do. Anything else?'

'I'll remember this!' Cassius had menaced, fists balled by his side.

'Good,' she'd dreamily nodded – the Magister had spun on his heels and departed upon a storm cloud.

Too stunned by what he had just witnessed, Gladius had tarried just a second further, and found himself under the woman's unpleasantly unreadable stare.

'Watch yourself,' she'd said; her tone of voice was equally unreadable.

'Excuse me?' the elf had asked, eyes wide in confusion.

'I've just made Magister Cassius very angry,' Maryam Tullius had replied, narrowing her eyes. 'If I were you, Master Gladius, I would keep very close company with Altus Hadrian for the next few days.'

Gladius had swallowed dry.

'M-Magistra Tullius…'

'Your master is not the only one who has eyes in every camp,' she'd said, dryly. 'Even if you don't care about your own well-being, I am the leader of the Legion, and I care that Imperial citizens' rights are respected, no matter what caste they belong to. In case I did not make myself clear in the exchange you just watched, I have a very big tooth against your former master; if he gives me any excuse to think that he has broken any Imperial law, I will dispatch him to Minrathous spinning faster than a dust devil in a tornado.'

'I am unsure…'

'Alright, let me clarify further,' Magistra Tullius had sighed, feeling her forehead with her hand, and straightening her hair. 'If I see you with as much as a graze upon your face or a limp in your stride, and Altus Hadrian does not testify that he has seen you falling drunk in a ditch, Magister Cassius will face consequences. Any excuse he gives me to rid myself of him, I will use…Clearer, now?'

'Yes, Magistra,' Gladius had whispered, feeling lost and hopeless even before he'd walked out of her tent. How he'd been supposed to keep his master from venting his fury, he had not known, but then, the Gods might have been Gods for a reason.

He'd crossed paths with Veldrin Pavus and Calpernia, who had taken no notice of him, absorbed as they were in teaching each other new words.

'Eh?' the Pavus woman had tried.

'No, just a short, dry e…'

'Iii?' the face painted savage had tried again; Calpernia had just shaken her head in dismay.

'Incorrect. E. That was in no way dry or short. Try – the mastery of diphthongs…'

'Would make your life easier in taking dictation, I know. I'm sorry, it just feels unnatural.'

'Well, your accent in Tevene makes you sound as though you were suffering from a bout of drowned lung disease. Try again. E.'

Veldrin Pavus had tried again, she'd failed again, then laughed at herself. 'I'm never going to make it sound right, am I?'

Calpernia had cracked an awkward, crooked smile of her own.

'No reason why you should stop trying, though. Let's check on the horsiiies while you practice?'

Both women had openly laughed this time, and truly passed by Gladius, leaving him to wonder whether any such conversation could ever have come to pass between him and his master. Leaving him to wonder about many things, such as whether he had even smiled, let alone laughed in Cassius' presence.

Yet, that was how one showed weight of responsibility, that was how one showed respect -and, Gladius knew, he would be failing in his own service if he did not protect his master. Even if he'd only be protecting Magister Cassius from himself…it was still worth it.

Instead of following Cassius into his tent on that day, therefore, Gladius had taken his heart in his teeth, temporarily left his own notion of honour behind, and briefly slipped inside Altus Hadrian's tent. How some people could live like this, the elf had thought, upon observing the great disorder of books, alchemical implements, and last, but not least, the fact that Altus Hadrian was barefoot and using the Mabari as a footstool, while the dog was contentedly chewing on one of the man's shoes, he did not know.

Nevertheless…

'How may I help, Master Gladius?' Alexius Hadrian had inquired; the elf had fidgeted for a second.

He had never thanked Altus Hadrian or Veldrin Pavus for their actions a month past, mostly because he did not feel particularly grateful – what he was grateful for, however, was the fact that neither of the two had seemed keen on reminding him that they had saved his life. The fact still grated, a little however; it was as if the incident had never come to pass, or as though Hadrian had been waiting for the precise right time to call in some ungodly favour…Which, of course would never be granted, not for that night alone, yet now…

'The dog is eating your shoe,' Gladius had brought himself to say.

'It's perfectly alright, he ate the other one, he might as well get the complete pair,' Alexius had shrugged. 'He is still teething, or so I am told…'

The blonde young man had sat up. 'I had a good stock of cow hides for him, but we're all out for now,' he had shrugged. 'I either underestimated his appetite, or how long this stand-off with our Ferelden and Starkheaven friends would last…But sit down, Master Gladius, may I offer you…'

'I would prefer to stand,' the elf had said, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

'It must be serious, then,' Alexius had joked, then frowned a little. 'I assume you're not here on official business, or to summon me to Magister Cassius' tent, else you'd have said that and run out like a bat out of hell. You look a bit out of sorts, too – anything wrong?'

