The Eyes had descended on the Umbra household, taking the estate's occupants by surprise. Nearly every room had one or two of their number lurking in a corner, judging the family as they were eventually corralled into one room. Servants were held in the kitchen and the overflowing rooms next, all with their own escorting agent dressed in their menacing black.
The senior of the Eyes sat comfortably, too comfortably, in one of the finer chairs, their mask only allowing for the two hollow pins for eyes to stare out, eyeing each in turn. One of his men worked through a desk, papers indiscriminately strewn across its surface, floor and other surfaces, those with some interest to the order piled carefully to one side. The head of this branch of the family argued, protested loudly that the search was a waste of time, intrusive and without merit.
And your son? came the low voice of the senior agent. His words silenced Tiberius’s Mother, almost, his tone lowering to something more akin to respectful, cautious. Smart woman. He didn’t want something… unfavourable happening to his heir. Behind his mask the agent smirked, these nobles were all the same, all too protective of their bloodline and the turbulent current of favour and power within the Magisterium that they ignored infractions that posed a threat to Tevinter. Especially now the barrier had fallen and citizens who were cut off, returned homeward.
Pulling himself out of the chair, agonisingly slowly, the agent turned to the heir in question. The Eyes must conduct its work, you understa- his words faltered, his breathing becoming shallow, then gone completely that in a panic the agent clutched his chest, eyes searching between the faces gathered until landing on a figure standing in the now open doorway. Ch-Ch-Chan-Chancellor?
Darkening the doorway stood an imposing figure, also masked, though uniquely different to the agent gasping, gulping helplessly and like a fish on dry land the man stumbled back hands grasping the back of the chair to steady him. The Chancellor remained unmoved until his point had been well enough made, gesturing with his hand to release his subordinate and returning it to join the other behind his back.
I had left instructions that I would handle this personally. Did you miss the memo, or did you think that by forging ahead you’d gain some favour? Mal tutted whimsically, shaking his head in disappointment. Everyone of you drop what you are doing and get out. The command rolled out as a sneer, his jaw taut with keeping his tone in check until his furious gaze landed back on the man wheezing, catching his breath. And as for you. Pausing deliberately, Mal grinned. Take yourself to Novella, I will check on you after.
It was a dangerous thing, prodding and corralling a couple dozen prideful Tevene mages. Doubly so, now that nearly every mage played host to some demon or spirit. It would take so little for emotions to boil over, to spell the doom of his entire family.
Despair was a passive thing by nature, so perhaps Tiberius had it easier than his uncles and aunts, siblings and cousins. Strangers, almost, after so long away – with new visitors behind their eyes. Now he lounged in one of the study’s chairs, hands bound in his lap in front of him. He had, unfortunately, raised a rather forceful complaint when he’d realized these interlopers intended to rouse his elderly mother in the middle of the night.
Now he was pretty sure his nose was broken, for all the good it had done. A trickle of blood and mucus tickled the back of his throat, leaving a copper taste in his mouth. He needed to be ready to act. The moment this taught cord of control began to fray, when compliance lost any hope of saving them …
Something peculiar was happening to the Senior Eye. It looked like a heart attack, at first. Tiberius looked over his family, unsure whether to scold the offender – or to strike at the other secret police, folly though it might be. If they were all going to die anyway—
Tiberius knew that voice. So did his mother, apparently.
“Malachai Valentius? Dear, this is all because of your little elf friend from so long ago? That can’t be.” An unhelpful chorus of Umbra voices rose around the room, family members in their various nightclothes. Tiberius raised his bound hands slowly, to prod the contour of his nose with his index fingers. He winced, though whether it was from the injury or the noise was unclear even to him.
“So good to see you again, Mal. To what do we owe this midnight raid of our home?” He sat up and struggled to straighten the fall of his dressing gown. Forced a smile as though this was a perfectly reasonable way to receive guests. At least Lyric and Tacitus seemed to have eluded the Eyes for now.
“Your man is, ah, a trifle overzealous. Liable to get himself – and a lot of good people besides – hurt behaving like that.”
