9:27 Dragon, Autumn

"Isolationism harms us all," Grand Cleric Francesca's sermon began."These mages believe that they would function better as a collective living on their own: ungoverned, unattended, the doorway to the Fade unguarded. Apostates who study magic without regulation."

In the months that followed, details began to emerge about what had happened at the Circle. Those responsible were believed to be a small group of mages belonging to one of the larger fraternities: the Isolationists. For those outside the tower, blame seemed easy to assign.

The Grand Cleric continued: "Starkhaven has seen firsthand the ravages of ungoverned magic. It wasn't that long ago that our city suffered at the hands of a rogue apostate." She took a breath and grandly announced: "Adain believed in Isolationism."

Once Samantha heard his name, she knew exactly how the offending mages would be treated. Adain had left a lasting impression on the Circle, the Chantry, and the citizens of the city. No mage that seemed even remotely like him was going to be given any kind of freedom, least of all the kind that might allow for further subversion against the establishment.

"Mages cannot govern themselves." Francesca's voice carried through the room, to the high ceilings, to the pillars, and to the towering statue of Andraste that stood guardian behind her. "We speak of Tevinter too often, but what has happened there will happen here if we stand by and do nothing to safeguard the mages from themselves."

Corbinian and Samantha sat together at service now, with their families at either side. This was customary in Starkhaven, now that their connection had been made public. Despite the tragedy that night, their engagement had been celebrated as the event of the season. There were some who said that not even a Circle rebellion could prevent Samantha and Corbinian from getting married, as though their joining was the Maker's will.

Scheduling the wedding was one long compromise. Samantha's mother hated the autumn and Corbinian's mother hated the summer. Spring was awfully traditional, everyone agreed, but winter was too cold, and so the wedding was set for forty-five days after the spring equinox in 9:31 Dragon – a three-year engagement. Such long engagements were common, if not encouraged. Traditionally, the longer the engagement the happier the marriage, but, truthfully, the people of Starkhaven just liked to celebrate, and Samantha would have many parties thrown in her honor by dozens of families over the next three years.

She just wished Innley could be part of it.

"I understand that many of us know someone in the Circle." Francesca's voice was gentle. "A friend. A daughter. A father. But we must understand what they are. A child who has been bewitched could easily become an assassin, whether she intends to kill or not. The mages are good men and women, more often than not honorable and kind. They don't want to harm anyone. It's the demons from the Fade that reach across the Veil and sink their claws deep even as we wrap our arms around them in camaraderie. We must never let go, lest they be taken from us."

That sort of argument resonated with the nobles of Starkhaven, even though most didn't personally know any mages, and had learned everything they knew about magic and the Fade from the Chantry, and never asked questions. Samantha wondered if they were willfully ignorant or just obtuse.

Whatever it was, it seemed to clear to Samantha and Corbinian that the Chantry was trying to keep the people from knowing just what happened that night. Perhaps it was too much like what happened with Adain, and the Chantry didn't want to scare the populace. Or worse, reveal they didn't have control.

Samantha thought of her brother often, for she no longer had the opportunity to see him. The Circle was on lockdown, and all contact was strictly forbidden. Sers Traven and Langley, who had both been so amenable before, were now hardened jailors, convinced that they had committed a grave sin against the Maker for allowing Corbinian and Samantha access to the Circle in the first place. They wouldn't admit to it, but Corbinian had discovered that Innley's fraternity was involved in whatever had happened – the details were closely guarded secrets. Corbinian never saw him that night in the Circle Tower, either. Was he back in the dungeons? Had he helped fight for the Circle or the rebellion? Was he still Innley or had he become maleficar?

Francesca turned her eyes downward to the front pews. "The Knight Commander's investigation into that night is still ongoing, but we know that it was only a small group of mages that attempted escape. Now, I understand many of you are anxious, confused, and perhaps afraid. There is no cause for alarm. We are taking every precaution and the Circle of Magi is cooperating – they wish for the culprits to be brought to justice. The Circle is their home."

Details of the explosion had been given only during service and always in the form of an argument such as this one. While there was no disputing the logic – magic was dangerous – the simple fact that the Circle was still locked down after four months was enough to raise suspicion. Worse than that were the sparse details about Helena's death. She had told Flora in private that she was dating a Templar, but she never gave a name nor did she elaborate on his looks or his family. Such behavior was uncommon, and the fact that she never provided this information suggested that perhaps she was lying. Helena had never been known for her skill at deception, having never even convinced anyone that she was interested in Vincent Tyler.