It had all felt so ridiculous, and Gladius had known that he would get no thanks for doing what he was about to do. He still had to do it, though, so, he'd drawn a deep breath and recounted the very last part of his conversation with Maryam Tullius while letting it out. To his great dismay, the human had not rushed to reply.

'Hm,' he'd said at the end of what had felt like an eternity to Gladius. 'So, what exactly do you expect me to do?'

'As stated, I would be grateful if…'

'I got that part, Master Gladius,' Hadrian had replied, his frown deepening further. 'What I did not get is whether you want me to stop Cassius from beating you within an inch of your life, or whether you just want me to lie about it when it happens.'

Gladius had swallowed dry, and once more caught himself fidgeting.

'I…I do not know,' he'd admitted in a low whisper. 'The latter, I suppose.'

'While I would prefer the former,' the human had answered, dryly. There had still been some sadness in his voice, no matter how well he'd tried to disguise it. In addition, the expression in his eyes had been unpleasantly focussed.

'I would consider it a favour,' Gladius had blurted, knowing that this time, he had truly exposed himself.

'I should think so, given that you are putting me is a very shitty moral position.' Hadrian had muttered. 'What do we think, Corso?'

Was his fate to be decided by…

The Mabari had barked, decisively, then eyed the elf with open reproach.

'Fine,' Hadrian had said, shaking his head in dismay. 'But we shan't call it a favour…actually,' he'd followed, sending frozen shivers down Gladius' spine, 'we shall call it a favour, and here's my price – I'll lie for you, Master Gladius, if you promise me one thing.'

'I have neither property, nor gold, and I shall not betray my master to Magistra Tilani; if that is your price, Altus Hadrian, then…'

Alexius had bitterly chuckled. 'No,' he'd said. 'The fact that you desperate enough to do this clearly shows me that you never would betray Cassius, and I would never ask you to.'

The human had rested his chin on his palm, and his elbow on his knee, still measuring Gladius though half lidded eyes.

'The reason why I am agreeing to this,' the Altus followed, 'is that I know that if I refuse, you will go to Cassius, explain the situation, and thus either get sent away, to places I am sure you'd rather not be, or you pass your plight onto another, who is not a free man and whom I shall be powerless to defend. Or both.'

It had been Gladius' turn to frown; he'd not even considered that possibility. It was so odd that a human – a free human - actually had.

'How can I repay you, then?' he had asked. 'I do not wish to be in your debt, and, dare I remind you, I have no way of assuring you will aid me, thus…'

'…thus we will just have to wait and see,' Hadrian had said, winking. 'Just do me a favour – the next time Cassius decides to dance a jig on your ribcage, crawl in here before Maryam Tullius sees you, so we coordinate stories.'

Though he had seemed to speak in jest, his eyes were utterly dull.

'What I want of you, Master Gladius,' Hadrian had said, slowly and purposefully, as if he had been inventing the words on the spot, 'is that you think deeply on why you are allowing him to do this to you, and why you would risk putting yourself in such a position before an enemy for his sake.'

Gladius had looked to the tip of his shoes.

'You have no reason to trust that I shan't go repeat this conversation to either Cassius or Magistra Tullius…'

'But you would not,' the elf had whispered, on a trembling voice; there'd been no reply until he'd fought himself, and managed to lift his gaze to Hadrian's. The Altus' lips had been pressed into a thin, ominous line, and, for a moment, Gladius had been stupidly shocked at the fact that a man who so well fit all of the Imperium's standards of patrician beauty could render himself so ugly by a mere shift of expression.

Be it as it may, the elf had told himself, steeling his innards. If he is planning to make me beg…I shall…I shall accept my faults, and confess to Magister Cassius myself, then take my due punishment…

'That's another thing you should consider thinking about,' Hadrian had said, once more putting his feet up on the Mabari's back. 'Why you trust me more than you trust your master…I shall do as you ask,' he'd ended. 'Please promise me you will do the same.'

'Thank you.' Gladius had nodded, spun on his heels and left, only letting himself be overwhelmed by relief when he was well away from Hadrian's tent – 'twas needless to say that by then, the promise that Alexius Hadrian had asked him to make had already been forgotten.

And, Gladius thought, he was happy that he was still by Magister Cassius' side every time when he observed that Dorian Pavus had no honour. That, or that he was not missing any of his teeth. It was hard to tell the difference.

'Soooo…Not that I ain't happy with sitting on my butt an' drinkin' all day,' Sera said, emptying her third gallon of rum for the eve, 'but what the heck are we waiting for? No offence, but did we come all tha way out here to catch a tan? Or for Vel to get a decade's worth of getting her rocks off?'

