Amelle stared at Kiara, trying to tamp down on the rush of adrenaline as what her sister was saying began to sink in. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to breathe. Spero slept, perfectly still in her hands, purring softly. She focused on the gentle vibrations against her fingertips.
"S-say that again, Kiri?" she managed. Breathe, rabbit. Slowly. In. Out. Breathe.
Kiara shot her a look that could only be described as skeptical. It certainly wasn't worried. Perhaps she'd heard wrong after all. But when Kiara spoke, the words were the same. "I said, Revered Mother Illona would like to speak with you. She apologizes for not making a point to see you sooner."
"Oh."
The day had started out full of promise. The barest whisper of autumn chilled the air pleasantly, and the sky was clear and cloudless. Fenris was in the practice yard, training again, only too glad to be outside with a sword in his hands. Amelle certainly wasn't about to come between her elf and his sword, not when he appeared to have made a full recovery, so, instead, she'd made her way—only getting lost three times—to the kitchens, where she'd sweet-talked one of the cooks into helping her procure a picnic.
And now here she was, sitting upon an old blanket in the garden, the kitten in her lap as she waited for Fenris, armed with a hamper full of food she now—thanks to her sister—had absolutely no appetite to eat.
"Do you know… why?" The last word came out on a wheeze. Her heart was beating too fast, thundering against her ribcage, as her mind raced, already thinking of escape routes. The mountain path would certainly be impassable by now, even if they could get the horses together in time. If Isabela were still in the city, she'd be half-tempted to beg for a ride to… to Antiva, or Denerim, or… or anywhere. Seasickness be damned.
Kiara's fingers on the back of her hand brought Amelle's attention back, away from the desperate plans. "Breathe, Mely. You look a little like I've told you you've an appointment with the headsman."
Amelle didn't laugh. She did take a deep breath in and a slow one out again. "Right. Breathing. Sorry."
Kiara curled her fingers around Amelle's, giving them a squeeze. Amelle set Spero down in the grass where she padded into a spot of sunlight and tumbled over. "Maker's balls, you're like ice." She frowned and rubbed Amelle's hands between hers. "Isn't the opposite usually the problem?"
"Kiri. You haven't answered my question."
Kiara's hands stopped rubbing at Amelle's, but her sister still held her hand. "I would rather not say too much."
"Is there… is there trouble?"
"If there were, don't you think I would've warned you by now?"
Amelle could not argue with this rationale, and so she gave Kiara a hesitant nod. Her sister, however, shot her a look and said, "My, what a vote of confidence."
"I'm sorry. I just… wasn't really expecting it. I thought it was safe to relax a little."
"It's still safe to relax, Mely," Kiara said with a small smile, reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from Amelle's forehead. "She just wants to talk, I promise."
"It's not the talking that has me worried. It's what she might want to talk about."
"Does it make it better or worse that she wants you to go with Cullen?"
Amelle wasn't certain how to answer that, actually. So she frowned. And it did not help in the slightest when her sister snickered and said, "My, I hope she isn't going to chastise you for your garden antics. The Chantry does so frown on fraternization—"
"Kiara. That is not funny."
Kiara grinned, reaching for the picnic basket only to have Amelle wrench it out of her reach, hiding it protectively behind her back. Even this obstruction did not dim her sister's smile. "I beg to differ. It's very funny. To me. Oh, to have been a fly on the wall. Or in the garden. As it were."
Amelle glowered. Very hard. And made a vaguely threatening gesture, as though summoning fire or a lightning bolt was only one more of Kiara's giggles away. "Bloody Cullen and his inability to shut up when drunk."
"He hasn't had much practice."
Amelle narrowed her eyes. "He's not the only one who has trouble shutting up when drunk, Kiri. And some people ought to have had a great deal more practice at it by now. Considering the amount of wine she drinks. And how bloody chatty she gets when she drinks it. Fenris says you've had any number of illuminating conversations while under the influence. Though why you felt the need to talk about your sister's love life—or lack thereof—is completely beyond me."