Lyric awoke to the sound of shouts and the clattering of heavy boots echoing through the halls. Her heart raced as she strained to catch snippets of conversation. The Eyes of Tevinter had invaded Tiberius’s home, their presence unmistakable and terrifying. Panic seized her, but she forced herself to move, slipping out of bed and into the secret passageway she’d discovered days before.
The narrow, hidden corridor felt like a suffocating tunnel as she made her way to the kitchens. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of fear and confusion. Did someone betray them? Why were they there, it couldn’t be good if it was the middle of the night.
As she emerged from the passageway into the dimly lit kitchen, Lyric’s breath came in short, sharp gasps. She had no plan, only the desperate need to survive. Grabbing a heavy cast-iron frying pan from the countertop, she tried to steady her trembling hands.
A shadow moved at the corner of her vision, and without thinking, she swung the pan with all her might. The sickening thud of metal meeting skull was followed by a grunt and the collapse of a figure onto the cold stone floor. But in her panicked state, she overbalanced and the pan swung back, connecting painfully with her own head. Stars exploded in her vision, and she staggered, dropping the pan with a clatter.
She pressed herself against the wall, clutching her aching head, and strained to listen past the ringing in her ears. The commotion downstairs was growing louder. She could hear Tiberius’s voice, commanding and furious, and the harsh responses of The Eyes.
What should she do next? Her mind raced through the options, but each seemed more dangerous than the last. She needed to think, to find a way to help, or at least to survive this ordeal.
Sliding down to the floor, she took a few deep breaths, trying to clear her head. The frying pan lay beside her, a grim reminder of her clumsy defense. She couldn’t stay here. She had to move, to find a way to help Tiberius or escape if things went badly.
Lyric pushed herself up, clutching the frying pan once more, and edged towards the kitchen door. She peeked through the crack, her heart pounding in her chest. The corridor outside was dim and empty, but she could hear footsteps approaching.
The few Eyes around began untying the bound Umbra relatives worth being troublesome during the corralling. Each one avoiding the ice cold gaze of the man who’d darkened the doorway now moving more centrally into the space.
...because of your little elf friend…
Well. If that didn’t quite sting more than his subordinate jumping the wagon. While the Umbra’s made remarks among themselves the Eyes would reassume their intimidating presence, hushing some with glares, rough nudges and shaking heads.
It took a great deal of effort to hold his glare for the gasping man and not his friends' unfortunate relatives. He himself had been looking forward to a quiet evening and there was an audible inhale of breath through the cloth shielding his face. Yes, well. Some of us half-breeds grow up to be so useful we’re made Chancellor, he paused, letting the third most powerful title linger a moment for the gravity of the situation to sink in. Not that he boasted so openly his well earned position in any normal circumstances, it was the main reason for his masked visage after all. But it doesn’t excuse the intrusion and inconvenience you’ve all suffered. You have my sincere apologies Madam, bowing his head and gesturing towards the Umbra dining room, I believe a warm glass of milk, or a fine brandy, is in order, to soothe your nerves after all of this unnecessary commotion.
Mal didn’t give her the option, a shadow in black appearing at her side to aid her and the rest out leaving Mal and Tiberius alone. Once the door firmly closed the Chancellor’s shoulders slumped bitterly, a sigh expelled with a bitter groan. Mal approached, reaching for his friends' bonds to free him. This wasn’t supposed to happen, Tibby. I was going to come by in the morning, but that fucking whelp… don’t worry my girl will make him dance before his eyes shut entirely.
Grimacing at the state of his friend's face, Mal sighed, C'mon. We best fix that. Kitchens? I do vaguely remember your cook making some good tarts, a treat to soften this disaster and quench my sweet tooth. I have to save my mood somehow, but... I didn't see your little lady among the rest, interesting choice.
Tiberius watched his family members file out, escorted by the Eyes in their black uniforms. Reserved and remote, maintaining the same illusion of control that he saw in his friend right now. They were lucky – it held until they were alone in the study. He lowered his hands for Mal to free.