'She's getting two decades' worth, to my mind,' Dalish chuckled, in a conciliatory tone.

'Thank you, ladies,' Veldrin sighed, then helplessly shrugged. 'I don't know what we are waiting for either,' she surrendered. 'The attack orders are supposed to come from Minrathous, but we haven't heard a peep…'

'We're definitely waiting for something,' Dorian agreed, lying back and putting his head in his wife's lap. 'No idea what it is, however. I don't know, Vel, maybe you could ask your solar powered sex machine, over there…'

'Don't you start as well!' the woman scolded, playfully pinching his shoulder. 'Whatever we are waiting for, it's not him. He is almost fully charged…'

'And here we all thought his bald head was just an awful fashion choice,' Dorian quipped.

'I mean his normal magic is at full potential, Dorian, what the hell!'

'I know, I know,' he replied, still chuckling at his own pun. 'Still,' he added, glancing up with a suddenly serious expression, 'I hope it is not that we are waiting for them to make the first move; that would be counterproductive in any number of ways. Our pulling on time here can only advantage Andruil, because, Amata, if Solas is feeding off the weakened veil, so is she…Evening, Morrigan, good of you to join us.'

The witch, who had stealthily approached the campfire, regaled him with a 'Hmph!' then stretched out an impressively thick rug, and sat upon it, with her legs crossed.

'I am as fond of inane drunken chatter as I am of sand in my smallclothes,' she said, in place of a greeting.

'So why join now?' Dalish asked. 'It's not as though Sera and the chief are less drunk, or the sand has vanished…You've been skulking in your tent for two weeks.'

'I,' Morrigan royally pronounced, 'was not skulking – I was merely guarding my complexion, and keeping my son away from what I regard as negative character influences. However, tonight your chatter is, for once, not inane, though as Dalish well points, it is still fuelled by much more liquor than a humanoid body should be able to absorb without collapsing.'

'So you think you have something to add?' Vel asked; the witch nodded, slowly.

'Indeed, though it is probably not as precise or positive as you might wish. I know Ma'alis Surana,' she began. 'Our stalling here…'

Vel shook her head. 'It can't possibly be doing her any favours. Her soldiers might not be dying at the same rate as they were during the march, but I fear that with every day that passes, we are using up her goodwill.'

'Or,' Morrigan replied, looking mightily displeased at the interruption, 'we might be giving her increasing leverage to press for Ferelden mages to join her contingent. I cannot outright know, yet an easy, logical deduction might dictate that is why we are not harassing their rear lines.'

'And here I thought we aren't harassing their rear lines because we can't,' the Bull muttered, his face half hidden by his mug.

'Were you a witness to our battle against Corypheus?' Morrigan snarled. 'Of course we can. We just choose not to. If I were to take to dragon shape…'

'Point,' the Qunari shrugged, putting his mug aside. 'We'd starve them, but we would make the route that Fiona and her following might take unsafe…Not to mention causing a lot more of Surana's innocent soldiers to die, which, if I were her, I would not appreciate in the least. Is she a righteous woman?' he asked, aiming his surprisingly clear glance at Morrigan.

'What do you imply by righteous?' she frowned, in return.

'The Qun kind of righteous, eeeh,' Dorian replied, in the Bull's stead; he sat up, and sighed deeply. 'The kind that would let countless of her soldiers die rather than accept an…untruth? Shall we say?'

Morrigan bit her lower lip in doubt before she replied. 'I do not think, so, no, but this observation is based on my personal knowledge of her, and I have never observed her being tried in this way before. What I can tell you with a great degree of certainty, however, is that Queen Anora is definitely not that kind of righteous, and neither is her dunce of a husband.'

'Did you just call the King of Ferelden a dunce?' Veldrin frowned.

'Quite; 'tis again, by direct, and dare I say, intimate observation that I do that,' Morrigan dryly answered. 'And 'tis not as though his actions here are any sign of wisdom or cunning. One might have excused him on the grounds of faith, yet now he knows for certain that he is marching behind a false prophet, who has every intention to use his soldiers as meat shields or simply blood carriers, to be ripped asunder at the correct moment.'

'I do not think he understands the latter part.' Dorian said. 'Maybe,' he sighed, reaching his empty cup out towards the Iron Bull, 'he didn't believe her…'

'Impossible,' the witch contradicted. 'He's been eating out of the palm of her hand for two decades, from the moment they met. No, he believed her, and, as always, is hoping she will perform some miracle on his behalf.'

'So are we, sorta,' Sera perked up. 'I mean, no mages on their side, other than this Malice lady. If anyone can show up Tanadril…'

'Andruil…' Dalish muttered.

