Kiara hated mornings. She always had. Being forced to leave the warm, cozy comfort of one's bed in order to deal with the real world was terribly yet mornings still happened, day after day, sunrise after sunrise.
She especially hated mornings when someone—anyone, really, but Amelle was the worst—had the gall to wake her. This morning was no different. Ignoring the pleading voice, she jammed a pillow over her head and curled into a blanket-clad ball.
"Orana," she growled, when the voice wouldn't stop cajoling, "unless the world is ending or the house is burning down, let me sleep. I was up—" And then, of course, her reasons for being up so late came flooding back. Telling stories to the children. Fighting with Sebastian.
And then not fighting with Sebastian. Definitely not fighting with Sebastian. Decidedly not fighting with Sebastian.
Kiara sat bolt upright, startling poor Tasia half to death. The pillow tumbled from its precarious perch atop Kiara's head, and she was unable to keep the grin from overtaking her face. If Tasia's expression was any indication, Kiara imagined she looked quite manic.
But sleep had certainly fled.
"My… lady?"
"Tell me I wasn't dreaming."
A faint, amused smile pulled at her maid's lips. "Why, I wouldn't know, my lady. Was it something nice? Oh, or perhaps something adventurous? Did you dream you were the Hero, slaying an Archdemon, marrying a… king?" Tasia feigned nonchalance as she tugged the sheets back and picked up the fallen pillow. "I always tell the children to be careful with their bedtime stories. You never know how they'll come back to haunt your dreams."
Kiara wrinkled her nose. "I never remember my dreams. Bedtime stories or not."
"So it wasn't an Archdemon then?"
Kiara narrowed her eyes as she perched on the edge of the bed. The cold of the floor reached her toes even before she placed them on the stones. Cold floors were another thing to hate about mornings. Cold floors and exasperating maids. "Tasia."
Dimpling, Tasia shrugged. "Prince Sebastian seemed… pleased when he left yesterday evening. I wonder why. He must have had reason."
With a sound she would heartily deny being a giggle, even if giggle was the most apt description, Kiara rose from the bed, cold floors be damned. "I should write my sister. Or… should I wait? I… everything happened so suddenly and nothing was decided and Sebastian might change his mind—"
Tasia snorted a laugh. "Oh aye, Prince Sebastian is certain to change his mind. Just as soon as grass is blue and the sky is green and the sun rises in the west." On Kiara's sour look, Tasia added, "My lady, please. Give me some credit. Give him some credit. I'm only surprised it took so long. I've been dying to put you in Starkhaven colors since the moment we met. Honestly, I've had the perfect dress steamed and pressed since the day of your little archery duel shenanigans."
"I thought redheads weren't supposed to wear white," Kiara retorted, with enough attitude to be snide, though her not-giggle ruined the effect somewhat.
Tasia raised her eyebrows, giving Kiara an appraising look. "You have been paying attention. There may be hope for you yet. Pure white is problematic, aye, but ivory will stand in just as well. And it will suit your coloring fine."
"You have an answer for everything, don't you?"
Tasia grinned. "Sartorially speaking? Aye. Aye, indeed."
Kiara paused halfway to the bathing chamber and frowned over her shoulder. "Still, maybe—"
Tasia waved her hand delicately. "I know, my lady. Time and place. Now, do be honest with me: do you intend to shoot today? Or will your time be spent indoors?"
Kiara's frown turned into an impertinently stuck-out tongue. "I am planning on staying indoors, Tasia. No archery gown required."
"You mock," the maid replied, long-suffering, "but you don't realize how it reflects on me, my lady."
"How my… not wearing an archery gown reflects on you?"
Tasia inclined her head slightly.
"So… what? The other maids talk about you behind your back?"
Tasia's brow furrowed and she chewed on her lower lip before replying, "Careers rise and fall on gossip, my lady. Surely you understand this."
"But I—" Kiara halted, turned to face Tasia again, and hung her head. "Forgive me, Tasia. I… ought to know better. Please… please don't take my indifference to… to fashion as any affront to you. I couldn't ask for a better maid. And I will happily spread that gossip wherever you like."
"And you'll wear what I tell you is appropriate?"
Kiara raised an eyebrow. "I do have a little sister, you know, Tasia. Are you trying to manipulate me into submission?"
Tasia laughed and shrugged. "It was worth a try, my lady."
#
Corwin rose when Kiara knocked and entered Sebastian's study. Sebastian looked up and smiled at her, and though a smile was hardly the same as a kiss, Kiara felt her heartbeat stutter and a flush spread across her cheeks. Not a dream, then. She was certain Sebastian had never smiled so… intimately at her before. It might not have been the same as a kiss, but it was certainly a smile promising more kisses.
To distract herself, Kiara crossed the room and greeted the Steward with an embrace. Startled, Corwin froze for an instant before patting her gently on the back. "My lady," he said. "I believe somewhat… restrained congratulations are in order."
Kiara's gaze flicked over to meet Sebastian's, and the prince nodded slightly and lifted one shoulder in a well-what-could-I-do shrug.
"Well," Kiara replied, "I will accept those congratulations, even if they are to be kept low-key for the moment. Thank the Maker I won't have to read another of those wretched 'meet my daughter; she'd make a perfect princess' missives. Please, let me burn them all from now on."
