9:34 Dragon, Early Summer

Sammie, my greatest friend,

I received your letter – finally letters are getting through again – and I deeply appreciate your concern, but we didn't even see any Qunari. We heard the fires and the screams and we thought something terrible was going on, but if I hadn't gone outside, we wouldn't have even known the Qunari were attacking. I couldn't just sit around, so I found some leathers and a bow and I went into the streets to see what I could do.

While I was out in the street and the fires were raging around me, our neighbors, the De Launcets, showed up with their idiot son, Emille. We ran into a few looters who were trying to break into a different neighbor's estate, but we fought them and we won! I am proud to say that I put arrows through two looters' hearts! As morbid as that might sound, it was both thrilling and frightening. The biggest surprise of the night was when Emille turned out to be a mage! He set off some weak firecracker of a spell at the looters, who looked more scared of the magic than him. Anyway, after the looters were dead, he freaked out that his parents and I saw him perform magic and ran off. I heard he was found later in a local tavern. Moron.

Oh, Sammie! If I could but describe to you how I feel! The entire experience was exhilarating, and for the first time in my life, I know exactly what I want. I know that because I am highborn, some will be surprised by this, but I would die of boredom if I had to have that life. Since that night, I've hired a master and begun training archery in earnest. I can just imagine your shock, but know that I have never been happier! This is what I was meant to do! I can't tell you how freeing it is to finally find my passion!

Kirkwall has become a little crazy since. The nobles in the town are so unusual! They wouldn't recognize tragedy if it blew up right in front of them, because the way some are reacting, you would think they had all suffered tremendously. The truth is that a handful got a little dirty and the one man who died was hated by everyone. Don't mistake me, the death of the Viscount is a tragedy, but I think the single ladies of Kirkwall are more distraught over the loss of Kirkwall's most eligible bachelor – the Viscount's son, Saemus.

Next month is the Annual Masked Ball to celebrate how great it is to be Orlesian – ugh! Brett won't be attending as he is making plans to travel to Nevarra City, which is where his wife ran off to. He's convinced he can win her back, and more power to him, I say. Ruxton isn't going either. In fact, he's leaving Kirkwall. He's decided to go to his lordship in Cumberland – it's a big town, and he can bury himself in his work there. He hasn't been himself for so long. I think it will be good for him.

I have been asked by four different boys so far, but I'm not going. Between the squeaky songstresses, the sloppy musicians, the clumsy boys, and the vapid conversations, I'm so bored with parties. The only draw for me was time with my friends, and all my friends are elsewhere. Some are with the Maker. I've decided to focus on my archery and one day, I will make a name for myself. Only then will I prove to everyone that my family still has honor.

I know you understand, Sammie.

Love, Flora

Samantha felt relieved that her friend was all right – she sounded better than all right, actually – but inwardly she lamented that Flora was drifting away. Samantha couldn't picture Flora as a mercenary... if that was the life she was aiming for. Why would anyone want to kill people for a living?

"So, I guess I'll hire the opera for tonight," Goran said. He'd been talking while Samantha was reading, and she'd missed most of it. She looked up guiltily. "I mean, I don't know what the Eberstarks like," he went on. "What do you suppose they do in Ansburg? Should I show them some fine entertainment or is that too boastful? I suppose I could get a servant to find out."

She lowered Flora's letter and stared at him blankly. "What?"

Goran was standing in front of a tall mirror, trying and failing to fasten the buttons of his vest.

"The Eberstarks," he said impatiently, as though she should know what he was talking about, and then suddenly she remembered: The Margrave of Ansburg, along with his wife and daughter were due on their first official visit to Starkhaven in just a few hours' time. After receiving their letter later last autumn, Goran had invited them to visit, but the weather hadn't been fine for traveling until recently.

"Oh, the Eberstarks! If I visited another city, I would want to experience their culture." Samantha folded the letter back up, placing it in her breast pocket, but when she looked back up to Goran, she caught him watching. "And besides, who doesn't love the opera?"

Goran turned back around, squinting at the buttons in the mirror. "Good news?"

His constant change of the subject was rattling. "Of a sort. Flora is doing better. Getting her life in order."

He visibly brightened. "That's great news!"

"Yes, it is…" She didn't want to tell him about Flora's new source of affection: her bow.

