"... in custody. The first hearing has been set for late next month, and my Government will be seeking the maximum punishment permissible under the Treason Act. Death by beheading."

Leaning back in her chair, Bethany tapped her pen against the notes on her desk, trying to stifle a yawn. "I'd be happy to testify, if necessary. What if Gaspard pardons her, though? She is his sister."

She could virtually hear Briala grind her teeth on the other end. "He won't, if he knows what's good for him. I will see that bitch's head under the guillotine, and if he tries to stand in my way, I will end his reign before it's even begun."

Bethany shivered, and not because of the nightly mountain chill coming in through the open balcony door. She had absolutely no difficulty believing her, not after seeing the tranquil fury the elf had settled into by the time Celene's body had gone cold in her arms. "I understand, prime minister. You have the Inquisition's full support, of course. If there's anything we can do to help ..."

"Thank you," Briala cut her off, "but that won't be necessary. Celene's ... the succession has bought the empire time to recover and settle its internal differences at the negotiating table before the war flares up again. If you want to help, focus on fighting Corypheus."

She nodded slightly to herself. "Has Florianne revealed anything about her backers, then? Our double agent doesn't seem to know anything."

"I'm afraid not. She has been ... cooperative, but seems to have no inkling of her backers' identity. Phone records go nowhere. We've traced several payments made through a number of intermediaries to a bank in Seheron used by several international organised crime syndicates, and they claim to delete all data within 24 hours. We've got our intelligence services on it, but I suspect the trail has gone cold for now. Still, Corypheus is a likely suspect, among several other state and non-state actors."

Bethany didn't pry at what actors those might be—Leliana had presented her own, exhaustive list, but everyone agreed that Corypheus was the most likely suspect. The information recovered from Samson's hideout in Dumas-sur-Roche was still undergoing analysis, but Leliana had briefed that Samson and his cell had focused on coordinating the efforts of smaller groups of rebel mages and red templars, and had most likely been independent and separate from the Venatori cells with more political purposes. How deep the conspiracy went, no one could tell. "I see." She made a quick note of that. "What about Gaspard? What are his plans?"

"He's a hard man to read. Asking me to form a national unity government was a smart move—you've met him, you know he's not as brutish as he looks. Still, I expect him to try and sideline me pretty quickly. I don't propose to let him, but ... he's not like Celene. She listened, to everyone, and was usually more than willing to work with you on the issues. Gaspard keeps his own council. Still—he wants my votes, he'll have to go through me."

"Sounds like he's bitten off more than he can chew in making you prime minister."

"You know it."

There was a pause as Bethany weighed her next words. "This must be difficult for you," she said softly. "You've not really had an opportunity to ... to rest since it happened. How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," the prime minister snapped. "I'm just fine. I'll ..." She paused and sighed. "It's strange. A week ago, I would have toasted this development with crémant. Now ... now I just wish I could turn back time." When she next spoke, her voice was cool and steady. "I shan't keep you any longer, Inquisitor. The state funeral is set for Thursday, I hope to see your ambassador then. Good day."

"Thank you for calling," she murmured, but Briala had already hung up. For a moment, Bethany stared at the phone in her hand before putting it aside. Less than 40 hours ago now, the leader of the free world had been assassinated by her own cousin, and the trail—it appeared—had all but gone cold. In her MCIS days, a case that had not produced a concrete lead within twenty-four hours had usually remained unsolved, though she realised that this particular investigation would continue for months, if not years, and involve thousands of people across the empire's clandestine services.

In the meantime, the Inquisition would have to adjust to the new political realities in Orlais: a new emperor who, while not necessarily unsympathetic, would not feel bound by his predecessor's foreign policy, a deliberately weak government that might take weeks if not months to form, and a heavy focus on implementing the policy wish lists of the Chalonais faction. Worse than that, there could be no hope of getting the funding the Inquisition needed to expand from Orlais beyond such moneys as had already been made available in the aftermath of Haven. Josephine, who had staked much political capital on financial support from the Orlesian government, had now floated an international round of backers including Ferelden, Nevarra and the Accord, but that, too, would take time to materialise, even if it could never match Orlesian support.

With a sigh, Bethany leaned back in her leather-padded chair and massaged her brows. Blessed Lady, what had she gotten herself into? Knowing that the Maker had a plan for her was one thing; actually translating that into leading a multinational organisation that seemed to be doubling in scope whenever she wasn't looking was quite another matter.

She reached for her mobile phone to check the time—4:23 in the morning and, oh, a new message from Calpernia. She opened it immediately, at once starting to feel warm inside. Haven't had a chance to talk yet, it read, say whenever you have time. xoxo.

The message was dated less than ten minutes ago. Clearly, she wasn't the only one losing sleep. Would love to. How's now?

Moments later, before she had even put it down, her phone rang. "Hey. Good morning."

"Good morning to you too, Bethany. You're up early."

She groaned. "Late, more like. We only landed back at Skyhold a couple hours ago. Feel like I haven't slept in days."

"I know the feeling. How are you holding up, though? We haven't had a chance to talk." Since the Winter Palace.

Bethany leaned back and closed her eyes. "I'm okay," she said, repeating it more for her own benefit than Calpernia's. "I'm okay. It's Briala I'm concerned about. Just got off the phone with her."

