9:26 Dragon, Spring

"Only one person witnessed Maferath's betrayal: Havard the Aegis," Francesca began. "Havard was a childhood friend of Maferath, and he accompanied his chief to the meeting with the Tevinters, not realizing what was planned."

This was the story of Andraste's death. Samantha had heard it a million times. When Samantha had asked Corbinian how they were going to visit the Circle Tower without being seen, he had only given her a wink and a smile. Paying off a guard to withhold their names from the guest registry was easy enough, but getting into the Tower, passing through the layers of Templars and servants – all of whom would undoubtedly recognize the Marquess of Starkhaven – would be another matter. Before she could even concern herself with that, the pair had to first escape her parents' watchful gaze.

The plan was to sneak away after service while the rest of the nobles were on their walk. It was something Samantha was greatly anticipating just as soon as the Grand Cleric finished speaking.

"When he understood that Maferath was giving Andraste over to be executed, Havard, unwilling to draw swords against his friend and liege, placed himself between Andraste and the Tevinter soldiers." Francesca paused solemnly before continuing. "The Tevinters struck him down, and Maferath left his boyhood friend for dead."

Corbinian whispered beside her. "Whatever happened to the whole idea of brothers before harlots?"

"Andraste is the harlot, I assume?" Samantha asked him.

"She did cheat on her husband."

Samantha bit her cheek to keep from giggling. "With the Maker!"

"And let that be a lesson to all," he said, fighting his own mirth.

Unaware of the blasphemy a few rows away, Francesca continued solemnly: "Gravely wounded, Havard made his way to the gates of Minrathous to stop the execution. But when he reached it, the terrible deed was already done, the armies on the plains long since dispersed. Havard, cursing his weakness, gathered the earthly remains of Andraste that had been left to the wind and rain, and wept. When his fingers touched the pile of ash, his ears filled with song, and he saw before him a vision of Andraste, dressed in cloth made of starlight.

"She knelt at his side, and said to him, The Maker shall never forget you so long as I remember."

Francesca removed her spectacles, placing them gently on the podium. "What did Andraste mean by that?"

The congregation sat silent, waiting for the answer.

"When Maferath was consumed by his envy for the love his bride felt for our Maker, his heart spoiled and turned black. And in that moment, his soul was damaged. When the soul is damaged, a demon need only but whisper to be heard."

Samantha knew where this was going. She felt she had outgrown these kinds of stories, no matter how well the Grand Cleric told them, but one glance around her suggested that the rest of the nobles of Starkhaven were still in their youth.

"Was Maferath possessed? We cannot know the answer. But we do know that demons are not people." Francesca let that point hang in the air for a moment before she continued. "They do not have feelings, nor do they have the capacity to think beyond themselves. Demons lie. They will use whatever they can to get a foothold in a mortal being. They will befriend, they will make promises, and they will make you think that you are in control – but it's a lie. Once you counsel with demons, you have turned from the Maker. Your soul is forever stained. Your life is no longer yours; it is theirs. This is the reason why we have the Rite of Tranquility. Because there is no cure for possession."

"Except death," Samantha whispered and Corbinian quirked a grin.

"We never know when demons will come to us. Often, it will be at our most vulnerable, when darkness has fallen all around us. When we allow ourselves to be consumed by hated, fear, or jealousy. Like Maferath. But we, each of us, have the power inside ourselves to say no to a demon's offer. To reject them. Was Maferath possessed?" Francesca repeated the question only to wave it away with a flick of her wrist. "It doesn't matter. All that matters is that he turned from the Maker."

Samantha whispered to Corbinian, "Demons are never very clever in the stories."

"The stories aren't told by the demons," he answered smartly.

"And Andraste knew," Francesca said importantly. "She knew what Maferath would do. But she also knew that if she did not turn from the Maker, then in death, she would be by His side for all eternity. And if she remembers us, if we are worth remembering, then she will tell the Maker about us, and He shall know us, too."

The choir then stood up and their voices started low, rising softly into the dusty Chantry air tinted by the stained-glass.

"And yet, she didn't warn Havard," Samantha spoke just above the chorus.

"Poor sod." Corbinian agreed as they rose to join the singing.

