The Inquisitor's Ghost
Chapter 3 – Hunger Pains
For you are the fire at the heart of the world
And comfort is only yours to give
- Transfigurations 12:1-12:6
The White Spire Tower was magnificently built with stone and marble, decorated in typical Orlesian style, in ostentation of Orlais' wealth, consisting of lush crimson carpeting and adorned with tapestry of gold, crimson, and velvet. There were many levels in the great tower, filled with sunlight and wide spaces, the scent of magic and parchment in the air along with the stench of oppression. The tower was swarming with people. It was always swarming with people. The sounds of laughter, debate, lessons being taught, and spells being cast echoed throughout the halls.
The first few floors of the tower's lower chambers were typical for any Circle Tower. There was a great hall, mage and templar quarters, a harrowing chamber, studies, classrooms, multiple libraries, and kitchen stores. There were also armories, giant chambers filled with enough equipment and weapons to outfit an army of templars.
Cole moved unnoticed and unseen through the shadows of the lower chambers. Both mages and templars alike moved unconsciously out of his path, as if instinctively threatened by what was approaching. They were unaware of his presence, yet subconsciously they could detect the approaching danger that lurked in the shadows. The rogue kept to the shadows that hugged him like a mother reunited with her child, wrapping around him and cloaking him in their darkness. It was… comforting. Familiar.
Whispers of lyrics echoed in his head as he moved through the crowd of people and he shoved them away, not wanting to listen to them. The whispers were louder up here. That was one of the reasons why he rarely came up here, preferring the silence the bowels of the tower provided.
A young elven girl walked by, a terrible black and blue bruise surrounding her right eye. The girl winced as she gently touched and inspected her injured eye.
Throbbing. Aching. Hard to see out of it. I didn't know. They looked so good. I didn't know they were only for the templars. They smelled so good. Just like Mamae used to make. Oatmeal and raisin, my favorite. They reminded me of home, of the Dalish. It hurts. I didn't know. I wouldn't have eaten one if I'd have known mages weren't allowed to have them.
Cole shoved the whispers back, not wanting to hear them. After a few more steps, a templar walked by, rubbing the back of his neck and cringing.
Cold sweat. Head pounding. Itchy. Hard to breathe. Shaking. I just need a taste, just a taste to get me through the day. What good are the dwarves if they don't deliver the lyrium on time?
Cole could sense a person's pain, hear it. It was like listening to a very sad song. It had surprised him yesterday to discover that he couldn't hear Ember's pain. Whether it was because she had none or because he somehow couldn't hear her song, he didn't know.
Sleep had evaded him last night. His nerves had been too rattled, his mind racing with too many thoughts, questions refusing to leave him alone. And when sleep finally found him, it was her that he saw. The girl. The girl that saw him.
The encounter had left him shaken and confused, but also curious and utterly intrigued. He didn't know how she saw him. Only people in unimaginable pain or wanting death could see him. She was neither, and yet she could see him. Perhaps her being a spirit medium had something to do with it. All he knew was that she could actually see him. The excitement he felt was unlike anything he'd ever felt.
The question now was whether Ember would remember him. No one remembered him. The few that actually saw him only remembered him for a day or two. Eventually they forgot him. They always did. Would Ember forget him too?
His stomach dropped at the thought. He didn't want her to forget him. Cole found himself surprised by how desperately he wanted her to remember him. She was a mystery, a wonderful mystery. She was the brightest thing he'd ever seen. She had sparked a fascination in him that he knew would not go away. He wanted to know her. He wanted her to know him.
Her face appeared in his mind's eyes and Cole realized that it would hurt to see her looking at him with her face and eyes glazed over with non-recognition. Now, after meeting her, Cole realized he wanted companionship, and in a way, he almost craved it. She burned like a beacon, one he could not resist revisiting.
Cole moved purposefully now, impatient to return to the dungeons, somewhat startled by how badly he wanted to see the girl again. He wanted to see recognition in her eyes as she looked at him, wanted to hear her voice as she spoke to him, wanted to feel the whisper of the soothing magic she exuded as it caressed his skin. He found it strange that just thinking of her made his pulse pound in eagerness. The only thing that had a similar effect was when he went to the dungeons to use his knife to free a mage from their pain.
A small explosion pulled Cole from his thoughts. A senior enchanter quickly doused the resulting fire with a Winter Grasp spell. Once the fire was put out, the senior enchanter began scolding her young apprentice who couldn't have been older than ten-years-old.
