beta-read by brightspot149. Thank you!
A little canon dialogue taken from WEWH in this chapter. If you recognize it, it's not mine.
Ciri took a moment to let the jolt of unease from Leliana's words pass. Then she nodded and forced herself to relax.
"Do you think Florianne and Gaspard are targeting Celene as well?" she asked.
Leliana looked thoughtful. "It's always possible. Gaspard is said to be a stickler for the chevalier code of conduct, though he no doubt knows how to use it to his advantage. He's faced her in war, and played the Game in ways that made her lose face with her court, but sending a bard after his own blood? That would be too underhanded for him. I expect he has a plan or two up his sleeve that don't involve assassination. Who knows? Perhaps he even intends to triumph legitimately in the negotiations tonight."
"You'd understand the chevaliers better than I do," Ciri said. "If not Florianne, then who?"
Leliana lowered her voice further. "There is a possibility I've been considering. Celene has an occult advisor, an apostate who took on the position of Imperial Court enchanter when Vivienne left. She is ruthless, cunning and manipulative, a practitioner of magics many would find odd or distasteful."
That sounded promising. "How did you come to learn of her? Is she with the Venatori?"
"I traveled with her during the Fifth Blight," Leliana said. "Her name is Morrigan. As to her allegiances, I suspect her only true allegiance is to herself, but she may ally with any who offer her arcane knowledge. The Venatori seems like a stretch, it's true, but besides Morrigan, I can't think of any other leads who would be present tonight. Not after we dealt with that mess in the Lake Celestine region."
"Gaspard pointed me in Briala's direction, but I find it hard to credit." Ciri hmmed under her breath. "Morrigan, you said? What would make the empress choose an apostate as Vivienne's replacement?"
"She has always been fascinated by mysticism and the occult, much to the Chantry's disapproval. If Morrigan offered her answers, Celene likely ushered her into the palace herself." Leliana frowned. "You're right about Briala. There is a betrayal there between the empress and her one-time spymaster, but I don't believe Briala would have a hand in Celene's assassination in retaliation. She needs the empress to survive in order to wrest concessions from her for the elves' wellbeing."
"Any suggestions for where to start?" Ciri asked.
"Half of the palace is closed for renovations, notably the servants' wing and the royal wing," Leliana said. "Yet Sera reports that she's seen people going in and out at odd hours. And if Morrigan has been frequenting any part of the palace, it will be the library."
"Send Sera my way," Ciri told her. "Cole, too, if you see him."
They changed the subject back to fashion smoothly and chatted for a few more minutes before parting at the ballroom doors. Leliana slipped inside and Ciri, alone for the first time since arriving, scanned the vestibule for a friendly face in the sea of masks and found precious few. Dark red hair above a charcoal dress caught her eye, and she smiled in relief and made her way toward Triss.
"Enjoying yourself yet?" Triss asked with a return smile, tucking her arm through Ciri's and strolling deeper into the vestibule.
"Ever so much," she said mockingly. "The grand duke's sister is the infamous bard behind that assassination attempt, half the people here think I'm either an upstart bastard Valmont, a 'rabbit,' or both, and Leliana thinks the empress' own court enchanter could be involved in the plot against Celene."
Ciri felt Triss tighten her hold on her arm as she steered her into another empty corner.
"One problem at a time," Triss said. "The grand duchess is Papillon?"
"And plotting something with Gaspard."
"Right." Triss straightened, her smile disappearing at once. "I'll stay in the ballroom and keep an eye on her. She won't get the chance to even lay a finger on you."
Ciri felt tension release from between her shoulders as a knot of worry dissolved in her stomach. "Thank you."
"I can't do much about the rumors, but I can be as charming as possible and give all the credit to you," Triss continued. "I'll pass the word around that that's the plan for the night. And this magical advisor…"
"Court enchanter," Ciri corrected her. "I don't think the position is quite the same as yours. Leliana says her name is Morrigan, and that she knows her from the Fifth Blight. She says she's skilled in 'distasteful, odd' magic and is 'ruthless, cunning, and manipulative.' If you come across her, try to figure out her allegiances, and stop her if she's involved in all this."
