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Ciri felt no small measure of relief to see that the Villon family had moved on from admiring the statuary in the gallery near the door to the kitchen. She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching, then used the key Morrigan had handed her to let herself in, only to stop short in anger and dismay.

Two corpses lay sprawled across the stone floor, blood pooled beneath them. Both were clad in the same neat livery of the palace servants, and both had pointed ears.

Cole had warned of bodies. Somehow, the reality of his words was worse than she'd expected.

The door opened behind her, and Sera swore.

"What fully qualified arsehole stops to kill servants?" She brushed past Ciri to stare down at the bodies with a dark glower. "That's Colette. Her sister's pregnant. An' Emile snuck me an extra serving this morning. Why?"

A large shadow fell over them, and the Iron Bull said with a note of sympathy in his voice, "Pretty common infiltration tactic. Take out the staff when you come across them so they can't raise the alarm."

"It's friggin' garbage."

"Yeah, it is. Sorry, Sera."

Solas and Cassandra slipped in, and Cassandra exclaimed softly at the sight of the corpses.

Solas frowned. A regretful look came into his eyes for a moment before he turned to Sera. "Where have our armor and weapons been hidden?"

Sera ripped her gaze from Emile's corpse and crossed to the wall on the right where a large chest sat half-hidden beneath a thick pile of sausages. She shoved them carelessly to the floor and unlatched the chest to reveal an assortment of weapons and armor.

Ciri turned her back to Cassandra and gave her an expectant look over her shoulder. After a moment, she felt the laces loosening, and she slipped her gown and chemise over her head and toed her slippers off. Her companions followed suit quickly, and they traded their silks and satins for leather and steel. They folded up their gowns and doublets with care and laid them in the chest, and Sera piled the sausages back on the lid.

"Whoever did this should still be around here," Sera said with a last look at Emile and Colette. "Let's make them pay, yeah?"

"Gladly," Ciri agreed.

They moved from the pantry to the kitchen and stumbled across another body, his limbs askew and eyes blank in death. Sera made a sound deep in her throat, angry and wounded.

"Roshan. His dad was Dalish. He picked flowers for Sophie."

"You got to know them well in only a few weeks," Solas said softly.

Sera scoffed. "Wasn't that the point?"

"We'll get justice for them, Sera," Ciri promised.

Sera looked at her with dark eyes. "Justice would be burnin' this friggin' palace down around their stupid fancy hats."

"Easy, Sera," the Iron Bull said. "Don't let your anger use you. Take it and point it in the right direction. Make it your weapon. Breathe."

She glared at him but took a deep breath nonetheless as they passed into another large larder.

"Their deaths are a tragedy," Solas said, "but I'm surprised the elven servants matter to you so much."

"They're still little people," Sera shot back. "Littler than most. All the ones workin' here used to live in the alienage before it got burned down. And –" She clenched her fists and bit her lip. "Three thousand deaths are a lot, no matter who. I thought it was just a spat, yeah? Between Briala and Celene. So maybe I was wrong. It shouldn't be about ears, but if that's wot it takes to get the nobles to listen down here, then fine. It can be about ears. They've killed enough people over them."

Ciri hadn't thought anything would change Sera's stance on elves. She only wished it hadn't been so painful for her friend.

The larder opened out into a beautifully arranged garden, and Cassandra asked quietly, "Would Gaspard make for a better ruler?"

Sera snorted. Solas and the Iron Bull both looked at Cassandra like they couldn't quite believe she'd asked that.

"I thought you liked your country," the Iron Bull said.

Ciri sighed and once again began to explain all she'd learned since arriving. The Iron Bull took the news in with a slow nod, but Cassandra and Sera swore and peppered her with questions as they pressed deeper into the garden.

The pathway led to a gaudily decorated fountain with four golden lions spitting water, and the Iron Bull held up a large hand to stop their approach at the sight of a body crumpled at its base.

"That's no elf," he said in a low voice. "Look. See the mask and doublet? Identical to the Council of Heralds emissary who was running around the gallery earlier."

