Spellbound

23. The Magister

Dorian left his room in the late evening. With a cup of tea in his hands and a book in his lap, he sat at the fireplace, but Lavellan could tell he was staring through the pages rather than at them, even from a distance.

Most servants had called it a day early and retreated into the lower floors for their private business. Fenris had gone with them, but Lavellan lingered when he spotted the mage in the corner. Dorian seldom sat there alone, especially at this time of the day.

On quiet soles, Lavellan snuck up on him, but nothing escaped Dorian's attention. Ahead of time, he picked up the second book by his side and tucked it under his leg to make room on the cushioned bench. Lavellan sat next to him, eyes searching the snake that accompanied Dorian everywhere. It was nowhere in sight, not even peeking out under his clothes.

"No protection from Bull today?" Lavellan asked. He studied Dorian's profile as the mage pretended to focus on the book; the bump of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw, and the dark lashes fanning over flickering eyes. He wore a complicated half-cape today whose inside was patterned in black snakes on a golden ground. The gold of its lines matched his earrings, and the bracelets wrapped around his biceps. On the outside, it was black and belted to his waist.

"I didn't want him to escalate things," Dorian said, voice quiet. His fingers turned a page and ran down the length of the next one as if he soaked up the feeling of the words before challenging their meaning.

"Danarius will come soon." The ominous prediction in his tone chased an icy shiver down Lavellan's spine. He crossed his legs, one arm propped on the back of the bench.

"Is there reason to worry?"

"Not if he accepts cordial conversation."

"If he doesn't?"

Dorian sighed, his eyes staring into the fire warming their feet unseeingly.

"That might happen if I don't hand over Fenris. Then we will be the target of a magister's rage. My father will have my head for this. 'I knew you would bring dishonour upon this house, Dorian.'" He chuckled to himself despite the sinister words.

"Where am I in all this? Any way I can help you?"

"Truthfully, I am tempted to tie you to my bed."

Lavellan spluttered and cast a quick glance through the room in case somebody heard that. When he nudged Dorian's elbow with a hiss, the mage threw him a playful look.

"If he sees you, he might demand you to join him instead of Fenris. He used Fenris as a vessel for magical resources, and you Dalish are even more inclined to ancient energies that offer immeasurable power. I wouldn't want you in the hands of my enemy."

Lavellan's heart did a leap and then clenched in his chest painfully. He was reminded that Dorian could have done far worse than he did as a slave owner, so Lavellan should be relieved for the protection. Why was he in pain? Had Dorian ignited foolish hope in his chest only to shatter it? Waste of time.

"I won't let him leave with either of you and that's what might cost me my lovely head. I can only hope he recognises what beauty he would waste if he kills me. Preferably before he finishes the final strike."

When Dorian turned to Lavellan, his voice sank and lost its light-hearted humour.

"Don't frown like that. You'll make me think you'd miss me."

Lavellan hadn't even noticed he had frowned. His mind stuttered, unsure whether he should share his anxiety with the mage or whether a joke would ease their strain. Ultimately, his eyes lowered.

"Which you certainly shouldn't do. Given I enslaved you and locked you up." Understanding filled Dorian's statement. It came with a tender touch to Lavellan's cheek as his fingers caressed his skin. Idly, they repainted his vallaslin.