Despair
Ennaly was exhausted. Time had become meaningless, and despite her ache and discomfort, she knew that sleep would soon overtake her. Yet, she resisted. Taria's scream still echoed in her mind, and she feared that sleep would reveal her location to Solas, leading him to a similar fate.
But he is more powerful than that ward, a hopeful part of her offered. He has a couple thousand years of experience on these Magisters!
Are you certain about that? At least that will stop him from tearing down the Veil, something cruel inside her argued back.
Don't you want him to come? Don't you want him to hold you again? You can talk to him.
A darker part of her, lurking deep enough that it didn't have a voice, was afraid. Afraid of him knowing where she was, but choosing to leave her here. She had yelled to him in their last shared dream that she didn't need a hero. Solas usually respected her wishes. Perhaps he had taken it as a sign to abandon his visits to her dreams.
Had she ruined everything? She'd managed to let herself be caught. Perhaps this was where she would die.
Disjointed and fuzzy images seeped into her mind as her consciousness failed to hold onto the waking world. She lay on the ground, her head resting on someone's lap. A gentle hand stroked her hair, whispering words of comfort. She recognised the intent more than the voice.
Was it Solas? She didn't think it was. Perhaps it had been Cole, or another spirit of Compassion. Maybe it didn't matter who it was, as long as it wasn't Despair. And what caused the images to be so disconnected? Did the collar prevent her from fully interacting with the Fade during her sleep, too?
She wasn't sure how much time had passed when she heard the sound of a key in a lock. Opening her eyes, she saw Vesta, wrapped in a velvet dressing gown, setting herself at the far end of the table. Three Human women followed her, carrying several items between them that they placed in front of Ennaly. Without a word, they began to untie the ropes binding her to the chair.
Blood rushed to body parts that had become numb with stiffness. She had to bite back gasps and tears as the tingling hurt like dagger strikes. Her missing arm burned in phantom pain to match the remaining one.
But finally, finally, she was able to move. She wanted to stretch and reach for the jug of water to soothe her parched throat, when the eldest of the three women gently pushed against her shoulders, making her sit back in the chair.
"Please sit still," she said in a composed voice that wasn't unkind.
Something in the woman's countenance was comforting, and Ennaly tried to sit still. The woman closed her eyes and a white glow emerged from her hands. The gentle caress of healing magic warmed Ennaly's skin, soothing her bruises and lessening the swelling of her left eye until the pounding stopped. It soothed her sore throat and faded the red marks around her wrist and across her chest.
Why would Vesta have her be healed? Comfort didn't seem to matter to her, the day before. One of the girls must have seen her look of confusion. "We are to clean and dress you, miss, for dinner," she explained.
Ennaly looked up to Vesta. She ignored them completely and busied herself with a small bottle. A small, levitating brush applied golden lacquer to her nails, commanded by lazy gestures from Vesta's other hand. Ennaly remembered Calvus' words to make her look presentable.
Wasn't Vyrantium known for its fashion? She assumed that her blue eye, cuts and bruises didn't match that fashionable image.
She didn't quite want to be dressed up like a doll without autonomy, but she had a feeling that if she didn't cooperate, the slaves would pay for it. Not wanting to push that upon them, she let them strip her naked and wash the grime and dried blood from her body.
It felt strange, standing there naked in complete silence, with only the sounds of dripping water. Being naked had its own vulnerability, especially with the stump of her arm on display like this, but she tried not to let it affect her. When she still lived with the Dalish, she had always bathed in public. At times of a festival, her clan members would bathe her as a rite. She once was the First, after all.
Her illusion was broken as the door swung open to reveal Calvus, dressed in a robe like Vesta. "Amata," he said, his eyes on her. "I assumed you were here."
She looked up and a smile formed on her lips. "Calvus darling," she began, but paused when her eyes fell on Ennaly's naked body. They were a different colour again, she realised, almost a yellow gold. Ennaly had only ever seen two Humans with an eye colour like that, Flemeth, who carried Mythal's spirit, and Morrigan, her daughter. But it wasn't an uncommon colour among Elves. Had she stolen them from a slave?
