Lucanis had noticed her absence. Days passed, then weeks, and there was no song in the air where there used to be. No familiar figure perched with practised ease in the Grande Markets. No murmured word about a silver-voiced bard in backroom conversations or passing gossip. He asked discreetly. Then less discreetly. But she'd vanished like a thread pulled from a seam, leaving the fabric of the city slightly… off.
She wasn't singing. Not privately, not publicly. It wasn't like her.
He hated how that thought had become reflexive. Not like her, as though he knew her well enough to make the call. As though their brief, jagged handful of conversations counted for anything but confusion.
Still, he remembered where she lived.
He'd followed her that night, after the tavern. He'd told himself it was to ensure her safety, nothing more. It had felt low, even then. Now it felt worse. But he started passing through the area more often. Lingering. Stalling. Always with the same quiet hope ticking beneath his ribs like a second heartbeat.
And then one morning, there she was.
She rounded a corner carrying an empty basket, hair pinned back with careless elegance, hood pushed half off her shoulders. She spotted him before he could even pretend surprise.
"Maker's breath," she muttered, stopping mid-step. "Still?"
Lucanis blinked, then offered a slow, disarming smile. "Good morning to you too."
Evie's eyes narrowed. She didn't look angry, just... tired. "I thought we had an understanding."
"We didn't," he said plainly. "You made a decision. I wasn't part of it."
That stopped her for a beat. But she only sighed and resumed walking. He fell into step beside her without needing to be asked. She didn't tell him to leave, so he counted it as a win.
They walked in silence for a while, the early bustle of the market beginning to swell ahead.
"Stopped singing?" He asked after a time, keeping his tone casual.
"Maybe," she said.
Lucanis glanced sideways. "You were good at it. Did you stop... because of me?"
Evie didn't even look up. "Yes, Lucanis, you personally destroyed music for me. Every bard in Thedas felt it."
He blinked. It was the first time she had said his name. "That's not-"
"Tragic, really. Someone should write a ballad. But not me."
They passed a flower cart. She paused to glance over a few fading stems and bruised petals, fingers grazing over a daisy that had seen better days.
"You still with the Crows?" She asked without looking at him.
He gave a quiet huff of amusement. "As ever."
"Mm."
He waited, but nothing else came. She moved to another cart.
"Are you thinking of trying something else?" He asked. "If not singing."
Evie hesitated. "Art. I used to paint, sketch, sculpt."
"You're good at that too?"
This time, she gave him the ghost of a smile. "I was. I suppose I'll see if I still am."
Lucanis watched her a moment longer. Her walls were up, not the brittle, defensive kind, but the quiet sort, built stone by patient stone. She wasn't pushing him away. But she wasn't letting him close either.
"So," he said, as she lifted a head of lettuce with one hand and inspected it with the air of someone who would rather not be touching it at all. "Do you like... lettuce?"
"No. I'm told it's necessary," she replied, with far more gravity than he thought a lettuce deserved.
"Necessary for what?"
She stared at the lettuce, brow furrowed. "Exactly. What is it for?" She asked, almost to herself. "What does it do?"
He raised a brow, the corners of his mouth twitching. "You don't know what lettuce is for?"
"I have theories," she said solemnly. "But none of them explain why I'm expected to eat it."
"Well," he began carefully, "it goes in salads. Sandwiches. Sometimes wraps."
She was still staring at it.
"It adds texture. Crunch. Contrast to richer things."
She nodded slowly, then looked up at him again. "So I haven't been lied to..."
Lucanis squinted. "Who would lie to you about lettuce?"
"The same people trying to make me eat it," she said, grave as a Chantry Mother.
That startled a short laugh out of him. "What kind of life have you led where someone might launch a conspiracy over leafy greens?"
"You'd be surprised."
He probably would.
She turned the lettuce once more, studying its pale ribs and curled edges like it might reveal state secrets. Then, without comment, dropped it into her basket as if surrendering to some greater force.
"At least it's not kale," he muttered, mostly to himself.
She didn't miss a beat. "Kale is where souls go to die."
