The Rogue's Conquest

Chapter Twenty

"I believe you've forgotten to ask for your present." Remarked Sebastian, his voice little more than a raspy whisper at Marian's ear. When she didn't answer, he ran his finger along the shallow valley of her spin, stopping to caress the full roundness of her bottom as she lay sprawled on top of him She sighed then, satisfied, and shifted so that she could prop herself up on his chest to smile sleepily down at him

"I thought that was my pressie," she purred, shoving the damp tangle of her hair back from her forehead. " And oh, sweet Venus, what a strikingly rare present it was, too."

He pulled her down to kiss again, leisurely savoring the taste of her mouth. "A present is something special, Mari. Making love to you will be a considerably more commonplace occurrence."

The laugh she graced him with was husky, dark and infected with provocative suggestion. "Frequent, perhaps, but never commonplace Knight-Commander," she murmured with a cheeky wink, stretching, her lithe curves rubbed casually against him. "By the Gods, Sebastian, your stamina would be enough to sate the goddess of sex herself… Not that I'm complaining, Gods know I'll be happily riding atop you again before we leave this bed. You laying right here," She paused, and began feathering her index over his nipples, treating the right first than the left, keeping Sebastian, her attentive captive, his body tight as his bowstring, while he waited for her to finish. "Your most chaste part at my mercy!" She teased, her silken tongue taking the job of her index, while her clever hand traced downward toward his 'chaste' member. Already he felt his interest quickening, growing hard again and his idle touch became more of a caress.

" Why, Marian Hawke," Sebastian murmured, feigning seriousness, pinching off the smile that threatened to surface. "You are quite a cunning fox upon these satin sheets, but there are still aspects of your craft that could be honed."

"Is that right serha?" she grinned. "Then you absolutely must promise to be my master tutor."

"I wouldn't trust any other. We've nearly twelve years between us to make up for." He groaned with the pleasure of her movements, and only through sheer will did he hold her still. "But first your present, lovely lass."

She pouted, puckering her bottom lip out most enticingly. "Can't it wait, Vael?"

"A little patience, Hawke," he said, even though he wasn't overly inclined to heed his own advice. "Can you reach my dress-coat?"

"If I must." She slid to one side of the bed to reach the dress-coat where in their haste it had been dropped, along with the rest of their clothing. She rolled over to face Sebastian, lightly touching the golden hawk tangled in the fabric of his coat as she handed it to him. "That brought you luck today, eh?" she said softly "When I think of how you faced down poor Dallas…. My blood still runs cold."

Sebastian pulled himself up against the headboard. "The boy couldn't have done it. I've seen others who would have fired without a thought, but Dallas isn't one of them, no matter how much Gabriel wished it so. I pray Gabe has learned that lesson."

"Amen to that," said Marian sadly. "But, Gods you were brave, and lucky, too. If I were you, I'd spare some credit to that little hawk." She pulled the comforter over her bare shoulders, watching him as he searched through the dress-coat's pockets. They'd left the curtains open at the end of the bed for light from the fire, and by its embers his tussled hair was a glimmering bronze. The broad planes of his chest and arms stood out with prideful distinction in the shadowy light, the curling hair on his chest glinting, and against the pine green of the bed sheets he seemed even more male. What a beautiful, primal man, thought Marian, a beautiful, brave, charming man she loved more than she'd ever thought possible.

He ran his thumb across the golden pendent and smiled. "Of course I'll give my hawk credit. She's kept me alive this long, hasn't she?" He hesitated for a moment, watching her face. "Just like that little heart you always wear."

"You mean my locket?" She shrugged, embarrassed that he'd noticed. "It's hardly the same. Inside are two portraits; on one side is a painting of my sister, Bethany and on the other, a portrait of our little girl." Shrugging her shoulders lightly, Marian paused noting the uncertainty in Sebastian's eyes. "With Bethany gone, and Nova sent away, I needed something to keep me close to them, an anchor to keep me from drifting. A sentimental woman's whim; is all, I swear it."

