My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  But the damn agile thing snagged onto the banister. She yanked herself up and perched upon it, the head cocked to the side. Lana swung around to the archer and fired an ice fist without thinking. It shattered through the arrow intended for her and straight to the woman's mask. Blood trickled through the nostril holes and the archer staggered back.

  "Right," Lana raised her staff at the dagger thrower. "One clown left." She shot off three ice bolts but the harlequin dodged each one, somersaulting and twisting about like it was all a charade. "Hold fucking still!" Lana cried.

  The clown refused to obey. She scrabbled up the sapphire banners dangling from the ceiling ten feet into the air and hung off one by a single hand. Reaching into her pocket, she unearthed something Lana couldn't make out. "Oh shit!" Lana didn't turn away fast enough as the smoke bomb tumbled through the air to crack against the ground. White smoke raced to fill her vision, blanketing everything from her sight. Lana blinked through the tears, struggling to cough up a spell. Somewhere above her was a harlequin waiting to pounce. There was only one solution.

  Waving her fingers quickly, a blue sphere burst from beneath her legs and reached all around her for ten feet. She snapped her head up and spotted the harlequin, daggers thrust forward, hanging in midair. Lana smiled at the woman trying to scrabble against the mage's manipulation of time. Stepping to the side, Lana yanked away the magic. The harlequin tumbled the ground now without any mage in the way to break her fall. Aiming for the harlequin's unprotected head, Lana swung her staff end around. It smashed into her shoulders, but the force was too strong for the staff and the entire end shattered apart, kicking wood splinters through the air.

  "For Andraste's sake, this is why you rebar the inner core!" she screamed at the clown.

  "Lana!" Cullen shouted. She whipped her head up as that damn archer tried to get cute. Morrigan picked off her attack, but strain was showing on her friend's face.

  With the staff broken, it was of no use to her magically. Instead, Lana chucked it at the archer. The woman dodged out of the way, which pushed her closer to the man whose red finery was coated in the scarlet blood of her fellow sisters. Cullen grabbed her arm and a snap echoed above the blaring din. Screaming in pain, the archer fell to her knees, no longer a danger with a broken wrist.

  Then the damn dagger clown went and moved below Lana. She twirled around on the floor and lifted her legs up, about to kick in both of Lana's knees, but the mage flicked fire across her skin. The harlequin reared back, covering her face from the flames. They weren't powerful enough to finish her off, the fire already skittering away across the marble. Lana bent over and picked up one of a dozen fallen swords. She stepped closer to the harlequin trying to squirm out of the way.

  Drawing the sword across the woman's chest, Lana paused. Rage and adrenaline pumped through her body, all of it winnowing down through her arm to the point of the sword. She didn't rear back to finish the blow, only tipped her head down and screamed at the harlequin. "I have withstood slaying an archdemon. I have crossed swords with men out of legend and been the only one to walk away. I wear the hide of every high dragon I've ever slaughtered, but if you think a clown can finish me off...then dare to get up and face me!"

  The harlequin froze, the eyes blinking frantically from behind the mask. Slowly, she released her grip on her daggers and extended her hands for mercy.

  "That's what I suspected," Lana sneered. She drew the sword back as Inquisition soldiers grabbed onto the downed harlequin and bound her hands for a later trial.

  "A rather bombastic if not earned threat," Morrigan chuckled, her own voice stressed from the eternal draw of mana.

  "Sometimes it helps to be overly dramatic," Lana sighed. Every rush of battle fled from her body leaving only exhaustion behind in her depleted veins.

  Morrigan shrugged off her barrier and went to her Empress' side, as did a few others of the court now that the immediate danger passed. Pain hissed up Lana's arm and she turned to inspect the broken skin where the dagger split it. Little more than a red line, it shouldn't take much to bandage up. Her eyes darted away from her injury to Cullen. The commander was down upon a knee; to everyone else he looked as if he was inspecting the ground, but Lana caught a grimace on his face. Stepping close to him she placed her hand along his back, gently caressing the curve of his spine.

  "Are you all right?" she whispered, not that she need to have bothered. Conversations erupted as people ran about trying to find salves and healing for the injured or the imagined injured, while everyone else stood around screaming 'What happened?'

