Notes: Thank you for reading, as always. This is Part One of "Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts." Part Two will be posted without delay.

Chapter 12: Two Lions, a Wasp, and a Wyvern

Max knew something was seriously wrong by the looks of indignation that graced the faces of everyone in the usual war table group. "Emergency meeting?" he asked Cullen as he noted the general movement of everyone in the direction of the war room.

Cullen was angry at whatever had transpired, but he also looked disappointed and contemplative. "Yes, Inquisitor," he said. "I was wondering, have you seen Varric?"

"Not today. Why? Does this—news—particularly concern him?"

"He might have more insight than I do."

Max wondered what that could mean. Both Varric and Cullen had spent time in Kirkwall. Undoubtedly the news related to the Free Marches, or to Kirkwall specifically. Max prepared to become angry at whatever was decided. I usually am when it comes to that topic, he thought morosely. He shuffled into the room, trying to wipe the expression off his face. Dorian gave him a concerned look as he took his place next to his lover.

Whatever had happened, it had thoroughly enraged Vivienne. Max was genuinely surprised to see the normally cool and collected First Enchanter so visibly upset. She had let insults from Sera, Rainier, Dorian, and even Solas roll off her—though Solas's remarks did get her closer to being flustered than anyone else's. But the woman before him now was barely in control of her own magic, and her emotions showed on her face. It would be shocking in high Orlesian society.

Varric hurried in just as the guards were about to close the door, a frown on his face. He took a seat on the opposite side of Max.

"All right," Leliana began, frowning at the document before her. "I will just get to the point. There has been activity from our chief rival in the race to become Divine."

"Grand Cleric Petrice?" Max asked.

"She has issued a statement making a vicious personal attack on Vivienne," Leliana explained. "Some of us know it already, but I will read it aloud. Vivienne," she said, turning to that lady, "you do not have to listen if it—"

"The shock is over," Vivienne snapped, trying to catch her breath and calm herself. "I am not a brittle snowflake. I must face this, not hide from it."

Leliana nodded. "Very well. For any who do not yet know, there are some priests who have suggested support for Vivienne for the Holy Successor's seat. The Grand Cleric of Kirkwall learned of this and decided to attack. She writes, 'The Inquisition puts forth a candidate for the Holy Successor of Andraste who would shame the seat: a woman who has incited a lord to break his vow of marriage. We are all sinners, but this former First Enchanter Vivienne de Fer shows no repentance for this sin. Instead, she has declared the holy sacrament of matrimony to be only a political tool for the highborn, rather than a sacred oath of commitment available to all of the Maker's children, rich and poor alike, even mages such as herself, who do not swear their chastity to Him first. What other Chantry sacraments does she drag into the mire of worldly politics? What other gifts of the Maker to all His children does she dismiss as mere tools of the wealthy and powerful? Such a person should not, must not, become the leader of the Chantry.'" Leliana put the letter down with distaste.

Varric put his head in his hands, groaning. "That sounds like her."

Max was appalled. He knew of Vivienne's longtime relationship with Duke Bastien, and while it was not the type of relationship he personally would want, if the third party—the Duchess—did not object, and she hadn't done so, he judged it none of his concern.

"I trust we are going to respond to this ugly attack?" he said.

"We will. We must do so in a way to avoid making it appear that the Inquisition has settled on Vivienne—or anyone," Leliana said briefly, "as 'our' candidate. But we can still respond in a way that defends her."

"Good," he said. A sigh escaped him. "I hate to ask this. As a mage and a Marcher, I... have had certain ideas about Hawke and Anders. A certain image of them. This... is surprising to me. Do they actually condone this?"

Cassandra, Cullen, and Varric shared uncomfortable glances. But it was the Seeker who replied.

"I hesitate to say too much," she began, "because this was a conversation Hawke and I had in confidence."

"Then should you repeat it here, Seeker?" Varric said roughly.

Cassandra gave him a sharp look. "I would be remiss in my duty to the Inquisition and my duty to defend our colleague, Vivienne, if I did not. The Inquisitor asked a question. I have information relevant to what he wants to know." She took a breath. "I mentioned Madame de Fer's existence to Hawke, and she..." She trailed off. "How to put it? She said that Vivienne had the right to live as she saw fit, but she made it clear that she did not approve. It was about her cause rather than prudish condemnation, but she was judgmental. She said she was fighting for mages to—and I distinctly recall this phrase—'have partners and families of their own' and referred to Vivienne's relationship as 'being some noble's kept woman.'" Cassandra sighed heavily, averting her gaze from Vivienne's look of fury. "So... I think it's entirely likely that she, at least, does support Petrice's attack. I cannot speak for Anders."

"Hawke and Anders are widely known to be very pro-family," Josephine added. "There is nothing wrong with this in and of itself, of course. And as you say, it seems to be because they view marriage and family life as revolutionary for mages in the south, rather than thinking other types of relationships are 'sins.' But the result is that they are promoting a form of traditionalism or conservatism as it relates to sexuality."

"Are they against relationships between the same gender like I have with Dorian?" Max gasped.

"No," Leliana said. "Definitely not. I can say that with confidence."

"How—"

"They were friends of Lady Cousland and me for years," she said, and Max thought he detected a bit of evasion in that answer—but he opted not to pursue it. "Their views encompass longtime monogamous same-sex couples, with or without children. To them, falling in love and starting a family is revolutionary and romantic. But their position would indeed be seen as conservative, stodgy, and even ridiculous among the Orlesian elite. It is a cultural difference."

"That is all very well," Vivienne said angrily, "but I hope you do not intend to sit back as this Grand Cleric—who most assuredly does see it as a sin—essentially calls me a harlot!"

"We are not going to sit back," Leliana said firmly. "The Inquisition will respond to Petrice's attacks and counter her influence. Divine Justinia told Cassandra and me that she did not want Petrice to succeed her. I may have failed Most Holy in many ways, but this will not be one of them."