He grinned outrageously. "Our daughter? Your sister? Oh, Mari, I thought – But no, it doesn't matter. Here, come closer. Gently he pulled her closer, the simple contact rippling gooseflesh along her skin, the comforter sliding forgotten from her shoulders. "I am most fortunate, you know, luckier than any man has a right to be," he said. "Avoiding arrows and fireballs is one thing. Coming to Kirkwall and finding you again is quite another." He opened his hand to show a small, silk-covered box, and he smiled at her uncertainly. All his carefully rehearsed speeches, all the sweet poet's words he'd wanted to say to her, evaporated like morning mist. He sighed, tapping his thumb against the top of the box. "I don't know where to begin, Mari," he admitted. "I know you said that this would seem forced…And after all the ways I've wronged you, I know I've no right to expect any favor in return. And when I think of what I've done to Nova, of the kind of scorn she could have suffered because of me – damnation, I can't believe what a blackguard I've been to you both." He was rambling and he knew it, rambling like an idiot, but because she said nothing to stop him, he couldn't stop himself. "Then look at the way I finally find you, part of an army that you call your enemy. I still am. Even though I want to try to set things to rights as best I can, I know I won't be able to. It doesn't matter how much I love you, or that I never want to leave you or Nova again. My very presence in your life will ruin your trade. But maybe after this wretched war, when the rebellion's won, and Kirkwall is at peace again, then maybe it won't matter as much if you and I—"

"Yes," said Marian softly. "Yes."

Drawn up short, he frowned. "Yes?" he repeated uneasily. "Yes, you say?"

"Yes, yes, yes, you nerd," she said, smiling though her eyes shone brightly with tears. "That is the answer you want, isn't it?"

He shook his head, almost afraid to believe her. "How can you give me an answer when I haven't properly asked the question? I've done so many things wrong with you. Let me do this one right." He flipped open the lid to the box and took out the ring nestled in plush within, a slim gold band crowned by a flower of garnets and pearls. Gingerly he held it poised between his thumb and forefinger, the little ring looking impossibly dainty by contrast." Will you marry me, Marian Hawke? Here, now, in Kirkwall, as soon as it can be arranged?" he asked, his voice thrumming with emotion. "Marry me and be my wife, my one love forever?"

This time Marian found it impossible to speak, her hand clamped tight against her mouth as she fought her tears. She'd never dreamed she'd live to hear such a question asked of her; nor had she ever imagined how much these simple words could begin to express the joy that filled her now? But she could still nod, and nod she did, and with a great sigh of satisfaction and relief, Sebastian slipped the ring onto her finger.

"There now, and it even fits," he said as he lifted her hand to kiss it. "I had to guess."

"It's perfect," whispered Marian as his lips grazed across her skin. "And so are you, Sebastian."

"Not quite," he said gruffly. "But I'm trying damned hard to be better."

At last she found she could smile. "Then we shall make a most excellent pair, love, always striving to improve ourselves."

"Ha! I'd say we make a fine pair already." He curled his arm around her waist and pulled her, giggling, up against his chest. "But I suppose I could show you again exactly how well we fit."

8-8-8

Marian woke slowly, dragged unwillingly back to consciousness. Hanging halfway between sleep and waking, she'd no wish to leave the warmth and security that still surrounded her, nor did she bother overmuch with wondering what had brought about this blissful condition. Yet once again she heard the voices from downstairs, men's voices in the taproom, and at last the habit of responsibility dragged her reluctantly from the sweet disorientation of sleep. She should dress and go downstairs and see to her guests. There might be a score of them waiting, from the sounds of their voices, more customers than she'd had for many nights, and she couldn't afford not to welcome them, not to laugh at their jokes, smooth over their arguments and see that their tankards stayed full throughout the night. She needed to check on Nova, as well, and make sure her daughter was still sleeping as soundly as when she and Sebastian had left her earlier.

