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Josephine made a disgusted noise, crumpled the letter, and tossed it into the hearth. Flames rolled eagerly over the paper, curling the singed edges and sinking yellow teeth into the lines of calligraphic script.
Antivan men were blessed with silver tongues and impenetrable skulls.
Year after year, she had come prepared with a bevy of excuses: the Inquisition, family obligations, the Antaam invasion. She had even taken this post in Tevinter just to get further away from him. And yet…
Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto of Antiva City was, in her friend Varric Tethras’s straightforward parlance, one stubborn bastard. He had waited nearly a decade for his bride ever since their respective parents decided it would be a good idea to bind two families together before either child had a say in the matter.
Josephine had hoped that if she simply stalled long enough, Adorno would, as men so often did, lose interest and pursue a more enthusiastic partner. Alas, no such luck. Even now, with the stormy Nocen Sea and miles of perilous roads between them, he persisted. He wished to know whether he might set the date for the first day of summer.
“Lady Ambassador, a visitor is waiting for you.” Ettori’s curly head appeared around the doorframe. “She says you invited her for an appointment, but she is not on the list.”
“Would you kindly let her in, Ettori?” Josephine replied, sitting up straighter in her padded chair
“Very well, ma’am,” Ettori conceded, though not without a faint frown.
The visitor entered with graceful determination. She was dressed sharply, yet with a peculiar flair - like an unusually fashion-minded librarian. Her coat was well-tailored but rather pointy, as though daring anyone to call it sensible. A small veiled fascinator was perched atop her glossy black hair, only a portion of it left free from the tight updo to frame an unamused face.
“Thank you for coming, Serah Gallus,” Josephine said as she rose, reaching across her paperwork-laden desk to shake the woman’s hand. Her palm was cold to the touch. “Please, take a seat.”
“Call me Neve.”
The woman sat, crossing one leg over the other that was metal from the knee down. The prosthesis was adorned with a figure of a cobra poised to strike. Tevinter did love their snakes.
“Magister Pavus recommended you to me as someone highly competent and discreet.” Josephine placed gentle emphasis on the final word.
“Well, isn’t that sweet of him?” Neve replied, her voice deep purple velvet.
A faint shiver traced down Josephine’s spine. She made a mental note to ask someone to stoke the fire.
“I require help with a rather sensitive matter. You see..” She was interrupted by a brisk knock at the door. “Yes?”
Ettori stepped in carrying a silver tray. On it sat a steaming mug, a small milk jug, and a bowl of sugar cubes.
“Ah. My coffee.” Neve lifted the mug at once, ignoring the accompanying accouterments. She inhaled the rising steam, then took a slow sip. “Right,” the detective said, settling back with the cup. “Back to your sensitive matter, Ambassador Montilyet.”
She told the detective of her plight. Neve listened without interrupting, only breaking eye contact to jot notes in a small pocketbook. When Josephine finished, Neve looked up and said, flatly: “Ten years? Damn.”
Josephine sighed. “Antivan men can be rather dense.”
The corners of Neve’s mouth twitched upward. “They do tend that way, don’t they?” she said.
“Besides, a promise of land and increased political influence through a match with a Montilyet can make a man patient,” Josephine added wearily.
“So you want me to dig up some dirt on him? Something for blackmail?”
“That’s rather direct, but yes, that’s exactly what I would like you to do. I wish to be released from the arrangement, and ideally without scandal. You, it seems, have quite a reputation for finding things and uncovering secrets. You also seem to have established good networking beyond Minrathous.”
“I have a friend or two in Antiva, but so do you, I imagine. Not to mention, the kind of Antivan friends I keep would be more than willing to offer their services to you directly – for the right price.”
“I would not send Crows after a man just for annoying me,” Josephine said firmly.
Neve finished her coffee in a single last gulp. She rose, smoothing the edges of her coat, and offered Josephine a faint smile; she could swear there was a mischievous ardor that gleamed in the detective`s dark, deep-set eyes. “Then we’ll do it my way.”
Three Weeks Later
Josephine lifted her tired eyes from the document and gazed out the office window. Against the dark sky, Minrathous glowed in neon blues and purples. It wasn’t uncommon for her to work well into the night, even into the early morning sometimes. A terrible habit for a lady of leisure, true, but Josephine had never been fond of idleness.
She yawned and stretched in her chair. Coffee would be great right now, but Ettori was surely fast asleep in her room by this hour. Oh well, she could simply have to make it herself. But that would be another dreadful breach of etiquette for a woman of her station. Having decided not to commit two class faux pas in one night, Josie instead reached into a drawer and produced a pipe and an ornate snuff box.
She took the first slow draw when footsteps echoed down the corridor. At first, Josephine assumed Ettori was coming to check on her, but as the steps drew nearer, she realized it wasn`t her assistant walking.
A soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” Josephine called out.
Neve Gallus stepped inside, closing the door gently behind her so it didn’t slam, and paused, studying the woman across the desk.
“I take it you won’t mind if I smoke,” the detective said, reaching into her coat.