Kiara had the grace to blush. "Yes, well. I never said he was the only one. And it's not my fault my little sister went and fell for the one person I never bothered keeping secrets from." On a sigh, she leaned back on her hands and glanced up. Sunlight through the turning leaves left autumn-colored shadows across her face. "I swear on all that's holy, if I thought Illona was planning on locking you up and throwing away the key, I would not be laughing about it."
"I don't… I don't entirely trust her, Kiara."
"Good," Kiara replied, her grin fading. "She may wear a Revered Mother's vestments, but she's a politician, too. You can't trust a politician."
"No?" Amelle asked lightly, arching a brow.
"Except me," Kiara amended, though her smile did not quite return to its earlier brightness. "And Sebastian." A furrow creased her brow. "And I wouldn't entirely trust us, either."
A chill fell that had little to do with the breeze or the changing leaves. After a moment Kiara sighed and pushed herself to her feet. "I don't mean that," she said softly. "You can always trust me. Us. But Illona would be a fool to do so, and she's no fool."
Amelle sighed, trying not to fidget. "When does she want us?"
Kiara's expression turned wry. "Yesterday, probably. You know how these politicians are. But this afternoon will do."
Amelle felt her heart begin to race again. "That soon, then?"
Her sister's eyebrow twitched. "Mely, best get it over with. You'd only worry yourself sick and sleepless if she didn't want to see you until next week. No matter how many times I tell you to breathe. And not to fret. I don't want you sick and sleepless at my wedding. Honestly, I think she's only waited this long because of how busy things have been."
"I'm not… fretting."
"And I'm not hiding from my wedding planners."
"Fine. I may be fretting a little bit."
Kiara bent at the waist—and oh, how Amelle envied the ease of her sister's movements, corsetry and all—and pressed a brief kiss to Amelle's brow. "Don't fret. Not even a little bit. I'll see you later. Because you will absolutely not be locked in some Starkhaven version of the Gallows. Okay? Not now and not ever. So enjoy your picnic."
"Does a prisoner ever enjoy truly his last meal, do you think?"
"Maker, but you're melodramatic. Where do you get it from?" Then Kiara reached down and tousled Amelle's hair.
Amelle let out a distressed shriek. "Tasia's going to blame me for that."
Kiara winked. "You never know. She might blame Fenris."
Frowning, Amelle attempted to smooth down her mussed hair. "Oh, she might. But it's still me who'll get all her grief. She tends not to talk to Fenris overmuch." Here, she let out a wistful sigh. "Lucky him."
"Maybe you should practice the silent glowering thing."
"You say that like I haven't been. He'll always be better at it than I am."
"Clearly it's a natural talent."
Amelle smiled, and then as she pictured the silent glowering in question, she felt her smile widen slightly. Kiara chortled.
"One of many, if the look on your face is anything to go by."
"Oh, shut up."
There was the faint crunch of grass and the rustle of leaves and by the Maker's grace alone, Kiara didn't say anything more on the subject. Which, as it turned out, was truly a blessing — mere seconds later Fenris came along the path that curved into the small garden niche she'd chosen. He'd come straight from the training field, as evidenced by the flush of exertion upon his face and his sweat-damp hair. Amelle swallowed hard.
Kiara brushed nonexistent dirt from her skirts as she announced, "And that, I believe, is my cue. Alas, I've tormented Tasia and the wedding planners with my vanishing act long enough." Again she leaned down and brushed a kiss across Amelle's cheek, taking just a moment to whisper in Amelle's ear, "And speaking of the look on your face…"
Amelle swatted at her sister, who only giggled, clapping Fenris on the shoulder as she left.
Fenris watched Kiara go, then slowly lowered himself to the ground, joining Amelle. "I have the distinct feeling I'll regret it if I ask what that was all about."
Amelle gave a snort as she opened up the picnic basket and began unloading its contents on the blanket she'd spread out. "That's only because you know my sister."
He narrowed his eyes at her and Amelle knew right away he could tell something wasn't completely right. "Amelle. What is the matter?"
Amelle held a bottle of wine in her hands, fingers tracing the wax seal upon it. "Nothing, if you ask Kiara."
