After he left Amelle at Fenris's bedside, Sebastian found himself at loose ends. What he wanted was to find Kiara and make her see sense, beg her to reconsider, plead, if pleading was what was required. He made it as far as the practice yard. She was there, of course, as he'd known she would be after a day like yesterday, but she wasn't alone. He'd expected her to be planting arrow after arrow into distant targets, but instead she was directing a practice duel between Ser Kinnon and Garreth Grayden. Even from a distance, he could see how drawn she looked, how pale. He'd put good money on a bet she'd not slept at all. Still, Sebastian did not step into the yard. He watched for a moment before turning away, heart heavy, careful she should not see him. It seemed impossible, impossible, he'd been hiding in this very doorway not a week ago, thinking how well she fit in.
Soon she would be gone. That seemed an impossible thought, too. One he could not bear to linger on. Not now. Not until after it was done.
He was most of the way back to his office—the last place he wanted to be, truly, but probably where he was needed most—when a voice halted him. "Your Highness?"
Sebastian turned, expecting Elias. His breath hitched and he closed his eyes, giving his head a brief shake. Not now. The guardsman who'd called out to him was not quite of an age with the dead captain, but his hair was certainly more salt than pepper, and his expression somehow managed grimness and concern at the same time. "Ser Hannis," Sebastian greeted, blinking to banish the memory of Maisie's steel sliding so Maker-forsaken effortlessly through Elias' leathers. Hannis had been on the list of knights Elias had trusted most; Sebastian knew the man had stood night-guard over Kiara's chambers on more than one occasion. Still, Sebastian found he could not be completely easy. Elias had trusted Maisie, too. "Is there trouble?"
The guard shifted slightly, his armor creaking. "No, my lord. Not… not as such. Or, rather, not that we think. It's just… it's after luncheon."
Sebastian's brows quirked. Food was the very last thing on his mind, but he supposed the hour was right. "Indeed, it is."
Hannis inclined his head. "It's… time for… court, Highness."
Sebastian took the man's meaning at last and blinked, startled. "You mean to say they've brought me a mage? After yesterday?"
Hannis shook his head. "See, that's the strange part, Highness. They've got no supposed mage with them. They heard you'd listen if they spoke. Apparently they've things to say. I—honestly, my lord, we weren't sure what to do. After yesterday."
Searing irritation swept through him, so violent it nearly turned his stomach. Did they not realize? Fenris was dying. Sebastian had a score of traitorous guardsmen in his dungeons, awaiting punishment. Every minute his blighted aunt and her son lived was another minute his reign was unstable. The casualties might have been mitigated by Amelle's presence, but his guard-captain was dead, and with him half a dozen loyal soldiers, and nearly a score of townsfolk. It was hardly the appropriate time for complaining.
Guilt followed hard on the heels of these thoughts, however. Was he not complaining, himself? About Kiara? About having to attend to the stacks of unpleasant duties awaiting him in his office? "I suppose I ought to be glad they trust me enough to speak," he said at last. "Very well. How many?"
"A dozen or so, my lord."
"Very well. Send for K—" Sebastian halted mid-syllable, choking on the word he would have spoken even as his temples began to throb.
"Highness?"
"C-Corwin," Sebastian managed, though it wasn't the name he'd meant to speak. "Send word to the Steward to let him know where I'll be. If it's only a dozen, perhaps we needn't use the great hall. There's no sense pulling as many guards off their regular duty as we'd need to in order to see that room properly defended. Not for a dozen. See these townsfolk comfortably to one of the antechambers, and I'll meet with them shortly."
Hannis offered a brief bow before turning on his heel and departing as quickly as his armor would allow.
Sebastian made his way more sedately, gathering his thoughts and taming his exasperation as he walked. By the time he turned the final corner, he felt almost himself again. At least he felt enough himself to be relatively certain he wouldn't snap or snarl unduly.