Ciri drew closer, tilting her head in curiosity at the dagger planted deeply in the man's back. The blade had an odd, wavy shape to it, and the hilt bore a crest she thought she recognized from all of Vivienne and Josephine's lessons. After a second, it came to her.

"This is the de Chalons crest," she said.

"Prick," Sera pronounced.

"As inclined to distrust Gaspard as I am, doesn't this seem too perfect?" Ciri tugged the dagger free with a grunt of effort and handed it to the Iron Bull. "Keep that safe for me, please. We may need it as evidence later."

"Removing it from the scene of the crime before whoever planted it comes back and cleans it up?" he asked.

Ciri managed to give him a faint smile. He understood. She appreciated that he'd dropped most of his masks for the night. Strangely enough, she found the foreign spy more trustworthy when she knew he wasn't acting a part to set her at ease.

A frantic scream shattered the air. Ciri shot to her feet as an elf in servant's livery pelted around the corner, a painted bard clad all in white hard on her heels. Before any of them could react, the bard slashed open the servant's back with a dagger, sending blood flying. The servant collapsed with a cry of pain, and Sera shouted in anger.

Three Venatori warriors pounded up behind them, swords in hand, as the bard tossed down a little ball of something dark that burst into a mass of smoke. When it cleared, the bard was nowhere to be seen.

"No collars," Ciri called out.

"Right," the Iron Bull grunted. He swung out, striking the leftmost warrior with the keen edge of his greataxe. "No holding back."

Lightning lanced down as Cassandra charged into the fray. Ciri nimbly dodged a return blow and struck back at her opponent's chest as Sera's arrows flew from behind. Steel alloy clashed against steel links, and armor gave way. The warrior fell with a pained gurgle, his comrades not far behind him.

Ciri turned from the dead to see Sera already scrambling to kneel beside the dying servant.

"Shite," Sera swore, gripping the servant's hand. "Just…just hold on, alright? Solas! Fix her!"

Solas knelt beside her and laid his palm beside the deep gash on her quivering back. He shook his head and looked back up at Sera apologetically. "I'm sorry, Sera. It's too late."

"Then wot soddin' good are you?"

Solas flinched minutely as Sera squeezed the servant's hand, murmuring to her soothingly. The hand in hers twitched, then went slack. A sharp, angry noise escaped Sera, and she dropped back on her heels.

"I'm sorry," Ciri said softly.

"So 'm I." Sera roughly scrubbed the back of her hand across her eyes and stood. "Her name was Jeanette. She was gettin' married in Kingsway to someone from the Val Chevin alienage. Shite. Friggin' arseholes, all of them."

Ciri felt like her heart was cracking to see her cheerful, irreverent friend so distraught and angry. To make matters worse, they had to just leave the bodies lying there. They needed stealth and speed, and a fire would draw unwanted attention.

Solas reached out and smoothed back Jeanette's hair, then shut her eyes with gentle fingers. He stood and nodded to Sera and Ciri. "We shouldn't linger."

"Right." Ciri let out a slow, unhappy breath. "That bard. Do you know why they had their face painted instead of masked, Iron Bull?"

"When a bard gets up to something they can't have connected back to their patron, they'll ditch the mask and paint their face instead," the Iron Bull said as they started walking again.

"Something like working with the Venatori, perhaps?"

"Sounds about right."

"We know Gaspard has something in mind for us through his sister, but I'm not going to assume this is their work just yet. There are too many powerful nobles at the masquerade tonight, and they all have their own agenda."

Sera shot into the shadows, and a black-clad Venatori mage toppled over silently.

"Open mind, got it," the Iron Bull said. "Briala will probably have some ideas when we catch up to her."

"This way," Sera said tersely. She pointed to a small archway along a wall overgrown with ivy and surrounded by boxes and barrels. "Servants' entrance for the Grand Apartments."

The room was dim within, and a thin layer of dust coated the sheets draped over the furniture. A covered lantern flickered with a subdued yellow light, casting large shadows across the walls. Sera ignored the mess and led them on quiet feet out of the entryway and past open doors to a large hall. Venatori prowled the space, all of them fully clothed and uncollared, and none of them in mage robes.