"That shouldn't be a problem," Triss said. "Anything else?"
"Yes," Ciri said, remembering Duke Cyril's words. "Comtesse Solange Montbelliard wants to speak with you. I've heard she's very sympathetic to the mage cause, so that's likely what it's about. Since you're staying in the ballroom, I'll tell her where to find you, if that works for you?"
"I think I can manage to take an eye off the grand duchess for a few seconds to advance mage rights in Thedas with Orlesian nobility," Triss said with a small smirk. "Go. I have your back here."
"Thank you," Ciri said again.
Triss let her arm go and strode away back to the ballroom with a dramatic whirl of her dark skirts. Ciri took a moment to center herself, then set off toward the gallery at a measured pace.
Time to get to work.
"Cole," she murmured to the empty air, "are you there?"
A slightly baffled voice answered from just behind her. "Where else would I be?"
"Good. Will you please look around the entrance to the servants' wing for hints as to who's been coming and going? Don't go too far in without backup. If you find anything, bring it to me and to Leliana discreetly."
"Spies and secrets," he whispered. "Not just us. Some of them want to hurt you."
"That's always been a risk," she whispered back.
He didn't reply, but there was an emptiness to the air behind her, and she moved on, certain Cole had left to do as she asked. She stopped briefly in the gallery to exchange pleasantries with Lord Geffray Villon of Arlesans, one of the two acquaintances she had made at Vivienne's soiree. He introduced her with all apparent delight to his older brother and mother, beaming behind his mask and bowing over her hand.
"Vicomtesse Elodie is around somewhere," Lord Geffray told her with an idle wave of his hand, "though do take care, Your Worship. That strutting cockerel from Val Royeaux is here as well, and he hasn't forgiven you how your encounter ended."
Ciri shook her head. "He's welcome to try his luck again. I'm sure it will go just as well for him as the first time. Don't you think?"
Lord Geffray's brother chuckled and tipped his goblet to her in a friendly toast. "Some people aren't blessed with an abundance of wit and require multiple lessons to benefit from them."
"Precisely."
She smiled and bade them farewell, buoyed by her first success with Celene's courtiers. Ahead, in a dark corner of the gallery, a trio of servants caught her eye, and she slowed her pace.
There was nothing inherently suspicious about the way they were trading food and drink from one tray to another. But they placed each glass and plate so slowly and methodically, and they whispered as they did, with a worried tension lining the unmasked halves of their faces.
And while her choppy blonde hair was covered by a dark wrap, Ciri would recognize that tall, lanky frame anywhere.
Sera looked up and met her eyes. She muttered something to the two servants and beckoned Ciri over surreptitiously.
Ciri hesitated for just a moment, then swept over. "I don't suppose you have anything good to drink?" she asked the servant with the drinks tray. Softly, she added, "Can you investigate the library, Sera? Leliana thinks the new court enchanter might be a suspect."
One of Sera's two companions, a rosy-cheeked young elven man a few inches shorter than her, obligingly began to describe the drinks on offer as a cover for their conversation. The other servant, a slender elven woman with dark brown eyes, watched Ciri silently as Sera nodded and replied just as quietly.
"Easy enough. Trellis in the garden I can shimmy up. No one notices the servants. If I find anythin', you want me to bring it to you or Leliana?"
"Both, ideally, but me first."
"–Flames of Our Lady in a most attractive shade of blood red, with notes –"
"I'd also like to speak to Briala," Ciri said beneath the recitation. "She wasn't in the ballroom for the introductions."
The woman scoffed under her breath. "She wouldn't have been. It was a big enough concession to make her an ambassador."
Sera looked strangely hesitant. "Ciri –"
"Yes?"
"…Never mind." She shook her head. "Not the time for it."
"–From the Arling of West Hill, oak-aged for five years, notes of blackcurrant with –"
"Briala says you're with us," the woman said suddenly.
Ciri made to give her easy agreement, then paused as the words caught up to her. They weren't with her. She was with them.
She remembered the way the servants had been so helpful at Vivienne's soiree. How the only people who'd come out looking decent in Mihris' tale had been Briala and Felassan. How Briala had aided her family and friends in the dark future.