She should go, yes, but in a moment. She curled herself more deeply against Sebastian's body, relishing the warmth and the intimacy of being here with him. He murmured unintelligibly in his sleep and circled his arm around her waist, holding her there. Another moment, she told herself, another precious moment was all. She lifted her hand with the new ring so that she could admire it again, the dark red stones sparkling in the last light of the fire. Marian Vael – she liked the sound of that. Her husband, Sebastian. She liked that even better. Her husband Sebastian. Mr. and Mrs. Sebastian Vael, of Starkhaven and late of Lothering, and their daughter, Miss Nova Vael. Oh, it all sounded like the perfect fairytale ending to what had been a tumultuous way of life.

He'd said he wished to marry as quickly as possible. Given the circumstances, Revered Mother Rosa might be persuaded to turn a blind eye to Sebastian's status. They could be married by Solstice. They'd have the wedding in the lounge downstairs, a small wedding, but then that would be best. So few of her closest friends remained in Kirkwall and the ones who still did she had very likely already alienated them, and if she hadn't, a marriage to the Knight-Commander would do just that. But there'd still be joy; she'd make sure of it, with her own special punch for all of Sebastian's friends after the ceremony and Francois and his fiddle to play for dancing. Sebastian would wear his dress uniform with the gold lace and silver spurs, and if there was time, even two days, she'd have a new gown made for herself, silk taffeta or maybe a gown made of rich satin and soft lace. For once she'd spend her gold unreasonably without feeling guilty for doing so. She was going to marry Sebastian, and for him she wanted to be as beautiful as she could. And Nova must have a new gown, too, fine wool instead of silk, of course, but still very-

What are the men doing on the stairs? She pushed herself up on her elbows; nervously fiddling with the lyrium tear she wore around her neck as she listened. One man was speaking, saying things she couldn't make out, but from the footfalls on the bare steps, there were others with him, all unfamiliar to her senses, except for one, a woman, realized Marian, but Orana… Why was the little elf here, instead of tucked away with Fenris for the night? More importantly why was she coming up here with a crowd of men?

"What is it, Marian?" asked Sebastian, instantly awake beside her. "What's happening?"

"I don't know," she answered. The beginning tremors of the night wolf's awakening roiled deep in her belly and she couldn't help but feel certain that whoever treaded the back stairs, wasn't doing so with well wishes in mind. She apparently wasn't the only one feeling that way; Sebastian leaned from the bed to reach for his dagger. "It doesn't sound like-" But it was too late. The skeleton key was already clicking the lock and the door was flying open and soldiers were filling the room, surrounding the bed, Templar soldiers, all of them brandishing their weapon of choice, bows, swords and daggers, all directed at her and Sebastian as the bed curtains were violently wrenched back. With a feral growl escaping her lips, Marian grabbed the comforter to hide her nakedness, before shoving herself in front of Sebastian.

"Not here little wolf," he whispered, forcing Marian behind him. "They'll hang you."

"They look intent on hanging both of us." She retorted, snapping her teeth at what seemed like a sea of angry Templars.

"This won't help, love." Sebastian returned, gently squeezing her thigh reassuringly. Though she shrank back behind him like he wished her to, Marian was in no way reassured, she knew why the soldiers were here. There could only be one reason, but she didn't want to hear it.

"What in the Blessed Divine is the meaning of this intrusion?" demanded Sebastian. "I'll see you all broken, every last one of you, for breaking in here like this!"

It was a woman's voice that answered first, Orana, pushing her way to the front of the soldiers. In her hand was the ring with the skeleton key from the kitchen, where it was kept for emergencies, and her gaze as she stared at them blistered with hatred.

"Don't you 'Blessed Divine' me, you hypocritical ox!" she shouted at Sebastian, practically spitting the words. "It wasn't enough that you came here and ravaged this poor city! But, now you share a bed with the very demon you came here to tame. By the Gods you sired your very own bastard mage! And you, Marian, aye, did you think I was so blind I wouldn't see it? Not that I needed proof, everyone knows you're a whore."

"Why Orana?" Was all Marian could say, her heart flat lining from this betrayal. "After all I've done-"

"Oh, there it is," Orana spat, her pretty eyes growing colder. "Your constant need to remind me how you saved me, the perfect little elven pet right?"