He huffed. And even as they kept walking, her basket swinging lightly at her side, he found himself trying to imagine what else she'd been told, what other ordinary things in the world had been made strange by whatever strange path had shaped her.
Lucanis trailed a step behind her, watching the way she moved through the stalls, not like someone on familiar ground, but someone learning how to look like they belonged. She never lingered long in one place. Rarely touched anything she didn't intend to buy. She asked questions about prices in a voice just loud enough to be heard and just quiet enough to never seem demanding.
Vendors recognised her, a few smiling broadly as she passed. An older woman selling oranges offered her one, saying, "It's not the same without your voice, you know. Market's quieter now. Less joy in the day."
Evie accepted the fruit with a soft smile and a quiet "thank you," but didn't respond to the comment. Her eyes flicked toward Lucanis, not cold, just unreadable.
They passed a stall where a hunched man was selling dried herbs, little bundles tied with coloured twine. Evie stopped and inspected them, but her expression was pure confusion.
"Do you cook?" He asked, trying not to sound too curious.
"I eat."
"That's not an answer."
"I've set things on fire in a pan, if that's what you're asking."
"That's arson, not cooking."
"Semantics. It was just very cooked."
Lucanis knelt briefly to inspect the bundles. "That one's thyme," he said, tapping one. "Good with roasted meat or vegetables. That one's rosemary. Stronger. You have to be careful with it, or it'll overpower the whole dish."
Evie picked up the rosemary and sniffed it. She frowned. "It smells like forest floor and soap."
"You're not wrong."
"Which one is Basil? I'm told it's an herb."
He felt the corners of his mouth twitch but fought it down. He doubted she would take kindly to being laughed at. "This one. It goes well with tomato-based dishes."
She looked at him like he had slapped her; it threw him for a moment. He dissected his words to her in less than a second, seeking the offence.
"Tomatoes?"
"Yes?" He said, holding the little bundle out to her.
"I see..." She took it but certainly didn't look happy about it.
They kept walking, and something eased between them - not trust, but something like tolerance. Lucanis didn't know if she'd ever let him close. But she hadn't told him to leave. She hadn't vanished again.
For now, he'd take that.
Still, he lingered. They talked in small, inconsequential words. About fruit prices and weather and the street musicians on the next block. But underneath it all, something unspoken thrummed like a wire strung too tight. The bond waiting to be sealed.
By the time her basket brimmed with bread, fruit, and the occasional regrettable vegetable, the crowds had begun to thin, shadows lengthening across the cobbled square. She bartered for a small cut of cured meat at one of the last stalls and tucked it away with quiet satisfaction.
Lucanis inclined his head toward the laden basket. "Have you finished plundering the market, then?"
Evie cast him a sidelong glance. "Unless I mean to carry it upon my head like some Fereldan milkmaid, yes."
He folded his arms, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Could be good for posture."
"Could be good for falling down stairs."
"Well," he said, "one must suffer for grace."
Adjusting her grip on the basket, she looked him over once, a measuring glance, not unkind, but hardly warm. Then she exhaled through her nose.
"Well then," she said, dragging the words like they pained her. "Thank you. For the education on leafy greens."
"You're most welcome," he said, bowing his head with mock gravity. "Should you require further enlightenment on the matter of lettuces, I remain at your service."
She gave him a long look, half amused, half weary. "Goodbye, Lucanis," she told him in a tone that practically forbade him from following her, before she turned away and left him there.
Lucanis remained a moment longer, staring after the space she'd left behind, the ghost of her sarcasm still echoing in his ears.
No closer to understanding her. Not even a little.
But at least she hadn't run or lied. And in this particular game, that almost felt like progress.
Lucanis had the whole walk to the Diamond to wrestle himself into a more appropriate state of mind. He even stopped at a fountain to splash cold water on his face, telling himself it was for the heat. It wasn't. He could still hear her voice as she held that cursed lettuce like a scholar pondering the secrets of the Fade. So I haven't been lied to, she'd said. With utter sincerity. Who lies about lettuce?
He should be annoyed. He wanted to be annoyed.