When he pushed open the door, followed by his guard, the people within all rose. Hannis had overestimated slightly, or several had chosen to return home rather than meet less publicly, because only eight people were within, and two of those were children holding hands as they hid behind their mother's skirts. The younger, probably only four or five, turned to the elder at his entrance, and whispered to her sister, "He don't look like a prince. Where's his crown?"
Sebastian smiled a small but genuine smile as he reached up and touched his bare brow.
The elder sister scowled. "You be quiet or we're all gonna get our heads cut right off."
"But he don't have a sword neither."
The elder sister glared. "His knights have swords, stupid."
"Girls," hissed their mother, with at least as much exasperation as Sebastian had been feeling not twenty minutes earlier. The girls gazed up at their mother with identical expressions positively screaming we didn't do nothing, Ma. Sebastian's small smile widened.
"Ma," whispered the littler one, "where's the princess? You said—"
"I said hush, sweetling," the mother said, even as she lowered herself into an awkward curtsey. The little girls, still holding tight to each others' hands, tried to mirror her, but mostly succeeded only in tripping over their own feet.
Sebastian glanced around, taking in the others. A young couple, also holding hands. The girl looked nervous; the lad defiant. A middle-aged elven woman watched him from beneath a wary brow. Beside her, a very old man, forced to rely on a cane to keep himself upright; for a moment Sebastian thought it was Farmer Perkins, but a second look revealed the error. At the old man's side stood the final of the room's occupants. He, too, made Sebastian look twice, because his loose blond hair and hunched shoulders immediately put him in mind of Anders. When the man glanced up, however, Sebastian saw his eyes were green, and though skittish, he did not have the drawn, haunted look he so often remembered Anders wearing.
Sebastian gestured for them to return to their seats. The old man did so at once, sighing happily as he sank into the well-padded armchair nearest the fire. The blond man moved to stand behind this chair, but did not sit himself. The young couple perched close together on a divan, and the middle-aged woman took the far end. The mother sent her children to play in the corner, but remained standing, and, having the distinct impression she was acting as mouthpiece, he faced her, clasping his hands loosely behind his back. "You have me at a disadvantage, Mistress," he said lightly. "My guard said you wished to speak with me?"
"We may be a slight overstatement," said the blond, without raising his eyes and with just a trace of sullenness. Sebastian could clearly see the whiteness of his knuckles on the back of the chair, however, and the line of his shoulders was tense. Fear, he realized, and discomfort. Curious.
"We did," the mother said. One of the little girls started laughing, and soon the other joined in. Their mother took a deep breath, and when she continued, it was with her voice pitched low. "You can leave if you like, Landan. We're none of us forcing you to be here."
The blond said nothing, bowing his head. The old man leaned back in his chair, reaching up and patting one of the younger man's clenched hands. After a moment, the mother said, "Your Highness, I'm First Enchanter Nadiah. Of the Starkhaven Circle. What remains of it."
Sebastian blinked. He heard the shift of steel in a scabbard behind him and thrust out his hand to halt Hannis before he did anything foolish. Swallowing his surprise, Sebastian said, "The Circle in Starkhaven burned more than seven years ago."
Nadiah nodded. "And most of the mages died, fled, or were relocated to Kirkwall. We… didn't."
Sebastian raised his eyebrows, utterly in disbelief. "You mean to say you simply… stayed? As if nothing had happened?"
A shadow crossed her face, quickly replaced by a calm sort of mask. "Not precisely."
For a moment, he thought about calling for Kiara after all—she was good at these complicated sorts of conversations. More than that, she was good at making friends and putting people at ease. Sebastian was horribly afraid he'd say the wrong thing or irreparably put his foot in his mouth.
Then he wondered if he shouldn't, perhaps, send for Cullen.
Instead, he sent a glance over his shoulder. Hannis' jaw was tight, and his hand still rested menacingly on the hilt of his blade. "Ser Hannis," he said, "there's no need. I believe if they'd meant me harm, it would already have been done. And you are no templar. There's little enough you could do. At ease."
