#thank you rowan!!

[carnalapples]

🎧

[soulsty]

Goodbye Houseki No Kuni 💚

[jinjjayo]

XIAOTING TIPI-TAP @ MUSIC BANK 241108

[sollucets]

— evening sun, jane kenyon

as long as he lives one day, I'll live that day with him.

[fiannans]

Now that I've had time to think about it, I love the idea of virgin Lucanis actually, if only because it's a fun role reversal from my canon Warden's romance with my other favourite murder husband, Zevran, in DAO. My Cousland was a virgin before she caught feelings for the stupid sexy assassin sent to kill her and Zev was her first, just as my far more experienced Crow Rook is Lucanis's first in Veilguard.

I don't know, I just think it's a neat little role swap.

[jhonny]

"stop talking like that boy you're ruining my tboy swag" - yami bakura, probably

or, when both bakuras are trans but only one of them has perfected the trans voice.

+ bonus thief king (as a treat)

[autoneurotic]

i have this 40 year old edgelord coworker and i hate many things about him but perhaps my least favorite is when i, a landscape painter who works in an art store, says anything about being a landscape painter and he comes crawling out of someone’s asshole to say in the worlds most nasally voice: do you know who ELSE was a landscape painter? HITLER! like ok man. can you go somewhere else.

[astrathecowboy]

the scrungles... the blorbies... the sillies.... also so getting art block immediatley? relatable. thanks for drawing anyhow!! its super cute (^_^)!!

can you do a lil doodle of felix and stella? i miss my boy and his necromatic cat... thanks in advance! 🩵

*asks for people to request things*

*immediately gets art block*

i lost the ability to draw. but like. i sort of did it. i miss them too

idk what cats look like. i don’t know what people look like, this is bad but it’s them, sort of. yea

Stella, on Felix’s shoulder 👍

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 61

Chapter; Highlights (okay the entire chapter is a highlight)🤣

As requested @mysterylilycheeta I NEED TO SQUEAL IN WYVERN FANGIRL WITH YOU NOW CAUSE OH M GOODNESS THIS CHAPTER ON SO MANY LEVELS I JUST AHAKWIHUHFEJLZXBKEKA

Agony was a song in Lorcan's blood, his bones, his breath.

Every step of the horse, every leap she made over body and debris, sent it ringing afresh. There was no end, no mercy from it. It was all he could do to keep in the saddle, to cling to consciousness.

To keep his arm around Elide.

She had come for him. Had found him, somehow, on this endless battlefield.

His name on her lips had been a summons he could never deny, even when death had held him so gently, nestled beneath all those he'd felled, I, and waited for his last breaths.

And now, charging toward that too-distant keep, so far behind the droves of soldiers and riders racing for the gates, he wondered if these minutes would be his last. Her last.

She had come for him.

Lorcan managed to glance toward the dam on their right. Toward the ruk rider signaling that it was only a matter of minutes until it unleashed hell over the plain.

He didn't know how it had become weakened. Didn't care.

Still Elide kept urging the horse onward, kept them on as straight a path toward the distant keep as possible.

No ruk would come to sweep them up. No, his luck had been spent in surviving this long, in her finding him. His power would do nothing against that water.

The farthest lines of panicked soldiers appeared, and Farasha charged past them.

Elide let out a sob, and he followed the line of her sight.

To the keep gate, still open.

"Faster, Farasha!" She didn't hide the raw terror in her voice, the desperation.

Once the dam broke, it would take less than a minute for the tidal wave to reach them.

She had come for him. She had found him.

The world went quiet. The pain in his body faded into nothing. Into something secondary.

Lorcan slid his other arm around Elide, bringing his mouth close to her ear as he said, "You have to let me go."

Each word was gravelly, his voice strained nearly to the point of uselessness.

Elide didn't shift her focus from the keep ahead. "No."

That gentle quiet flowed around him, clearing the fog of pain and battle. "You have to. You have to, Elide. I'm too heavy-and without my weight, you might make it to the keep in time."