Solas called down lightning in a blinding flash, and Sera's arrows flew with deadly aim. Seconds later, there was nothing left to do but poke through the scattered papers the Venatori had been searching.

"Nothing," Cassandra said with disgust.

Ciri turned from the mess. "Then we keep going."

On they went, through a beautifully decorated entryway to a dimly lit study where two archers stood at ease with their backs to them. Ciri gestured to Sera and Solas, and magic and arrows flew once more.

"Anything?" Ciri asked.

"Books," the Iron Bull said with a jerk of his chin toward the towering shelves. "We'd be here for the rest of the night trying to figure out which one of them had anything useful."

"Come on." Sera started moving toward the stairs, her eyes hard and determined.

The stairs led to a long, open hallway overlooking the floor below. Pillars decorated with golden lions marked their path as Sera strode ahead, prowling down the hall and around a corner. Ciri hastened to keep up.

The shuffling of papers and low voices caught her attention, and Sera stiffened outside a room. Solas peered around the corner, then cast a barrier over the five of them as Sera loosed an arrow. Voices within the room shouted in alarm, and fire flew in their direction, licking around the edge of the doorway.

The Iron Bull charged past Solas and Sera, and Ciri and Cassandra followed in his wake. He crashed into the first Venatori warrior with a snarl, his axe swinging down brutally. Ciri brought her sword up to parry another's blow and returned the strike. Flashes of fire and lightning danced around them as Solas and Sera concentrated on the mage.

The warrior Ciri faced staggered at another blow, his knees buckling. Cassandra stove in his head from behind with the boss of her shield, and he dropped like a stone. The Iron Bull's opponent fell, a deep, bloody hole in his chest from where the edge of the axe had dug in. One last volley of arrows and elements and the Venatori mage expired as well.

Ciri took a moment to catch her breath and looked around the room. It was a beautiful bedchamber, quite well-appointed and lavishly furnished, though the faint layer of dust on the bed covers told her it hadn't been used in months, at least.

"They wanted something in here," she observed. "Whose room is this?"

"Sophie said it's usually the empress', only she got moved to a different wing with the renovations." Sera stalked to a door along the wall and fished a small gold coin from her belt purse. "Bet you anythin' those Venatori wanted in here."

There was a faint crackle of static, and the door swung open to reveal a vault filled with chests and shelves overflowing with baubles and trinkets.

"Go through those," Ciri said as she went to the shelves. "See if she has any papers that might be of interest to us."

She carefully lifted gauzy scarves and flipped through thin, gilt-edged volumes of poetry and Orlesian plays, setting them back down exactly where she found them. On the bottom shelf, a hardwood locket with intricate elven engravings strung on a satin cord caught her eye, and she bent over to get a closer look.

"No papers, Boss," the Iron Bull reported.

"No," Ciri murmured, "but this might be something."

She picked up the locket and opened the catch with her thumb. Held inside by a little bar was a lock of hair, a rich brown curl. She hesitated, then shut it and stuck it in her belt purse.

The Iron Bull raised his eyebrows at her. "Got something in mind?"

"Possibly." She looked at Sera. "Where to next?"

"This way."

They left the bedchamber behind and headed through rooms filled with furniture hidden beneath dusty white sheets. The moonlight filtering in through the tall windows gave everything a faintly blue, abandoned look. Large crates cluttered the floor, likely filled with valuables waiting to be moved or unpacked when the renovations were finished.

Sera threw out an arm at the sound of low muttering ahead, and Solas silently cast a barrier over them. Ciri peered around the corner to see a handful of Venatori warriors searching the crates alongside the white-clad bard from the garden. A hiss of anger escaped from between Sera's clenched teeth, and she nocked an arrow to her bowstring.

Solas' green spell tore through the air to smash into a pair of warriors as Sera let her arrow fly. The bard dropped another of their balls to disappear in a cloud of smoke. Ciri dashed forward to strike at the nearest warrior with Gynvael, slashing at his side and slipping away to avoid a thrust.