Gently, he took the bottle from her and wove his fingers with hers. She sucked in a tiny involuntary gasp at the warmth and strength, even when he was doing something so inconsequential as holding her hand. "And if I ask you?"
Amelle sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand. Setting down the wine bottle entirely, Fenris captured that one too, leaving Amelle with little choice other than to look him in the eye. "Revered Mother Illona wants to meet with me."
Fenris went entirely still. His fingers tightened minutely around hers and Amelle felt suddenly justified in her reaction. "That was my reaction too. Only more."
"But Hawke isn't concerned?"
"She promised me they wouldn't be…" She looked down at their joined hands, then scooted closer to him. "She promised me I wasn't in danger. She says Illona only wants to talk."
"If that is what Hawke promised, then—"
"I know. But at the end of the day, I'm still an apostate supposed to be in the custody of a templar Knight-Commander who lied about being the Knight-Commander and she wants to see both of us." Gently pulling one of her hands free, she reached into the basket and withdrew a small basket of blackberries. "I don't see how that can bode well."
Fenris' silence was thoughtful as he plucked a blackberry from the basket and considered it a moment before pressing it against Amelle's lips. She took the berry, shivering as his thumb brushed her bottom lip. The end-of-season fruit burst into sweetness upon her tongue as she bit down.
"Perhaps it is not for you to know," he told her, fingers lingering just under her chin.
Amelle's answering smile was crooked as she swallowed. "Maker. You're beginning to sound like Sebastian."
Fenris smiled one of her favorite smiles, small and perfect and private. It was one of the expressions she was certain he only ever wore for her, and it thrilled her.
And even that thrill was nothing to the sweet warmth that pooled in her belly when his fingers tilted her chin ever so gently, allowing him to bring his lips down to hers. Her eyes fluttered closed as she reached up and cupped one cheek in her hand, deepening the kiss.
As far as distractions went, she had to admit this was a good one.
#
Even though Amelle had allowed Tasia free rein, she still felt drab and underdressed and like stray pieces of grass might be trapped in her hair, waiting for the most inopportune moment to make themselves known. She folded her hands in front of her to keep from fidgeting, but even this was enough to make Cullen glance at her slantwise and raise his eyebrows.
"Are you certain you're well?" he asked. "You look… feverish."
"I'm fine. I'm a little—aren't you nervous?"
He blinked, tilting his head. "Not particularly."
"I'm a mage, Cullen. An apostate mage. Who has been summoned by Starkhaven's Revered Mother. Who not only knows who I am, but where to find me. It goes against every bloody instinct I—how aren't you nervous?"
"Your sister did not seem to think the Revered Mother wished you—us—any ill by calling this conference."
"My sister," Amelle huffed, tightening her hands in her skirts. Then she cleared her throat. She could see the white walls of the chantry rising above the next turn, and she slowed her steps. Cullen matched his pace to hers, but she didn't miss the knowing half-smile pulling at his lips. "It's not funny, Cullen. Maker, between you and Kiara and Fenris all thinking this is some kind of jest, I just don't understand. Apostate. You know, anathema. Duty. All those things."
"Amelle, she's not intending to have you clapped in irons."
"But is she intending to have her templars smite me into the next age?"
"I seriously doubt it. She has… dealt with me in good faith. I do not see why she would treat you any differently now."
Amelle scowled. "But… what if she knows?"
"Knows what?"
Amelle lowered her voice. She didn't actually think the Revered Mother had spies listening in, but a lifetime of caution created habits that were hard to break. "That you lied. That you weren't dealing with her in good faith."
Cullen paused mid-step, nearly stumbling. And then he did the most improbable thing. He laughed. "Amelle. You're not serious. Oh, Maker, I'm sorry. She does know. She… she knew I was lying even as I spoke. She'd already had news from Kirkwall."
She put out an arm and would have fallen if Cullen hadn't grabbed it and hauled her upright. He felt stable and secure and steady under her trembling hand, but she could not wrap her mind around his words. She'd been dreading the day the Revered Mother discovered the truth, and now, if what he was saying was… "You… you didn't think this was something I should have been told? Oh, by the way, Amelle, Revered Mother Illona knows I lied to her face but she seems to be okay with it?"