"No." The salt of her tears filled his nose.

Lorcan brushed his mouth over her damp cheek, ignoring the roaring pain in his body. The horse galloped and galloped, as if she might outrace death itself.

"I love you," he whispered in Elide's ear. "I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken." Her tears flowed past him in the wind. "And I will be with you ..." His voice broke, but he made himself say the words, the truth in his heart. "I will be with you always."

He was not frightened of what would come for him once he tumbled off the horse. He was not frightened at all, if it meant her reaching the keep.

So Lorcan kissed Elide's cheek again, allowed himself to breathe in her scent one last time. "I love you," he repeated, and began to withdraw his arms from around her waist.

Elide slapped a hand onto his forearm. Dug in her nails, right into his skin, fierce as any ruk.

"No."

There were no tears in her voice. Nothing but solid, unwavering steel.

"No," she said again. The voice of the Lady of Perranth.

Lorcan tried to move his arm, but her grip would not be dislodged.

If he tumbled off the horse, she would go with him.

Together. They would either outrun this or die together.

"Elide-"

But Elide slammed her heels into the horse's sides.

Slammed her heels into the dark flank and screamed, "FLY, FARASHA." She cracked the reins. "FLY, FLY, FLY!"

And gods help her, that horse did.

As if the god that had crafted her filled the mare's lungs with his own breath, Farasha gave a surge of speed.

Faster than the wind. Faster than death.

Farasha cleared the first of the fleeing Darghan cavalry. Passed desperate horses and riders at an all-out gallop for the gates.

Her mighty heart did not falter, even when Lorcan knew it was raging to the point of bursting.

Less than a mile stood between them and the keep.

But a thunderous, groaning crack cleaved the world, echoing off the lake, the mountains.

There was nothing he could do, nothing that brave, unfaltering horse could do, as the dam ruptured.

Rowan made himself stand there, to watch the last moments of the Lady of Perranth and his former commander. It was all he could offer: witnessing their deaths, so he might tell the story to those he encountered. So they would not be forgotten.

The roaring of the oncoming wave became deafening, even from miles away.

Still Elide and Lorcan raced, Farasha passing horse after horse after horse.

Even up here, would they escape the wave's reach? Rowan dared to survey the battlements, to assess if he needed to get the others, needed to get Aelin, to higher ground.

But Aelin was not at his side.

She was not on the battlement at all.

Rowan's heart halted. Simply stopped beating as a ruddy-brown ruk dropped from the skies, spearing for the center of the plain.

Arcas, Borte's ruk. A golden-haired woman dangling from his talons.

Aelin. Aelin was—

Arcas neared the earth, talons splaying.

Aelin hit the ground, rolling, rolling, until she uncoiled to her feet.

Right in the path of that wave.

"Oh gods," Fenrys breathed, seeing her, too.

They all saw her.

The queen on the plain.

The endless wall of water surging for her.

The keep stones began shuddering. Rowan threw out a hand to brace himself, fear like nothing he had known ripping through him as Aelin lifted her arms above her head.

A pillar of fire shot up around her, lifting her hair with it.

The wave roared and roared for her, for the army behind her.

The shaking in the keep was not from the wave.

It was not from that wall of water at all.

Cracks formed in the earth, splintering across it. Spiderwebbing from Aelin.

"The hot springs," Chaol breathed. "The valley floor is full of veins into the earth itself."

Into the burning heart of the world.

The keep shook, more violently this time.

The pillar of fire sucked back into Aelin.

She held out a hand before her, her fist closed.

As if it would halt the wave in its tracks.

He knew then. Either as her mate or carranam, he knew.

"Three months," Rowan breathed.

The others stilled.

"Three months," he said again, his knees wobbling. "She's been making the descent into her power for three months."

Every day she had been with Maeve, bound in iron, she had gone deeper. And she had not tapped too far into that power since they'd freed her because she had kept making the plunge.

To gather up the full might of her magic.

Not for the Lock, not for Erawan.

