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Donnen Brennokovic had been pursuing the killer of Magistrate Dunwald without food or rest, and so far all he had was the seal of an imaginary group, a wounded arm, and a package that contained a rusted Tevinter shortsword. He was past exhaustion, and every breath made his head throb like he'd had too much too drink. He was getting too old for this shit.
He couldn't go to the barracks with a knife wound he'd picked up off-duty. If the captain caught him, and she would, he'd be thrown out of the guard for sure. That left one option.
The Chantry clinic turned no one away, but it usually didn't have to. The presence of three Circle healers was more than enough to frighten more decent folk into deciding to wait and see if they got better on their own.
Aside from a few drunken beggars snoring in the beds, the clinic was quiet. The healer didn't ask his name and tended the wound with only a disapproving frown. In a few breaths, his arm was as good as ever. Pity magic wouldn't mend his coat sleeve.
As he walked through the nave toward the exit, he heard a voice.
"Guardsman, I was just about to look for you."
The deep black gown she wore only made her eyes more otherworldly. A scent like lilacs filled the air around her. She may have been dressed in mourning garb, but she was dressed to kill.
Donnen bowed. "Lady Marielle."
"We should talk. I may have a lead for you."