I Am Yours

Chapter 14

As soon as he was certain the new King was out of earshot, Zevran slammed his fist down on the table as hard as he could. His ale spilled and his hand stung, but it did make him feel a bit better. He drew a shuddering breath and sat down at the table, staring at his half-eaten midnight feast. Hunger still gnawed at him, reminding him of the bargain that had brought him to this place.

When he heard the knock at his door that night at Redcliffe, he expected it would be Naia, though he was unsure if that pleased him or not. Almost every waking moment since Taliesin's reappearance had been consumed with trying to puzzle out his feelings for the Warden, and wondering what she might feel for him in return. He had assumed that their affair meant little to her until she asked if the earring was a token of affection. Taken by surprise, he had lacked the courage to admit the truth, and he knew she'd been confused by his refusal to join her in her room in Denerim after accepting the offer happily dozens of times in the camp. He had no idea what he'd say to her to explain his odd behavior—

—but his mental agony proved unnecessary. The person at the door was Morrigan.

"What, no proper greeting?" the sorceress purred.

"I am merely surprised, my dear. Please do come in."

Morrigan smiled invitingly as she entered Zevran's room. All of the hair on the back of his neck stood up. "I have a proposition for you, Zevran—one I suspect you'll find appealing, unless all that talk of seducing me was a tease."

"Oh, come now, lovely Morrigan. I know you well enough to realize this must be some sort of dark ritual," he joked. "I do not wish to wake up a frog tomorrow, not when a Darkspawn army awaits."

Quick as a summer storm, Morrigan's expression turned from a smile to an ugly snarl. "You little wretch. You were listening."

"Listening? Listening to what? My dear, I assure you that all I have done tonight is sit in my chamber and sharpen my blades. And no, that was not a euphemism. You don't mean to tell me that you really are proposing some sort of dark ritual. Not that I don't find the possibility intriguing, but—"

"Do you know how an archdemon is killed?"

"Much the same as any other creature, I would imagine," Zevran replied casually. "Cut off its head, stab it through the heart, feed it some poison— though you'd need quite a lot of poison to kill something so large, it is hardly a practical approach in this situation."

Morrigan sighed in disgust. "Does your prattle never cease, assassin? What I have to tell you is important."

"For you, or for me?"

"I suppose it depends. Do you care if Naia survives tomorrow's battle?"

Zevran suddenly felt very cold. Morrigan continued. "I think you care a great deal. And if you don't do what I propose she will almost certainly die."

He turned away from the sorceress to hide his expression. If there had been any doubt about his feelings for the Warden, the thought of her dead certainly offered some clarity. He felt as though he might faint, or throw up.

Morrigan interrupted his silence. "Or perhaps I'm mistaken. Indeed, I must be. How foolish I was. I see it all now. Well-played, assassin. 'Twas most expedient of you to put yourself in the good graces of the one who chose whether you lived or died. But a man of your experience would never develop a real attachment—certainly not for a naive little elf-girl from some filthy Ferelden alienage. It must have been amusing to seduce her, though I expect that bedding her proved rather dull in the end."