Pride
Ennaly was unable to tear her eyes away from Vesta's body, her breath shallow and gasping. Her hand trembled, but she clutched the knife tightly. The knife with which she had…
Gods, she had actually killed Vesta.
Red blood stained her skirts, and she stumbled to her feet as the crimson puddle spread. Her movements were unsteady, still numbed from being tied to the chair. She didn't remember cutting the ribbons at her feet or waist, but there they lay on the floor, cleanly cut. Had a spirit helped her?
A shiver ran down her spine as she realised it might have been a demon.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to banish her dark thoughts. She was still without her magic. Hastily, she dropped the knife on the table and tried to claw at the collar around her neck. It was made of cool, thick metal, but as she scratched a nail around the smooth surface, she couldn't find any lock, hinge, or seam. Magic had likely sealed it, and without access to the Fade, she couldn't remove it.
She grabbed the knife again. It was the only weapon left to her, too short to be even considered a dagger. Yet still, it had been capable of killing.
Whatever she did, she didn't want to linger here, and she made her way to the door. She passed the table and only vaguely remembered being famished and thirsty, but as the food and pitcher on the table caught her eye, she felt like she never had a lesser appetite than now.
The door was closed but an unnatural buzz in the air indicated that that ward was still active. It hadn't faded with Vesta's death. If she exited, she would die like Taria.
She didn't have the power to destroy the ward, but she knew that she wasn't alone. Clutching the knife close as a conduit for her resolve, she closed her eyes.
Ennaly wasn't unfamiliar with prayer. The Gods she used to pray to were false and never listened, unless you counted the times when she invoked the Dread Wolf in Solas' presence. But spirits listened, and if you were lucky, they answered. Cole, Compassion, had been with her for years. She wished he was here now, but she couldn't feel his presence.
So, she prayed. And hoped Hope would listen.
At first, there was nothing. Then, a gentle flutter caressed her cheek, warm and comforting. It was familiar, coming from the same spirit that helped her before. Eager to help, it began to work on the ward. Ennaly could sense ripples spreading through the Veil, but she didn't know what it was doing.
Hope was such a conflicting emotion. It could be the ember to ignite determination, a light to overcome despair. Yet unanswered hope had the power to pull you further into despair, trapping you in a cycle of futile effort that could drain all the energy you once possessed.
And as time passed, she realised this spirit wasn't strong enough to break the ward. All it did was scratch at it, where a cut was needed.
Words that Solas had spoken to her years ago, resurfaced. A spirit becomes a demon when denied its original purpose.
A spark of fear reentered her heart. Was she perverting Hope by setting it a task it could not accomplish? Would she cause it to twist into Despair?
The knife. Use the knife!
The ethereal voices of the Well called to her again. Uncertain, Ennaly glanced at the knife in her hand. What use could it possibly have against a magical ward?
Blood holds power, da'len, one of the voices said patiently, as if it was explaining a base rule to a toddler.
A large bead of Vesta's blood dripped from the blade onto the wooden floor. Ennaly had never used blood magic before, and had no interest in ever trying it. But this blood was already spent. It was Vesta who placed the ward. If her blood could help undo it, why shouldn't she try?
"How?" she said out loud, uncertain how to communicate with the voices.
Are you obtuse, shemlen? a new voice from the Well answered bluntly. It works like all magic works. It is a force of mind. You will it.
Ennaly ignored the offence of being called quickling. She supposed the voices had more credit to call her that than the current Elves did against Humans.
They wanted her to use blood magic. Hadn't Solas said that it wasn't inherently evil? It wasn't as if she was going to kill anyone for the purpose of using their blood. Vesta was already dead, her blood already on the knife.
The little sliver of Hope still gnawed at the ward, but its efforts became erratic. Desperate to do the right thing but unsure what that was, Ennaly hoped that by complying with the Well, she could release Hope from this downward spiral.
Willing the ward to rapture, she sank the knife into the middle of the door.
A flash of red shot through the room, and Ennaly was blasted backwards. The air was knocked out of her lungs as she crashed into the side of the table. Her vision blurred for a moment, but as she crawled back to her knees and steadied herself, she realised the Veil around the door was quiet.
The ward was destroyed.
Still shaken, she got to her feet. What had happened to Hope? She hoped her deed hadn't twisted the little spirit into anything beyond its purpose.
Something fluttered near her ankle, barely strong enough to move the wispy fabric of her gown.
A smile formed on Ennaly's lips, but she had to wipe away a tear.
Hope still endured.
