“I’ve yet to see a single thing remotely kingly about you. No reason for you to start now.”
“Oh-ho!” He seemed inordinately pleased to have dragged something out of her. She tried to rein in her rising temper, even though she could feel her control slipping. She had really never been very good at this sort of thing. “Have we stumbled on the problem? Your estimation of my kingliness?”
Fiona rolled her eyes. “That,” she snapped tartly, “is a problem for your subjects. Of which I am not one. I do feel for them, however. How grand it must be to have a king that would so readily abandon them to play the hero.”
Maric paused. “You think I’ve abandoned them? I’m here to help the Grey Wardens protect them.”
“Of course you are,” she chuckled incredulously. “And it’s none of my business anyhow, is it? My business is killing darkspawn.” She gestured toward the staircase. “And we should get on with it, no?”
“There are no darkspawn up there.”
“There are none down here, either. Just a human with a large ego who insists that everyone like him.”
“I never insisted you do any such thing.”
“Then you shouldn’t be worried that I don’t.” With that, Fiona walked away from Maric and marched up the stairs. She imagined he continued to stand there by the water’s edge, staring after her in confusion as the oarsman shifted uncomfortably in his boat. She would leave it up to the King to decide if he should complain to Genevieve about being overly bothered. If anyone asked her about it, her opinion would be that she thought the man needed a little bothering.
Maric didn’t follow her up, at least not immediately. It was a relief, really, and she breathed a little easier as she ascended into the dark heart of the tower. Duncan was doing his best not to yawn.
It was the one thing that Julien had advised him against as the mages led the King and the Grey Wardens into the massive assembly hall at the top of the tower, whispering that at such official functions the worst thing one could do was yawn. At first, Duncan didn’t think the advice was necessary. In fact, it was all he could do to keep from openly gawking.
The hall was domed, with a great window at the very top that allowed the sunlight to filter through. Marble pillars lined the hall, behind which rows of benches allowed for an audience of well over a hundred—and they were packed with people, robed mages ranging from young apprentices to elderly enchanters. A higher gallery at the end of the hall contained the templars and priests, all of whom watched with severe and disapproving expressions. How appropriate, Duncan thought, for them to look down on the proceeding from on high.
In the center of the chamber, standing in the beam of sunlight that shined down from the window, were the First Enchanter and an impatient-looking Genevieve. The mages around the room were straining their necks to gawk at the group of them, and a buzz of conversation rose. Duncan couldn’t be sure if they were more amazed by the presence of the King or by the Grey Wardens. Grey Wardens were a rare sight here, after all. It was a slightly different reception than the order normally received elsewhere.
What followed, however, was a ceremony long enough to bring him from awestruck amazement to utter boredom. The First Enchanter insisted on giving a lengthy speech, mostly extolling the honor of the Grey Wardens and lavishing praise on the King. Duncan had to wonder how this was okay, considering Maric was supposedly traveling with them secretly, but neither Genevieve nor the King appeared to object.
Each of the Grey Wardens was called up by the First Enchanter in turn and given black brooches that had been specially crafted for them. Duncan took a close look at his and found it unremarkable: polished onyx, without even a fancy setting or any par tic u lar embellishment. Completely functional.
Considering that they were intended to hide the Grey Wardens from being sensed by the darkspawn, however, they were extremely useful. Clearly this was why Genevieve was willing to delay their entrance into the Deep Roads and put up with the entire ceremony business. Though even she was slowly losing her patience, he could see.
King Maric was given a leather satchel full of potions, each of them contained in a delicate glass vial. According to the First Enchanter, this was a precious mixture of herbs that would enable Maric to resist the disease spread by the darkspawn. He was, after all, the only one in the group without the Grey Wardens’ immunity. One full vial was to be swallowed each morning; according to Duncan’s count, that meant the King had a two-week supply.
Rather optimistic of the First Enchanter, really.
The droning that followed, Duncan mostly ignored, his attention wandering. At this point the Grey Wardens were mostly relegated to the sidelines anyhow, and Genevieve was clearly itching for an opening simply to excuse themselves and leave—not that First Enchanter Remille was providing one, of course.
So Duncan looked around, staring at the individual mages in the crowd. There was one in par tic u lar to whom his attention kept returning: a rather pretty young apprentice with tousled brown hair and intense doe eyes. And she was staring back at him, too. He looked away initially, but his eyes kept being drawn back to her. No, she was definitely looking at him and only him.
Then she discreetly waved at him and beamed. He reluctantly waved back, trying not to smile too encouragingly. Then he kept looking around. Maybe there was an exit nearby? He didn’t know if he could stand much more of this.
It turned out he was in luck. There was a small door not ten feet from where he stood, guarded by two solemn templars more engrossed in the First Enchanter’s speech than they were in their duty. Which amazed him, frankly, but to each their own.
Before anyone knew it, he was gone. Duncan smirked with delight as he crept through the shadows deep within the tower. The thing about mages, he noticed, was that they liked to keep their passages nice and dim. Perhaps it leant an austere air to their studies, or perhaps they could only make so many of those strange lamps they dotted around the tower to provide light. Either way, it made sneaking around rather easy.
Those templars who weren’t in the assembly hall didn’t seem all that interested in looking out for people like him, either. They were far more interested in glowering at any younger mages that passed by. He’d seen two, one not much younger than himself, and another a girl who couldn’t have been more than ten years old. They had nervously walked by one of the heavily armored templars and the man had all but spit on them. Both of them had squealed in fear, clutching their leather tomes to their chests as they ran off. The templar had chortled with amusement.
What would it be like, Duncan wondered, to be brought to a place like this? He’d heard that people with magical talent were sought out while they were young, taken from their families and brought to the Circle. There they were trained to control their power or die trying.
Sounded a great deal like the Grey Wardens, now that he thought about it.
Passing quietly through the hall, he boldly crept behind one of the templar guards standing at attention. The man was practically asleep on his feet, Duncan noticed, though he had to wonder what it was that needed to be guarded so badly. Templars were almost everywhere, as were the priests in their red robes. They numbered more than the mages, at least in this part of the tower. Did they fear magic that much?
He’d known someone who could do magic once. A friend that lived on the street as he did, named Luc. Duncan had always admired his knack with picking pockets, and then Duncan saw the trick. Luc would put his hand above the pocket, and what ever was inside would simply leap into his palm. Duncan had confronted him one night and Luc had confessed: He had always been able to do bits of magic.
Luc’s father had been a mage who had come to see his mother at the whore house until she found herself pregnant. Then there was no mage, and his mother had worried constantly that Luc would develop magic of his own. So he’d hidden it from her, and hidden it from others as well. It was a curse to him, despite its uses.