"I was thinking that I might visit her – I mean, visit Knight Commander Meredith." Goran chuckled nervously, and then he started rambling. "I need to meet her, you know. I haven't made many princely trips. My uncle used to take trips. Several times a year, if I recall. I hear there's a masked ball held in the late summer every year. Might be worth going. Make an appearance."

Samantha tried to hide her grimace. "Are you sure? Kirkwall sounds so dangerous these days…"

He shrugged. "I'll have guards."

"Why not wait until next spring? When the city calms from the Qunari attack?" She stepped in front of him, sighing at his inability to button his vest. "Here, let me do that."

"Now is the perfect time, really." He waved his hands in the air to suggest that it was common knowledge. "After such an attack, the city guard always shows a more prominent presence. It's to prevent looting. Well, any more looting."

Sometimes, Goran spoke so casually about catastrophe that she didn't recognize him. She glanced up, giving him a look of unease that he mistook as concern.

"You don't want to be alone." He spoke his thoughts so simply, as though they were truths to be reconciled instead of guessed at. "You could come with me."

"No," she said quickly, but the idea had already rooted itself in her head like a weed. Could she go to Kirkwall? She could see Flora. She could see Sebastian. It would be the first time she had ever left Starkhaven. She moved her hands down to the next set of buttons, trying to act nonchalant. "What's the rush?"

"What's the problem?" He seemed confused.

"Why do you really want to go, Goran?" she asked, though she knew why.

And he knew why she was asking. "What if I told you it was to deliver a gift?"

She raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "To whom?"

"Who do you think, Sammie?" As he stared at her, recognition of her true concern relaxed his features. He let a long pause pass between them, blinking through his thoughts until he finally asked, "What are you not telling me?"

Her hands fell away from his now-buttoned vest. "I'm only trying to protect you."

"From who? Flora?" He laughed, but her sad expression caused his smile to fall. "Oh. Oh, I see."

Samantha opened her mouth only to close it again, and the silence stretched between them so thin, it felt like something was about to snap. But Goran just said, "You're suggesting that it would be a waste of a trip."

"Goran—" She reached out to him, but he jerked away.

"I am an idiot!"

Samantha startled. "You're not—"

He sighed loudly as he moved out of the room, mumbling, "All these years..."

His voice disappeared into the darkness of the windowless hallway and Samantha padded behind him on her bare feet, leaving her shoes back in his room. As she passed by the servants, they all gave her incredulous looks as though she were running through the hallways naked.

"Goran, wait!"

"I should thank you," he called back, his long strides advancing him at a faster pace than she could keep up with.

"Where are you going?" She had to run to catch up, passing by Keis, who was leaning against the hall not far from the terrace. The warrior lifted her eyebrows in amusement as Samantha hurried by.

"Away from where I've been," he replied.

His voice came from an adjacent hallway and she abruptly halted in her tracks, changing her direction to follow him. He was heading to the room where he kept all those paintings of Flora, and she arrived in time to see the white linens sailing through the air like parachutes. Goran's arms swung around as he went from painting to painting, pinching the large sheets between his fingers and, as the fabric zipped away from the canvas, long undisturbed dust kicked up into the room.

"What are you doing?" She watched him move so swiftly and gracefully that she wondered if he was just a fumbling mess in his youth because he was around Flora. She had a sudden memory of following him down the hallway of this palace, Lady Pentaghast at his side as they walked so elegantly to the library where his Aunt forced him to read poetry.

"What did she say in the letter, Sammie?" He lifted a portrait from its display, tossing it across the room casually as though it weighed nothing. It landed in the corner with a thunk.

"She…" Samantha didn't want to tell him this, but everyone had been right; she was a terrible liar. Reluctantly, she said, "She is devoting herself to archery. She doesn't want the life of nobility."

"Of course," he muttered softly before tossing another portrait haphazardly; it landed somewhere behind him. "She writes to you, who is under my care. She fixes her estate and her holdings with the aid of my secretaries. She finds her health with my nurses. But does she write to me aside from a short and polite thank-you letter? Does she bother to know the person who would make such an effort for her?"

Samantha stayed in the doorway, unsure of what to say. Goran seemed to be mostly talking to himself anyway.

He shook his head, surveying the room he was destroying. "Beenie told me long ago to forget her, but I didn't listen. You tried to tell me, too. About giving up on her after what her mother did, but I didn't listen then, either!" He turned about, bumping into an empty easel which fell over into another, knocking away a rather lovely portrait of Flora depicting her on the night Corbinian had proposed marriage. Flora's dress had been silken obsidian.

