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Chapter Text

9:17

"Kalli, what happened? Where have you been?" Mamae rushed over and knelt in a dirty puddle in front of her.

It had rained for two weeks straight, maybe three, and Kalli had been going stir crazy for days. The moment it had begun to let up, she'd scooted out to go play with Shianni, but halfway there, she'd slipped on one of the few paving broken stones that hadn't yet been repurposed for someone's kitchen and gashed her leg on one of the sharp edges. It had taken what felt like hours to stumble home, cold and wet and afraid to look at the blood seeping through her trousers. Clothes were expensive, and she needed to be more careful, Papa always told her. They’d make her help wash it with the soap that stung her hands even when they didn’t have cuts or scrapes.

"I - I fell," she sniffed as she turned slightly to hide the tear by her knee.

Warm rough hands traveled from Kalli's shoulders to her elbows, squeezing gently, checking her for injuries. She struggled and tried to pull away before she made it down to her leg, and Mamae frowned. "I can see that much, there's mud in your hair. But where did you go? You know not to just leave."

"Wanted to see Shianni," she mumbled. "Show her what Papa carved." The little griffon was in her back pocket, another thing she shouldn't have taken. It was a miracle the wings hadn't snapped off in her fall, or maybe, keeping it safe was why the fall had been so bad. She'd been holding it when she ran across the alienage, and instead of letting go to catch herself, she'd clutched it to her chest and rolled, slipping into a graceless tumble that had somehow landed her in her back.

Mamae pursed her lips, always so strangely pale against her dark tawny skin. "So you stole Papa's griffon, and snuck out. In a rainstorm." She said it flatly, like she was tasting some new food, and not sure whether she liked it.

"I wasn't keeping it!" Kalli insisted. "I just wanted to show it to her. Play like Garahel." She pulled it out and held it up. "It's fine, see?"

"But you're not, da'len," Mamae chided. "You're shivering and..." her eyes slid down as she trailed off. "And bleeding."

Kallian reached for her leg, trying to cover the gash. "It's fine, Mamae. The elfroot is -"

"Under the cupboard in the kitchen, I know." She brushed her short fire-colored hair out of her eyes and stood back up. "You're a big girl, aren't you? Going to handle this all by yourself and try to hide the trousers, too, weren't you?"

"No," she lied as she looked away.

It was her undoing. Quicker than a snake, Mamae scooped her up. "Kalli, your father and I love you. And that means we'll take care of you. But we can't do that if you -"

Anger would have been easier to bear. The gentle rebuke cut her to the bone, hurt more than the gash, and suddenly everything was too much. Kalli pressed her face into Mamae's soggy vest and started sobbing. She'd almost broken Papa's carving, made them worry, torn her trousers, and all because she was bored.

"Let it out, Kalli," was murmured somewhere above her, probably into her filthy braids. "Let it out, and we'll fix everything in the morning, okay?"

"Y-you're not mad?" she hiccupped through the tears.

"We'll work on that later too," Mamae said. "Let's get you home."

9:19

She couldn't help it. Who could, really? And why would it even matter to the baker that much? He'd thrown away the last two sticky buns that had fallen to the ground, so why would he care if she happened to bump the stall just so and knock a third one off?

He hadn't even noticed until her second lap through the market, and only because she bent down to scoop it up.

"Oy, you didn't pay for that!"

His voice carried over all the usual morning bustle. Her ears prickled and burned as she turned back to face him. Should've made a third loop. Or maybe it was the second loop that tipped him off in the first place. One elf, or even a dozen, were easy to forget and ignore, but the same one, the same one whose money was no good here, even if she had more than the few coppers Mamae had given her, that one was suspicious.

"It was on the ground, you were going to throw it away." Reasoning with him was stupid, but she tried anyway. Shemlen never listened.

"So you rabbits steal trash now?" He was getting closer, too close, too big, too loud, with his arms as wide as her chest, and a beaked nose that cast such a shadow it looked like he had two mouths. The guards would be on their way soon, but they wouldn't go hunting for her if she wasn't here. She spun around to run, but the baker caught her hair, yanking her backward, and almost making her drop the bun.