Vesta curled her lip. Ennaly felt smaller than she had done in a long time, more powerless than ever. "You could replace her with a stick and not see the difference," Vesta said as she turned back to Calvus. "I don't know what people see in Elves. Do you think she's attractive?"
He glanced in her direction. "Nobody compares to you, Vesta," he replied.
Vesta tittered with laughter. "You're too darling, Calvus," she said as she kissed him on a freshly shaven cheek. "Do wear your golden suit tonight. We want to impress, and you look so handsome in gold."
Calvus kissed her back. "Of course, love."
They left together, locking the door behind them. Ennaly trembled in relief, and she took a gulping breath, trying to calm herself.
"Is it true?" one of the young slaves asked. "That you are the Dread Wolf's lover?"
Ennaly turned to the girl. Her large brown eyes were filled with hope and Ennaly didn't have it in her to say anything to dissolve it. "Yes," she said.
"He has helped people like us," the other girl added. "Not just Elves, but slaves of every race. Isn't he a saviour?"
Ennaly didn't know what to say. In a certain sense, it was the truth. Solas had always fought for freedom, even for non-Elves. But she also knew that if he ever succeeded with his current plan, these three Humans would suffer or die anyway.
She forced a smile. "He's not the only one," she replied. "My friend – Dorian Pavus – and some of his friends are Magisters and also oppose slavery. They have power. Change might be coming."
"Will it truly?"
The hope in the girl's eyes only made her heart ache. "I believe so," she said. It wasn't a lie.
The mage woman stepped forward, having observed the exchange in silence. "You have to know that they took your blood. You know what that means, don't you? As long as that phial remains, they will have power over you."
"I…" Ennaly started, trying to catch up on this sudden confession. If Vesta and Calvus had her blood, they would at the very least be able to track her anywhere. And besides that, she didn't know what blood magic might accomplish. "Yes. I know what that means. Do you know where they keep it?"
The woman shook her head. "I don't."
So even if she was able to save herself in some miraculous event, they would hold power over her. She would need to find a way to destroy the phial if she wanted to ensure her freedom.
"Are there more... captives like me?" she asked, wanting to know what happened with her travelling party.
"No," the woman replied.
"Do you know what–" Ennaly started just as the door swung open again.
Vesta returned and shot them all a calculating look before she returned to her golden lacquer.
Shit. The uncertainty of what happened to the others gnawed at Ennaly. Killed, was the only logical solution. Hall, Argent and Tamar. They had all joined before she was ever named Herald. After the Inquisition disbanded years ago, only their most trusted agents remained. And with every passing month, their numbers dwindled, either because agents were killed, or decided to quit.
And while Ennaly told herself she still couldn't be sure that they died, she felt her hope for their survival plummeting. With Vesta present, the slaves continued their work and Ennaly let them. They dressed her in a long tunic-like dress of very finely embroidered silk, belted at the waist with a woven sash. It had a faint transparency that Ennaly wished it hadn't, but she supposed she should be grateful she wasn't left naked.
She could have cried tears of joy when they opened a leather pouch and retrieved her own jewellery. Much of it was symbolic to her. A beaded bracelet she had for half her life, carved by her mother. An amulet that once belonged to her father. Her sylvanwood ring. And of course, the wolven jawbone that Solas used to wear. The only missing item was the bracelet that she used to conjure her left arm.
She wondered where it was. Perhaps it didn't matter. With her magic suppressed, she wasn't able to use it anyway.
To her dread, the youngest girl approached her face with a thin brush and small jar of purple paint. Ennaly assumed Vesta had ordered her to make her look like a Dalish Elf, and that included Vallaslin. Whatever pattern she traced was distinctly different from how it had been. Even if she was free of them for years, she could still remember all the lines and curves of Mythal's Vallaslin with her eyes closed.