A loud clap echoed through the singing and all heads turned down the pew to the poor lad who had clumsily dropped his copy of the Chant of Light: it was Goran Vael, of course. He fumbled twice picking it up, and there was a sheen of perspiration just above his brow.

Samantha leaned into Corbinian's arm. "What's with him?"

"The answer to that question is standing across the row."

Samantha followed Corbinian's suggestion, and sure enough, standing across the row with her parents and her brothers, Ruxton and the newly married Brett and his wife, was the tall and slender Flora Harimann, shaking her head disapprovingly at Goran's folly. When she spotted Samantha spying her, Flora rolled her eyes at the youngest Vael – well, second youngest, as the future prince of Starkhaven's wife, the future princess of Starkhaven, had given birth to a baby boy only a few weeks earlier.

At the conclusion of service, Flora sauntered over to Samantha and Corbinian with a smile. "When will Francesca ever stop talking about demons?"

"Don't be silly, Flora," Samantha joked, taking Corbinian's arm. "What else is she going to talk about?"

"A fair point. I suppose they'd replace her if she ever stopped."

"Right. And then we'd have to listen to all the same warnings and parables all over again from the new Grand Cleric."

"Ugh." Flora's gaze drifted to Corbinian who had stayed curiously silent during the exchange. He just grinned at her. "What are you smiling about?"

"You look lovely, Flora." Corbinian gave her his best charming smile. "Doesn't she, Goran?"

Corbinian turned his head, stepping back to reveal his younger brother who had joined them stealthily. But for all his efforts at grace, Goran was a right mess; he blinked feverishly, trying to speak, but only producing mumbles. "Erm, hi."

"Hello, Goran!" Samantha greeted him cheerfully.

Flora sighed, a bit too loudly for prudence.

Corbinian's smile was wide. "Surely you remember my brother, Flora?"

Flora gave an unenthusiastic curtsey. "My lord."

"My Lady." He tried to bow, but he was too stiff. "Are you w-well?"

"Fine," she intoned. "Oh, I see my brother needs me. Excuse me."

Goran visibly deflated as she hurried away, his gaze lingering on the space she had occupied. It was painful to watch. His words had muffled together with every twitch of his hands and blink of his eyes, and Samantha could see his puffy cheeks turning rosy.

"Buck up, Goran," Corbinian clapped him on the shoulder. "At least you got out a coherent sentence that time!"

"Maker, what is wrong with me?"

"It's called stupidity. If you were smart, you'd forget about that one."

The younger brother blew through his lips. "Yeah, yeah…"

Corbinian gave him a warm smile as he led Samantha down the aisle to the wide double-doors of the Chantry. They were held open by initiates who were offering the Maker's benediction for anyone who wished to receive it.

Granite Circle greeted them with bright green crispness. The dogwood trees were blooming white and pink, some lazily releasing their soft petals onto the cool stone path. The air smelled of sweets as the sun burned off what was left of the morning dew, and Samantha brought her shawl up around her shoulders to keep the slight chill away. They walked for a few minutes in the spring sunshine, smiling and nodding to those they knew. Lady Fortney stopped to compliment Samantha on her necklace; a gift for her twelfth name day, it was a thick silver chain with four inlaid emeralds. Innley had always loved it – green rocks that sparkled in the light. She had worn it on this day for him.

"Cover for me?" Corbinian asked his brother.

Goran sighed. "Don't I always?"

Corbinian gave him a genuine smile, and when Goran smiled back – the first time Samantha had ever seen him smile — she lost her breath for a moment. His entire face changed when he smiled. Underneath those puffy cheeks and grim visage was a youthful and beautiful boy, and Samantha wondered what this pudgy boy would look like as a man. Before her thoughts got away from her, he bade them farewell, ambushed by Vincent Tyler and Helena Luxley as he wandered away.

"Around the next corner," Corbinian said casually, gesturing ahead to the pair of high hedges that served as entrance to Vayan's Park, so named for Starkhaven's most green-thumbed prince, who had doubled the size of the royal gardens.

Samantha was nearly giddy at the anticipation of seeing her brother, but tried to act as naturally as she could. They paused at the entrance to the park, and then slipped through the tall shapely shrubs. Corbinian picked up the pace, and they cut through Lord Garrity's front garden to reach Starkhaven Park. The same park which held memories of Sebastian and a certain drunken encounter. Once they reached the statue of Corin the Grey Warden, they cut through the high hedges onto the adjacent street, traveled past the High Merchant's Guild, cut through Champion's Circle, around the corner from the Templar's building, and finally to main gates of the Starkhaven Circle.