"But do not fret," Francesca said soothingly. "For the Maker's light will always illuminate the way to our recovery. We must show him that we are one people. Nobles, commoners, mages, Templars – we are in this together, and we will get through this together."

There was a collective sigh of relaxation as everyone seemed comforted by Francesca's words, and Samantha had to admit that she was quite reassuring. But Grand Clerics were like that.

Corbinian rose once the singing was over, stretching his neck. "Well, one lecture down. About a billion to go."

"If not for the service, service days would be wonderful." Samantha watched the Grand Cleric greet her mother with a soft smile, and she tugged on Corbinian's sleeve. "Now might be our chance…"

Corbinian watched his father shake hands with the Knight Commander. "Let's get out of here."

Service days were the only days when she got to be with Corbinian alone for any length of time. During the week, she was attending to her studies, visiting with nobles around town, watching Flora ride, or watching Corbinian practice. It had taken less than a month before he was practicing at full speed with his new sword, which he had named One-Cut, "because that's all it takes," he had said cockily. The priests had called him a fast healer, but Samantha figured it was just Corbinian; back in the saddle no matter how far the fall.

They spotted a group heading through the massive Chantry doors, and they slipped into the crowd hoping for once to blend in and go unnoticed as they made their escape, but it didn't work. Someone recognized Corbinian, and the man ushered himself so far out of the way that one might assume the marquess had the plague. Samantha knew the man was trying to be cordial, but did he have to be so flamboyant about it?

"Make way!" The man called. "Make way for the Marquess!"

This sort of behavior had become commonplace since Corbinian had taken the Oath, and while Samantha knew that many people treated royalty this way, she wasn't used to it and wasn't sure if she ever would be. Arianna thought it hysterical. She liked to toy with people about it, making grand statements about what Samantha liked, no matter if it were true, just to see how people would react. Truthfully, Samantha felt like a thing sometimes, shuffled around, presented here, showed off there, rarely asked to speak but always expected to be gracious.

"Thank you, my good man." Corbinian smiled famously.

"Takin' the lovely betrothed on a walk, ser?" The man asked genially.

"Not today; I figure I should try to knock her up. I hear she gives nothing but sons! Good day to you!"

A perplexed expression crossed the man's face and several others nearby paused; the lot of them grouped together to whisper about what they thought they had just heard, and if they had actually heard it.

Samantha was too shocked to laugh as he pulled her along. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Oh, you really wanted to go for a walk, then?"

"Cad!" She chuckled, but a survey of their path led her to believe they weren't heading to the royal palace. She was about to ask where they were going until he turned them onto a very familiar street. "Are we going to my estate?"

"We never visit your gardens," he replied. "We always go to mine, which are now open to the public."

He emphasized that last bit, and she grinned to herself; he wished for privacy, and funnily enough, they would find it at her estate. Her parents wouldn't be home for hours, visiting the Vaels, the other nobles, discussing the upcoming nuptials and appropriate gifts – even though the wedding was so far into the future, it felt like another Age.

One really nice thing about being engaged to a Vael was that the guards didn't ask too many questions, and the pair they passed on the way to her estate just nodded and smiled. With the mess at the Circle, there was also a greater Templar presence around town. The guards in Granite Circle were pleasant, but Samantha had heard rumors about their behavior in the Elven Alienage and Hyrian's Point, the poorest part of Starkhaven so named for the prince whose generous donations to the Chantry had expanded social services to the poor.

Once they arrived to her estate, they breezed through the front doors, the servants scurrying after the Marquess in haste, offering him anything and everything for they were so sorry they hadn't anticipated his visit! He tried to placate their worry, but they were inconsolable as they tittered nervously, finally calming when Samantha promised not to tell anyone if they didn't.

Breaking back into autumn's early afternoon, the Mayweather Estate's gardens were falling into a green death, for the flowers had withered away months ago. Walking through the dying shrubs, it felt good to finally be alone, and Corbinian reached playfully down to her ankles, snapping off her shoes and waving them over his head. She laughed, giving chase through the gardens.