"I stand with Briala," Ciri said quietly.
The woman nodded in acceptance. "A couple of ours went missing in the servants' wing. Briala went to investigate. Something's happening in there."
"As soon as I can get away, I'll join her," Ciri promised. She acutely regretted how much attention was on her tonight.
"–A most delicate wine, often described as a wistful spirit. Light in the nose, and a comfort on the tongue –"
"I'll have the Rowan's Rose. Thank you."
He presented her with a stemmed glass half-full of wine the color of the palest blush pink. "Inquisitor."
"When I find Briala, who should I say sent me?"
"Sophie and Lem," the woman said. "Good hunting."
Ciri raised her glass at them in acknowledgment before leaving to go find another courtier to charm.
Instead of an Orlesian, she found the Iron Bull and Solas lounging near each other against the long wall, far enough apart that they couldn't converse, with a noticeable bubble of space around them. Both watched the masked crowd drift past with keen eyes.
She approached Solas first, and he smiled at her in welcome. There was an edge to it that surprised her slightly. "I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events," he said, smile sharpening.
That didn't sound as if it came from secondhand Fade dreams. Yet what high society events could an elf expect to attend as a guest?
This wasn't the place to press him on it. Moreover, she expected he hadn't meant to show so much of his hand – nor did he realize yet that he had.
"Are there many such parties in the Fade?" she asked instead.
"Anything where people's emotions run high, or events make an impact on history, will be recorded in the Fade," he told her. "A masquerade such as this has the potential for both. I've seen countless such displays in my journeys in the Fade. The powerful have always been the same. Only the costumes change."
She couldn't disagree with that.
"Are you being treated well?"
"I am invisible," he said, "as was my intent. I can see more clearly with the eyes of the court ignoring me. And the servants are kind enough to continue to refill my glass." He shook his head. "It is a mystery how the nobles of Orlais manage to live their entire lives ignorant of the fact that their servants have an entire society of their own."
"A kinder sentiment than you expressed in Dirthavaren," Ciri said, gently prying.
"Regardless of my feelings on the city elves at large, the way many of them have organized under Briala is nothing short of admirable," he told her. "They understand that they cannot wait for Celene or Gaspard to give them justice and dignity. They must demand it."
"I agree," she said. She took a sip of her wine and wrinkled her nose. It tasted like water that had been told extensively what wine was supposed to taste like – 'delicate' was a generous description. "If you learn anything, pass it on to Sera or Cole. And keep an eye on Florianne and whoever she interacts with. She's Papillon, apparently, and Leliana thinks she and Gaspard don't intend to let me leave here alive."
"A mistake on their part," Solas murmured.
"They'll learn."
She reached out and squeezed his hand briefly before moving on to join the Iron Bull. He shuffled over a few inches to make room for her by his little table, not taking his eyes off the courtiers.
"Shouldn't you be rubbing elbows, Boss?" he said in a low voice. "Making friends with the locals?"
"I have an invitation to a private gathering I'll follow up on soon. But I was hoping the professional spy might have some insight for me."
His horned head tilted slightly. "Five factions here tonight. The obvious ones are the empress' and the grand duke's supporters. Then you have the ones who seem neutral but are looking for an advantage in the political instability, and will jump ship as soon as there's a winner. A smaller number really are neutral. Powerful enough to stay that way, too. Not too popular with the first three factions. Finally, there's the ambassadorial retinue. Nobody else likes them. They threaten the status quo too much."
"Which faction would the Qun want to see come out on top?" she asked under her breath.
He gave her a sidelong look, and after several weighty seconds, said quietly, "Gaspard would be a good choice for fighting Corypheus. And after we've dealt with the red Templars and the Venatori, the new emperor would make a push to expand the empire. Ferelden and Nevarra would be weakened and distracted – especially Nevarra. Tevinter might attack Nevarra from the other side of the border, drawing some of their forces away from Seheron. The Antaam could use the distraction to launch their own invasion against the Imperium, and from there, Rivain and Antiva."
