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“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Duke McCullough,” Lady Guinevere Trevelyan said, extending a hand to the other noble. “And you as well, Duchess Alexandra.”
“The honor is ours,” the duke replied, his Starkhaven brogue catching on the vowels.
“I’m sorry Bann Aurelius couldn’t be here, but he has business with the teyrn that was most urgent.” The auburn-haired woman gestured to the line of children at her side. “Certainly you remember my children.”
Thirteen-year-old Zara Trevelyan barely registered bowing in time with her brothers and sisters. Her gaze was instead fixated on the marble floor under her slippered feet, her thoughts racing and her chest tight. Please let me go back to my room! Please, please, please!
The twins, Christophe and Eleanor, noticed her discomfort and Eleanor gripped her small hand behind their skirts. “Just a few more minutes,” Christophe muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
The duke introduced his son, Theo, and the group moved to the drawing room for tea. “I look forward to cementing an alliance between our families,” the duke said.
“It would certainly be beneficial to all concerned parties,” came an elderly voice as Lady Zara Vandersath-Trevelyan of Denerim walked into the room, her cane knocking on the ground with every step. The duke stood to greet her. “Oh, don’t bother. I may be old but I’m not helpless.”
Zara felt a smile tug at her lips slightly as her grandmother approached the sofa she was perched on. She sat next to her and waited for Mama and the duke to continue their conversation before whispering, “How’re you doing, dear?”
She shrugged her small shoulders.
Grandmama chuckled softly, blue eyes sparkling. “Marriage arrangements are dull affairs,” she muttered. “Marie can do better than a howling, ill-mannered brute from Starkhaven. Maybe a nice boy from Highever.” She paused. “Do yourself a favor: when the time comes for you to marry, find a Fereldan lad. Less trouble than these barbarians.”
When Zara didn’t laugh Grandmama patted her knee. “Why don’t you go play in the garden? I’ll distract your mother.”
“Thank you, Grandmama,” the child whispered as she slid off the sofa, hiking her skirts up to run.
She ran as fast as her short legs would carry her, not stopping until she reached the enormous glass doors that led to the estates vast gardens. There was still a week until Summerday but already the gardeners preened the flowers for the ball Mama was to host to celebrate. She stopped to admire a particularly beautiful rose, its petals the most perfect shade of pink she’d ever seen, when the head gardener attempted to shoo her away.
“But—!”
The elf sighed and sheared the rose from the bush. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “Now away with you. I have work to do.”
Zara smiled down at her rose and again took off running. She found a bench close to the windows of the drawing room, where she could see Mama and the duke discussing the possible marriage between Theo and twenty-two-year-old Marie-Claire. She frowned at the idea; Marie was too sweet and soft-hearted for an arranged marriage. She deserved to marry on her own terms, as far as Zara was concerned.
She sat on the bench and stared down at the rose in her hands. Maybe when the duke and his family left she could ask Marie to press the flower so she could keep it in her journal, like the sprigs of rosemary she’d filched from the kitchen’s garden last week or the crown of daisies from the clearing—
For some unknown reason, she felt her chest tighten in her anxiety. Maker, please make it stop! she thought. Wasn’t the lavender soap, the herbal tea, the relaxation exercises enough to combat this recent development in her health? She hadn’t even thought about…
Zara fought desperately to control her breathing, focusing on the conversation floating down to her through the open window.
“Have you heard anything from Denerim, Lady Zara?” Duchess Alexandra asked
“A few letters from old friends,” Grandmama replied. “They say the Archdemon is dead at the hand of that Warden who was once a Circle mage, Honoria Amell.”
“The Amells are a Marcher family, no?” Mama asked.
“From Kirkwall,” the duke said.
“Thank the Maker the monsters have been driven back,” Grandmama said, changing the subject. “She also dealt with that traitorous bastard, Loghain. Killed him in fair combat.”
“My word!” Zara heard the duchess exclaim.
“Pardon my Orlesian,” Grandmama managed through a laugh.