"I heard. Having your lover die in your arms, then immediately being thrust into the spotlight—I can't imagine. You were by her side, too, though, I believe. It can't have been easy to witness."

The truth was, of course, that she'd seen far worse in her time. For all the chaos it had caused, Celene's death had been swift and relatively clean, and Florianne had offered no resistance when arrested. That did not erase her own part in this, though. "What gets to me is how the Inquisition played into this whole mess. Florianne may have pulled the trigger, but it seems she was only the backup for a double agent within our ranks. We should've seen that coming."

"You can't blame yourself for that. You've raised an army of volunteers in mere months, there were bound to be some moles among them. What's important is the outcome: Orlais is at peace. For now, anyway."

She frowned. "You think the civil war will flare up again, then? Briala hinted at that, too."

"You've met Gaspard. From where I'm standing ... well. He concerns my generals, and he concerns me. His foreign policy, his style of politics ... you should read the editorials in our papers up here. Maker knows I don't often agree with the commentariat, but their handwringing about Gaspard being the greatest threat to the balance of power in Thedas since Parminius Areolani isn't misplaced."

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't know Tevinter felt so strongly about him." She tried to recall the things Gaspard had said to her—he had warned her against trusting Calpernia, that much she remembered. "In fact, I think the feeling is mutual."

"I'm pleased to hear it. I know it's none of my business, of course, but I'd strongly advise you against hitching your wagon too closely to Gaspard's agenda. He's not your ally, no matter what he pretends. If the Inquisition stands for peace and order, you're in his way."

Leaning back in her chair, she massaged her brows. "That's the rub, though, isn't it? The Inquisition needs a strong alliance with the empire. I've already managed to alienate Ferelden. Even leaving aside the legal stuff, we need money. Josie—that's Lady Montilyet, you may have met briefly—wants to set up an international round of donors, but I don't think it's gonna be nearly enough."

There was a contemplative pause. "How much money are we talking about here?"

Bethany sat up straight to reach for some documents she'd pushed off towards the corner of her desk. "Uh, one sec. Our ... running ... there. Our running operational costs are 254 million Orlesian royals a month. About a quarter of that is covered by Chantry funds and donations. Our agreement with Ferelden used to cover another 200 million per month, but it runs out at the end of the month. They're not keen on footing the bill for us now that most of the country is back under government control, especially after what happened at Haven." She sighed. "Honestly, all of this is way beyond me. I just hope Josephine finds some way of paying our bills and keeping our people in the field supplied past this month."

"You know, we'll be spending just over 4.1 trillion drachmae on defence during Fiscal 2035. That's ... what, about 70 billion royals? 200 million a month is pocket change. Have your seneschal phone me later and we'll see that you stay in business."

For a long moment, Bethany sat gaping, not quite sure if she'd heard that right. "You can't be serious," she finally gasped, remembering to speak. "Just like ... you'd ... but why? We're not even active in Tevinter."

The Archon laughed—a husky, warm sound that heated the core of her body. "Consider it an investment in Thedosian security and stability. No one benefits from the Veil unravelling all across the south. Besides ..." Calpernia chuckled. "I like you, Bethany Hawke, and I want to see you leave your mark upon the world. I want to see your glory eclipsing the sun, you know? And if that means giving a friend a hand, so be it."

Once again, Bethany found herself flustered and at a loss for words. "I ... thank you," she finally managed. "That is ... very generous of you. We're so very indebted to you—if there's anything we can do to repay you ..."

"Oh, I got a couple of ideas about that ..." There was no mistaking the Archon's tone, and once more her cheeks caught fire.

"Y-you keep saying things like that," she said, resisting the temptation to order an early-morning flight to Minrathous. "I hope you realise what you're doing to me there."

"Hmm. Do you want me to stop?"

She tried to give her voice a playful note, which was difficult given the state she was in. "Not ... not necessarily."

Calpernia laughed. "You fluster so very easily, columbula mea. I would have thought someone like yourself would be more used to being flirted with."

"You'd be mistaken. Don't get me wrong, I like it, and I like you. But I'm ... I'm not sure where this is going. Or that I'm ready for it."

There was a pause. "I understand," Calpernia eventually said. "I want you to be comfortable. Let's stick to business for now, shall we?"

Something inside her sank at hearing that. Still, she knew, it was for the best—perhaps a week ago, she would have jumped into this with little hesitation, but the ball at the Winter Palace had dug up a lot of painful memories she was not prepared to deal with. "Okay." She exhaled. "Okay. I, er ... I was going to thank you for the intel on Samson, by the way."

"It worked out, then? He's dead?"

"Yeah. We got him."

"I'm glad to hear it. Corypheus has lost a key lieutenant in him—whoever emerges as Samson's successor will find it harder to shepherd the renegade mages and templars as he did. With any luck, they won't recover from that blow. We might actually see desertions and infighting."

Bethany wasn't sure she agreed with that assessment—she did not see what would prevent Corypheus from taking charge of his rebel army personally. Then again, she reasoned, recalling the archaic, unfocused magic by which he'd held her, and his nigh-unintelligible dialect of Dwarven Common when first awakened, he had spent most of the past thousand years or so locked away in his oubliette. He'd be unfamiliar with the modern worlds and would need lieutenants versed in it to help him navigate those areas in which his powerful magics could not avail him.