Sebastian narrowed his eyes at the old man. "You had her reading those, Corwin?"
The Steward feigned surprise. "Was I not meant to, Your Highness? She was reading everything else, after all."
Kiara stepped away from the Steward, but not before pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Oh, I see what you were doing. You knew I'd be jealous. I'm just horrified I was so transparent."
"Translucent, perhaps, my lady. Which, I might add," he said, with a none too subtle glance at the prince, "is infinitely preferable to stubbornly and willfully blind."
"I am sitting right here," Sebastian muttered.
Corwin smiled a beatific, impervious smile. "I haven't the slightest notion what you mean, my lord. I am certain I was speaking in generalities."
Sebastian's retort was silenced by the abrupt arrival of Captain Elias. The soldier saluted sharply and reported, "There are… there was an attempted burning, Your Highness, but some had heard your decree. It… worked. But we've a crowd at the gates, and they are demanding compensation."
Kiara and Sebastian shared a look.
"Send for the Revered Mother, if you would, Captain."
"Already done, Highness."
Sebastian closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. When he opened them again he was composed, and his gaze was sharp. Kiara found herself standing straighter, holding her chin higher.
"Very well," Sebastian said. "Let in as many as we can accommodate. Station your men in the Great Hall. I hope… try not to kill anyone. We are aiming for a peaceful resolution to this crisis, after all. If you've anyone with twitchy fingers, have them sit this out."
"As you wish, my lord," Elias said, saluting again and departing as quickly as he'd come.
"And me?" Kiara asked, willing her voice not to sound as tentative as it felt echoing in her head.
"You should be there, of course," Sebastian replied without an instant's hesitation. She found herself absurdly grateful for his faith in her.
"But you should talk," she said. "These rumors that I'm—that the Champion of Kirkwall is—here to… control the prince of Starkhaven—"
Sebastian smiled wearily. "Support is not control. I know it. They'll learn it. But you are right. For today… this is delicate. There will time enough to win them over."
She took his arm when he moved around the desk to offer it, and she was not oblivious to the way he tucked her hand even more securely against him. Bending his head so only she could hear his whisper, he said, "It will be well. And I would not have you anywhere but at my side, no matter what they say."
Kiara couldn't find words to reply, so she merely pressed her cheek to his arm and wondered how disappointed Tasia would be when she found out Kiara was attending a court function in a lowly morning gown.
#
Maker, but it had been a day of emotional extremes, and the little sleep he'd managed in between last evening's declaration and this morning's early awakening had not been quite rest enough to restore him to even footing. Even now, knowing very well the seriousness and importance of the task ahead of him, he could not help sending surreptitious glances down at the woman walking beside him.
The third or fourth time, she caught him looking, and she smirked. "Something on your mind, Your Highness?"
He wanted to kiss her. Even with the guards behind them, and the audience of servants going about their business, he wanted to kiss her. Instead, he smiled and shook his head. "Only the matters of the day, Lady Kiara."
She huffed a laugh at the affected formality. The moment of levity was a brief one, however, and though she did not entirely pull away from him, she retreated until only her hand rested against his forearm. "What if it's the genuine article?" she asked, her voice pitched low.
"It won't be," he replied. "The likelihood—"
"But what if—?"
"Kiara," he said softly, "you said so yourself: in this climate any mage will be safer within the walls of the Chantry. Starkhaven is not Kirkwall. Illona is not Meredith—or even Elthina."
"I hope you're right."
He placed his other hand over hers and gave her fingers a brief squeeze. "It will be well."
Her countenance said she did not entirely believe him.
To be fair, he wasn't altogether certain he believed himself. They were spared further conversation—troubled or otherwise—by turning the corner and finding themselves at the door leading to the less formal antechamber entrance of the Great Hall. There would be no meandering through the crowd this time. Captain Elias greeted them, and nodded toward Sers Kinnon and Maisie, standing at attention behind him. "They've got good eyes, Your Highness," Elias explained. "I'll be with the archers. We've got men stationed throughout the hall, but Kinnon and Maisie'll be on the dais with you."
Beside him, Kiara frowned. "Is that necessary, Captain?"
Elias frowned, his heavy eyebrows lowering, giving his face an unnaturally dour cast. "My lady, I'd have you ringed in steel if I thought the prince would allow it."
Sebastian began to protest, but Elias only inclined his head. "I know the importance of appearances, Highness, and I know you wish to appear… concerned and not antagonistic, but I cannot help thinking you invite trouble by allowing so many such free access to you."
"Your concern is noted, Captain," Sebastian replied.
Elias' lips twisted in a slightly sour smile. "Noted and ignored, Your Highness?"
Sebastian's own smile was rueful. "Noted and ignored, Captain."
Kiara's fingers tightened on his forearm momentarily. "Perhaps he's right, Sebastian…"
Even her concern made him want to kiss her. "We will be protected, Kiara."
"With our lives, if necessary," Ser Kinnon added. This earned the knight a smile from Kiara, though it did not entirely chase the shadows from her eyes. Sebastian resisted—only just—the urge to glower at the man. The bruise on the guard's jaw had faded almost entirely; Sebastian wondered if another might be in order.