Sebastian heard the man's teeth grind, but his hand left his blade. His eyes, however, remained wary. "Then perhaps I should—" Hannis began, clearly about to echo the thought Sebastian had just banished from his own mind.
"Ask the servant to fetch refreshments, if you would, Ser Hannis. I will be certain to ask, should I require anything else. Please wait outside, when you return. I am safe here."
The guardsman blinked at him before giving a slightly jerky salute.
When he turned back, Nadiah continued to regard him with a calm levelness, but Landan was staring. Evidently whatever reaction he'd expected had not included refreshments. Or trust. Sebastian pulled another chair close and sat, and this, at last, induced the First Enchanter—First Enchanter?—to follow suit. After sending a brief look over her shoulder to make certain the children were still playing, she folded her hands in her lap. "I don't know how familiar you are with the circumstances surrounding the fall of the Circle here, Highness," she said slowly, picking her words with care. "I know you were in Kirkwall then."
"And had been for some time, yes. I must own I know little enough. It was a fire, I believe?"
Again she nodded. "It was a fire. Magical in origin, of course; it would take magical fire to burn that hot and that hard, even with other mages trying to douse it." Her hands clenched briefly in the fabric of her skirts before flattening again. "As you are doubtless aware, factions are always in play. In the case of Starkhaven's doomed Circle, one of those factions took matters into their own hands. Many lives were lost. Many were destroyed. I suppose a scant few found the… the freedom they were so longing for. Myself, I believe the cost came too high."
Sebastian closed his eyes, remembering the red light filling the skies of Kirkwall. Red light followed by blood, and death, and a rain of stone.
"Yes," Nadiah continued. "I expect you do understand. Kirkwall's chantry was your home. Starkhaven's Circle was mine. And once it was… once it was taken, I found I did not want to leave the place that had been so familiar to me. I… forgive me, I certainly had no desire to go to Kirkwall. I suspect none of Starkhaven's mages wished it—we heard rumors even here about the way that Circle was run."
Worrying his lower lip, Sebastian frowned. "You are… young to be First Enchanter. Are you not?"
"I am. I was. We were so few in the beginning. Enchanter Anric claimed he was too old for the position." She smiled slightly, and the old man chortled.
"So I am, lass. So I am. You always did have a good head on your shoulders for organization. I hardly remember my pants most days."
Her smile turned wry. "I was chosen for my administrative abilities, as you see. And, I suppose, my ability to remember my pants. Landan was newly Harrowed, then, and Teneril—" The elven woman inclined her head, "—had no desire, though she was—and continues to serve—as a Senior Enchanter."
Sebastian pushed a hand through his hair and was about to ask how in the Maker's name they'd managed to remain unknown for so long when the younger child bounded over and launched herself into her unprepared mother's lap. Nadiah pressed a kiss to the little girl's brow.
"Is she—?"
Nadiah shook her head, her expression taking on a faint shadow. "These are my daughters, Nessa and—"
"I'm Loralie," said the little one. She held out one hand, all the fingers raised and the thumb tucked closed to her palm. "I'm four."
On a wry smile, Nadiah said, "She's Loralie. She's four. And she's going to run along back to her sister like she promised, isn't she?"
The little girl pouted for a moment, employing the saddest, biggest blue eyes Sebastian had ever seen, but to no avail. Nadiah only kissed her again, and whispered in her ear. Loralie nodded distractedly, giving Sebastian a thoughtful look. "Do you have ponies here?" she asked, clambering down from her mother's knees.
"I do."
Longing overspread the girl's face. Exasperation overspread her mother's. "Lucky."
"You can visit them if you like."
Her eyes widened. "Really?"
"Of course. Perhaps you may even go now, while your mother and I talk. You have to take your sister, though, and you have to promise to be on your best behavior. Can you do that?"
She nodded, and looked a little like she was going to faint. Sebastian smiled, noting the shadow of fear on Nadiah's face. Kiara would have known how to put the woman at ease. He had to suffice with a smile he hoped looked bolstering and not like he intended to hold the woman's children hostage. He supposed she came by her fear honestly enough—First Enchanter of a secret Circle she might be, but the Chantry still took children away from mages. The thought made him uncomfortable.
