On the Trail

She was right about one thing. Blood magic was common in Minrathous. Still, it was rather taboo to talk about with anyone outside your immediate family. Tiberius glanced at the people Avorra pointed out, wondering where they kept their scars. Or if they had any at all – blood magic wasn’t picky about the sacrifice, so long as one was made. Tiberius preferred to only spill his own blood, but who could say if he’d change his mind once pressed?

“You must be sensing my demon.” He shrugged one shoulder, looking back at the young woman. Had she lived that much of a life of solitude? Since the loss of the Veil, spirits and demons were thick on the ground. “It’s been with me for years now. I wonder if it might have become something quite different, if my own circumstances had been better?

“I was stuck in Orlais, convinced I’d never see my home again. Despair crept in and never left.” He’d sensed other demons through Despair’s eyes, thriving among the Tevinter houses. Envy and pride, mostly. A spirit of Hope in his bride to be. A weak shade in the wasted body of his grandfather.

Tiberius ate, considering Avorra’s complicated issue from a distance. The offer she made was surprising, frightening even. If someone as memorable as she were to get involved in House business, the secret police would take notice. If they didn’t, they’d be proved terribly incompetent. He finished his coffee and poured a second cup from the pot.

“That’s very generous. I could be amenable, Avorra. But I don’t need anyone killed.” He folded his empty hands before him, watching her carefully. Forced Despair to look, too, invisible gnashing rows of teeth and ice forming on his coffee. “You see, I met someone a little bit like you in Orlais. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.

“I’ll help you – for information on your passenger or others like it. But only of my own free will. I do not intend to swear another pact.”