My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "You're not the only one," Gavin sighed. "I dare say you're doing wonderful. I'm the one who...it's all on me. It's my doing and..."

  "Don't," Myra held a hand up, "I really don't want to go into the play by play of who did what and what led to it all. It's..."

  He thought she'd moved on already, but the smile she wore shredded apart revealing the pain below. Myra wrapped a hand around her arm in a half hug and began to rock on her heels. "About my only consolation is that you look miserable as hell."

  Gavin snickered at that, his head hanging flush with the ground, "I feel it twice as bad as I look."

  Those gorgeous green eyes he wished would crinkle up in a smile honed in on him. But they too hung flat, lifeless, crushed by his stupidity and shallow lusts. "I don't hate you," Myra said.

  "I'm certain you don't like me much."

  "No," she spat out fast, then blinked madly. "It's not, it's...I don't know. I... Venheedis! Breakups are supposed to be all about wanting to kick the guy in the face and then burn something of his. That's how all the stories make them out to be, all my friends would get to that point after the crying but I..."

  Myra let her fingers touch to his shoulder, softly cupping it as if he was a wounded animal needing to be saved. "I don't want to get mad. I don't... Okay, sometimes I do, and then I hate myself for it, but you're not... Blighted hell, I have no idea what I'm saying."

  Shaking her head, she began to stomp back to her friends and the elf that was watching in curiosity as his prize shared an interest in another man. "Myra," Gavin called to her, "I don't want you to hate me either."

  "Good, glad we got that all figured out. Because I'm not in anyway still confused."

  "And," he had to cup his hand to his chest, his fingernails scratching through the thin shirt upon his skin while it curled into a fist. "If you wish to be...intimate with someone else, I promise I will not..."

  She turned and fully stared at him, her jaw dropping. "Intimate? As in...? With who? Cause if you say Cal I will freaking punch you, I swear."

  "No," he threw on a panicking laugh while wondering how often his trembling uncertainty quizzed her about the boy. "Someone such as..." Limply Gavin pointed towards the elves for a brief second. He meant it to be unnoticeable, but Myra swung her head over and glared before scoffing.

  "Please, like I can't pick up on a fetishy elf who thinks dirtying himself with a half-blood will be freaky. I've been to the Alienage since I was a kid, thank you very much." Her voice was shrieking with annoyance, but he could see a smile bobbing in her eyes. Maybe she wanted him to care a little. To worry. To wish...

  It didn't matter. It was too late.

  "Then, I will trust your judgment."

  "Good," Myra nodded her head hard before drawing the back of her hand to her eyes. "Because...you don't have to worry. Okay. I'm not just gonna run off to get it all over with in order to do that. I think, I want, bloody hell. You, go back to chopping, and I'll go back to drinking and...let's both pretend none of this awkwardness ever happened."

  She spun on her heels, digging both into the dirt to join her friends by the river. True to her word, Myra downed another cup of the friendship wine while easily slicing through the grabby elf's words and attentions. Her smile was back on, Myra firing off a dozen jokes in rapid succession but every once in awhile she'd glance up from her friends to look over at the boy driving apart logs of wood to burn for the fire.

  "As you wish," Gavin whispered to himself, even while his heart lightened a touch. Maybe he hadn't ruined everything after all. The hope tasted like blackberries ripe on the bush, and smelled of little yellow flowers opening on the meadow.

  By the time he returned to his tent, Ferelden's sky was tinged with all the pinks and oranges of the Maker himself. His arms ached, but his heart felt softer -- the hard casing that formed around it seeping away. A sleep would do him good, and maybe he could think of some way to return the olive branch Myra extended to him. He could always finish the damn thing he kept putting off.

  Lifting up the tent flap, Gavin caught his roommate sitting on the side. His head was tipped downward with a book resting limply in his lap.

  "I spoke with Myra," Gavin began while yanking his shirt off over his head. Sweat clung tight to it but as he freed himself, a breeze whipped through to cool down his aching muscles and hot skin. "She's...she's not mad at me. I'm surprised, I honestly..."

  His thoughts trailed off as he turned to find Snowy's head still dangling down. Strange. Surely the dwarf heard him. Did he fall asleep while reading? That was a terrible way to get a crick in the neck. Gavin crept along the ground, trying to not wake the dwarf he was about to wake. It made little sense but seemed kind.