They had perfected the art of finding privacy, a luxury for them both. But on this sunny afternoon, they headed to the very edge of the gardens where a short shrub-like tree tore violently upwards through the earth. It was just starting to lose its leaves.

"My mother hates this," Samantha said of the tree.

"I can smell why…" Corbinian pinched his nose. The tree gave off a most displeasing odor that closely resembled rotting nuts.

Samantha pulled a leaf from a branch; the long scissor-like blade was stiff as card. "It's a Tree of Heaven. Also known, rather ironically, as a demon's tree."

"This is a demon's tree?" He cocked his head to the side. "Isn't it supposed to be taller?"

"It would be if my mother didn't send servants out three times a year to destroy it." Samantha tossed the leaf to the ground, looking back to the tree in admiration. "But always it comes back, more wild than ever."

Corbinian closed his eyes briefly, and took a step back from the shrub. "Aside from the… delightful smell… why do they call it a demon's tree?"

She gestured to the nearby plant-life, of which there was none. "Because it will kill anything in its way to grow. It taints everything it touches with a foul stench, and if you try to cut it back, it will grow three branches for every one you shear."

"Aptly named."

Samantha lowered herself to the grass, stretching through the branches and pulling them aside to see the fence to the Tylers' estate, a fine wood turned grey with rain and age. Reaching down further, she brushed away the dirt to reveal her name crudely carved into the fence, and below that, Innley's.

Corbinian smiled at the etchings.

Samantha said, "Sometimes, I wonder if she'll ever rid the garden of it and see Innley's name there…"

"What would she do?"

"Probably pull up the fence. Burn the wood. Just like Ser Traven tore up the letter that I wrote to my brother." Samantha brushed the dirt from her hands, standing back up with a huff. "Right in front of me, too!"

"Bastard," Corbinian answered quickly, adding wryly: "Want me to have him executed?"

"A kind offer, but that wouldn't solve the problem."

"Langley and Traven won't let me see him either. They claim he's there, though." And then added, for the fiftieth time that year, "I wish I would have found him in there."

Samantha scowled in frustration. "I hope they're wrong about my brother. And I hope they live long enough to see it. And I hope we get to be there when they learn how wrong they are."

"No wishing for their swords to rust? Their milk to turn sour? What about the sweating sickness?"

"Those are kind of harsh, Beenie."

He lifted his palms up, as if weighing the options. "Being wrong. Sweating sickness… it's a tough call for me."

She chuckled softly, leading him away from the stinky tree, and into a sunny patch of cool grass where they both relaxed, closing their eyes in the Maker's bright light. Samantha asked, "Why do the mages hate the Circle? Sure, it's kind of dreary, but is it really that bad?"

"It's only bad for those mages who fight it." He shook his head. "I know the First Enchanter and Grand Cleric might be willing to overlook anything Innley was involved in, because he's young and impressionable, but the Knight Commander is caustic. I have no idea what he thinks."

Corbinian had finally met the Knight Commander, introduced as the Marquess and a lieutenant in his full Royal Army regalia. They had met with the Captain of the Army and the Knight Captains of the Templar Order to discuss Starkhaven security, which seemed to be another word of prowling the streets and accosting people.

She gazed into the cloudless sky, a pale blue expanse without a beginning or an end. "I hope his friends haven't poisoned Innley. What was his name? You know, the older man who Innley named his mentor?"

"Decimus."

"Right. He seemed creepy."

"Was it the beard, the unkempt hair, or that demented look in his eye?" He joked. "For me, it was the dress, but they all wear dresses so it's hard to tell."

She shifted against his shoulder; the immense blue of the cloudless and vast unknowable sky mimicked her feelings about Innley and his future. "Maybe this is just a phase or something."

"I'm just glad they locked that Decimus guy up."

"I worry about that, though," She said thoughtfully. "Historically, when someone is locked up, it has created stronger feelings of sedition. If he ever gets out—"

"He won't." He seemed so certain.

"But if he does—"

"Then they'll kill him or make him Tranquil," he said frankly.

Samantha shuddered. "They could make Innley tranquil. We would never know."

His silence suggested that he hadn't considered that idea until that very moment. They both knew the Rite of Tranquility was a necessary evil, to protect mages who could not protect themselves from the demons of the Fade. It was a kindness, everyone said so, but to imagine Innley that way, automatic and without feeling… It seemed wrong.