Samantha had only passed by the Circle on the heels of her parents before, and never been inside. She was intimidated by the marvelous wrought iron gates designed in the style of the previous age, even though everyone thought them terribly outdated, and stared at the Circle's delicately carved hedge garden, filled with topiaries sculpted like animals. Finally, they moved past the circular outer wall of the tower to the West Entrance, where the vine canopy was as long as the tower was tall.

The entrance was supposed to be guarded by one Templar. But there were two.

Templars of any stature were well known to the noble men and women of Starkhaven, but Samantha knew only what Corbinian knew about these two, which was that he had struck a deal with Ser Langley, the black-haired recruit who was leaning on the hilt of a massive sword, its blade as black as pitch.

Ser Langley had grown up in Markham, a smaller fishing town to the east, thus possessing a dark complexion, dark eyes, and dark hair. His mother had passed away from a sickness when he was a boy and since his father was a sailor, he couldn't care for him and had sent the boy to the Chantry. He'd joined the Order in Kirkwall, and spent a few years as a recruit there before requesting a transfer to Starkhaven. Too many maleficarum, he had said.

The other Templar, who had hair and eyes of the same tawny color, was one neither knew.

"Well, well. All dressed up for the mages, are we?" Langley's biting tone suggested that he didn't like his charges.

"They need role models." Corbinian greeted the Templar with a bow.

"Oh, they're quite fashionable. What with the lightning shooting out of their eyes."

"Then perhaps they have caught onto the current trends," Corbinain responded and they all shared a chuckle.

Samantha caught a bronze plaque affixed to the white stone Tower wall behind Langley. It read: Time inevitably brings an end to all things in the material world, and yet in this ending is the seed of a beginning.

"Ser Traven." Langley gestured to the other Templar. "I present the Marquess of Starkhaven."

Ser Traven's yellow-blond hair and crystal clear eyes were plainly Ander, and upon his back he wore an enormous dual-edged and rounded battleaxe with Starkhaven's symbol etched in the center bolt. Samantha didn't know much about the hierarchy of the Templar Order, but his armor and the color of his underpadding suggested that he was at least of higher rank than a recruit.

The superior-ranking Templar bowed as he eyed Corbinian and Samantha sternly. "I understand why you have come. Though Ser Langley was going to escort you inside, he doesn't have access to that part of the Tower. So, he brought this matter to me. I have already gone on record that I don't approve of this." Those blond eyes drifted to Samantha. "And because of the sensitive nature of your title, m'lady, your visit will go undocumented."

"What part of the Tower?" Samantha asked.

"The isolation chambers."

"I don't understand," Corbinian said. "He wasn't in any isolation chamber a week ago. Has something happened?"

"You could say that," Langley remarked.

Traven shot Langley a disapproving look. "There was an incident."

Samantha's mouth dropped open to ask, but Corbinian spoke first. "There must be some mistake. We're here to see Innley Mayweather."

"Yes, that's the boy," Traven assured them. "But there is no cause to worry. I will go with you, and you will be safe—"

"Safe?" Samantha blurted out. "What has happened to my brother?"

Traven set his jaw, drawing a measured breath. "My lady, forgive me. Your brother is protected. But your safety while in this Tower is my responsibility."

She remembered her manners and apologized. "I'm sorry. I know…"

Corbinian covered her hand with his. It was a reassuring gesture he often gave her. He turned back to Traven. "Is Innley all right?"

"We have him isolated. Normally, he would not be allowed visits but… Well, you are the Marquess…"

Samantha knew that the Chantry and the Vaels had close ties, but she had no idea that the royal family had this kind of access. Still, she felt there was something Ser Traven wasn't telling them.

"Let's go, then." Corbinian seemed eager enough, which made her nervous.

Langley smirked as he watched them go. "Don't feed the mages down there."

Traven shot a glare at him. "Bite your tongue, recruit. If you make a deal like this again, I'll have you stripped of your commission."

Ser Langley looked to his boots. "Yes, ser."