As ever, Cole felt the darkness living and breathing within him. It seethed in his mind, dancing against the back of his eyes. Just waiting for him to call it forth… and to devour him. There was power in the darkness. If he would just give in to it…
No. He would never dare to use the full measure of that power.
Still, the darkness seemed to hover, waiting, taunting. His dagger cleared its sheath before he realized he'd drawn it. He could hear the siren's call, a mage's pain calling out to him to silence it forever. His body began to tremble with the need to use the knife to set them free. Their death would cease their pain and their blood would ensure his continued existence, he was sure of it.
Cole's knuckles turned white around the hilt of his blade as he suppressed the urge to give into the darkness, keeping it from overwhelming him.
He didn't want to lose himself forever.
Cole shook himself and sheathed his dagger. He continued on his way, heading for the kitchen stores. He slipped into a storage room that was full of elven servants bustling about, preparing meals. Cole searched the shelves, unseen in a room full of people. His arm brushed the elbow of a young elven boy and the boy stopped and looked right at him, but the boy saw straight through him. The boy's eyebrows pulled together in confusion as he rubbed his elbow, eyes searching but seeing nothing. The boy shrugged and continued with his task.
Cole returned to his task and searched the shelves. Once he found what he was looking for, he headed out. Weaving around the marble columns lining the hall, Cole saw a large fountain in the corner of the large room. The fountain threw up water, covered with a gilt symbol of the Circle of Magi, on the top of which is a statue of the Sword of Mercy – the Templar heraldry that is a stylized representation of a flaming sword – supported by columns of black and white marble. It was meant to serve as a reminder that magic exists to serve mankind, and not to rule over him.
As he drew closer, Cole discovered an old man and a middle-aged woman talking in whispers, huddled behind the fountain, a hidden corner shrouded in darkness to escape the eyes and ears of others. Cole could see them easily though. It was easy to see into something that lived inside you.
Cole recognized the old man as Edmonde, the First Enchanter of the White Spire. He was an old man in his late seventies with a baldhead, only a small band of remaining white hair circling the back of his head. He had to lean on his staff for support, his body bent by age. The woman he did not recognize. She wore a voluminous red robe and a glittering headdress. Her head was held loftily with a golden amulet of the symbol of the chantry hanging around her neck. She had a stately bearing, carrying herself in a graceful and controlled manner.
"You must pick a side," Edmonde whispered.
The woman shook her head. "I cannot take sides. We are all the Maker's creatures, but magic allows abuses beyond the scope of mortals."
"The Chantry has not done enough to support efforts the mages have made to reach peace. We need your help, Dorothea."
The woman gave a soft laugh. "It's Justinia now." The woman smiled, amusement twinkling in her eyes. "I've been serving as the Divine of the Chantry for two years now, Edmonde. Haven't you heard?"
The old man smiled, but it was small and sad. "Perhaps you could speak with the Knight-Commander and Lord Seeker Lambert while you're here," the First Enchanter whispered. "They won't listen to me, but perhaps you could make them see reason." The old man sighed wearily. "The templars cannot squeeze the mages into a smaller and smaller box and hope they will disappear."
"The Chantry is not a domineering father with the whip always in his hand. She is a gentle mother, who knows that her children learn best when allowed to learn themselves."
"Can we afford to be so idealistic, your Holiness?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Idealism is our stock in trade, Edmonde. A religion without ideals is tyranny."
He exhaled heavily. "I spoke with your Right Hand about her recent trip to Kirkwall," he replied. "Sister Nightingale spoke with Grand Cleric Elthina. Elthina seems to think the mage-templar situation in Kirkwall is under control with the help of the Champion, but Sister Nightingale does not seem to think so."
"I have faith in Grand Cleric Elthina," she answered. "We must place our trust in the Maker that Elthina will be able to keep peace in Kirkwall."
Edmonde's bushy white eyebrows snapped together. "And how will she be able to do that if she's dead?" he shot back. "Leliana was attacked by resolutionist blood mages in the Chantry. They grow bolder. It shows the mages in Kirkwall think nothing will be accomplished unless they fight for it. Grand Cleric Elthina is not safe in Kirkwall."
"There is no greater devotion than to lay one's life at the Maker's feet. There is no better death than to take the blow for another."
"But Elthina's death will only end in madness. The Circle of Magi in Kirkwall will most likely rebel. The templars will see their rebellion as a challenge to their authority. A mage rebellion will spark unrest in every circle across Thedas. It would plunge the world into war."
"You give me a lesson when I don't need one," she replied quietly, but firmly. "I am sworn to the Maker's service, but that does not mean I am ignorant of the world."