"Thank you," Ennaly whispered gratefully.
The knife was still stuck in the door, and it took her quite some effort to pry it free, but she didn't want to leave without it. She didn't hear anything, but this room was soundproof. Carefully, she pulled the door ajar.
A faint hint of a party entered her ear, but it was subdued, distant. She glanced through the gap, and saw nothing more than an empty hallway.
She shot a single look over her shoulder at Vesta. The woman lay on her back, her unseen eyes staring up at the ceiling. Something next to her caught Ennaly's eye. A ring of keys, she realised. Vesta had just unlocked the door, after all. Thinking it might be useful, she grabbed it and looped it through the belt at her waist.
Vesta never knew that Ennaly had used her blood. Would an imprint of her soul be watching from the Fade? What happened after death? Would Vesta's soul witness Calvus running towards her, cradling her body in his arms?
Her lover wasn't there to save her.
Neither is yours, crept through her mind again in Vesta's voice.
Solas wasn't here, and that was a fact. He might be there for her in the Fade when she was confronted with literal demons, but these Human demons were something she had to deal with alone. She just had to prove to herself she was strong enough to face it.
Clutching the knife tight in her hand, she headed for the door. A strange trepidation surged through her as she left her prison. She had accomplished a task she deemed impossible, and she couldn't help feeling a rush of pride. Even with her magic suppressed, she was still resourceful.
Her pride was short-lived, however. She closed the door behind her and was faced with the reality was she was nowhere near her freedom.
The mage slave had told her that Vesta had taken her blood. If she truly wanted to be free of Calvus' potential revenge, she had to either kill him or destroy her blood so he lost all power over her. She had no desire to kill Calvus. Wouldn't it lead to an increased cycle of revenge? Perhaps he had a brother like Vesta had a sister, and then that brother would try and get revenge.
No. She could stop this futile cycle.
It might have been years since she had Mythal's Vallaslin on her face, but that didn't mean she stopped valuing justice. The death of his wife was enough justice for Calvus. He had helped her after all, in a sick way, to ensure Timeus couldn't assault her.
A part of her had grandstanding ideas of rushing into the party and somehow delivering justice to the Salicias and help Petras and the other slaves, but she had already accomplished one impossible deed. Without her magic, rushing into the party would be a death sentence.
If she just focussed on freeing herself, perhaps she might free the slaves later, with the help of Dorian.
She recalled Calvus and Vesta discussing the cellars, where Calvus' grandmother had placed wards. It sounded like the perfect place to keep something as valuable as blood.
The problem was that Ennaly stood at the end of a hallway without knowing where to go. She took a few careful steps forward, eyes darting to an intersection a few yards ahead.
Sudden laughter rang louder from the corridor ahead, approaching rapidly. Calvus had mentioned the privy being in the hallway, likely the destination of the approaching person. Trying not to be seen, Ennaly scanned around and saw a stairway leading up at the left of the intersection. Not the direction she wanted to go in, but she had no choice.
Upstairs, she had no idea what direction to go in. Certainly, this house must have more than one stairway. She could try and find a servant's stairway that led downwards. As she crossed the hallway, all sound faded into the distance. Faint orbs of light, clearly magical, illuminated the hallway. Quietly, she continued. She passed a few doors and crossed the first corner, where she laid her ear to a door. She knew that sometimes servant's stairways were tucked away. When she heard nothing but silence, she opened it.
It was just an office with bookshelves from floor to ceiling and a large, heavy desk in the centre, illuminated by moonlight shining through the uncovered windows. A glass cabinet displayed a beautiful collection of delicate, crystal bottles with elaborate stoppers. This must be where Calvus managed part of the perfume business, but interesting as it might be, this wasn't where Ennaly needed to go.
Silently, she closed the door and continued. Determined to find another stairway, she walked the length of the corridor. As she contemplated where to go, a sudden sound of approaching footsteps grew louder.
Shit.
Ennaly knew that if she remained, she would be seen. She stood in front of a somewhat large door, but with the choice between certain death or whatever lay beyond, she decided to take her chances with the unknown.
She slipped inside as quietly as she could and closed the door behind her. The room was dark, and seemingly just as soundproof as the private dining room was. No sound of footsteps bled through.
Without any auditory cue, she decided to wait a minute. She closed her eyes, almost relieved to have a minute of reprieve before continuing.
"Who are you?"
The sudden voice startled Ennaly and her eyes fluttered open. At second glance, enough light shone through the curtains to faintly illuminate the room. She looked left, towards the high-pitched voice, and saw them.