Josephine removed the pipe from her mouth and held it out across the desk. “Not at all.”
Neve arched a curious brow but accepted the offering without hesitation. She settled into the chair and drew deeply from the pipe, white smoke curling around her fingers.
“How do you find the blend?” Josephine inquired, watching the detective blow delicate white circles of smoke.
“Sharp… interesting,” Neve said after savoring it for a moment. She curved her lips and expelled two more perfect rings, then set a rectangular leather folder on the desk. As Josephine picked it up and began to open it, the detective added casually, “You two might be better matched than you think.”
“Pardon?” Josephine frowned at the cryptic remark, and such familiarity. She even wondered whether she should take offense, but ultimately decided against it. She opened the binder and gasped as familiar wonky handwriting stared back at her.
“Lord Otranto has dug up some dirt on you, Ambassador. He came into possession of several love letters addressed to you from a man called Blackwall.”
There was no follow-up question, no demand for explanation, and no judgment in the detective’s dark gaze.
“Are those all?” Josephine asked, shuffling the letters nervously in her hands. She had assumed he’d stopped writing in recent months because he’d been too busy. Or dead. There was the Blight, after all.
“As far as I know, yes,” Neve replied, offering the pipe back.
Josephine took a deep draw, trying to calm her nerves. It didn't work.
“He is a Grey Warden,” she admitted, surprising herself with her own candor.
“I see,” said Neve, and so much was contained in those two short words.
“There wasn’t even anything between us,” Josephine laughed bitterly. She couldn’t stop confessing to that woman. The words slipped past her nearly solid wall of decorum, giddy with the freedom of their escape. “We come from such different circumstances; there could never be anything between us but what the Orlesians call la splendeur des cœurs perdus – the splendor of lost hearts: a fruitless courtship, feelings acknowledged but never acted upon. I can't even tell at this point if those feelings are still there, or if it simply flatters me to have his attention. Maybe I am just a selfish person who needs to feed her giant ego with love letters.
Neve shrugged. “So many in this city sate their egos with blood and misery. I’ll take your romantic egoism any day over them.”
But isn’t it the same thing? Josephine thought. In her world, lives and suffering were love’s currency.
“Maybe, there should`ve been something between us”, she mused out loud. “What is the point of being a proper lady if even your self-restraint may be used against you?”
She looked at the detective, who was staring curiously through the netted veil. Still, there wasn’t a speck of judgment from this peculiar librarian, or governess, clothed up to her neck, prim and proper, modest… and yet, that stare.
“There’s something else in the folder that might interest you, Ambassador. Your fiance owns a shipyard near Treviso that is clandestinely doing business with the occupying Antaam forces. Very unpatriotic of him. Fortunately, I’ve found the receipts to prove it.”
Josephine felt a grin tug at her lips.
“Well, it’s time I was on my way,” Neve said briskly. “There’s a list of expenses in the folder, as well as the price for my services and instructions on where to send the gold. Good night, Lady Ambassador.”
“Please, wait..”
Neve paused at the chair, one hand resting lightly on the back. Josephine walked around the desk, closing the distance between them. Her heart picked up speed, and her inhibitions seemed readying themselves for a final stand. To Fade with them. She pressed her lips to the other woman’s mouth. It was far more awkward than she had hoped – the fascinator nearly poked her in the eye, and Neve tensed at first before answering with a playful bite.
Josephine withdrew, cheeks aflame. “Sorry,” she muttered, staring at the floor. “I just…”
“Wanted to see what the life of an improper lady had to offer?” Neve asked with teasing mockery, which made Josephine blush even harder. She placed a hand on Josephine's breast and pushed her backward until the Antivan`s bum hit the edge of the desk. Neve wrapped her lips over Josephine's mouth. She tasted like tobacco and coffee.
Josephine moaned softly, pathetically, through the urgent rustling of silk. Neve's hand, warmer this time, reached under her petticoats, soft fingers brushed her thighs. Josephine gasped as the woman’s fingers slipped between her folds. A soft chuckle tickled the skin behind Josie`s ear.
"Damn, do all Antivans get turned on by initiative, or just the ones I fancy?"
Josephine was too distracted to answer or even consider the implications. Another Antivan? She bit on her lip to suppress a moan. If the servants heard, the gossip would never end…Oh, Maker, she knew the detective would be good with her fingers if the elaborate way she tied that teal ascot around her neck were any indication, but she had no idea she could do that. Josephine clung to Neve for dear life, desperately muffling the unbecoming sounds that threatened to escape from her against her lover`s lips.
"More," Josie whispered, a plea, an order, a demand. "Please, more."
***
Josephine sat on the edge of her desk, fanning herself with a merchant ship’s manifest. Maker, she was hot. By the door, Neve Gallus busily adjusted her fascinator.
“Well, that was fun,” the detective purred, not bothering with the loose ascot draped around her well-kissed neck. “I say we call this…hm…how do you say it in Orlesian… ah, une aventure d’un soir.”
The Lady Ambassador agreed with a blissful smile.
“Works for me.”