"Perhaps an Exalted March on Kirkwall is necessary. It might prevent war between the mages and the templars."
"I agree that order must be kept. If there is to be peace, it cannot be accomplished through threats and demands. The lives of many more than just the mages and the templars are at stake."
"I fear that we stand upon the precipice of chaos. The world looks to us for guidance and protection as it fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss."
"We should not allow fear to cloud our reason," she answered softly, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Come. Let us get back to the evening's festivities. I am the guest of honor tonight, am I not? I think…"
Cole didn't hear anymore as he had moved out of hearing range. He left the tower's lower chambers with his prize, traveling downward through the archives. He continued downward, down the rickety stairwells that led to ancient storerooms that were filled with dust and strange-looking relics. There was also a great mausoleum that stood as silent testament to templars who had died centuries ago. Cole followed the dark tunnels that seemed to go in circles to the area that lay at its heart. The dungeons were there. And so was she.
Unconsciously, his pace quickened, his anticipation mounting.
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Ember sat on the cold, wet stone floor of her cell with her back pressed against the wall. The small flame she'd summoned from the Fade hovered above the ground beside her, offering a small amount of light and warmth that was a small comfort in this otherwise dark and dismal place.
Her stomach growled painfully, her lips chapped and cracked from dehydration. The templars hadn't even fed her since they'd captured her over a week ago. Her stomach growled again and she winced. She'd never been so hungry. Her stomach curled in on itself as if desperately searching the emptiness there. She felt weak as well. The hunger she could live with, but the weakness scared her. It would slow her down if she was ever given the opportunity to escape or forced to defend herself against the templars, that one named André in particular.
Another sharp pang of hunger hit her and her hand went instinctively to her stomach, her face grimacing. Maker's breath, she didn't want to die like this - starving to death in a black and empty pit, completely and utterly alone, with not a single person in the entire world to mourn her passing.
Ember felt a wave of loneliness. Other than the one who'd betrayed her, she couldn't think of her last friend. The Hawke family and the Fog Warriors perhaps, but she hadn't seen either in so long. She preferred to go about life unnoticed and unseen in order to avoid the templars, avoid being locked away. Though it did have its drawbacks. No one would remember her. No one would go looking for her. She would die down here and no one would know, no one would care. Maker, how long had she allowed fear, desperation, and loneliness to drive her? Feed her? Keep her alive and free, yet alone and isolated from the rest of the world?
Ember stared desolately at the moldy cell wall, her expression glum. She felt rotten with misery. Her mouth was dry, her tongue huge. She felt like a raisin left to dry on a windowsill.
The hours crawled by endlessly. She exhaled heavily in boredom, her breath blowing a bright red curl out of her face. She looked down and curled her finger around a long crimson curl before letting it unravel to her stomach, then repeating the move over and over again. She knew she wasn't a pretty girl, at least not in the common way. Eye-catching was perhaps a more appropriate description for her, mostly due to her hair color. At eighteen, she wasn't very womanly, and probably never would be. She had small breasts and small hips that gave her a youthful figure, and hard muscle from years of living on her own and struggling to survive. Her hair was the one feature about her that was pretty and feminine, and she adored her long red curls.
Once during the four years she'd lived with the Hawke family, Carver had told her that her hair was the prettiest thing about her. He said that she would break his heart if she ever cut it. Unaccustomed to being complimented by boys, unlike Marian, Ember had blushed a bright red at his words and hadn't cut her hair since.
Ember looked up at the stone ceiling wishing she could see the stars. She'd been sleeping under the stars since her eighth birthday when she was forced to live alone and on the run from the templars. Those days she'd felt small, inadequate, scared, and alone.
She felt that way again now.
She hated it.
Here, in the cold and the dark and the nothingness, Ember felt herself slipping. It wasn't right her being there. Her spirit was too wild, her nature to unruly to be locked in a cell away from the stars, the sunshine, open spaces and fresh air. It wasn't right to lose her freedom, the one thing that meant everything to her.
If she wasn't able to escape this time, would there be nothing left to do but wait for the inevitable? Would it be a hangman's noose, a chopping block, or the Right of Tranquility? A cold shiver trickled down her spine at the thought of being made Tranquil. Her vote was for the chopping black. That would get her close enough to a weapon to take and then make her escape.
The hairs on the back of her neck abruptly stood on end. She felt she was being watched. Her head snapped to the side and her gaze landed on a tall, dark figure standing in front of her cell. Her eyes widened.