"Well, hopefully that'll prevent them trying anything on the scale of Haven again. What about his people up north? Any news on the Venatori front?"

"Not much, unfortunately. Their allies in the Senate are shielding them. Do you know Galla Petrovianus?"

She had to think for a bit before she recalled the unassuming man Josephine had pointed out to her at the Minrathous International Security Conference. "He's a powerbroker, isn't he?"

"Hmm. Close. He's a staffer to Magister Albinos, who just so happens to pull the strings for fifty-eight senators. I intend to put the screws to him this week—you know, split his caucus, have his husband's company audited, maybe make a few threats. The usual. I'd appreciate it if the Inquisition could lend a hand—his niece works for the Val Royeaux branch of a minor mage rights NGO."

Bethany bit her lip. "Of course, but I'm not quite sure what you want us to do."

"Nothing big. Just have her arrested—if you like, I can have you sent some documents proving her to be practising blood magic. You have templars in your ranks, don't you? Use them. The threat of his niece facing the death penalty should spur him into action."

She blanched at that. Whoever this woman was, she probably had no part in her uncle's crimes. Still, if this helped Calpernia, who had just now promised to erase the Inquisition's money woes in one swift stroke ... "I'll ... see what can be done," she cautiously said. Perhaps, she figured, the Inquisition could take her into custody until Calpernia had what she wanted. With the state the Templar Order was in after the loss of its leadership at Therinfal and the absorption of most of the survivors into the Inquisition, she doubted there was any danger of a speedy tribunal. She reached for her notepad, when something else caught her glimpse and returned to the forefront of her mind.

"Oh," she made, "there was something else I wanted to hear your thoughts on. Sorry, there's a lot going on at the moment."

"That's fine. It's what I'm here for."

Bethany couldn't keep a smile from sneaking onto her face. It had been a long time since she'd had a friend like Calpernia, someone who made her feel not just appreciated, but wanted for more than just her mark, or her magic, or her family name. "We recovered something from Samson's compound," she explained, drawing the dossier Leliana and Vivienne had drawn up near. "And, well, seeing as you're one of the most powerful people in the world ..." She broke off. Maker, how did you start something like this?

"So are you, Bethany. Under your leadership, the Inquisition has already shaken the world in its foundations, you know. Still, you've got me curious now."

She sighed. Calpernia talking like this was more than a little embarrassing, not to mention the things Gaspard and Celene had told her at the Winter Palace ... Still, back to business. "This will sound odd. Our forces have ... well, captured a thaumic warhead."

There was a lengthy pause. "Well, I didn't expect that," the Archon finally said. "Welcome to the club, I suppose. We knew the Orlesians lost control of some of their missile silos in the early stages of the war, but I didn't dare to think the weapons had fallen into the hands of terrorist groups. This is concerning. Have you pinpointed the warhead's origin yet? There may be more out there."

"I can send you the dossier, if you like. It's classified, of course, so I'll have to ask you to keep it to yourself."

"Of course."

"What I'm concerned about is what happens now. The warhead is on its way to Skyhold as we speak—we kept it at Bexley overnight. After that ..." She broke off. "Calpernia, I don't know why I ordered them to bring it back to Skyhold. I just ... I wasn't thinking straight. What do I do?"

"I presume the Orlesians don't know about it?"

"Well, we've not informed them. Do you think we should? It'll be hard enough keeping Gaspard on our side, especially with Tevinter funding us. I feel like informing them early and returning the bomb would be the least bad option."

"No!" Bethany had not expected the outburst, and found herself jerking back in her chair. "No," Calpernia repeated. "Whatever you do, don't give it up." Again, there was a pause. Bethany gave her the time to gather her thoughts. "Your Inquisition needs this. You need this. Why do you think Ferelden and Orlais have been riding rough-shod over you all along?"

"The Inquisition isn't a country. We're just ..." She broke off. Why not, she could hear herself asking. Her pen stroke could direct the course of an army, after all. She had visited countless towns and villages devastated by the chaos and wars tearing the south of Thedas apart, and in each of them, it had been the Inquisition and its forces that had maintained law and order, driven back demons and other fiends, protected chantries. Josephine had even mentioned the possibility of raising taxes in the occupied territories. "We're an army," she continued. "A ramshackle, untamed militia of the faithful. And I'm its warlord."

"Gaspard and Alistair and their ilk will never respect you. They despise you, just as they despise me, because we have arisen from the common rabble to upset their precious, comfortable balance of power. Just by existing, your Inquisition threatens their authority."

"We're doing their job for them," Bethany said.

Calpernia chuckled. "Exactly. That's why they will work to impede you. They are already circling you like vultures, waiting for the faintest whiff of weakness. Ferelden pecked at you after Haven, and now that Orlais' issues are on ice, they too will seek to exploit or destroy you. You are a warlord, my dear Bethany, the sainted Herald of Andraste at the head of Her army. If you cannot make them respect you—you must make them fear you. The ... weapon ... you captured will strike fear into their minds. Keep it close. Keep it hidden. And when the time comes, it will be your life insurance."

She bit her lip. This was not what they had set out to do, was it? Order, yes, peace, and justice for the Divine. Not blackmail and silent terror. But Calpernia was right, she had to admit, replaying the events of the past months in her mind: just as Ferelden had pulled their support and sought to hinder their survival once the situation at Redcliffe and Therinfal had been resolved, so Gaspard had sought to turn her eye away from worldly conflict and towards the Chantry.

