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9:22 Dragon
Val Royeaux, Orlais
Cassandra was certain she had checked her armor three times at least. She had spent nearly three quarters of an hour polishing and sharpening her sword. She had repinned her hair four times. Now, there was not a single thing she could do to put off her visit to the White Spire Circle. Her first alone. Her first as the Right Hand of the Divine.
Right Hand of the Divine. Truly, it was madness. She was a fully qualified Seeker, but while the Seekers of Truth were sworn to the service of the Chantry, they were hardly clergy proper, and she was still a girl of eighteen. For as long as she could remember, for as long as anyone in the order could remember, the Right Hand of the Divine had been an experienced Chantry cleric, a woman who had spent years in the Chantry, with far more wisdom and theological knowledge than Cassandra possessed. True, the last Right Hand of the Divine had attempted to kill the Divine with forbidden magic and ensorcelled dragons, endangering thousands of people in doing so. But Cassandra herself could not help secretly believing that naming her Right Hand instead of someone more qualified had to be evidence for the claims that Divine Beatrix was beginning to go senile.
“Of course I am honored, Your Holiness,” she had told the Divine last week. “But do you really feel this is the best way I can serve the Maker?”
“These are troubled times, my child,” Divine Beatrix had replied. “In this age of strife and doubt, we must not stay beneath our centuries-old icons and behind our masterworks of stained glass, encumbered by musty old robes, incapable of bridging the gap to the people. My Right Hand must take up a sword again, as Andraste did against the heathen magisters of Tevinter. Your youth and fire are vital to us, Cassandra. We do not need another cleric standing behind the pulpit. We need you.”
“I—” Cassandra had hesitated. One did not speak plainly to the Divine. “I am uncertain I will serve you well, Excellency,” she said. “I will do my best—but—”
“Your heart remains with the Seekers,” the Divine had finished for her. “You are most comfortable on the field of battle, and the courts where we will often send you confuse, bore, and disgust you. Occasionally frighten you, and you are not accustomed to hiding the fact.”
Cassandra had felt naked in front of Her Holiness. How had she seen through her so easily? “Yes!” she had admitted.
The Divine had given her a little smile. “The Maker is kind, child. He will give you the grace you need to grow into your role, and we are confident you will do so. For now, we see no difficulty in your continuing your duties with the Seekers. And at the courts and parties—you will be attending more as champion than as a diplomat. After the recent unpleasantness, we must show we continue to be undaunted.”
Cassandra had been relieved. “Thank you, Your Holiness,” she had said, kneeling and kissing Divine Beatrix’s cool, wrinkled hand. “The new Lord Seeker Lambert has asked me to conduct an inspection of the White Spire here in Val Royeaux on the Seekers’ behalf next week. I will tell him I have your blessing.”
“By all means,” the Divine had agreed, motioning for Cassandra to rise. Cassandra, feeling much better, had started to go, but the Divine had halted her with a word.
“Cassandra,” she had said.
“Yes?”
“We wish you to continue your service with the Seekers. It is the joy of your heart, and the Maker is pleased to see His children contented. But understand: we do expect you to grow into all the facets of your new role. We need a champion, first and foremost, but we need more than a champion. It is by our sufferance that you are given the time you require to learn. Are we clear?”
The Divine’s face was wrinkled and papery. Her skin was almost translucent in places, and the blue of her veins showed through. Her voice quavered like that of other old women, but there was strength and courage in her gray eyes still. Looking at her, Cassandra remembered that, unarmed and helpless, trapped atop a crumbling tower, the Divine had still refused to cower before a high dragon. Beatrix was the Maker’s chosen, and she spoke with His authority. Cassandra had bowed once more and left.
Now, Cassandra looked in the glass one last time. She straightened her sash and ran her hand over her hairpins once again. Then she sighed and left her quarters.
No more. She had a Circle to inspect.
The White Spire was beautiful. Once the seat of the emperor, it remained one of the grandest and most luxurious buildings in Thedas. But Cassandra could not say she felt quite at home in the place. It was not just the concentration of mages that lived and worked and studied there, and Cassandra did not think it was the lyrium, though the dangerous, eldritch substance was used in greater quantities at the White Spire than it was anywhere else in Southern Thedas. There was something else in the atmosphere at the Spire that made the hairs on the back of Cassandra’s neck stand on end. The First Enchanter and the chief Templars claimed that the Veil was thin around the White Spire, which made it an ideal spot for healers and spirit mages to do their research.
It also made the White Spire one of the more dangerous Circles of Magic in Thedas. Amateur mages were not assigned to the Spire, and the Templars were rotated through, so that they did not become attached to the mages in their care. No one wanted to take the chance that a demon possession would go unnoticed or unpunished or a blood magic cult would rise up. It could have deadlier consequences at the White Spire Circle than anywhere else, and not solely because the Circle was located in the capital of the Orlesian Empire and near the seat of the Divine.