"Are we going to eliminate her?" Vivienne asked.

"That would be inadvisable, given Kirkwall's war capabilities and bellicose posturing."

"No shit," Varric snapped. "I'm glad we won't start a war with Kirkwall based on rude things its priest said!"

"We will do it the way it has usually been done: alliance-building." Leliana gazed at the war map. "Ferelden's late Grand Cleric, Elemena, was killed at Haven. Ordinarily the Divine would choose a new one, but in the absence of one, the Inquisition can act, since Divine Justinia gave us authority."

"There would be quite a lot of resistance if we exercised that authority in most countries," Cullen said wryly.

Leliana chuckled. "True, but the situation in Ferelden is different. The main candidates are Revered Mother Perpetua of Denerim, Revered Mother Leanna of Amaranthine, and Mother Boann, who is close to the Crown. Mother Boann would be the best choice; she is a reformer who has a long history of ministering to the elven alienages and is not afraid of standing up for what is right." She considered, adding, "And since she is the Queen's friend, siding with her would likely improve the Inquisition's standing in Ferelden. Once she becomes Grand Cleric, she will have a powerful voice and vote."

Max realized that there had been many occasions at the war table when he objected to Leliana's conclusions, but this was not one of them. He knew little about the priesthood in Ferelden, but if this Mother Boann was what Leliana said she was, she would be a good choice. He gave a quick nod, smiling. It was nice to actually be in agreement with his advisors, he thought, rather than fighting with them. "Let's do that, then," he agreed. "As long as we aren't assassinating anyone."

"That won't be necessary. During the Blight, Lady Cousland and I obtained proof that Mother Perpetua was being blood-controlled by Tevinter slavers to allow their vile operation to occur—an operation that we uncovered in part due to Mother Boann's work. And there are persistent unanswered questions about precisely what Mother Leanna knew about Rendon Howe's various plots. We can pressure them both to bow out by threatening to bring all this forward."

Max gaped. "Wow," he remarked. "Rendon Howe is an infamous figure even in the Free Marches, but I had not heard that he and his 'friends' had compromised Chantry priests."

Leliana nodded. "If Mother Leanna is guilty of collusion with him, that is of course worse than Mother Perpetua being a victim of blood mages. But the fact remains that Ferelden does not need a Grand Cleric whom Tevinter can blackmail." She lowered her voice conspiratorially, although the room was secure. "Between us, the slavers were also blood-controlling Grand Cleric Elemena during that disgusting episode, but Ferelden was in such disarray then that we did not even consider removing her—and there were ongoing concerns about Orlesian imperialist plots, as well, and we know that Divine Beatrix was very friendly to the Empire. If we had removed Elemena, the Divine might have sent someone to Ferelden to undermine the country. But," she concluded, "Elemena is dead now, Maker rest her soul, so we can fill her seat with a priest of our choice. Mother Boann is the best candidate because of her views and her friendship with the Crown, the Queen in particular, but also because she is clean. And she will be a good ally for us."

Max was rather surprised at how blunt Leliana had been about the Orlesian scheming to take over Ferelden during the Fifth Blight. I'm so used to thinking of her—and the others—as serving the interests of Orlais that I've forgotten that they are more complex than that, he thought in shame. Leliana cares about Ferelden too, obviously. And I recall, she was pretty fair to Ferelden during the Therinfal Redoubt negotiations too. She is a lot more skeptical of Hawke and the Free Marches—and that hurts because I'm a mage and a Marcher—but really, when it comes to Ferelden, I can trust she's acting in good faith.

He smiled again, a genuine one. Yes, it was nice to be able to agree with and trust his advisors about something.

After the meeting, Leliana wanted to talk to Max privately.

"It is the oddest thing," she said, "Petrice deciding to attack Vivienne so viciously instead of me—since, of the two of us, Vivienne is not the more prominent Inquisition candidate, nor the more likely to be elected."

"Why do you think she did it?" Max asked.

Leliana pursed her lips in thought. "I cannot decide. It doesn't make sense that she would be trying to draw Vivienne's handful of supporters to herself, because Vivienne's history with Duke Bastien is no secret. They support her in spite of it or without reference to it at all. Most of Vivienne's support comes from Orlais, as you might imagine, and the cultural difference I mentioned carries over to the priesthood there. I am torn between what I think Petrice is trying to do and what I... well... wish and hope were the case."

Max raised his eyebrows.

"Petrice and I are both in favor of mage rights," Leliana continued. "What I think she is doing is making this attack on Vivienne in order to draw some of my support away, by setting herself up as the reformer candidate who is still more faithful to certain other aspects of doctrine. I think she is trying to force the Inquisition to defend Vivienne—which we will, of course—and then use that to peel off those priests who support mage rights but don't want to support 'Orlesian licentiousness.' Throughout her time as Grand Cleric, she has always supported mages and even people other than humans if they are Andrastian, or at least appear so, and lead 'conservative' personal lives rather than the 'debauchery' of the Orlesian upper class."

"Isn't Petrice herself Orlesian by birth?"

"She is, but other than being moderately skilled in bardic arts, she has become very much a Free Marcher culturally. It is the reverse of Vivienne."

"I see," Max mused.

"She has a history of populist rhetoric too, and her reference to 'all the Maker's children' is in line with that. In any case, this is what I think she is doing. But I should also tell you something else, because it may come up in the future. I hope not, but you should know." She steeled herself. "I do wonder at the fact that Petrice has not decided to attack me for my past with Hawke."

Max gasped. "Your—you mean past as in—"

"Yes. Before I met Lady Cousland and before Hawke and Anders were reunited, we were lovers. Anders knows, and they were not yet married when it happened—it was when he was confined in the Circle—so it did not come between them. But I have no idea if Hawke has told Petrice this or not. If the priest does know it, the question arises of why she has not brought it up."

"Wouldn't it hurt Hawke too if she did?"