Instead, he gave his head a brief shake and said, "Has the Revered Mother arrived?"
"Not yet, Highness. She is on her way, however."
Sebastian nodded. "Very well. We'll wait within. Have someone send for us when she is arrived and settled, and we shall begin." Elias saluted briskly, and Sebastian added, "Captain? She will have templars with her, certainly, but her protection in this situation is as important as mine. See that your guards know this."
Elias saluted again, and Sebastian opened the door to the small room, Kiara's hand still resting on his arm.
Waiting was always the worst part.
Once they four were alone in antechamber, an awkward sort of silence settled over the room. Kinnon and Maisie stood perfectly at attention and were perfectly silent, save for the soft sounds of their armor every time one or the other of them shifted their weight.
After nearly a full minute of this, Kiara gave his arm a gentle squeeze. When he looked down at her, she lifted her brows at him in curious expectation. He furrowed his own back at her and shook his head, rewarded with a look of charmingly familiar exasperation before she looked very pointedly at the two guards, then back at him. With her other hand she gestured quickly between the two of them.
Ah. Aye, if anyone was to be let in on their little… secret, the guards were a wise choice. There was a difference between protecting the Champion of Kirkwall and the future Princess of Starkhaven. When he sent Kiara a nod of what he hoped was comprehension, she exhaled a little sigh and smiled. And when he turned to address the knights, Sebastian found — to something that felt very akin to dismay — they were both watching with unabashed curiosity.
Aye, we might as well tell them. They've probably guessed as much already.
"Ser Kinnon," he began. "You have been acting as Lady Kiara's personal guard for a majority of her stay here, have you not?"
Kinnon gave a terse nod, and Sebastian saw his hand twitch, almost as though it was going to reach up and rub the still-bruised jaw. In the end, the hand remained stiffly at Kinnon's side. "Aye, Highness. The duty's been one shared with Ser Maisie a few times."
That made sense; from what he understood of the lists of personnel Elias had sent his way, Maisie and Kinnon were partners — they patrolled together and trained together. They'd been the only ones brave enough to step forward and carry her poisoned body after the… incident in the square. Though Sebastian found himself wishing it was Maisie and not Kinnon who took the lion's share of the solitary guarding. "Then you are already quite aware her safety is of the highest importance."
Confusion knit Kinnon's brow, and he looked briefly at Maisie, whose expression betrayed nothing but patience. "Of course, Your Highness. There haven't been…" his eyes went briefly to Kiara, then back to Sebastian, and he swallowed. "There haven't been complaints, have there?"
"Maker's blood, Sebastian," sighed Kiara with reproach that still managed to sound affectionate. "You're going to give them both heart attacks. No, Ser Kinnon, no complaints. Sebastian is merely prefacing… another matter." She slanted a look at him. "Badly."
On the contrary, he was inordinately pleased by how mortified Kinnon looked. Whether Kiara thought it badly handled or not, it was entirely worthwhile, just to see the young knight with the fear of the Maker in him. "I only mean to impress upon them—" him "—the gravity of the task at hand."
Somehow his words served to make Kinnon look even more uncomfortable, and the knight shifted, nearly squirming. "Your Highness, forgive me. If this is about the other night—"
"Sweet Andraste's flaming knickers," Kiara muttered under her breath.
Sebastian glowered. "I trust you mean the evening Lady Kiara wandered alone in a potentially hostile city?"
"Wait just a minute, Sebastian," Kiara said, with an unmistakable edge to her voice. "You and I both know that can't be pinned on Kinnon."
"I did see her safely to her chambers, Your Highness," Kinnon explained. A little desperately. "And then Tasia insisted her ladyship wished to be left alone for the rest of the—"
"Truly, Kinnon?" Sebastian asked. "You're blaming the maid?"
"No one's blaming the maid. Or the knight who very dutifully stood outside my door until his prince bullied his way in to ambush me," Kiara retorted, arching a very annoyed eyebrow in his direction. "If anyone will be blamed for Lady Kiara jumping out her window and running wild in the night, it will be Lady Kiara. Are we understood?"
Kinnon's cheeks were flushed, but he gave a reluctant nod. Sebastian felt a faint pang of having perhaps gone too far, especially as the reference to the evening in question had brought a deep furrow of frustration to Kiara's brow.
"This is not an occasion for reprimand, Ser Kinnon," Sebastian said, relieved when his words made a hint of a smile return to Kiara's face. "It is quite the opposite. You have served well in your position—" The knight grinned at this, and Sebastian managed, with no small amount of effort, to not grind his teeth. "You both have. The truth of the matter is that there has been some change in Lady Kiara's status—"
"Maker's balls, I wish you'd quit it with the 'Lady Kiara'ing, Sebastian," she muttered. "They do know who I am." She rolled her eyes at him and crossed her arms over her chest. It was a familiar gesture, certainly, but he didn't think she had any idea how differently it went over in a low-cut dress compared to figure-masking armor. Kinnon's blush spread from cheeks to temples to the tips of his ears before he glanced down, feigning interest in the floor beneath his feet. Ser Maisie's lips twitched in a brief half-smile. Sebastian didn't quite glare at the floor, but he was careful to keep his eyes at the level of Kiara's face. She inhaled deeply, exasperated, and Sebastian forced his eyes higher still, to the pile of hair Tasia had intricately bound atop her head.