Goran is a fool. A dim-witted, clumsy, fat fool. I swear to Andraste, sitting beside the Maker himself, I am not interested in Goran, and I never will be. Ever.

Samantha stared at the painting, and she could see plainly why Goran had been so taken with her. Why so many men had. She was stunningly beautiful. But she was also cold. A tiny voice in the back of Samantha's mind whispered, Just like her mother. She shook the disturbing thought away.

Goran was still babbling. "My aunt thought I was crazy for being so keen on a girl who showed me so little interest." He let out a small growl. "But I didn't listen."

He moved about the room, tossing one painting after another into the corner until the stack was nearly halfway up the wall. Samantha watched her friend's face sail through the air repeatedly. Flora smiling, laughing, dancing, in the sun, the gardens, shades of turquoise and lavender, with long, rich, excited strokes mixed with lighter, delicate swaths of melancholy. Her sultry eyes dared them all to forget her, their beauty only ruined by the small rips in the stretched canvas over the splintered wood beneath. The beauty of them perfectly fit Goran, who trashed the room gracefully. The way he moved, the long muscles in his arms flexing beneath his dressy tunic, chest heaving in and out; he was a wild animal, elegantly pacing in irritation.

She boldly took a step into the room. "Goran—"

"Excuse me, Your Highness?"

A tepid voice floated in from the hallway and Samantha whirled around to see one of Goran's secretaries. Samantha recognized him: his name was Myron. He was a round man with a shock of black hair on his head and a jagged line of whiskers down his jaw. With a roll of parchment in one hand and a quill in the other, his gaze darted reproachfully around the messy room.

The man bowed, remembering his manners even if she and Goran did not. "My lady, forgive the, ah, intrusion…. Guests have arrived at the palace, Your Highness."

"The Eberstarks," Goran huffed.

Myron the secretary pressed his puffy lips together. "I'm so sorry, Your Highness, but no. There are three men, dirty and bruised. They bear your seal and are demanding to see you."

With wide eyes, Goran came to an abrupt halt, the paintings falling from his fingers, forgotten. "Take me to them at once!"

Myron's countenance changed at Goran's order and he sprung into motion, leading the prince and Samantha back through the main hallway and into an adjacent room. Once Goran was in their presence, the three guests seemed elated in relief.

"My prince!" One of them called, holding up the official seal of the prince of the Starkhaven. "We return!"

The men seemed exhausted, and not just their bodies but their supplies as well. Their swords and shields were dirty, their hollowed packs were ripped at the seams, and their brown hair was streaked with gold, bleached from the sun. Their leathers, which looked like they used to be quite fine, were softened by the earth and set upon their shoulders in worn tatters. Each had a short beard as though shorn with a blade rather than a shaving knife, and their skin was deep bronze, clearly from overexposure to the elements. Only one man seemed less battered than the other two, and though he wore leathers, he was in the middle of handing a bladed staff to a pair of wary royal guards. Samantha recognized him as a mage.

"Bring these men to the wash rooms immediately," Goran said to one of the two guards, and the pair glanced at each other for a moment before the guard who received the order complied, leading the three men down the hall. Goran didn't appear to care if he gave orders to the correct people. Continuing in this fashion, he turned to a nearby servant boy who was watering plants and said, "Tell the kitchens to prepare breakfast at once, settings for five. I'll have the men cleaned and supped inside an hour."

The moment Goran finished speaking, the boy hopped onto his heels and ran off.

Goran turned about in circles. "Where is Colin? Maker… where is that boy?" Colin was his personal squire.

"You let him have this morning off, Your Highness."

Both Samantha and Goran startled at the familiar voice, turning to see Keis leaning inside the doorway. She had this way of being everywhere that was most unsettling.

"Oh, right." Goran looked around dumbly. "Is there anyone else around, then?"

Keis sighed, limply suggesting, "You could always ring the bell, my prince."

"Oh right! The bell!" He snapped his fingers in understanding and moved into the main hallway, swiftly traveling down the corridor to the front sitting room where he found a long cord of velvet rope dangling from somewhere above. When he pulled on it, a loud bell tinkled somewhere, and, almost immediately, four different servants appeared from the shadows. It was like they lived just out of sight, like they had been trained to be that way. "Right. You—" Goran pointed at a girl. "Find more servants, and make up three of the guest rooms, those close to my wing. And you—" He pointed to another girl. "Fetch paper, quill, and ink. Can you write?" The girl shook her head. "Find someone who can write. Bring everything to the brunch room. I want every word the men say written down. And you—" He pointed to the lone boy. "Have you ever performed as squire?" The boy shook his head. "Then find three who can. They will squire for the men while they live in the palace. And you—" He pointed to the final girl. "Fetch clothing for the men. Find a store if you must. Tell no one about any of this. Go now!"

