Denerim Confidential

Chapter 18

Figuring out how to explain why she wanted to go to the bar where Zevran had met Jowan took some work. Juliet would obviously have to fill Naia and Varric in on the full story. She also thought she could trust Alistair with the bar's true nature—he had obviously left the Templars because he could tell that the Circle system was bullshit.

But then there was Fenris. As much as she respected him, as much as she understood why he mistrusted magic and those who used it, she could not bring herself to tell him the location of an apostate bar. She knew what would happen—the next time he encountered a case involving apostates, he would be there asking questions or staking it out, and before you knew it a mage lifeline would be gone.

She turned several possible phrasings over in her head as they walked back to Tabris Investigations. Finally, she settled on one that she thought would work, but she waited until they were all halfway through their sandwiches—except for Alistair, who had wolfed his down in several large bites and finished well ahead of anyone else—before bringing it up.

"You know, Jowan might be a regular at that bar where he met Zevran. What if Naia and I stake it out?" she suggested.

I'm not lying, she told herself. I'm omitting select facts.

Quoting an assassin is probably a bad sign, isn't it.

"He'd have to be pretty clueless to invite an assassin to a bar where people know him," Varric pointed out.

"You would be surprised," Zevran said. "It is not so unusual. Those who have no experience with a guild like the Crows tend to meet on familiar ground, places where they feel safe."

"Do you think you could lead us back to the bar if we took you to the neighborhood?" Naia asked him.

"It is certainly possible, though I would not like to make any promises," Zevran said nonchalantly. He slid a few pickles from his sandwich, an expression of distaste on his face. Juliet had to admire the effortless way he lied, even as it put her teeth on edge.

"I'm for it. We don't have many other leads at this point." Naia crunched down on a potato chip, swallowed, and continued. "We've got a lot of clues, but they all point in weird directions. You'd think that Alistair being a secret millionaire—"

"That's a bit of an exaggeration," Alistair protested mildly.

"—would be the obvious motive. But everything else we've found points to Circle mages being involved." Naia's mouth twisted in thought.

"Everything except Mr. Guerrin's record at the Circle," Fenris said. "Your former colleagues did not seem to think you would have attracted murderous grudges."

"Really? Huh. Well, that's pretty much the nicest thing a Templar's ever said about me," Alistair cracked.

"Max Trevelyan said you were skilled with the Templar arts." Fenris arched an eyebrow at him. "I do not understand the source of your contempt for the Order. You could have done good work there."

Alistair sighed. "Trust me, I did everyone a favor by walking out. The Templar skills stuff was just a freak accident. I certainly didn't work at it."

A little spark of an idea began growing in the back of Juliet's mind.

According to her father, one of the Circle's stranger secrets was that many Templars were related to mages. Most people who noticed the pattern concluded that mages' siblings and cousins joined the Order out of a sense of duty. But Malcolm Hawke suspected that the Templar arts were not entirely unrelated to magic—that they were used most effectively by people with a certain sensitivity to mana, a sensitivity that tended to run in families.