  Drawing a hand to his shoulder, Gavin gave a little shake when he smelled it. Copper in the air. The dwarf was cold, not cool from avoiding the hot sun -- his body was colder than a crypt. "Snowy?" Gavin whispered, peering down at the dwarf's face.

  Milky white eyes stared out at nothing, blood dribbling from the tear ducts.

  "Snowy!" he shrieked, lifting his dead friend's chin.

  No. Maker's breath. He couldn't be...

  The dwarf's head barely fell back, his body already locked in from rigor mortis. Because he was dead. He was...how? How could he be...? Gavin glanced over at the apple -- the core sitting upon a box where he must have placed it once he was finished.

  Trembling fingers tried to reach for it, when Gavin noticed a glint of silver prodding out of Snowy's back. With a gentle hand to cup against his dead friend's chin, he moved to tug up the tent wall leaning in towards them only to find it wouldn't budge. Because it was impaled onto the dwarf by a dagger's blade jammed into the back of his throat.

  He sat here bleeding to death, unable to call out for help and no one noticed.

  Gavin swiped at the tears percolating in his eyes and he ran out of the tent. Before letting the flap fall, he glanced back at his friend's body and gasped. "I'm sorry I have to leave you." He wanted to sit with the deceased, to...to try and make him comfortable, but he had to know. In the back of his mind, the obvious culprit flared and pivoted but he couldn't be sure. Not without proof.

  Staggering around outside his tent, Gavin's eyes landed upon the hilt of the dagger. Black with a wicked curve and a single scarlet ribbon dancing in the summer wind. Yanking it out of his dead friend's corpse, Gavin turned towards where the Princess rested and set off with vengeance pounding in his heart.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Wounds

  The elves promised a fire dance for the evening, requiring Rosamund and her close companions to all dress in less flammable clothing than usual. She'd chosen her tighter leathers, and was sitting at the back of the tent watching all the rest of her ladies dash about trying to get rather too made up for such an evening.

  "Has anyone seen Myra?" Rosie asked, glancing over at Tess who shrugged. "Well, if she wants to go she'll show up." Her sister had been damn near invisible for the past week. Rosamund knew she was still with the caravan by a flash of a gold braid or tales of her sister, the half-blood, entertaining the Dalish. But Rosie hadn't even spoken a word to her in all that time. Whatever trouble she was up to, at least Myra knew how to act properly around the elves better than most anyone else.

  Fingers dipped across Rosie's shoulder and she turned right into Anjali's lazy smile. "This seems a bit excessive," she remarked, waving a hand to the two girls attempting to paint their upper arms with red and orange pigments. "It's merely a fire dance."

  "You've seen them before?"

  "Seen? You can't have a family picnic in Rivain without someone breaking out the sticks, fire oil, and flayed skirts."

  She focused fully upon Anjali, Rosie picturing her in a thin silk shift cut tight to her body. An asymmetrical hem along the stomach that revealed her tattoo and the tops of her glorious breasts glistening at the plunge of the low neckline. How gracefully she'd spin on her toes, fire dancing with each hop and twirl as if it was a part of her.


  A heat burned inside of the Princess that had nothing to do with fire. Too bad she couldn't skip out on this, the Keeper would certainly be cross and it would raise far too many questions with the handmaidens.

  And Karelle. Especially Karelle.

  Anjali dipped down, her breath tickling in Rosie's ear, "I'd kill to see you in that little outfit." She gestured towards the two handmaidens who tried to dress in the silks that barely shielded their chests and scrap of hips from the fire.

  Rosie scoffed, her cheeks blushing as bright as her lover's tattoos at the thought of her trying to put it on. "I fear I'd be fully tumbling out of something so small."

  "Exactly," her perfect grin lit up the room. But before Rosie did anything stupid like try to kiss it away, Anjali drifted from her side. She never went far, but seemed to fear crowding out the princess from her work.

  Seemingly bored, the assassin picked at a pile of powders, sniffing each one before placing them back upon the makeshift vanity. A noise caught Rosamund's attention and she turned to find a new entry into their gathering. "Ah, Squire Gavin," she called, trying to wave to her sister's beau, but he didn't look over at her.