Bethany glanced at the briefing papers piling on her desk. The Inquisition had power, yes, on a scale that was difficult for her to comprehend. But it would crumble in an instant under the malignant touch of Orlais. Unless ... unless they took matters into their own hands. "So ... we threaten to use the weapon against them if they don't play ball. Or even just hint at a threat. Vivienne told me a single warhead would be enough to wipe out much of Val Royeaux, or any other city in the empire. They won't dare touch us if we had that kind of power. It's not as if we'd ever use it, but just the chance that we might …"

On the other end, she could practically hear the smile appear on Calpernia's face. "Mutually assured destruction," she said. "The great peacemaker of our age." Her voice softened. "I know you're scared. Believe me, I am too. That feeling when they hand you the codes for the first time ... there's nothing like it. It's like standing at the edge of the abyss, knowing that the only way is forward."

Half-forgotten words from ages ago came back to her at that. "It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly," she murmured. Maker, how much had the witch foreseen? "Thank you. I ... I think I know what to do now."

"Happy to help. Now, I should really get away from my desk, try and catch some sleep before my 8am. You should get some rest, as well."

Bethany smiled softly, brushing her thumb across the soft leather armrest of her chair, warm under her touch. "I'll try. Talk to you soon?"

"Already looking forward to it. Sweet dreams, my dear Inquisitor."

Slowly, Bethany put down the phone. A deep breath, soaking in the cold mountain air, and she was back in her office once more. Suppressing a yawn, she rose to her feet and stepped out to the balcony. At once, she regretted leaving her jacket inside, as the wind tore through the thin cotton of her blouse like so much air, making her shiver. She raised her hand to summon a small flame in her hand, then thought better of it and leaned over the railing.

From this balcony, she couldn't see much of Skyhold, despite her quarters towering over the rest of the castle, but the gleaming white peaks of the Frostbacks stretched against the black sky as wide as the eye could see. Not a sound was to be heard, not a light to be seen. Plunge into the abyss, huh? Not tonight.

As she stood there, watching the dark shadows of the clouds passing overhead, Bethany realised something was wrong. She felt—slack inside, unprepared. What was ... it took some time for her to realise what it was. When had she last felt at peace?

She closed her eyes. Here she was, mere days ago from being responsible for the death of an empress and hours from acquiring the power to unmake the world. She had been shaken to the core by Marian's sudden reappearance, old convictions suddenly in doubt again. And yet, Halamshiral felt as distant as Haven—Redcliffe—Kirkwall—even Lothering. What was it Flemeth had said all those years ago? What was it Justinia had told her the day of her death?

She opened her eyes and reached out her marked hand in front of her as though to touch the sky. "I am Inquisitor Bethany Hawke," she proclaimed loudly, the words feeling strange on her tongue, "a poor sinner, and yet the chosen Herald of Our Lady. By Her mark that is growing in me, I swear I will restore order to the world."

Then, she lowered her hand, and felt a bit silly.

Three hours, a shower and a cup of coffee later, Bethany descended down into the bowels of Skyhold. The castle's ancient builders had carved a vast, confusing web of tunnels and vaulted cellars spanning multiple mismatched levels deep into the rock underneath it. The Inquisition had made good use of them—using them for anything from storage, modern amenities like plumbing or heating, to bedrooms and offices. They could not replace the growing and increasingly permanent shantytown of corrugated steel huts, containers and prefabs that had sprung up around Skyhold, but keeping sensitive matters inside the castle's sturdy walls made a lot of things easier.

She met all three of her "advisors", Vivienne, Dorian, and Dagna in a large, bare room that she believed had until this day served as part of the armoury. The latter three were already attired in pristine white lab coats, gloves, masks and goggle. Armed guards stood outside thick steel doors that wouldn't have looked out of place in a bank vault. At the centre of the room, on a large table placed directly underneath one of the bright fluorescent ceiling lamps, stood a wooden crate. On a second table, a small arsenal of tools had been laid out. "Good morning," she announced herself. "How are we doing?"

Cullen gave her a weary smile. "Morning, Inquisitor. I hope I'm not the only one feeling a bit nervous right now."

"It's perfectly safe, though, isn't it?" Josephine arched an eyebrow. "At least, that's what Dr de la Ferre said."

"Of course it is, my dear. I don't intend to kill us all by making mistakes."

"Great, I already feel better ..."

Vivienne waved Cullen's comment aside. "Inquisitor, dear, you remember Dr Janarsdottir from Haven? She and Dr Pavus will be assisting me."

Bethany nodded at the dwarf. She hadn't actually been sure if she'd survived Haven. "Good to see you again, Dagna."

"And you, Inquisitor. You know, when you had me investigate the Breach, I thought that was the pinnacle of my career. I didn't expect I'd be standing here about to look at the insides of a thaumic weapon. It's pretty exciting, isn't it?"

Dorian chuckled. "Is it too late to get on a plane back to Tevinter?" Then, growing serious, he added: "I'm at your service, Vivienne. Tell me what to do."

"I will have to examine the warhead more closely to determine if it has been tampered with. Inquisitor, councillors, if you will stay to watch I expect you to keep out of our way."