  "I need a moment, is all," he insisted through a stubbornness she knew all to well in her own reflection.

  Reaching into the softer part of her mind, Lana infused him with a whisper of the spirit's energy. Not enough to mend broken bones, but it should at least give him a few more minutes to look all commanding before he could take a break. "What did you do?" he asked. More certain in his movements, he rose from his collapse. Those warm eyes danced across hers. She extended a hand to help him and held it.

  "Oh, let's see - I stabbed a clown, iced one, shattered a nose here, threatened another, protected an Empress. And I haven't even told you what happened with the Venatori in the west wing."

  Cullen chuckled from her quick and dirty list. He slid closer to her, his arm swooping around her naked shoulder. Suddenly the doors to the front gardens burst open. The Inquisitor climbed up the stairs and shouted, "Duchess Floriene is dead!"

  A cry of joy broke out through the crowd who only a few hours earlier greeted the dead woman like a best friend.

  Chapter Twelve

  Possibilities

  Abrasions across the back and most of the shoulder, a gash into the thigh near a major artery which - by the grace of the Maker - didn't nick it, and a swollen eye. Lana pushed what had to be the final drops of her mana into the wounded man. The eye and the abrasion could heal on their own with time, but she was concerned about the gash. Infection was a practical guarantee at this point, and harlequins loved their little bottles of poison. Probably hemlock knowing her luck.

  Her patient sat upon one of the marble benches lining the room with another injured soldier's feet stretched across his lap. On occasion, he'd lightly rub the soldier's legs but the woman was numb to the world for another eight hours. "There," Lana pronounced, pulling her hands away from the man's leg. "It will be best if you rest, and in the morning I'll check the eye. Someone will check the eye."

  He nodded, his one good eye scrutinizing her as she kneeled before him. They hadn't said much about the not technically Inquisition mage administering healing, but everyone was wary. Given what happened with the Venatori tonight it was understandable. Lana tipped her head and slid away, when the man grabbed onto her tending fingers and gave them a soft shake. Then he returned to his fellow slumbering soldier and shifted her legs so she'd be more comfortable. What had once been the cloak room was overstuffed with wounded scattered across every available surface. The worst were given benches and tables. One rested his head upon what was supposed to be a cake, the blue frosting mashed into his hair. But it cushioned his head from a neck wound and stemmed the bleeding from his nose.

  The rest were upon the floor in such a haphazard manner it was almost impossible to cross it without treading upon a finger or toe. Lana fell to her knees to tend to the wounded, inching along by her hands and feet to knit back together bones and close off skin. Another three non-mage healers moved among her, applying bandages and calling out if any magical assistance was needed. After what felt like an hour, the final wound was stitched and she could settle back for a break. The muscles just below the skin of her fingers ached like she'd frozen them into a block of ice. Too much magic snapped back at her from beyond the veil, the mana growing wilder with each dip back in. She bunched her fists up to try and return blood flow, but she knew she wasn't going to be doing anymore magic for awhile. Not without risking a few angry energy bolts across her body, anyway.

&
nbsp; Every muscle in her body begged to be cut free - for Lana to collapse into a heap on the floor next to those she tended, but the corset wouldn't allow it. She was pinned and sewn in so tight, sitting was impossible. The best she could do was take her weight off her knees and put it upon her hands. Laying her hands out upon the floor like she was mimicking a mabari, Lana redistributed her weight. She was beyond the realm of exhaustion and into the almost euphoric state of giddiness that follows right before total collapse. And under it all, her side ached. No blood pooled below the corset or onto her skirts, which would just add to the mess she already made of the dress, but the throbbing warned her that it needed attention. Which would require rising and finding somewhere private to get out of the damn dress.

  "What's the situation with the wounded?"

  Lana glanced up from her hands into the commander's weary face. He still carried his sword as if he feared another attack from the shadows, the blade extended downward. After the Inquisitor arrived in the ballroom informing the Empress about her would-be assassin's death, it was all speeches and drinks, then more dancing and merriment. While the big swords played the game of acting as if everything was under control, the rest of the soldiers gathered up the wounded or carted off the surviving harlequins for a later trial. Lana had no idea who was in charge of removing bodies or scrubbing up blood, but judging by the unperturbed expression on the servants faces, they'd probably seen worse.