Kiara, evidently oblivious, continued, "What Sebastian is trying to say is that we're…" she drifted to silence mid-sentence, and raised her gaze to meet his. "Maker's breath, it's really real, isn't it?"
He chuckled. "I hope so. Otherwise—"
"Corwin will be very disappointed, yes. I know." She tilted her head and her lips quirked into a sweet grin. He felt his own mouth pull into a smile in response.
"Lady Kiara has agreed to be my wife," he said softly.
Maisie's eyes were the wider. "Oh," she said, the sound involuntarily pulled from her.
Kinnon only grinned, though the smile faded somewhat when Sebastian leveled a meaningful glare his way.
Continuing, Sebastian explained, "For now the engagement will remain… between us. The Steward knows of it. As does Tasia, I expect—" Kiara's snort of laughter was answer enough to this. "And now you two."
Kinnon's grin faltered, turned confused. "But… why the secrecy, Your Highness, my lady? Lady Kiara's a noblewoman. She's—well, the guard likes her well-enough—"
It was Maisie who answered, her tone clipped as she scowled at her partner. "She's a foreigner, Kin. There are those who will question her involvement. There are even those who might think she engineered our prince's return for this very reason, to take power in Starkhaven through marriage. Think about it."
The look on Kinnon's face made it quite clear he hadn't thought about it, and once he began to give it all due consideration, it likewise became clear he could now see the problems Maisie was alluding to. "Blast."
"That's putting it lightly," Kiara said. "We want to reveal it…" she sent a look Sebastian's way and smiled — a secret little upturn of her lips — "when we're ready to reveal it."
"Kiara speaks true," Sebastian said, gratified when Kiara nodded once, clearly approving of his choice to drop the Lady, at least for the moment. "It is far too soon, and—"
"And I would like to give Starkhaven a chance to know me and, hopefully, like me before Sebastian makes any sort of… formal announcement." She smiled again, unguarded and sweet, as she added, "And that isn't the sort of thing I'm comfortable rushing."
"Nor I," Sebastian added firmly. "But if you are to be guarding Lady Kiara—" A soft tch from the woman in question that he'd taken up her title again. "If," he said again, firmly, "you are to be her guards, then it would be remiss of us not to keep you both fully apprised of the… situation."
Maisie watched Kiara, her brows drawing together. "My lady, how… do you anticipate changing the opinions of so many?"
Kinnon shot her a look. "We don't know how many, Maisie. Don't be an—"
"No, Maisie's right," Kiara broke in. "I have to assume most of Starkhaven won't look favorably on me precisely because I'm a foreigner." Her slender shoulders rose in a shrug. "But it's a job I'm willing to undertake."
"By jumping out windows?" Sebastian asked her, unable to keep the archness out of his tone.
"Partially," came Kiara's pert reply. "I have my methods."
Sebastian cleared his throat, giving Kiara a stern look even as she directed a sunny smile up at him. "The point remains," he said, turning his gaze once again to the pair of knights, "I am asking you to guard her as if she were already your princess. Do you understand?"
Maisie and Kinnon snapped off identical, sharp salutes.
This time Kinnon's wide smile was directed at his partner, but Maisie had once again retreated behind the mask of her professionalism. Doubtless she was considering all the things Kinnon was not—the very things that had kept Sebastian awake the night previous. His Eyes would have to know, because it was they who held back most of the hostility against her. Any woman he chose would have been under similar scrutiny—but he knew Kiara would be in an even worse position. She was an outsider, far more even than he. She was alone amongst the scavengers, without alliances or friendships to guard her. For all Kiara had not been forthright about the encounter, he knew the tenor of her altercation with Aileene Caddell, and for every such viper a dozen more waited for the moment to strike and ascend a few inches closer to the top. Behind the polite smiles and courtesies and pleasantries, every bloody noble in his court was jostling for position, and there was little he could do except deflect, and keep them busy amongst themselves.
He glanced slantwise down at her, his stomach twisting. It was a strange thing. He felt happy—happier than he'd ever felt, he thought—and terrified all at the same time. She had proven herself over and over again entirely capable of managing her own affairs and taking care of herself, and yet he wanted so desperately to keep her safe from the cruelty and censure he knew she'd face. The court would not fight the way she fought, and for the first time he wished she'd dipped her toes just a little more into the politics of Kirkwall, if only as preparation for this.
Tapping her foot impatiently, she glanced over her shoulder toward the door that led out into the Great Hall. "How much longer, do you suppose?"
He could hear the tremor deep in her tone, and only because he knew how to listen for it. He imagined to Maisie and Kinnon she sounded cool and collected and utterly in control. That ability, at least, would serve her well. "Not long, I imagine," Sebastian replied. "It's the Revered Mother we'll have been waiting on."
As if summoned by these words, a faint knock sounded on the inner door. Maisie drew her blade and crossed the room, opening the door a crack. He saw Kiara's eyes widen, and her cheeks went pale; Sebastian could hardly blame her. Naked steel looked out of place in the little room with its warm tapestries and overstuffed furniture. After a low exchange, Maisie sheathed her sword and turned, nodding. "They are ready."