He was saved having to speak further by the arrival of the refreshments. Sebastian sent the servant to fetch Tasia, because what he really wanted was to send for Kiara. When the maid arrived, she gave him a strained look, but curtsied.
"Tasia, meet Loralie and her sister Nessa. This is their mother, Nadiah. The girls would like to see the stables."
Tasia wrinkled her nose slightly. "Certainly. Do you want me to fetch my lady?"
The words were uttered innocently enough, but Sebastian heard the underlying tone loud and clear. "She's with Lord Grayden, I believe, and Ser Kinnon. I wondered if you might have an hour to spare in her place?"
Tasia curtsied again, her eyes rather defiantly never leaving his. "As you wish, Highness. Come along girls. I'll give you a tour."
"Ponies!" Nessa cried, clapping her hands.
Tasia extended her hands and the girls immediately clung to her. Loralie, never losing her wide-eyed wonderment, gazed up at the maid. "Are you the princess?"
"Certainly not." Tasia shot him another pointed look, which he ignored.
Loralie's disappointment was plain. "But you're so pretty."
Tasia smiled, shaking her head. "Thank you very much for the compliment, sweetling, but I'm afraid there's more to it than that."
There's more to it than that. Sebastian inhaled deeply, and when the children departed, taking their chatter and youth and brightness with them, the air felt heavier, the room darker, though nothing had changed. Isn't that the truth of it?
"Are they mages?" Sebastian asked.
Nadiah ignored the refreshments, squeezing her hands tightly together in her lap. "They're too young. It will be years yet before their magic shows, if it's there. Their father is—was—their father was not a mage. I… I met and married him after. He knew, of course. He knew everything."
The grief was fresh, and so raw Sebastian felt his own breath catch in sympathy. Before he could ask—or deflect—the old man explained, "Lad thought it was her they had yesterday and went tearing off for the square. Or so we were told later. By the time he realized it wasn't his Nadie, it was too late. One of the arrows."
Sebastian could see the resemblance. Nadiah was older than Amelle, but her short, dark hair was not yet greying, and her figure was similar enough to cause confusion, especially from a distance. And if her husband had believed his wife truly about to be killed—
He swallowed hard, remembering Kiara dying on the floor of the great hall, while he faced the pretender and all the forces of Starkhaven because it was all he knew how to do to try and save her. His story had had a happier ending, perhaps, but it was borne of the same initial desperation.
Nadiah surreptitiously wiped at her tears with the back of her sleeve until Sebastian reached across the distance between them and offered a handkerchief. She stared at it a moment before accepting it.
"How did you survive so long undetected?" Sebastian asked.
This time it was the elven woman, Teneril, who answered. "Anric's brother. He has a farm. Not too close to either Circle or city center. And they're old. Few—if any—remembered the family connection."
"Perkins?" Sebastian choked, thinking again of the resemblance he thought he'd seen. Anric's lips lifted in an amused smile.
"Nothing wrong with your memory, lad."
Sebastian smiled faintly. "Nothing wrong with my eyes, perhaps. You know he was here on the first day of the courts? You… share a resemblance."
Anric snorted indelicately. "Aye, we're both old." He tapped the side of his leg with his cane. "And dependent on our sticks." Shrugging, he added, "It was easy enough to convince folks I was a cousin come from the country with my grandchildren and our housekeeper."
Teneril rolled her eyes. "Always the elf who has to play housekeeper."
Anric smiled fondly. "Now, Ten, we never made you clean a thing and you know it. People see what they expect to see. Otherwise you could've been a granddaughter, too. Andraste's arse, they believed Landan and Nadie were siblings and they don't look a bloody thing alike."
Sebastian shook his head. "You were the only ones who stayed?"