But for Maeve's death blow.

A few weeks of descent had taken her powers to devastating levels. Three months of it

…

Holy gods. Holy rutting gods.

And when her fire hit the wall of water now towering over her, when they collided —

"GET DOWN!" Rowan bellowed, over the screaming waters. "GET DOWN NOW!"

His companions dropped to the stones, any within earshot doing the same.

Rowan plummeted into his power. Plummeted into it fast and hard, ripping out any remaining shred of magic.

Elide and Lorcan were still too far from the gates. Thousands of soldiers were still too far from the gates as the wave crested above them.

As Aelin opened her hand toward it.

Fire erupted.

Cobalt fire. The raging soul of a flame.

A tidal wave of it.

Taller than the raging waters, it blasted from her, flaring wide.

The wave slammed into it. And where water met a wall of fire, where a thousand years of confinement met three months of it, the world exploded.

Blistering steam, capable of melting flesh from bone, shot across the plain.

With a roar, Rowan threw all that remained of his magic toward the onslaught of steam, a wall of wind that shoved it toward the lake, the mountains.

Still the waters came, breaking against the flames that did not so much as yield an inch.

Maeve's death blow. Spent here, to save the army that might mean Terrasen's salvation. To spare the lives on the plain.

Rowan gritted his teeth, panting against his fraying power. A burnout lurked, deadly close.

The raging wave threw itself over and over and over into the wall of flame.

Rowan didn't see if Elide and Lorcan made it into the keep. If the other soldiers and riders on the plain stopped to gape.

Princess Hasar said, rising beside him, "That power is no blessing."

"Tell that to your soldiers," Fenrys snarled, standing, too.

"I did not mean it that way," Hasar snipped, and awe was indeed stark on her face.

Rowan leaned against the battlements, panting hard as he fought to keep the lethal steam from flowing toward the army. As he cooled and sent it whisking away.

Solid hands slid under his arms, and then Fenrys and Gavriel were there, propping him up between them.

A minute passed. Then another.

The wave began to lower. Still the fire burned.

Rowan's head pounded, his mouth going dry.

Time slipped from him. A coppery tang filled his mouth.

The wave lowered farther, raging waters quieting. Then roaring turned to lapping, rapids into eddies.

Until the wall of flame began to lower, too. Tracking the waters down and down and down. Letting them seep into the cracks of the earth.

Rowan's knees buckled, but he held on to his magic long enough for the steam to lessen.

For it, too, to be calmed.

It filled the plain, turning the world into drifting mist. Blocking the view of the queen in its center.

Then silence. Utter silence.

Fire flickered through the mist, blue turning to gold and red. A muted, throbbing glow.

Rowan spat blood onto the battlement stones, his breath like shards of glass in his throat.

The glowing flames shrank, steam rippling past. Until there was only a slim pillar of fire, veiled in the mist-shrouded plain.

Not a pillar of fire.

But Aelin.

Glowing white-hot. As if she had given herself so wholly to the flame that she had become fire herself.

The Fire-Bringer someone whispered down the battlements.

The mist rippled and billowed, casting her into nothing but a glowing effigy.

The silence turned reverent.

A gentle wind from the north swept down. The veil of mist pulled back, and there she was.

She glowed from within. Glowed golden, tendrils of her hair floating on a phantom wind.

"Mala's Heir," Yrene breathed.

Down on the plain, Elide and Lorcan had halted.

The wind pushed away more of the drifting mist, clearing the land beyond Aelin.

And where that mighty, lethal wave had loomed, where death had charged toward them, nothing remained at all.

For three months, she had sung to the darkness and the flame, and they had sung back.

For three months, she had burrowed so deep inside her power that she had plundered undiscovered depths. While Maeve and Cairn had worked on her, she had delved. Never letting them know what she mined, what she gathered to her, day by day by day.

A death blow. One to wipe a dark queen from the earth forever.