He stopped and shrugged, picking up a glass that looked absurdly tiny in his hand and taking a hearty swallow. "But what do I know? I'm not the Arishok."
That sounded like a plausible explanation for how the Qun might have come to invade the northern countries in the dark future. With Celene assassinated, had Gaspard taken the throne and turned his ambitions outward? Or had it lain unclaimed, with the empire vulnerable to Corypheus and other enemies?
Regardless, she knew she couldn't trust Gaspard. And he wasn't a man she'd want on the throne in any case.
She changed the subject. "Have you learned anything from your people watching?"
He gestured subtly with his glass to a man walking down the hall. "See him? He's a Council of Heralds emissary. Poor guy's been stuck delivering Gaspard's death threats to the Council. He threatened to burn them all in their homes if they didn't vote in his favor during the negotiations."
"Even Duke Germain? His uncle?"
"All of them," the Iron Bull confirmed.
"So much for his chevalier honor," Ciri muttered.
"I get the feeling that their code of honor is negotiable," the Iron Bull said.
She could have guessed as much, given the barbarity of their 'graduation ritual.'
"Anything else?" she asked.
"Yeah, one other thing." The Iron Bull's one eye fell on a pair of elves at the far end of the hall. They were better dressed than the servants, though not nearly so opulently as the Orlesian nobles. "I caught wind of something from the ambassador's people. She and the empress used to be involved. Long-term, hidden romance sort of deal. Some of Briala's retinue are afraid she'll falter at the negotiations if Celene tries to rekindle things. Others want her to use it to drag the empress' reputation through the mud."
Leliana had mentioned that in their final meeting before leaving for Halamshiral, but Ciri hadn't expected it to be known widely enough in Briala's retinue for there to be speculation.
"I thought it wasn't common knowledge," she said.
"I doubt it is, or the empress wouldn't have let Briala anywhere near the peace talks."
That their former relationship went beyond employer and spymaster put an extra layer of betrayal on the alienage massacre, and a cruel twist to the fact that Celene had had Briala's parents killed in a staged assassination attempt. Would Briala reconcile with the woman who ordered the deaths of thousands of elves? Of her parents?
Ciri hoped not. But feelings were messy, and relationships were complicated.
"Something you can use?" the Iron Bull asked her.
Ciri shook her head slowly. "Maybe. If only to help Briala. I doubt she wants their past connection getting out any more than the empress does."
"Picked your faction, Boss?" His eye was sharp, but his voice held no judgment.
She held his gaze and took a slow sip of her terrible, watery wine. "Thank you for the information, Iron Bull. Sera or Cole will be by soon when it's time to leave the party for the servants' wing."
"You got it."
Ciri left her disappointing wine on the table beside the Iron Bull and slipped out the door to the garden in search of the parlor Duke Cyril had spoken of. A high voice called out as soon as the door closed behind her.
"My lady! My lady Inquisitor!"
Three identically dressed women wearing the same mask and cloth headpiece swept over to intercept her. They curtseyed in unison, and the middle one spoke again.
"The empress has sent us with a message for you, my lady."
Their half-masks were a match to Empress Celene's, and while Ciri had firsthand experience with someone wearing a mask that wasn't theirs, she doubted anyone would be so brazen to do so in front of a dozen courtiers while wearing the Valmont family mask.
"I'm honored to hear from Her Majesty," Ciri said.
The three women spoke in turn, each of them smoothly picking up where the last one had left off.
"You honor us, Inquisitor."
"Empress Celene is eager to support the Hand of the Maker in her holy endeavor against Corypheus."
"She will pledge the full support of the Empire to the Inquisition as soon as the usurper Gaspard is defeated."
"A generous offer," Ciri said, carefully pushing down her revulsion at the thought of working with the empress.
"The empress believes the Inquisition is Thedas' best hope for peace in these uncertain times," the middle woman said.
"She looks forward to formalizing the alliance."
"As soon as Gaspard is out of the way."
The woman in the middle spoke again. "But we have stolen enough of your time."
"Please, enjoy the masquerade, Inquisitor."
