Apparently, it was someone’s birthday. Or … several someone’s?
Even as a Denerim native, Esme had less than zero interest in the current king’s Antivan bride – or her somehow even more Antivan sister. And yet. The sight of the castle all lit up and festooned with banners was enough to wake homesickness in even her cynical heart. They’d only meant to be passing through the city on their way south for a wyvern hunt.
It was foolish to attend, she knew that. Someone might recognize her from her misadventures three years ago. Or – worse yet – she might encounter some agent of her parents. Word would make it back to them, regardless. Esme planned to be gone by then, with any and all luck.
“I wonder what they did with my tibia?” She shifted in her chair, stretching out her prosthetic leg. On her left foot, she wore a dainty, beaded slipper. The right she’d left uncovered, a bare blade of spring steel etched with softly glowing lyrium. “Burned it and all the rest, I suppose.” Such a strange thought, that oh, about fifteen percent of her was dead years ago. Possibly the rest of her was too – legally speaking. Was there a Lachance grave with only a leg and foot in it, somewhere in this city? Esme wrinkled her nose and drained her glass of watered down, too-fancy wine. It had bubbles, at least. That was novel.
They sat at a small table on the highest floor, overlooking the festivities in the ballroom. The conversations and music below carried up as a mingled dull rumble. You could sort of pick out the important people by how much space was left around them, their bright clothes and the gleam of some gold or jewel catching the light. The commoners outnumbered them and the guard too, drab earth tones blurring together, no doubt praising the king for his generosity as they filled their bellies with rich foods at the feasting tables. Stomachaches and hangovers all around, come morning.
“Security seems … Well. What is your professional opinion, Byrne?” Esme nudged his boot with her foot. She was glad they weren’t working this time.
It was strange thing. Being here for the first time and it still being a clear return. Not just for Esme who was from here, and apparently lost her leg here, but Also it was the first time Caro had been out and about since the job went sideways. He'd been mostly inside and mostly just with her. He was sure he could handle it, but the thought of speaking and lying in public again made his mouth dry just now. He opened and closed it like a fish, almost missing her question.
“A tibia?” He said, his mouth agast.”it's much too large to make a necklace out of, and not as flashy as a pelvis or skull. None of the scrimshaw applications of a rib bone either.” Her answer was probably the correct answer, Not enough blood magic in ferelden to make keeping it meaninful. “Perhaps the festooned to the handle of a oar or rudder and some mariner out there is sailing the channels with your tibia even now?” Burned to ashes, had to be, only thing that made sense but what can you say. Esme didn't seem the type to be sentimental about her maiming but she had every right to be wistful. Caro had heard stories of amputees having clenched there muscles prior to losing a limb and being eternally unable to unclench their fist. Agonizing and nonsensical endless torment. He rarely mentioned her loss, and never without her bringing it up. He didn't even know where to start.
The crowd was delightfully mixed among all classes. Seemingly very little thought of assassination or even personal station. Just people meeting people, or pushing past people to get to the food, which in Caro's opinion was just about the right play. People would be here all night, but the choicest of cuts would go fast, as would the finer wines. “Security is either quite sophisticated or nonexistent as far as I can tell.” He looked back at her across his shoulder as a guard slipped by on his way to the food tables. “People either know better or just plain don't want to cause a mess.” he said before adding “Hopefully at least. We'll” he smiled, “Lets get a drink while we can yes?”
“I thought they only did that kind of thing with whale bones.” Esme winced, trying to banish Caro’s macabre suggestion of oar handles. Somehow it was worse to think about than her initial curiosity had been, though it was difficult to quite pinpoint why. Consent, perhaps? From an anonymous preserved specimen – at the worst, in her family’s possession – to a complete stranger’s stolen art piece. Ah, but all of this was immaterial in the greater scheme of things, and put away with only a little lingering dread. She’d only one tibia left, after all, and fervently hoped that she’d never see it without its skin on.
“Another one, you mean?” Shrugging, Esme drained her glass and pushed up from the table. “As you like.” She took Caro’s left arm, allowing him to steady her weaker side a little as they made their way down the many, many stairs. Stealing the occasional slantwise glance, she watched him for signs of discomfort with an interest that perhaps went beyond his recent injury. Starkhaven had changed things in ways she was still feeling out. The only conclusion that Esme had arrived at: she suspected that Byrne wasn’t scared of her anymore. And that was good — even if she could not say why there had been fear in the first place.
“It does seem the cushier job either way.” She said, returning to their earlier conversation about guarding the royal birthday party. Maybe they could do with some cushier jobs for a little while – Esme was tired of being up to her elbows in the blood of her friends. The crowded ballroom had grown much more intimidating when viewed at the bottom of the stairs; she preferred it when she’d only been able to see the tops of peoples’ heads.
“Well. See you later.” Esme crept around the edges of the room toward the banquet tables, lingering until she could snag enough choice delicacies to fill a tiny plate. She ate quickly and ignored conversation around her to the point of rudeness. Any moment someone was sure to recognize her. At the very best, she would be thrown out of the palace for sure.
But it did not happen, even though she spotted at a distance several people she recognized among the partygoers. After some time, she gave up – they were only in Denerim for the night and it would be foolish to spend it crouched in the shadows. Esme went looking for Caro again.