She'd kept that power coiled in herself even after she'd been freed from the irons. Had struggled to keep it down these weeks, the strain enormous. Some days, it had been easier to barely speak. Some days, swaggering arrogance had been her key to ignoring it.

Yet when she had seen that wave, when she had seen Elide and Lorcan choosing death together, when she had seen the army that might save Terrasen, she'd known. She'd felt the fire sleeping under this city, and knew they had come here for a reason.

She had come here for this reason.

A river still flowed from the dam, harmless and small, wending toward the lake.

Nothing more.

Aelin lifted a glowing hand before her as blessed, cooling emptiness filled her at last.

Slowly, starting from her fingertips, the glow faded.

As if she were forged anew, forged back into her body.

Back into Aelin.

Clarity, sharp and crystal clear, filled its wake. As if she could see again, breathe again.

Inch by inch, the golden glow faded into skin and bone. Into a woman once more.

Already, a white-tailed hawk launched skyward.

But as the last of the glow faded, disappearing out through her toes, Aelin fell to her knees.

Fell to her knees in the utter silence of the world, and curled onto her side.

She had the vague sense of strong, familiar arms scooping her up. Of being carried onto a broad feathery back, still in those arms.

Of soaring through the skies, the last of the mist rippling away into the afternoon sun.

And then sweet darkness.

[carnalapples]

favorite line game

thank you @rowanisawriter for the tag!! this was a ton of fun.

directions: pick up to 10 characters and share one of your favorite lines of dialogue you have ever written for them!

cullen, a heart that laughter has made sweet (dragon age)

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’m not very used to compromising. Really just following orders and giving them.”

ashna (oc), safe house (dragon age)

“I’ll lead, if that’s what worries you.” She bites her tongue on the words and at the little duck of his head towards the paper. “When we dance.” He swallows, and she watches the bob of his throat.

shepard, those who are in favour with their stars (mass effect)

“You don’t think I’ll last a week.” She smiles sharply. She’s gotten very good at starting fights and very bad at finishing them.

josephine, hold tight to everyday life (dragon age)

“Well, you must get over it, then, and come visit me in Antiva. We can sail all the way to the edges of the map,” and she places both hands on his arm to rock him, “the boat slowly rolling with the waves, back and forth, back and forth—“ “Maker, save me,” he huffs, his face going pale as he shoves her off. She laughs, and for a moment, the assassins are completely forgotten.

cassandra, a heart that laughter has made sweet (dragon age)

“Forgive me,” Cassandra interrupts, her voice steely. “I am new to politics. I find the whole business unsavory. So forgive me if I have not mastered the art of speaking in half-truths."

branka, gold dust woman (dragon age)

“That’d be wonderful,” Branka says, screwing her face up in a smile. She traces her thumb across Hespith’s collarbone. “I know you love rhubarb,” she directs to her. Hespith coughs. Oghren’s heavy tread disappears down the hall.

[rookodile]

They say the farm's hiring, the pay's decent but the views're more than worth it.

ALTS: bsky (18+)

[soonhoonsol]

cheytermelon's 2024 top 10~

i love this trend heheh 💖

tagged by @jiwoonhyung @jeonghanic @caspleosvt @chwedout @honeydewtual and @yutaslaugh on my main blog here (thank you! ✨)

also tagged by @bamgeut @jinjjayo on my multi blog and @seonghwacore @rlvaille on my seonghwa blog (thank you guys too i hope you don't mind i'm just gonna put everything here 😭💖)

rules: go here to see your top 10 posts of 2024, share them and tag others ✨

1️⃣ soonhoonsol - jxw :: last night (825 notes) 1️⃣ hwanwooyoung - wooyoung face card <33 (1,912 notes) ✨ 1️⃣ hwatermelon - two pretty hockey players (1,170 notes)

2️⃣ soonhoonsol - fav wonwoo photoshoot (764 notes) 2️⃣ hwanwooyoung - mingi crazy form ending fairy (989 notes) 2️⃣ hwatermelon - mma 2024 'iomt' performance (1,011 notes) ✨

