Reluctant Alchemist. Ch 26: For All We Have and Are
The cavernous hall is deserted, save for one lonely sweeper — an elderly elf clothed in threadbare, discolored robes pushes a broom around with a quiet shuff shuff shuff. Torquemada proceeds to a small alcove, and Margo follows her to the foot of the sword-and-shield wielding stone maiden that looms menacingly from the unsteady shadows.
The spymaster lowers herself into the lone pew and gestures for Margo to take a seat beside her. “I had hoped this would not become necessary, but at this stage, I fear inaction is the more harmful approach.” Her voice is muffled by the acoustics of the narrow space. Margo swallows a wave of rising terror — she is really beginning to develop a Pavlovian reflex to Comrade Nightingale, and not of the pleasantly anticipatory variety, either.
Leliana turns, her face in three-quarter profile oddly soft in the flickering candlelight. The skin around her eyes looks thinner, the crow’s-feet more deeply grooved. The cinnamon-colored strands that escape her hood flash with new silver. “I terrify you, don’t I?” she muses. There is neither sadness nor glee in the tone, only a quiet sort of resignation.
“Most of the time, yes,” Margo hedges. No point in insulting Torquemada’s intelligence with unconvincing bravado. Silence descends upon them, nothing to break it but the faraway scraping of a broom against the stones.
“I would have you look at something.” Leliana makes no move to follow up on this declaration of intent, and Margo forces herself not to fidget on the hard pew. At length, the spymaster releases a breath. “I have little taste for theatrics these days. Suffice it to say, what you will see is revealed in utmost confidence.” She cuts Margo a steely look. “Under no circumstances will you share it. Is this clear?”
“Abundantly so,” Margo retorts, more dryly that she was aiming for. Torquemada’s alleged tastes for theater notwithstanding, the threat is perfectly effective.
