The shouting in the square had stopped.
Mirabelle, still standing in the shadowed War Room, found the silence more terrifying than the noise. The mob hadn't dispersed; they had simply turned their attention elsewhere.
Then, the bells began to ring again.
But this wasn't the slow, mournful DOOOM of the death knell. It was a peal. A joyous, frantic, clanging rhythm that signaled a coronation or a wedding.
"Why are they ringing the Joy Bells?" Mirabelle asked, her voice hollow.
Commander Varric burst into the room. He had lost his helmet. His face was pale, streaked with sweat and soot.
"Your Majesty," he gasped, leaning against the doorframe. "You need to see this. The Cathedral."
"What is happening?"
"A miracle," Varric said, the word dripping with bitterness. "Or a very expensive magic trick."
