"Well," Reiss shook her head and glared at the floor. If she closed her eyes tight she could see it again. "I stood here," she paced back to the chair behind the Orlesian ambassador. "While the Arl of the Alienage was in an argument with..." Reiss tipped her head, struggling to bring back the voice, "Perrin. When I glanced out through the window and found it curious that someone left it open."
"Why?" Harding asked.
"Because," Reiss' eyes opened and she stared down at the dwarf, "it was raining that day."
"That's right, it was raining," Alistair snapped his fingers.
"You do realize this all happened yesterday," Harding cut back at the King.
"Funny how nearly dying again tends to knock about someone's memory," He grumbled to himself, folding his arms.
The dwarf shook her head and sighed, probably muttering about how she missed the professionalism of the heretical Inquisition, before turning to Reiss. "And that was what drew you to pull out your shield? The fact a window was open."
"I reacted," Reiss admitted, "if there'd been nothing I'd have looked a fool but no one would have been hurt. If I hadn't then..." She scrunched up her nose, something tickling in her brain. It wasn't quite right.
"You say reacted as if it's a bad thing. Soldier?" Harding asked, not about to let anything past her.
Reiss had been trained, honed to an edge by some of the best but sometimes her brain broke through the programming. Like in the arbor wilds. She shouldn't have pursued that red templar, her orders were to guard the stream upriver. In that state, when she gave into her baser instincts, her senses seemed to heighten, giving her the foresight to protect the Grand Enchanter and also the King. It saved her and sometimes also nearly damned her, a fact that Reiss tried to keep hidden away. Trained to overcome instinct and rely upon orders, ignore pain for the job, that was also true of assassins. Proper ones, the expensive kind sent after Kings were taught the same. They weren't orphans plucked off streets, given knives, and pointed in the right direction. They took their time when it came to the shot.
Shouldering past Harding, Reiss yanked off her shield and held it in the same position she had yesterday. "Scout, I mean..."
"Don't worry. Most people call me Scout Harding. Even my aunt's started. What are you thinking?" she asked, stepping closer to the elf.
Reiss' eyes darted off the two holes in her shield she needed to repair back to the King. "Sit in the chair," she ordered, indicating the head of the table.
"Okay," he shrugged, not blanching at the elf giving commands as he slid into it. "Now what?"
With her fingers, Reiss dug into the angle of the first arrow, then the second. Dropping her shield away, she trailed both down to where they were aimed for. The first would have shattered into the floor and the second nicked against the King's side into the table. "None of the arrows would have killed you," Reiss gasped.
"Well," Alistair chuckled, "it makes me feel better to know my assassins are shit at aiming."
Reiss shook her head, willing him to see what her mind pieced together, "No, that tower is near, far closer than a shot most hunters take in the woods. No foliage in the way. The wind was low. If these are trained assassins..."
"Then all of the shots should have been aiming right for the King," Harding said, leaping onto Reiss' idea.
"Center of mass first, then head," Reiss said, "only proper way to do it." She gently plucked her finger into the back of Alistair's skull before trying to follow the line of sight back to the tower.
"If you're going to make me lay down on the ground and pretend I'm dead, I better get some fake blood to use," the King said. Reiss felt a second of guilt from the way she was playing with the man's life, when he turned in his chair and smiled up at her.
"So," Harding peered out the window at the tower window, then turned back to Reiss, "two options before us. Either we're for certain not dealing with the House of Repose, or Crows, or anyone professional."
"Or," Reiss circled at the arrow hole in the table and tried to follow it back, this one on an even more erratic path than the two warning shots, "they were all supposed to miss." The elf and dwarf shared a look, both their eyes widening as the bare facts ran before them.
"Wait, wait," the King stumbled to his feet causing the chair to tip back. "Who sends assassins with orders to miss? Why not just tell them to stay at home, have a nice cup of cocoa, and take a nap? Seems a better way to spend your time."
"It..." Reiss felt the spark of an idea burning in the back of her mind but as she chased after its tail it fizzled out. "It is possible that this assassin missed."
"The King could have shifted in his seat, or the assassin anticipated a change that didn't come," Harding agreed. "Regardless, first thing I'm looking into is whoever opened that window. What's your Spymaster up to?"