Still, on her review of Circle security, Cassandra did not see any glaring problems. There was a stronger Libertarian element at the Spire than Cassandra would have liked, but to her eye, it seemed more academic than activist in nature, and the First Enchanter and most of the more influential voices in the Circle were still Aequitarians.
The First Enchanter invited Avexis in to tea during Cassandra’s visit, and the elf girl hugged Cassandra and told her excitedly about some of the work she was doing with her tutors—under her own power and on animals somewhat less dangerous and less psychically taxing than high dragons.
“She seems to be doing much better,” Cassandra said after Avexis left the room again.
“She was happy to see you, Seeker,” the First Enchanter told her, smiling a little sadly. “She has not ceased speaking of your valor and heroism since she returned to us. We are grateful beyond words to have her back again. In time, if she allows herself, she could become one of the strongest mages in Thedas.”
“If she allows herself,” Cassandra repeated, probing for further information.
“Her strength may overwhelm her,” the First Enchanter sighed. “The powers of evil have already sought to manipulate Avexis once, and she suffered. She has nightmares, and likely will for years yet—if she is ever free from them. And demons from the Fade as well as on our own side of the Veil will ever seek to use her. She can resist them. We are teaching her how, and we will guard her with our very lives until she learns. But—” he shrugged—“some do not wish to spend their lives resisting.”
Voluntary Tranquility. He was saying that Avexis, when it came time for her assessment and graduation as a fully fledged mage, might choose to become Tranquil instead of entering the Fade to face the demons that lurked there. For most mages, Tranquility was a fate worse than death. For some, it offered precisely the peace that the name indicated. Usually, it was only those who were magically or morally weak that were made Tranquil—those who could not or would not resist the demons. It had never occurred to Cassandra that a mage might choose to give up their magic rather than fight a fight that must be never-ending.
Somewhat somberly, it must be admitted, Cassandra continued her tour of the White Spire. She spoke with all the Templar officers stationed at the Circle, reviewed the last three weeks of disciplinary reports, and asked the scouts about unrest in the region. She then asked for a demonstration of the Templars’ ability to quell a magical attack. The First Enchanter brought in five of the enchanters to help.
One of them was Galyan.
Cassandra tried not to watch him too closely as the Templars demonstrated first how they neutralized a single mage, then different groups with various abilities. But it was good, very good to see him. His broad shoulders filled out his new enchanter’s robe very well, and the sun shone down on his brown hair in the courtyard, filling it with golden light.
He played the pyromancer in the demonstrations against the Templars. He had pretended it was only a hobby when they traveled together, secondary to a healing specialty. Perhaps it was. But Cassandra recalled just how precise he could be with those fireballs of his, how he had ensured their escape from groups of Templars every bit as large as the groups in the demonstration.
Now, as the Templars repeatedly “vanquished” the mages, Cassandra wondered just how effective the Templar tactics were really. Of course, neither side of the demonstration was truly trying to subdue or kill the other; it was playacting, merely intended to give her an idea of the readiness of the Templars at White Spire. The mages were mostly employing illusion and the equivalent of fireworks to pantomime their deadlier attacks, while the Templars feinted at the appropriate counters. The mages used no real combat magic; the Templars used no real lyrium.
So Cassandra decided to interview the mages, as well as the Templar officers she had already spoken with. She took several of them aside, one by one. She asked them about their various specialties, if they had fought in any past wars or skirmishes for Orlais or for Her Holiness. She asked them if they had ever been released for work outside the Spire, if they had encountered any trouble on their travels, and how they had dealt with it.
The mages were much more guarded than the Templars had been. That was to be expected. Despite the gallant words of the Circle politicians, it seemed many mages of the rank and file viewed Templars and Seekers as entities to be feared, if not actual enemies. They were reluctant to speak about their abilities in combat magic or any spiritual research, preferring always to speak of healing and herbalism, enchanting and staff techniques. Most had never left the Circle, and those who had were more inclined to speak of the scenery and their favorite wines and beers than they were of their adventures. Still, Cassandra did get the impression that it was not so much the swords and abilities of the Templars or Seekers that the mages feared as their numbers, discipline, and Chantry support. It was useful information.
The last mage she asked to interview was Galyan. She tried to pretend it was a part of the routine, merely an extension of her attempt to be as thorough as possible in her inspection of the White Spire. He saw through her immediately.
“Couldn’t wait to get me alone, could you?”
He was leaning against a pillar in the small, spare chamber she had appropriated for her office during the inspection. It was the same room she had spoken to each of the other mages in, and the Templar officers, but Galyan’s presence seemed to change everything. She did not think he was using any magic at the moment, but the entire room seemed lighter, somehow, like more sunlight came in from the single, small-arched window in the wall.