"I have never-"

"Save it, Hawke. Save it for someone who cares to listen to your false words of love, save it for people like Anders, Isabela or," she paused, narrowing her eyes. "Or Fenris, people who let you walk on their hearts, their very souls like foolishly, loyal pups." Too stunned to talk, all Marian could do was listen, her heartstrings snapping at her beloved friend's tirade. "I haven't seen Fenris in weeks; did you know that? He'd much rather run headlong into danger to please you, than to be home, in the arms of a woman who actually loves him. And now, you repay his loyalty, by fucking the enemy-"

"Enough, knife ears," ordered Knight-Vigilant Cullen as he stepped forward. He waved his hand impatiently, and two of the soldiers seized Orana pulling her aside. "Vael and his abomination have more to worry about now than a bastard kid and hurt feelings."

"Knight-Vigilant, sir," said Sebastian, his words clipped with anger. "Perhaps you can explain why-"

"There is nothing whatsoever to explain," snapped Cullen. "At least not to you. In the name of The Lady Divine Justinia V, I hereby arrest you, Sebastian Vael, of the fair lady's Twenty-fifth Regiment."

Marian gasped, and once more she tried to shove in front of Sebastian, but again she was pushed back. His expression didn't change a fraction, nor did his voice lose the heat of his anger. "Am I to be told the charges against me, sir?"

"Treason," said Cullen. "High treason, and default of your duties as an officer. And may the Maker have mercy upon you, sir, because I surely will not."

8-8-8

Sebastian dragged himself upright at the sound of the footsteps coming down the hall, the shackles around his ankles and the irons hanging from his wrists nearly as heavy as his heart. Two days ago they'd shoved him into this dank, dirty cell by himself, where the only comforts were the moldy straw piled on the floor for his bed and a bucket in the corner. There was no candle or lantern, no fire for warmth, and only the weakest of daylight managed to filter through the tiny slits high in the wall. The brick walls and floor held the damp and the chill, as well as the less tangible scents of the fear and desperation of its former occupants. The good men of Kirkwall had built their gallows well, and since the first mages who went from its cells to the hangman, no man, nor woman, had managed to escape.

The footsteps were coming closer, their echoes louder, and Sebastian lumbered to the door. It was too early for the guard to bring the evening meal, and until now he'd had no other visitors. He leaned close to the heavy battened doors, straining to make out the voices on the other side, concentrating so hard that he barely had time to stagger back from the opening door when he heard the scrape of the warden's key in the iron padlock.

The warden, an emaciated man named Vilkas, came first, holding a lantern that made Sebastian shield his eyes from the unaccustomed brightness. After Vilkas followed an infantryman Sebastian recognized by now as one of his personal guards, none of them from his own regiment. The man spat at Sebastian, making his contempt as clear as he could, and raised the hilt of his sword, ready to strike Sebastian with any provocation. Not that Sebastian intended to offer any. He still bore the angry bruises from the first night, when Vilkas and the guards had been as rough as they pleased bringing him here and putting him in irons. Yet it didn't matter that his cheek and brow were bloody and swollen, or that his shirt and dress-coat were torn and filthy; he was still an officer of the Divine until proven otherwise, and he would not be intimidated, and before the guard he stood as proud and straight as he could.

But that hard-earned composure vanished as soon as he saw who else had come.

"Cullen, by Andraste," he said furiously. "Where's Marian Hawke? What have ye' done with her? Damnation, if ye've hurt her in any way-" Now the guard swung the hilt of the sword, striking Sebastian so hard in the shoulder that he staggered, gasping, back against the wall.

"You'll do what, Vael?" asked the Knight-Vigilant, his smile thin. "In your current state you'd do better to look after your own affairs than those of the rebel wench who brought you down."

Slumped against the wall, still struggling to catch his breath, Sebastian let the first edge of desperation creep into his voice. "The – the Black Divine take ye', Cullen! Where – where is she?"