The mirth disappeared at once. "I wasn't aware you didn't know. Forgive me, Amelle. She—before Jessamine's trial the Revered Mother came to speak with me. She wanted me to know that she knew, and that she… it seems strange to put it into these words, but she… approved. As much as she was able to do."
"Which is, I suppose, why we're neither of us, I don't know, imprisoned according to Chantry law?"
"Amelle…"
She shook her head, caught somewhere between angry and confused. "What in the Maker's name does she want to see us for, then?"
Cullen looked taken aback. "I-I am not certain."
"Don't you have the first idea how bloody worried I've been?"
He blinked at her and said, clearly astonished, "About me?"
"Of course about you, you sodding great idiot! How in the Void do I know what the Chantry does with… with wayward templar former acting Knight-Commanders? I've been waiting for the axe to fall since the moment you took responsibility for me."
"You were worried," Cullen said again, "about me?"
"I also called you an idiot, and I meant that, too." She glared up at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "I thought I was going to have to follow you back to Kirkwall—"
Cullen's stare upgraded to a gape. "Maker's blood, Amelle! Why in Andraste's name would you ever think that was a good idea?"
"I never said I thought it was a good idea," she corrected him. "In fact, I'm fairly certain it was one of my worst in recent memory." Her glare subsided with a sigh. "But I wasn't about to let you go it alone."
The way Cullen was looking at her made Amelle begin to wonder if a third eye or a second head had exploded into being somewhere on her person. Finally, he said, "Amelle," and she could hear all he'd loaded into those two familiar syllables.
"You're my friend, Cullen. I wasn't going to leave you to your fate, duty be damned. Don't you understand? I had no idea what was going to happen to you!"
For a moment, Cullen looked poised to argue with her, but a something appeared to occur to him and he let out a deep sigh tinged with wryness. "I do understand. All too well, as it happens."
The conversation between them felt so long ago, and all Amelle could remember of it was the wild fear making her chest too tight and the smell of singed fabric. Then she looked up at him said with a small shrug, "What friend would do anything less?"
"But to plan on returning to Kirkwall with me? Under those conditions? That's beyond friendship. That's lunacy."
"And I suppose you would have smited me to the Void to stop me?"
"You know, I'm fairly certain it's smote."
She tilted her chin up. "I'm being serious here."
At her tone, Cullen bowed his head and shook it, letting out a deep breath as he did. "I am sorry. Some things I would dare not presume someone would do for me, particularly considering such a risk."
"Well," Amelle replied, frowning at and then plucking off a lone grey cat hair from her sleeve. "I never said it was a flawless plan. I rather imagined we might work out the bumps on the trip back."
"Perhaps we'll postpone our travel plans until we find out what it is the Revered Mother wants from us?"
Amelle's gaze slid to the chantry again, tall, white and imposing, and she could not help but think of the Starkhaven Circle that its mages had burned to the ground. Happy mages didn't burn down buildings. Or explode them.
"Amelle." Cullen's voice broke into her thoughts before they could fully form into memories. But the quality of his voice suggested he wasn't entirely ignorant of the direction her thoughts were taking and she wondered how badly her expression had betrayed her. He said nothing else, holding out his arm.
"Everything is going to be fine," he said quietly.
"And if it's not?" she asked, tucking her arm in his.
"If it's not, I will smite Lady Caddell again, just for you, consequences be damned. You will have that small satisfaction at least."
A giggle escaped before she could swallow it down, he smiled, and—just for a moment—she let herself believe Kiara and Fenris and Cullen were all right to assume that everything would turn out well in the end.
#
The Starkhaven chantry wasn't as grand as Kirkwall's, perhaps, but it was no less beautiful for all it was built on a smaller scale. Amelle was actually somewhat relieved to see altogether less looming statuary, and the twin statues of Andraste—only slightly larger than life—flanking the doors held their hands open in welcome, rather than closed around blades.
She tried to hold on to the memory of those peaceful faces as Cullen pushed open the doors and led her within, but it was not easy. Even with Cullen at her side, the door swinging shut behind them resounded with a finality she couldn't bring herself to ignore. Kiara says there is nothing to fear.