It's him.
Her mouth became dry and she could hear nothing but the hammering of her heart.
The Ghost of the Spire.
In the dim light, the young man stood still as a statue in the dirty leathers he wore.
Life had taught her not to trust anyone, and so she didn't. But then she remembered talking to him before. It would be nice to talk to someone. Actually, it would be heavenly to talk to someone.
"It's you," she breathed.
He said nothing. He just kept on staring at her with those haunted eyes from under that mop of unkempt blonde hair that fell across his forehead, highlighting the hard planes of his face. Ember held his stare and forced herself not to look away despite the unsettling intensity she found there. Those eyes unnerved her. He unnerved her.
"You can blink once in a while. I'll still be here," she muttered, shifting on the ground uncomfortably.
"You can see me." His voice had a particular rasp—the hoarseness of a man who rarely speaks.
She raised a questioning eyebrow. "Didn't we have this conversation already?"
"You… remember me?" he asked quietly with shocked disbelief. "I was afraid you wouldn't be able to see me again, afraid you'd have forgotten me."
Her lips curled. "I doubt anyone who has ever met you could simply forget you. I know I sure won't," she admitted, then cleared her throat in embarrassment.
He held her gaze for a long second, and then the corner of his mouth lifted in the ghost of a smile, transforming his face. That smile was so devastatingly attractive that it made her heart lurch.
Ember took a deep breath in an effort at calm. "So… why did you think I'd forget about you?"
"Because no one can see me or remember me," he murmured. "Except you."
"O-Oh," she stammered and quickly cleared her throat. "Does that make me special?"
His eyes lit with some emotion Ember couldn't define. He dropped his gaze from her face and raked her body starting from the tips of her toes. She felt his gaze stop for a long moment at her neck, on her rapidly increasing pulse, before he lifted his eyes to meet hers again.
"Yes," he answered in a quiet, scratchy whisper.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. He was looking at her so intently, with such unblinking and unwavering focus, she felt as though he were reading her mind.
She frowned and looked away.
"You haven't eaten," she heard him say after a long and silent pause and there was genuine concern in his voice, which surprised her. He didn't even know her.
She turned to look at him. "It seems feeding me was at the bottom of the templars' list today. I think it's right after they give the mages massages."
"I have something for you," he said as he lowered himself to sit cross-legged in front of her cell.
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "For me?"
He nodded. While he reached into a pack that he'd set on the ground beside him, Ember moved closer to the bars and sat cross-legged in front of him. "What is it?" she asked, curious.
He pulled a red handkerchief out of the pack and handed it to her through the bars. She opened it to find it filled with meat, cheese, and bread.
For a long moment all she could do was stare at the deliciously smelling food in disbelief. He'd gotten this for her? He'd risked being seen and captured by the templars to get her something to eat?
When her mouth could once again form words, her eyes slowly lifted to his. "You… you got this… for me?"
He smiled at her and there was a slight reddening to the paleness of his cheeks. "You're stomach should be as full as your heart," he answered. "In which case, I would have brought more but they would have noticed."
"I… I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything. Just eat."
Not having to be told twice, Ember began to eat the delicious food he'd brought her and her eyes rolled back in her head at how good it tasted. As she chewed she heard herself moan in delight and was embarrassed at the sound.
"I spoke to your cell," he said casually. "I asked it to open. But it didn't say anything. I don't think it likes me."
Ember paused in her eating to stare at him. He was a strange one, there was no denying that. Yet, Ember couldn't help but find him fascinating. She also couldn't help but find him kind, considerate, intriguing, and attractive with his golden hair flopping messily across his forehead to hang into his eyes in an entirely rakish manner. Not to mention how his depthless blue eyes and raspy voice were doing funny things to her insides, things she'd never felt before.
Once she finished eating she took the canteen he offered her and drank every last drop of the water inside. She sighed with content as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She rubbed her nose with her hand, then looked up at him to find him staring at her.
"Thank you," she said sincerely. "You have no idea how hungry I was."
His expression shuttered. "It's painful. The hunger. No one should feel that kind of hurt."
"Have you?"
He didn't say anything.
After a long stretch of silence, she said honestly, "I'm surprised you returned."
For some reason that seemed to make him think. His eyes looked around before returning to her. "This place is full of old pain, shadows forgotten from dreams too real."
"Then why did you come back?"
Unyielding, his gaze captured hers in a long glance. "The brightest star in the darkest sky is the most luring."