Her breath hitched in her throat. Against the short wall of the room were two beds, each with a small figure perched up, one bigger than the other. There was a boy of around three, and then the speaker, a girl of five or six.
Shit.
This was the last thing Ennaly wanted. Had Vesta or Calvus ever mentioned children? She didn't think so, yet this room was clearly not a servant's quarter.
Her mind raced, searching for a way to leave without alerting or scaring the children.
"I am Ennaly," she said, stalling for time.
"You're an Elf," the girl stated.
"Yes," Ennaly replied, trying to sound reassuringly. "Did my ears give it away?"
The girl giggled. Gods, she looked like Calvus. "Yes. You look like Mina. She is an Elf too. Mina is nice."
"I like Mina," her brother added.
"Your dress is prettier than hers," the girl claimed.
Ennaly forced herself to smile, though her insides were howling. The bottom of her dress was stained by Vesta's blood – their mother's blood – but in the dim light, it might look like a simple pattern. Not wanting them to accidentally see the knife, she silently placed it on a table near the door, hiding it behind her back.
Who was Mina? A nursemaid? Perhaps she could claim that Mina sent her to check in on them. But before she could say anything, the smile fell from the little girl's face.
"You're missing an arm," she said.
"Oh," Ennaly remarked, lifting the stump of her left arm.
The little boy gasped. Shit. Ennaly knew that children could find her arm disconcerting, and she didn't want to scare them. Hurriedly, she pressed it against her torso and held it with her right hand.
"It's not so bad," she lied as she felt a phantom twitch in non-existent fingers. "It's been a few–"
The words stilled on her lips when her eye fell on something she had never expected to see again. On the table between the two beds, lay a golden bracelet inlaid with ironwood beads.
The little girl followed her gaze and grabbed the it from the table. "Mother gave this to me."
Ennaly swallowed, temporarily forgetting where she was. "It belonged to me. My mother carved the beads."
The girl looked down at the bracelet, which was entirely too big for her to wear. "I like the figures. What are they?"
Slowly, Ennaly stepped closer, her eyes on the girl. "They represent the Elven Gods. There are nine in total. One bead for each."
"Nine?" the girl repeated as she turned it in her hands, counting each bead. "I like the beetle."
Ennaly forced a smile. Those God's lines currently decorated her face, but the children clearly didn't care for that. "That is Elgar'nan, the father."
"Like dad!" the boy said happily, and the girl joined in.
So, Vesta is mother, but Calvus is dad, Ennaly thought. One formal, one informal. Whatever love Vesta held for her husband, she clearly did not feel for her children.
Ennaly knelt down next to the girl's bed. The bead with the wolf faced her way, and she swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. She hadn't known it represented Solas when she received the bracelet.
"Do you want it back?" the girl asked.
Ennaly's eyes darted up towards hers. Calvus' eyes, similar to Dorian's.
"Yes," she replied, her voice almost breaking. "It means a lot to me."
The girl smiled and handed over the bracelet. Ennaly took it and swallowed away a second surge of emotions. She hadn't thought to be reunited with it. But, without access to magic, she couldn't summon her missing arm. Out of fear of losing the bracelet if she wore it on her left, she placed it on her right arm.
"Thank you," she replied with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. Regardless of her parents, this child still held kindness in her heart.
"I didn't like the wolf," the girl stated.
"Wolves are scary," her brother agreed.
A soft smile formed on Ennaly's lips. When she was this young, she had been scared of wolves as well. "No wolf can harm you here," she said. "It is late. Perhaps you should go back to sleep."
"But I'm scared," the boy said in a small voice.
Ennaly wanted to ask if he meant the wolf, when she paused. The same disturbances she felt in the Veil in her prison were detectable here, though to a lesser extent. These children were undoubtedly mages like their parents, and might be sensitive to it.
"It's alright to be scared," Ennaly acknowledged patiently. "But you can have power over your fear. My... teacher always said to focus on your surroundings. Can you do that?" She took a deep breath, encouraging the children to do the same. She let her own senses roam the room, trying to catch anything that would help.
"You are here together, can you feel the presence of each other?" she said. "Can you smell the lilacs on the mantle? And see the moonlight through the curtains? If you focus on that, your worries will fade away."
"I like lilacs," the girl murmured. "And I like you, Emma."
Ennaly forgave her the misspelling of her name, impressed that she even remembered.
"I like bun-bun," the boy said, pressing a worn-down plush with long ears against his cheek.