Cassandra and the Iron Bull tore past her, intent on their own opponents. Ciri let the spells and clash of steel fall to a hum around her as she pirouetted and struck, slashed and parried. Someone shouted a warning, and she whirled around to block a dagger streaking down toward her, clenched in the bard's fist.

The bard disappeared again, and Ciri swore and struck down the warrior. All around the room, the fighting came to a halt as bodies dropped. The bard reappeared halfway down the room and dashed for the exit only to be met by a thrown knife impacting their face with a wet thunk.

An elf in deep marine blue and soft white, her hair a beautifully springy coil of rich brown curls pulled back in a braided bun, stepped around the corner. Her face was a light brown beneath her silver half-mask, with freckles peeking out from beneath the edges, and her dark eyes held a sharp intelligence as she coolly looked from face to face.

"Fancy meeting you here, Inquisitor Morhen."

"Ambassador Briala," Ciri said politely, giving her a small bow. "Sophie and Lem said you might need help."

The coolness in Briala's eyes warmed a touch at that, and she walked closer to stand by the balcony doors alongside the wall. "I was doing fine, but the others… It's good that Sophie thought to send people armed for battle. I'm sure you saw the bodies on the way in."

"Emile an' Colette," Sera said quietly, angrily. "Roshan. That friggin' bard killed Jeanette right in front of us."

Briala's lips thinned. "Ask any one of the nobles still at the masquerade, and they won't consider it murder. Just four rabbits dead. No great loss, until a hearth needs tending tomorrow morning or there's no one to deliver food to the table at breakfast."

"We know better," Ciri said. "We came to help you, not Gaspard or Celene."

Behind Ciri, she could hear Cassandra shift from foot to foot, but her friend stayed silent.

Briala looked at the corpses scattered around the room, then back at Ciri. "And presumably to foil whatever plans are afoot. Someone intends to keep the peace talks from succeeding tonight. Venatori agents in the Winter Palace tells me the plans run deeper than mere sabotage."

"And they're working with an Orlesian bard," Ciri added. "Have you seen anything here tonight?"

"There was the dead emissary with Gaspard's dagger in his back," Briala said. "I wouldn't put it past him, but it seemed too obvious."

"That's what we thought, as well."

"He has been up to other tricks, however," Briala told her. "He's smuggled in his chevaliers, attempted to threaten the Council of Heralds. Bringing Tevinter assassins into the palace doesn't seem like a stretch in comparison."

"I knew about the threats," Ciri said. "But the chevaliers? Do you know where he has them hiding?"

Briala tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes sharpening again. "They're somewhere in the royal wing, according to my sources. Waiting for Gaspard's signal, no doubt."

"I saw some of them," Sera interjected. "Three big armored tits hangin' 'round the trophy room. Signal's Gaspard sendin' them all a round of brandy."

"They're to move on the west wing of the palace," Ciri added. "What precisely he has planned, we don't know just yet."

"Removing Celene from power one way or another, no doubt," Briala said. "I've been trying to determine the best person to approach to help me deal with the situation. Few nobles would take the word of an elf over that of the grand duke."

"Duke Cyril de Montfort would listen," Ciri said at once, "as would Marquis Renaud Mantillon."

Briala's spine went stiff, but her voice stayed even. "Mantillon? The late Dowager's wastrel son? I'm surprised you'd suggest such a man. And rumor has it Cyril de Montfort mistook a Viddathari spy for one of Chateau Haine's servants as a younger man. What aid would he possibly wish to give me?"

"That's not the impression I was left with when I met them earlier," Ciri said. "They both spoke against the slaughter of the alienage, as did Lord Laurent de Ghislain. I'm sure you already know that Duke Cyril has sponsored an elf to study at the university –"

"A token," Briala said flatly. "Our people demand more than scraps and gestures that can be taken away at a whim. But if you say that they disagreed with Celene enough to voice it to you…I will bring the matter to their attention." She didn't quite sigh as her attention turned back to the body of the bard. "Gaspard is desperate. He must be planning to strike tonight."