Ember didn't understand his answer, but she did feel the air suddenly become charged with inexplicable tension, a tension that she was hard-pressed to understand. She could feel a faint stirring deep inside her, a fluttering little pulse that seemed to intensify with each throbbing second. He made her feel as though she couldn't catch her breath.
"Most people fear the White Spire Tower, especially the dungeons," she managed to say into the silence. "Anything to do with magic stirs people's fear."
"Magic doesn't stir my fear."
"No?"
"Magic whispers things to me - music in the mind of strange, far away places."
"You shouldn't fear my magic," she assured him. "I rarely use it, and when I do, my magic serves only that which is best in me, not that which is most base."
His mouth lifted in one corner. "The templars wouldn't be so angry all the time if more mages were like you."
She laughed at that. "On the contrary, they would be furious all the time. I have a sharp tongue that I forget to curb most of the time, which typically gets me into trouble. If more mages were like me, the templars would be using a Silence for more than just cleansing."
He laughed and so did she, and for a moment they shared a flash of something between them. Friendship, Ember thought. She found herself hoping that were true. She didn't have any friends. It would be nice to have one, especially here.
"It's good to spend time with you," he said quietly with a shy smile.
"It's good to spend time with you too," she answered just as shyly.
The silence pulsed for a beat or two.
"Bye," he said awkwardly before standing and dusting himself off.
Ember blinked in surprise before jumping to her feet. He turned to leave, but she caught his hand through the bars. The moment she touched him, she knew she shouldn't have. The very second she touched him, he turned those eyes on her, looking at her in a way that made her step away from him.
"Don't go," she whispered, clasping her hands in front of her to hide their trembling. "Stay with me. Talk to me." There was sincerity in her eyes, sincerity and pleading.
He said nothing. He just stood there like an ivory statue, silently staring at her.
"Please… just for a little while?" she asked softly, hating how desperate and vulnerable she sounded.
For several heartbeats, Ember waited for him to answer. When he didn't, she folded her arms and averted her gaze to stare at the stone wall, utterly mortified at having to beg for a scrap of camaraderie. "I just… I hate this place. I hate being surrounded by stone. I hate not sleeping under the stars. I hate having nothing to do but wait for a fate they're deciding for me. I hate being locked away for simply being who I am, exactly as the Maker made me. I hate…" She exhaled sharply before finding his eyes. "I don't want to be alone."
"Neither do I," he answered in a low voice that rippled with a loneliness she felt within herself.
He lowered himself back to the ground to sit cross-legged in front of her cell.
Ember smiled, relief washing through her at not having to be down in this dark pit all alone. She sat cross-legged on the ground again in front of him, only the metal bars of her cell separating them. The little flame she'd conjured bobbed slightly up and down as it hovered over the ground beside her.
Her fingers drummed nervously on her knees as they sat in silence, staring at one another. "So…" Her voice cracked and she cleared it. "I told you my name. Why don't you tell me yours?"
He dropped his head and looked at her from under long black lashes. "Cole." His voice was low and hoarse and gentle. The sound of his name made her palms grow warm.
"Cole…" she said his name slowly and he smiled, as if he liked the way she said his name. "Well, Cole, it's very nice to meet you. Though, I must say, this is not a very nice place to meet."
His lips curved up slightly in the corners at that, the beat of her heart reacting oddly to the sight of it.
She bit her bottom lip nervously. "So, tell me, how did you come to be in this place, Cole?"
Cole was quiet for a moment. When he finally spoke, his eyes were somber, tormented. "I arrived in terror. I was dragged through the halls by a templar's rough hands, terrified and bleeding." He paused, as if to collect himself. "I was dragged down here, just like you, to the dungeons. The templars locked me in a cell for the crime of being a mage." Cole hesitated. "There were beatings, worse than beatings. 'If you tell anyone, I'll say you used blood magic'."
"Maker's breath…" she gasped, her heart twisting.
"After what felt like a lifetime of being alone, in the dark and the nothingness, with the rats nibbling at my bruised and bloodied flesh, I prayed over and over again to the Maker for the templars to forget I even existed." He bent his head to hide his eyes, but she could see his pain, felt it herself. "And then… I got my wish. That's exactly what they did."
"You became… invisible?"
He took a moment before answering. "I don't know what I became. But everyone simply… forgot about me."
"When did this happen?"
He shook his head, silky blonde hair moving across his face. "I don't remember when."
Her head tilted. "How did you get out of your cell?"
His eyebrows bunched together, as if he was trying to remember. "I don't remember how I got out."
"Can you still wield magic?"