The chantry felt far, far from her sister's reach.
Almost at once, a young lay sister approached. "Ser," she greeted. "And, uh—"
Cullen rescued the girl, though Amelle had to admit she was curious exactly how the girl would have decided to refer to her. "The Revered Mother sent for us?"
The girl blinked, pressing her palms reflexively against her thighs and smoothing her robes. "Aye, of course. She is in the kitchen. If you will follow me."
Even Amelle had to admit the kitchen seemed an odd place for anyone—even a Revered Mother—to be handing out proclamations of doom and imprisonment, and she felt her heart begin to slow for the first time since Kiara first said, "The Revered Mother would like to speak with you."
The lay sister left them at the doorway, but not without giving Amelle yet another strange, strained, surreptitious glance. Amelle tried to look non-threatening. She wasn't certain how well she succeeded, but the girl bowed her head slightly and did not linger. Or immediately call a battalion of templars. Amelle considered this a triumph.
No kitchen in charge of feeding as many mouths as a chantry kitchen—or palace kitchen, for that matter—was ever completely empty, but evidently this was the lull between lunch service and preparation for dinner, because they found the Revered Mother quite alone at one of the large tables, wearing an apron over a simple dress, hair tied back in a scarf, painstakingly decorating a cake with delicate curlicues of icing and tiny, intricate sugar-flowers.
"Ahh," she said without looking up, "I've lost track of the time."
If her words were ever so slightly disingenuous, her smile, when she raised her face to greet them, was not. A smudge of leaf-green icing marred one cheekbone. "Once a baker's daughter, always a baker's daughter," she said. "I like decorating better than baking, though. The focus and precision clears the mind."
"And you have something to say that requires a clear mind, Your Reverence?" Amelle asked, hating the way her voice quavered on the final syllable.
If the Revered Mother noticed, she brought no attention to it. Instead, she merely reached down and tweaked the placement of one of the sugar-flowers before wiping her hands on her apron. "I believe I may have an idea regarding our little… predicament."
Amelle blinked. "We have a predicament?"
"Of course we do," she replied, lifting the piping bag and adding a few more leaves to her creation. "You wish to remain… as you are. Ser Cullen finds himself somewhat displaced within the Order that has been his home all his life. And I have no desire to alienate either the best healer I've had the privilege of meeting, or her about-to-be-very-powerful sister by adhering to rules that may be… somewhat outdated."
"Forgive me for saying so, Revered Mother, but I have never been given to believe there was anything resembling wiggle room in those rules you're alluding to."
Illona lifted her eyes from her work to look briefly at both Amelle and Cullen. They were still arm in arm and the Revered Mother's eyes appeared to linger just a moment on that before returning to the icing. Amelle exchanged a look with Cullen and as nonchalantly as she knew how, she pulled her arm from his and clasped her hands loosely in front of her.
"It isn't wiggle room, precisely," she replied. "Perhaps it would be more accurate to say it's a variation on the interpretation of those rules."
Amelle narrowed her eyes and glanced at Cullen; he looked wary and bewildered, but not alarmed, which she took as a good sign. "Isn't that just a fancy way of saying wiggle room?"
The Revered Mother arched both eyebrows as she straightened and looked directly at Amelle. She didn't glare, but Amelle found herself resisting the urge to fidget all the same. Finally, the other woman smiled faintly and murmured, "All appearances to the contrary, you're quite like your sister. I see it now."
Cullen let out a soft cough. "With respect, Your Reverence, there never seemed to be very much room for interpretation in Chantry law."
"Interesting you should mention that, Ser Cullen," said the Revered Mother as she traded the piping bag for sugar-flowers and turned her attention back to the cake. Her next words were delivered lightly, "For you seem to have a different interpretation of those rules as well."
Amelle felt Cullen tense slightly and she reached for him, resting her hand against his forearm. Too late, Amelle realized the Revered Mother had seen it.
"It is a curious rapport you two have," Illona said. "I wonder if you would mind terribly telling me how it came to be?"