The three scientists delicately began to disassemble the wooden crate, still stencilled with the words VALISE DIPLOMATIQUE—INQUISITION on its sides. Meanwhile, Bethany briefed Josephine and the others on her phone call with Calpernia, or at least those parts of it they needed to be aware of.

"You mean to say the Archon promised you 200 million royals a month without demanding anything in return?" She could hear the reproach mixed with disbelief in Josephine's voice. "Maker have mercy ..."

"I have to agree with Josie," said Leliana, who held a steaming mug of coffee in her hands and wore a purple hoodie reading If stunned try SCE to AUX. Bethany didn't get it. "Archon Calpernia is not our ally."

Bethany resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Then who is, pray tell? We're noticeably short on them, at the moment. Even if Calpernia eventually asks for something in return, we'll be better off than we are now. I don't need to remind you that we'll run out of money at the end of the month."

"Still," Josephine objected, "hitching our wagon to Tevinter? I mean, think of the optics. How is the Inquisition supposed to stand up for the people and Chantry of the south if we're funded by heretic magisters in the north?" He glanced towards Dorian, who was helping Vivienne and Dagna disassemble the shipping crate. "No offense to the good doctor, but it won't do our PR any good. And what about Gaspard? He won't take kindly to this."

Bethany glanced in the direction of the weapon. "I mean ... we did just steal one of his thaumic weapons. Not to mention failed to support him at Halamshiral."

"You're not wrong," Josephine allowed. "The best we can hope for with Orlais right now is ad-hoc cooperation on specific issues. Still, Tevinter is ..."

"Willing to support us," Bethany interrupted. "Unless you have 200 million royals a month up your sleeve, we have no alternative."

"What about the Chantry?" Cullen suggested. "Surely we could lean on them."

Josephine shook her head. "Alas, no. Chantry resources are already stretched to the limits as it is. And, well ... the Inquisitor didn't exactly make many friends in Val Royeaux when she declared herself the Herald of Andraste on live TV."

Something flared up inside her at that. Maker, was she ever sick of having her every move scrutinised. "I'm not going to ..." She broke off, took a deep breath. "No matter. We cannot afford to turn this offer away. Josephine, please get in touch with Calpernia's people at the earliest opportunity to work out the details." Then, she turned away.

Bethany could tell her 'advisors' were taken aback, and as soon as she had spoken, she regretted it. Sacred Lady, what was she thinking? It had been them who had appointed her Inquisitor, and they who made almost all the decisions she put her signature to. It was ... strange, frightening, and not a little exciting to not just argue, not just suggest, but to command. From the corner of her eye, she saw Josephine and Leliana exchange a furtive glance. Cullen, at least, seemed to be taking it well, if with some surprise, and she couldn't hide a faint smile. To think that her onetime templar handler should be her sole ally in this ...

Turning her attention back to the weapon, she noted that the warhead had been entirely freed of its packaging. She took a few steps towards it to get a closer look. It was larger than she had imagined from the grainy image on the Qunari's helmet cam that night at Halamshiral, and the dossiers she had seen since: a smooth, sharply-pointed cone taller than she was, the colour and dull sheen of graphite. At its base, an assortment of oddly-shaped plug sockets or connectors were visible. "Talk to me, Vivienne. What can you tell us?"

"Nothing I could not have told you ten minutes ago, darling. There are no obvious signs of damage or tampering, just the usual wear and tear on the connectors. They tend to get a little scuffed when they're fitted or removed from missiles."

"Is that common?" Cullen asked. "I always assumed missiles were pretty much left standing in their silos for decades."

"There are regular inspections, of course. Warheads are sturdy, but the solid rocket motors we use on our launchers can develop cracks or weakening over the years. Dagna, dear, hand me a number 18 square screwdriver, please. I'm going to remove the assembly from the heatshield." One by one, Vivienne removed a total of eight large screws from the bottom of the warhead, each at least ten centimetres long, and lined them up on the side of the weapon. Finally, with Vivienne and Dorian pulling on one end and Dagna on the other, they slowly drew the base of the weapon out from the conical heatshield.

The heatshield itself was lofted off the table and placed on the side, leaving the core assembly it had protected alone. On top of the thick steel base plate stood a tall, shiny cylinder, rounded at the top and perhaps fifty centimetres long and fifteen in radius at its widest point. "Is that it, then?" Bethany asked. "It's smaller than I expected." She reached out with her mind, curious as to how it might feel, but could sense scarcely more from it than a faint hum. However much lyrium the device contained, it appeared to be well-shielded.

"'Is that it'?" Vivienne echoed, her voice somewhere between derision and bemusement. "Darling, this is a masterwork of arcane engineering. A single one of those warheads, launched as the payload of one of our Pacificateur III ICBMs, will annihilate your average city of five million. A little respect, if you would."

Chastened, she bit her lip. Vivienne was right, of course, she tended to be. Still, it wasn't easy to conceptualise. Kill one person, that was simple. She'd done it—how many times? Too often. Kill two, three, twenty, an intensifying reel of individuals. Five million? More? Her imagination failed her. Maker, what had she gotten herself into?