"I agree, though there's more to his plans than usurping Celene." Briala looked up at that, and Ciri elaborated. "He threatened my life when I arrived, and his sister is the bard behind both the assassination attempt I faced in Val Royeaux and the political sabotage we've had to deal with for nearly a year. Sister Leliana thinks they don't intend to let me survive the night."

"Not unless you back him as emperor," Briala said, her voice shrewd.

"That's our assumption."

"Then you will need to strike first, and in such a way that you remain above reproach." Her whole body was still, the deep blue of her dress turned nearly black in the moonlight. A moment passed, and then she said decisively, "I'll be your ally in this, as you were to me here. If you need me, you'll be able to find me in the ballroom on the balcony."

"I'll look for you there," Ciri said.

"I'd bet coin you'll be part of the peace talks tonight," Briala said. "Provided they haven't been called off, of course. If you could add your voice to mine…"

"I will. You have my word."

Briala blinked at her in surprise, and the faintest of smiles crossed her face. "I might almost believe you."

Without a single look back, Briala disappeared out the balcony and jumped from the broken ledge to the garden below.

"This will be a difficult path to walk," Cassandra said, speaking up at last. "Few in the imperial court will thank you for siding with Briala."

Ciri turned to face her companions and caught Cassandra's eyes. "Do you disagree?"

Cassandra let out a faint snort of laughter and shook her head. Her face was resigned and oddly fond. "Lady Ciri, I supported you when you allied with Grand Enchanter Fiona, and when you pardoned the Grey Wardens. I let Anders go on your word. I promised to stand against the Chantry itself if they ever turned on you. If you believe this is the right decision, then I am with you. Always."

Ciri's throat went tight with the rush of affection that went through her at her friend's words. She nodded to her firmly. "Thank you."

"Better head back before the bells start ringing again," the Iron Bull said.

Sera slapped her hands together. "When do we get to the part where we ruin their night? Friggin' Gaspard, an' that bitch Celene – should drown 'em both in their stupid caprice fountain."

Ciri headed out to the balcony and leaped down off the broken ledge, following in Briala's footsteps. Soft thuds behind her told her that she'd been followed.

"Drowning is probably off the table," she told Sera. "But with Briala bringing Duke Cyril and Marquis Renaud into our confidence, we may have Gaspard out of play before he can even make his move."

"And Celene?" Sera asked aggressively.

"I'm working on it."

The trouble was that they'd come to prevent Celene's assassination. No part of Ciri wanted to save the woman who ordered the deaths of thousands of her subjects, but when the alternative was Gaspard or Florianne, what else could she do?

"Don't forget Florianne," Solas reminded her. "Even if she's not the threat Celene faces, she's certainly a threat to you."

"Believe me," Ciri said, "I haven't forgotten her."

They wound their way through arched trellises leading back to the fountain with the dead Council emissary and poor Jeanette and found a pair of armed elves cleaning up the scene. They nodded to Ciri and continued their work.

"Thank you, Inquisitor," one of them said politely. "You had better hurry. We'll take care of things here."

They picked up the pace and hurried to the kitchen again, throwing open the chest and shedding their armor. The Iron Bull produced a large linen handkerchief from a pocket and spat in it.

"Come here," he said to Ciri with a crook of his mangled finger.

She stepped closer, and he briskly swiped the handkerchief over her hands and neck, then rubbed it over one of her earrings. He pulled it away and showed her the blood. "There. The less evidence, the better."

She smiled up at him and patted him on the elbow. "Thank you."

"No problem."

They pulled on their clothes as the bell rang out above their heads. Cassandra's deft fingers made quick work of the laces up Ciri's spine again, and Sera tossed their armor into the chest and grabbed up the swords. Ciri snagged the elven locket from her armor's belt purse and looped the satin cords just below her knee, tying it securely in place.

"Go," Sera said. "I'll clean up your blades. You go deal with the rich tits."

Ciri thanked her hurriedly and peeked around the door. No one was in the vicinity, so she slipped out from behind it and walked with practiced calm back into the gallery. Several seconds later, she heard the door open again, and footsteps followed behind her.