“Ah, well. I can still use this.” He rubbed his sore wrists and numbed fingertips, working circulation back into his hands. “When Grandfather finally kicks off – well, I’ll remind them all of this night. That should be the succession sorted right there.” To be honest, Tiberius wasn’t sure how much the Eyes knew about the state of the old man. Publicly, the story was that Lukios Umbra was far too ill and frail to leave the house. In truth, he was a shuffling corpse in a hidden cell – and had been that way for some time.
As for that cruel Senior Eye – were Malachai and this girl going to see him hanged? It was hard to imagine another meaning for make him dance. Well. It wouldn’t look good for the Chancellor to have some fool jumping the chain of command, whatever else his sins. Poor bastard.
“Sure, sure. It would have been nice to host you for breakfast, but we shall make do.” Tiberius reached for Mal’s hand to pull himself up, wobbly on his feet for just a moment. Lyric’s absence was pointed out as interesting, earning a painful grimace. He led the way toward the kitchens, relaxing slightly as the house began to take up its normal activity and character.
“Yes, well … She’s a Circle mage from the south, you know. Jackbooted thugs – no offense – break in during the night, she might think we’re all to be killed. I could hardly blame her for hiding.” He spoke to be overheard, knowing exactly where the secret passage connected to their bedchamber would let out. The coincidence was enough to make him wonder if Mal knew as well. Exceedingly unlikely, but eerie all the same. Tiberius took his time pushing open the door, letting her have a few extra seconds to adjust.
Lyric was in the next room, just as he’d guessed. She was not properly attired for receiving company, but then, no one had been at this hour. One of his nightshirts fit her like a dress.
“There you are, lovely.” More alarmingly, part of her face was red – as if she’d been struck. He glared back at Mal and rushed into the room, shielding Lyric from vision. “Did they hurt you?”
Lyric stood frozen for a moment as Tiberius rushed into the room, his concern evident in his voice and demeanor. She hadn't expected him to find her here, hadn't anticipated this confrontation so soon after the chaotic events of the night. Her fingers nervously brushed the fabric of the oversized nightshirt she wore, a stark contrast to her usual composed demeanor.
When Tiberius shielded her from Mal's view and asked if they had hurt her, Lyric's gaze flickered between the two men. She felt a surge of conflicting emotions—relief that Tiberius had come looking for her, worry what still might be in store for them, and a lingering fear of the Eyes and their ominous presence in their home.
[/q]I'm alright, Tiberius,[/q] Lyric finally managed, her voice soft but steady despite the turmoil inside her. She gently touched his arm, trying to reassure him even as she avoided Mal's gaze. They didn't hurt me. They... they were after you, I think. I got one with a frying pan, but well, I’m a bit clumsy. I suppose that’s something else you should know about me. The bang on my forehead is from swinging the fry pan too wildly. Why she hadn’t just used her magic was beyond even her, but in the heat of the moment the fry pan had seemed easier and more of a sure strike.
She glanced towards Mal briefly, her expression conflicted. I didn't mean to hide, I just... I didn't know what to do. The weight of the night's events settled heavily on her shoulders. It reminded her of nights the Templars would do random sweeps of the Circle in the middle of the night, looking for anyone that might be a threat to the status quo.
Mal scoffed a little with his friend's turn of phrase, using the events of the invasion of his home to his advantage within the family. I wouldn’t be quite as excited about that if I were you. The Senate is not the same as before, jumping into his shoes right now would only signal to the piranha’s to fresh meat. While the rumour of the old man's sickness had filtered through to Malachai he hadn’t checked up recently on Lukios true condition. Perhaps he’d suggest one of the Archon’s physicians, once they’d concluded this foolish business.
The Chancellor would make no further reference to his subordinate’s fate, not to a civilian and especially not to a man he considered a friend. There was no need to go into the gory details of how the pawn would scream and howl then beg for death to have it all begin again. Malachai had a reputation to maintain, a message not only to those outside but within the ranks of the Eyes the consequences of defying commands.
Steadying Tiberius, Mal gave his shoulder a small squeeze letting him take the lead towards the kitchens. Chuckling as he followed behind, Mal’s hands found the pockets of his robes while his eyes wandered the corridor. He knew of the passages, but not intimately familiar with their exact locations and exits, Tib’s wish to be overheard by his lady friend was adorable. Pretty sure the Southern Mages are a little more robust than we give them credit for. Soft magically perhaps, that can’t be helped if they’ve been corralled like cattle for ages.