"Hands off my daughter." There was a yelp of surprise, then pain her scalp vanished, and she was free and Mamae was grabbing her elbow and hauling her through the crowd, down alleys, up stairs, over rooftops, through gardens, and only stopped when they were behind the arl's estate.

Her mother pulled her into the tiny hedge maze, then sat on the grass. "What did he want?" Not 'what did you do?' Never that question. Elves didn’t need to do anything to make people angry, and that fact burned resentfully in her belly every time she left the alienage.

But, this time, she had.

Kalli had already learned that being perfect didn't mean being safe, so why try? But, at the same time, lying to her mother about it would get her nowhere. Less than nowhere.

"Took this." She held out her filched mess of a prize. Sugar glaze, warmed by the sun and the heat of her palm, dripped through her fingers, and the dough was squashed.

Mamae arched an eyebrow. "Kalli, did you steal a sticky bun?"

She shrugged. "It fell. Maybe with a little help?" She tried to peel it off her hand, but there were bits stuck fast to her skin. "He was just going to throw it away," she added.

"Let me see that, da'len." When Mamae reached for her hand, she sighed in resignation and held it out. To her surprise, instead of confiscating her treat, all she did was lick her palm, then tilted her head thoughtfully. "Needs more sugar, but beggars can't be choosers, I suppose."

She watched in stupefied shock as her mother tore the bun in half, then took a bite. "Mamae?"

"What?" she grinned. "You think I'm going to let it go to waste after all that work we did to get it? Sit down and eat up."

9:22

Kallian was going to die. No, she just wanted to die, but the Maker delighted in her suffering too much. She was too cold without the blankets, too hot with them, and her mismatched-length braids hung in sweaty gray ropes against her back every time she rolled over to heave something else into the bucket on the floor. Mismatched because one had fallen into her sick, and she’d simply taken a pair of scissors and sheared it off rather than deal with the effort to wash it or the smell if she didn’t.

They told her she was getting better, but Kallian didn't know if she believed them, or if she even wanted to believe them. Papa had only started trying to convince her to eat again yesterday, when she’d finally managed to keep water down. He’d bought the freshest bread he could, and it sat on the table next to her bed, decidedly less fresh now. She rolled to her side and reached weakly for a smaller piece, but even that effort exhausted her. Instead of eating it, she just held it like a favorite toy, pressed over her heart, and wished her eyesight was keen enough to read in the gloom. The last time her mother had brought a lantern in, the light had hurt so much that she’d thrown up, and the fever and headache afterwards had lasted nearly a day.

A loud slam of the front door shook the house and made her temples throb anew. She could hear two people talking: her mother and a stranger.

"Adaia, please, reconsider."

"I have considered it." There was a frosty edge in her voice, one Kallian had only heard once: the night before two humans who'd tried to abduct Nessa had been found gagged, naked, hanging from the gates, and barely alive. Neither of them had been able to talk. One died later of his injuries, and the other was blind in one eye and never left the docks. Kallian only knew about any of it because it was the first argument her parents she'd ever heard, late in the night when she should've been asleep.

The city doesn’t need Night Elves!

Tell that to Nessa. The guards didn’t even care, and if they won’t do anything about it, the Dark Wolf will.

Her mother continued, perfectly, frighteningly calm. "And I've reconsidered it. And done it a third time too. My daughter needs me. Cyrion needs me. And I need them. What can you possibly offer that they can't? The right to travel freely? To bear arms? What about them? Do I leave them behind just to make my life better? Is that part of the test? To see if I'm monstrous enough to sacrifice them and tell myself it was for the greater good?"

"The Wardens need -"

"No, Duncan, they don't. You don’t need me, just bodies, and I'm the only one in the alienage who can make the smallest difference. If you try Conscripting me, if you try dragging me out of my home, I'll cut my throat out of spite the moment you hand me a weapon."