The bell rang out a second time as she neared the door to the ballroom, and she breathed a faint sigh of relief. Her relief was short-lived, however, as the first thing she saw upon entering was the strangely predatory half-mask of the de Chalons family, and rising behind it, the hand-painted silk collar of a butterfly's wing.

"Lady Inquisitor," Florianne said, holding out her hand in a languid gesture. "I have been hoping for a moment of your time."

Damn. Courtiers were milling about; at least a dozen pairs of eyes were on them. She couldn't rebuff her – and she needed to know what they had planned.

"Is there something I can do for you, Your Grace?" she asked.

"Perhaps," Florianne said with a coy shrug. "We are overdue a conversation. But not here. Come, dance with me. Our words will not be overheard on the dance floor."

Ciri glanced beyond Florianne's shoulder to the ballroom floor, where a half-dozen couples whirled together. Olgierd and Josephine had quit the dance floor, though Triss was there, dancing with Comtesse Solange, and Cullen led Evelyn through the steps of the dance hesitantly, both of them looking somewhat cautious. As she looked down, Triss looked up, and a wary look crossed her face. Ciri shook her head incrementally, and Florianne smirked as Triss subsided and turned back to her partner.

"Very well," Ciri agreed, doing her best to hide her reluctance.

"Marvelous," Florianne purred, and she took Ciri's arm to lead her down the steps.

The music slowed and stopped, and after a few beats of silence, the notes for a bourrée struck up. Ciri took her place at Florianne's side, their hands joined between them as they skipped forward a step.

"I had a most interesting encounter in Val Royeaux several months ago," she said lightly. "Two, in fact."

Florianne laughed under her breath. "It was hardly personal, Inquisitor. When my cousin and brother agree on a course of action for the first time in years, who am I to dissent? That is the Game, and I am, as always, their hand in the shadows."

"Somehow I can't help but take it personally." Ciri twirled in place and came back to Florianne with a flourish of her hands. "Particularly since it was done on rumors and lies, ones I've done nothing but attempt to refute since I learned of them."

"The appearance matters more than the truth, I'm afraid to say, and neither my brother nor my cousin will ever suffer another rival to the throne." A smirk curved Florianne's lips. "Especially one who'd have to be my dear cousin's younger sister, and an elf-blooded bastard at that. She couldn't stand the thought of someone younger and more adored threatening her reign and insisted we take measures."

Ciri tried to keep her face impassive, but she was fairly sure she failed, judging by Florianne's deepening smirk. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I have no quarrel with you, Lady Cirilla," Florianne assured her as they moved together. "Indeed, I admire you. Allow me to make my dilemma plain. If you stand with Celene at the peace talks, Gaspard will want you dead. And if you stand with Gaspard –"

"Celene will want me dead," Ciri finished.

Florianne smiled at her. "And they have both called upon me to do the deed! A distressing position to put me in, is it not? However, there is a way to de-fang my brother, so you'll have no need to choose which of my relatives to support."

Ciri had better control over her expression this time, and she just raised her eyebrows slightly at that. "I'm listening."

She didn't trust it, not a bit, but she'd see where this led.

"My brother's attack will come soon," Florianne said quietly. "You can head off his mercenaries in the gardens of the royal wing. The captain of the company is there and knows many of Gaspard's secrets. Convince him to spill them at the talks, and my brother will be rendered toothless."

"Hm." Ciri led Florianne through the last few steps, then curtseyed. "Thank you for the dance, Your Grace. It was…enlightening."

"It was my pleasure, Inquisitor," Florianne said with another practiced smile. "Please, enjoy yourself. And don't take too long."

Ciri tried not to frown as she made her way up the stairs again. Florianne's information neatly matched Briala's, and yet it seemed strange to her that Gaspard was the one Florianne would turn on. Her own brother, not her cousin. Stranger still that she was so free with information on Celene's involvement in 'Papillon's' machinations, as well. Was she attempting to set Ciri against them both?