'Whatevs!' Sera continued, undaunted, 'if anyone can show her up, it's her, 'cuz if we do it, they'll just claim we're casting illusions or some shit.'

Veldrin nervously rubbed her hands together, and cast an unmissably longing glance to Solas, who'd been sitting, still well tied and on his knees a hundred or so feet away from the gathering.

'Too early, Amata,' Dorian softly warned; she bitterly nodded.

'In any event,' the elven Magistra said, sucking in breath between her teeth, 'we're no closer to why we are not receiving attack orders, or what we are waiting for…'

'This is why I risked both my complexion and my smallclothes to venture a guess on,' Morrigan said. 'Mind you, an educated one – we're waiting on some fool to awaken the Somnaborium.'

Dorian laughed out loud. 'I'm sorry, Morrigan, what?'

'I see no reason for jocularity,' she shot, with bitterly pursed lips.

'Well, you've just said we're waiting on Cassius,' the man refuted, laughing even harder.

'And this causes amusement?' Morrigan hissed.

'Yes,' Dorian answered, managing to contain his chuckles, but still shaking his head in disbelief. 'Because he has custody of the thing, and, more importantly none of us…Oh,' he said, suddenly interrupting himself, and gathering the facial expression of one who had swallowed a rather large pebble. 'Oh,' he repeated, straightening.

'That actually…' the Bull began, frowning, 'that actually makes sense.'

'It does?' Sera inquired, in utter confusion.

'Yes, Sera, it does.' The Qunari nodded. 'Remember how the Mark was killing the boss? And what happened at the Conclave? The power they stored in that glowy ball of death is three times that, now – no one who was not dropped on their un-horned head in their childhood will go within five hundred feet of that thing. Just channelling to it almost killed Veldrin, even with that annoying Imshael on her back. An' the only expendable person who might actively want a go at it…well, they're not letting Solas touch it, lest he gets ideas.'

Vel shook her head. 'In the state he is in, the initial surge of power would kill him, too. And I…we,' she hastily corrected, 'need him…But, Morrigan, does this not imply that Lusacan and Razikale are taking the same dangerous gamble that…'

'Pride took?' Lusacan asked, sitting by the fireside; so absorbed had they been in their conversation, none had even noticed him approaching. 'Your next question should be rum or wine, horned one,' the dragon God said, breaking the group's surprised silence. 'And the answer will be – it depends greatly upon the quality of the rum.'

'I think it's good,' Sera burped.

'Then to the expert I shall defer,' Lusacan shrugged. 'Just mind that I do not have dragon breath after, I have a lady to impress later in the eve…'

'You're not seriously getting it on with Vivienne, are you, brother?' Vel incredulously asked, passing a cup of rum along.

'I am not even close to what you refer to as getting it on, little sister, but what is the pleasure in taking a castle without a fight?' he said, accepting the cup with a wink. 'And what a mighty castle lies beyond that fiercely crossed drawbridge…'

'Yeah, drawbridge, and crocodile filled moat,' Dorian muttered. 'Not to mention the wall spikes…'

'All the more charming,' Lusacan smiled. 'This is actually not horrendous,' he said, giving Sera a nod; in clear sign that by now they were all getting dangerously accustomed to the casual presence of living Gods in their midst, the archer gave him a cheerful victory sign. 'In any event, no, we are not taking the same gamble Pride did. Magister Cassius is no Corypheus. He'll not survive it.'

'The fact that he is no Corypheus might imply he is not powerful enough to activate it, though,' Dorian said, eyes narrowed in tense attention.

'His menial strength is of no consequence,' the dragon God responded, with a little smirk. 'The object he will foolishly seek to control possesses is even more dangerous than our ancient foci. It is by mortals made, flawed in its hasty construction, and hence volatile. It will, however, become tame after it explodes in the hand of whomever attempts to bypass its defences, with just a smidgeon of craft.'

'Cassius and craft…' Dorian said, cranking his nose.

'Oh, I did not mean to say he possessed it,' Lusacan replied, shaking his head. 'But his spies in your compound served us well, and even more so did your kindness towards Mistress Calpernia, who may or may not have left some of your hopelessly addled mortal diagrams where Cassius' spies could reach them.'

'She's been passing our papers to Cassius?' Veldrin asked, in alarm.

'I have been, yes. They just happened to be the wrong ones,' Calpernia had replied from behind, before offering a small bow, and vanishing in the growing darkness. 'Rehearse your diphthongs before going to sleep, Magistra Pavus,' she added, from everywhere and nowhere. 'It is a good learning technique.'

Up next - It's Andruil's move.