Stepping into the Tower was like walking into the night, and it took Samantha's eyes a few moments to adjust. There weren't many windows, if any, and only dim light came from those sconces and torches that lined the stone masonry walls. Pockets of shadow were everywhere.

When they passed through the library—filled with thick sky-blue rugs trimmed in greens and golds, table lamps of every color glass, and quills and parchments scratching noisily underneath the judgmental stares of the portraits—Samantha craned her neck upwards to see all the books. Andraste's breath! There must have been thousands! The curved tower walls were lined in marble, and stretched up at least four stories with balconies that circled the sides. The longest ladders she had ever seen stretched into the darkness above, disappearing before the light of crystal chandeliers that hung from the painted ceiling – a painted ceiling! Not even Samantha's lavish estate had something so extravagant.

There was one thing missing, though: joy.

Langley certainly was right about the attention, but in every single one of the hundred pairs of eyes staring back, there was only forlorn resignation. Young, old, men, women, mages, Templars, initiates, all paused, sometimes in mid-step to stare at them as they passed. The women looked ashen and the men looked near death, their skins as pale as Fereldans and their hair limp as though doused from a bucket of oil. Mages with long hair and long beards stood around in heavy robes made of fine wool and silk, but their bodies worked laboriously to move, as if every twitch of their fingers took effort. The faces were barren, devoid of dreams, staring straight into her like they could see her better than she could see herself.

Samantha couldn't understand them. This was the Circle Tower, but the things that seemed out of place here were the mages.

Once through the library, they kept going, the curved stone wall always to her left and it felt like they were descending – was this place really designed in a cylinder or a spiral or something? – until they reached a level with few torches and a single small oil-lamp that sat solitarily on a desk that stood guard to a door.

"Is this it?" Corbinian asked.

"Almost." Ser Traven answered as he opened the door. "It's down here."

Yet another staircase that stretched down into darkness. Water dripped from somewhere.

Samantha's anxiety increased. She had heard the Tranquil grew beasts down in the lower levels for the mages to study, sometimes spiders or giant rats, and had a sudden fear that they would run into the monsters. The words isolation chambers rang in her head like the chantry bells, as though a reckoning was coming. With every step she took into the darkness holding onto Corbinian's hot arm, the knowledge she thought she had about the Circle turned to dust in the cobwebs.

Ser Traven opened another dark plain door to reveal a long hallway lined with more dark plain doors, a thick iron lock on each. They moved soundlessly down the hallway after him, their footsteps no longer echoing on the stones, the dripping water sounds silenced; the thick walls seemed to absorb all sound. Perhaps even sounds as loud as screaming. Nothing could be heard from the other side of the doors. It was like a tomb; a place where dead people lived.

Corbinian held her up with determination. "Maybe this was a bad idea…"

"No," Samantha said weakly. "I want to see Innley."

"Here." Ser Traven stopped in front of an unmarked door and unlocked it. "I'll be right here. Take as long as you want, but… not too long, okay?"

Samantha stared at the tiny sliver of the open door. With Corbinian's hand clasped firmly, she nodded, and the Marquess of Starkhaven opened the door.

If not for the surprise, she could have burst into tears right then, for her baby brother who was just a year younger looked older than her by a decade. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes were hollow, his lips were pale, and his hair was black and oily from dirt. The right side of his face, particularly his cheeks, nose, and forehead, were deep red, scraped and scabbed over with long gashes that covered his once-youthful and beautiful skin, right down to a stubbly beard. He was slumped in a corner because this cell had nothing else to sit upon. Just above Innley's head were shackles bolted to the wall, but the chains were missing.

Corbinian was rigid by her side, and though she couldn't tear her eyes away from the hollow shell of a boy in front of her, she could almost feel Corbinian's growing rage, a mirror to her despair.

"Innley?" She took a step closer but if her brother heard her, he made no movement. "Innley?"

Corbinian turned around to Ser Traven. "What is the meaning of this? This is barbaric!"

The Templar held up his hands. "Her brother is not harmed by Templars, I assure you. I can also assure you that he is kept here for his own safety."

"Safety?"

As Corbinian continued to interrogate Traven, Samantha lifted the hem of her dress and crouched down, unaware that every speck of dust was going to show regardless of what she did. Innley had a tuft of hair in his eyes and she wanted to brush it away but when her hand got within an inch, his hand darted up and gripped her wrist tight; she let out a small squeak at the surprise of it. Innley's hollow eyes, the same color as her own, shot up to her and for a moment there was blatant hostility.