"Yes—and that may be the reason why, if Petrice knows—but it would not hurt her standing as much as it would hurt mine. She is secure in her position, the victor of a war and a regional leader. If her own husband stands by her, for her it would be little more than an embarrassment. But it would compromise me. It would compromise the Inquisition, call into question our motives for everything we did in the Free Marches. Was I trying to help an old lover? Or get revenge on an old lover? It would undermine our efforts to secure the Orlesian throne. Frankly, it would be fatal to a lot of our plans, and Petrice may be single-minded, but she is not stupid. If she knows about this, I cannot understand why she hasn't used it. Unless Hawke doesn't want her to."

"Do you think Hawke still has feelings for you?" Max said, bewildered.

"Not that sort of feeling, no. But feelings of friendship and respect..." She sighed heavily. "I do not know. She has been so paranoid and suspicious of us. The war changed her. It changed me too, and Elissa... and I admit to you, Inquisitor, while we have the chance to build a better world in many ways, I am still shaken by the changes that have befallen so many people I cared for—Elissa in particular. In my anger and sorrow about Elissa's silence, I may just be clinging to a false hope that Caitlyn Hawke still has enough fondness for me as a friend, and respect for the past, that she would not want her priest to make a vicious personal attack on me." She sighed again. "I am being foolish. In all likelihood, Petrice doesn't even know. But you do now. Of course you realize how critical it is to keep this to yourself, or share it with Dorian at most."

"Of course," he agreed.

Denerim.

Leliana's network enabled her to quickly accomplish her goal. A veiled threat to Mother Leanna and a "note of concern" to Mother Perpetua from Leliana's agents led quickly to both priests deciding they did not want to go against the Nightingale. The movement of patriotism—nationalism, according to some—that was sweeping Ferelden after its military triumphs had infused the Chantry there too, and no priest wanted to be an embarrassment to the country that Ferelden's enemies could use against it. Boann became the acting Grand Cleric of Ferelden, with the Inquisition openly naming her such and the priests who were its allies—both in and out of Ferelden—saying the same.

"Congratulations," Leliana said wryly to the priest when she was installed in the Denerim Chantry.

Acting Grand Cleric Boann regarded Leliana with a mask of a face. She had met Leliana during the Blight and thought her a sweet woman, but Leliana had changed since then. Boann knew why her rivals had withdrawn from vying to become Grand Cleric. It troubled her that she had assumed this role due to threats and insinuations.

"Leliana," she replied to her visitor. "Let us not pretend. What does the Inquisition want from me?"

"You have your position whether you do 'what the Inquisition wants' or not," Leliana said. "I genuinely believed you would be the best choice for this role, the Grand Cleric Ferelden needs. I have no blackmail on you. You can defy us if you want. There will be no negative consequences to you."

Boann considered that, inclining her head slightly.

"However," Leliana continued, "we would appreciate it greatly if you would vote—and urge others to vote—for the Inquisition's candidate for Divine, rather than your counterpart in Kirkwall or anyone else who may enter the fray."

"The Inquisition's candidate for Divine—meaning you? Or this Vivienne de Fer that I have heard about lately?"

You too? Leliana thought heavily. She replied, "Yes, if we must be blunt, me. Madame de Fer's candidacy is... I believe there is an Antivan story about such hopes. 'Quixotic,' that's the word. She does not have the constituency to win, and in all honesty, the Inquisitor himself does not support her views. Nor do I. We need to bring the Chantry into the present age, not take it backward to the same policies that wrought terrible oppression and ruinous war."

Boann nodded, relaxing visibly in relief. But sorrow and regret filled her face too. "I will do that, then, unless I am given a very good reason not to. But... I must say, Leliana... I am sorry."

"Why?"

"I regret that this 'ruinous war' of which you speak has come between you and the Hero, as it must have for you to be angling to be Divine." She gave Leliana a sad look. "Your daughter by adoption was delighted when I became Acting Grand Cleric. She has decided that she wants to be a priest, and now that I am in this role, she will be permitted to. —Provided that we also have a Divine who will affirm my decision."

"If I am that Divine, we will." Leliana felt a pang in her heart for Amethyne, whom she and Elissa had adopted after the elven girl's mother was murdered. Amethyne was... what, nineteen now? Time has flown like ashes in the wind, Leliana thought sadly. I spent so much time helping Divine Justinia that I missed a lot of years for her and Ellandrion. And now I am seeking the Sunburst Throne. She sighed. I failed you, Amethyne. I wasn't the "other mother" that you needed. I wasn't there for you. But if you want to be a priest, I will make it happen. This I can still do, at least.

The Winter Palace at Halamshiral.

The Inquisition had finally obtained an invitation to the ball from Empress Celene. This granted them the appearance of neutrality that they sought, and the ability to enter without an escort from Gaspard.

Max was rather disdainful of the militaristic uniform that several of his companions chose to wear. It indicated that they expected a fight, which he supposed was likely—Corypheus's agent was going to be here—but surely there was a way to dress for that eventuality without looking so... well, gauche? Max himself had donned black and white instead, and Dorian was resplendent in bronze and olive green. Their clothes were stylish and functional.

As they drew close to the palace, Josephine approached quickly. It was strange seeing the fashionable lady in the ugly uniform.

"Inquisitor, a moment, if you please?"

He stepped aside, eyebrows raised inquiringly.

"Despite your years in the Circle, it is clear that you know a great deal about how to handle most nobles. But the Grand Game is nothing like Free Marchers' intrigues."

"Thank the Maker for that," he replied. "I'd be ashamed of my birth if so."

Josephine drew back, shocked at the contempt under the humorous surface of Max's words. "It is... not a simple matter of etiquette," she continued somewhat shakily. "Every word and gesture is evaluated for weakness."

"I am not afraid of these people."

"They burn cities as a diversionary tactic and assassinate one another as a feint," she said.

And this is the culture and country you lot want me to prop up tonight. At least when the Free Mages bombed Tantervale, it was to win a war. Due to fear and a lack of imagination, so many of you think these awful people are our best option. If my plans work out, a lot of people are going to be very surprised.