She sounded grim. And Sebastian couldn't help noticing how loud the crowd seemed, even through the very small crack. Loud and angry. He was forced to swallow his desire to have Kiara remain back, remain safe, remain out of the eye of a public willing to murder on the merest allegation of magic. She would not thank him for such a display, and would not heed him even if he ordered it. He knew that much of her, certainly. Better to be unified.
"Well, then," Kiara said on a sigh, "I guess we have to be ready, too." Folding her hands neatly in front of her in a way that reminded him painfully of the meekness she'd been forced to adopt in Hercinia, she nodded toward the door with her chin.
"You don't have to walk two steps behind me here," he admonished.
Her lips twisted wryly. "But it's such a charming view. Go on. You and I both know this… experiment can't be about me. Not today. Not when it's so bloody important."
Soon, he thought, soon enough she will always be at my side. Where she belongs.
The noise Sebastian heard on the other side of the door fell the moment that door opened — it was not quite a hush, but neither was it the angry hum from earlier. The noise dropped further the moment he stepped out upon the carpet, walking with slow, measured steps, knowing Kiara was behind him for the walk to the dais upon which sat the Starkhaven throne. As he walked, Sebastian kept his expression neutral and his eyes forward, but saw Elias and his archers clearly in his peripheral vision. He felt the Eyes around him, though he couldn't see them them, which was as it ought to have been, but even knowing they were there did not completely alleviate his concerns regarding Kiara's safety.
From another doorway off the Great Hall came Revered Mother Illona, flanked by templars, her expression calm. Calm and, he saw, shrewd. They all of them were not certain the outcome of such an experiment, as Kiara had called it, and if anyone misstepped at any point, the climate in Starkhaven ran a very real risk of worsening. Sebastian wasn't entirely sure how, if people were already burning their non-mage neighbors in a frenzy of fear and hate, but if experience had taught him anything, it was that things could always get worse.
After what felt like too-long a walk down too-long a carpet, even though the route from the antechamber was far shorter than the entire length of the Great Hall he'd have had to walk otherwise, Sebastian stood before his throne and, acknowledging the gathered crowd with a nod he hoped conveyed serenity and confidence, he sat. A pair of chairs had been set up just behind and to the left of his throne. Revered Mother Illona took one, still flanked by templars in heavy plate, and Kiara took the other. Maisie and Kinnon stood behind her, their eyes watchful. Had their engagement been public, he'd have had her next to him, not keeping Illona company. In all honesty he wished her lost amongst the crowd and not so visible and obvious a target. He could see how diligently she was attempting to make herself seem small, seem unimportant. Rumors of her sympathies were widespread, and he knew it was important the Champion of Kirkwall be seen to support his plan to apprehend the apostates in Starkhaven.
It pained him somewhat to see her caught between worlds—not quite allowed to be who she had been in Kirkwall, and not yet allowed to take up the mantle of who she would become in Starkhaven—but as she sent him a brief, bolstering smile, he realized those were thoughts for later. Later was not now, and right now, Sebastian was perfectly aware that the order in which the three of them were sitting mattered very little to the townsfolk gathered. It likely mattered more to the collected nobility, but only in terms of gossip and political speculation, neither of which were the object of this gathering.
In fact, said object was at that moment being — escorted was too kind a word, and Sebastian felt his heart twist painfully in his chest as he saw the woman jerked along, hands bound behind her, her face pale beneath a profusion of bruises, and her eyes wide with fear. She did not speak or scream or cry out, but he saw, even from such a distance, the way her lips trembled with all she would not give voice to. Her bottom lip was swollen and bleeding—evidently a fist had done its best to convince her silence was the expected behavior. Amelle would have burned away the ropes and called upon a storm of flame before escaping in the chaos; Merrill would have broken her bindings with threads of lightning, encasing herself in stone; and Anders…
No. Whoever this woman was, she was no mage.
By the time the woman's captors reached the clear space before the dais, Sebastian was somewhat gratified to see they looked nearly as terrified as she. He wondered which had been the one to put his fist to her face. All told, nearly a hundred—he'd be much surprised if the number was less—townsfolk were gathered in his hall. The nobility arranged themselves as far from the unwashed masses as space would allow. Sebastian tried not to scowl. Derision and disgust were also for later.
Now belonged entirely to the woman even now being pushed roughly to her knees before him. She gazed up at him with a sort of hopeless pleading in blue eyes made all the bluer by the darkness of the bruises around them. It was only then, standing so close, he realized he recognized her. It was the woman, Shira, whose letter had brought him to Starkhaven, and who'd betrayed them that first wretched night. Sebastian saw at once she knew she'd been recognized, and her expression went slid from pleading to despair. He wondered if she thought him cruel enough to see her apprehended in payment for the wrongs she'd done against him, but he knew he could let no hint of mercy color his countenance.
In a case as delicate as this one, he knew he had to treat the 'mage' guilty until proven innocent, no matter how ill such a thing sat with him.
He heard the sound of fabric shifting behind him, and prayed Kiara would hold her tongue; he could not even chance a look at her lest the crowd believe she was the one calling the shots.