A cicada began to chirp at regular intervals nearby, arresting the pair from their thoughts.

Corbinian said, "I'll find out, okay? Don't think about it. There's nothing either of us can do right now, so there's no point in making ourselves sick with worry."

She took a breath. "Okay."

He stretched his arms out, lacing his fingers behind his head as he reclined in the grass. "Have you spoken to Flora?"

"No." She angled her head to look over at him. "Why?"

Corbinian scrunched his nose. "I don't know. I thought I heard my uncle say something about her mother."

Samantha remembered her conversation with Flora at Corbinian's name day celebration, and how troubled her friend seemed at her mother's near-obsessive attention on Goran Vael. If the prince had mentioned Lady Johane… Her nerves turned through her stomach like a spawn of butterflies, and she knew that nothing good could come from the unwanted attention of the prince.

She also remembered her promise not to say a word about Flora's feelings on Goran to Corbinian, who likely already knew.

"If Flora's mother has drawn the ire of the prince, she would tell me," Samantha stated with confidence, but then remembered how closely guarded all of her friend's secrets were.

He tilted in chin down, seemingly amused. "I hope you're right and that it's nothing. But do tell her that it doesn't help when her mother says subversive things about the prince at parties."

Samantha cracked a smile. "You mean that's not allowed?"

"Only the princess gets to say such things," he joked. "Everyone else gets exiled as a matter of policy."

"That would explain why everyone in Starkhaven loves him so!" She turned over and poked her finger in his ear, adding sarcastically, "When do you think he'll send her away? After the Harvest Festival, I hope, because it's too challenging to replace the decorating committee members this late in the season."

"I don't know." Corbinian playfully batted her fingers away. "They don't exile Haveners on a whim."

"Like they did with Sebastian?" She asked jovially.

"Yeah, but he could've…"

"Could've what?" Samantha lifted herself up, curious about how the conversation had suddenly turned serious. "Were you there when they exiled him? You said you saw him only briefly."

But Corbinian just blinked, as though she had caught him completely off guard, and he stumbled a little over his words. "I… It's hard to remember."

Samantha watched him carefully. "You've actually never talked about that night."

"Well, it's not a pleasant memory, my love." He smiled cheekily. "They were going to send me away, and then I'd never get a chance to do this…" He rolled over to her, burying his face into her neck and she shrieked in surprise.

"You're so secretive!"

"It's part of my charm." He leaned back, smiling that Vael smile. "Hey, I want to show you something."

"No, no, no, you're changing the sub—"

"Of course I am!" He laughed. "Trust me, Sammie. There's nothing interesting about exile. You go in front of the prince, you talk about what you did, and he decides. It's just that simple."

She made a face, certain that there was more to the story, but he just chuckled.

"Come on." He helped her up. "I really do want to show you something."

The sun was just arcing away from its zenith as he led her through from her gardens and onto the granite path, which felt pleasantly warm underneath her bare feet. The sunshine was still bright for the time of year, and the afternoon air had turned thick with autumn pollen as the flowers shed their final offering.

She had no idea where they going until they passed under the massive steel gates of the Royal Palace and started sneaking through the hallways, trying to remain unseen with Corbinian peeking around every corner.

"You have to talk the prince out of exiling you?" Samantha whispered, not wanting to let the matter go.

"That was my strategy," he whispered back to her. "I wasn't going to talk him into it."

"What did Sebastian say?"

"The wrong things."

He turned the corner, and that was when she realized that they were entering the living quarters of his parents' wing of the Royal Palace. If he had intended to derail the conversation, it was an excellent maneuver to bring her here, because she was struck by the strangeness of this place. It took her a moment to understand why.

It was lived in. Private and personal with so many gifts from so many different people from so many different places. The corners of the furniture weren't as sharp, the rugs had indentations where feet had been, and the tapestries were half-pulled back, as though someone had just been in these rooms, looking out the windows. But most of all, it was the portraits that caught Samantha's attention.

Those that lined the walls in the hallway downstairs were nothing compared to the portraits that lined the walls of this wing. Swaths of brilliant color across canvas, velvet, parchment; details piled upon details, the paintings stretched on and on and all of them were of members of the royal family. Samantha couldn't help but linger as long as possible on the portraits of Corbinian. Andraste in the heavens! The artists seemed to focus on capturing his eyes so absolutely that they were always the focus of each picture. Some portraits caught them with perfect realism while the rest of paintings were abstract or soft or crazy. They were so beautiful and Samantha couldn't help reaching out and touching some of them.