"It is like Wicked Grace played to the death. You must never reveal your cards. When you meet the Empress, the eyes of the entire court will be upon you. You were safer staring down Corypheus."

Max raised a single eyebrow skeptically. "That seems... rather hyperbolic, no offense. Celene may be vicious, but she cannot do magic, tear open rifts in the Fade, ride a dragon, or spread the Taint."

"I hope your courage carries you through tonight and does not lead you to make a mistake, ser," Josephine finally said. "Andraste watch over us all." She hurried away.

Sera then emerged from a shrub. She was garbed in one of the ugly uniforms, but she had brought along clothes like those that the elven servants wore—something smuggled to her by her Red Jennies. She meant to change so that she could consort with her Jennies undetected. "What a load of over-the-top arse-kissing," she scoffed. "I think you have the right of it, Inky."

"Let's hope!"

"Eh, you do. We're going to humiliate the overdressed bitch tonight. I wish they could've got into the counting-rooms earlier," she said. "But there wasn't an opportunity. Now, though, the guards are focused on the ball and protecting the stuffies, not the books."

Max was feeling slightly guilty about this scheme now. "When you meet up with them, let them know that they are not to risk themselves for this," he said. "If they find themselves in danger, they should abandon the mission and save themselves. I wouldn't have innocents get hurt over this."

"Understood," Sera said, "but they're good. Nobody notices the little folk."

Once she was announced—and Max, Dorian, and Varric in particular had to stifle snickers at the crude joke of a name she had given—she scampered off to change clothes.

Leliana and Cullen then approached, along with Josephine again. "There is Duke Prosper de Montfort," Leliana pointed out discreetly at a middle-aged gentleman in an alcove, surrounded by a cluster of people.

"I'm surprised he came," Max remarked. "Wasn't he on the outs?"

"He was, but protocol required that he be invited, and he is here to serve his own interests and cultivate his own allies." She squinted. "The gentleman and lady to his right are Comte and Comtesse de Launcet of Kirkwall—late of Orlais. They are close allies of Viscountess Hawke. Very interesting. He is far more overt and aggressive than I thought, to have brought them as his guests." She carefully scanned the others. "The gentleman in blue is Baron Courbet, whose seat is near Val Chevin but who has lived in the northeastern Free Marches for years. He is considered the next thing to an expatriate and is not in good odor in Orlais for sitting out the War of the Lions. The de Launcets are expatriates. What is Prosper up to?"

The question seemed directed to herself, so Max did not respond.

"Duke Prosper does have ties to the area through his ancestor, Ser Gaston de Montfort," Leliana mused, frowning. "He was a hero of Ayesleigh in the Fourth Blight. But what Prosper intends by throwing outre connections in everyone's face here..." She trailed off. "Be wary of him, Inquisitor. Celene and Gaspard may be the main players, and Briala an important ally to cultivate, but Prosper is a dark-horse contender who should not be overlooked."

"Dark wyvern, from the sounds of it," Dorian put in.

That lightened the mood. Leliana actually smiled. "He did not bring his wyvern, at least! But yes. And like a wyvern, he is potentially dangerous. I do not think he is the enemy agent, but to have brazenly surrounded himself with people who are very unpopular in Orlais... he is up to something, but I cannot work out what."

Something very bad suddenly occurred to Max. I hope he doesn't intend a coup. But he did not dare speak it.

Leliana lowered her voice. "We have all spoken of Celene, but—and I realize this should have been said before we arrived—it is not necessary for her to remain on the throne. What we need is a strong Orlais. Above all else, we must prevent Corypheus's agent from removing all possible leaders."

Max raised his eyebrows. "You're saying to—let her be assassinated?"

"That is a possibility." She thought briefly of her meeting with Grand Cleric Boann and the news she had heard about Amethyne. "Briala cannot sit on the throne in her own right, but it could be possible for her to rule indirectly if we can control one of the others. I think Gaspard."

"Or we could have Gaspard rule outright," Cassandra said. "In my opinion, that is what we should do. This ball is a waste of time, like all Orlesian foolishness."

Max was surprised to hear such contempt from her.

"Orlesians pretend their petty squabbles are a 'Game,'" she continued scornfully. "Corruption, murder and deceit—such delightful amusements! How wonderful. I do not think Celene deserves our protection. She gives balls and swans about while Thedas is at war. Gaspard would see the true threat."

Josephine and Vivienne were scandalized. "Celene would be best for promoting an Orlesian cultural renaissance," Josephine said, "and given Ferelden's warlike activities lately, it is probably for the best if we do not put a warmonger on the Orlesian throne too! The countries would be at war in days!"

Max smiled. "Thank you for the advice. I think I know what I'll do." I'm already two steps ahead of this stage of planning, he thought, and hopefully it will remain that way throughout the night.

Max was then introduced to Celene, who stood out amid the great majority of the female guests in a sapphire blue gown. Most of the ladies wore variants of the same off-white ensemble. He found himself at ease conversing with her, and wondered why his advisors had warned him so darkly. Did they think I don't view her with proper deference? he wondered. They would be right, but I can conceal that if I want to.

The next dignitary he met was Grand Duchess Florianne. He knew little about her except that she was the sister of Gaspard. Max found himself annoyed, both at himself for not researching everything thoroughly and at his advisors for only just now telling him basic information—and saying nothing of other things, such as this matter.

There was something off about Florianne, and Max began wondering if she might be the Elder One's agent. He also wondered if she was misdirecting her brother Gaspard, whom he overheard referring to Briala having installed agents in the Palace. But before he could act, Leliana asked to speak to him again.

"Celene is fascinated with mysticism—foreseeing the future, speaking with the dead, that sort of rubbish."

And has spent an unknown amount of money on it, Max thought.

"Her occult advisor, by name of Morrigan, is here," Leliana said. "I know her from the Blight. She is ruthless."