Neither of them answered right away, and Amelle realized she had no idea how something so improbable had occurred. "Your Reverence, if you're asking how I avoided the Kirkwall Circle—"
"I am not," she corrected, never looking up. Amelle realized — or thought she realized — the other woman appeared to be giving them opportunity to speak without feeling scrutinized or, worse, judged.
"In the aftermath of the destruction of the Kirkwall chantry," Cullen began, "I discovered Amelle healing the wounded." He glanced at her and she almost smiled, remembering how stunned he'd been when he caught her that day in the Blooming Rose. "Some of my fellows would have apprehended her then. But…"
"But you would have been doing more of a disservice to the wounded than a service to Andraste?" the Revered Mother asked. Cullen nodded.
"When her sister left for Starkhaven, she asked me if I might look in on her."
That made the Revered Mother stop and look up, the icing and flowers entirely forgotten. "You were acting Knight-Commander, and the Champion of Kirkwall asked you to keep an eye on her sister in her absence?"
He shrugged. "The climate was not favorable toward mages, and Amelle was working to help those still recovering. She had, in the interim, appropriated an abandoned clinic. And then, with no mages in Kirkwall and too few healers for the work that needed to be done, her workload soon… increased."
"Aye, I did hear about that." The Revered Mother looked again at Amelle and this time she did fidget. "Kirkwall is in your collective debt."
"I suppose…" Amelle began, looking again at Cullen before turning her attention back to the Revered Mother. "I suppose any rapport we have now grew from working together and, through that, learning to trust each other."
"And you trust this templar," the Revered Mother said, pinning Amelle with a sharp, hazel gaze.
Amelle didn't hesitate. "With my life."
The Revered Mother sighed and added, "I hope you will forgive my impertinence, but I must ask: you are not involved, are you?"
Amelle felt her cheeks burn hot, and a glance at Cullen revealed a similar affliction, but her voice remained even when she replied, "No, Your Reverence."
"And you have no intention—"
"None whatsoever," Cullen interrupted.
Illona nodded thoughtfully. "That is a relief, I admit. I was not looking forward to jumping through those hoops if it was necessary." Then she rose to her feet and crossed the room, setting a kettle to boil. Glancing over her shoulder, she nodded toward the table. "Sit, please. This is too complicated a conversation to have with you two staring down at me like terrified children fearing chastisement. And it is certainly too complicated a conversation to have without tea."
Amelle couldn't help the smile pulling at her lips. For all their attempts at stoicism, the Revered Mother had read the right of it at once. She and Cullen sat next to each other, not speaking as they watched Illona bustle around the kitchen, fetching the accoutrements for tea. Cullen offered to help, but Illona only waved him off, climbing a stepladder to fetch plates.
Amelle gasped when, without hesitation, Illona cut into the cake. The Revered Mother laughed. "Its beauty doesn't make it any less edible," she said. "Or prevent its going stale. Better to eat it now."
When tea had been poured and cake cut, Illona curled her hands around her teacup and asked pointedly, "Have you been tempted by demonkind before, Amelle?"
"I have."
"You are a spirit healer. You know this makes you even more susceptible to all creatures of the Fade? The malevolent as well as the benevolent?"
"I do," Amelle replied evenly.
Illona turned her gaze on Cullen and said, "I am familiar with your history, too, ser. If any templar in the Free Marches is more acquainted with possession—and the dangers posed by mages who are possessed—I do not know them."
"Amelle has never—"
"You mistake me, Cullen. I only meant that your experiences make you particularly suited to this… little experiment of mine."
Amelle coughed lightly, ostensibly to clear her throat but more to control her frustration with the Revered Mother's obscure references. "Perhaps you might enlighten us, Your Reverence?"
Illona chuckled. "Very like your sister, aye. I propose Ser Cullen serve as your… personal templar. Not unlike what he has been doing since this curious friendship began."
"That sounds—" Amelle began.
Cullen cut her off, "Like no one in Orlais would possibly agree."
The Revered Mother's brows lifted slightly. "Has the prince told you of Starkhaven's Circle?"