They curtseyed again and disappeared out the door – likely to go report to Empress Celene. Ciri wondered how long they'd had to practice speaking in turns before it had come naturally. It was strange and slightly unnerving to hear.
There was only one other door in the garden, just beneath a marble walkway on the far side. The handle gave off a low, staticky crackle of power beneath her palm and refused to turn, and she drew the enchanted coin out from up her sleeve and pressed it against the metal. The static dissipated, and the handle obediently gave way.
She found a charming parlor inside furnished with a few small tables and couches, all in dark, rich woods and soft blue velvets. A minstrel stood in the corner playing a lively tune. Duke Cyril and the gold-draped woman Maxwell and Evelyn had been speaking to were engaged in conversation with Varric, who'd somehow found his way here without her. A man in a cerulean doublet with sandy blond hair sat at one of the tables with a tall brunet in gray silk, their complexions pale below their half-masks. They looked over from behind their cards and inclined their heads at her in greeting, faint smiles crossing their faces.
"Welcome, Inquisitor," said the man in cerulean. He raised his voice. "Cyril, my friend! Your guest is here."
Ciri studied their masks as they all turned to greet her and quickly put names to them. The tall one in sober gray was Laurent de Ghislain, here representing his father, Duke Bastien. The blond in the eye-catching blue, with faint lines around his mouth giving away that he was older than the appearance he cultivated, was Marquis Renaud Mantillon, son of the infamous late Dowager Marquise Mantillon. And the woman with the glittering collection of gold jewelry in the dusky pink gown, her black hair braided and coiled behind her head and caught in a gleaming gold net, was Comtesse Solange Montbelliard.
Four of the seven members of the Council of Heralds, or near enough, in Lord Laurent's case.
"Ah, Lady Inquisitor," Duke Cyril said cheerfully as he came over to greet her, Comtesse Solange and Varric following in his wake. "I'm delighted you made it to our little gathering. You'll be relieved to know that 'Hard in Hightown Three: The Re-Punchening' is shameless plagiarism and not the work of our favorite author."
Varric shook his head and gave her a disbelieving smile. "I'm going to need to send a letter to my agent when we get back to Skyhold, Song – ah, Inquisitor. Maybe two words long. 'You're' and 'fired.' He told me there was no market for my books in Orlais, and yet –" He indicated Duke Cyril and Comtesse Solange.
"If you need assistance wringing stolen royals from your soon-to-be former agent, Monsieur Tethras, you need only ask," Lord Laurent said.
Varric grinned. "I appreciate it. But my editor is Coterie. He cheated her, too."
Marquis Renaud laughed and set his cards down. "He'll live just long enough to regret his mistake! Come, have a drink, Inquisitor. What's your pleasure?"
"Not Rowan's Rose," she said to general laughter. "Just fruit juice, if you please."
Five pairs of clever eyes all sharpened, and Comtesse Solange smiled. "Fruit juice for me as well, Renaud dear."
"Shall we all keep a clear head tonight?" Lord Laurent murmured.
"Perhaps we'd better," Duke Cyril said as he sat on the nearest couch. "Or we're liable to lose them." He made a gesture to the minstrel in the corner, and the music increased in volume and tempo.
Varric raised his eyebrows and looked between them as Marquis Renaud walked off to the side table to pour the drinks, then gave a short bow and casually bade them all farewell. He sauntered out the door, whistling under his breath.
Comtesse Solange drew Ciri into light conversation, easing her into simple pleasantries and asking her polite, unintrusive questions about Skyhold and her interests. She sat beside Duke Cyril and responded in kind, aiming her questions at all four of them in turn. She was quick to tell Comtesse Solange where to find Triss as well, and the comtesse rewarded her with a pleased smile. Comtesse Solange's motive in the easy conversation was clear, but still, something in her settled, and she couldn't help feeling grateful toward her for it as Marquis Renaud returned with the juice.
Ciri sipped at it appreciatively. It was much better than the terrible wine. Chilled orange, sweet and just a bit tart. "I heard about the grand duke's death threats," she said at last. "Do you think he'll attempt to follow through?"
"My late sister Calienne was his wife, and Duke Germain is his uncle," Lord Laurent told her. "If he'll threaten family, who knows how far he'll go?"
