Chapter 25 Dorian
DORIAN
Dorian had been checking the festival's outer perimeter when the wrongness hit him so hard it almost buckled his knees.
The stench of corrupted magic, sharp and acidic, cut through the evening air from the direction of the main stage.
His panther snarled in recognition. Binding magic, the kind Sebastian Crowe specialized in.
He was running before conscious thought caught up, his enhanced speed carrying him through the shadows between vendor stalls and around the edge of the crowd.
By the time he reached a position where he could see the stage clearly, Ivy was already fleeing into the darkness, her guitar abandoned and her face a mask of shame and panic.
On stage, the magical residue of a silence sigil was like smoke, visible to anyone with supernatural sight. The crowd milled in confusion, some calling out in concern, others backing away from the wrongness they could sense but not identify.
Dorian's vision turned red around the edges. Sebastian had attacked Ivy in front of the festival, had stolen her voice in the most public and humiliating way possible. The calculated cruelty of it made his panther pace against his ribs, demanding blood.
He scanned the crowd until he found Sebastian's position, still lurking at the festival's edge with that satisfied smile that made Dorian want to tear his throat out. Instead, he forced himself to focus on the more immediate problem—breaking the sigil before it could do permanent damage.
Drawing on his panther's natural affinity for moonlight and shadow, Dorian called power to his hands and extended his claws just enough to channel raw magic through them.
The silver light of the rising moon answered his call, and he directed it toward the stage where the silence sigil still pulsed with malevolent energy.
The spell shattered like glass, its dark magic dissipating into harmless sparks that faded quickly in the evening air. But the damage was already done. Ivy was gone, her confidence and trust shattered as effectively as the sigil itself.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Twyla's voice carried over the crowd, strained but determined. "We're experiencing some technical difficulties. If you could please—"
"That won't be necessary."
The voice cut through the noise with the kind of authority that made everyone turn to look. Elder Varric emerged from the crowd, his long silver braids catching the lantern light and his storm-colored eyes taking in the situation with calm assessment.
"The evening's performances are concluded," he announced, his voice drifting to every corner of the festival grounds. "Please disperse peacefully. Vendors may continue normal operations."
"But Elder Varric," Twyla protested, "we have two more acts scheduled—"
"No longer." His tone brooked no argument. "This is a Council matter now."
The crowd began to scatter, some reluctantly, others with the hurried steps of people who recognized supernatural authority when they heard it. Within minutes, the performance area was clear except for festival staff and the few individuals Varric had indicated should remain.
Dorian found himself among them, along with Twyla, Lucien, Moira, and Diana. Notably absent was Ivy, who had disappeared so completely that even his enhanced senses couldn't track her trail.
"Report," Varric said simply.
"Magical attack during the performance," Lucien answered immediately. "Silence sigil, cast from a distance. Designed to steal the performer's voice and humiliate her publicly."
"Who was responsible?"
Dorian stepped forward. "Sebastian Crowe. I saw him at the festival edge during the casting. He's the warlock Ivy's been hiding from."
Varric's expression didn't change, but something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "Where is he now?"
"Gone. Disappeared as soon as the sigil broke."
"And Miss Lane?"
"Also gone." Dorian's jaw clenched with frustration. "She fled the stage immediately after the attack."
"Can you track her?"
"I can try."
"Do so. Bring her to the Council Glade when you find her. We'll need her testimony about this attack and any previous magical coercion."
As the group began to disperse, Dorian caught Twyla's arm. "Which direction did she go?"
"Toward the woods, I think. Past the inn, toward the lake trail." Twyla's usually cheerful demeanor was replaced by worried determination. "She looked... broken, Dorian. Like someone had torn out part of her soul."
He found Ivy sitting on a fallen log near Moonmirror Lake, her knees drawn up to her chest and her face hidden in her arms. She looked small and defeated in a way that made his protective instincts roar to life.
"Ivy."
She didn't look up, but her shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice. "Go away."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"You should. Before I drag you down with me."
He approached carefully, the way he might approach any wounded creature. "What happened tonight wasn't your fault."
Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I led him here. I brought this to your town, to your people."
"Ivy—"
She stood abruptly, wrapping her arms around herself as if holding the pieces together. "The Council wants to see me, don't they? Varric and the others. They want me to testify about Sebastian's attack, to prove he violated Hollow Oak's sovereignty."
"Yes," he said quietly. "But we can wait. Give you time to recover, to process what happened."
"No." She finally stood, wrapping her arms around herself. "I've been running from this for months. Time to stop being a victim and start being a witness."
Her voice was flat, lifeless. She moved past him toward the path back to town without meeting his eyes, her spine straight but her hands trembling despite her outward composure.
The walk back to town was silent, Ivy staying several steps ahead while Dorian followed at a careful distance. He could smell the fear and shame radiating from her like heat, but every attempt to close the gap between them only made her move faster.
At the Council Glade, Elder Varric waited with Emmett and two other Council members. Ivy approached them with mechanical precision, her face carefully blank.
"Miss Lane," Varric said, his voice carrying formal sympathy. "I'm sorry you had to experience such a violation in our sanctuary. We will investigate this attack thoroughly."
"Thank you." Ivy's response was equally formal. "What do you need from me?"
"Your account of tonight's events. Any previous interactions with the perpetrator. Details about the nature of the magical bindings you've been subjected to."
As Ivy began her testimony, speaking in that same flat, lifeless tone, Dorian found himself watching her carefully. She answered every question with clinical precision, but she wouldn't look at him. Not once during the entire proceeding did her gaze drift in his direction.
When Varric asked about her support system in Hollow Oak, about who she trusted to help her through this process, Ivy's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"I prefer to handle this myself," she said. "I've learned that depending on others only leads to disappointment."
The words hit Dorian cut into him. He could see the betrayal in the set of her shoulders, the way she held herself apart from everyone in the circle. Including him. Especially him.
His gut twisted with guilt as he realized the depth of damage Sebastian's attack had caused.
It wasn't just Ivy's voice the warlock had stolen tonight. It was her trust, her willingness to believe that someone might be able to protect her and something else… His panther seemed to sense that she knew. She knew that he knew Sebastian had been here and he didn’t even tell her.
He had broken her trust and Dorian had handed Sebastian the weapon to do it by keeping secrets, by thinking he could handle everything alone.