Sisters of Tevinter

Face the Music

    Jor slipped through the crowd to stand beside the Nightingale, whose eyes glittered with approval. "Inquisitor." 

    "Sister Leliana." Jor beamed. "You've been apprised?" 

    "Yes. Soldiers have been dispatched to the yard. Our commander attempted to escape amongst them." 

    Jor laughed. "We need him here." 

     "Which is why he is there." Leliana gestured to where the commander leaned desolately against the rail a little to their left, where Max stood at attention beside him, deflecting personal questions from the court with a serene smile. 

     "You sicced my brother on him?" Jor pressed a knuckle to her teeth, suppressing a burst of laughter. 

     "They make very enticing bait." 

     The Inquisitor stifled a snort. "I have to slip out again. Everything alright here?"

     "Yes. Where will you go?" 

     "I've been advised that Gaspard let mercenaries enter the castle. His own personal force. I'm heading to the gardens after I investigate the servant's quarters. Tell me, do you know of someone named Briala?" 

    "I've heard the name." The Nightingale absently observed the crowd. "I've heard she wishes to speak to you." 

    "She'll have to find me then." 

     "Unnecessary. She is near the servant's quarters now." 

     "Well what a happy coincidence." Jor tugged at her gloves. "If you could tell Varric and Bull I need them in the garden?" 

      "Of course, Inquisitor."

     "Solas too-- if that's not too much trouble and he hasn't melted into the wallpaper." 

     The Nightingale gave an airy laugh. "Yes, Inquisitor." 

      Jor carefully slipped out the double doors and into the hall-- past two shadows pressed against the pillars. A flicker of flame danced briefly across the features of golden stubble and an ebony blindfold. Jor blushed, grinning as she passed Max's men and left them in peace. 

    She found the closet once more, slinging her belt around her hips and slipping back into her jacket to pad along the darkened marble hall. Armored and silent, she kept to the shadows. Eventually, she came to a small wooden door that lead down a flight of stairs to another portal, this one was locked. The servant's quarters. Jor pulled the key Morrigan had given her from her belt, pondering.

    "I would not go in there if I were you." 

    Jor whipped around, shocked to find another face inches from hers. Shrouded by an elegant satin mask inlaid with the visage of green and golden vines, the elf woman's expression was unreadable. Her simple jacket and white cravat was indistinct but lovely, her auburn hair drawn back in short curls. She had snuck up on Jor easily. If she had wanted, she could have speared the Inquisitor through the spine and the scholar never would have known what killed her. 

   Jor swallowed thickly and gave a weak smile. "You caught me." 

   "Easily." 

   The Inquisitor laughed softly. "Forgive my curiosity. You must be Briala."

    "I am." The elf woman scowled. Despite lacking a few inches on Jor's height, she carried a frigid air of scouring judgement that made the scholar feel rather small. She could see how she could get along with an empress.