"Void if I know," Alistair confessed. "He seemed spooked by the last one, babbling more than usual and rushing back to his tower."
"You still suspect him?" Harding asked.
"I think the people I don't suspect right now are you two and Cailan because he can't lift his head on his own," Alistair grumbled into his hands.
"What about your daughter?" Reiss asked. She felt an urge to run her hands over his shoulders to comfort him but, Maker's sake, that was wildly inappropriate.
The King shrugged, "If I told her she couldn't have a cupcake for dinner, she'd hire a good ten mercenaries to cut me down. Toddler vengeance is not one that is crossed lightly." He peered up from his hands, a hint of a smile coating the lips but sadness haunted through his eyes. The man seemed exhausted and broken by the needs of everyone hanging off him while death lurked through the corridors. "Harding, keep on Ghaleb and the Baronet just in case. If it's not the Crows we'll, I don't know, hold an archery contest for every assassin in Ferelden and shoot them all when they register."
Harding snatched up her hat and pinned it back in place. "I'll get right on it." She stepped towards the door and yanked it back. Sliding under the sawhorse, Harding turned back to say, "And Sire."
"Yeah?"
"You look like you could use a nap."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Backroom
That piquant blend of the cheapest mead short of someone rebottling piss, overlaid with top notes of cheese dropped onto a hot griddle overpowered the air. His bodyguard seemed to be drooping at it, but Alistair smiled wider as he approached the backroom of all backrooms. Past the kitchens, beyond the scrap station where they gathered leftovers to be scattered to their handful of livestock, rested what most of the month was the secondary larder, but for one glorious night was his freedom.
"Okay," Alistair banged his hands together to try and warm them before turning back to Reiss, "there are a few rules about entering here."
He watched her thin eyebrow arch, giving the elf a stern Mother possessing a ruler look. "Do not tell me, the first rule is we do not talk about this place."
"Well, you can, but I rather doubt anyone else in the castle will much care." Alistair watched the fire flicker below the door and heard a few voices cry out in joy. He didn't want to seem too antsy to escape inside, but politic matters had already caused him to miss the first hour. For her part, Reiss seemed uneasy about the idea. "No one stands on ceremony in there. Everyone leaves their business at the door and we're only going in to have fun."
"All right," she drug the words out, both eyebrows now folding in the middle.
"So, you can stay out here in the cold with the smell of pig shit in the air as the bodyguard, or head inside as Reiss. It's up to you," he smiled wide parting his hands. In his heart, he prayed she'd say yes if only to have a few minutes where they weren't standing on such unleveled ground.
"I..." her eyes shot open wide as a few male voices shouted in jubilation, before sighing, "I shall join you, your Majesty."
"Alistair," he said, waving a finger in front of her face.
She screwed her eyes up and shook her head, "You. I can deal with you."
&nb
sp; "Good enough," Alistair grabbed onto the kerchief dangling out of the hole that used to hold a knob and yanked the wooden door open. "Please, after you."
Reiss eyed him up a minute before stepping inside. They'd overdone themselves this time, the usual table that was covered in farm bric-a-brac was cleared to leave space for a platter overflowing in cheese and shaved sections of meat. Okay, someone left the gelder in the middle but that was pretty much their inside joke now. Two men sat in a glaring death match, their hands clasped together while waiting for the first to blink. Karelle leaned closer to them, a handkerchief waving as she watched, when Philipe's eyes suddenly wandered to the side and scrunched up.
"Aye!" Karelle shouted, "Ghaleb has it."
The Spymaster smiled and released his hold on the kitchen boy before picking up his mug and taking a long sip. "Maker's ballsack," Philipe whined while rubbing across his face, "it's like staring into the sun agains' him."
Reiss stood rooted to the spot, seeming to be in total shock at what lay before her. Trying to not laugh, Alistair leaned closer and whispered, "So, what horrors were you expecting."
"Honestly? Goats in skirts, really frilly ones. And someone eating fish off a naked woman."
That caught Alistair and he gasped out, "Fish?"
Those endless summer eyes rolled back to him and she shrugged, "I've seen it before, though I do my best to forget."