  He was oddly shirtless, but what struck Rosie to the core was how his eyes glared murder through the world itself -- amber pinpricks hunting until they landed upon...Anjali. Placing down the pigment she was inspecting, the assassin turned and looked at the huffing squire.

  "Ah, baby Knight...come to join us?" She waved a hand, her hip cocked back in celebration.

  On steady legs, Gavin stomped through the tent as if he was trying to mash down the ground with each step. His eyes never wavered from the woman, breath shooting from his nostrils. The moment he reached Anjali, she pivoted her chin a bit in confusion. Her mouth opened, no doubt to ask what he wanted.

  Faster than a snake pumping its prey with venom, Gavin's fist lashed out and clobbered Anjali in the face. She collapsed backwards, spilling the contents of the vanity all over the ground. Puffs of powder in every primary color erupted when the jars shattered, all of the fog trying to shield the assassin skittering back from the raging squire.

  The handmaidens all shrieked, but nothing would slow Gavin down. He lifted up his fists as if he intended to attack Anjali again. The hand she had protecting her eye dropped down and she stood up. Both of them glared at each other through the air, each telegraphing if the other made another move it would end in an all out brawl.

  Rosie was having none of it. "Squire!" The man wouldn't turn, wouldn't glance over. What in the Maker's name was wrong with him? Had he been drinking? "Squire Gavin, what is the meaning of this?! You will stand down immediately! Tess," she tried to wave her friend over, but all the girls were petrified and trembling together. Only Anjali stood stock still, both hands ready to reach for her weapons. "Go and get Ser Daryan, now!"

  "He's dead," Gavin grumbled, his eyes never breaking from Anjali -- who let hers dart to Rosie for a brief moment.

  "Who?" the princess pushed, rising from her seat. A few of the girls gripped onto her to drag her back but she shook them off.

  Gavin sucked in a breath and she realized there were unshed tears clogging his vision. "Snowy," he shouted, chewing on his lip, "Squire Snowy."

  "Snowy?" Anjali scoffed, "What kind of name is...?"

  His hand lifted again, Gavin preparing another attack, but Anjali reacted this time too. Her fingers reached back to her shoulders about to unsheathe her daggers -- all of which was the last thing Rosamund needed. Leaping forward, the princess attempted to yank Gavin back to his senses, but at Anjali's move he paused and snickered.

  "Looking for something, assassin?"

  The woman's hand hung limply in the air, flexing just above where her dagger would rest. With a sneer, Gavin reached towards his belt at the small of his back to unearth a blade. Rosie moved to stop him, but he tossed it to the ground and sneered, "I found this embedded in the throat of my dead friend. The man you murdered and left sputtering to death in his own blood."

  At the word blood the girls shrieked again, helping in no way with the matter.

  Anjali's eyes shot open wide and she stared down at the dagger -- an exact copy of the ones she always had on her back. "No, no," she shook her head, her hands slapping backwards, "that can't be."

  Gavin lashed forward, intending to deal with this problem himself, but Rosamund managed to snag onto his bicep. "Squire!" she chastised in her commanding voice. "We do not..." When he whipped his lion's glare at her, Rosie's spine quivered a moment. It felt like the Maker's Himself judgment. "You are not the law here. Step back and behave as your order would dictate, or I shall have you apprehended and imprisoned until you have calmed."

  The bicep she barely held in check with her fingers didn't soften from its stone force, but he sneered and stepped back from Anjali. Without the immediate threat of the squire about to bash her in, Anjali reached down to her dagger. "That's mine. I...I don't understand."

  "Your dagger was found in the throat of one of our dead squires," Rosie repeated the facts, her voice numb. There had to be a trick, something someone planted it. To incriminate her. Or...she's an assassin. You knew that when you met her. But it didn't stop you from taking her to your bed, nor from falling for her.

  "Sapheela, please, I swear," Anjali clasped her hands together in prayer. "It wasn't me. I don't even know this...Snowfer."

  "Snowy," Gavin shouted at her, his voice cracking in pain. "You can't even be bothered to remember the names of those you murder."

  "I didn't do it! Why would I kill him?"

  "That is a very good question," Rosamund said, her hands folding to her stomach. "Did you touch the body, Squire? Move it in anyway from where he fell?"