The four scurried off like freshly discovered mice from under a rock.

"Come, Sammie." He pivoted, heading back into the hallway. "We must break our fast with these men this morning."

"What about the Eberstarks?" She followed in breathless anticipation, more excited than she had been in a long while. These men were one of Goran's groups, his Ghost Chasers.

Rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, he sauntered down the hallway, passing by the portraits of the long-dead Vaels. "They can join us when they arrive."

He walked with purpose, more sure of himself than Samantha had ever seen him, and she fell in step with him, following with a big smile.

Goran paused, seemingly in every hallway, giving instructions to various servants as he passed: mealtimes, weapons, permissions, access to certain parts of the royal palace, and always discretion. Samantha waited on him anxiously, but at the third stop she realized that she was barefoot. She glanced over at Keis and pointed to her feet.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Samantha whispered.

Keis shrugged. "That's not my job."

Groaning to herself, Samantha grabbed one of the passing servants and asked the girl to fetch her shoes from the prince's royal closet. The girl seemed flustered at the request, and Samantha would have felt embarrassed at the impropriety if not for this day. No, she was much too distracted, for on this day, she was about to hear news of Corbinian!

Once they finally made it into the brunch room, the same room that Samantha had brunched with Goran's family and her parents those many years ago, the servants were just setting out the trays of fruits and sweetmeats. The Maker's sun had shined brightly upon them on that day, and lately Samantha didn't see His light anywhere. Even on this morning, His sun was behind clouds but His light managed to shine through the sheer curtains, giving the room a soft, almost blessed glow.

They had planned an elaborate meal to greet the foreign dignitaries, but now they were giving it to the three men. Samantha and Goran had spent weeks reading up on the latest delicacies from all over the Marches, wanting greatly to impress the Margrave with the food, and the chefs had prepared the meal to exact specifications. Nearly every kind of food was sitting upon the table. She spied the small bite-sized apple tarts dusted with cinnamon, Starkhaven's famous Fish Pie made in small single-serving tart dishes, an array of smoked fish including trout, salmon, mackerel, and halibut decoratively arranged to look like flowers, fruits of every color evenly sliced and fanned out across trays decorated with silver and linen, smoked and roasted cold meats, and of course the pastries. Cream puffs with rosemary-spiked filling, butterscotch sticky buns, savory pancakes with pancetta and apple, strawberry puffs with chocolate glaze, and the blessed orange juice, freshly squeezed into a crystal pitcher. If Keis wanted some, she certainly didn't let on, but Samantha poured her a tall glass anyway. Keis didn't give a word of thanks, but whenever she took a sip, she closed her eyes.

When the three men entered the room, Goran stood up formally to greet them, and the trio stared wide-eyed at the table filled with food. Samantha wasn't sure if they would be able to keep their manners, because it must have been a while since they had eaten such a rich meal. Even so, the men showed her their courtesies, possibly because a lady sat with them.

A bustle of servants came and went from the room, setting it for service and Samantha felt great relief once her shoes arrived. The last to shuffle in was a teen girl, somewhat gangly, carrying fresh sheets of parchment, two bottles of ink, and four quills. She quietly set herself up at an adjacent smaller table – but couldn't hide her envy at their breakfast.

"Maker in the heavens…," the tallest of three men breathed, clearly satisfied, sitting back with his hands upon his swollen belly. "That was the best breakfast that I've ever had."

"As my guest in the palace, you'll have many more," Goran promised. "Plus, you will each have the boon of your choice. A knighthood, a title… you will have plenty of time to consider it. But if you feel ready, I'd like to hear what you found. With the manner of your return, I assume you have news for me."

"We do," the tallest one said; his name was Brandt, and he had a lowborn Marcher accent. "We tracked your brother through the swamps. Hell, that place is. Murder at every turn. But the Marquess is a clever one for he did survive it."

"He did…?" Goran leaned forward. It wasn't so much a question as a need for affirmation.

Samantha leaned in as well, unable to contain herself; she wanted to hear every word.