"You think she could be the agent?"

"She is worth investigating. You will need to sneak out undetected and investigate the Guest Wing. I will distract the guests, but you cannot take long. People will notice your absence. Above all else, you must not be discovered."

Max had realized he would have to go to the Guest Wing anyway to look into whatever it was Gaspard was raving about. He gave Leliana a curt nod.

"How can the Empress afford to renovate the palace with a war going on?"

I just bet she can't, Max thought. A facade like everything else here.

He hurried down the corridors, eavesdropping whenever he could. He had to conceal his marked hand behind a thick black glove, because it blazed like a green sun in the dim hall otherwise. He gave silent thanks for being a mage even as he felt mild guilt about misdirecting people away from him with tiny pushes of spirit magic to draw their attention away. That seemed awfully close to blood control of the mind. But as Leliana had said, he must not be found.

He had quickly discovered that some of the rooms were accessible only by special locks keyed to Dalish halla statues that Celene evidently liked to collect. Given her brutal repression of elves in Halamshiral, Max found this "hobby" in extremely bad taste. It would be like a schismatic Templar who collected staves after the three Annulments. He wondered if she collected these items as trophies of conquest, or a way to irk Briala. But speculating about the mindset of such a person was pointless, and at least this made it relatively easy for Max to get into rooms. He noticed that each lock keyed to a halla was magical and that it actually destroyed the little statue to open or close the door. How wasteful and how utterly disrespectful, he thought. And I wonder what her budget is for an ongoing supply of these statues, for that matter?

He would soon find out, he reasoned.

"The last two people we sent to the servants' quarters have failed to report."

"There has been a lot of activity from the Duke's people. I'll send another agent."

It amazed Max that, instead of doing the straightforward thing and sending in the guards to put a stop to whatever treachery was occurring, these people would continue with subterfuge, potentially getting people killed, simply because it was "uncouth" to be upfront. Gritting his teeth, he searched for elven servants—other than Briala and the elven members of his own party, any elf here would be a servant—to try to find out what was happening.

From what a small cluster told him, it seemed dire. Elves were disappearing and presumed dead. And no one is acting. What is wrong with these people?

He realized that he needed to get back to the ball before he was missed. As he hurried back, a large shadow—that of a woman's huge hoopskirt—blocked his view.

"Well, well, what have we here?"

Morrigan was a beautiful woman, Max had to acknowledge, but she was beautiful in the way that wickedly sharp steel was beautiful.

Nonetheless, she claimed to him that she was not in league with the Venatori, but in fact was hunting them—"the same prey," as she put it.

"Recently I found and killed an unwelcome guest within these very halls," she told him. "An agent of Tevinter. If Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side long enough to investigate further. You can."

"Yet you are not by her side right now," he pointed out.

"She is safe enough for the moment. 'Twould be a great fool who strikes at her in public, in front of all her court and the Imperial Guard."

This seemed a hint at something, but Max could not guess what.

"Proceed with caution, Inquisitor. Enemies abound at this court, and not all of them aligned with Tevinter."

"I know that far better than you can imagine, Lady Morrigan."

At last he stumbled onto a balcony, Dorian catching up with him in the nick of time, where it seemed Briala was waiting for him.

"Inquisitor Trevelyan." Her voice was almost toneless.

"Lady Briala?"

"I am no lady, Inquisitor. What brings you to me?"

"It was a courtesy," he said, thrown. "I have meant to seek you out all evening. You are not an easy person to find, at least in my case."

He could not see what her eyebrows were doing under her mask, but he suspected she was regarding him with cool consideration. "You may have noticed that I am not the most popular guest at the ball. Why make myself a target of others' sport? But it hardly matters. I am here for a reason... as I suspect you are." She paused. "It remains to be seen if our reasons coincide."

Max was taken aback. He had hoped that Briala would be friendlier than this, but she seemed extremely distrustful of him. But why should she trust me? he suddenly realized. She doesn't know me. She knows the Inquisition as a pro-Orlais organization. She may have heard that we want to save Celene. And she is a bard. Why would she trust anyone?

He spoke more feelingly. "I think they can, Ambassador." That, he recalled, was her correct title. He lowered his voice and motioned for Dorian to draw closer in support. "But first, what, exactly, have you heard about us?"

"Your reach spreads throughout Orlais. You seek to defy custom and install a Divine who was never a priest. Word is that you intend to involve yourself in... other matters of high import." She gazed levelly at him.

Max decided to take a big risk. "Word is correct, then," he said bluntly.

Briala's eyes widened, which was apparent even through her mask.

"We also have an agent of the Elder One to stop at this ball. But yes. Enough is enough with the chaos and destruction of this civil war."

Briala continued to gaze impassively. "Peace," she said abruptly. "At what price? I would not see the Elder One triumph, for as appalling as the conditions are for my people in Orlais, under his rule, we would be nothing more than blood magic fuel and chattel slaves. But the civil war has provided an opportunity, Herald. In the chaos, it has given me power. Power which does not depend on obeying a fickle and manipulative woman such as Celene."

"And you think that by settling the war, we would take that power away."

She turned aside. "Whoever wins tonight will be unchallenged in Orlais—be that Celene, Gaspard, or Corypheus. Celene has given my people some minor concessions, but she will take them away as soon as she deems her crown threatened. She proved that when Gaspard challenged her. As for him, he thinks of my people as insects." She smiled darkly. "And we may be at present. But so are wasps. Who would poke a wasp nest?"

Max took a deep breath, glancing around rapidly to be sure no one was eavesdropping. "My presence tonight, and that of some... friends and close conspirators of mine," he said, linking arms with Dorian, "means that the chessboard has changed. You expect someone to be checkmated and the victor to loom triumphant, but what if I could force a stalemate?"

She paused for a moment. "What if you could?" she finally asked.

What is in it for me and for my cause, Max read in her question. That encouraged him; now they were getting somewhere. "Ambassador, how aware are you of the political situation in the Dales?"