Entering the next room, Mal stiffened once noticing Lyric’s condition. He turned, giving the two a respectful privacy given her attire. Reaching for the ties of his outer robe he peeled it off, silently offering it out without turning around. Please accept my apologies Miss Oatshield he’d begin, shoulder rolling in an attempt to ease the tension, the frustration, building. This was to be a civilised discussion over tea, not an intimidating raid in the black of night.
He’d later chuckled though, finding the use of such a mundane tool all too amusing, muttering, I’ll need to add, ‘Flying Frying Pans’ to the training manual. Malachia let out a long sigh, her quip helping to lighten the mood some. Don’t worry about anything my dear. Tibby and I were about to sit in the kitchens and locate some tarts, perhaps find some hot chocolate to brew. I’m certain that, along with a dash of brandy will do us all a little good, yes? Again he gestured towards the Umbra kitchens. We can return the frying pan to the cook too.
“Ah, well. They got me.” Tiberius gestured at his face, reluctant to touch the damage. It hurt more now that the adrenaline was starting to fade. As far as the frying pan incident went … Perhaps they could work on it. Invest in a great deal more potted plants or some such thing – that Lyric might have a more natural weapon on hand if danger visited again. Heavy blunt instruments were clearly not her forte.
“Very well. But you’ll be serving yourself, Malachai. I’m not calling up an audience for this mess.” He made a vaguely approving grunt as his friend passed over his outer layer for Lyric’s comfort. Somehow, Tiberius did not think that attending to the rest of this interview naked would improve things. So the dressing gown remained.
The kitchens were cold and quiet, and would be for an hour or two more before the new day’s work began. A conspicuous pair of booted legs stuck halfway into the hall, drawing a moment of his attention. Dead? Merely concussed? His lips pulled into a thin line, considering. If Mal was already going to disappear one of his unruly agents over this, he might well do a second.
Either way, his own talents were quite useless for resuscitating the recently bludgeoned. Tiberius kicked out a bench at one of the work tables and sat down, facing out toward the room.
“Mal’s a good old friend, Lyric. If he’s taking pains to be this nice … We’ll probably be okay.” There would still be questions, of course. Perhaps a great deal of them. Tiberius could not begin to predict their exact content – the Eyes seemed more powerful now than they had been before his ill-fated trip to Orlais. The return border crossing itself had seemed rather draconian and yet he’d survived that without a broken nose.
“Would you mind fixing my poor face, dear? Then I’ll be happy to give up whatever family secrets the Eyes desire. The location of the chocolate, for one.”
Lyric hadn't even been thinking about her attire, when Mal pointed it out, she went about twenty or so shades of red and pink and reached out to take the robe. It was probably faster than retreating back to the bedroom and getting her own. Though she didn’t imagine she was needed at the moment, she was also far too wired to go back to bed any time soon.
Thank you… She mumbled as she covered up, she let out a low chuckle at Mal’s comment about adding flying frying pans to the training manual. She still felt a bit foolish, there she was a mage and her first instinct had been to use a frying pan, but then she was also better at healing magic and nature magic, and with her accident proneness she wasn’t sure if casting a fire ball or bolt of electricity in such a small confined space would have been a good idea either.
Lyric breathed a sigh of relief when Tibs asked to help with his face, finally something she felt she could confidently do and not look a total fool. She nodded eagerly and drew closer, first looking it over, it was of course no where’s near as bad as the last injury she had healed on Tibs, this one wouldn’t take nearly as much mana and could probably be healed all the way, leaving minimal marking.
Oh, easy peasy. She set to work, it took mere moments and once she was satisfied with her work she stepped back and focused on his words he’d spoke moments before, about chocolate. Hot chocolate and tarts sounds amazing, I can get the milk from the ice box! An easy retrieval job, since her accident prone nature, she figured she’d do any of the tasks that didn’t involve actually tending to the stove or using a knife to cut the chocolate. If it were just Tibs she wouldn’t mind, but she didn’t want to look any sillier in front of Mal.