If only she knew she didn't need to try that hard. Ciri already loathed both contenders for the throne, and hardly needed any help in that arena.

Olgierd and Josephine awaited her at the top of the stairs, Josephine with a smile and Olgierd with a faint frown. They were a matched, elegant set in the Inquisition's colors, him in his slightly modified robes and trousers and her in her gown.

"That looked interesting from where we were standing," Josephine said. "Did she have anything to say for herself?"

Ciri let out a huff of laughter. "That the assassination attempt 'wasn't personal.' At least not for her. From what she said, it was very personal for Celene and Gaspard."

She led them away from the staircase, filling them in on the rest of the conversation softly. Josephine's smile disappeared, and Olgierd's frown deepened.

"Seems more than suspicious," he said. "She's trying to lead you by the nose, and you're letting her."

Her protest died at the concern in his eyes. "I know," she admitted. "But her lead matches Briala's, and her words about Celene echo what Duke Cyril said. I have limited options tonight if I'm to investigate these threats."

"Do you believe what she told you?"

"I think she was careful with her words," she said after a moment of thought, "and she clearly has some deeper agenda. But I don't think she was outright lying."

He shook his head. "It won't end well."

"It rarely ever does," she said. "But we don't have much of a choice. We could always confront Gaspard with no evidence and get ourselves thrown from the masquerade…"

Olgierd's lips twitched, and Josephine lifted a hand to her mouth to cover a smile.

"If it must be done, I'll not try to stop you. But I'm coming with you this time."

"I'd appreciate that." Ciri lowered her voice and spoke to the empty air just at her shoulder. "Cole?"

"You were dancing different dances," he said, his voice almost startling for its lack of body. "A duel, not a dance. She riposted, you parried. Dodges and pirouettes. I didn't see who won."

"Neither did I," Ciri told him. "Cole, we need the chest with the armor moved to just inside the royal wing. Can you help Sera do that? And help make sure people forget it if they see you two moving it?"

"Yes."

Ciri waited, but she didn't feel his presence leave. "Was there something else?"

"She's dangerous. The butterfly. Lies on her tongue, poison on her wings."

"Don't worry; I don't trust her as far as I can throw her." She reached out surreptitiously and felt a ghostly hand brush hers. "Was she telling the truth about Celene and Gaspard?"

"…Yes."

"Thank you." She felt him leave this time, and she looked to Josephine. "Do you think it's worth speaking to Celene, knowing what we know?"

"Would her answers satisfy you?" Josephine asked her. "Could any answer?"

"No," Ciri said softly.

No, she wouldn't be satisfied to hear what made an empress so ambitious, so insecure, that even the rumor of a bastard sister would drive her to arrange an assassination attempt. She wouldn't be satisfied to understand what could make a person so ruthless, so desperate to maintain her courtiers' approval, that she'd order the deaths of thousands of her most vulnerable subjects.

It felt like the height of irony that she was here to save a woman who'd tried to take her life. And privately, she wasn't sure she was a good enough person to rise above it and do what needed to be done.

She kept her doubts locked behind her teeth and squared her shoulders. "I'm going to go talk to Briala. I'll meet you at the entrance to the royal wing."

"I wouldn't miss it," Olgierd said, giving her a quick wink and dropping a kiss on Josephine's knuckles.

Josephine squeezed his hand and nodded to Ciri. "I'll tell Commander Cullen and Sers Owain and Raúl to get our men into position."

Ciri gave her a brief, appreciative smile and left them behind, weaving her way through the throngs of courtiers to the balconies overlooking the gardens. There were two directly opposite each other at the end of the ballroom. Celene stood with her back to the festivities in between the two, gazing out a floor-length window beside a pair of closed doors. Ciri looked to the left and saw moonlight flash off a sharp couter as a gloved hand brought a glass to a mouth.

Gaspard.

She went right instead. Briala was exactly where she'd said she'd be, tucked into a corner of the balcony and watching the milling courtiers below. Her expression was somewhat cooler than before when she saw who'd arrived.