Ar lasa mala revas, Solas had said as he had removed them. It was fitting that she received a mockery of them now that she was captured.
The memories of that evening flooded back to her. Solas had called her beautiful and kissed her. The tenderness in his eyes was still sharp in her mind. She had been so certain of his love. And then he had turned away. How different would her life have been if he had stayed at her side? Or if he had never surrendered himself to his feelings in the first place?
She certainly wouldn't have been here.
It took her effort to swallow away her emotion and allow the slaves to finish dolling her up. Before she left, Vesta tied her back to the chair, using purple ribbon instead of rope. The edges were sharp and irritating her skin, but Vesta only seemed to revel in that fact.
And then she was left alone again with her despair.
It must be several hours before servants came to set the table with beautiful porcelain and extravagant silverware, setting four seats. Josephine's teachings about table manners taught her that the cutlery was set for five courses. Ennaly's spot at the head of the table was left empty, but she wouldn't have been able to use a fork and knife anyway with only one hand. It seemed she would go hungry.
She had a brief hope that perhaps the Salicias weren't so bad. The moment they arrived, that hope crumbled. Both Calvus and Vesta were dressed in gold and looked beautiful, yet Timeus and Sabina Salicia appeared more opulent in dark jewel tones, and it took one minute for Ennaly to realise they were more akin to Vesta than Calvus. She had to endure five minutes of Sabina pulling on her ears and insulting every inch of her body. Her physical touches were less painful than Vesta's had been, and she was adequately able to disassociate herself from the experience.
But she couldn't do that from Timeus' leering looks. Something about him made her skin crawl, similar to Vesta, but in a more violent way. She hoped against hope that this evening would end without her having to endure his touch.
The courses were served and removed, with Ennaly only having to endure verbal assault. She tried to tune herself out as Petras served the table. He was a handsome man in his early twenties with dark hair and light blue eyes, with a pleasing deep voice. From her spot at the head of the table, Ennaly saw the Salicias laying a hand on him whenever he passed them, all of it below the table. He glanced in her direction once, but as he met her look of compassion, he averted his eyes and never looked back.
Ennaly understood. She wouldn't have wanted compassion either, not when she was as helpless as himself in changing the situation. It was easier to grind your teeth, try to mentally distance yourself from the situation, and hope it would be over soon.
And for Ennaly, that was sooner than expected. During dinner, the four mages discussed politics and how certain luxury goods were taxed. Calvus' family was clearly a large investor in several perfume companies, and wanted to persuade the Salicias to vote against some new ruling.
Persuade. If she could call it that. She was part of that. Petras was as well. And the sum of money that they promised – clearly less than they would lose if the bill passed – was certainly the most convincing.
Her eyes crossed Petras a final time as everybody left the room. The terror in his eyes was evident. All Ennaly could do was feel sick and guilty in the relief that she wasn't forced to join them.
And then she was left alone again, feeling worse than ever. Perhaps Petras had time to vanish before the party's end. Perhaps he could spike their drinks. It was what she would try, but then again, she had never been a slave like him. Perhaps he had as little choice as her.
The remnants of dessert remained on the table, taunting her empty stomach. When would she be given food next? Or water?
The dining room did not allow sound to pass. She had no idea what kind of party was hosted in the house, or if anyone might stray back here. But… the door was locked, wasn't it?
To keep her mind occupied, Ennaly had scanned every inch of the room. By now she knew exactly how many rows of floorboard there were. How many cake crumbs littered the table. What shapes she could imagine in the lurid silk wall covering. Dragons if you connected some lines, flowers if you connected others.
None of it was good enough to ward off her despair.
What more could she do? Idly, she leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. The blurred outlines of her own reflection stared back. Curious, she adjusted her position as best she could. The wooden ceiling was polished to perfection, and if she angled her head just right, a smooth patch in the wood made for a perfect mirror.