3️⃣ soonhoonsol - svt out of context: musical heirs #1 (618 notes) 3️⃣ hwanwooyoung - wooyoung // 'hush hush' mv (829 notes) 3️⃣ hwatermelon - drive me crazy, why don't you? (928 notes) ✨

4️⃣ soonhoonsol - svt out of context: going rangers #1 (605 notes) 4️⃣ hwanwooyoung - 240604 'work' wooyoung (639 notes) 4️⃣ hwatermelon - seonghwa // 'hush hush' mv (871 notes) ✨

5️⃣ soonhoonsol - coquette jeonghan (520 notes) 5️⃣ hwanwooyoung - drummer wooyoung (636 notes) 5️⃣ hwatermelon - seonghwa's impersonating himself (826 notes) ✨

6️⃣ soonhoonsol - svt out of context: going rangers #2 (518 notes) 6️⃣ hwanwooyoung - 240516 'maestro' jeonghan (604 notes) 6️⃣ hwatermelon - 240531 'empty box' seonghwa (803 notes) ✨

7️⃣ soonhoonsol - hoshi // 'spell' mv (514 notes) 7️⃣ hwanwooyoung - mma 2024 'iomt' mingi (595 notes) 7️⃣ hwatermelon - ponytail seonghwa (792 notes) ✨

8️⃣ soonhoonsol - cutie patootie wonu (501 notes) 8️⃣ hwanwooyoung - 231202 'crazy form' hongjoong (552 notes) 8️⃣ hwatermelon - guitarist seonghwa (784 notes) ✨

9️⃣ soonhoonsol - 240516 'maestro' wonwoo (484 notes) 9️⃣ hwanwooyoung - 240531 'work' wooyoung (509 notes) 9️⃣ hwatermelon - he's literally just standing there (776 notes) ✨

🔟 soonhoonsol - i also want to know what's so funny (404 notes) 🔟 hwanwooyoung - girl dad wooyoung (466 notes) 🔟 hwatermelon - soccer bf seonghwa (731 notes) ✨

okie we done <3

tagging to do this: @hongtonie @soobinies @hoshingi @96z @featdino 💖💖💖 (if you already did this pls lmk!!)

[sollucets]

Can I ask you something? Of course.

[olivexing]

Did Olympe ever shrink down to explore the human town before meeting Ben? If not what is he most excited to learn about human culture?

So Olympe is actually human; he’s the son of an exobiologist and the alien she studied. He was adopted by a friend of his mother’s and never met his biological parents:

His mother (Rowan Asgaya-Dihi) and father (nicknamed “A.V.” or “Ava” for the species - called avis versipellis). The situation you’re describing- shrinking to explore human culture- is much more adjacent to the story of these two! Ava’s species size shifts as a self-defense mechanism, a way of maneuvering through their environment.

But yeah, Olympe, half-bird, was born essentially human-passing, with a set of fleshy wings that eventually grew feathers and hair. Size shifting didn’t manifest until puberty (and he spent a lot of middle school binding his wings with ace bandages to hide them 🥲) here he is, age 15, hiding his wings:

His favorite part of human culture is the moving image :) he loves movies! Writing! Acting! He’s an opinionated dude with a lot to say, and storytelling is his favorite thing in the world. He tried to work in the film industry as a crewman but couldn’t hack it, haha- he met Ben on a film set actually, where they became enemies-to-lovers(!)

He doesn’t know much about his Bird Side (he doesn’t know he’s part alien. He just says he’s “got a condition”)



[ghostwise]

Matacuervos, ch. 7 - A heavy thing Rated M, 1.6k words - cw: death, canon-typical violence, discussions of trauma, slavery, and child abuse After Rocio murders their target outside El milagro, Zevran and Hamal contend with the fallout, and with an entirely unexpected circumstance. Read update on AO3 - Read from ch. 1 - thank you @rowanthefierce for beta-reading this chapter!

Hamal sprinted down the stairs two steps at a time, leaping over the last of them. He rushed through the front door, out where the air was cold by Antivan standards, but balmy yet for him.