"Oh, Marian Hawke's safe enough, her brother and that stiff-necked, wall of a Guard-Captain has made certain of that," said Cullen lightly. "Still snug under her own roof, if you must know. Besides we wouldn't want any unfortunate accidents to come to her before she must testify against you. Strange to have to court martial a mage, but given the circumstances, I intend to use everything against you that I can. After that, of course, she'll be tried herself, in Orlais, on charges much graver than yours. Spying, treason, her cook has even graced me with stories of your mistress being the leader of this blasted rebellion. Did you know? Bah, it doesn't much matter, she'll hang, too, if that's any comfort to you."

Still breathing hard, Sebastian fought against the bleak sense of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm him. He knew that every word the Knight-Vigilant said was true. There was no possible way he'd be found innocent in a court-martial, not when he'd be judged by the same peers he was charged with betraying. He'd done what he believed was right, but with Cullen against him, no one would stop to listen to his reasons. Now every order he'd ever given, every action that had depended upon his judgment, would be reviewed, questioned and finally discredited, until the career that had been his life would be dishonored beyond redemption.

And then there was Marian. What Cullen had said about her was true, too. She would be forced to testify against him, and the prosecutor would not treat her with the gentleness she deserved. Everything she'd try to say in Sebastian's defense would be twisted about and turned against them both, and by the time she herself was tried, there would be nothing left of either her creditability or her good name.

It was bad enough for a man to be hanged, but for a woman it seemed somehow even more horrifying, more shameful. Once he'd seen three women, a trio of blood mages, executed in Nevarra, and the memory had stayed with him long after. To know that Marian would die in such an unspeakably cruel and painful way was beyond bearing, and the thought of poor Nova left orphaned and friendless in that appalling manner only terrorized his sense of rage and powerlessness. The best that Sebastian could hope for was that in the two nights they'd spent together, Marian had conceived another babe by him; at least then her life would be spared till the baby was born. But as best hopes went, it was a grim one indeed. His head bowed, he let despair sweep over him. Once before she'd been nearly ruined because of him. Now he'd returned to her life, and instead of the wedding he'd promised her, she faced death. All because of him, all because of what he'd brought to her. She was sly as a fox, twice as cunning even, but there'd be no way she'd escape the hangman, this time he had finished what he'd started nearly twelve years past.

Slowly he glanced back at Cullen, raising his hands just enough for the irons to clink together. "Why did you come?" he asked. "To mock me? To gloat?"

"Why did I come?" Musing, Cullen dabbed at his nose with the scented handkerchief that he was using to mask the stench of the gallows. "I suppose I'm here to teach myself a lesson. I trusted you, Vael. I believed you were one of us that you were a Templar, no matter what side of this blasted war your bloodline had settled on. But the Divine and I were wrong to trust you, weren't we, eh? In your heart, you always kept a soft patch for these abominations, a lawless savage, just like them and even wearing the Divine's holy armor couldn't change you."

A lawless savage, thought Sebastian. Lawless savages like Gabriel and Marian and Aveline too, good people, strong people, people who didn't need a lady Divine to decide what was right. He looked down, his eyes drawn to the glint of gold as the lantern caught his lucky hawk, somehow still hooked to his dress-coat. The only luck he had now was ill, but perhaps there was more of a message to be found in the little hawk than luck alone. "I have never once brought shame to my uniform or my regiment, sir," he said as he touched the golden piece. "Though you will not believe it now, I have always done my best to obey my orders and follow my duty to the people I'd sworn to protect."

"But you couldn't deny your blood, could you, Vael?" said Cullen sharply. "When the final choice came, you sided with the black-hearted rogues. Now you've destroyed yourself for the sake of this pointless rebellion, and for your misguided devotion to that whoring little tavern wench. You couldn't have done worse to yourself if you'd drunk nightshade. In the end, you followed your own kind."

"Aye, that is true," said Sebastian slowly, "and for the sake of my soul, I thank their Gods that I did."

