Dragon Age: The Masked Empire - Softcover

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Empress Celene strode into the University of Orlais’s great Chantry Courtyard surrounded by her entourage of servants and guards and flanked by Ser Michel, her champion. The entire faculty had been assembled to greet her, and the professors bowed at her approach.
In the wan morning light, the marble walls glittered like fresh-fallen snow. The stone tiles of the courtyard had been set with a mosaic of Andraste, proud and defiant in her mother-of-pearl armor with carnelian flames behind her. Celene noted with approval that the mosaic had been restored since her last visit, where she had seen that time and careless boots had knocked some of the stones loose.
The mosaic of Andraste stared with lapis lazuli eyes at the chantry that gave the courtyard its name. It was the tallest building in the university, displaying its dominance with a pair of shining bronze domes that the university students jokingly called “the bosom of Andraste.”
Not that the university chancelier had mentioned that to Celene, of course.
Over the great bronze doors, over a mural of Andraste and her disciples, a phrase from the Chant of Light had been set into the stone in gold: A LEARNED CHILD IS A BLESSING UPON HIS PARENTS AND UNTO THE MAKER. The university chancelier and his professors stood with heads bowed beneath the phrase as Celene and her entourage made their way across the mosaic of Andraste.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” Chancelier Henri Morrac said, and at a gesture from Celene, he and the other professors rose from their bows. “We are honored by your visit.”
“In such troubled times, Morrac, I find myself taking comfort in the knowledge and wisdom you and your university provide the future of Orlais.” Celene smiled and gestured to her attendants, and two of them produced a jumble of intricately wrought silverite that, with a few twists and turns, could ingeniously be shaped into a small but surprisingly comfortable bench.
Ser Michel stepped aside, his eyes taking in the walkways and windows set into the marble walls, alert for any threat to the empress but always projecting the air of confidence Celene required in those who served her personally.
Morrac started. He had clearly expected to invite her into his office, to discuss the reason for Celene’s visit in his place of authority and perhaps show off a new manuscript some promising student had uncovered. Beneath the comparatively simple mask he wore as a younger son of the Morrac family, his lips pursed in confusion and concern as he took a moment to reposition his approach to the conversation for an outdoor setting. Celene was quietly pleased to have him off balance so early.
The empress wore a creamy satin gown trimmed with ropy strands of pearls and woven with intricate patterns of gold set with amethyst to mark the colors of the Valmont family. Her position as empress dictated that this was the lightest and most comfortable gown she could wear in public except when she went riding, but it nevertheless weighed enough to crush her back and waist by the end of the day. She settled onto the small silverite bench, careful as always that no sign of relief or discomfort betrayed her.
She was aided in hiding her expression by the half-mask that all Orlesian nobles wore in public. It was inlaid with moonstone, and lines of gold suggested cheekbones and a nose. Tiny purple sapphires ringed her eyes, and dyed peacock feathers swept back from her head to ring her with a crown of gold and violet. The sapphires and feathers could be replaced with other colors to match a particular gown or represent a special occasion. Below the mask, the empress’s face was powdered white and her lips were lined with deep red.
“If Your Imperial Majesty wishes,” Chancelier Morrac began, “Professor Doucy would be pleased to give a reading from his dissertation on the inferiority of Qunari society. It is a bold attempt to expand upon Brother Genitivi’s earlier writings, and if I recall correctly, you found his earlier work quite promising.”
“That does indeed sound lovely,” Celene said, and waited until Morrac had half turned to one of the professors on his right before adding, “but I find discussion of the great horned rulers of Par Vollen somewhat stark on a day already beset by the promise of winter’s chill.” As he jerked back to attention, she added, “Perhaps one of your professors could entertain us with a study of mathematics. I have, in my own simple way, been struggling with Vyranion’s Theorem, and I would be quite grateful if one of your learned scholars could explain the process by which it is proven.”
For a moment, the great courtyard was silent but for a few birds which, fed by students or groundskeepers, had elected not to fly south for the winter.
Chancelier Morrac swallowed. Even as a younger son, he should have had better composure. Celene wondered idly whether his open expression had led his family to banish him from the dangers of the imperial court to the scholarly life, or if he had forgotten his courtly training since coming to the university. In either case, it spoke ill of him.
“Your Radiance,” he said finally, “you think too little of your own scholarly pursuits. Vyranion’s Theorem is exceedingly complex. I confess, in my own mathematical studies, the waves of my intellect have broken upon its rocky shores with little result. However, if you seek a mathematical demonstration, I have devised a treatise upon a specific ratio found in nature so often that it must reflect the Maker’s own hand. I would be honored to—”
“Tea?” Celene asked, and gestured to one of her attendants, who produced an elegant silver pot inscribed with runes that kept the water within hot with no need for a fire. Another servant drew forth cups and saucers of Antivan porcelain so fine that the morning sun shone through them. “Surely one of the other professors has mastered Vyranion’s Theorem. The University of Orlais can hardly be the most learned institution in Thedas if we cannot understand the work of a simple Tevinter scholar.”
Chancelier Morrac looked affronted at that. Perhaps the man had not totally lost his noble pride after all. “I assure you, Your Radiance, the University of Orlais is unparalleled in its pursuit of knowledge and culture, due in no small part to the fact that Tevinter scholars are but slaves to the mages who rule them. In granting us freedom from pressures religious or political, you have empowered us to further Orlais’s culture.”
Yes, Morrac still remembered enough courtly training to throw the occasional barb. Celene was pleased to see that the conversation might be interesting after all. “One of your students, then? When I went riding with Comtess Helene last year, she told me that she was sponsoring a young man whose mathematical abilities were nothing short of prodigious.” She took the teacup her servant offered and took a small sip. “Now that I think upon it,he was studying Vyranion’s Theorem, and the discussion led me to peruse it myself. Lennan, I believe, was the young man’s name.”
“Ah, yes,” said Morrac, his gaze going flinty as he saw where Celene was headed, “I think I remember his application. And while of course our doors are open to any who, through noble blood or proper sponsorship, are able to ensure that they will continue our distinguished traditions—”
“Tell me, Morrac,” Celene said, and paused to sip her tea. “You study mathematics. Are you familiar with the number zero?”
It was excellent tea, a Rivaini blend of cinnamon, ginger, and cloves, sweetened with honey just as Celene...