A shadow darkened Teneril's expression, but she explained, "In the beginning it was just the four of us, yes. We… decided to stick together. Safety in numbers, and none of us wanted to be alone. An apostate's life is a lonely one, and… not what any of us wanted." She gestured toward the young woman sharing her divan. "We found Clara a year after the Circle burned; she came into her power late, and we became her Circle. Clara wasn't the last to come to us, though and—"
"You'll not take her to the templars," declared the lad sitting at Clara's side, still holding her hand tightly, glowering at Sebastian as though he expected him to produce templars from thin air. "She's my wife now. We married last spring. She belongs here. She belongs with me. They'll not have her."
"No one's taking anyone," Clara replied, and though her voice was soothing, her eyes were frightened and they seemed to silently plead with him, even across the distance of the chamber.
Sebastian wanted to reassure her, wanted to say they'd always have a safe haven in his city, but he could not bring himself to form the words. The Revered Mother had allowed Amelle her freedom with strings; he could not count on the same happening with these mages. Amelle's words rang in his head: When a demon whispers to you that the thing you want most to do is a wonderful idea and, yes, you should do it right away and very quickly… it is best to refrain, no matter how badly it hurts to do so.
As far as he knew, these mages had refrained for more than seven years.
Surely that had to count for something.
Taking a deep breath, he asked, "How many mages call Starkhaven home? I assume you're not the lot."
Nadiah found her voice again in time to answer, "There are a few others… apprentices, children, but most we sent away when the recent… trouble started in the city. We all… we had reasons for staying, and thought it would be… too obvious, otherwise. They are safe where they are. Safer than… they're safe where they are."
"Another of Serah Perkins' holdings?"
She smiled weakly and nodded. "He has accumulated a fair bit of land, over the years. All told, this Circle numbers a little more than a score. Ten Harrowed mages. A half dozen nearly ready for their Harrowings. Another half dozen apprentices."
Leaning forward, Sebastian rested his elbows on his knees, folding his hands loosely. "You've lived in secrecy for years, First Enchanter. Why come to me now? Why reveal yourselves? You… you must know the climate toward mages is hardly… favorable."
Nadiah regarded him calmly, carefully, for several long moments, hardly blinking. He could still see her grief writ plain upon her face, but he thought he saw hope there, too, and perhaps even something like trust. "Yesterday, that mage was allowed to go free."
Sebastian winced. "With the caveat that she be under guard, I hope you recall. Templar guard."
Again Nadiah nodded. "Your Highness, I was brought to the Circle when I was seven years old. I nearly burned my family's house down. My ma? She didn't want me to go. She didn't want to give me up. But I couldn't control my power—children can't. Do I think it's entirely fair, the way things are run now? No. I don't think children should be taken from their parents, and woe betide anyone who attempts to take mine from me. Do I think a Circle can be a home? Do I think the right and proper place of a Circle is to teach and guide those too young and frightened to know what to do with the massive responsibility the Maker has—for whatever reason—heaped on their narrow little shoulders? I do. I also believe templars were not always jailers. More than one templar lost their life trying to protect the innocents being burned; they do not have to be our enemies."
Sebastian nodded, and then shook his head. "And what would you have of me?"
Nadiah glanced at her companions before continuing, "The worlds of politics and faith and magic are meant to stay separate, Highness, but your position… your position is a unique one. We hoped you might speak with the Revered Mother on our behalf. Her actions yesterday were… hopeful."
"Her hands may be as tied as mine, should the Divine intervene."
Nadiah tilted her head, her gaze sharp, missing nothing. "And if the Divine should order you to turn over your lady's sister?" Her smile, small and sad, stole the sting from her words. "I thought not. You have already taken steps to ensure Starkhaven's climate—toward mages, and toward cooperation between factions that do not always see eye to eye—changes for the better, Your Highness. I suppose in the end, that is why we're here. We are not criminals, Your Highness. We are tired of hiding. We want to help."
Amelle's words came back to him then. "Do you—I don't suppose you have lyrium potion?"