Swallowing down a frog rising in his throat, Alistair called out, "Hey gang, we've got a new addition to the crew. This is Reiss, some of you know her. Karelle, of course."
"No shit," Karelle cursed, letting her normally sort of polite self trail free in the room.
"Ghaleb and Philipe," Alistair continued, not even blinking at Karelle's outburst.
"Seeing he still ain't run you off yet. That's got to net me a few coppers," Philipe cooed to Reiss who remained rooted on the spot. Alistair gently nudged into her shoulder and sliding forward, she tugged out a chair beside Ghaleb.
The Spymaster tucked his three decks of cards closer to give her room, and then reached for a plate. "Duck, only the sharp cheeses, and a raspberry jam?" he asked her, indicating the piles of food.
"How did you...?" Reiss glanced around in surprise, "Ah, yes please."
While Ghaleb loaded down her plate, Alistair grabbed up his own and began his assault upon a tower of cheese that wasn't likely to last the night. Philipe caught him and shouted out, "Oi! Leave a bit for the rest of us. Some of us are starving away here, right Karelle."
"Shove it up your scrawny ass, Philipe," Karelle bit back with, a wisp of a smile curling her lips. Philipe cracked up at that, pounding the table to emphasize how hilarious it was.
Loaded down, Alistair fell into his seat beside Karelle. Funny enough there was an empty one across from him. "We expecting someone else tonight?" It was a rotating crew from across all strata of the palace. On occasion a noble or two would try to join in, on the assumption this was some special back dealing place to get on the King's good side, but if you couldn't deal with a piss boy calling you on your shit, you were kicked out. Teagan came a few times, but he started to complain about heartburn keeping him up all night and began to demure.
"Don't tell me Sister Amay's back in town," Alistair continued, popping cheese into his mouth and chewing less than thoughtfully.
"Nah, she's off converting heathens in Highever," Philipe answered.
"What heathens exist in Highever?" Ghaleb asked. His thin fingers broke apart the three decks and began to ruffle them into one.
"The ones someone cleverly told the Sister about so she'd leave for a few months and allow our dear Philipe to win all his money back," Karelle smirked.
"Cor, ain't just me she swindled. She took Alistair for near on all his bits."
Alistair coughed and shifted in his seat, "Not quite all of them, thankfully."
"Good," a new voice smiled from the door. Lifting his head, Alistair caught that brash, bronzed smile of the Admiral of the Siren's Echo. Isabela knocked back her lush crimson pirate hat with a flick and smirked, "Because I was hoping I could put 'em to good use later."
"Well well, look at what the tide pulled in." Alistair rose from his seat and caught Isabela's salty hand, "I didn't think you were gonna make it until summer."
"Things change," she shrugged and her eyes slowly drifted over the Reiss. "Who's this new lovely one added to our table?"
"Reiss," she said, sticking her hand out to the pirate and no doubt gripping tight.
While Isabela gave her the once over that'd make Alistair blush bright, he said, "She's my bodyguard."
That drew the sly look right to him, "She's in charge of guarding you? Pretty thing, you have my utmost condolences."
Reiss' cheeks lit up from the compliment but she shook it off, "Yeah, I get that a lot."
"So," Isabela slapped her hands together, stretched one leg over the chair and dropped straight into it. It was such an impressive move even Philipe whistled under his breath. "Let's play some cards."
The first few hands were child's play, well, not literally. Anytime he played cards with Spud they wound up propping each one up on pillows to get them to sleep, tried to feed them ashes from the fireplace, and then gave them all baths after getting dirty. But Isabela went easy on her cheating, Karelle was barely paying attention, and Ghaleb was more focused on some Duke in Orlais that decided to start up a wyvern farm. Apparently it wasn't going well for the Duke.
"...Despite losing three shepherds to poison, and having one of them climb the walls to escape, he still believes he can make it work," Ghaleb finished before tossing a two of cups into the pile.
"Wall? What wall?" Karelle pushed.
"The ten foot tall ones ringing the castle he tried to confine them in."
"Shite and more shite," Philipe gasped before pouring a shot of what had to be turpentine down his throat. Even being near it caused Alistair's eyes to water. "That's bonkers, eh? Complete and utter donkey licking madness. At what point do you say 'Hey, maybe this ain't such a good idea?'"