"No. I… I don't know why not."
"Do you remember anything else?"
"I remember very little." He exhaled softly. "Maybe I am a ghost. Maybe I died there in the darkness, and have simply forgotten how it happened."
"But… but you are no apparition. You are real." Her hand pressed against his chest through the bars to demonstrate her point, and Cole's muscles tightened and clenched under her touch.
"You are warm," she said softly. Her hand slid up his chest to curve around the side of his neck, her fingers pressing against the pulse that was beating there, wildly, almost in tandem with her own racing heart. "You have a pulse."
Her hand trailed slowly down the side of his neck to his collarbone then down the center of his chest to rest over his heart that was hammering wildly against her palm. "You have a heart and it beats within your chest." Her eyes looked up at him and uttered firmly, "You are alive."
His eyes lifted to lock onto hers from beneath wayward strands of gold, blue eyes penetrating, stripping her bare, as if trying to read her every thought.
Suddenly aware that she was still touching him, Ember yanked her hand away from his chest. Her face felt as if it were on fire as she clasped her hands together and pressed them against her stomach, staring down at them. She brought her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought. "Maybe… maybe you're a mage who took a spirit into himself?"
"You think I'm possessed by a demon?" When he spoke, there was anger in his voice.
Her head shot up in alarm. "No! Not a demon," she replied urgently. She ran a hand over her red curls, searching for the right words to explain herself. "There was a mage named Wynne who fought alongside the Hero of Ferelden. She almost died in the Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold, but a spirit came and saved her. The spirit resides in her and keeps her alive. Maybe… maybe you were taken down here and when death came for you, a spirit saved you too."
There was a long pause before he finally spoke. "Is that what you think I am?"
"Yes. I don't think you're dead. I don't think you're a ghost. I think you're alive. I think you have a special ability that you simply don't understand and haven't mastered yet."
Ember peeked at him sideways from under her lashes, wondering what he thought of that. But Cole wasn't looking at her, he was staring reflectively off to the side, deep in thought.
"Pulled from the Fade and trapped within, or stepped out from the Fade and copied?" he muttered to himself. His eyes flickered to hers. "Which I am, I do not know."
Her eyebrows pulled together. "You are quite unsettling at times."
Cole's head suddenly shot up, his body alert and tense. "Templars are coming."
"What?" she gasped in alarm.
"They are coming for him." Cole's eyes suddenly shifted to a cell down the long hallway. "They think he's starving and dying, begging and bloody. Surprise will greet them. He is already free."
Before she could ask him what he meant, the heavy metal door at the other end of the hallway opened and four templars came walking into the dungeons.
"Cole, you need to hide," she whispered urgently. "If they see you, they will kill you."
"They won't see me," he replied calmly, no trace of fear.
"Cole, listen to me. You have to hide. Now. Please, I don't want to see you get hurt," she said firmly, fear in her voice, trying desperately to get him to see reason.
"Vanquish your flame," Cole ordered. "They cannot know the bars do not deplete you of your mana. You will no doubt be made Tranquil."
Ember did as he commanded but before she could try to convince Cole to hide, the templars were approaching.
"This way, boys. The corpse is in the cell at the end of the hall. Just follow the stench," she heard one templar say to the others.
Ember watched as Cole pressed his back against the metal bars of the cell across from hers, his eyes fixed on the templars that were drawing closer.
Ember held her breath. The hallway wasn't very narrow, but Cole was standing right there. It may be dark, but it wasn't that dark. Maker, they were going to see him. They were going to see him and they were going to kill him.
Maker, please don't let any harm come to him, she prayed. Please… please don't let them hurt him.
The templars drew impossibly close. Cole stayed where he was. Ember nervously held her breath as they kept coming closer and closer. When they reached Cole, however, they walked right passed him, completely oblivious to him, even though he was standing right in front of them, inches away.
Ember blinked. She couldn't believe it. How could they not see him? She realized then that Cole had been telling the truth about himself, despite how crazy it sounded.
"Well, well, well… if it isn't the little she-devil," a voice sneered beside her.
Ember turned her gaze from Cole to the short templar with the long brown hair standing in front of her cell.
André.
The templar smiled cruelly at her. "You don't look so fierce now that your caged."
Ember waved a hand in front of her face with a look of disgust. "I'm just going to assume that something died in your mouth."
His smug look vanished. "You're one to talk." His eyes raked her with contempt. "Why do I even bother? You're no looker."
She snorted. "Speak for yourself. At least I'm no lyrium-swilling, manskirt-wearing bastard like you."