Whatever Nadiah had thought he was going to say, clearly this was not it. She blinked. Anric said, "I imagine she did run herself dry after the show yesterday."
"Her—the elf who tried to save her. She is attempting to heal him, but—"
"Maker's Light," Teneril said softly, "is a recipe that ought to be burned. Burned and forgotten. It resists magic. Surely you know this. Surely she does. All the healing magic in the world—"
"Teneril," Nadiah interrupted. "Hope is potent. It is not our place to steal it from those who need it most."
Teneril glanced down at her folded hands. "Despair is potent too, Nadie."
"We have some stores of lyrium," Nadiah said. Her voice broke a little, and Sebastian knew she would have sat at her husband's bedside pouring magic into him if she'd been able to do it. Even if the underlying belief was that it would be futile. "We are none of us healers, but we do have potions."
"It would be nice," said Anric, "to have a healer again."
"I cannot speak for Amelle," Sebastian said. "I do not yet know what her plans will be when… when everything is said and done."
She will leave with her sister, with Isabela and Varric, with Cullen.
Swallowing this bitter thought, he added, "I will contact the Revered Mother as soon as I'm able, and if you would send someone with the potions—"
"You're not going to keep us here?" Landan blurted. "Nadie said—"
"We came here willing to remain as… a token of good faith," Nadiah added. "We understand the position knowledge of our existence places you in, Your Highness. We know we must be considered apostates and treated as such."
Sebastian rose, pacing to the hearth, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. As far as diplomatic nightmares went, this was a fine one. I want to see Starkhaven a place of peace, a haven, Kiara had said to him. I want to see you rule over such a place. "You came to me under a flag of friendship, First Enchanter," he said at last. "I would not insult you by treating you as anything less. I would not see your Circle made prisoner. We must start as we mean to go on."
Nadiah inclined her head, but not before he saw the relief cross her face.
"Then, for now, we shall continue as we were before, Your Highness, and trust you to arrange a meeting with the Revered Mother. Perhaps after the trial?"
"Indeed," he agreed.
He only hoped Illona would be as amenable to a healing of the rift between Chantry and Circle. To friendship.
He only hoped the Divine would not see them all in chains for daring to dream of such healing.
#
Kiara couldn't help glancing toward the palace. Again and again she caught herself doing it, always when it was too late to check herself. Again and again she chastised herself for looking. If she'd been the one practicing with sword in hand, Kinnon would have defeated her handily several times over. Even Garreth would have won without much trouble. Still, she couldn't stop. She didn't want to stop. She wanted to look up and, like she'd done a week ago—only a week? A lifetime—see Sebastian watching her with a smile on his face.
Once, for just a moment, as Kinnon allowed Garreth to warily circle and hesitate and strike, Kiara almost thought she saw the familiar flash of sunlight on white clothes, glinting in auburn hair, but then she blinked and the echo of color was gone, leaving only barren grey walls under a barren grey sky. Her heart sank. She cursed her heart for sinking.
"My lady?"
She didn't realized she'd stopped paying attention altogether until she shook her head slightly and saw Garreth and Kinnon both staring at her with equally concerned expressions on their faces. Kinnon was hardly winded. Garreth, on the other hand, wavered on his feet, leaning heavily on the wooden practice sword, sweat dripping into his eyes from the ends of his dampened hair. Kinnon clapped a hand to the lad's shoulder and gave him a brief, companionable shake. "Off to the bath with you, I think, my lord," the knight said. "I'll see the lady Kiara back to her rooms."
"I… I can…" the young lord said, but when he blinked it took too long for his eyes to open again. "Perhaps I…"
"You did well," Kiara said. Neither mentioned her lack of attention. "Perhaps… perhaps tomorrow we'll work on your bow."
Garreth's lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but nearly. Close enough for her to feel some relief. "Best give it a couple of days, my la—Kiara. I am reasonably certain I won't be able to move tomorrow."