She barely had time to be afraid, gasping: "Innley! It's me! Samantha!"

Her name did something, because he blinked once, twice, and then with a flutter he loosened his grip on her wrist, tears streaming down his face. It was horrible, the wretched sobs that wracked his already frail body, and he scrambled towards her, his bony limbs wrapping tight around her waist.

"What did they do to you?" She was crying, and felt Corbinian's hand on her shoulder; he had returned to her side, crouching down next to her.

Innley's voice was hoarse and deathly quiet. "This is what they do. This is how it's done."

"I don't understand!"

"How what is done?" Corbinian sounded young at that moment, no more than his true age of seventeen.

Innley pulled back, and he caught Samantha's necklace, the emeralds twinkling in the low light. He stared at them for a moment, his reaction delayed before he brought his hands to his head, crushing his eyes closed and twitching violently for a moment before continuing. "Don't you see?"

"See what?" Samantha held her breath, but he didn't answer, instead balling his hands into fists and jerking them into his forehead hard. She reached for his hands again and that's when he stopped, his shoulders bobbed up and down in silent agony.

"There is no hope here," he whispered into the stone walls.

"Is this a… a demon?" Samantha stared at her brother.

Traven stood in the doorway, his voice filled with sorrow. "He doesn't know where he is. He doesn't know what's happening."

"There is nothing. There is nothing. There is nothing," Innley whispered over and over.

Tears continued to slide down Samantha's cheeks. "What does that mean?"

"You need to ask the Knight Commander these questions," Traven replied.

Corbinian stood up. "We're asking you. This is wrong. He doesn't belong here."

Innley turned away from Samantha, burying his face in the wall again, the dry cracked stone scraping his cheeks raw, opening up the wounds on his face, and still whispering, "There is nothing."

"I have no answers," Traven said plaintively. "The Knight Commander has plans for him – that much I know. But that's all I know. He will be interested to know that he hugged his sister."

"You can't tell him we were here!" Corbinian seemed to lose his cool briefly. "Forgive me. I just mean, that was not part of the agreement. I didn't want anyone to know."

"I'm sorry, my lord." Traven appeared to mean it. "When Langley came to me, I had no choice but to tell the Knight Commander… but he approved your visit."

Samantha turned a set of wide eyes over her shoulder to the Templar. Innley's whimpers against the wall grew weaker.

Corbinian kept his calm. "He did what?"

"The Knight Commander wondered… what his reaction would be… Look, I'm sorry. I'm only doing what I was told to do." Ser Traven ran his palms over his eyes, and he sincerely looked angry, like he wanted to punch the wall. "This… I'm sorry. My Lady, you shouldn't have seen this… I'm going to tell the Knight Commander that this was a mistake."

Samantha turned back to her brother. He had quieted down as his body slumped back against the wall, his eyes glazed over, staring into nothing as the tears stopped falling. It was like he had fallen asleep with his eyes wide open.

Traven stepped aside, holding the door open wide. "It's time to go. He won't remember your visit. I'm sorry."

The Templar kept apologizing, and that made it worse. He was supposed to safeguard the mages, and yet he was powerless.

Like some kind of dream where she would walk but feel like she was flying, Corbinian held her afloat as they drifted back up through the spiraling tower, passed all those wall sconces, through the gleaming marble library, and back into the bright white world.

"Was it everything you hoped?" Langley sneered from the doorway, still leaning on his black sword.

"Shut up, Langley," Traven snapped before he walked them through the perfectly sculpted shrubs, to the wrought iron gates.

Samantha mind was awash with darkness, as though she were still inside that Tower, but it was Innley who was in distress. Everyone said the mages were treated well, but Innley was not being treated well. Remembering his stubbly beard, likely his first, made Samantha start to cry terribly, thinking of all the ways he was just a boy going through the changes of becoming a man, but alone in a prison cell and clearly abused. She thought of all the other doors with locks on them, and wondered how many other mages were behind how many other doors?

"What should I do?" Corbinian held Samantha close as he asked the Templar, "How do I get him out of there?"

Traven shook his head apologetically. "You don't."

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