"Forgive me for speaking plainly," Ciri said. "I have no skill with your Game, and the stakes are too high tonight to be evasive."
"You are, as my cousin said, refreshing," Duke Cyril replied. "We won't judge you for being direct, my lady. We're as eager to be done with the night's events as you are."
"Indeed," Marquis Renaud agreed. "Cards on the table."
"Very well." She took another sip of her juice and set the glass on the arm of the couch. "You aren't the only ones to have been threatened by the grand duke tonight. He told me that they 'take care of their own' in response to those rumors about the Valmont bastardy. And his sister is apparently the one behind all the Inquisition's troubles in Orlais, and the assassination attempt I faced in Val Royeaux."
"We did see her dress," Comtesse Solange said. "Odd that the notoriously secretive bard would finally reveal herself."
"Leliana said she was making a declaration."
"Taunting you is more likely the case," Lord Laurent said. "You can't act against her without ruining what reputation you have with the court. She has orchestrated her reveal masterfully."
"I expect we'll stumble across another unpleasant surprise or two before the night is through," Duke Cyril said with a faint sigh. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then shifted in his seat to more fully face Ciri. "My cousin didn't rely on her former handmaiden, Briala, as her only bard. Both she and Gaspard have called on Papillon's services many times over the years."
Ciri wasn't so comfortable around the Council of Heralds to slump into the couch, but it was a near thing. She took in the information and forced herself to meet Duke Cyril's eyes calmly. "Do you think she's involved?"
His lips twisted into a small, rueful smile. "If anything could bring them together in the midst of a civil war, it would be another competitor for the throne."
"And you grew too powerful after they failed to eliminate you early on," Comtesse Solange added. "They've had little choice but to deal with you politically since then."
"Not that we would put you on the throne," Marquis Renaud dismissed. "You yourself denied the rumors, and even if there were truth to them, an illegitimate Valmont couldn't take precedence over Prince Reynaud's daughter and Princess Melisande's children."
"Good," Ciri said vehemently.
"I'm glad we understand each other." Marquis Renaud took a sip of his juice and looked at her over the rim of his glass. "What is it the Inquisition hopes to achieve tonight?"
No one outside her small circle knew that they came to stop an assassination. Caution held her back from speaking too freely.
"We'd like to keep Corypheus from getting a foothold in your empire," she said instead. "Stability in your realm."
"Such modest desires," Comtesse Solange said with a soft, slightly teasing laugh.
"The things I wish for beyond that don't seem likely to happen," Ciri said.
It wouldn't stop her from trying, though.
"We can all agree that stability is critical," Duke Cyril said. "Orlais needs clear and steady leadership in such trying times."
"A compassionate ruler, who cares for all their subjects," Comtesse Solange murmured.
Marquis Renaud raised his glass to her in a silent toast, a wry smile touching his lips.
Ciri took another sip of her juice to cover her reaction and nodded to Comtesse Solange. "Compassion is an important trait for any ruler to have." She turned back to Duke Cyril and, after a moment's thought, decided to take the risk of asking. "Would you say that Empress Celene cares for all her subjects?"
His mouth turned down at the corners, but still he nodded. "My cousin does believe more firmly in the rights of elves than most of her noble subjects. She opened the university to them, as you may be aware, and her most trusted advisor and spymaster for years was her elven handmaiden."
"Forgive me, Your Grace, but that doesn't explain Halamshiral."
"Halamshiral was…" Duke Cyril trailed off and shook his head.
"You understand that it is not done to criticize our empress to the leader of a foreign power," Lord Laurent said, his voice quiet beneath the music. "However much some of us might wish to."
"I do understand."
"Then you understand that we mean it when we say she went too far."
"I love my cousin," Duke Cyril added. "She has my fealty and my admiration for much of what she's done for the empire. But Maker…"
"Celene loves to be loved," Marquis Renaud said bluntly, and at Duke Cyril's small sound of protest, scoffed and continued, "It's the truth, Cyril. The civil war had just started when the riots broke out in Halamshiral. I don't hold it against the elves. Things were always going to boil over with the way Mainserai's men treated them."