She wanted to assure him they had plenty of time. She couldn't. It was the second day of Fenris'… it was the second day. The third day couldn't be thought about, not yet. Not now. Jessamine would die a few days after that.
And then she'd leave. She'd have to leave, or she'd never go at all.
After… no. She would think of none of that until after the third day.
After too long a pause, she said, "Find me when you're ready. I'll… find me when you're ready."
Garreth nodded, looking relieved, but Kinnon's expression remained shadowed, and she couldn't pretend to ignore the way his eyes watched her so carefully. Like she was going to break if he looked away. Like he could protect her from that breaking if he just watched closely enough. Perhaps he wasn't so very far off the mark. He knew what Garreth did not, after all. He knew everything. And when the young lord had tottered away on wobbling legs, Kinnon laid a gentler hand on her shoulder.
He didn't say anything at all.
Kiara bowed her head, closing her eyes and breathing deep. It was too much. Fenris. Amelle. Elias. Maisie.
Sebastian.
Lost things. Broken things.
On a sharp inhale, she lifted her chin and shook her head sharply, as if shaking might clear it of the pain of grief. "I need to get out of here," she said fervently. "I need to go."
Kinnon's fingers tightened briefly. "Now, my lady? Al-already?"
She blinked to keep yet more tears from falling. "No. Not Starkhaven. Not back to Kirkwall. Not yet. I just… I look around and I…"
She couldn't continue.
"I understand, my lady."
Kiara met his gaze and looked at him, truly. Hidden in the furrow of his brow and behind the concern in his eyes, hidden in the set of his shoulders and the weight of his hand, hidden in the way his lips twisted and in the shadows beneath his eyes she saw he did. He understood completely.
His Starkhaven had changed, too. And it would never be the same.
Kiara caught sight of a pair of ladies moving through the practice yard. Neither of them wore archery dresses, she noted, and even at a distance she was fairly certain the taller of the pair was Aileene Caddell. Kiara suspected only something particular would bring Aileene into the practice yard. The ladies paused, tittering behind their raised hands, their eyes fixed on her. Something very particular indeed. It took a great deal of restraint to keep from lifting her bow and putting an arrow through one of the other—or both at once!—of their ridiculously impractical hairstyles.
Kinnon sighed when he saw where her eyes were turned; sighed and then rolled his eyes. "Where's a drunk templar when you need him?"
Kiara almost laughed.
"Very well," Kinnon said, turning his back on the giggling intruders. "It'll mean my head if we're caught, my lady, but I have an idea."
#
Kiara hated helmets. She always had. She'd earned many a lecture from Amelle—and Carver, for that matter—when more often than not she forwent them altogether. Carver had always grumbled and shouted, and on one memorable occasion—just before the battle of Ostagar—forcibly jammed a boiled leather cap over her hair. "You don't have to give them a shining bloody target," he'd muttered, even as she caught the faintest echo of fear in his eyes. So she'd worn the blighted thing. That time. Amelle's lot was not to grumble, and she didn't have Carver's brute strength. Amelle wheedled. She pleaded. Begged, even. Amelle was always hard to resist when she begged, and she knew it.
But in spite of it all, Kiara rarely wore helmets. Much as she could appreciate the way one might keep her from getting brained on the battlefield, she couldn't abide the way they interfered with her line of sight, or how heavy they were, or how constrictive.
In this case, she supposed the irritation of wearing one was a necessary evil. Still, the heavy helm was a far cry even from the leather caps she would occasionally be persuaded to wear on particularly unpleasant missions. She and Kinnon were scarcely ten minutes away from the palace before her neck began to ache abominably. She had to turn her head completely—bloody helmets—in order to see Kinnon striding along beside her, his own face concealed by a similar helm.
She couldn't fault the disguise, however. Clad in the armor of the palace guard, no one gave them a second glance (Kiara suspected the set she wore had, at one time, belonged to Maisie; she and the disgraced guardswoman were of a size and Kiara didn't ask when Kinnon mysteriously produced a full uniform, complete with armor, that just happened to fit). They might as well have been invisible. Other guards nodded at them, but no one stopped them, and no one asked questions they'd have been hard-pressed to answer.