Purple lines crossed her face. Instead of the delicate lines curling over her cheekbones, the lines were crude, small thorns spreading from thicker stems that ran across her full face.
She could have cried, or she could have laughed, uncertain which reaction was most fitting.
Unknowingly, these Humans had painted a tribute to Elgar'nan on her face. The husband of Mythal, who favoured vengeance over justice. Solas had never quite told her if the values the Dalish attributed to their Gods were correct. They had been partially right about the Dread Wolf locking the Evanuris away, so Ennaly reasoned that some truth must have survived.
The rising of ethereal voices shattered the pressing silence. For a moment, Ennaly thought they were spirits or demons. Frightened, she looked around to find the source, when she recognised the voices. They were the Sorrows she carried within, slumbering, present, but rarely louder than a quiet hum. They hadn't often spoken to her, not even when she reached out for guidance.
But the reminder of Elgar'nan saddened some and angered others. Her lover, some cried. A tyrant, others condemned. His fury destroyed all it touched.
How appropriate was it then, that she now carried the marks of the God of Vengeance? If she would ever get her hands on Vesta, her fury would certainly be the Magister's downfall.
She let her head drop in defeat. Revenge on Vesta was impossible while tied up. She must have been here more than a day now, and time kept passing endlessly. Would she ever get to see her friends again? She had been so eager to finally see Dorian again after being apart for so long.
Her thoughts spiralled down as the oppressive silence closed in around her. What if she never got out? What if Vesta decided she wasn't worth the trouble? If nobody came to save her, would she meet the same fate as Taria?
She closed her eyes, trying to block out the terrible images that swam into her mind. Vesta had proven herself sadistic. A wave of nausea overwhelmed her as she imaged what Vesta might make her endure. What if she allowed people like the Salicias time with her? She could imagine Timeus' touch all over her body, pinching, stroking, cutting, penetrating…
No.
Steeling herself, she took a deep breath. A day wasn't that long. If someone was coming for her, certainly she needed to be patient. She had lived through several impossibilities already, least of all making the Dread Wolf fall in love with her. What was one more? She could free herself from these binds.
And for the first time since her capture, a sliver of hope ignited within her, dispelling her fear.
Feeling calm, Ennaly studied the room with newfound determination. On the table lay the knife used to cut the cake. It would be sharp enough to cut through the ribbons binding her to the chair. She had seen Vesta paint her nails gold with the flick of her finger, levitating the little brush. Perhaps Ennaly could make the knife levitate. She fixed her gaze on it, focussing her will until the knife was all she perceived.
It didn't move. Ennaly tried to call onto whatever remnants of magic remained within her. Encouraging whispers from the Well joined her effort. After all her accomplishments in life, certainly this was just a small, insignificant feat. If she believed she was able, she would be. So, she tried, and tried again, and again. And then once more.
But still, it didn't move, and the small spark of hope that had attempted to dispel her despair began to fade.
She slumped back, exhausted, cursing the tear that ran down her cheek, unable to wipe it away.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it.
The knife moved. Ennaly twitched in surprise, and tried to refocus. Light flooded back into the void, warming her from the inside. Her heart leapt as the knife moved again. An inch. Then another.
It was a little while before she sensed the gentle ripple in the Veil. Instead of strained, the sensation was more like a caress. Something was helping her from the Fade, not a malevolent demon, but a spirit.
Hope, she realised. The Veil was thin enough for the spirit to aid her without crossing over.
A new tear ran down her cheek, this time of relief. Slowly, she nudged the knife closer, inch by inch. The sound when it finally clattered off the table was as sweet as bird song to her ears. But this was only the first step. She needed to maintain her focus, and keep hoping that knife would lift high enough from the ground to cut through the ribbons at her armrest.
She was so concentrated that she nearly missed the sound of a key turning in the lock. Startled, she lost focus, and the knife fell to the ground just as the door opened.
Through it walked Timeus, splendid in his dark blue coat. He closed the door behind him and looked directly at Ennaly. His grin was enough to spark disgust, and her fragile hope flickered away. He was the last person she wanted here.