"Quite. How familiar are you with it?" she turned back on him.

She was testing his knowledge, but that was all right. "I have been there. So has Dorian. I suppose you know who he is."

Briala gave him a curt nod. "Yes, my agents have heard of you."

"The people of the Dales, human and elven alike, despise Celene and Gaspard. Probably the other races too. Some of them despise the Crown of Orlais enough to defect to Ferelden. Because of what Celene and Gaspard have done, they do not want to be Orlesian," he said pointedly, staring at her and hoping she understood his meaning. "I do not believe the region will willingly bend the knee to either of them again."

Briala inclined her head. "Go on."

"Of course, the victor could brutally repress the Dales if that ruler did obtain unchallenged power, as you say. But if not—if, instead, the Crown remains weak, the royal family divided and subject to pressure from the outside—I think there is an opportunity in the Dales for you and your allies."

There was a long pause in which Briala contemplated his words. "I understand you perfectly," she finally said, "but nothing can be done without power. I require power to make use of this... opportunity."

"I am at work tonight on obtaining that."

Max felt that his meeting with Briala had been productive. She was quite intelligent and clearly understood his hints about the Dales. Now I just need to make it happen, he thought.

Sera was meeting with her Red Jennies to try to get Celene's account books, but the question remained of just what was happening to the elven servants who were disappearing. Max feared the Venatori were behind it. While he waited for his friends to do their part, he decided to investigate. He gathered the rest of his companions and hurried them into the servants' wing.

That something extremely sinister was happening became clear when he saw the mutilated corpse in the wing. His face set in hard lines, he hurried down the corridor, his friends and companions behind him. This area of the Winter Palace exited onto the gardens, where a fountain spurted.

Max leapt over the railing and almost immediately saw another blood-soaked corpse on the ground. This one was no servant.

"A member of the Orlesian Council of Heralds," Vivienne said. "He should not even have been in this location. And the crest of the Chalons family."

"Duke Gaspard," Max said darkly. But before he could expound further on that, screams pierced the air.

An elven servant ran for her life, a smirking, masked, costumed figure chasing her. He threw a dagger, and her screams cut off abruptly in a gurgle.

With a flash, a bang, and a cloud of smoke, the assassin vanished.

"A Harlequin!" Vivienne exclaimed. "They use magical artifacts in their tricks—"

"Venatori!"

Cassandra's war cry pierced the air. Max whipped his head around. They were under attack from all quarters.

Thank the Maker I have everyone with me except Sera, he thought as he fought for his life.

The assault stopped momentarily after they had slain all of this wave of Venatori, just long enough for Max to think about the fact that Celene's security was even worse than he had thought. This is not just a single assassin heavily under cover in the court. This is a major infiltration.

And as soon as the thought passed through his brain, they were attacked again.

They must have left a lake of blood in their wake as they fought their way through the gardens and back into the Winter Palace. The Venatori just did not stop coming. Max was appalled. They could have entered the ballroom and begun slaughtering everyone, he thought, panicking. Celene, Gaspard, and Prosper might all be dead by now. This might be the night I fail and the Elder One takes over Orlais.

He pushed this dark thought out of his mind. Even if that happens, there is Ferelden. There is Viscountess Hawke. They could oppose Orlais. This is not do-or-die for the whole world. If we escape ourselves, all is not lost.

But... it would make our task a whole lot harder to lose tonight.

They chased the attacking Venatori down the corridors, wondering if they would eliminate them in time—when suddenly they entered a large room. A blade sailed lethally through the air, landing with a splattering noise. The Harlequin fell to the ground, dead.

Briala faced them. "Fancy meeting you here. Shouldn't you be dancing, Inquisitor? What will the nobility say?" Sarcasm suffused her words.

Max rather liked her vocal contempt for this rigmarole. "I have been dancing with Venatori. Not my ideal partners," he said with a wink at Dorian, "but necessary tonight."

"You cleaned this place out. It will take a month to get all the Tevinter blood off the marble. I came down to save or avenge my missing people, but you've beaten me to it." She gazed across the balcony, then turned back. "The Council of Heralds' emissary in the courtyard. That's not your work, is it?"

"Do you think it is?"

"No. I knew the Grand Duke was smuggling in chevaliers, but killing a council emissary? Bringing Tevinter assassins into the palace? Those are desperate acts. Gaspard must be planning to strike tonight."

"He—what? These Venatori are his? How do you know that?"

"And I would like to know what you mean by 'smuggling in chevaliers,'" Dorian added.

"You do not know? I would investigate the trophy room if I were you, Inquisitor. If we are to be allies, I must know you are not oblivious to events occurring around you, nor someone who takes more than you give."

Max hurried back into the main wing of the palace. He was annoyed that Briala did not want to tell him what she knew about Gaspard's plot to smuggle in chevaliers, but he also was not sure he believed her. Surely the Venatori they had killed could not have been his people? No one had thought Gaspard the Elder One's agent. And if Briala was wrong about that, was she wrong about the chevalier plot too? Or is this a test of Briala's? Max wondered.

He entered the ballroom again and was immediately accosted by Grand Duchess Florianne.

"I believe you and I are both concerned by the actions of... a certain person. Come, dance with me. Spies will not hear us on the dance floor."

I believe we are, but is it the same person? Max thought as he accepted her invitation.

The guests were surprised to see the Inquisitor dancing with such a high-ranked notable. Max still wanted to be dancing with Dorian, and hoped they would have an opportunity after this wretched operation was concluded, but work was work.

"What do you know about our civil war, Inquisitor?" Florianne asked him. Her tone was supercilious and condescending.

Max had suddenly had enough. My friends and I just killed five dozen Venatori in this place, he thought, and I would wager not one of these fools on this dance floor has any idea of the danger they are in—except for you, if you are the agent. Meanwhile, your brother may be plotting a dishonorable sneak attack, and your cousin may be in debt to half of Thedas. Completely indifferent at this point to what anyone thought, he retorted through clenched teeth, "Which lie would you prefer, Your Grace? Do you want me to reassure you that your country is still the sun the rest of Thedas revolves around, or do you want me to feign ignorance so that you can educate me?"