Turned away, Mal rolled his eyes. He could portray the veil of a Gentleman and he knew his way around a stove, how else had he eaten in the field of battle? Avoided being poisoned? Rude he’d mutter, I appreciate the simple things like cooking I’ll have you know. I’m a dab hand at the art of duelling frying pans. He’d twirl his wrists playfully, hoping the banter would diffuse any lingering tension remaining.
Mal offered a warm grunt at her appreciation, remaining still for a further few moments before turning, heading in the direction of the kitchen. The protruding feet within the doorway ground his gait to halt, head turning to find her with lofted brow. See Tibby, I told you not to underestimate the Southern Mages. Nicely done my dear. After studying the man for a moment, Mal easily dragged him to one side, He’s not dead, but he won’t be bothering anyone for a while. I’ll pick him up on my way out.
While Lyric attended to soothing the pretty Tibby, Mal walked around the kitchen lighting a stove and the large fireplace to stay the chill. He appeared unbothered by the temperature, but for the benefit of the lady and the need for a warm soothing drink Mal worked quickly, casting the pair an observing glance on occasion. The girl amused him, tossing Tiberius a curious look, astonished by the sudden switch. My, my it does appear we missed a lot in five years, but, if you would be so kind my dear to weasel the whereabouts of said chocolate, I will procure the tarts. Despite this mask I can assure you, I will sniff them out promptly.
There underneath the veil of comradery, a flash of cold calculation brimmed in the Chancellor’s eyes. Yes, he was a friend, but a great many things had changed in the five years Tevinter was closed to its neighbours. Distrust of their own kin was as natural as breathing, but how did the state function without accurate information on its neighbours? Would returning citizens abide by Deme’s established regime, or would they turn against their homeland, betray it to their enemies and plunge it into chaos?
Mal would know after they talked, but he doubted that Tiberius wished for the collapse of their home or encouraged its slip into disarray by appealing to the ailing mind of its ruler.
So, my friend, why don’t you tell me, fingers ran across the doors of the kitchen cupboards, mentally counting and recalling. How you got stuck and what you’ve been up to, how’d you cope? Not everywhere has indoor plumbing like home.
Being healed by magic was always a bit of an odd sensation. Tiberius grimaced as his nose set itself, a nauseating snap of pain that faded much quicker than it had any right to. He smiled weakly at Lyric, mouthed ‘thank you’ and then brushed past her into the kitchen, expelling a gob of bloody mucus into the sink basin.
Oh, he could breathe again. That was so much better. He washed his face and cupped water in his hands to rinse his mouth, listening with half an ear as Mal and Lyric bantered. It was a relief to know Lyric hadn’t accidentally killed anyone. It seemed like something that might have weighed on her conscience, later.
But Mal brought them back around to serious matters. Tiberius ran his wet hands through his hair, letting it stand up at odd angles. Cope was too strong a word. He had merely existed in a gray fog for so much of that time.
“You already know that my Grandfather was pressuring me to marry. And why I put it off so long.” His relationship with Enzo was a relatively well kept secret as far as fickle society was concerned – but certainly not to Mal. He’d been a friend to them for far too long and had all of his senses intact. If he feigned ignorance, it was surely only to be polite.
“When the ultimatums started coming out, I had no choice. We, uhm, ended things. I took myself off to Val Royeaux, intending to make an embarrassing nuisance of myself to my family and return either when it suited me – or when they called me back. How was I to know that Arvina planned to barricade the whole damn country?”
And maybe, just a little bit … It had been to get back at Pavus, too. For all the times it had been Enzo doing the walking away.
“When I learned that I couldn’t go home, I, uh. Gave up? I stopped going to the parties. I sent my men away and locked myself up in my rented rooms. After that business with the Veil, spirits were drawn to me. I think I corrupted one.” Tiberius stretched out one hand and wove an illusion of Despair’s over top it – rag wrappings and loose skin, claws, a crystal coat of ice. He snapped his fingers and it was only his hand again, short blunt nails and skin a little pruny from the water.