“Do you dance at all, Byrne?” She said, transparently waiting to be asked in return.
“The rich do it with whale bones, most settle for whatevers on hand.” he said noncommittally, “Most don't go as far as to raid the local ossuary though. Caro stood there awkwardly lading out whatever deranged sangria was available in the nondescript bowls on the drinks table. He handed the cleaner of the two cups over to Emse after he had dribbled wine over the edge of his cup and knuckles pouring his own. He swapped hands and moved to wipe his hand on his clothes before spying the vibrantly dark purple and thought better. He brought the back of hand to his lips for a moment before finally spying a a cleansing cloth nearby. Sheepishly he cleaned his hands and picked his drink back up. And stared back at Esme, knowing full well where this question led.
“Can you believe that the Circle had some basic ball room dancing courses?” Strange as it its it wasn't uncommon to have mages at high end events at the behest of the upper crust. Bryne had never gone to one of these events himself but he was told that it was the uncomfortable half space between a new and interesting spectacle and being showed off like a bovine at auction. People left excited and came back quiet. Lord knows how much the circle made in kickbacks. “I know just about enough that your foot is safe. As is your dignity.” He smiled, “If you are so inclined.”
“Just a moment.” he held up a hand, open palm to Esme. “He drained his dark drink and winced as it burned just behind the bridge of his nose. It was fruity with a definite aftertaste of whatever he had been drinking in bed the last month or so. He held out his hand “If you would grant me the honor of this dance Miss Dunnik?” He put his forehead to the back of her outstretched hand and led them to the floor. Caro could hear the words of his dance instructor speaking as they began. People on the floor speak among themselves as if they're the only ones who can hear, it's your duty to pretend you heard nothing and not reference anything you did hear. Great rules for a set piece mage with no social context, but for a spy it was laughable. He stepped between the other dancers in a practiced pattern, eyes on Esme.
“Err. No. What has dancing got to do with magic?” Esme blinked at him, visibly trying to work out if she’d committed some kind of terrible faux pas. They had spoken about Byrne’s past life as a Circle mage only as often as they discussed her own dubious past – which was not at all, typically. She knew he’d been in Kirkwall, and that Kirkwall had been one of the worst before the Circles fell.
What worst really meant, she was afraid to ask – a fact she found extremely frustrating and most out of character. Who was this man really, to make her worry about the unseen knives in her words? But he offered her his hand before she had finished finding reasons to regret her boldness.
Caro hadn’t been cut, though. He only seemed a little amused, which was about the best you could hope for when it came to Caro.
“Miss Dunnik, huh? Okay.” Esme allowed him to lead her away from the table with a little laugh. He was right. She should have thought of a fake name to give out. Though the royal birthday had opened the castle to all comers, this was the one place in Thedas where she might get recognized as Esme Lachance. A cover would hardly stop that entirely, but it might prevent a second glance.
Tentatively, Esme put her left hand on his right bicep and fell into step with Caro. Her face was still in concentration, brows slightly pinched down as she tried to recall ancient dancing lessons and also avoid slipping at the same time. The marble was slick under the textured metal of her prosthesis but their joined hands offered some support. By the end of the first song, she trusted him enough to keep them from rudely treading on the feet of other dancers, at least. She remembered enough of her old skill to think about other things.
Esme had scarcely ever been both this close to Byrne and seen him awake enough to watch her back. It was strange. The light in here glinted auburn off his dark hair and she wanted very badly to touch it. As the second song trailed off to nothing and she took a half step back, gaze lingering a moment before shifting to the side, a wry smile coming to her lips.
“Do we care about Miss Dunnik’s reputation? A third dance might as well be a declaration of intent, even among the dog lords.”
Dog lords brought out some vast and fanciful race of dog headed gods to Caro's mind. For a moment the pillars grew angled dog heads with jeweled eyes staring down at them. He struggled a moment trying to find a way to describe is stray thought to Esme but left it on the table as too ludicrous. His face felt impossibly hot as he gauged her request. “Poor Ms Dunnik, barely a moment born and already impugned.” He smiled at her as he stared into her eyes questioningly. “I'm much more concerned about what Esme thinks at the moment” he said very low, just barely filling the small space between then. He held her hand to his forehead a moment then hesitated just a moment as he moved it down past his lips. They moved back onto the dance floor
Most people wouldn't even notice them lost in the crowd, gossip on passing notables was unlikely to mean much if you never saw them again, and even more so if they never truly existed. They were playing a local game and happy to acknowledge their existence but leave them uninvited. They danced just underneath notice, pirouetting in the social subconscious. In a few weeks no one would remember the names they offered up, in a few months they would wash off the social record entirely. It was incredibly freeing. At this exact moment, there was everyone else, then then there was her. Her auburn hair trailed behind her in the half light, leaving micro shadows on freckled skin that seemed to almost sparkle.
They danced on, in the hazy half time of true presence. He lost track of the music, and the dancers around him. All else faded. Eventually, and sorrowfully however the music faded, leaving them on the floor, alone amongst the others. She was pressed tightly into his chest, breathing in tune to him. He turned his head toward her, his cheek pressing into her cheek till he was right against her ear and breathed. “I would do this forever if I could Ms Dunnik.” before turning face past her cheek, his lips trailing behind till they found her skin. He pressed into it, closing his eyes.