  "All done up," Lieutenant Andrea rose from her position. She'd been nursing a few of her people, telling 'em stories and keeping them distracted while Lana reset bones. "Least, I think so," she turned to the mage still resting upon her knees.

  Lana nodded, rising up to the closest she could approximate a respectable stance, and wiped her hands, "As well as I could. Some of them will require tending through the night, and that man there might lose a..." The world washed to a pastel pink as a ringing resounded in her ears. Lana grabbed onto her forehead to steady herself before she fainted dead to the ground. "Sorry," she shook her head casting the ringing away. Taking in a few breaths, she glanced up at Cullen with a doleful smile, "Been a long night."

  He skirted around the people stretched upon the floor to reach Lana. The wounded groaned from pain, but the woes were background now, no sharp cries from fresh agony. Placing the sword down on the bench, he slipped both hands under her elbows and helped her to rise to her feet. She'd lost her shoes somewhere between running to get to Cullen and slaughtering clowns. If they were ever to be found again, she suspected there'd be some fairy story invented to explain them involving a chronically late princess who murdered clowns. The frozen stone nipped at her exhausted toes, but it felt good to be back up, her knees especially grateful. Cullen didn't release his hold on her arm, his amber eyes staring into hers.

  "You should rest," he said.

  Lana tipped her head back and forth, "In time."

  He sighed at her obstinance then turned to Andrea, "Lieutenant, can you handle things here?"

  "Oh, sure. No problem. Antim there's thinking about starting a round of Wicked Grace," she gestured to the man with the black eye.

  "We don't have any cards," Antim pointed out.

  "We'll fake it, no problem," Andrea shrugged it off. She twisted her braid back around to her other shoulder and wiped at the sweat staining her brow and the sides of her face. Behind, she left a blood swipe reminiscent of Hawke's. It'd been a long night for everyone.

  "Warden?" Cullen gestured to the door, his other arm still around hers.

  "You win," she mouthed. With Cullen propping her up, she padded around people barely aware of her existence and moved out of the door. Once in the hall away from prying soldiers, he slipped an arm around her back and pulled her closer. Grabbing onto his shoulder for support, Lana followed on his trail.

  "Shouldn't you be back with the Inquisitor reveling in the toasts and accolades?"

  Cullen shrugged, "I'm certain Josephine can handle it. She has a knack for laurels." He led them both down the well lit hallway and through a set of Orlesian glass door. Pushing on the handle with his free hand, the doors opened upon the back gardens. Lana sucked in a breath from the crystal beauty of this hidden treasure. Inlaid sapphires coated every statue around the garden giving them an ethereal glow in the moonlight. They almost appeared like the spirits of the fade, hovering through the garden to watch over the blue bonnets, crystal grace, and other similar shaded flowers overfilling crystal pots. A lone fountain sprayed water in a circle through a hole in a massive blue crystal at the top spire, which scattered water droplets onto the flowers and anyone who drew too close. The chill of the night combined with the fountain created a creeping fog obscuring the path. It gave the illusion they were walking upon clouds through some magical sky garden.

  "This is magnificent," she breathed. "And...you had no idea it was here," Lana snickered from the same awe on his face.

  "No," Cullen admitted, "I'd thought it was merely a shortcut."

  "To where?" Lana turned in his grasp. He wrapped his arms tighter around her shoulders to try and protect her from the cold.

  "Anywhere away from there," Cullen said. Pulling her even tighter to himself, he placed a kiss against the top of her head. Lana snuggled against his chest, the rise of his breath, the thump of his heartbeat calling to her. This was a strange serenity; blood clotting on her hands and smoke ravaging her throat, but in this crisp oasis while wrapped up in his arms she felt peace.

  "I'm surprised you're not dancing in there, Commander. You're a big hero and all," she smiled. "Saved an Empress. Very impressive. You're likely to get a medal made of tin and some scrap of land with half a mule on it."

