In Antiva City, dark deeds could be arranged in sunlight. The darkness was meant to shelter pleasures, not shame—if shame indeed existed in Antiva. The man who wove through the crowd didn't seem to be entirely sure of this, though. Though he kept his hood down, he hunched into a thick dark cloak even though the weather had not yet begun to properly turn chilly for the season.
He looked uncomfortable, but it was not from nerves or fear. No, this man's discomfort came from simply being out of his element in a foreign land, the man watching in the shadows decided. The shadow peeled away from the wall and called out: "Please, my fair Fereldan, there is no need to worry about being conspicuous. We can all smell dog on you from five meters away."
Pale eyes narrowed and slid from side to side as the merchants and passersby in earshot chuckled before going about their business. The Fereldan stepped in close: "I was told to meet the guildmaster," he said in a quiet growl.
"I am he," the guildmaster said, bowing with a flourish.
"Should we go somewhere more private?" the Fereldan asked.
Zevran Arainai's tattooed brow rose in bemusement. "Why? Do you intend to show me something worthy of privacy?" Amber eyes flickered to the man's trousers and back up.
That got a flush from the Fereldan, who scowled. "Ser, this is a holy and dire business."
"The business of the bedroom is the most holy." Before the Fereldan could bluster any further, Zevran raised a hand. "Fereldans are still artless in conversation, I see. No, we conduct our business here." It may have seemed to be a crowded street, and it was, but it was also a location of Zevran's choosing and that was not an advantage he would forsake lightly. Empty rooms could have as many ears as packed markets, he found.
"I have come to you for a contract."
"Most do," Zevran said pleasantly. "Though I was told I would be meeting a Brother of the Chantry, and I have to say, you do not look the part." Curiosity over the unique request was the only reason Zevran had agreed to meet with this contractor personally. Most Brothers did not wear such heavy plate beneath their cloaks.
"I am not of the Chantry any longer, but I do the Maker's work," the Fereldan said with a demure bob of his head.
"According to legend, the Crows began in much the same way. It would be fitting to come full circle, yes?" Zevran said with amusement.
"Then I hope we can reach an accord," the Fereldan said. "I need a contract against Warden-Commander Surana of Ferelden."
Zevran's face and posture did not change. There was not even the slightest twitch of muscle to give away that he knew the name—though the Fereldan's ignorance proved that knowledge of his personal rise to guildmaster remained a secret for now. That was good.
The man's request, however, was not.
"No," Zevran said evenly.
The not-Brother looked shocked at that. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
"It is a word that means we do not have an agreement. There will be no contract, and no Crow will touch the woman you speak of," Zevran said. His voice remained as smooth and sweet as honey, but there was a threat growing in it. "She has an arrangement that predates yours. We are done here."
The Fereldan's eyes were so wide Zevran thought they might pop out, and he reached out to grab the elf's shoulder when Zevran made to turn away. He let out a cry when Zevran snapped three of his fingers in a movement too fast to follow. "Do not touch a guildmaster of the Crows uninvited. Consider that a lesson." The not-Brother gritted his teeth, and Zevran leaned in close. "I will teach you another lesson for free: do not trifle with Surana. It will not end well for you."
"I am not alone," the Fereldan choked out.
Zevran patted him on the cheek. "Neither was the Archdemon, my friend. Now go home."
Zevran left then. Two women melted out of the shadows as he left the astonished and anguished Brother behind him. "Shall we kill him?" one asked.
It was a tempting idea. Slitting the man's throat and tossing him into the harbor would be satisfying, but one did not become a guildmaster by discarding the threads that could unravel an entire scheme if they were only tugged on enough. "No." He glanced at the women: one an elf with red hair, the other a tall Rivaini with her hair shorn off entirely. "Sanya, follow him. Intercept his letters, if he sends any. I do not think he was lying when he said he was not alone. Reshida, you will come with me."
Zevran sighed. He did not truly want to travel from Antiva City, not while his hold on the guild was so newly and bloodily obtained, but a good assassin trusted his instincts. This strange man who claimed to not work for the Chantry yet do the Maker's work had sent up a flare of warning. "I believe it's time I visited an old friend."
Zevran turned to give Reshida his best and most rakish grin. His fellow Crows did not need to know the depth of his concern. "I won't lie to you and say Ferelden is lovely this time of year, but I suspect it will be an entertaining journey."