"So..." he said lazily. "You belong to the Wolf."
Only faintly did Ennaly hope he wouldn't see the knife on the floor or the frayed ribbon at her arm. She tried to command the knife again, to hold it in defence, but the connection with the spirit was torn away.
"Does it hurt, your missing arm?" Timeus continued as he stepped closer.
Unable to move, Ennaly could only recoil into the cushions of the chair as the man stood in front of her, leaned down, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She repressed every urge to react, no twitch, no whimper, no tear. His hand descended down her left arm, and cradled what was left of it.
Every part of her body screamed in high alert as she tried to block out the sensation of touch. A second hand joined the first and descended onto a breast. He was speaking to her, she realised, taunting words meant to scare her.
Nobody was going to come for her. She couldn't save herself. She was all alone.
She closed her eyes and swallowed down her emotions.
A faint sensation tickled the back of her neck. Disturbances on the Veil, she realised.
She wasn't alone here. Hope had just helped her. She wouldn't be able to call on it in her current state, but more than friendly spirits loomed close. What if she gave in to fear or despair? If she had to die here, she might as well take these people with her.
Would it hurt, to be possessed? It would mean she wouldn't have to feel these fingers on her skin, feel this breath on her ear as he leaned closer.
Before she could fully contemplate surrendering herself to her emotions, a cough behind them interrupted Timeus. The man sighed, annoyed, and leaned back. His eyes bore into Ennaly's a final time before he conjured a smile and lazily turned around. "Calvus, my dear friend."
With Timeus away from her, she saw Calvus standing in the door opening, his posture tall and his face set in a stoic expression. "Timeus, always a delight," he replied neutrally. "Astonishing how a locked door proves no obstacle to you."
Timeus released a chuckle that could have been charming if it hadn't been so forced. "I was making my way to the privy, but stumbled upon something that can fulfil… other needs."
"I am sure it does," Calvus continued. "But the privy is situated at the end of the other corridor. I am certain you can find the way." He smiled, showing white teeth, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Naturally. I will see you back at the party, Calvus," Timeus replied, brushing his shoulder against Calvus as he passed. "Your darling wife gave me the key," he whispered, loud enough for Ennaly to hear.
He exited the room, the closing door echoing behind him.
Calvus remained standing, his expression sour. Ennaly's heart was still pounding as she stared at the gold-clad man, unable to draw her eyes away. Half a minute passed before he shook his head and looked up, his eyes neutral again. For a moment, Ennaly feared that she had shaken off one offender in favour of the next, but as she met Calvus' gaze, she realised there was nothing malicious about him.
"Why… why help me?" she pleaded.
Calvus cocked his head slightly, his only sign of curiosity. "You are the Inquisitor. If the stories about you are right, you saved the world."
"I did," Ennaly admitted, but left out the part where she often had help, or circumstances had placed her where she needed to be. She hadn't expected people like Calvus to view her very favourably.
"I don't subscribe to the Venatori creed, if you were wondering," Calvus said with a hint of bitterness. "But I realise many do. Perhaps even most of the guests here tonight." He sighed, averted his eyes, and looked back. "Whatever your faults, you don't deserve to be assaulted."
"But Petras does?" Ennaly asked before she could stop herself.
Calvus' perfect stoic expression broke slightly as he raised an eyebrow. "Petras?" he repeated.
"You're condemning him to an evening of undesired assault," Ennaly replied coldly.
A frown appeared on his face. "Petras is not bound to a chair."
Ennaly couldn't help but release a disbelieving snort. He looks serious, she thought as she studied Calvus. "Not literally, perhaps, no," she replied, not believing she had to clarify herself. "But figuratively, he is. Do you think he is in a position to decline these advances?"
The frown deepened. "He works for us. We offer him a roof over his head, and enough food that he will not be hungry."