"Then your soul will go straight to the Black Divine, where it belongs, Vael, and welcome she is to it." Curtly, Cullen motioned to the warden to lead the way from the cell. "I should have known better than to expect any sort of repentance or remorse for your actions from you. What could your kind know of honor? The court will convene in two days. I expect their decision to be swift, so you will do well to prepare yourself." Sebastian watched them leave in silence, his chained hands hanging heavily at his sides. There was nothing left for him to say, not now. "Oh, and happy Solstice, Vael," he said with a mocking smile. "Enjoy the day however you can, for you know it's bound to be your last." The door swung shut on the Knight-Vigilance laughter, and the darkness that surrounded Sebastian was complete.

8-8-8

With a sigh, Marian drew the grimy blankets around her shoulders and stared up at the beams overhead, as if she could see beyond them to the room above. The taproom, that would be it, and from the stamping of feet and the whooping and cheering of men tumbled far into their cups she was certain they'd broken the lock on the bar to reach the liquor kept inside. At least they hadn't come down here yet in search of more. Or perhaps the Templar soldiers simply hadn't realized that this cellar room that they had turned into her makeshift prison was really the storeroom for her best rum, Starkhaven rum, hogshead after hogshead of it, stacked against the outside wall to keep cool.

Tonight that cool had shifted to outright cold, and when Marian blew out her breath in a little puff she could see it, a tiny cloud that hovered before her lips. She curled herself more tightly for warmth on the worn straw mat and cursed herself as she did, for forcing Carver, as she had, to agree to the Knight-Vigilance wishes for her imprisonment. At least she'd negotiated her imprisonment here, instead of the gallows. And she hadn't been left in the dark, that was a bonus, they'd left her a lantern, though it's light was growing dim, and with her mana drained so completely that she could no longer (much to her dismay) feel the wolf nor the hawk, Marian figured she'd lose her small luxury of light soon enough.

The men upstairs were roaring Solstice songs now. Likely passing around her lyrium tear they stole from her as 'evidence,' to quench their dust addictions. One more time she turned her hand toward the lantern to see the garnet and pearl betrothal ring, Sebastian's Solstice gift to her, and one more time the red stones blurred before her in the tears she couldn't hold back. She had thought they'd never again be parted. She had believed that their love for one another would be strong enough to carry them through anything. She had imagined Sebastian as her husband and she as his wife, and Nova at last with the two loving parents that every child deserved. She'd pictured other children, too, happy, gurgling babies with Sebastian's turquoise eyes and her scarlet curls. She'd dreamed of the tavern filled with laughter and love, in a Kirkwall free from tyranny and fear.

All this she had dreamed; but as with so many other dreams, Marian had seen hers crushed ruthlessly and forever in the brief moments that the Templar soldiers had dragged Sebastian away from her. He would never be her husband now, and never again would she know the sweetness of his kisses or the passion of his embrace. She would never even see him alone again, not in this life. For in those same few moments, her own fate had been inexorably changed, too. No more could she dream of being a wife, a mother or even an aunt. Now she was only a mage abomination with bound hands, destined to dance her life away on the end of a rope.

With nervous fingers, she opened the locket for the heartbreaking torment of seeing her daughter's face. Nova, too, had been torn from her, with no hope of return, just like Bethany had. The soldiers had told her that the girl was not to be found, that her little bed had been empty when they searched for her. But Marian didn't believe them, and with the sickening dread that only a mother could feel, she thought of all the misfortune that might have befallen her innocent daughter.

She was THE Champion…. A Viscountess, to a city she had saved, two times over! A mage, with abilities so rare and unknown, even to the magisters of Tevinter. And now, as she sat, a prisoner in her own cellar, weeping like a child, she realized that power at its core was… is a precarious thing. The top of the mountain was a steep and slippery place to be, and with only a misstep, a slight failure of footing, she'd tumbled head over arse all the way back down to the bottom.

Her inflated sense of self, that feeling of security she'd allowed, had been foolish. The only two people who had shown up for her, to defend her had been her brother and Aveline, and she hadn't missed the contempt in their eyes, even as they aided her. Where were the people she'd protected? Where was the uprising she'd expected? Where was the call to arms in defense of their fearless leader? And why, in her darkest hour, did she not blame her people for not coming to her aid? How could she blame them? She'd lead them into this rebellion… Only to sleep with their enemy, falling in love with him even. Gods only knew what other stories were being floated about.