Amelle blinked. "Starkhaven's Circle burned years ago. We had to… deal with some remnants."
"Evidently those were not the only survivors. Some remained here. Hiding in plain sight." For a moment, Illona glanced skyward, and Amelle thought the expression on her face was regret. "So well hidden, it happens, that I only know of them now because they came forward of their own volition. I have met with their First Enchanter. She seems a very reasonable woman. When things are more settled—after the wedding and coronation, perhaps—she wishes their presence to be made known once more."
"She… forgive me, she wants to reinstate a Circle in Starkhaven?" Cullen asked. "She wishes to involve the Chantry?"
Illona inclined her head. "In the early days, I believe the Chantry and the mages worked together for their mutual benefit. We forget now, but templar skills were developed to protect as much as to guard. Magic is unruly, and dangerous in the hands of the untrained. That is merely a fact. All the wishing in the world will not change it."
"So you take children away from their parents and never let them visit?" Amelle asked, with a hint of bitterness she couldn't quite contain.
"A tradition I would not see continued here," the Revered Mother insisted. "Children must learn, and they must be kept safe while they train and have so little control over their own powers. Surely you see this. Did you never stumble? If you'd had no mage father to guide you, would you not have made irreparable mistakes? Accidental destruction—accidental deaths—must be prevented. But I see no reason to deny a parent the right to visit their child. It is unnecessarily cruel." Illona held her hands wide in a placating gesture. "I will be the first to admit I believe Orlais has made mistakes. Grievous ones. They cannot be undone overnight, but I would like to see Starkhaven make the attempt to see things done properly."
"Even if proper goes against tradition?" Cullen asked.
Illona frowned. "Tradition is an ugly word that can—and often does—paint over a multitude of sins by making them acceptable."
Amelle pushed a piece of cake around her plate with her fork, but was unable to raise it to her lips. "You're saying all the right things, Your Reverence, but…"
"You do not entirely trust me." The Revered Mother shrugged, took a bite of her cake, and chewed slowly. When she'd swallowed, she said, "I would not expect you to. We hardly know one another. I am in earnest, whether you believe me or not. Harm has been done. First Enchanter Nadiah is willing to deal with me in good faith and I wish to return the favor."
"Are you asking me to… Your Reverence, forgive me, but I do not wish to be tied to a Circle. Not even one attempting to put right old wrongs."
"I am not asking you to fix yourself to this new Starkhaven Circle permanently," Illona said. "But then, I also admit I hope this Circle will become a haven instead of a prison; a place where mages might choose to live once their training is finished. A school for children who need teaching. A place where research might lead to new uses for magic, new cures for old diseases. After all the atrocities committed against mages in the name of faith, I cannot believe it will be a simple or easy path, but I admit, the trust I see between the two of you gives me hope. If we are ever to have a stable, peaceful Starkhaven again, trust must be projected. I know it. Our new prince knows it."
"My sister's been vocal in support of that kind of balance for years," Amelle said, thinking of the constant conflict between Meredith and Orsino and wondering for a moment how different things might have been if trust and respect had abided between them instead of backbiting and power struggles. She glanced at Cullen, unsurprised to discover he was wearing a particularly troubled frown. She imagined his thoughts had taken a very similar turn.
"And now I rather hope you two might serve as the best example of mage and templar working to a common purpose."
Tilting her head a little, Amelle asked cautiously, "Are we to be… symbols, then?"
Illona shook her head. "If I thought the respect between you was anything less than genuine, I would not be suggesting it at all. While it is my hope you may act as a good example, my primary concern is securing a competent — and more than that, trustworthy — royal healer. If you should agree to perhaps share some of your knowledge with the mages in First Enchanter Nadiah's care, it would, as they say, be icing on the cake." She saluted Amelle with a forkful of said cake.
"You would be putting a great deal of personal trust in a mage, which certainly conveys a… strong message," Amelle said. "I suspect that is where Cullen comes in? Place a mage in a sensitive position, assign a templar to keep an eye on her, and the longer she goes without succumbing to a demon and becoming an abomination bent on the destruction of all of Starkhaven, the more people start to let go of some of their fear." At Illona's somewhat surprised look, Amelle allowed herself a grin. "I am not ignorant of the complexities of what I am and what I represent, Your Reverence."