“Zevran!” he called out. Where had he gone?

Hamal nervously rearranged his grip on his bow, looking down the street towards the brothel—but before he could investigate, a soft, pained noise came from behind the cart, and caught his attention. He stepped carefully around the stunned horses, behind the carriage wheels.

“Nadia?”

“¡Maldito mago!”

She was on the ground, partway beneath the carriage, her arms and knees scraped from the fall. Nadia groaned as she lifted a shaking hand to the back of her head. Hamal knelt beside her and gently eased her up. He could see her scalp was sticky with blood, and a lump was already forming under the skin.

“You’re hurt,” he observed in his meager Antivan, scrambling for the correct words and wishing he had more time to piece the language together. He understood it more than he could speak it, and even that was difficult with Nadia’s rapid-fire and distinct dialect. “Not good! Your head!”

“I’ll be alright!” She waved him off. “Where is Zevran?”

“He… looks for the man. I don’t know.”

Again, Hamal’s gaze drifted in the direction of the brothel, eager for any sight of Zevran. He could not see much from this position, but he could hear a rhythmic sound, like something being struck repeatedly, like metal hitting wet stone. He didn’t have to say what was on both their minds: this wasn’t what they had planned.

“Thank you,” Nadia said softly, leaning against him. She took a shuddering breath. “We should search the carriage. Quick! El carruaje.” She repeated the words, seeing his confused look, and tapped the carriage a few times. “Carruaje.”

A new word to him, though he’d never get the damn r’s right. Hamal did as he was told. He pulled open the carriage door and looked inside. There was no translation for the soft and pitiable sound he made then, but the feeling was something Nadia understood.

“Oh… d’alen.”

He and Nadia looked in on a sleeping child. The little girl was slumped against the back seat of the carriage. She looked to be about eight years old. A sliver of blood trickled from her nose, and her small, pointed ears poked through a mess of dark curls. Besides her, a bag of supplies lay on the floor.

Nadia exclaimed something in frantic Antivan, but Hamal only understood, “Help me!”

“The spell,” Hamal murmured to himself, as he pulled the child carefully out of the carriage. “That bastard used his magic near her. But I think she’s only stunned. She’s breathing.” He looked at Nadia, though she couldn’t understand his Elvhen, so perhaps he was saying it for his own sake: “She’s alright.”

Nadia nodded, sniffling. She roughly wiped at her face, her bloodied hands smearing red diluted tears over her skin.

But it was more the shock than her injury which troubled her now. She hadn’t truly had any doubts about what Zevran and Hamal had told her, but it had all come on so quickly; just this morning she had been carrying on with business as usual. To be embroiled now in a plot against slavers in her very home was overwhelming.

Together, she and Hamal brought the child out of the carriage, and they wrapped her up in Hamal’s cloak.

The girl was safe now. She’d never go to where she was headed, or return to where she’d hailed from.

Outside El milagro, Rocio was hunched over on the ground, her cane now discarded at her side. She did not react as Nadia and Hamal joined them, but Zevran, through his pounding headache, hurried to meet them.

“You’re alright,” Zevran said, relieved. He would have embraced Hamal and kissed him, but he noticed the child in his arms and his breath caught in his throat. “Where did- was that child in the carriage?”

“Yes,” Hamal said. “She’s unconscious, but alive. Nadia is hurt.”

“I am fine,” Nadia said, hearing her name through the stream of Common exchanged between the two men. “The girl is what matters. Maker only knows, if we had not found her tonight…”

Zevran gave her a short nod, taking in the information. This was what their efforts had amounted to. They may have lost their informant. But a child was saved!

“Nadia, you both need a doctor,” Zevran said firmly.

“We need to handle things here first,” Nadia said, aiming a pointed look at the corpse. It was not her first time seeing a dead man, and yet, her stomach turned at the sight of his bashed-in face. She gestured with her hands out. “What’s happened? Who killed him?