Florianne had not been honest when she said that they would be unheard. As soon as he uttered the angry words, shocked and disapproving mutters broke out in their vicinity on the dance floor, spreading outward. Josephine looked horrified, and Leliana was visibly concerned the night would go pear-shaped.

Florianne merely huffed. "Impatient with us, are you? Do not worry. Things will happen, perhaps sooner than you are prepared for." She whirled him into an aggressive dance.

"It took great effort to arrange tonight's negotiations," she finally said. "Yet one party would use this occasion for the blackest treason. The security of the Empire is at stake, and hopefully neither of us wishes to see it fall."

"Are you sure we both want that, my lady?" Or either of us?

"I hope we are of one mind on this."

"Oh, I rather think we aren't. I really don't think you and I want the same outcome at all." If my plan reaches fruition, both Emperor and Empress will be embarrassed and blackmailed, and hopefully in short time, Orlais will lose its last imperial holding to an independence movement led by an elf. Whatever you want, I would guarantee it is not that.

Florianne blinked as the whispers picked up again. "I know that my brother Gaspard invited you, as did Celene, and that you are here neutrally. You are a curiosity to many, Inquisitor, and a matter of concern to some."

"And which am I to you?"

"Some of both. This evening is of great importance, as I am sure you know. I wonder what role you will play in it. Do you even yet know who is friend and who is foe? Who in the court can be trusted?"

Max smothered a laugh. "In this court? No one."

She was silent at this for a while before seemingly changing the subject. "It cannot have escaped your notice that certain parties are engaged in dangerous machinations tonight."

"And perhaps I am engaged in some of my own, Your Grace."

She laughed lightly. "If they are as crude as your statements, they stand no chance. You have little time," she added in a whisper that only he could hear. "The attack will come soon. You must stop Gaspard before he strikes. In the Royal Wing garden, you will find the captain of my brother's mercenaries. He knows all Gaspard's secrets."

"What did I just say about trusting no one, Your Grace?" Max replied with a smile as the dance ended. His voice was not a whisper. "I put the odds at least fifty-fifty that this is a trap. Good evening to you."

The flurry of scandalized murmurs erupted again.

Max was feeling a thrill of danger and half-frightened pride in himself as he exited the dance floor, as if he had spat in the face of the Knight-Commander back in the Circle. He knew he had offended the court in his dance with Florianne, and he was glad. But he was not surprised when his advisors and companions cornered him for a private word.

"I have been assessing the situation," Leliana began at once, "and at the moment, I have convinced enough people that it was deliberate bravado that the damage from that little scene was less than it might have been."

"What would be fatal in this venue is the appearance of naivete and ignorance," Josephine put in. "Acting cocky and, frankly, rude—refusing to play the Game by their rules, instead showing contempt for them—is permissible if they believe you are doing it on purpose rather than because you do not know any better."

"Well, fortunately, that is indeed the case," Max replied.

Leliana sighed. "I know. We all know. But even that is permissible only so far. Because I have convinced them that you do know their rules and chose in this moment to defy them, they can make allowances for this as a one-off. A personal eccentricity. But Inquisitor, if you show such open derision to enough guests, it will no longer be forgiven as an eccentricity, and you will get us all thrown out of the ball in disgrace."

He was taken aback by that. "Physically removed from the premises?"

"Physically removed from the premises. And we will lose all chance to stop the assassin. Speaking of which, your comments to Florianne. Do you think she is the assassin? One thing you said—'I really don't think you and I want the same outcome at all'—it was very risky to insinuate that. Are you sure?"

"No, I'm not sure," he admitted. "But she is at the top of my list of suspects. She has turned on her own brother. What I said to her at the end about a trap is my suspicion, but Briala also mentioned Gaspard 'smuggling in chevaliers.' He seems to have done something of the sort."

Varric muttered, "Just as I figured. He wanted to use us to distract attention from this plot."

Max recalled Varric's theory back at Skyhold. It was canny of him, he acknowledged.

"In any case," he continued, "while Gaspard does seem to have plotted something—and taken advantage of Celene's terrible security to do it—I don't trust someone who would turn on her own brother. If he is attainted as a traitor, that hurts her too. She wouldn't do that unless she had some reason not to care, some plan that would make family attainder irrelevant. And I don't think the Venatori were Gaspard's."

"We must investigate the lead, though, since we have it from two independent sources: Briala and Florianne. We should certainly expect a trap, but if Gaspard has some scheme of his own this evening, it must be stopped as well as the Elder One's scheme." Leliana gazed at him. "Please, Inquisitor, I beg of you to control your anger. I realize that you hold these people and this situation in contempt. So does Cassandra."

"I certainly do," Cassandra put in.

"So do I," Varric said.

"And I," said Rainier.

"I would much rather be fighting," Cullen admitted.

"This isn't the kind of espionage I'm fond of," said Iron Bull.

Max did not expect Vivienne, Josephine, or Leliana herself to agree. Sera was still searching for Celene's account books with her friends, Cole would have no opinion on the matter, and—as he glanced at Dorian—he realized Dorian could not agree with the usual group either.

"Sorry, amatus," he said regretfully. "This actually is fun to me."

Max gave him a weary smile. "Then for you, I won't embarrass us all."

Solas had not spoken up yet, but at last he did. "Surprisingly, I have found myself enjoying it too. A heady mix of danger. Embarrassing but true."

Max was still glad that he had had his little moment—it would have felt shameful and degrading to him, a total loss of self-respect, to debase himself before the Grand Duchess and utter obsequious lies to her—but he realized that the time for fun and games of that sort was over.

"Where is Sera?" Leliana suddenly asked. "I have not seen her all night."

"She's investigating something about Celene," Max said.