“I met the Nicolliers quite by chance. Or so I thought at the time. They were out of money; I think they put their daughter in my path intentionally. She wasn’t like them. It gave me a little hope back, anyway.” It was tidier, perhaps, if he didn’t get into Mel – or the reasons Lyric had agreed to take her place. He reached out to Lyric, wishing to pull her to his side.
“Is there anything you’d like to add?” Tiberius leaned over to whisper into her hair.
Lyric breathed a bit easier once she was done taking care of Tiberius, she always felt good when she was able to help out and not injure herself and/or make a fool of herself in the process. Something she felt a bit subconscious about since meeting Tiberius. Though she couldn’t exactly explain why she felt that way about Tiberius, and Mal’s comment about Southern mages definitely elicited a blush. As much as the Circles were supposed to teach mages magic, they were also a means of keeping them subservient, and since arriving in Tevinter, she often wondered how she would be with her magic if she had grown up in a much more mage welcomed environment.
Then Lyric busied herself with retrieving the items from the ice box, she smiled and laid them on the counter. I’m not always a klutz, my friend in the Circle used to say it was because my mind is always ten steps ahead of my body, and the klutziness is just my body’s attempt to catch up with my mind. Then she stepped back to listen as Tiberius explained his time in Orlais. She quickly noted he was leaving details out of his story, though she hoped her face wasn’t betraying that fact.
Her mind raced, she didn’t want to say nothing, but she also was fairly confident he didn’t have in mind for her to bring up Mel or her parents forcing her into taking Mel’s place. She smiled and reached up to wipe a spot on his face. She felt like falling into synch with Tiberius was becoming second nature, something she certainly wouldn’t have expected to happen considering their first meeting was so tense and awkward.
Oh well you did leave out how hairy things got when we made our exit from Orlais. The darkspawn we encountered, though I feel taking in our stray Nadia had been the real highlight of our exit from Orlais. In her mind it had been the moment when she’d started to soften to Tiberius, but then she’d always had a soft spot for animals, so the fact he agreed to take the stray dog with them spoke volumes to her.
Malachai stood at the edge of the kitchens, his imposing presence casting a shadow over the room as their chat turned more serious. He simply nodded, the silent acknowledgment heavier than any words. What could he have said? Malachai had no power back then, just his silent support. Affection was messy and complicated, made worse by social conventions at the best of times.
As Tiberius continued, Malachai walked from one cupboard to another, the quest for sweet treats completed as he retrieved a platter of tarts. He joined them at the table, presenting the tarts with a flourish. Catching the fleeting look of distress on Lyric’s face, Malachai’s brow arched in curiosity. There’s more there than you’re saying, but I’m assuming it’s more related to family drama than grand scale plotting, or world domination? He chuckled, the sound more thoughtful than amused.
Malachai wasn’t as put off by the rag trappings of Despair, his head tilted in quiet knowing though. Yes, I’ll admit that has taken some getting used to. I’ve had to restrain my tongue on too many occasions because of the prideful shit that I attained.
He observed the gentle, genuine interactions between Tiberius and Lyric. Despite the curiosity simmering beneath the surface, he felt a pang of gratitude that Lyric seemed a supportive partner for his friend. Reflecting on his own family dynamics, where expectations were non-existent and acknowledgment sparse, he felt a sense of solidarity.
Walking toward the stove, he began rolling back his sleeves, his gaze scanning for a suitable pan. Now, I'm more than happy to do this myself, my dear, but I do, do better under an expert's instructions. He turned his head briefly towards Tiberius, flashing him a wink. Do you premix your powdered chocolate with the milk beforehand or are you a potion whizz? I warn you, one will declare you a barbarian in my eyes.
Depending on if Lyric took over or not, Mal would return to leaning against the counter, arms folding against his chest lightly. I may have you write out a more detailed account, names, places, and times, etc. Any connections you may have made that could be beneficial, all those sorts of fun things, Malachai said, his tone shifting to one of mild authority. But it sounds like you didn’t enjoy it much at all... well, until recently. Seriously? No rubbing shoulders with the nobility? You can’t tell me you spent five years moping in your room like a wounded teenager, Tibby?