Hoping his expression gave nothing away, he looked to the man who seemed to be doing most of the pushing. "Your name, serah?"
The man glanced around, as if shiftily expecting to see someone else Sebastian might be speaking to. Then he raised his chin and said, with forced defiance, "Coby, Your Highness." Then, without waiting for Sebastian to speak, he blurted, "I was the one heard you were giving coin for witches." He had the temerity to look proud of himself, and Sebastian recited several verses of the Chant pertaining to patience to keep himself from reacting. "I was the one stopped the fire. So here she is. I'll have my gold."
He did not have to look at Kiara to feel the waves of displeasure radiating from her. He could tell by the prickling at his neck exactly where her eyes must be focused, and just how much irritation was living behind that gaze.
Sebastian inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and asked, "And the woman? Who is she?"
"A witch."
Maker, give me strength.
"And 'Witch' is the name she was born with?"
Coby blinked stupidly at him, but it was one of the other men who answered, "No, Highness. Her name's Shira, m'lord."
Sebastian nodded, as though this information was new to him. "What sorcery has she done?"
Shira bowed her head and whimpered, until Coby cuffed her. The blow was heavy enough to send her sprawling, and with no hands to break her fall, she landed on her already-injured face, crying out. Sebastian clenched his hands around the arms of his chair and said through gritted teeth, "I thank you to leave such measures to my guards, serah. They are better equipped to do so." And less like to hit without reason. He nodded toward one of the guardsmen standing at the foot of the dais, and the knight stepped forward to help the woman upright. Tears streaked her face, and fresh blood flowed from her cut lip, but she did not speak, and her expression was still hopeless and confused and so terribly frightened it nearly broke his heart, no matter what trouble she'd caused them.
"You don't understand, m'lord," Coby insisted. "If you let a mage talk, they can get in your head. Make you do things. Make you think things. You gotta keep 'em quiet all the time. I woulda gagged her, but she bit Jerik."
"I understand," he said evenly, without so much as a drop of the anger and derision he felt, "that I asked you a question, serah. What act or acts of sorcery has this woman committed?"
"She started a fire," he said. After a moment he glanced around — somewhat shiftily, Sebastian thought — and added, "With her own bare hands!"
Sebastian's answering smile was benevolently amused, or so he hoped. "A feat managed easily enough by any man, woman, or child in this room with flint and a bit of kindling. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to… elaborate?"
Coby sent Sebastian a blank look. He glanced briefly at both the Revered Mother and Kiara before settling his gaze back on Sebastian. "Pardon, m'lord?"
"What did you see her set aflame?" he said, a bit slowly. Coby struck him as a greedy and cruel, yes, but also a bit slow. He did not want his words to be misunderstood. Not when so much rode on them.
"Oh. Right. Well, m'lord, it was a tree, m'lord."
"You saw this woman set fire to a tree?"
Coby's eyes went to the Revered Mother once more before darting again to Sebastian. The man's hesitation was enough to lead Sebastian to believe he was either lying, or about to lie. He waited to hear the words that passed his lips. "I didn't… exactly see her set fire to the tree, Highness."
The truth, then. Sebastian nodded once, encouragingly. "Go on. Tell me what you did see."
The man puffed up slightly, and it became instantly obvious Coby had told this tale before, which only served to leave an even worse taste in Sebastian's mouth. "Well, m'lord, I was mindin' my own business, on my way to see the blacksmith about shoes for my horse when out of nowhere, a flash of lightning shot down from the sky and hit that apple tree, just on the edge of Serah Perkins' farm. You… you know the tree, m'lord?"
"Aye," Sebastian answered, "I do." Few men in all Thedas grew apples sweeter than Farmer Perkins. Sebastian had climbed that tree more than once in his youth, and had eaten more than his share of under-ripe apples.
"I run up and this witch is already there, wavin' her arms and screamin' like a proper banshee." He rocked back on his heels and hooked his thumbs through his belt, as if he'd won something. Sebastian thought very hard about hitting him. He took a moment to imagine the assault in vivid detail and it became near impossible not to smile, even a little.
Coughing softly, he asked Coby, "And from this evidence you deduced this woman was responsible?"
"Aye, m'lord. Don't see how it could be otherwise."
Because lightning doesn't strike at random from the bloody sky now, does it? But he pushed his thoughts behind the calm, placid mask, smiling a little. "Very well," he said, turning his head slightly and addressing the templars. "Sers? If you would, evaluate the mage, please."
But Coby took a step forward, brow lowering in a dark glower. "Beggin' yer pardon, m'lord, but you can't trust them, neither. All the mages in Starkhaven've been hiding under the Chantry's roof for Maker knows how long now."
Sebastian did not sigh. He did not scrape a weary hand through his hair. He did not rise and level what would have been a truly satisfying punch to Coby's jutted chin. Instead, he explained patiently, "What mages there were in Starkhaven ran away long ago, serah. Most ended up in Kirkwall's Circle. I have spoken with the Revered Mother and she assures me she has harbored no mages—"
"Well, she wouldn't though, would she? Beggin' yer pardon."