Cassandra turned away from him and stalked off a few paces, trying to collect herself. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “At least I don’t need to ask you about any of your activities outside of the Circle.”
“That might be a bit redundant, yes,” Galyan agreed.
“That demonstration out there was pointless,” Cassandra told him, uncertain why she was explaining. “I’ve seen mages fight Templars, truly, and it was not like that. I have to get a better idea of the capabilities of both the mages and Templars here, in the real world. But your fellow mages are lying to me, and I believe they are lying to the Tower’s Templars as well.”
Galyan’s face went unsettlingly blank and placid. His knack for doing that was one of the reasons she hadn’t trusted him for so long. It wasn’t the only reason, or even the largest. But it was a reason. Galyan walked over and pushed himself up to sit on her desk, right on top of several pages of notes she had taken for the Seekers. “Did you expect something different?” he asked. “The Templars and the Seekers have power of life and death over us, Cassandra. And not all of them are as conscientious as you are. Some of them get a little jumpy when they see what we can do, as eager as they are to make use of our skills in times of war. Circle mages are men and women like anyone else. We want nothing more than to live in peace, to serve our country and our Maker like anyone else. But the Chantry’s warriors don’t always see that. You yourself haven’t always seen that. They don’t know you. Give it time.”
“If I cannot give the Seekers an accurate assessment of what I see here, how will we know that the Templars are not lax, or traitors, like Knight-Commander Martel? How will we know that there is not another nest of blood mages springing up within the walls of the Circle?”
Galyan laughed. It was a brittle sound. “The Templars . . . aren’t lax. If you can’t trust my fellow enchanters, trust me on that.”
Cassandra shook her head. “All the reports appear to be in order,” she said, “but what if I’ve missed something? I can’t do this. I’m not ready. I’m too young. I don’t have the experience. I shouldn’t be here alone for the Seekers, let alone serving as Right Hand to the Divine!”
All at once, Galyan was off of her desk. He was before her, gripping her shoulders on either side, looking into her face. “Listen to me. You can do this. I believe in you.”
“You of all people should know that I can’t,” Cassandra argued. “If it had not been for you—” she snorted. “I would be dead, many times over. Her Holiness would be dead. Thousands of innocent people might be dead. They are all treating me as if I am some kind of hero, a prodigy, but I think, were it not for my bumbling, Byron and the Lord Seeker might still be alive!” She closed her eyes, still remembering how her bullheaded refusal to retreat had cost her mentor his life. He had been the closest thing she had known to a father since her own had been executed when she was a child.
“You were thrust into an impossible situation,” Galyan returned. His thumbs ran along her shoulders in a manner so distracting that she looked at him once again. “You had no warning, no resources, no time to prepare. I had all three. For the better part of three days, you scraped about in the wilderness in training leathers with a stranger you had no reason to trust and every reason to hate, and you saved Her Holiness; dozens of clerics, Templars, and mages; and a good portion of Orlais.”
“With your help, and the help of a dozen more mages who have only received a token appreciation for their efforts,” Cassandra insisted.
“You’re welcome.”
Cassandra made a frustrated noise. “Regalyan, I can’t do this,” she repeated.
Galyan shook her, gently, once. “It’s Galyan,” he reminded her. “And I saw you behead a full-grown man with a single backhand stroke while your back was turned. I saw you kill three dragons midair in less than five minutes and leap from a building to slay a flaming pride demon. You can take on anything.”
Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “You’re biased,” she accused him.
Galyan released her and held up both hands at once. “I admit it. Freely. Unashamedly.” He paused, then smiled at her. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”
Cassandra scowled. “Why do you even like me?” she demanded. “I’m a Seeker, and I was never kind to you.”
“Forbidden love is sweetest,” Galyan said glibly. “Isn’t that what they say?” He laughed at the expression on her face and plucked her ungloved hand up from her side. “No, I suppose you never were kind,” he conceded, more seriously, “but you were always fair, given what you knew. That’s more than many will be, towards a mage. And anyway—”he kissed the back of her hand once, looked into her eyes, and smiled again—”I don’t see that kindness has much to do with it.”
It felt as though her stomach flipped over when he looked at her like that. Cassandra could feel herself blushing, and she didn’t strike him when he reached out with his other hand to stroke her face. She didn’t even move away. “I am happy you trust and believe in me, anyway, even if the other mages do not,” she said. “And I want you to know that I remember how much you did to save Avexis and Her Holiness and everyone at the Gathering. Even if everyone else in the world forgets, I will not. I—I hope we will continue to be friends, in the future.”
She was stammering. Awkward. Clumsy. But Galyan seemed to understand. “I hope so too,” he said, “and a good deal more.”