Kallian fell out of bed, shocked. The impact of her landing was too loud to catch anything else, or maybe they'd stopped talking. The front door opened and shut again, and her mother was suddenly there, helping her off the floor and back to bed, then handing her a tiny vial. "Drink up, Kalli."

"Who was that?" she asked. "Is he going to – are you going to…" she trailed off, afraid to even say it.

"No," she said firmly. "An old friend, but he was just leaving. He won't be back, and I'm not going anywhere. Now take your medicine. We called in a lot of favors for this, and I’m not going to let you waste it."

Chapter Text

9:25

This time, when Kallian stumbled home, it was with pride. Human boys talked a big talk, but when push came to shove, a punch to the nose was a fantastic equalizer. And it did work, in a way: Soris had managed to break free and run, and hopefully home, instead of toward the useless city guard. But the three boys who weren't writhing in the dirt clutching at a broken bloody face had been too much at once. They weren't killers, just bullies, and had only knocked her down and kicked her for ten, maybe twenty, minutes before getting bored or scared and wandering off.

Her knee was swollen, the right side of her face ached, her wrist was probably sprained, and there was a sharp pain in her side every time she breathed, but she'd done it. Not as well as her mother could, but she'd done it: defended a fellow elf from shitty uppity shem. Each step jostled her bones and made them feel like they were trying to fall out or break through the skin, but even that was a strange kind of euphoria, proof that she was still alive.

Something wiggled oddly in her mouth, and she was still prodding at it with her tongue when she opened her front door. Mother was washing something in a bucket by the stove, and looked up as she walked in.

"You're home –" she stopped as the light caught her face. She crossed the room and cupped Kallian's chin, making her wince. "You're home early," was all she said, then she turned back to the washing. "Want some tea? The real kind."

Tea? The offer left her stunned. Real tea was a treat, part of special occasions, or offered to visitors only. "What?" It came out thick, and when she tried to cough to clear her throat, the wiggly thing in her mouth came loose. She grabbed a rag to hack into it a few times, then spit into it. A bloody clot rested in the middle of her palm that she stared at, shocked that she was shocked at all the evidence of her fight when it was already covering her body..

"Is that a tooth?" Her mother was by her side again, plucking the lump out to look at it more closely. "Kallian, what have you been up to?"

She shrugged. "Group of shem were just outside the alienage. Fucking with Soris." She didn't need to add the again. Whatever air she gave off, Soris managed to give off the opposite, like some sort of wounded animal that called to every asshole and bully within three blocks. If they were together, they canceled each other out, but alone… well. Humans clutched at their coin purses a little tighter around her, but they kicked Soris' feet and smiled when he stumbled. "I stopped it."

"With your face." She sounded amused, but a little sad. Resigned.

"His face first," Kallian protested, then sighed. "But… yeah. Soris got away though, so I won."

Mother took the rag over to the bucket and dunked in it, soaking it and wringing it out until the blood was gone, then waved her over. "Take off your shirt." She hissed in sympathy as Kallian did, and touched each bruise on her side. "You think they'll try to get the guard involved?"

"And tell them what?" she scoffed. "That an elf girl half their size kicked one between the legs and broke another one’s nose? I almost got the third one's belt knife, but the last one got me by the hair."

She tossed the rag in the bucket. "Kallian Garahedrial Tabris, are you telling me you attacked four humans?"

"It's what you'd do, right?" Kallian twisted around to look at her. "You go out at night doing things like this all the time, and no one talks about it, but everyone knows what you did for Nessa. The alienage needs more people like you, people that aren't afraid to --"

"I didn't finish," her mother interrupted. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Kallian Garahedrial Tabris, are you telling me you attacked four humans armed with nothing but your fists?"

This was not the line of questioning she'd been ready for. "What else would I do?"

Adaia stood up, and it was Adaia now, the original Dark Wolf, scourge of petty nobles and predatory merchants, not her mother. She pulled out a wickedly gleaming dagger and placed it in her hand. "Kallian, you're going to learn to fight."

9:28

"Kallian!"

