What Secrets Await

Chapter 29: Into the Shadows

Maeva's hand smoothed over the leather in reverence, gently digging in her fingertips to test its temperance. Some would consider this armor sacred. It had been touched by death, magic, and destruction. It had survived the Red Templars, Corypheus, and a fucking dragon.

To many its importance would be marked by that history, which was surely significant, but Maeva marvelled most at its craftsmanship. Recognizing the quality of sealant, she was not surprised to see that there were no bloodstains on the coat. That didn't stop her from imagining blood being washed from it in streams after the aforementioned battles. So much blood.

The Inquisitor now had a plethora of superior coats and armored outfits to choose from. This old one had been handed down for recycling, as the Inquisition was nothing if not efficient. And now, Maeva was to wear the coat as a disguise while in the Winter Palace on a spy mission. The idea was almost laughable.

"Just below the knees," said Leliana.

"Oui, madame." The tailor began pinning the leather into an upward fold on the inside of the elongated vest. Maeva held still.

"The Orlesian language is pronounced at the front of the mouth. Vowels are rounded, consonants are teased. Listen to my voice." Leliana straightened her posture, as if reciting. "La plume de ma tante est sur la table. Now repeat."

"La ploom damatant ay soor latabluh."

Leliana turned to the tailor and made a dismissive gesture. "Ça suffit pour maintenant. Couds-le comme ça et on vera de nouveau plus tard."

The tailor nodded, removed the leather coat from Maeva's shoulders and fled the tent through the canvas flap. Leliana's tent was one of the largest due to traffic of agents and reports she managed.

"La plume de ma tante est sur la table," repeated Leliana.

"La plewm dima tawnt eh sewr lah tahbl." Maeva stepped down from the stool and stretched her aching arms. Standing still for two hours straight was decidedly worse than the constant lockpicking work Varric had set her to. At least tailoring didn't bother new sores and calluses onto her fingertips. "What does that mean?"

"In Fereldan, my aunt's quill is on the table."

Maeva laughed. "When would I ever need to say that?"

Leliana shrugged, something Maeva had noticed she didn't do outside of the company of her trusted circle. Still, this was far from an informal meeting, for the spymaster was always working on other projects simultaneously. Her travel desk was strewn with scrolls and documents that she read over in between conversation and assigning directions. Now that they were alone, she rose and approached Maeva with a keen eye.

"Did you watch how the tailor behaved?" Maeva nodded in response. "Describe it to me."

"He was focused, and humble. He seemed afraid to speak aloud. I think you scared him."

Leliana nodded. "What if he were a spy?"

"Him, a spy? No way, he's too young!" Leliana said nothing, causing Maeva to falter. "He was only here because of the coat fitting, which he was summoned for. We didn't discuss anything important."

"That is not the question, Maeva. Were the young man a spy, would you have known?"

Maeva considered, though it was obvious this was turning into a lesson where she would be wrong. "No."

"Why?"

"His behavior was not out of the ordinary. He served his task and obeyed your commands."