Reth squinted.
"Maybe."
The magician leaned over a sleeping lord, took off their gold chain, bit it to determine if it was real gold, then grinned and stuffed it into pocket.
Seris clung to Reth’s sleeve harder, eyes wide as, Are you seeing this?!
Reth nodded once, irritated. "Guess we found our guy."
Silently, he began to walk towards him. The old man continued muttering something about "proper compensation" while he rummaged through a noblewoman’s pouch.
Seris lagged back, shaken still but keeping an eye on the back of Reth.
The mage crouched lower, bony back sticking out as he removed a bracelet from an unconscious wrist. "Ah—there we go. Well-made. Too bad to leave it behind..."
Reth moved up behind him—then kicked him firmly in the back.
Thwump.
"WAAAH—!" The old man came crashing face-first onto the marble, satchel flying open in a glittering mess of coins, baubles, and. a roast chicken drumstick.
Seris froze, blinked.
".That was your idea?"
Reth shrugged. "Worked."
The mage snarled, hat over his eyes. "What theee hell—?! Who does that?!" He stood up, dusting off his robe, more angry than hurt.
Reth spoke bluntly, "are you finished looting?".
Seris looked at the bent drumstick that lay beside her boot. "Were you pilfering food as well?"
The mage sniffed, tugging his hat back into place. "You have to keep your energies up after battling. Survival."
Reth stepped closer, night falling over him. "It’s robbery."
The old man looked at them, then at the lost treasure, and sighed. "Tough crowd."
Seris took several strides ahead of Reth. "You’re acting as though we caught you elbow-deep in someone’s handbag."
"I was seeking valuables," he explained, blowing out smoke. "To be restored to their owners."
"Uh-huh." Her voice was low and husky. "You responsible for all this? The guests who’re unconscious? The spell that made us fight one another?"
He stood, shoulders braced. "Me? Me?!" He pointed at himself, mouth agape in mock horror. "I haven’t used illusion magic since... uh, last week. But this time?" He whapped himself on the chest.
"Guilty as sin."
Seris folded her arms. "Right. And I’m a noble princess."
"Don’t sneer at the oppressed!" he scoffed, whirling around and pointing out across the room.
"There! That’s your miscreant!"
They glanced. In the darkness, there was a little heap of black ash on the marble. There was a smoky burnt scent.
The mage nodded gravely, voice low. "That was the real illusion-guy. Deceased. Reduced to ashes by my. heroic efforts." A pause, letting it hang, before he continued, "You’re welcome."
Reth gazed at the ash, then at the old man, then at the drumstick lodged in his boot. ".Uh-huh." Seris’s lips quivered, as if she were on the verge of a smile.
"Heroic interference? Pickpocketing, now? The old man clutched his satchel as if she had disparaged his relatives. "Some people do not know how to thank a person for something."
Seris scowled. "Who even are you?"
The old man stopped, then set his chin. "A scholar. A veteran. A man of—"
She clicked her fingers. "Wait. I know you."
His smile trembled. "Many do. Fame is difficult."
"Not fame," she said. "Trouble. You’re that street wizard out of Capital—the one expelled for selling ’magic’ potatoes."
Reth looked at her. "Magic potatoes?"
"They exploded when you boiled them," Seris said.
The old man spread his hands. "A minor error. Also innovative."
Seris folded her arms. "Your name’s Varric Solthane. Self-taught Mage. Occasionally a thief. Twice accused of arson. expelled from three towns."
Varric clicked his tongue. "Accused of arson. And the expulsions were... special cases."
Reth glared at him. "Special cases?"
"Yes. The case being—folks didn’t appreciate my brilliance."
Seris narrowed her eyes. "So what is your business in Redhill?"
Varric shrugged. "Passing through."
"Passing through," she said, deadpan. "While stealing unconscious nobles in the center of a destroyed ballroom."
He gestured. "They won’t even notice it missing. Half of them have vaults full of nicer things."
"That’s not an answer."
Varric let out a sigh like a man who had been forced to elucidate the blindingly self-evident. "Heard there was work. Magic work. Well paid. Showed up, and—" he waved a hand about at the wreckage "—well. You can see how that went."
Varric scratched at his beard, coins still clinking faintly in his satchel. "Alright, clever folk—riddle me this. If I was here to steal, why put half the damn ballroom under?"
Reth’s brow furrowed. "Because unconscious guests don’t scream."
"Mm, yes, true. But..." Varric wagged a finger, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin. "They also don’t notice what’s being taken."
Seris tilted her head. "You just described robbery again."
Varric threw his hands up. "And yet! If robbery was the goal, why the mass spell at all? More dangerous, more flashy. Someone wanted everyone here neutralized—all at once."
Reth studied him, stone-faced. "You’re deflecting."
"Am I?" Varric leaned back against a toppled chair, voice suddenly sharper. "Ask yourselves. What would warrant putting an entire hall of Redhill’s lords and ladies into a dreamless nap? Theft? Or something nastier?"
Seris’s lips pressed thin. Her eyes darted once to the black ash on the marble.
Reth spoke low. "Assassination."
"Ahhh..." Varric tapped his nose. "Now you’re thinking like a magician."
Seris stepped forward, her voice calm but tight. "Then who was the target?"
Asthia/Elenya Pov
Elenya’s boots tapped quietly on the stone floor as she and Asthia hurried toward the watchtower.
Asthia walked ahead, golden sword at her back, the blade faintly humming as if it wanted more fighting. Her face was calm, but Elenya noticed the tightness in her jaw.
"Still thinking about the sword?" Elenya asked softly.
Asthia didn’t look at her. "It’s just a tool."
Elenya gave a short laugh. "A tool that glows like the sun and cuts steel in half. Sure. And I’m a scribe."
Asthia gave her a brief sideways glance, then looked ahead again. "You’re talking a lot."
"I’m filling the silence," Elenya said, eyes scanning the shadows. "Feels too quiet."
The corridor ended at a spiral staircase, its stone steps damp and worn smooth. The air up there smelled faintly of smoke and metal.
Elenya slowed. "There’s magic on the stairs. Fresh. Someone’s been through here."
Asthia’s hand went to her sword. "How fresh?"
"Minutes," Elenya said. "Maybe less."
A faint creak came from above, followed by the slow scrape of something heavy being dragged. The torchlight ahead flickered once and died, leaving only the warm glow of Asthia’s blade.
They froze. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ N0veI.Fiɾe.net
The sound came again—closer this time. A dragging, wet and uneven, like something heavy and alive.
Elenya’s breath hitched. "That’s not footsteps."