  Cullen chuckled from her assessment of royalty's temperamental gratitude. "I'm not dancing because it seems someone convinced the nobility I possess two left feet and cannot be trusted anywhere near a ballroom. For which I am eternally grateful," he whispered the last sentence into her ear. The intimacy revived her wilting form and something other than pain stirred in her stomach. "You were as much a hero as I in saving the Empress," he continued. "Shouldn't you be fending off attention from nobles left and right?"

  Lana laughed at the idea. "Ha, a strapping man with a strong sword arm and..." she leaned back in his arms so her fingers could skirt along the cut above his lip, "tempting scars is a far better prize than the same in a woman. They see the marks displayed upon my shoulders and are terrified of what I could do."

  His fingers pushed aside some of her fallen hair to gently trace the path of one of her old wounds. There were so many carved against her collar bones, her shoulders, her arms it was a wonder she could remember their source at all. "You were formidable long before you got those scars," Cullen muttered. His touch radiated across her skin as he rubbed up and down her arms to keep her warm. Other men would have tried to smoothly counter her by saying she was pretty because of her scars or that she couldn't see her own beauty within, but not him. He found her attractive because of the force that drove her to get the scars in the first place.

  "Those women have no idea what they're missing out on," Lana sighed. Her fingers threaded through his hair, the waves soft as silk.

  "Trodden toes and snapped ankles, you mean?" he joked.

  "You were doing fine until I...interceded."

  He pushed back her hair and drew his fingers across her cheek, "I was terrified I'd injure you. I know my limits when it comes to dancing."

  Lana smirked, "Really? Were there lots of templar dances while the mages slept?"

  Cullen's shoulders shook in a soft laugh, "Could you imagine? It'd be a massacre without a single blade drawn. No, my sister. Sisters, actually. They were always trying to teach my brother and me, bully my brother and me. Being the eldest, Branson managed to wiggle out every moment he could, but I..."

  "You couldn't say no." She snuggled her arms around him and ever so slightly swayed with his body. It wasn't the kind of dance to win anyone attention on a floor, but her heart beat in a rhythm quick
ly matching his. She hoped this dance wouldn't end.

  "I am a pushover when it comes to Mia," Cullen said. He plucked another kiss against Lana's head then asked, "Do you have any siblings?"

  She swallowed and nuzzled her cheek against his chest. For once there was no metal to impede her, only the wool of the uniform and then his muscle flexing from holding her tightly. "I...don't remember much. Before the tower, I mean. But I had a brother, older by a few years. He was what you'd expect in older brothers. Ornery, loved to hide dirt clods in my shoes. He'd also sneak me treats when our mother's back was turned. Said I was the perfect height to slip over his shoulders and reach apples on the trees."

  Cullen's fingers drifted down her shoulders to circle around her upper back, quietly waiting for more. The soft memory drifted away as reality rose back. It was a very old wound, one she was glad to have closed years ago. Lana frowned and looked up at him. "They were not rich, nowhere near the connections Hawke's Amell line had. So, they...turned their focus on the child without magic. The not Maker-cursed child. I never heard from any of them after I was...found."

  She knew she was lucky in the end. So many other mage children upon the first sign of their powers were castigated, tossed into the world with nothing to their name, some killed outright. And who knew how many were out there right now alone and terrified with nowhere to go, nowhere safe to harbor them. The circles may not have been the solution but they were at least something in a world full of nothing. Cullen's eyes hovered in hers as he searched for anything to say. "Lana, I'm..."

  "No one ever called me by my full name. I was always Lanny or Lana, or Lamby from my father. He said I reminded him of the little lambs in spring. My hair was rather poofy as a child. Solona was too long of a name for such a tiny girl. I'd never even heard it until I'd..." she blinked against the burning in her eyes, "templars appeared at the house. I remember it was summer because there shouldn't have been ice under my bed, frost climbing the trees. Two of them filled the doorway in their gleaming armor insisting Solona Amell come with them. I've hated that name ever since." Cullen's thumb wiped her cheeks, catching the few disobeying tears that dared to escape. She shrugged her scarred shoulders and swallowed. "I...don't think I've ever told anyone that before."