  Gavin was glaring at the ground his fists clenching constantly, but he wouldn't lift them. Shaking his head, he spat out, "No."

  "Then we shall investigate it. You," Rosie pointed at Gavin who gulped. "You," she added to Anjali.

  "This woman should be in irons!" the squire suddenly shouted. "She's murdered seemingly at random. There's nothing to stop her doing it again!"

  "And you attacked her out of hand, Squire," Rosamund said while trying to be the cool head, but when she glanced back she caught a lot of her girls nodding their heads to Gavin's words. It didn't look good for Anjali, and if she tipped her hand then they may come to question Rosie's judgment.

  You took her to your bed and you don't even know what she's doing here. Couldn't bother to get a real answer out of her. How do you know she hasn't been playing you the whole time?

  "Assassin," Rosamund spat out, "disarm, and give both your daggers to the Squire."

  Umber eyes stared hard at Rosie, trying to delve past her political mask, but nothing could pierce it. Slowly, Anjali yanked out her remaining right dagger and pressed it into Gavin's hands. "I think you can handle picking up the other," she muttered at him.

  The man growled back, but he did as she said, hoisting up the blade stained with a dead man's blood. Blessed Andraste, Rosamund, what have you done?

  "If you're both finished, we shall walk to the site of the crime. Oh, and someone fetch Myra," Rosie ordered to anyone listening. A few dashed off into the night, not wanting to be near a would-be murderer and a punch happy squire. While Gavin and Anjali glared at each other and walked through the tents, Rosamund whispered to herself, "My sister might be the only hope we have."

  Myra was less than happy about being summoned by a twitchy girl, repeating that her words were incoherent and sounded like a bad limerick. She was laughing to herself about how it sounded like Gavin hauled off and punched Anjali, until she spotted the black eye rising upon the assassin's face. Swallowing hard, she glanced over at the man poor Myra was in deep with.

  Was she thinking the same as Rosamund? That her whole world was suddenly yanked out from under her because a person she thought she knew, thought she trusted, betrayed her?

  But the squire wasn't the one to kill someone. He did as he should. He came
to bring order, law, and justice for his dead friend. It was hard to see what excuse Anjali could make.

  "Is... Gavin, what's going on?" Myra inched closer to him, but he whipped his head away, glaring at the ground.

  "Squire Snowy has been killed," Rosamund said. She expected Myra to nod her head grimly at the news, but the girl's eyes shot open wide and she spun to Gavin about to console him. "Myra, I need you to determine who killed him."

  "R...right," her lips trembled, the girl only having eyes for the one she cared for. Swiping a hand back to pin her hair behind her ears, Myra nodded, "I need...I have to see him. Fuck."

  "Are you okay?" Rosie leaned closer to her sister, all four of them standing outside the tent in question.

  "Yeah, yeah, just haven't," Myra rubbed her stomach as if making a wish upon it, "Mom always handled the personal cases, I never. I can do it. I have to. For Snowy."

  Anjali snorted a moment and rolled her eyes, "It is a stupid name."

  "Why is she here?" Myra snarled at the interruption and potentially her friend being disrespected.

  Rosie opened her mouth to gently explain when Gavin blurted out, "Because she murdered him."

  "What?" Myra's entire body snapped up higher, her arms locking in as if she intended to do something to Anjali.

  "All we know is that her dagger was found upon the body," Rosie explained.

  Digging into her eyes, Myra stretched her arms wide and took a few deep breaths. "Which could be planted. I have to...okay, give me a moment." Her hands parted at the sides of her face, seeming to form a locked barricade to block off her peripheral view. But every once in awhile, her eyes would dart over to the side to check on Gavin.

  Without saying a word, Myra stepped into the tent. Rosie watched her sister, proud of her determination to face such an uphill battle, when Myra shouted, "Are the rest of you coming in here or not?"

  It was a tight fit, Gavin dropping to his knees as he hung back, while Rosie paced around with her head bent down. Anjali was the one who stepped in last, and when her eyes darted to the deceased she mouthed something, but whatever it was Rosie couldn't read it. It could be shock from the image. She'd seen death, but only at funerals when the cleaned body was lain respectfully on the pyre. This was beyond morbid, the dwarf's body slumped over as if he'd fallen asleep save the puddles of blood splattered onto a book in his lap.