"The actual warhead," Vivienne continued in a professorial manner, waving at the device, "is just the cylindrical section at the top here. It contains a hollow sphere of roughly eight hundred grams of 98% pure lyrium dust overcharged to five times its natural mana capacity, surrounded by a layer of TNT pusher plates. When the TNT plates are detonated simultaneously, the lyrium core is compressed to a fraction of its size, causing a chain reaction of shattering lyrium molecules that releases vast amounts of magical and kinetic energy. The bottom piece contains avionics, telemetry, controls, and the detonator. This is, more or less, as far as we can disassemble the device without triggering a failsafe fizzle—that is, detonate the conventional explosives around the core while avoiding a chain reaction."

"You mean the bomb is live, right now?" Josephine asked, gasping slightly.

"It is always live. It is not, however, armed—by design, that requires a sustained acceleration of about 5g. In other words, a missile launch. Now, let's have a look at ..." Vivienne broke off, hunched over the base of the device. Then, rather tersely, she demanded a torch.

For almost a minute they watched in silence as the mage examined one of the panels on top of the control section in the light of a pen flashlight. Bethany and Cullen shared a glance—this was clearly not in the playbook. She tried to read his expression. They'd come a long way since Kirkwall, hadn't they? Not too eager to die in a thaumic blast right now.

She turned her attention back to Vivienne. "Getting a bit nervous here, Vivienne ..."

Still, the doctor took her time to reply. An expression of silent determination on her face, she continued to examine the instrument, brushed her fingers across it, then cast a few diagnostic spells. Finally, she straightened her back. "It would appear the arming computer has been replaced."

"What does that mean, exactly?"

"Impossible to say without examining the replacement in detail. Normally, it's a simple mechanical analogue computer that coordinates the data from the accelerometer, altimeter and guidance system. If all the right conditions are met, it arms the assembly and finally detonates the device. Conversely, it also prevents premature arming. If it has been replaced by—say—a radio receiver, the weapon could be triggered remotely at any time."

A shiver ran down Bethany's spine as she suddenly became acutely aware of what that meant. Oh, Maker, what have I done? She had given the order, after all, to bring the device to Skyhold. And now, at the press of a button, Corypheus could wipe them out ... the destruction she had wrought at Haven was nothing by comparison. "Remove it," she ordered, "now. Everyone at Skyhold is at risk while it's active."

"I would advise against that. They may have included a failsafe. Disabling the weapon would be the safest option."

"You mean permanently disable it."

"Yes. Shooting it would be the best option."

Dagna hurriedly interjected as Cullen drew his service pistol. "Not like this. The lyrium spillage alone, not to mention the conventional explosives ... but—but in a contained environment ..."

"They haven't killed us yet," observed Dorian. "We probably have a bit more time."

Hesitating only slightly, Ser Cullen nodded. "Very well. Find somewhere safe and remote, then ..."

If you cannot make them respect you ... Calpernia's words echoed in Bethany's mind. Maker, she'd been right, hadn't she? The same power that had put them all at risk—it was so close, almost within reach, and who could tell what would become of the Inquisition without it? Turned to good purposes—fuck, Ferelden wouldn't have dared drop them had they had that sort of power at Haven. And Gaspard would have thought twice about telling her to focus on the Chantry and leave politics to him. "No," she said at last, interrupting her commander. "No, we won't be doing that. Vivienne, remove or disable the—whatever it is. I don't care how you do it, just get it done."

The mage raised an eyebrow. "Darling, did you hear a thing I just said? There's a good chance ..."

"And if it does, we will commend our souls to the Maker. In the meantime, we will be doing His work here. Get to work, please. That is an order." Even as she said it, she was amazed at her own audacity. I'm giving orders to a first enchanter.

Vivienne shot her a positively murderous glare, and Dorian murmured something cutting in Tevene. Bethany avoided looking at her advisors, they could disapprove all they liked. If they succeeded, the Inquisition would become a power no one could ignore. And if they did not ... well, they'd never know, and Calpernia would continue to hunt down Corypheus. As the first enchanter carefully began to unscrew the remote detonator from the instrument section, Bethany realised that she was unafraid. Whatever might happen, she knew that her Lady was watching over her.

Minutes passed in silence as Vivienne followed the wires, occasionally taking notes or making a sketch. Finally, she tersely asked for a screwdriver and removed four tiny screws to open a small compartment below the arming computer. The mage's hands were surprisingly steady, but Bethany could see sweat glistening on her brow. Then, with the aid of Dagna, she bridged one of the cables connecting the arming computer to the radiothermal battery and, bit by bit increasing the resistance, cut it off entirely to fake an electrical failure.

Once the cables connecting the arming computer to the physics package had been cut, and all of them were still alive, they breathed sighs of relief. "Try to figure out as much as you can," Bethany ordered her fellow mages, both of whom seemed more than a little surly. "There must be something we can glean from it. Have me briefed as soon as you find something."

Then, she left the room, indicating for Leliana to follow her. If the spymaster was upset, she didn't show it. "I want you to monitor Vivienne's communications," she quietly asked her once the heavy steel door had been closed behind them and they were out of earshot of the guards. "If she tries to inform her former masters in the empire of what we've done, I want to know."

Leliana raised an eyebrow. "Is everything alright, Inquisitor? You're acting strangely. First Tevinter, now this ... did you sleep at all last night?"