"Oh, Orana!" Marian sighed dejectedly, what had she done to the little elf to make her hate Marian as she did… How had she hid such bottled up disdain? In all her days, Marian had never, EVER, been so blindsided before.

Nothing was right in her world, she'd never in her entire life been so powerless, and nothing was as it should be, or would ever be again. Nothing could help her now, and with a frightened, desperate sob torn straight from her soul, Marian buried her face against the musty straw mat and wept as if her heart would break.

In a way, it already had.

8-8-8

"I get to hold the basket, Dallas," whispered Nova as she yanked the handle away from the boy's hand. "Your father said so."

"What Pa toldme," hissed Dallas in return, "was that Ah' was supposed tae' watch over ye', an' that means carryin' the basket if it's too heavy fer' ye'."

Nova raised her chin the same way she'd seen Mama do when she expected to be obeyed. "Well, it's not," she said firmly. "And if you keep looking so grim and grumpy, the warden will know in a minute that you intend to cause him trouble. We're supposed to look fragile and innocent. Your father said so." Dallas swore with exasperation – a fine, bitter oath that made Nova gasp with indignation. "You can't say such foul things in front of a lady, Dallas! Your father would whip you good if he heard you!"

"Ah'll' say what Ah' want, Nova," he said with an equal measure of indignation, "an' if ye' tell me one more time what mah" own pa said or didnae' say, why, then ye' can see what it's like tae' walk into that ole' prison by yerself'."

"Humph, I wouldn't mind at all," she retorted quickly. "It's my mama and papa that I'm going to rescue."

Dallas glared at her. "We're goin' tae' rescue them. Ye' cannae' do it by yerself'"

"See if I couldn't," warned Nova, her eyes narrowed. "I haven't forgotten, Dallas, that you were the one who wanted to shoot Papa, and leave me without a father all over again." Dallas swore again, the only answer he could think of. He didn't like arguing with Nova, not the way she always seemed able to turn what he said wrong side out, and besides, they were within sight, and hearing, of the gallows. Nervously he looked over his shoulder one last time, peering into the shadows where his father had promised he'd be waiting. Fiery-mouthed girls like Nova didn't know what real danger was, not the way he did.

"Where's that wretched doll of yers'?" he whispered.

Silently Nova pulled Lady from the basket and cradled the doll in her arms. She felt so much better now that she had something to do to help her parents. Dallas' father – she still couldn't think of him as her uncle, not yet – had promised her it would be like that, and he'd been right. She was still a little afraid of him, even though he was the one who'd found her after the soldiers came, hiding with Casey in the barn. But Gabriel Vael was far kinder than he looked, and what was more important, he had understood why she wanted so much to be here now. Bringing Lady had been his idea, too, and she smiled as she smoothed the doll's elaborate satin skirts, imagining how surprised her father was going to be.

Neatly she tugged the checkered napkin back into place over the top of the basket, and handed it to Dallas. "Now you can carry it, if it pleases you," she said. "But remember I'm to do the talking. Your father said so." They walked boldly up to the gallows door, flanked on either side by two soldiers. Without hesitating, Nova reached up and pounded her mittened fist on the door.

"Hey now, what do you think you're doing little chit?" asked one of the guards, his manner not unkindly. "Go on, back home to your mum. A prison is no place for little girls like you, nor for your brother, neither."

Gracefully Nova bobbed a curtsy, the way Mama had taught her, or at least mustering as much grace as she could manage with Lady clutched in her arms. "Tis no place for my father, either, not on Solstice," she said sadly. "If it pleases you, serha. I'd like to see him, if only for a moment. His name is Knight-Commander Sebastian Vael."

The two Templars exchanged uncomfortable glances. Though the whole town, mage and Templar alike, now knew the scandal of the Knight-Commander's bastard, there hadn't been any orders given regarding her. "It's not for me to decide, little miss," said the first one. "Solstice or no, your father's not a regular sort of prisoner."

The pleading in Nova's gaze was genuine, and could have melted all the snow in Kirkwall. "Please, serha," she begged softly. "What harm could come of it, especially on Solstice?"