"Are you?" Sebastian asked pointedly. When the man shuffled his feet and scratched at his stubbly chin, Sebastian clarified, "Are you begging my pardon? It seems to me, serah, my pardon is the least of the apologies you ought to beg for. On no stronger evidence than an upset woman and a burning tree, you have beaten a person within an inch of her life. You have slandered the Revered Mother, and through her, Starkhaven's Chantry and the Templar Order. You tread dangerously close to insulting me."
"I—" Sebastian let the man flounder under the full weight of his gaze. "You said you'd pay coin for witches, m'lord."
"I said nothing about witches, serah. Truthfully, I find the word coarse and inappropriate and I've a mind to punish the next person to use it. I am looking to apprehend apostate mages. Order must be maintained. In case you have forgotten, the Chantry is entrusted with that duty, where mages are concerned."
"M'lord—Your Highness—I—they were going to burn her, m'lord. Burn her in the street. Like the others. But I… I stopped them. I did. Not templars. Me."
"They were, were they? And yet you claim you were the one who discovered the mage? And her… sorcerous attack on Farmer Perkins' tree?"
The man's mouth opened and closed several times. Sebastian raised his eyes, sweeping his gaze across the assembled crowd. "Is Farmer Perkins here?"
He saw the crowd begin to shift, and finally an elderly man emerged, leaning heavily on a cane. Still, he bowed as much as his stiff back would allow. "Young Vael," he greeted. "It has been some time since last I caught you eating your fill on my lands."
Sebastian did allow a brief smile at this. "I believe I owe you some coin, serah."
Perkins waved a dismissive hand. "No matter, lad. Claiming I grew the young prince's favorite fruit made me more coin than the few apples you ate cost me."
Sebastian nearly heaved a sigh of relief. Here, at last, was someone approaching rational, he hoped. "Serah, it is gravely important you answer as truthfully as you are able—did you see this woman on your lands?"
Perkins scoffed, and Sebastian felt a brief sinking feeling in his gut. At least, until the man began to speak. "Of course I did, my young lord. Didn't I ask her to come myself?" The old man tapped himself lightly on the side of the leg with his cane. "Believe it or not, lad, I'm not quite as spry as I used to be. I've got more fruit on my trees than I know what to do with. Saw Mistress Shira in the marketplace and invited her round." The farmer turned a bushy-browed glower on Coby, who had the grace to look ever so slightly sheepish. "The storm came up suddenly, sure, but the weather's always mighty changeable this time of year. 'Twas a strike of lightning took out my poor tree, m'lord, and if Mistress Shira was screaming, 'twas because she thought herself lucky not to have been caught in the blast." He paused, coughing to clear his throat. "All of which I told young serah Coby, but he wouldn't listen."
No surprise there.
Perkins sighed heavily. "Your Highness, I've lived in Starkhaven all my days, and I haven't ever seen anything quite so ugly as these things I've seen this past while, save maybe the troubles what happened to your family. But I'll tell you this, m'lord, and I'll tell it you for free: no one knows a mage but a templar. 'Tis the gift they're given by the Maker Himself. Young Coby here can rant and rave 'til he's blue in the face, but he can't tell a mage." The old man reached up and scraped one hand thoughtfully through his beard. "Seems to me no proper mage'd stand for being treated the way Mistress Shira's been treated. If she could go and blow up my poor apple tree for no good reason, seems more likely she'd at least singe off Coby's hair for what he done to her."
Coby began to sputter a protest, but Perkins slammed the butt of his cane against the marble floor. Even Sebastian blinked as the resonating crack brought silence to the chamber. "No, lad," he said, warning clear, "you let the templars do their business. Until you can smite a mage with the divine power of the Maker Himself instead of with that meaty fist of yours, maybe you do us all a favor and keep your bloody mouth shut."
The silence that followed Perkins' outburst was palpable. Even Coby, the blood having drained almost entirely from his face, looked stunned and chastised and, though Sebastian would have thought it utterly impossible, ashamed.
"Serah Perkins," Sebastian said, keeping his voice even and not indulging the urge to smile. "Am I to understand, then, that you disagree with Serah Coby's charges against this woman?"
"Well, Your Highness, I think it's for the templars to decide once and for all, but I do know this: my legs and back might not be as limber as they used to be, but there's nothing wrong with my eyes, and I saw it clear as day — 'twas the Maker Himself sent down that bolt of lightning, not Mistress Shira."
Sebastian nodded once and gestured briefly at the guardsman who'd helped Shira to her feet; he then brought her forward as two of the templars flanking Revered Mother Illona stepped away from the rest. Their faces were grave, but Sebastian saw a brief look pass between them. It lasted less than a second, but it was long enough to tell Sebastian if Shira was any sort of mage, then he was the bloody Queen of Antiva.
"Serah," one of the templars intoned, "you have been accused of possessing magical ability and living beyond the Circle of Magi in direct opposition to the Chantry's laws and the word of Andraste herself. Do you understand this?"
Shira was close enough now that Sebastian saw the way she trembled from head to foot, her skirts quavering like the surface of an uneasy lake. "Y-yes."
"What have you to say for yourself?" the other templar said, his deep voice filling the hall, which had grown very silent.
Shira looked around her, as if she feared speaking out might earn her another blow to the face. When she saw Coby was well out of arm's reach, she blinked tears from her eyes and faced the templars again. Her ragged breath was loud. "I am no mage, sers."