Silence spread through the room as the children's breath eased, the moon shining on their small faces. They were drifting off to sleep already.
A genuine smile overtook Ennaly. It was comforting to see that these children weren't yet influenced by the cruelty of their parents' behaviour. "Sweet dreams," she whispered.
She shot them both a final glance, grabbed the knife from the table, and exited the room.
The hallway was mercifully empty, but her heart pounded in her chest as she continued on. At the end of the corridor and around the corner, she found another stairway downwards. As far as Ennaly could tell, it was relatively quiet. Taking her chances, she walked down.
The sound was louder to her right, so she decided to go left. This corridor was less decorated than the previous ones. The walls here were covered in pain green, without any pattern or sheen. It had the feel of being a servant's passage, perhaps a quick way from one side of the house to the other, without being seen by the main family.
Feeling less certain of her course with each step she took, she increased her speed. Her bare feet echoed a soft pitter-patter on the wooden floor, but that wasn't all sound. Was she imagining it, or did she hear footsteps behind her? Wanting to outrun whatever it was and stay out of its vision, she almost broke into a run.
But as she rounded the next corner, she found that the hallway beyond it wasn't empty. A tall figure blocked her way, and she had no space to pass. The figure gasped, startled by her sudden appearance. Ennaly skidded to a halt, only nearly avoiding a collision.
She looked up, and realised she knew this man. It was Petras, holding a silver platter that carried canapés. His eyes widened in shock and the platter wobbled dangerously, almost spilling the food.
But he managed to collect himself. "You…" he began, his voice trembling with rising panic. "You shouldn't be here."
"Petras, quiet, please," Ennaly begged urgently, scared he would call for help.
His eyes wandered over her body, taking in the knife in her hand and the blood on her skirts. His expression flickered between fear and confusion, and Ennaly didn't know which way it would tip. Would he call for help, afraid to be reprimanded if anyone found him in this state?
"I killed Vesta," she confessed hurriedly. "Petras, please. I want to help. Bring yourself and the others to safety. I will do everything in my power to help you all. Do you know where the entrance to the cellar is?"
But Petras struggled to process her words. "Vesta… dead?" His light blue eyes grew large, settling on fear.
"Yes," Ennaly said, trying to be firm but reassuring. "Petras, please. Where is the cellar?"
A few more agonising seconds passed in silence. But finally, the fear in Petras' eyes softened into determination. "It's close," he replied in a steadier voice. "First corridor on your left, straight ahead."
Ennaly nodded. "Thank you. And get yourself and the other to safety."
Without waiting for a reply, she darted off. There was no need for stealth anymore, not when people were already alerted to what she had done. She ran towards the corridor Petras had mentioned, and saw a large door at the bottom of a stairway. Her fingers trembled as she fumbled with the ring of keys at her belt, searching for the one that matched the aesthetics of the door.
It took her three attempts to find the correct one. The heavy door creaked open, allowing a whiff of stale air to escape. The room beyond was bathed in an unexpected faint blue hue. As she entered and closed the door behind her, Ennaly thought that the architecture was different to the other parts of the house. The stone was different, stacked in an elaborate pattern. Lines of crystal interspersed the hewn stone, which was the source of illumination. Lyrium? But it didn't look Dwarven at all.
If she had to assign it a style, she would have called it Elven. But how was that possible?
She had taken excessive care to study history, and knew that Vyrantium was one of the oldest settlements in Thedas. Was it built from the foundation of an Elvhen ruin?
Insolent shemlen! Their pride is built on the bones of the Elvhen!
The voices of the Well hissed in anger. Had they once walked the paths of the Elvhen city in this very place? They were far north of where the Temple of Mythal lay in the Arbor Wilds, but distance was irrelevant with Eluvians at your command.
As fascinating as this newfound information might be, Ennaly wasn't here to dwell on architecture or history. The walls of this room housed three tall doors, each with a small grate that allowed a glimpse into the space beyond. Ennaly tip-toed to peer through. The first led into a corridor that faded into darkness, but the second showed glimpses of a promising room.
Hurriedly, she tried the keys again. Just as she found the one that fit, she could hear a distant noise, accompanied by a ripple in the Veil.
Shit. Calvus must have found Vesta's body.
Ennaly unlocked the door, slamming it open without caring much for sound, and entered the short corridor beyond. She had barely taken a few hurried steps, as she crashed into an unseen wall.
Another ward, she realised as she scrambled to her feet. And keys were useless against magic.
Da'len, you are stronger than the Human shems. Your blood is still Elven. Use it!