But before the soldier could answer, the door opened and the warden himself appeared. Clearly Mr. Vilkas had come from the comfort of his fire, with worn slippers on his feet and a stiff cone-shaped cap covering his shaved head. He'd been in charge of Kirkwall's gallows almost as long as the Hawke's had been in the city, and when the Templars came he'd kept his post under Mama's orders. "Mr. Vilkas, serha." Nova made another quick curtsy on the snowy step. "If it pleases you, I wish to bring my father Solstice dinner." The warden frowned to hide his discomfort. Drunken pirates and desperate thieves were nothing to him, but a solemn little girl in a red hooded cloak was something altogether beyond his experience.

"Nova Hawke, isn't it? Lady Hawke's little lass?" he asked, then cleared his throat as he recalled the details of his lady's scandal. "Or is it Nova, er, Nova Vael now?"

"If it pleases you, you may call me just Nova, serha," she said primly. "That's easiest. Now would you kindly take me to my father?"

Uneasily Dallas shifted from one foot to the other, convinced they would be sent off on their way. His father had said to let Nova speak to Mr. Vilkas, on account of men favoring girls more than boys, but it was hard, damned hard, to stand here behind her skirts. The warden opened the door more widely, and Nova sailed through with her head held high as a queen's. But as Dallas began to follow, Vilkas thrust out his leg to block his way.

"Not you, too, boy," he growled. "The lass can see her father alone."

"But Ah' have tae' come along with her," said Dallas anxiously. He'd no wish to return to his father without Nova. He lifted the basket for Vilkas to see as proof. "Ah'am her cousin, an' Ah' have tae'. Besides, Ah' am bringin' her father's supper."

"Then I will take it from here," said the warden, grabbing the basket before Dallas could stop him and then slamming the door in the boy's face. He turned and bent down to smile at Nova, his breath sour in her face. "You don't need that nasty rogue of a boy, do you, lass? Nay, not a pretty little flower like you. How old are you, anyway?"

As Vilkas' smile widened into an outright leer, Nova would have very much liked Dallas' company with her, and his father's, as well. But she'd bragged that she could do this alone, and she was determined to prove it. Her father and Mama were depending on her.

"Nearly twelve, serha," she said, as imperiously as she could. "If you please, I should like to see my father now."

"Only twelve?" the warden's smile wavered and fell. Where's your coin then, you insolent little baggage?" From her pocket Nova drew the Starkhaven dollar that Dallas' father had given her, and even before she held it out, Vilkas had snatched it from her and stuffed it into his waistcoat. "On with you then," he growled. "Go see that worthless excuse for a father. Little enough he can do for you now, turncoat. gallows bait like that."

As he spoke, he rummaged through Nova's basket, searching for weapons or anything that might be used for an escape. Finding nothing but the food she'd said, he flipped the basket back toward Nova, forcing her to scramble to catch it with her free hand before it fell to the floor. Without a backward glance, Vilkas led Nova through the parlor and bedchamber were the sum of his dingy quarters was, down a narrow hall where their footsteps echoed ominously, and toward the double walled brick cells designed to hold the most dangerous prisoners. They passed two guards, tossing dice to pass the time with a canteen of Solstice rum between them, and when they rose to join Vilkas, he waved them back, not wanting to waste the show of another guard on a mere girl.

Even though Nova didn't trust the warden, she still kept as close to him and the lantern in his hand as she dared, her heart pounding as she skipped to keep up. The prison smelled worse than any barnyard, and behind the barred doors locked with heavy iron padlocks, men yelled and swore at Vilkas as he passed by, and at her, too. In the tavern she had overheard tales of the wicked things that men did to land in the gallows, but these men must have done things that were even worse to land in such a nightmarish place. Yet her father and mother, her mother who hated dirt and untidiness, were here, too, and she clutched Lady all the more tightly as she thought of what she must do next.

Vilkas stopped before the last door, fingering through the keys on his ring. "Up with you now, Vael," he called, thumping his fist on the door for good measure. "You've another visitor."

.