These shem might kill me. The thought skittered across her brain as the bottle shattered just above her eye. It was strangely exhilarating, if she was honest. If she was going to die, there was no reason to be careful.

She'd been doing it carefully for a year now, sneaking up on rapists and thieves, even an attempted murderer or two. All it took was a dagger to the back to magically turn so many of them into sniveling cowards begging for their lives and offering everything they had if she'd just let them go.

With most of them, Kallian waited until their would-be victims pulled themselves together and fled, then hissed in their dumb-looking round ears that if she ever saw them near alienage again, the blade would go much deeper. They'd gulped and nodded and bolted as soon as she let go, not even bothering to look at her.

The exceptions tried to struggle, and, just last month, one spun around to try to grab her hair, but by then, she'd learned how to braid it tight and wind it up, so his fingers grasped at air as she'd ducked low and plunged the dagger into his leg. He'd howled in surprise and pain, so loudly that the guards could hear, and that time, she'd been the one to turn tail and run.

Mother had chided her for that. Kallian, if you pull out a weapon, be ready to kill. Not wound, kill. They'd hang us both for even carrying these, so if you're using it, be damn sure it's worth someone losing a life.

It was too big a question for a teenager to consider, so she didn't. She'd stopped going hunting at night, stopped taking the dagger with her whenever she left the house. The Dark Wolf didn't need her help, and alienage barely needed the Dark Wolf at all; its reputation for violence had grown enough that few shem dared enter.

Outside the alienage, of course, was another matter.

Father always did the shopping on the days the elves were permitted into the market, netting them the best deals with a kindly voice and a keen eye for a bargain, but the poorly healed hip injury from his Night Elf days had been acting up, and Kallian had threatened to tie him to the bed if he so much as purchased an apple. Mother was out, and the cupboards were empty, so Kallian had snagged the coin purse off the dresser and promised to bring home at least a bag of beans, and maybe some cheese.

She was on her last circuit around the market when she spotted a group of drunk and richy-dressed humans harassing Iona by the tavern, tugging at her dress and calling her a whore. Kallian was chucking her basket at one and tackling another before she'd even tallied the odds, exactly like her mother told her not to, but this was Iona, with her weak heart and timid smile, sobbing and begging please serah, Lady Landra is expecting me, as they laughed and pushed her back and forth, circling like buzzards around a carcass, and there was no time to stop them any other way.

They'd swarmed at Kallian, swinging with clumsy fists unused to anything more than bouts in a practice ring with men paid to lose, but she was too fast. She weaved between them, throwing punches when she could, slapping and clawing when she couldn't, and using their bulk and surprise against them. Two went down to a kick between the legs, leaving her with only four opponents. That had been enough to give them pause, at least, but the more they caught their breath, the worse her chances.

So Kallian launched another attack, feigning a strike to one's face, just like her mother had taught her, then spinning at the last moment to hit him in the stomach instead. He doubled over and met her knee with a sickening crunch.

Three left. She'd grinned, then Iona had screamed her name, and it ruined her focus and made her look for her, worried more humans were dragging her away.

Glass exploded across her face, and she stumbled back, wiping blood away and cutting her hand on the shards embedded in her skin.

These shem might kill me.

The man with the broken bottle leered and blew her a kiss, full of menace and threats of things to come. It should've been terrifying, but instead it made her more angry, more resolved. No, she thought, they might kill me, but they won't get anything else.

She stumbled again, this time intentionally. He advanced on her, still holding the jagged remnants of the bottle, but not like a weapon. More fool him. He grabbed at her tunic, and she let it happen, let him drag her close, until she could smell his rancid breath, could count every burst capillary under his skin. Then, when he leaned in, she slammed her forehead into his nose. He dropped her with a yelp as he cupped his face with both hands. With both hands, exactly as she'd hoped.

"Fucking rabbit –"

It was the last thing he ever said, because Kallian had scooped the bottle up from the ground and jammed the sharp end into his throat. The rest of his sentence turned into a wet gurgle as he sank down, blood going everywhere.

For a moment, everything was quiet.

"She killed him!"