His face contorted with rage. "You know what I do to little mage bitches like you?"
Her eyes rolled. "Oh, the suspense is killing me."
"I teach them a lesson. A lesson they never forget."
"I await with bated breath," she deadpanned.
His anger was instantly replaced with a look of cruelty, the likes of which she'd never seen before. He lifted the baton in his hand and looked at it with an expression on his face that made her sick to her stomach. "You see this? I'm going to beat you nearly to death with it, and then…" Pitch-black eyes met hers. "…and then I'll take from you whatever I want."
Over the templar's shoulder, Ember watched as Cole's pale blue eyes locked onto André, dark and glittering and intense. Corded muscles bunched beneath his tattered leathers, murderous intensions stealing over his face. His body emitted a very palpable aura of danger and power, and Ember wondered how the templars couldn't feel it when it seemed to take up the space around him, pulsing like a dark, foreboding cloud of energy.
"And if you still resist me… well, you won't be able to do that once you're made Tranquil. The Tranquil don't say no to anything."
Blue-green orbs shifted back to the templar, hard and cutting. "You lay one hand on me and I'll rip it off," she promised in a low and menacing voice, refusing to show the fear she felt.
Onyx eyes warred with aquamarine. She straightened her shoulders. She was not going to let this templar frighten her.
"André, let's go," one templar called, irritated with the delay.
André's jaw worked before he spun on his heel and stalked away toward the other templars.
Ember opened her mouth. She knew she shouldn't say it. She knew it would be the absolute worst thing to say, especially since she was still so weak from hunger and dehydration and was unable to draw upon her magic to defend herself. But the words were falling out of her mouth before she could stop them. "That's what I thought, you little slack-jawed coward."
The next thing she felt was a hard blow to the side of her head. Ember fell to the ground, hard, her skull slamming painfully against the stone floor, a loud crack resonating from the impact.
Ember groaned against the grimy stone floor. It was difficult focusing on anything other than the incredible pain searing through her temple, let alone trying to stand and fight back, or summon her mana despite the mana draining bars that surrounded her. Her thoughts were racing through her brain in a jumbled kaleidoscope, and her body felt like it was moving underwater. Her ears thrummed with a loud buzzing and Ember forced herself to breathe deeply to keep the panic from setting in as she heard the cell door open with a loud creak.
"You're going to be sorry for saying that," André spat hatefully down at her as he stood over her. "So sorry you won't be able to walk straight for a month."
His hands were on her then, yanking her to him, pulling at her clothes. Terror-stricken, Ember screamed and thrashed back and forth on the ground, kicking wildly, twisting and lurching from side to side to get away from him.
"We don't have time for this, André," one of the other templars hissed.
"Get your filthy hands off of me, you blighted, ball-less prick!" Ember screamed, kicking wildly at any part of him she could reach while he tried to catch her flailing legs.
"Hold still, ya bitch!" the brute's gritty-edged voice barked down at her.
Ember fought with all her might despite the unbearable pain shooting through her temple. She was on her back, her body flailing convulsively. She kicked her legs and jerked her body. Her nails scratched at his arms like a wildcat, tearing the skin and drawing blood as she tried desperately to wrench herself free from the templar's grasp, trying to summon enough magic to unleash something awful upon him.
Cole appeared impossibly behind André, as if out of thin air. The wicked looking blade in his hand gleamed in the darkness a second before Cole lifted it and brought it down in a smooth downward strike. The tip of Cole's dagger exploded out the front of the templar's armored shoulder, blood spraying. Mouth open, his jaw hanging slack in shock, André toppled forward face-first to the ground and Ember rolled sideways at the last second to avoid him landing on her.
"What the bloody hell was that?!" One templar exclaimed in fright. They were all searching frantically, trying to find the attacker but saw nothing and no one.
"Andraste's great flaming ass!" Another templar cried, terrified. "How the hell did that happen?!"
"Did you see anything?!"
"No!"
"I-It's… it's the Ghost of the Spire!" The third templar cried, trembling with fear.
"We have to get out of here!"
The templars collected André and locked her in her cell again before they ran as fast as they could down the hallway, as if the devil himself were chasing them.
Wide-eyed Ember stared up at Cole from where she lay sprawled on the cold ground. He was standing in front of her cell, staring after the templars. His body was taut, his hands clenched at his sides, knuckles white around his blood-soaked blade, his chest rising and falling with his ragged breaths.
