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It was only a matter of time before Rook changed her mind. All it would take was for her to wrap a single copper hand around his throat and squeeze. She was a mage. She knew that they- he wasn’t right. Even apostates knew better than to let an abomination live, but, for some reason, Ophelia had stayed her hand to heal him.
Lucanis shook with every step when they finally entered the Lighthouse. His heart pounded against his ribs. He was out- No! We are out! Caterina is dead. Zara isn’t dead. We must find her! The rest of the night was a blur. Ophelia’s giant hands guided him to a room- her room Spite declared with a hiss. It smelled of frankincense and myrrh. The scent was familiar, but Lucanis couldn’t place it.
The green chaise was soft compared to the hard, stone floor of the Ossaury cells. She placed a knitted red shawl on his shoulders to keep the Fade’s chill away. Rook’s room was lit by candlelight. Somehow, Rook had managed to turn off the glowing green aquarium. “I understand, in a way. The sun used to hurt my eyes, back when I first left the Necropolis.”
Ophelia hummed. The mortar and pestle were tiny in her large, copper hands. Somehow, she understood his paranoia, the need to sniff every herb before she used them. She allowed him to inspect the salve without a single huff of protest. In exchange, he ate the lentil soup she made without complaint.
“What are you humming?” His voice was frail. He hated it. Once, it had been strong and smooth like Antivan coffee- like a proper Crow. Now, he sounded as if he was on death’s door. Weak, Caterina hissed in his head.
“The Canticle of Shartan.” Her Nevarran accent coated every word. Her red eyes flickered up to him. He didn’t flinch, even if they were the same color as Zara’s eyes, blazing as she tortured him. But it was clear that Ophelia’s eyes held none of Zara’s cruelty. Warm embers, not an inferno. “It’s a rather old verse of the Chant.”
“You are Andrastian?” It had been years since Lucanis had set foot in a Chantry. Not since Caterina stopped dragging him to Messe. The strong incense always made his head hurt. It was better to stay in bed on a Sunday morning, no matter how much it annoyed her.
“I am.” The smile on her darkly painted lips was slightly strained. Her eyes flickered away from him. “It’s the wish of the Chantry that even the Qunari will one day sing the Chant of Light, no?”
“I don’t think I’ve heard it before.” It doesn’t sound like any of the usual Canticles they sang in Antiva. Perhaps it’s unique to Nevarra? “Could you sing it for me?” The words left his lips before he could stop them.
She blinked at him. “If that is what you wish.” Her smile grew into a more genuine shape. She hummed for a few seconds, then she sang softly. Her voice was light and warm.
For twenty days and twenty nights the People ran,
With the footsteps of the legion ever at their backs.
No rest could they find, since their flight from Vol Dorma…