It had been a very long time since Kiara had been able to traverse streets without being recognized.
It was almost like freedom.
At first she let Kinnon set the pace and the direction. He took an unfamiliar path, down toward the docks. She noticed how careful he was to avoid the chantry, and the courtyard that had nearly been the end of so many things the day before.
The courtyard that had been the end of so many things. When she blinked within the safe confines of her helmet, she felt hot tears spill down her cheeks. Fenris, running toward the platform. Fenris, startled as he looked down at blood seeping out between his fingers. Fenris, with his hand—no, she still couldn't bear that thought. Fenris, falling.
Sebastian, confused.
No, she couldn't bear that thought, either.
Amelle was alive. Heartbroken, perhaps, or about to be, but alive. Kiara held tight to that, to the knowledge that Fenris falling—oh, Maker, Fenris falling—had not been in vain. Everything could have gone so differently, so poorly… so much worse. It twisted her gut to think of it in such terms, but she couldn't help it. Amelle was alive.
Everything else might be broken, but at least Amelle was alive.
Swallowing hard, Kiara forced herself to step away from that darkness, to look out instead of in. Though she was familiar with the city by night, she found herself surprised to see how different Starkhaven appeared by day. The ugliness of what had been done in the city's streets hadn't been completely erased by the events of the day before, or by the bounty courts that had put an end to the monstrous burnings, but still Kiara saw a marked difference from her first impression. Once-shuttered shops were once again open for business. Townsfolk nodded and met each other's eyes and even murmured greetings. If the nods were slight or the greetings subdued, at least they existed. She took some hope from that. She had to.
Turning a corner, they entered a fountained square positively bustling in comparison to the rest of the streets they'd traversed. Kiara's breath caught as she was overwhelmed by the sound of voices, and above the voices, shrieking cries. Half expecting a wooden platform or torches raised, it took a moment to realize the voices were loud but conversational, and the high-pitched cries came from the laughing throats of children playing a game that seemed mostly comprised of running in circles and using whatever they could find—fountain, market stalls, tall adults—as defensive barriers.
One such child nearly bowled Kiara over completely—and Maker, if she fell in this armor she'd probably never be able to get up again—as he darted behind her and yelled something incomprehensible at one of the other children chasing him. He laughed, breathless.
Kinnon, of course, was instantly on alert, but before he could say anything, or, worse, do anything to dissuade the child from his game, Kiara put out a hand and shook her head. Or at least she tried to shake her head; she wasn't certain how successful the gesture was, given the bloody weight on top of it. She met his dark gaze and tried to convey her amusement with her eyes. After a moment she heard him snort lightly, and then the little boy was off again, shrieking with laughter.
"Children," Kinnon muttered, but with laughter in his tone.
"Maker bless them," Kiara said. "Would that we all could heal as they do."
Even she could hear the tone of longing in her own voice, and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from saying more, from revealing more.
"I'm sorry, my lady," Kinnon whispered, just loudly enough she could hear but no one else would be able to. "This isn't helping, is it?"
"On the contrary, Kinnon," she replied, watching the children run and laugh and play and heal. "I believe it is exactly what I needed to see."
"Then, do you think… perhaps you might—"
She shook her head again. Or tried to. "Kinnon."
"We don't want you to go, my lady. That's all. It might take time, but eventually—"
"Sebastian doesn't need eventually. He needs security."
"That's what he has guards for, my lady. Begging your pardon."
Kiara sighed. "It's more complicated—"
"I think you're making it more complicated," he said. "What's healing but learning to adapt?"
She bent her head, the weight of the helm heavy. One of the children darted behind her again, screaming. "Come along," she said. "I… I'd like to check on Joff before we head back. Make sure he's okay."
"My lady," he said, ostensibly agreeing, but she heard the reproach in his tone. And just for a moment, privately, she let herself consider that he might, in the end, be right.