"And how was that?" Ciri asked.
"Worse than dogs," he said. "Keep beating them, Inquisitor, and they'll bite eventually."
It was a very pragmatic way of looking at it, but she could understand that not every noble in Orlais would do the right thing simply because it was right.
"But Gaspard took advantage," he continued. "One of his allies paid for a new play lampooning Celene, and he bribed academics to write papers comparing elves to rabbits in truth and not just in insult. Celene was known for her partiality to elves at the time. Her reputation with the nobility took a hit, and her response was rash."
"Rash is killing the ringleaders without a trial," Ciri said evenly. "Having three thousand people massacred is beyond rash."
Duke Cyril held his hands up in front of him. "I won't argue that, Inquisitor. But she truly does care for the elves of Orlais, despite Halamshiral. My cousin is a visionary, not a warmonger like Gaspard."
"And if something happens to make her fear she's lost the nobles' love again?" Ciri challenged him.
He looked away, and Ciri couldn't feel any satisfaction in winning the argument.
The door to the salon opened, and they all abruptly straightened and looked over to see Sera come in with a bundle of papers under her arms. She bowed awkwardly to the assembled nobles and stood a respectful distance away.
"Got wot you wanted," she said, holding out the papers.
Ciri rose from the couch and came over to collect them. She flipped through the pages, raising her eyebrows at one bloodstained letter from Gaspard to Celene alluding to a 'weapon' Briala controlled. The eluvians, perhaps?
"Got that off a man's corpse in a room just off the library," Sera muttered. "Someone did him in for the rest of his papers, but they missed that one."
The rest was free of blood, but no less interesting: a report looking into when and where Prince Reynaud might have been when he possibly fathered Ciri, coded messages between Celene and Gaspard and Celene and Papillon, and a page listing servants and times they entered the servants' wing but hadn't returned, ending with a request to Briala for aid. She looked at Sera sharply at one small note penned from Gaspard to a Philippe telling him to "move in on the western wing" of the palace when the grand duke sent him three shots of brandy.
Sera tapped the edge of that one with a dirty look. "Found it in the trophy room. Bunch of chevaliers 'round the door – I barely snuck through."
Well, that settled it. Gaspard was clearly planning something that broke his "chevalier code of conduct." And Celene had a hand in Papillon's activities, too. Whether she intended for Ciri to die tonight or simply wanted her influence curtailed was a mystery, but one she'd figure out soon enough. Damn those rumors.
"Pardon me for the distraction," Ciri said, turning back to Duke Cyril and his fellow Council members. "I've just received some important information I'll need to act on. Sera, if you could please take this to Leliana, I'd appreciate it."
"On it." Sera took the papers back and left the parlor as quickly and quietly as she'd entered.
The four members of the Council of Heralds all gave Ciri speculative looks, and she added swiftly, "I'm sure Sister Nightingale would share what we've learned with you, should you choose to speak with her."
"We may do that," Marquis Renaud said slowly, his eyes intent on Ciri.
Before anyone could say anything else, bells rang out, loud and resonant. They got to their feet as well, Lord Laurent gesturing for the minstrel to stop playing.
Duke Cyril offered his arm to Comtesse Solange. "Time to put in an appearance, my friends."
"A brief one," Comtesse Solange demurred. "Just long enough to please the empress and annoy Gaspard."
"Good luck, Lady Inquisitor," Lord Laurent said with apparent sincerity. "I do believe you'll need it."
They left the parlor together and crossed the garden to enter the gallery. There, the nobles took their leave of Ciri, mingling with the other courtiers. She began to wander back toward the ballroom alone. It was time to collect a few people and make her way to the servants' wing.
Her hand had just touched the handle to the ballroom door when a woman's voice called out from behind her, low and husky and subtly mocking.
"Well, well. What have we here?"
Ciri turned to see a ghostly pale human woman with golden eyes and dark hair slowly ascending the stairs, her gown a deep burgundy edged with black lace. She wore no mask. She struck Ciri very strongly, from her carriage to her tone to the arch, amused expression on her face, like one of the sorceresses of the Lodge, and she had to keep from reflexively frowning.
