He knew the magister wouldn’t care for him pulling up a chair, so that’s just what he did.

“This is a private table—” She eyed the wrinkled uniform, the scuffed boots, and the rat-grey hat still dripping with rain. “—ser Templar.”

“Won’t be here long,” he replied.

The magister exhaled. “Another round, then.” She summoned a dark-clad dealer to her side with the flick of a ruby-encrusted hand.

Tarquin thumbed through the cards he was dealt—crisp, never-used, and edged with gold leaf that left his palms dusted with brilliant flecks.

“Don’t you find the sparkle charming?” Coins winked in his peripheral vision, scudding across the red silk tablecloth. “That’s what you’re here for,” said the magister with her flat smile, “isn’t it?”

“That’s your opening bet? At a table with gold-painted cards?”

The magister raised an eyebrow. “It’s more than you see in a half year, templar.” She lay her cards face up on the table. “You want more? Let’s see if I like how you play.”

Tarquin revealed his own hand, then pushed a slim ledger into the center of the table. “How about we raise the stakes just a bit?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what that is,” she said. Tarquin noticed a slight pinch in the corner of one of her eyes.

“I have a contact. Lady’s lightning smart, and she says that contains financial records for the black-market slave trade.” Tarquin leaned back in his chair, settling into the velvet plush as easy as a smile on a grifter’s face. “Including transactions with the Venatori cult.”

The magister chuckled. “The Venatori were eradicated.”

“Is that right? The magisterium still considers consorting with them treason. Treason gets a magister exiled, titles destroyed….”

The magister tapped at her lower lip with a lacquered fingernail. “Interesting cards you’ve chosen.” Her voice held an edge like a razor just off the whetstone. “Perhaps you weren’t properly instructed in how this game is played.”

“I believe I know exactly how this game is played.”

The magister flung the rest of her cards on the table. “High cards and aces. You’re finished, templar.” She stood up and leaned over him. “You don’t get one over on me with that play.” The air crackled around her clenched fists—the sound of a mage gathering power. “And you don’t threaten me, in my establishment.”

There was a spark, and the hiss and sputter of a spell loosed, then smothered. The magister’s hand hung in the air, her magic countered.

Tarquin smirked. “You sure this is still your establishment?”

The magister looked full into the face of the dealer for the first time since she summoned him. “You… you can’t be…” She stumbled back. “The Viper’s just a tale.”

Tarquin tucked the slim ledger into the pocket of his coat. “Rigging the system only works if we play by your rules.” He leaned back in his chair and tipped his hat at the magister. “Sunset’s beautiful in Minrathous. Might want catch one while you still can.”

“Who are you? What do you want? Gold? Power?”

Tarquin smirked. “We’re the Tevinter you forgot. What do we want?”

From behind the magister, the dealer put up his hood. “Everything.”

(Illustrated by Ramil Sunga)