"Do you submit to being tested?"
Shira was nodding even before the templar had finished asking the question. "Yes. I do. Anything. Please, anything. Just—yes. I do."
The templars nodded, and one of them stepped aside as the other approached. He lifted his hands, closed his eyes, and soon a pale light emanated from his hands, surrounding Shira in a pearlescent mist. Then, all at once the mist dissipated and Shira was left blinking at the comparative dimness.
The templar turned to face him. "The woman is no mage, Highness."
A helpless sob escaped her, and she bent her head, pressing her chin to her chest as she wept. Sebastian looked to his right, where Corwin stood, dutifully taking notes. He did not have to speak; the Steward took his meaning at once and gestured for a pair of servants to collect her. Shira gave a little cry and tried to scurry away from them as they approached, but her heavy skirts and bound hands hampered her. Sebastian raised a hand, and the servants stopped. Shira's pitiful cries were the only sound in the entire hall.
Shaking his head, Sebastian rose, and turned to Kiara. "May I borrow your knife?"
She blinked at him, but immediately handed him the belt with its safely-sheathed jewel-hilted blade. He smiled his thanks, and was relieved to see understanding in her eyes. She didn't quite smile—everything was too strained for smiles—but he knew she approved. Then he turned away, and descended the steps of the dais. The guards stood aside for him, though he noticed one broke off to stand directly at his elbow, and that guard's hand was firmly on the pommel of his sword.
He could feel the eyes of the crowd on him. He'd done something unexpected, and he could feel the resultant tension; it made the hair rise on his forearms. He ignored it. He ignored them. For the moment, they were not his primary concern.
Sebastian kept the knife safely in its sheath, and held out one hand in a gesture of placation. "Mistress Shira," he said softly.
She shied away even from him, her whole body trembling with the force of her terror. When her eyes darted up to meet his gaze, he saw she thought he would punish her now; he could see the whites all around her blue irises.
"I mean you no harm," he soothed. "I want to cut you free of those bindings, if you'll let me, and then you'll be taken—"
Another terrified sob interrupted him, but he pressed on, gentle and insistent. "Only for a meal and a bath and a change of clothes, Mistress. You have done nothing wrong here. You have committed no crime. I know it. These templars have confirmed it. You are under my protection. Do you understand?"
"They were—they were going to—they were—"
"I know. They were wrong." He pitched this for Coby's ears, and was gratified to see the man flinch. "No one is going to hurt you."
She sucked in a great, hitching breath and raised her eyes to his once again. "But I—you know what I—I don't… I don't deserve…"
Sebastian shook his head. "You are the victim here, today, Mistress Shira. Please, let me see to your comfort." He gave her a wry smile. "I believe I owe you a bowl of stew, after all."
She winced, but turned her shoulders so he could see to the bindings. The rope had left her wrists chafed and bleeding, and he felt the tremor of relief run through her as he carefully sliced through the fibers. When her hands were finally free again, they hung heavy at her sides. Sebastian glanced toward the waiting servants.
This time Shira went with them peaceably, though he noticed how careful she was to let no one touch her. She moved as if her ribs hurt, and he made a note to send the healers to see her. The same guard who'd helped her when she'd fallen fell in behind them, his hand at his blade. No one spoke. No one raised a hand against them. When they were gone, Sebastian ascended the dais once again. He returned Kiara's blade and she gave him a brief nod. When he turned back to the assembled crowd, he did not sit. He stood before them with his chin raised, scanning the faces. He saw a great deal of mortification, and the few angry faces were heavily outnumbered.
"Are there other mages for these templars to test?" Sebastian asked coolly. When no one spoke, he nodded. "Very well. Now you have seen what will happen at these… trials. Expect nothing different. Think twice before bringing me stories without proof. I might remind you Serah Perkins has the right of it: only templars are equipped to identify and contain mages. And there shall be penalties for those who dare lift their hands to innocent civilians." He turned his gaze on Coby. "You owe Mistress Shira compensation, serah. I will not have you jailed, though this is a mercy. I would be well within my rights to see you imprisoned for your behavior. I will consider what is just, and you shall pay it, even if it means garnishing your wages for the next decade. Do I make myself understood?"
The man blinked and staggered back, as though the seriousness of the situation had only just then occurred to him. Sebastian was of half a mind to keep him in the dungeons for a week or two as punishment for being a bloody idiot and a bully. Instead, he faced the assembly. "The business with the mages for today is thus concluded. We will hold court here in the same manner each day for several hours after luncheon. Is there anything else any of you would care to speak to me about?" Here, he sat again, and at last allowed himself to smile. "Truly, you have my undivided attention. I would rather hear your troubles from your own lips, and do what I can to ease them."
On the edge of his peripheral vision, he saw the Revered Mother echo his smile. And then a young woman tentatively began to speak of terrible potholes on the western road—so wonderfully mundane a problem, with so simple a solution—and Sebastian turned his attention to the task at hand: making certain his subjects knew he was their prince, that their troubles were his troubles, and above all, that they could trust him.
He knew the latter was the most challenging, but it was also the crux upon which his entire reign would hinge. So he listened. And they spoke.