"What was the name? Kallian! Kallian killed him!"

"Guards! That elf killed Bran!"

She bolted down the nearest alley and straight into her mother's arms. Adaia kissed her once as she wrenched the bottle from her hand. "Go, they won't care who they hang," she whispered, then pushed her away, into the shadows.

"Mamae, they know my name," she protested, clinging at her with bloody fingers. "If you – they'll just kill us both!"

She shook her head. "They'll kill Kallian, and I'm Kallian now, honey. I love you, stay safe. Tell you father I love him. Run, just run, don’t look back, just run."

It didn't make any sense. Kallian shook her head too. "But you're not, I'm K-"

"You're Adaia. If I’m Kallian, you have to be Adaia. Run!" Her mother pushed her again, hard, making her stumble, then ran toward the gathering mob, pulling out that sword no elf should ever carry on pain of death. "I surrender!"

She ran.

What else could she do?

Chapter Text

9:30

"Adaia?” Someone shook her shoulder.

Tabris groaned and tried to roll away. The name still felt wrong, but it was all anyone had left of her, and the only way to honor her memory. Her father had started calling her Tabris, no doubt because calling his daughter the name of his dead wife was too painful, and her cousins had picked it up, but no one else. Void, they’d even used it to introduce Nelaros to her.

“You awake?" It was Nola’s voice, breathy and thick all at once. She always was an ugly crier, and Tabris didn’t need to look to know her normally pale skin was blotchy, her eyes were red and puffy, and her soft brown hair was a mess from the way she always tugged at it when she wept.

She kept her eyes closed as she pushed herself up and rubbed a tender spot on her cheek. Bruised. "I am now."

"Thank the Maker!" Nola’s hands patted Tabris all over, like she was checking to make sure she was really there as she started to babble. "Vaughan hit you so hard I thought you were dead and then they grabbed everyone and –"

"Where are we? The arl's?" Tabris cut her off. Panic wouldn't solve anything. Idiot.

Nola sniffed wetly. "They took turns. Shi-Shianni's… with him now."

Tabris grabbed the edge of a chair and climbed to her feet. When she opened her eyes, everything looked like it was underwater, down to the weird halos around the lanterns. The room tilted as she tried to take a step, and a woman she barely recognized caught her arm to stop her from dropping back to the floor. "Easy, Adaia, you've been gone for a while."

Adaia's still gone, and she's never coming back. Her knees went as wobbly as her vision. She leaned against the desk, hoping it looked like simple dizziness, and not the weight of her thoughts clanging together in her head. The Dark Wolf is gone. Adaia is gone. No one is coming to help.

"No," she hissed.

"No?" The woman looked like a confused raccoon with her tear stained wedding makeup smeared across her face. Wedding makeup. Right, she’s supposed to marry Soris. What was the name? Valora? "How hard did you hit your head?"

She forced herself to stand up straight, and ignored the blurry edges around the corners of her eyes. "Not hard enough." It was a nonsense answer, but all she had. No one is coming, so it's up to us. "We're getting out."

Valora looked around helplessly. "How? The doors are barred."

"The next one that comes in dies," she said, more confidently than she felt, then started to rummage through the desk for something, anything that could turn the tables on their captors, or at least give them the element of surprise. All she found was a tiny letter opener, duller than a spoon. It would have to do.

The door clattered open as she palmed it, cursing quietly. Three shem in full armor walked in, holding swords. "Alright, who’s next?" the one in front asked, then pointed at Valora. "I think… you." His face was obscured by the helmet, showing nothing more than beady cruel eyes, a flat nose, and a mouth twisted in contempt.

Nola, sweet droopy Nola, moved in front and spread out her arms like she was trying to shield them. "You have no right to do any of this! We're free elves, not --"

He swung once. It was all it took; her dress parted, then her flesh, leaving her a crumpled dying heap on the floor.

"You bastards!" Tabris was in motion already, charging forward to jam the letter opener into his face, then grab his sword while he was flailing. It would've worked too.

"Hi there!"