Of course Mal would spot the holes. It was his job, after all. Tiberius shrugged one shoulder, unbothered. If the other man felt the need to drag out all the odious details … Well, he would be compelled to oblige. Preferably over libations a good deal more fortifying than chocolate – and without Lyric present. She barely knew her birth family and need not be forced to account for their misdeeds.
“Family drama, yes.” He’d even agree that the Nicolliers were ambitious of a kind, though seemingly in pursuit of their own comfort most of all. “Let’s just say, if they took it upon themselves to flee the Darkspawn by heading north … They would not find a warm welcome. House Umbra has no use for a pair of unmagicked septuagenarians.”
And certainly not of those that would set their country’s homegrown assassins on their own grandchild. Even if it was only a threat to secure their daughter’s compliance.
Pride. Perhaps that suited Valentius? From his studies, it must. The creatures of the Fade were wholly themselves, and fed only on things of like nature. If his friend were to change – it followed that the demon would too. Tiberius would have liked to study that relationship, though preferably in subjects he was not personally close to.
“What?-- Oh. I’m afraid the chocolate and sugar are in loaves. The milk is in the icebox.” He pointed out the locations of the ingredients and wrinkled his nose at the idea of writing out every acquaintance he’d made in Orlais. Surely that would be a waste of time?
“I tried, Mal. In those first few months, I’m sure I danced with every eligible young lady in the capital and their mothers. Then the barrier went up – and stayed up for years with not so much as a message from home. Finding useful friends for the Imperium must have fucking slipped my mind.” Tiberius rubbed his face with both hands and then blew out a long breath. It was unseemly to show any emotion stronger than vague amusement and superiority. In that way, Tevinter and Orlais had something in common.
“I know– I know something’s not right with their court. They passed over the crown princess to make her dimwitted brother Emperor. Married him to a mage-courtier’s son.” All of this, the Eyes surely already knew. Tiberius had existed on the periphery of Val Royeaux’s society for years – he knew the players but only at a distance. The boy turned emperor was a known wastrel, an odd duck, perpetually in an altered state of one kind or another. What else?
“The day before we left, Princess Giada tried to have me for a spy. I lost her agent in the dark – but it seems she survived her fall from grace. Obviously, succession is going to be a nightmare.” That encounter in the graveyard had been a bunch of nonsense, extravagant threats of war from the puppet of a disgraced and disowned royal. An empire with one starving city was not about to field an army that could threaten Minrathous.
“The wards Val Royeaux relies on are … Brittle, I’d say. Fading. The two of us and Pavus could shatter them in an easy afternoon’s work.” They were all three gifted entropists. But even without intervention, those wards weren’t long for this world.
“The average layperson there doesn’t know magic, so I doubt they understand how fucked they are. Is that enough to please the lord Chancellor?”
Lyric perked up at Mal’s question, and her eyes sparkled as she prepared to fully immerse herself in the role of *hot chocolate expert*. She gave him an enthusiastic nod, brandishing the milk like a magical elixir.
Ah-ha! You’re in for a treat, Chancellor! she said, her tone bright with determination. First, we warm the milk separately. And yes, the chocolate goes in only once it’s nice and frothy—not before! Then you stir it until it’s all melted and *perfectly* smooth. No chunks allowed. She added this last part with a mock severity, eyebrows raised at Mal, as if the fate of the hot chocolate truly hung on his commitment to this sacred step.
Lyric met Tiberius's gaze, catching the faint glimmer of frustration as Mal pried for more details. She knew Tiberius wasn’t inclined to recount his hardships in Orlais, and while she couldn't fill in those gaps, there was plenty she *could* share from her own journey through the Free Marches.
The Free Marches are in a bad way, Mal, she said quietly. Antiva had already been making moves while Prince Sebastian was alive—he was the only reason they didn’t just roll in and take the whole lot. Now that he’s gone, there’s nothing stopping them. Without him, it’s a free-for-all, and no one’s stepping up to bring any order. Even the idea of who’s in power there has become … well, uncertain, at best.