"As he is Orlesian, I suspect it will take until one of the pet wyverns accidentally digests the Duchess' shoe. Pride can only be shattered by crimes against fashion," Ghaleb pronounced with such a dramatic flare everyone in the table burst into laughter. He blinked a moment, the eyes watching before joining in.
"Oh, Orlesians," Isabela sighed, rubbing her eyes of the salt still clinging to them. "What about you, sweetheart?"
"What? Me?" Reiss pointed at herself. She'd been quiet, letting the old friends catch up and fall into their usual patterns. Isabela seemed to make it a point to draw her out of her armored shell.
"What are your thoughts on Orlesians?"
"Well, uh, I only dealt with them on occasion in the Inquisition."
"You were with the Inquisition?" Isabela's eyebrows shot up and she turned a calculating stare over at Alistair. "Interesting. Any chance you were intimately involved with Comman--"
"No, no," Alistair waved a hand, cutting off Isabela's line of treachery which also drew the curious stare of everyone at the table who knew nothing of their adventures together. The pirate gave him a cocky look and he smiled, "Izzy, it's your draw."
She scowled at the nickname, angrily shuffling the cards in her hands before returning to her newest toy, "So, sweetheart, what's your type?"
"Type of what?" Reiss seemed to be panicking from the attention of Isabela as if she was held under an interrogation lamp. Alistair wanted to call her off, but he knew that would only incite the pirate more.
"Here," Isabela slapped a ten of swords down and turned fully to the elf. "What makes your gaatlock explode? Rotates your windmill? Tickles your taint?"
Reiss watched the pirate a moment, while Alistair watched her. He shouldn't do it he knew, but there was this moment when she'd slip from quietly observing to bitingly witty that was fascinating to see. It was as if she lit up from the inside as she assessed a situation in seconds while everyone else fumbled around. He'd
caught it while with Harding and tried to not stare too agape as the two of them puzzled things out together.
"I see," Reiss opened her mouth and for a moment her eyes flickered up to Alistair's. It caused a chain reaction and his lips lifted in one of ten of his goofiest smiles, nearly causing an awe shucks to dribble from his mouth. The elf turned away, her hand absently fanning her face as she spoke with a shrug, "Um, good?"
Isabela laughed at that, "We all want them to be good in bed, otherwise what's the point? Or on the table, in the pew, standing astride the prow while facing down a storm of..." Her eyes stared through the horizon before she woke herself back up, "Details. That's the fun part. Mixing all those weird edges of ours together and for a brief moment enjoying the way they fit, or really loving the way they don't."
"Oh, that, well I..." she gurgled into an incoherent babble and pointed at the table.
"Let me take a guess," Philipe spoke up before holding both of his fingers over his eyes like a blindfold, "Tall, dark, and a handsome man who works in the kitchens?"
Karelle nudged him in the ribs and sat up, "Don't go giving the girl a fright like that. She's clearly gotta have a thing for elfy types, they all do. Lanky, and lean, and skinny, and what not."
Alistair swallowed and tugged on the constricting collar of his tunic which drew every eye to him. "Oh no, I'm staying out of this. I barely know what I'm attracted to most days," he folded into himself and found his hands endlessly fascinating to watch.
"You're easy," Isabela jabbed a finger at him. "Short, dark," she nodded at Philipe with that one, "and capable of saving the world."
"Yeah," he nodded his head, feeling like honey dribbled out of the wound from her dagger striking through his heart. That wound was eternal no matter how much time crawled on, but it wasn't always painful either. "Which is so easy to find." Alistair felt himself drifting lower into his navel. He'd tried being with women before; Lanny, others after her, Lanny again -- which was an even bigger mistake -- and they all ended badly. Maybe he wasn't cut out for it, for any of that romance stuff. Cuddling with someone in bed while reading random lines out of books to make a new story. Holding her hand before leaping off a cliff into a lake. Aching to kiss only those lips. To feel her laugh up through his arms while holding her. Everyone else seemed capable of it, but like all things in life, Alistair was the eternal screw up.
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