"Yes, Your Highness," Brandt confirmed with a proud smile. "We found several traces. Tracks in the mud. Marks on trees. Paths through heavily wooded areas. Magic helped. We came upon a woman."

"Right nut, that one," the second man said; his name was Rylan and he also spoke with a lowborn Marcher accent. "She thought we were all Templars! We wanted to question her, to see if she had seen His Excellency, your brother. But Marke—" He gestured to the mage. "—had to subdue her. Finally, she told us that she had chased off a Templar. One wearing golden armor."

"Golden armor," Goran echoed. "Some Templars wear golden plate similar to my brother's."

"Yes, but she was very specific about this one," Brandt said. "She described the plate pieces quite well, and said they were worn by a boy with green skin."

"Green skin?" Samantha couldn't help herself, and she felt a little embarrassed at her outburst when they all turned to her.

"Yes, my lady," Brandt said. "She said he was green. Rylan had her right, she was a bit off."

"Was?" Goran asked.

"Yes, well," Brandt hesitated. "She wouldn't stop throwing fireballs at us."

Goran's eyes widened. "She was an apostate?"

"I'm sorry, Your Highness," Brandt said earnestly. "I know you wanted us to leave people unspoiled, but once we let her go, she attacked us. She took out Tomas and Herbert before we got her down. She was a powerful mage."

"It's all right," Goran said, though clearly still disturbed. "Go on."

Rylan took over. "Well, we think the Marquess got a bit lost after that. His trail was hard to find. We'd pick it up here and there, but we had a devil of a time tracking him down. Heard the strangest things too in that swamp. Whispers in the treetops. The night would fall when it shouldn't have. The stories are true of that place, milord. 'Tis haunted."

Samantha glanced at Keis who was watching the mage, Marke, closely. The man hadn't spoken yet, and sat motionless, seemingly content to let the other two tell the story.

"Took a month to get out," Brandt added. "And we had magical trinkets to guide our way. I can't believe your brother made it out on his own. A real skilled lad, he is."

The way the men spoke of the swamp, their eyes and voices filled with dread, Samantha felt afraid. Corbinian was skilled indeed, full of ingenuity and knowledge of survival skills – but what horrors had he endured in those swamps? She tried to shake the thought away, reminding herself that he was alive! She felt the urge to run down the hallway to Goran's private study, to lift the glass from the display, and touch the armor plate that had once been attached to his arm. His tanned arm which held a jagged river of blood and life, just like the Minanter as it splintered through the swamps.

Goran prodded the man to continue, as focused as Samantha had ever seen him, even when painting. "Where did he exit the swamp?"

Brandt answered him. "To the north, my prince. In the Green Dales. His trail was easier to follow there. He was headed straight east. Toward the Amaranthine. Probably aiming to run into a landmark on the way."

This seemed to fit the story that the Margrave of Ansburg had come up with.

"We followed his trail for more than a month – the Green Dales is large." Brandt paused to let out a small belch and seemed exceedingly embarrassed at its escape. Goran waved his hand, impatient for the man to continue and not caring about his manners in the slightest.

Rylan laughed quietly, finishing the story. "Eventually, we found a hermit—a farmer. Short little man. He was Antivan and didn't understand us, but we was lucky we had Marke."

The third man and the mage, Marke, finally spoke up, and he had an accent unlike any other, clearly Fereldan. "I speak five languages, Your Highness. I spoke to the idiot of a man who claimed an apostate boy stumbled onto his property and attacked him. We showed him the drawing of your brother that you made for us, and this apostate boy matched your brother's depiction entirely, though the little man said he had more hair on his face. But it was your brother."

Then if His plan should ever separate me from you, Sammie, I will move the stars from the sky, I will fight demons and mages and dragons and Qunari, I will cross the Fade if I have to until I am returned to you.

Samantha couldn't breathe.

"Well…?" Goran asked impatiently. "Why isn't he with you, then?"

Marke sighed, irritated at the memory. He explained, "The idiot Antivan said your brother burned his crops and terrorized his land for more than a tenday. He said he had to barricade himself inside his house and send for reinforcements." The mage's irritation reached new heights when he said, "He was lying, of course. That much was easy to tell even without magic. But his reinforcements did come, and they took your brother away. That's when the trail grew cold."

Goran brought a fist down on the table hard enough to clink the glasses. "Who took my brother away?"

Marke hesitated before he said, "Antivan slavers, Your Highness. The little man sold your brother to slavers."