I Am Yours

Chapter 9

As Shianni had predicted, the Tevinter "healers" shuttled Naia and Zevran into the quarantine with barely an inquiry about their supposed symptoms. Arnas glared daggers and made a bitter comment about waiting every day for a week for treatment. Naia simply dipped her head and hoped he would not recognize her and give the game away.

The soldier inside the makeshift clinic had a predatory gleam in his eyes as he took them in. But his face paled when he got a good look at Naia's face.

"Fasta vass, you idiots! Haven't you seen the posters? That's the Grey Ward-"

He did not finish his sentence before Zevran's blade found his throat.

When the guards were dispatched, Zev moved to unlock the alley door as Naia began searching the desk. She found stacks of ledgers filled with numbers and dates she could not make out in a hurry. Maybe if I bring this to Shianni—

But then her fingers found a loose page. A letter, dated only a few days ago.

Bring eight males and six females for the next shipment.

"Oh look, more people who wanted to kill us," Alistair said wryly as he stepped inside, glancing down at the slain soldiers. "Sorry I didn't get to meet them."

Naia normally would have laughed, but she could only muster a faint smile. Alistair's own good humor faded when he saw her face.

"What did you find?" Zevran asked, stepping to her side.

Naia swallowed hard as she passed him the letter. "They're slavers."

*

The slavers had left a trail of loss through the alienage. Apartments and homes were empty, their furniture upturned and broken. A terrified man in one of the tenements told them that the Tevinters brought through a parade of prisoners every few days, including children. He then refused to tell them more, fearing that he too would be taken.

"Coward," Zevran spat as they walked away from him.

Naia felt sorry for the man. But she didn't disagree with Zev.

In the short months since they had arrived in the alienage, the slavers had built a horrifyingly intricate shipping route that enabled them to take their prisoners out of Denerim unseen. But not even the Tevinters could equal the knowledge Naia had gained over a lifetime of exploring in the alienage, of mentally mapping every boltholes and alleys and place to hide that she could find. The group struck hard and fast, from places the slavers did not expect, breaking the operation apart piece by piece as the afternoon went on.

Every room cleared, every potential slave freed, made Naia a little more frightened.

Where is my father?

The winding path finally took them to a warehouse, one of the more valuable buildings in the alienage--it backed onto the Drakon river, and in good times was the source of shipping jobs for the elves. Naia's limbs felt cold and numb as she pushed open the building's door. If more were to be rescued, they would have to be in here.

This may be my last chance to find him.

Slowly, warily, she stepped onto a landing overlooking a wide, empty floor. A cluster of Tevinter soldiers and mages looked up at her, their eyes cold.

At the left and right sides of the room stood cages filled with elves.

Naia's chest grew heavy with panic as she looked through them, looking for the familiar grey hair, that funny old-fashioned braid behind the ear.

Then motion from the lefthand cage caught her eye.

Cyrion Tabris stepped to the bars of the cage, his face white as he stared up at her. He looked like a man who was seeing his fondest wish and his worst fear realized in the same moment.