Zara smiled at Grandmama’s swearing. Hopefully it would be enough to drive away the duke—
A brush of cold touched her cheek and she shivered. What—?
She looked up and saw snowflakes fluttering down to meet her olive skin, catching on the silk of her new yellow dress. It was hardly snowfall at all, just a few flakes falling at a time, but it had been going on long enough to where the flakes piled up on the bench and the dirt.
A loud shriek and the crash of china pulled her out of her reverie and she looked to the window. The duchess seemed to have fainted and the duke had a look of fury on his ruddy face. “What is the meaning of this?!” he shouted, rounding on Mama.
“Please, my lord!” Mama cried, standing and holding her hands up in a placating gesture. “Let me—!”
“Guards! Guards! Send for the Knight-Captain! Get this mage out of my sight!”
There was a flurry of shouting and colors, but Zara could only catch onto the frantic beating of her heart as it jumped into her throat. In a moment Mama and Charles were at her side.
“Charles, ride to the city!” Mama directed as she pulled Zara along the garden paths. “Tell your father everything and bring him here before the Templars arrive.”
“Got it!”
Zara reached out to her eldest brother but he was already several yards away, auburn head only just visible above the flower bushes. “Wait!” she cried. Maker, what was happening? Where was the mage? Did they want to hurt her, her family? She dimly felt her cheeks become wet with tears.
Mama led her through the halls of the Trevelyan estate and up a flight of stairs. “What’s happening, Mama?” Zara begged. They stopped at the door to her room. “Where is the mage?”
Mama’s hand was frozen above the door handle. She then noticed that she was crying too, as she knelt and put her hands on her shoulders. “I need you to listen to me very, very carefully, ma chére,” she whispered, auburn hair falling out of her elegant hairdo. “The Templars are coming to take you to the Circle. The Circle here in Ostwick is not a terrible place, but you must be wary. Mages are not treated kindly by everyone, especially Templars. Promise that you’ll keep yourself out of trouble, keep yourself safe.”
Zara began to cry harder. “But I’m not a bad person! I won’t use my magic—”
“Promise me!”
The girl was silent for several moments. Through her sobs she managed a quiet, “I promise.”
Mama stood and they entered the room. “You may only take a few things with you.”
Zara ran to her desk and grabbed her journal, quickly shoving the rose between the pages. Mama threw some of her clothes into a small chest.
The minutes carried on like hours to Zara. She tried to control her erratic heartbeat as one of the servants took the chest and carried it down to the foyer, Mama holding her hand the whole way. She vaguely remembered Father bursting through the front doors, Charles on his heels, while she clung to her mother’s skirts and Marie wept on the bottom stair. Duke McCullough shouted words she didn’t make out and the duchess leaned heavily on one of the maids. Edmond, Jean, Christophe, and Eleanor stood steadfastly near Mama, too shaken to approach Zara.
The world fell silent as there came a knock at the door. The footman opened it and three Templars stood in their silverite armor. “Where is she?” the knight at the fore demanded.
Father turned to the man, brown eyes flashing with desperation. “Knight-Captain—”
“Seize her!” the duke cried, pointing at Zara. “Maleficar, abomination!”
The Knight-Captain pushed his way inside, the other two knights following but expressions unseen because of their helms. “No!” Zara screamed, struggling to break away from the steely grip of one of the other knights. “Please, no! I won’t use my magic! Please, I’m not evil!” She reached out to Mama as they pulled her away. “Mama! Mama, please!”
Mama fell to her knees, sobbing. “Remember your promise, chére,” she choked. Father was at her side in an instant, arm around her shoulders.
“No!” She fought harder, using her other hand to try to break his grip. “Let me go, please!” Her tears blurred her vision. “Please, I’m not an abomination!”
“Quiet,” the third Templar hissed, carrying the small chest with her belongings.