But there was something about her absurdity, her sharp tongue and the occasional glimpse beneath it - something earnest and strange and bright - that made it difficult to keep his smile down.
He had only gone looking for confirmation that she was safe, to remind her he still existed whether she wanted him to or not. That was all.
And yet…
He reached the Diamond with his usual grace, slipping past guards and under chandeliers until he reached the private room above. The scent of incense and well-aged brandy met him first, followed by the low murmur of voices. The four of them were already inside, Teia, Viago, Illario sprawled across a chaise like the lounging prince he pretended to be, Caterina had yet to arrive.
Lucanis stepped into the room with what he hoped was his usual nonchalance and poured himself a drink without comment.
But of course, it never was that easy.
Teia's head lifted slowly, eyes narrowing. "You're late."
"And you're squinting at me," he said, casually. "Are we announcing the obvious today? Besides, Caterina isn't even here."
"You're late and you're smiling," Illario said, straightening a little. "That's two irregularities in one evening. I'm calling it: woman."
Lucanis paused only a heartbeat before replying, "I was at the market."
"Is this little Evie?" Illario asked, all too pleased.
He didn't answer. Not yet.
Viago leaned forward, concern beneath his curiosity. "There's someone?"
Lucanis could have deflected, but his silence had already betrayed him. And if he was honest with himself - which he hated being - the words were pressing at the back of his throat like steam beneath a lid. It was Illario, naturally, who pried it open.
"You lot are asking the wrong question," Illario said. "It's not just 'someone.' It's her. His soulmate."
That stopped the room. Fucking gossips.
Lucanis stared into his glass, swirling it once before lifting it to his lips. He didn't look at any of them.
Teia blinked. "You're joking."
Viago's jaw hung slightly open. "But you never said-"
"Confirmation took time," Lucanis said at last, voice quiet but steady. "She was… difficult."
"Difficult how?" Viago asked, eyes still wide. "You hear their name, you say yours. You lock eyes. You know. Unless-"
"She runs from the bond," Lucanis said simply.
That silenced them all again. Even Illario's smile faded into something more contemplative.
Viago was still staring, stunned. "But… but who denies the bond? You know it. You feel it in your bones. She would have - she must know."
"She does," Lucanis said. "She's just chosen to act as if it doesn't matter."
"Madness," Viago said, shaking his head. "Or perhaps she was dropped as a child?"
Lucanis turned sharply.
Viago lifted his hands. "I meant no insult-"
"You called my soulmate a simpleton."
Illario chuckled under his breath. "Oh, this is delightful. You've grown attached."
"She's not a simpleton," Lucanis muttered. "She's… resolute. She believes there are other things more important than fate, apparently."
Teia's brows drew together. "And yet you're smiling like a boy after his first tumble."
Lucanis glanced down into his glass again, then to the faint shimmer of citrus on his sleeve where a fruit vendor's sample had burst too close. "She didn't lie," he said softly. "Didn't pretend it wasn't me. Didn't run. And she thanked me. With some degree of effort, but it happened."
He looked up, almost surprised to find them still staring.
"It's not much. But it's something."
"She truly means to fight it?" Viago asked, still struggling to comprehend.
"She means to fight everything," Lucanis sighed. "The bond is only one battlefield."
There was silence for a beat.
Then Illario clapped once, too loud. "Well, I for one look forward to the chaos."
"That makes one of us," Caterina said crisply. Her voice cut through the haze like a blade as she entered.
She turned to face them all, her arms folding neatly. "Are we quite finished discussing Lucanis's romantic pursuits?"
"Not even close," Illario muttered, earning a look.
"Good," Caterina said, ignoring Illario. "Because we've far more pressing matters to address than whether our dear Lucanis gets a kiss or a dagger to the chest. The safehouse breach. The blackmail theft. The pattern."
Lucanis shifted in his seat and let his expression fall back into its more familiar shape, guarded and controlled. He straightened his cuffs, and with some effort, he locked Evie's voice, her dry wit, and her ridiculous lettuce dilemma behind a door in his mind.