A new voice from the hall startled them both, throwing off her aim and making the guard turn ever so slightly. Her makeshift weapon hit the side of his helmet and snapped, and he backhanded her away as he turned to face Soris of all people, holding a sword and looking more out of his depth than a nug at sea.

The blow shouldn't have hurt so much, but it was right across the same cheek Vaughan had probably fractured. Dizziness and nausea sent her careening to the ground, but she held her grip on the broken letter opener, still determined to fight, even from her knees.

The guards laughed, and the one who'd killed Nola took a step forward. "Another rabbit come to play, yeah? Don't think the lord will mind, you knife-ears all look the same from the back. And what's with that sword? You gonna fight us?"

"No, I'm just, just delivering a message." He smiled nervously.

The guard cocked his head in amusement, like this not-quite-stand-off was the most fun he'd had in years. Prick. "Yeah? Who from?"

Soris met Tabris' eyes. "That Warden said, 'the Dark Wolf isn't dead. Just sleeping.'" Then he slid the blade across the floor.

Tabris caught it and took one of the guards out with a savage upswing to his thigh, and grinned ferally as the blood sprayed everywhere. Even odds, now.

"Shit, that one's the scrapper, don't let –" he broke off to look behind him as the other one turned and bolted, shoving Soris to the ground and shouting for more guards. It was all the opening she needed, and she rammed the sword into his unprotected throat.

Everything was a blur after that. She chopped and stabbed her way through the halls, shouting for Shianni, only pausing to stuff the letter opener in her pocket and wipe the blood and sweat from her palms onto her filthy soiled wedding dress. The sword was larger than her mother's, made for a human, not an elf, but well-made and well-balanced, and by the time she'd reached the last room, it felt like it belonged in her hand.

Vaughan barely gave her a glance when she kicked the door in. "Braden, Jonaley, deal with that bitch before she causes any more trouble."

They tried. Sweet Maker, they tried. But they had things to lose, and Tabris had nothing. She'd just killed a dozen shem at least, and the only way out was through. They were as well-trained than the guards, and had crisp movements and practiced jabs, but they weren't killers, just rich bullies, and Tabris knew how to fight those. Knew how to kill them, too.

The Dark Wolf isn't sleeping anymore.

She cut at their legs to make them stagger, sliced their arms to make their grip slick and clumsy. She toyed with them, wanting them as afraid as the women downstairs. It could've gone on forever for all she cared, because nothing mattered after this. Nothing but a public execution, put off only as long as the sword stayed in her hand.

Mamae, I'll see you soon.

They were falling now, made of bloody ribbons and wet sighs, and all that was left was Vaughan, holding a knife to Shianni's throat with one hand and covering her mouth with the other. Once, the alienage girls had called him handsome, with his ruddy blond hair, always so tidy, his high cheekbones, his finely embroidered jackets, and his perfectly manicured hands that never missed a washing. They weren't clean now. They were scraped and bruised, and one finger jutted out at a funny angle. Shianni must’ve fought back.

"Let's… let's be reasonable about this," he said, and his voice was as arrogant as ever. "If you kill me, the alienage pays."

"We already did pay," she spat, but lowered her sword.

"What are you doing?" Soris demanded from the doorway. Tabris glanced over her shoulder in surprise; she'd forgotten him entirely. A guard's sword was in his hand, just as red as her own. Maybe there are two Dark Wolves in the family. "He killed Nola, you can't just –"

Vaughan laughed. "I didn't kill anyone. You vermin barged into my house, assaulted my men, and for what? Because you can't appreciate your betters' attention." The hand on Shianni's face tightened and the knife pressed harder against her skin. "Now, let's talk."

She threw the sword down. "Talk."

He didn't let Shianni go, but he did let up the pressure on the knife. Small victories. "Fifty sovereigns, and we can sweep all of this under the carpet."

"Fuck you and your money."

He chuckled. "Oh no, you're paying me. For forgetting how any of this happened. Or what you look like."

She didn't have that kind of money. The whole alienage combined didn't have that much coin just laying around. "Let her go first."