Rocio looked up from her perch upon the blood-soaked stones. “I did,” she croaked out. “He deserved it.”

“It complicates things,” Nadia said with a grimace.

“What’s complicated about it? You say he stole that child!”

Nadia blinked at her. For a moment, she pretended she already knew the young woman; pretended she was a coworker or a neighbor she saw often. It was a skill that aided her, in her line of work. Compassion. Exercising it now, she saw pieces of the story in the painful angle of Rocio’s leg, and the fury in her wet eyes. Perhaps a reflection of herself, too, albeit one from decades ago.

“What’s your name?” she asked softly.

“Rocio Ciriani.”

“Rocio. Have you ever taken a man’s life before?”

“No.” The admission came out, low and hoarse. Rocio gazed up at Nadia, then looked at Zevran and Hamal in turn, lingering, finally, on the child. “I haven’t.”

“It’s a heavy thing. At this rate, the city guard will be called, if they aren’t already on their way,” Nadia said evenly. “But a murder at a brothel is nothing they haven’t seen before. It can be explained away. A drunk customer. A jealous lover. A rape.”

“Braska.” Zevran seethed quietly. “And what of the children he was going to buy tonight?”

He crouched over the man, staring into his face with a keen desperation, though the life was gone from him already. “Give me a name,” he urged quietly. “I know who you work with. But where do you meet them? How often? An address. A contact. Anything!”

For Zevran’s part, he was distressed. A few hours ago, his only goal had been to locate an informant, interrogate him, and kill him later; to dispose of the body in a river, or a charnel house. He’d have killed Gloria Amilcar, too, if it hadn’t been for Nadia’s involvement. He thought, also, of what he’d learned tonight about his father’s death. This had ballooned far out of proportion, and try as he did, he could not pinpoint where he’d gone wrong.

Hamal leaned in to speak to him.

“We need to go,” he said gently in the language that they shared, but which was neither of their native tongues. “The city guard won’t care about a shem selling elves to the Crows, but they will care about a dead shem with a Dalish arrow sticking out of him.”

Zevran wrenched the arrow from the man’s broken form. There was sense in his husband’s words, but his head was swimming.

“I’m not going to run,” he said, and he repeated himself in Antivan for Nadia and Rocio’s benefit. “No voy a huir.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Nadia said.

“I won’t run either,” Rocio forced out in her tear-soaked voice. “And I won’t lie to the guard. Everyone should know what has happened! What is the point if nobody knows? We have so much proof!”

“Proof or no, you will go to jail!” Nadia told her. “And still, there will be no guarantee that the guard will care, or do anything to help. What’s the point of that? I have worked this brothel for thirty years. This is how things are. A whore can be replaced.”

“The way things are must change. This is my life.” Rocio, unmoving, let out a hiss of air. “If it makes even a little bit of difference, I have to try.” There was a cold edge to her words.

“Brave girl,” Zevran murmured.

Then there was nothing more to say. There was no convincing a determined Antivan. This, he knew.

Nadia rolled her shoulders, feeling quite lightheaded. Her neck throbbed. She looked up at Zevran and Hamal, these men who had so disrupted El milagro ’s routine.

“To think, you returned without anyone asking you to, and in a single night made a mess of everything.”

Zevran’s eyes flitted to her, hurt. But she looked back at him with the strangest combination of pride and sorrow.

“Thank you,” she said, emphatically. “You came to help us, and you have. You made us aware of horrors that needed to be exposed. Leave Gloria to me; I will help Rocio turn her in. Leave Rocio to her fate, for she chose it. Now take that child with you. And go.”

Zevran rose to his feet. He exchanged a look with his husband before asking, “Where would you have us take her?”

And so the plan for the child was crafted in the mismatched pieces of Common, Antivan, and Elvhen they shared. Stitched together with a potent need for justice and a measure of patience.

In Hamal’s arms, the child slept dreamlessly. The spell had been strong enough to stun a horse and two grown adults, and it would take her time to recover her senses.