"The leader of the Inquisition," the woman continued. "The Hand of the Holy Maker Himself. Blessed with the blood of Elvhenan. What could bring such an exalted personage as yourself to the Imperial Court, I wonder?"
Ciri met her strange eyes. "Morrigan, I presume."
"Leliana mentioned me?" Full lips rose in a smirk. "But of course. You, Inquisitor, have been a very busy woman. Sending your agent about to rifle through the empress' correspondence in the library, making friends with both the servants and the movers and shakers of the court – one might think you were investigating something."
Ciri flicked a glance around and saw that the nearest courtier was over twenty feet away. Still, she kept her voice down. "And if I am?"
"Then perhaps we seek the same answers."
"Perhaps," Ciri said coolly. She wasn't inclined to reveal anything to the empress' arcane advisor, not with Leliana's warning fresh in her mind.
Morrigan seemed amused by her reticence. "Oh, she warned you of me, didn't she? How quickly she forgets that we were allies in those dark days. No matter, Inquisitor. Keep your counsel. I shall speak first.
"Recently I found, and dispatched, an uninvited guest here in these halls. An agent of Tevinter. So I offer you this: a key. Found on the agent's body. Where it leads, I know not, yet if Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side long enough to search."
Ciri studied the key and once again had to hide her reaction. "I know what door this goes to," she told her, holding in her unease at seeing a double of the key to the secondary kitchen in her hand. "Thank you."
Momentary surprise crossed Morrigan's face, there and gone in the blink of an eye. "Of course," she said with a cool nod of her head. "I shall return to Celene anon. It's unwise to leave her side for long."
"You think an assassin will strike tonight as well," Ciri said.
"'Twould be a great fool who strikes at her in public, in front of all her court and the imperial guard," Morrigan replied. "Yet also bold. A statement that Corypheus can reach the heart of Orlais even with all precautions taken."
Ciri wasn't so forgetful as to grimace where courtiers could see her, but she did press her lips together and incline her head at Morrigan in strained agreement.
"My," Morrigan breathed, curiosity lighting her eyes. "Is something else afoot tonight?"
"Is there ever just one Game being played at an Orlesian ball?" Ciri deflected.
Morrigan laughed. "Fair! I don't envy you, Inquisitor. Proceed with caution. Enemies abound, and not all of them are so clearly aligned with Tevinter."
She led the way into the ballroom and promptly parted from Ciri, who stood alone for a moment to get the lay of the land. Down on the dance floor, couples drew together and apart gracefully. In the center, light shining off his red hair and the gold embroidery threads of both their outfits, Olgierd and Josephine twirled, their eyes locked together. Along the wall, Cassandra stood rigidly, enduring a conversation she seemed desperate to escape. Farther up the way, Vivienne and Triss led a lively conversation with a half-dozen men and women. On the other side of the ballroom, Ciri spotted Leliana watching the crowd with a carefully pleasant expression, and Cullen, bracketed by Raúl and Maxwell, looking ruffled. At the far end, she saw Owain speaking to Evelyn and another Orlesian noble. Comte Lothair Doucy, judging by his mask.
"Cole," she said quietly.
"I'm here."
"I need Iron Bull, Cassandra, Solas, and Sera to meet me at the door to the kitchen just off the gallery. We have a lead."
"Oh. Be careful. There are bodies. The ones who killed them are still there."
Ciri frowned just a little at that. "Perhaps one of them will have an answer for us. Tell Leliana where we went, please."
"But you haven't gone anywhere yet."
"When we go, then."
"Alright."
Ciri slipped back out of the ballroom and headed for the gallery again as casually as she could. So far the night had been full of conflicting agendas, hidden meanings, and plots within plots. Even the likeable nobles spoke sideways.
But this she could handle.
Time to get to work, she thought again. And this time, she wouldn't be expected to make nice with the people who wanted her dead.
I've posted a missing scene of Olgierd meeting Yvette on Archive of Our Own here at archiveofourown dot org / works / 29088702 if you're interested. It's short but humorous!