"Oh?"

"Yes—a theory we're looking into."

"Hmm. Well, I trust she is being careful. I hope she finds something. In the meantime, you need to investigate this story about Gaspard."

Max intended to do just that, but in the process of heading for the trophy room, he had to pass Duke Prosper de Montfort. A pang of regret struck him as he caught sight of the aristocrat. According to everything he knew, this man would be the best choice of the available options to lead Orlais, yet his own advisors would not have that happen because of politics and power.

He decided that there was no point in playing the mouse and pretending, in cowardly fashion, that he hadn't seen the Duke, so as he passed the cluster of people surrounding the dignitary, he gave a quick nod of respect.

"Inquisitor. A moment?"

Max halted, surprised that this man actually wanted to speak to him. He raised his eyebrows. "Your Grace?"

The Duke smiled thinly. "Such scurrying around, Inquisitor. One is surprised you are not dancing. But then, perhaps it is not such a surprise. You are not here on a social call, after all."

"No, we are not," he confirmed. "What can I do for you?"

Two of his guests—the Comte and Comtesse de Launcet, Max remembered—sneered at him as he approached the Duke's group. The Comtesse muttered something under her breath that sounded very much like "blood-traitor."

His pride rose again at that, despite his inner resolution after the fiasco of the dance with Grand Duchess Florianne. "I'm sorry, my lady, but I surely did not hear what I thought I did?"

She glared back at him. "You are a mage from Ostwick, yet you scheme against—"

"Madame la Comtesse," Duke Prosper said repressively, "enough." She fell silent. "Inquisitor. I had hoped to meet you. You are quite a mystery."

Max laughed briefly. "So it seems. Others have told me similar things."

"Indeed. The stories and facts are all very conflicting. You make friends with Deshyr Varric Tethras, known to be Viscountess Hawke's friend. You make an alliance with the Free Mages. And then you bring in schismatic Templars and undermine the Vimmark-Minanter Treaty at the Markham Grand Tourney. One does not know what to think of you."

"Duke Prosper," Max said, aware that this was reckless and weak-looking, but unable to stop himself, "I brought in schismatic Templars to save them from mass contamination by red lyrium. And whatever the Inquisition agents did at the Grand Tourney, they did without my support. I think Viscountess Hawke's project for greater Marcher unity is admirable and hope it succeeds."

"Your organization does not. So either you are lying, or you have no control over what your people do." Max flushed hotly at this representation of it, but he could not deny the truth of the Duke's latter charge. "You are quite a young man, in the midst of very seasoned operators. I understand why you may think you have no choice but to accept their protection and do as they bid. But if you truly do disagree with their course, you may have more options than you have thought. What do you say, Inquisitor?"

Max was no fool. He understood the Duke's offer: Break with the Inquisition and offer your power, your name, and yourself to our side. He also understood the payment: And we will use you as your own advisors have done.

If the Duke had made this offer months ago, Max might have accepted it. But at this point, he felt that he was in too deep to pull away. He had made plans for Orlais, which he had begun setting in motion this very evening. Briala was counting on him to make good on his insinuations about supporting independence for the Dales under her leadership. The Inquisition had things planned for the Chantry, and whatever Max might think about some of Leliana's Game-playing proclivities, he would genuinely prefer her to Petrice as the next Divine. If he accepted Duke Prosper's protection, all that would be upended, and more pressingly, he did not know if he could pull off a victory against the Elder One's agent tonight if he did so.

Is this just the sunk-cost fallacy? he thought mordantly.

But then the visage of a handsome Tevinter mage filled his thoughts. Dorian would follow me, but how could I do that to him? Expect him to chase me around as I turn my back on the people who, for all their faults, have stood by me and made my name one to be reckoned with in Thedas? What would that say to him? It would say that I am a faithless, selfish opportunist. He has problems enough with trust because of what his father did. I can't do this.

Duke Prosper's solicitous expression had transformed into one of derision. "I see," he barked, waving his hand. "You need not answer, Inquisitor. It is clear enough that you are loyal to them, for whatever reason." He scoffed. "If you have not lied to me about your own beliefs, I wish you well in reining them in. Now go about your business."

Max bristled at this contemptuous dismissal. "Your Grace," he bit off, "I most assuredly will go about my business—but I do wonder, what is your business here?"

"The same as yours, I daresay. Plotting and making alliances. I had hoped to find one in you. Sadly, I was mistaken."

The meeting with Duke Prosper was painful in Max's memories. He still thought he had made the right decision, but he regretted the loss of this man as an ally. Orlais will suffer for this political bullshit, he thought. Because I cannot make him Emperor without stepping on mines in the Divine race, I have to settle for a weakened Orlais under a shared, blackmailed Crown.

The more he thought about it, the sadder he became. We could have built a grand alliance of southern Thedas, he thought. Orlais under Emperor Prosper, Briala as a great lady of the Dales, all in alliance with Ferelden, Kirkwall, and the rest of the Vimmark-Minanter Treaty Organization. A reach as vast as the Orlesian Empire had at its peak, but without the oppression of empire over Ferelden or the Free Marches. A power far beyond merely "strong enough to counter Tevinter," but a balancing of power and influence, such that no one state could reign supreme over the rest. This is what we could have had, if the Inquisition had not decided that its own power and influence were too important to sacrifice.

He felt sick and angry at the loss, then shook his head as if to clear it. It doesn't matter. No point in dwelling on lost dreams. I must make the best of the situation that we do have.

Notes: The opening of this chapter alludes to events from Sanctification and Spells. Cassandra's conversation with Hawke about Vivienne (among many other topics) was in Chapter 63 of Spells. And in Sanctification, I went with the theory that the blood mages under Denerim were in league with the slavers and were also blood-controlling prominent priests into looking away. This is described in Chapter 22 of Sanctification.

Amethyne's career choice is about religious freedom and pluralism. If she (or any elf) wants to be a Chantry priest, that path should be available.