Silence settled heavy on them, nearly suffocating. The only sound was the dripping of the fresh blood off the end of his dagger onto the stone floor. A strange darkness coiled around him, clung to him, irreparably bound to some part of him. Cole's chin turned slightly and his eyes clashed with hers, blazing with something hard and dangerous.
He was the most frightening thing she'd ever seen.
As he looked at her, his face softened slightly to something more solemn, his eyes brooding as they searching her face. "You're afraid of me." The words were spoken slowly, quietly, carefully, the fear and remorse in them apparent. "You don't have to be."
She looked up at him, but not as far as his eyes. She avoided his unnatural eyes. "I'm not afraid of you," she replied, though in truth she was. "And I'm not afraid of him either."
"You should be," he replied stiffly. "It's cold and black, slithering inside him like snakes."
"What is?"
"His hate," Cole answered sharply, jaw tight. "It's tar black inside. He hates them all because of the pain his mother gave him. Pain, old and lingering, festering. Like poison. It's turned his core black and rotten."
"André?" she asked as she managed to get to her feet. Her temple throbbed, aching. "He hates who?"
"Women."
She shuffled across the floor to meet him at the bars. "How did you know that?"
"I listened."
"What does that mean? How did you know what he was—why are you looking at me like that?"
His eyes burned into hers, glowing in a way that trapped her gaze within his. His breathing met hers, heavy and hard. She could hear him swallow, could see the unnamed emotions careening around the inside of his skull, coloring his eyes, kindling something tender in their blue depths.
"I can protect you," Cole said softly as he moved closer to the bars that separated them, all fluid movement with more than a hint of promised danger beneath the surface. Those eyes didn't release hers - watched her for… something. "If templars come for you, I will kill them."
She stood close to him, not touching him, but close enough to feel the heat emanating from his body and the power that seemed to vibrate from his sinewy frame. It made her feel… something… a something that was so outside anything she'd ever experienced.
Before she knew what she was doing, she was moving closer to the bars and leaning into him.
Cole's body went rigged and his eyes became wide as she stepped forward, lifting her arms. "What are you-?"
"Thanking you for saving me," she whispered, watching the various emotions pass over his eyes, his sharp cheeks, and lips as she moved in closer.
He didn't stop her as she slowly wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a friendly and consoling embrace, resting her cheek against his collarbone as best she could with the cold metal bars pressing against her face.
Cole stiffened as if he'd been snap frozen and she heard a sharp intake of breath. His body was taut with tension, marking his unease, his breathing shallow and rapid against the top of her head, which barely came up to his chin.
Ember inhaled slowly, taking the scent of him into her lungs. She could smell the leather of his armor, the dirt on his skin, and something spicy that was all his own, like cinnamon. But the coppery scent of blood overpowered the rest, the smell so strong it clung to him like a second skin.
Her breath caught in her throat when his lean arms lifted stiffly to encircle her completely in an awkward embrace. His arms were like steel as they pulled her to him, his grip painfully tight, his strength terrifying, the metal bars digging painfully into her body. She felt him nuzzle her hair. She heard him inhale deeply, as if trying to catch her scent. His near-panicked grip and the slight trembling of his limbs led her to wonder when anyone had even attempted to hug him last, if ever.
Emotion wound through her as she gently splayed her fingers against his lean back in an attempt to soothe him. There was an aloneness within him that mirrored her own. In that moment, she knew he felt it too. The isolation. The loneliness. He was as much in need of companionship as she was.
They stayed like that for a while, just reveling in the comfort they each provided. There was a fluttering and simultaneous squeezing in her chest that felt an awful lot like affection, something she hadn't felt in a very long time.
Cole's death grip loosened slightly and Ember pulled away. His fingers trailed down her bare arms as she stepped back before falling limply to his sides.
The air between their bodies seemed to vibrate with some unknown charge, the tension between them palpable. There was an undercurrent of something flowing in the air around them that she couldn't comprehend. And there was something about the way he looked at her…
Something had darkened the light blue shade in a way she'd never seen before. No man had ever looked at her as Cole was now. His eyes, usually full of shadows, were now full of… she wasn't sure what was in his eyes, but it wasn't shadows.
"Ember…" His voice wavered with a nameless emotion.
His hand lifted slowly and reached for her between the bars, as if to touch her face. Ember quickly shut her eyes, shaken, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of her heart. She didn't move away from him. She didn't want to move away from him. She lifted her head slowly, a thrum of anticipation pulsing through her. She was trembling, nervous and unsure, and there was just a hint of fear in the air. She opened her eyes.
Cole was gone.