Acting strangely? Bethany tried to understand the reasoning. Accepting Calpernia's money had been an easy decision, and necessary to boot, everyone could see that. As for the other thing ... "It needed to be done," she pointed out, turning to face the bard. "You know Halamshiral didn't go the way we'd hoped. The Inquisition needs to be able to defend itself, or it will perish." Softening her voice, she added: "I'll grant that having Vivienne remove the device was a gamble. Have some faith, though. Andraste is with us."

Leliana's expression was unintelligible. "As Her Herald says. I take it you intend for us to keep the weapon, then?"

"You disagree?"

There was a moment's hesitation. "I can see the appeal. Whether it'll be worth the backlash from Orlais once they find out, I'll leave to Josie. But it won't make my work any easier. You know I was trained at the College of Bards, right? If there's one thing Orlesian intelligence has taught me, it's that the bomb crippled our options, not expanded them, just as it did for Tevinter and the Qunari. Once you get it, you can no longer raise the stakes—or deescalate. There is no such thing as limited conflict anymore. From now on, our every action will be tip-toeing along the thin line between utter ineffectiveness and total annihilation. Do you understand?"

She sighed. "It's just one weapon, Leliana. We're not going to use it."

"Maybe ask Dr Pavus what 'just one weapon' did to Vyrantium at the end of the Great War. Use it or not, it exists now, and if we keep it, it'll fundamentally change the Inquisition." Bethany could tell the other woman wanted to say more, but thought better at it. She gave a slight bow. "For your consideration, Inquisitor. Now excuse me, there is much work to do."

Bethany's eyes followed the spymaster as she strode down the corridor in her usual light gait. The truth was that Leliana had a point. The Inquisition would be changed by this, no question about it. Yet it was equally clear to see that this had to happen. They want me fix the world they broke, she grumbled to herself, referring to no one in particular, but they don't want to pay the price ...

With a shake of her head, she made her way upstairs to the gardens. It was a small miracle what they'd done here—she doubted any of the plants would have survived long here in the mountains, if not for Skyhold's peculiar characteristics. Josephine had brought in experts a while back who'd speculated about some sort of subterranean hot spring, but Bethany's gut was pointing squarely towards ancient, powerful magic as the most likely suspect. Either way, she didn't feel the need to think too hard about it if it meant having in the midst of the castle a small island of tranquillity, shaded from the mountain sun by abundant foliage and filled with birdsong and the sweetness of flowers.

Passing through the cloister arcades on her way to the chapel, Bethany spied Mother Giselle, who was kneeling in one of the flowerbeds and looking rather like a caricature with the hem of her cassock hitched up to reveal muddied green rubber boots. She approached her, watching as the priestess roughly weeded between the graces. "Good morning, Mother. You're out and about early today."

Giselle did not answer immediately, but put the trowel in her hand aside, gestured towards her ear with a gloved hand, then stripped off her gloves and removed her earbuds. "Sorry, my dear. What were you saying?"

Bethany couldn't hide a grin, wondering what the priestess might have been listening to. "I was just saying hello. You're up rather early."

"I enjoy the quiet of the mornings. Skyhold is so busy during the day, and the town outside the walls is no better."

"Can't say I blame you. These past months have been hectic, to say the least. I only got back to Skyhold a couple hours ago, myself."

"Ah." Giselle paused and glanced at her before picking her trowel back up and returning to weeding the bed of crystal graces. "I was saddened to hear of what happened at Halamshiral. Empress Celene has always struck me as a keen and thoughtful woman. The nation is in mourning, but I daresay history will yet amplify our grief."

Bethany crossed her arms. "I was there when she died," she murmured, eyes averted. "I tried to heal her, but I couldn't. The past few days ... every time I rest a minute, every time I closed my eyes, I found myself right back there, I could have done more. In fact ..." She broke off. "Nevermind. What's done is done, and nothing we can do will let us change it."

The priestess looked at her with an expression approaching pity. "You did not kill her, child. Do not blame yourself for it."

Bethany could not meet her eyes. "Right." She declined to insist that she could have saved the empress, if not for her being distracted. At least Mother Giselle wasn't questioning her every move. "Thank you. I was heading to the chapel, if you don't mind ..."

"Not at all. Bernadette will have finished her morning chant, would you be so good as to make sure the candles are lit?"

She nodded and said her goodbyes, but before she could leave, Giselle laid a hand on her shoulder. "One more thing, my child. You've been spending a lot of time at the chapel the past few weeks, haven't you?" Bethany could only shrug at that. She hadn't noticed, not in particular, but she supposed that perhaps she wasn't quite the profligate she'd been before Haven. "Far be it from me to discourage you. Just ... bear in mind that, while prayer can be a tremendous source of solace, it shouldn't be the only option. You've got friends who care for you." She smiled indulgently and patted her shoulder. "Just a thought."

She studied the tips of Giselle's rubber boots. "Of course. Thank you, Mother."

There was a pause. "I won't keep you any longer," Giselle eventually said. "Andraste be with you."

"And with your spirit ..."

The chapel lay just off the garden's quad, a small room that was always filled with candle smoke and incense. It had been part of the castle originally, the archaeologists had determined, but the rough-hewn, life-sized granite statue of Andraste had been a later addition, probably executed by local Fereldan craftsmen in the late Divine Age. Though its features had been eroded beyond recognition over the intervening centuries, Bethany had rejected any proposal to replace it and send the original to a museum out of hand. In the candlelight, she sometimes thought she could see the statue moving, and when you looked at it just right, it seemed to smile down at you.