The knight holding her picked her up and set her on the saddle of a horse before pulling himself up. It was an hour’s ride into the city, one that took them past the large estates of Ostwick’s wealthiest. Some of the nobility sat on their porches sipping tea, watching the Templars escort Bann Trevelyan’s youngest to the Circle. Several servants and farmers walked along the road, not even stopping as they passed; they simply cast quick glanced up at the child who sat before a knight, knowing her fate to be one considered worse than death.
The Circle of Magi in Ostwick was in the center of the city, a marvelous structure of marble and granite as white as snow, the same color as all of Ostwick’s older buildings, that stood taller than the chantry bell tower. It was separated by a wall that stood the height of three men and an imposing gate of iron rusted in some places and kept locked at all times. Zara had passed it several times when her parents took her into the city, always stopping to marvel at how tall it stood. Yet now all she felt was an impending sense of dread that settled in her stomach.
The gatekeeper, a Templar dressed in simple robes of the order, unlocked the gate and let them pass. He cast a quick glance up at Zara before looking away. She tried to ignore the sad look in his eyes.
The large oak doors of the tower opened and a middle-aged woman walked down the front steps. She leaned heavily on a cane and walked with an obvious limp, yet she held her head high. She wore the dark blue robes of a mage, meant to be unattractive and clumsy, yet she looked to be a queen to Zara. She had eyes the color of steel, expressing a similar kindness Grandmama had. Though the sun was hot the woman’s ebony skin showed no signs of acknowledging it.
“Knight-Captain Baumann,” the woman said with a polite smile. The Templar Zara rode with dismounted and lifted her off the saddle. “Is this her?”
“Yes, Senior Enchanter.”
The woman nodded, steel eyes appraising Zara. “Take her things to the apprentices’ dorm. I would speak with her.”
“Of course,” the knight-captain replied. He and the other knights walked into the tower, leaving Zara and the woman alone.
Zara became aware that she still clutched her journal tightly to her chest, yet she didn’t release her white-knuckled grip on it for fear the Templars might take it.
“What is your name, child?” the woman asked.
“Zara Octavia Trevelyan.”
“I am Senior Enchanter Lydia,” the woman said. “I welcome you to the Circle.”
Zara was silent, staring up at Lydia with wide eyes.
Lydia smiled, but this time it touched her eyes. “You are afraid,” she said, nodding. “I understand. Magic can be frightening not just for others but for mages, especially when you have just come into your powers.”
“Were you afraid when you found out you were a mage?” she asked.
Her smile widened. “I was. But I grew out of it when I learned to control my abilities.”
“Can you teach me to control mine?”
“I can,” Lydia replied. “Tell me, Zara: do you enjoy gardens?”
Zara nodded. “Very much so.”
“Walk with me,” she said, moving away from the path that led to the doors and onto the well-maintained lawn.
Thankfully Lydia didn’t walk so fast that Zara had to jog to keep up, like Grandmama or Charles. They leisurely made their way past juniper trees that grew out of cracks in the wall separating them from the rest of the city.
“I will not lie to you, Zara. Every young mage has the potential for greatness,” Lydia said as they walked. “Every mage. The Templars do not believe it so, and will kill those they think are weak or who displease them. From now on you must have a will of steel. Show them no weakness, do not falter, and you will come into your own.”
Zara stopped dead, eyes fixed on Lydia’s. “I… I don’t know if I can.”
Lydia smiled. “Then I will teach you.” She paused. “Come, I will show you the greenhouse. Perhaps Enchanter Rhodes will teach you something about botany.”
“Inquisitor?”
Zara looked up from the book in her hands to Leliana. “Hmm?”
The spymaster cocked an eyebrow. “Is something the matter?”
The raven-haired mage opened the journal and found the rose still crushed between the pages, still as beautifully pink as they day she found it thanks to Lydia’s enchantment. The rest of her alchemical notes were still folded between the pages with their frayed edges and ink smudges.
“No,” she murmured.
A will of steel, she reminded herself. The Templars cannot touch you now.
“Everything’s fine.”