"And that means he needs to sell his body?" She laughed hollowly, faintly realising that was foolish. But her near-assault had set her spirit afire. "If that is your answer, you really don't see, do you? You are unaware that being raised in the lap of luxury has blinded you to the strife of others."
When Calvus just looked at her in silence, she sighed. "Well," she added. "You have more heart than your wife. You heard Timeus. Vesta gave him the key."
At hearing her name, Calvus' entire countenance changed. "You know nothing of Vesta," he said in a low voice that was almost threatening.
Ennaly curled her fingers around the armrest. Her sylvanwood ring, the one depicting the Dread Wolf, strained on her finger. She glanced at it, and its presence gave her courage. "Don't I?" she taunted. "I know she is cruel. I know you know she's cruel. Then why let her do this?"
He studied her face, pondering the question. Slowly, a hollow grin formed on his lips. "You love your Wolf, don't you?" he asked in return. "Even if you are aware of the atrocities he committed."
Ennaly didn't know what to say. She was certain that all deaths he had caused so far, were justified. Venatori, or slave owners, or otherwise terrible people, like Vesta's sister must be. She realised it was naïve of her to think that Solas would never kill an innocent on purpose, especially given his intended deed.
But he wasn't there yet.
Calvus sighed at her silence and forced an artificial smile. "I love Vesta. And whatever I might be blind to, I am not blind to the fact that love blinds. Are you, Inquisitor?"
Ennaly opened her mouth to speak, but was unable to formulate a reply. She kept looking up at Calvus and saw his smile turning sorrowful. His outfit shimmered in the magical light as he left the room and locked the door behind him. It echoed through the room, leaving Ennaly bewildered as she contemplated those words.
She was no fool, she thought. She wasn't blind to Solas' goal. His amulet reminded her of it every day. There was a reason why she had devoted her last few years to try and track him down, wasn't it?
It was because of hope. Hope that she could make a change.
As hope entered her heart again, the dagger on the floor twitched. Redirecting her emotion, Ennaly willed the knife to rise again and cut through the ribbon. Minutes later, the ribbon around her wrist fell away. She bit back tears as blood rushed to her numb hand and fingers, but it didn't give her enough freedom of movement. So, she willed the dagger to continue cutting at the ribbons around her chest.
Before she was finished, another sound at the door startled her. It opened to let Vesta through, who closed it behind her.
Ennaly wasn't free yet from her binds. The knife flickered in the air, threatening to fall down, threatening to be seen.
Hope left Ennaly, but a fiercer emotion raged through her veins. Vengeance.
This woman bound her to a chair and taunted her. Had killed Taria. Forced Petras into a night of assault. Made slaves bleed for her vanity.
She deserved retribution.
It might not have been hope, but something, perhaps even her own indomitable will, took hold of the knife. Just as a surprised expression appeared on Vesta's face, Ennaly projected the knife straight into her heart.
Vesta's yell was cut off as the force knocked her backwards. Without knowing how, Ennaly was free from her bind and she sped forward, needing to ensure that Vesta couldn't retaliate.
She found the woman on her back, clutching at the knife in her chest. Ennaly could feel her trying to gather magic at her fingertips, but it was faint.
"Calvus," Vesta tried to say, but blood bubbling in her mouth muffled the name.
Ennaly ran forward and leapt on Vesta, preventing her from struggling to her feet. "Your love isn't here to save you," she spat as she grabbed the handle of the knife. Her one arm was strong enough to pull it free.
Vesta coughed blood. "Neither is yours," the woman managed to say as Ennaly held the knife and stabbed her again. For herself. For Taria. For Petras. For all the others.
And finally, Vesta's golden eyes dulled to a dark brown. The colour suited her well, Ennaly thought as she pulled the dagger free a final time. There were small lines around Vesta's eyes that hadn't been there before.
She looked more Human in death than she ever did in life.
Besides her vanity and sadism and vengeance, the woman had been capable of love.
And when Ennaly wiped the blood from her hands, the only emotion that remained was pity.