"And let you run me through? I think not." He waved at her dismissively with the knife hand. "You lost, little rabbit. Pay up, or simply -"

Shianni bit him. He shoved her away on instinct, and Tabris lunged forward to catch her before she fell, then pushed her back, behind her, toward Soris.

Vaughan shook his hand and glared. "I'm still armed," he warned. "And you're not."

"Don't care." To Soris, she added, "Get her out of here." Then she took a step forward and fished around in her pocket for the broken letter opener. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

He raised the knife. It was small and sharp, and it certainly could kill, but she didn't care. If he didn't stab her in the throat, she could still make this count. She could still make him pay.

Vaughan side-stepped and struck low, so obviously trying to hold her off so he could get around her and make a break for the door that she almost laughed. Instead of dodging away, Tabris dove in, taking the hit. Pain sang through her nerves as the blade plunged into her stomach, but all that mattered was the tiny half of a letter opener between her fingers. She pressed herself close, too close for him to yank his blade out and try again, then jabbed her laughably tiny weapon right into his eye.

It didn't kill him right away. The damn thing was too small to reach his brain, but it was enough to turn him into a howling mess, grabbing at his ruined face and shrinking back. She kicked his knee sideways as she yanked the knife from her belly, and that made the wound hurt a hundred times worse, but it was the only way to be sure. They fell together in a macabre lover's embrace as she slid the blade up his chest then hard and fast across his throat.

He convulsed once as blood sprayed up, staining her vision red, then went still. Her head was suddenly too heavy, and she let it fall to his chest, listening to his heartbeat stutter, then slow, then finally stop.

"You, you killed him." Soris sounded awestruck.

"You were supposed to get out," she mumbled.

A hand touched her shoulder, and she flinched. "Hey, it's still just me. Shianni's with Valora and the others, but I couldn't just leave you."

Tabris tried to pull away. "Get out, Soris." Was it her blood or Vaughan’s smeared across her arm? "They won't care who they hang." Those were her mother's words.

"Then they'll hang us both." Soris wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her up. "Or maybe we'll get out." He gave her a lopsided smile. "Won't know unless we try. You never gave up before and you're not going to do it now."

It wasn’t worth arguing, and the irony of that thought made her snort as she leaned against him and covered the wound with a hand. That wasn’t worth arguing either. It also wasn’t as subtle as she’d hoped.

“He stabbed you?” Soris exclaimed.

She rolled her eyes. “He was trying to kill me. Stabbing is part of that.”

He propped her against the door frame and used his sword to cut a wad of velvet from the curtained canopy of the bed. “No, I’m more - Tabris, I’m surprised he succeeded.”

The fabric made Tabris hiss as Soris pressed it to her side. “Let him. Needed the knife.”

“That’s… one way to disarm someone, I guess.” He moved her hand to cover the velvet. “Keep the pressure up.”

“Like you know what the void to do about stab wounds,” she complained even as she did as he said.

Their progress back through the estate was slow, and had far more turns and hallways than she remembered, but the trail of blood and bodies was proof that they were backtracking in the right direction. Had they really killed all these people?

She tripped in the dining room and slammed her shoulder into one of the benches as she fell, then found herself staring at Nelaros’ sightless eyes on the floor next to her. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

“He came with me,” Soris said. His words were slow and worried. “You… we already found him on the way in. You took his wedding ring – well, yours. You don’t remember?”

It was just like he said: a thin band of painstakingly woven together wires was in her pocket. She tucked it away and pushed herself back up. Now that Soris mentioned it, some of the fog in her mind lifted. She’d dropped her sword as she’d knelt down next to the body, and had seen the ring on his finger. She'd pulled hers off to switch them out, just like they should’ve at their aborted wedding, but the band was too thick and made her grip on the sword feel unsteady, so she’d taken it off in the next room.

Tabris shook her head. “I just – he’d just met me. Why would he –” a sob tried to claw its way out, but she snapped her mouth shut just in time. He didn’t know me, he didn’t have to die for this.