Blowing out a sigh tinged with frustration, Cullen leaned his forearms against the table. "All of which does not erase the fact that Orlais will never agree with this."
"What is best for Orlais may not be what is best for Starkhaven," Illona replied, sipping her tea. "Amelle has the right of it." Picking up her fork, she cut off another small piece of cake and brought it to her lips.
Amelle took her cue and followed suit, pleasantly surprised at the buttery sweetness that dissolved upon her tongue. Cullen, though, only frowned more deeply, more worriedly, and tapped the side of his fork against his plate with restless agitation.
"Tell me, Cullen," Illona said, breaking the silence without any indication that it was anything other than a natural lull in the conversation "Would you hesitate to deal with the situation if Amelle ever became… compromised?"
"He wouldn't," Amelle answered quietly, even though the question hadn't been directed at her. Cullen shot her a sharp look, which she met soberly.
We learn duty because friendship… friendship makes you freeze. Friendship makes you doubt.
"He wouldn't hesitate," she said again, more firmly this time, challenging the look Cullen was giving her with a stubborn one of her own. "He wouldn't freeze. And he wouldn't doubt. I know he wouldn't, because I wouldn't want him to."
"What if I'm the one who becomes compromised?" he asked softly. "Amelle… you know better than anyone—"
"I know," she agreed. Illona's expression was curious, but she did not ask the question she so obviously wanted to ask, and Amelle took that to mean it was not required of her to explain. "But things have been… better, haven't they? Since we left Kirkwall? I mean, all the madness with Jessamine aside."
His frown turned inward, and his brow furrowed. "Yes," he said with some surprise. "In fact, even with the madness with Jessamine, I have not—"
"Smote anyone in your sleep?"
He didn't quite smile, but he did at last take a bite of his cake.
Amelle sipped at her tea and said, "If you'll permit me an impertinence, Your Reverence, does this make me a prisoner? To you? To Starkhaven?"
Instead of offense, the Revered Mother's face registered only introspection. "I have turned this question over myself," she said at last. "I would hope not. As free as you'd be to leave Starkhaven, I fear you would not be as free to leave Ser Cullen. As long as he is with you, you are no apostate. Run from him, and you will be once again running from the Chantry."
"And Cullen would report to you?"
"Indeed. I would rather not have too long a chain of command on something as delicate as this. Too many opportunities for things to go awry, the more people one has to speak through to get a message across."
"And if the Divine forbids it?" Cullen asked. "If she demands you turn Amelle in? If she demands you have me stripped of my rank? You must know it would be within her power to do so."
Illona's eyes narrowed, and she stabbed her fork very precisely and deliberately into her slice of cake, hesitating just a moment before bringing the utensil to her lips. With eerie calm, she replied, "Then the Divine will, perhaps, be making enemies she would not wish to make."
In her head, Amelle heard the echo of her sister's voice saying "She may wear a Revered Mother's vestments, but she's a politician, too," and she realized Illona did not only mean the obvious enemies the Divine might find in the prince and princess of Starkhaven.
Then, in a less dire tone, and with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes, Illona added, "But I believe I can make a case for this. The Maker Himself only knows what the long-term repercussions of Kirkwall will be, but for now? The Divine will see a great deal of paperwork from me, bringing a fallen Circle voluntarily back under the Chantry's influence. A casual mention of a mage and templar assigned to unspecified duties abroad may go unnoticed." On Cullen's concerned look, she added, "I will not lie to her if she asks, Ser Cullen. Do not trouble yourself overmuch on that score."
Amelle pushed a bite of cake around her plate with the tines of her fork before saying, "I have to admit you… propose an elegant solution, Your Reverence."
Illona arched an eyebrow as she cut herself another slice of cake. "I am rather proud of it."
Which was no small part of why it unnerved Amelle, just a little, but if it allowed her to… make choices not based in fear, and if it allowed Cullen to keep his position without facing repercussions for his aid to her…
"Very well," Amelle said. "I suppose we have a deal."