Instead, they had cleared out the birds nesting in the empty window frame behind it and inserted a new stained-glass rosette created by an Anders artist. Bethany wasn't quite sure she liked the abstract geometric patterns, but she couldn't deny how beautiful the chapel was when it was bathed in a hundred different colours of light at dawn.

She found the chapel empty but for a couple praying Inquisition soldiers spread out on the narrow pews. Taking a knee halfway, Bethany approached the statue of Andraste and knelt before it to replace several candles that had burned down, eschewing the matchstick in favour of brief licks of flame from her fingertip.

Then, as the others present filed out of the chapel, she prostrated herself before the statue of her Lady. She lay on the cold stone floor, as she had many times before, arms spread wide, her hands resting firmly on the flagstones. Her lips brushed against the stone with every whispered word. "O Maker, hear my cry / guide me through the blackest nights / steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked …"

She liked to pray like this. Not for the first time she wished she had had the opportunity to learn more about her faith as a child. Fear of templars had kept her away from the chantry for most of her youth, and religious education at school had consisted of little more than a handful of the most common prayers. She hadn't read the Chant until she was an adult.

Now, with her Lady watching over her as she whispered the familiar words, her heartbeat stilled, her breath steadied, her mind stopped racing. For the first time in what felt like ages, she found herself at rest, and at peace. My Maker, know my heart, / take me from a life of sorrow, / lift me from a world of pain. / Judge me worthy of your endless pride. Despite the cold, smooth stone and the mountain air, she felt warm and cozened. Her lungs drew deep from the scent of wax, incense and paper.

Something wasn't quite right, though. Bethany hadn't heard the door, or the subtle footsteps. But she did feel the sudden disturbance in the air, in the smoke of the candles. She felt the tension return to her muscles, the chill running down her spine.

Slowly, deliberately, she made herself conclude her prayer, clearly enunciating every syllable, focusing on each word without truly being able to comprehend them. The air was charged. Then, slowly, she pushed herself up from the ground, settled into a kneeling position, her eyes still closed, and bowed her head in a final moment of thanks.

"I was told I'd find you here," her sister said.

Bethany exhaled. Inhaled. Rose to her feet. Every hair on her body stood on edge. "Sister," she croaked, her voice hoarse, the old word wavering. How often had she spoken, whispered, moaned it? It felt strange on her tongue. Her hands seized into fists; with titanic effort, she turned to face the intruder.

Marian stood silent, allowing her a chance to regard her more closely. No, she had not been mistaken before, when her wayward sister had first appeared at Halamshiral—Marian was a wreck. Strands of unwashed, matted hair hung deep into her face, framing a face that had gained not only scars, but also new lines. Marian had grown old, just as she had in the years after Kirkwall, and Bethany found herself reminded of their father, who'd had the same folds around his eyes. Marian's eyes, however, were Amell through and through, that same cold, piercing blue, the shade of steel and ice. But they were dull, lined by dark rings, and seemed to look past her as much as at her. Marian had—thank the Maker—discarded that ratty old greatcoat she'd had since the Blight, it seemed, and stood before her in a loose tank top, jeans and para boots, all threadbare and filthy. She had grown haggard, and where Bethany remembered only hard muscle, she could now see the outlines of her bones.

They stood in silence, regarding one another, each seemingly willing the other to go first. A gust of wind from the courtyard brushed past them through the open door, making Bethany shudder and causing the candles to flicker.

After a while, Marian put her hands in her pockets. "So," she said, lightly, her voice brittle with effort. "Inquisitor, huh?" She tried, and failed, to smile.

Bethany couldn't have said whether it was the brazenness, the implied challenge, or that false smile on her sister's face that made her draw herself up to her full height and fold her arms behind her back, the way she'd noticed Cullen do when he wanted to appear authoritative. She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out. She tried again. "What do you want?"

She could not have produced a greater result had she struck Marian. Her sister grew even paler, and all of a sudden seemed unsteady on her feet. "Bethany, I … I had to … didn't you miss me?"

The lie came easier than she had thought possible, pressed forth through ground teeth. "No."

In all her life, Bethany had never seen her sister speechless before. She took no small satisfaction from it. Holding her gaze, she watched as Marian's features slipped. "What do you want?" she repeated, more firmly, this time. Harsher. "Why are you here?"

Marian hung her head. She could see her shaking slightly, as if the mountain chill was making her shiver. When she spoke, her voice was heavy. "I wanted—I had to see you." She lowered her voice, as if conscious of eavesdroppers, even now. "There hasn't been a day I haven't been thinking of you. Maker, I've missed you so much. I was like an invalid, robbed of my very limbs. I was like dead. When I saw you on the news … it was like my heart began to beat again."

Kirkwall's champion raised her head, and Bethany was startled to see tears welling in her sister's eyes, and a weak smile on her weathered face. "You don't know how much it means to see you like this. You're so beautiful, Beth, and you're—you're free …"

Blood. She could feel it seeping through her fists, from where her nails had broken skin, could feel its stirring in the Veil. Blood filled her mouth, mixing with bitter gall. "Get out," she spat. "Get out before you get hurt, sister. You have no right—get out."