Corbinian just smiled at her, tugging on her hand and whispering for her follow.

When they rounded another corner, she realized that they were heading to his chambers. She had never questioned it, but she had never, not once, been inside his room. He had been to her room dozens of times and she had seen nearly every wing of the Royal Palace. Except this one. Never mind that he had seen her room on more occasions than she could count, but it would be improper on a scale of grand magnitude if she were caught in his room.

When they finally reached his chambers, she was a little surprised. The main color of his room was light blue. The comforter thrown across his bed was light blue, his walls were half-painted in this color and another darker blue, the rug in the center was a dark blue on top of what looked to be pine flooring. It was airy and comfortable, with light-colored wooden furniture, an armor stand, his sword mounted on the wall, and, of all things, a lute standing upright next to his bureau. There were so many questions and so she started with the most obvious.

"Blue…?" She turned her head to see him leaning against his bedroom door, which he had closed and latched.

"Blue." He smiled at her and she remembered their first night together in her room. The walls were the exact color of her underwear that night.

"When did you have this painted?"

"Oh… you know."

She blushed ridiculously. That he would paint his entire room in this color after that night, as if every time he walked into his room, every time he looked at the color of the walls, that he might think of that night and of her… it was so…

"I know, I know. It's so romantic."

"I was thinking it was… erotic."

He lifted an eyebrow but didn't move from the door. "Is that right? You know, I could paint another room…"

Her cheeks puffed out in a smile. "What's that over there?" She pointed to the lute.

"My new weapon of choice," he answered quickly, walking across the room to pick it up, sitting down in the chair next to it, but when he began to strum it was quite clear that he possessed a talent.

Samantha leaned up against one of the four bedpost to watch him play, and it was beautiful, the way his hand moved up and down the neck, the way his fingers plucked at the strings, the melodies and harmonies floating up and filling the air with emotion and dream and idea and for a moment, she was so moved that her eyes felt like they were floating and she forgot where she was and who she was with and was so deeply affected by so much, least of all that there were still things he could do and say that surprised her. Even after all this time.

When he stopped playing and looked up, his expression changed. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, a little embarrassed. "Your weapon is quite effective."

He chuckled as he set the lute back down. "Had I known it would work, I would have tried that first before all that talking."

"Yes. All that talking was really obnoxious." She brushed her wet cheeks dry.

"Being obnoxious is part of the strategy." He stood up, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Do you like my room?"

His room now seemed more like home than her own room and she wanted to stay here. She wanted to live here, to be here with him every night and every day and so she said, "I want to sleep with you."

"Wow… this worked out better than I thought."

She laughed without being able to help it. "Beenie. Sleep. We've been together many times, but never fallen asleep."

"Well, that's an easy request." He moved around to the bed and pulled down the covers, kicking off his boots and unbuttoning his shirt, but she hadn't moved, nervous about getting caught in their underclothes. "Pretend sleep. Just for a short time before it's totally dark out and then I'll take you home. Here, I'll open the curtains so we can see when the sun sets."

She smiled, unbuttoning her dress. "Okay."

Once divested of their clothing, all that was left was their smallclothes and underwear, of which hers were far more intricate. They were blue and Corbinian smiled that they were the same color as the room, though they were not the same set she'd worn that first night. He held the covers open for her as she slid in next to him and he brought them down around them both, pulling her up close and resting his head on the pillow.

They were silent as they lay there, with one of his arms under her head and the other draped across her stomach and she pushed herself back up against him, feeling the length of his body against hers; quite longer and infinitely warmer.

"What is it with you?" she asked. "You're so warm. All the time."

"It's my wild passionate feelings for you, Sammie," he said quietly into her ear.

"Tell me more about these wild passionate feelings."

"Shh, I'm sleeping."

And it was a new experience for them both: stillness with tenderness, with their hands upon each other and their bodies so close, becoming something entirely new. Something more. And as the late afternoon sunshine stained the room gold, a memory formed with so many others, but it was here in this room which was just his room, and in this bed which was just his bed which would continue to smell like her long after she had gotten up, long after he had walked her home and long after he had returned to that bed that very night to go to sleep alone.