Bull was only halfway up the stairs when Dorian gave a shout from the study across from the bedroom that he used for spellcrafting, enchanting and general magical studies.

He stood in front of a book-case. The books there were false, hollowed out, and carefully containing Dorian's rarer ingredients, more important bits and bobs.

He'd gone to find a book and some ingredients, to try to figure out a draught of dreamless sleep. What he'd discovered, instead, was a horrific and too-familiar sound in his head, a sick singing. The voice of red lyrium.

The book that had contained his stash of lyrium lay on the floor. The leather bag of it was open, large red crystals spilled out onto the area rug.