Seeing no other option, she blindly followed the direction of voices. Needing to hold the knife in her right hand, she cut into her left arm and smeared blood where the voices commanded her. A specific pattern in the wall on the right, around a glowing green crystal. A similar pattern to her left.
Another red surge of light flashed as she finished the instructions. Grunting, she scrambled to her feet. No evidence remained of her blood. It was likely consumed to shatter the ward, Ennaly thought. Taking only a small moment to collect herself, she pressed onwards.
The corridor opened into a larger room. Shelves lined the walls, carrying arcane instruments that must be used in horrendous rituals. At the centre of the room on a dais, stood a large, ornately carved chest. A faint hum of magic emanated from it, and Ennaly instinctively knew this was what she needed.
She fumbled with the keys again, but this time she found the right one on her first try, making a satisfying click as it unlocked. Her fingers trembled as she opened the lid. She had come so far that she could almost taste her freedom. If she destroyed what was inside, she would be free from Calvus' potential control.
Inside, nestled between silks and set in wooden holders, were countless glass vials, all of them filled with crimson red. She pulled one of them free, and found a label with an unknown name. She took a second one. Mina, it read.
Ennaly's stomach churned. Did they keep the blood of all slaves to instil them with fear? They couldn't truly escape as long as their blood was held here.
Her eye fell on an elaborate bottle near the front and she took it. Inquisitor, it read, and her stomach churned again. It was perverse, seeing her own crimson lifeforce trapped inside such a beautiful container. Vesta had kept her blood in a perfume bottle.
Swallowing away her nausea, she smashed the bottle against the floor. A clear crystalline crack echoed through the room as it broke, her blood spilling over the shards.
She was free.
But there was no time to revel in her newfound freedom. The sound of heavy footsteps were slowly approaching, faint voices growing more distinct. Shit. Ennaly had to act quickly. She couldn't leave the other vials intact, allowing Calvus to maintain control over the slaves.
She grabbed another vial and smashed it, then a next, but it wasn't quick enough. Realising it was faster if she toppled the chest, she tried to put her weight into it. She cursed the absence of her arm, increasing the effort it took to even complete a simple task.
She sat down on her knees and pushed her shoulder against it. With a wicked sense of pleasure, she felt the chest move. She heaved a second time, braced herself, and finally, the chest tumbled over. Vial upon vial spilt out, crashing onto the stone, as the chest crumbled down.
A crimson puddle spread at her feet, but she ignored it.
The Veil quivered again as all vials lay shattered, but it wasn't in malice. If anything, Ennaly could fool herself she sensed relief, as if the Fade acknowledged her liberation.
A wave of pride washed over her. She had accomplished the next impossible task on her list, and had not only freed herself, but all the slaves in this household.
Well. If they could escape the house, that was. And if he was smart, Petras might have started that.
Ennaly swallowed.
Or had she led them all to their death?
She took a deep breath. She couldn't afford to doubt now, not when there was only one impossible task to accomplish. Besides, she couldn't allow herself any respite as sound was rapidly approaching. She grasped the knife again, clutching it to her chest, but nearly slipped in the blood and shards.
She barely managed to steady herself. If she wanted to have a chance, she had to be quick.
But it all was too late. As she spun around towards the door, a sudden silhouette blocked her exit.
She gasped, taking a moment to gather strength before lunging forward with the knife, when she halted.
The figure wasn't one of the guards, and neither was it Calvus. It wasn't even Human. It stood in complete silence, unmoving as if the sight of her had startled it as much as her.
And everything about him was familiar. His height, the width of his shoulders, the shape of his jaw. He was clad in the same armour she had seen him wearing last, with the wolf pelt over his shoulder.
Words failed Ennaly as she gazed up. Her eyes met his. Grey, with specks of purple. Moreover, they carried the sorrow she had come to expect.
This was really him.
He had actually come for her.
How long had it been, since they last looked at each other like this?
But they had no time for an extended meeting. Sounds behind him reminded them both of the approaching danger. He shot a look over his shoulder and turned back at Ennaly, his mouth set in a straight line. He glanced at the collar around her neck, and likely understood what that meant. "Hold me," he said, his tone demanding, as he turned his focus back to the approaching footsteps.
A split second was all she had, but she didn't doubt for even a fragment of it. She closed the three feet of distance in an instant and wrapped her only arm around him, the knife still clutched in her hand. Unsure if she was relieved or terrified, she pressed her eyes shut and buried her face in the wolf pelt, feeling Solas wrap an arm around her as he called magic to his command.