“Nola,” Soris answered softly. “She was his cousin.”

That was too much to think about. She pushed herself back up and shuffled toward the kitchen door. “We need to go.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” He looped his arm under her again to help her pick up the pace.

It didn’t matter.

City guards were outside. Two dozen of them, at least, half with crossbows. A human with a white beard poking messily around his chinstrap stepped forward. “By order of the arl, you’re under arrest.”

“We su –”

Tabris pushed past Soris. “I killed Vaughan Kendelis,” she announced defiantly. “After he kidnapped me, not that you give a shit.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “He just came looking for me. Had nothing to do with any of this.”

“Tabris, what are you –”

She stepped on his foot and glared at the captain, or whatever he was. “Well?

He blinked a few times and shrugged. “You’re assuming full responsibility for everything we find in there?”

“What are you going to do? Kill me twice?” she snarled, and reached for the sword again. “Fucking get on with it, or I’ll make –”

“Captain, might I have a moment? Before any further bloodshed today?”

It was the Grey Warden who’d come to the wedding – Duncan. She’d spoken to him briefly, then ignored him. Shem weren’t welcome in the alienage as a rule, but if Elder Valendrian invited him and called him friend, that was the end of that. And supposedly he’d given Soris the sword hanging at her belt right now.

The guard nodded tightly, hand on his own hilt as his eyes stayed glued to Tabris’ face. “The Commander of the Grey is always welcome to a moment.”

Duncan walked into the middle of the stand off, then put a hand on her shoulder. She forced herself to stay still, to let a fucking shem touch her; the slightest twitch might be all the provocation they needed to fire those crossbows, and there was no way she could shield Soris from them all. Something flickered in Duncan’s eyes as he glanced at the bloodstained wad of cloth still pressed to her middle, then he turned to face the captain.

“I’m invoking the Right of Conscription. Kallian Tabris –” she winced “– is in my custody and under my protection.”

What? She heard Soris’ gasp distantly, like it was happening miles away and not a handbreadth behind her. Just hearing her own name, the real one, for the first time in two years was enough to knock the breath out of her, but… Conscription? Did it mean what it sounded like? Would it keep her alive? Why the void did he care enough to do all this for an elf, and a killer to boot?

The Captain licked his lips nervously, but waved at his mean to lower the crossbows. “Ser, with all due respect, you can’t –”

“I can, and I have.” Duncan sounded amused, but his voice was edged with steel. “Do you intend to prevent it?”

He glanced around, as if he was hoping for more reinforcements, then sighed. “Get her out of the city by nightfall.”

Duncan’s gauntlet tightened on her shoulder. “You have my word. Now, we have business to attend to, and I’m certain you do as well.” With that, he simply started walking forward, with Tabris and Soris in tow. The guards parted in a wave of resentful clanks, and one spat at the ground as they passed.

Once they were out of sight, Duncan stopped to pull a strange-smelling folded cloth and a small vial from a pouch. “Soris, was it? Can you help Kallian pull up her gown?” He chuckled sympathetically. “What’s left, that is.”

“I can do just fine on my own,” she snapped, then tugged it up to prove it, exposing too much leg and more bruises than she could count.

“Stubborn as your mother, I see.” His smile was gentle and sad as he pressed a greasy patch to her skin that started warm before going cold. The pain in her side began to fade, then he handed her the vial. “Drink up.”

The Dark Wolf isn’t dead, just sleeping.

She curled her fingers around the bottle. It was the same color as the one her mother had given her eight years ago. “You were there,” she whispered. “When I had the – when I was sick. You tried to make her a Warden. You were the favor.”

He nodded.

“And now you’ve got me.” She drained the vial, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “What happens now?” What happens to the alienage?

“Say your farewells and pack your belongings. Then we travel to Ostagar.”

She glanced at Soris.

He read the question in her eyes and shrugged. “I can’t exactly stop you.”

Tabris shrugged. It wasn't fair to her father, but if she stopped moving, she'd never start again. “Tell him I'm sorry.” She looked up at Duncan. “Let's go.”