The question hung in the air. Maric reeled from Loghain, looking anguished and sickened all at once. Outside lightning flashed, followed shortly by a peal of thunder.
“You don’t know,” Maric protested. He was grasping at straws, now. “She could have a reason, she could . . . It doesn’t have to be what you think.”
“Then ask her,” Loghain said. “She’s on her way here now.”
Maric looked up at him, his eyes narrowed. The lightning flashed again outside the window, lighting Maric’s face and making plain his suffering. “On her way,” he repeated. “Then that’s why you . . .”
“I needed to know. And so did you.”
Maric shook his head in disbelief. He looked as if he were about to vomit. “I . . . what am I supposed to do with this? I can’t just—”
“You are a king,” Loghain said harshly. “You will need to make a decision.”
The two of them stood there in uncomfortable silence. Maric leaned against a wall, folded over with his hands on his knees as if preparing to become sick. Loghain looked at him from across the room, keeping himself cold and reminding himself that this was necessary.
The candle on the table guttered dangerously as the sound of rain increased outside. The winds were blowing in from the ocean, and bringing with them a freezing storm that would chill the entire coast before morning. The seasons were changing. By the end of the month, there would be snow again. Either the rebels acted before winter settled in or they would be able to do nothing until spring.
So they waited.
It did not take long. The door to the study creaked open, and Katriel quietly entered from the dark hallway outside, having maneuvered carefully past snoring soldiers. She was in traveling leathers and drenched from the rain, her blond curls clinging to her pale skin. Her long cloak dripped onto the floor.
Katriel paused, immediately becoming aware that something was amiss. The tension in the room was palpable. Her green eyes flicked from Loghain on one side of the room, glaring at her, and Maric on the other, standing up straight now and looking pale and ill. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, her expression deliberately neutral.
“My prince, are you well?” she asked. “I would have thought—” She glanced back at Loghain suspiciously. “—you might be asleep. It is very late.”
Loghain said nothing. Maric walked toward her, his emotions playing across his face. He was tortured by his torn loyalties; even Loghain could see that. Maric took Katriel by her shoulders and looked into her eyes. She seemed passive, almost resigned, and did not flinch away from him.
“You went to Denerim,” he stated. It was not a question.
She did not look away. “Then you know.”
“What do I know?”
Grief filled her, or was it shame? Tears streamed down Katriel’s wet face, and she would have pulled away if Maric did not hold her there. She sagged as if the strength had drained out of her, but still she did not look away from Maric’s fierce gaze. “I tried to tell you, my prince,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I tried to tell you that I wasn’t who you thought I was, but you wouldn’t listen. . . .”
Maric’s mouth thinned as he clenched his jaw, and his grip on her small shoulders became visibly tighter. There was seething fury in his eyes. “I am listening now,” he said, each word enunciated carefully.
Her eyes swam red with tears. They said to him: Don’t make me do this, Maric. It doesn’t have to be this way. And he ignored them, answering with tears of his own. Loghain looked on gravely and did not interfere.
“I am a bard,” she said reluctantly. “A spy. From Orlais.” When Maric did not respond, she continued. “I was brought here by Severan, the King’s mage, to find you, to bring you to him, but—”
“And what of West Hill?” Maric asked, almost too quietly to hear.
Katriel shrank as he towered over her, crying pitifully, but still she did not look away from him. “It was me.” She nodded.
Maric let her go. He released her shoulders almost gingerly and stepped away, sick horror on his face as he looked at her. It was true. All of it was true. Maric turned from her and looked toward Loghain, twisted up with agony and tears freely streaming down his cheeks.
“You were right,” Maric muttered. “I have been a fool.”
“I’m so sorry,” Loghain told him gravely. He meant every word.
“No, you’re not,” Maric gasped. But there was no venom in his words. He turned away from Loghain and made to walk away, his gaze falling on Katriel again. She stood there, vulnerable and shaking, crying as his gaze went from horror to disgust, and then calmed to icy rage.
“Get out,” he spat at her.
She flinched at his words, but did not move. Her eyes were hollow and hopeless.
“Get out,” he growled, more forcefully. Slowly Maric drew his dragonbone longsword from its scabbard, the glowing runes overpowering the faint candlelight and filling the entire room with an icy blue tint. He held the deadly sword before him in an overt threat. His whole body shook with a seething rage.
Ignoring the sword between them, her anguished eyes fixed solely on Maric, Katriel began to slowly walk toward him. “You said you didn’t care who I was before, or what I had done.”
Maric went cold, his eyes narrowing as he backed away from her. “I trusted you, I . . . believed in you. I was willing to throw it all away.” His voice broke, and he gulped back a surge of grief-stricken tears. “And for what?”
Katriel nodded and continued to walk toward him. “If you believe nothing else, my prince,” she whispered calmly, “you must believe that I love you.”
“Must I?” He raised the sword sharply to bar her way. “You dare.” He set his jaw firmly, refusing to retreat any farther.
She stepped forward again, her eyes solemnly fixed upon him. Letting out a scream of blind rage, Maric rushed toward Katriel with his blade raised high. The runes pulsated as he halted in front of her, sword poised over his head. She didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat, didn’t attempt to stop his swing. She merely stared at him, tears coursing down her cheeks. He lowered the blade to his side, his knuckles white as his hands shook.
He couldn’t stand to look at her, but couldn’t look away.
Katriel closed the last distance between them to gently touch Maric’s face. She said nothing. His whole body began to shake violently. With a cry of anguish and rage he threw off her hand and suddenly ran her through. His sword barely made a sound as it cleanly passed through leather and then flesh. Katriel gasped, clutching at Maric’s shoulders as he embraced her, her blood gushing out over the sword’s hilt and his hand that held it.
Maric stared down at her, his hateful expression dissolving into disbelief and horror. The moment stood suspended and still, Maric exhaling in a burst as he realized what he had done.
Katriel gasped again, and this time bright blood rushed out of her mouth, spilling down over her chin. She looked at Maric with eyes wide, tears flowing freely, and she slowly collapsed as the strength ran out of her. Maric caught her, still not letting go of his sword.
He looked over to Loghain. “Help me! We have to help her!”
Loghain, however, remained where he was. His expression was grim as Maric and Katriel continued their slow descent to the floor, but he made no move to approach them. Maric’s expression of horror only grew as he realized Katriel was already dead, her lifeless eyes still staring into his.
He began to shake. Convulsively he let go of the longsword and scrambled away from her on the floor. Blood was already beginning to pool beneath her, and she folded forward like a limp doll. As her body covered the blade’s bright runes, the room sank into shadow.
Maric shook his head. He lifted his hands and saw that they were covered in blood, dark and black in the dim light, and he stared at them as if he could not quite comprehend what he had done.
The door shook as someone pounded on it. Several voices could be heard outside, and the muffled voice of a soldier asking if all was well could be heard.
“Everything is fine!” Loghain shouted. Not waiting for a response, he crossed the floor toward where Maric sat. He put a hand on Maric’s shoulder, and Maric looked up at him with wide, bleary eyes. “Stop,” he said. His tone was firm. “She betrayed you, Maric. She betrayed all of us. This is justice.”
“Justice,” Maric repeated hollowly.
Loghain nodded grimly. “Justice that a king must dispense, whether it pleases him to or not.” Maric looked away, but Loghain shook his shoulder roughly. “Maric! Think of the days to come. How much justice will you need to hand out, when you sit on that throne? The Orlesians have dug their fingers in deep, and you will need to pry them out!”
Maric looked dazed. He shook his head slowly. “You and Rowan both told me what she was, and I refused to listen. I should not be King. I am a fool.”
Loghain slapped Maric, hard.