"I hadn't heard of your court introduction when we met earlier," Briala said. "Whoever wrote it did their best to ensure you wouldn't make many connections at court. Introducing the only elf in your company as your servant, though…your idea?"

"His, though he didn't tell me until after it was done," she told her. "He thought he'd have better luck reading the crowd if they overlooked him."

"Smart man." Her expression lightened just a hair. "What brings you to speak with me so soon?"

"I have a few questions – and I wanted to return something to you."

"Ask away." Briala leaned against the railing and crossed her arms.

"I've heard that Gaspard was the 'rightful heir.' So how did Celene come to sit on the throne?"

Briala stilled, and her large, dark eyes glinted in the chill light of the moon. Ciri waited patiently, and after a tense moment, the ambassador let her arms drop.

"I suppose I don't need to keep her secrets," she murmured. "Mind you, she never told me this. I had to discover it for myself. You are aware that Emperor Florian was assassinated, yes?"

Ciri made a soft sound of agreement.

"It was a scheme that Celene cooked up with Dowager Marquise Mantillon when she was only sixteen. To throw off suspicion, she staged a false assassination attempt on herself as well, one that saw every servant in her household dead but me. The attack garnered her sympathy and made her seem like a more credible contender for the throne than Gaspard, who'd been ignored by any assassins."

"That's how your parents died," Ciri said quietly.

Briala looked away, old anger and pain drawing lines around her mouth. "It is."

"I'm sorry. I know what it's like to lose a parent."

"It's a singular pain, isn't it?" Briala waved a dismissive hand. "No matter. Celene won the Council of Heralds to her cause quite easily and assumed the throne before the month was out. Gaspard has resented her ever since, though they've been known to work together when they feel an outside force threatens them as a dynasty."

"Like me."

"Mm."

Ciri joined her at the railing and leaned against it. The cold stone leached through her thin silk gown, making her shiver slightly. "I have to admit I'm a bit confused. If Gaspard's the presumptive heir, and Celene's being targeted by assassins tonight, then why is Gaspard going around threatening the Council of Heralds into siding with him? Wouldn't he assume the throne as a matter of course if Celene died?"

She found herself pinned by Briala's sharp stare again, and she met it as best she could. At last, Briala shook her head and let out a soft scoff.

"'If.'" Briala looked toward the ballroom, her face unreadable. "Not necessarily, Inquisitor. The Council of Heralds would not be eager to seat a regicide. If they'd known of Celene's machinations, she'd never have ascended to the throne, and likewise, Gaspard wouldn't rise on Celene's death if he was found to be even partly responsible. They'd pass over him for Florianne, or even for one of their cousins if they had to. The threats are to make them fall in line, so that even if anything improper is found, they'll still rule in his favor."

"I see."

She thought she was beginning to understand the shape of the plots around her now. Gaspard had certainly been thrown to the wolves by his sister, hadn't he? But Ciri couldn't muster up much in the way of sympathy given his actions.

"You said you had something for me," Briala reminded her.

"I do." Ciri hitched up the hem of her gown and untied the satin cord from around her leg. She held out the locket to Briala, who stared at it, her eyes wide with shock.

"Where did you find that?"

"In the vault in Celene's old bedchamber," Ciri said. "On the bottom shelf. Behind some scarves."

Briala reached out with a trembling hand and took the locket carefully, then gripped it tightly, her knuckles going white around it. "Why are you giving it to me?"

"May I tell you a story?" Ciri asked instead.

Briala glared at her, but she nodded, just a single, sharp jerk of her head.

"My friend hurt a lot of people, his wife among them," she said. Briala stiffened. "A demon cursed him, made him cruel – I don't mean to excuse what he did. He still betrayed her trust. Hurt her loved ones. Did things that I'm not sure I'd ever forgive if I were in her shoes."

"What's the purpose of this story?"

Ciri ignored the question. "He changed again once the curse was broken. He's one of my dearest friends; I trust him completely. But –"

"But?" Briala asked swiftly.

"But if his wife still lived, and she asked for my advice, I'd never tell her to take him back," Ciri admitted. "I'm glad, truly, that he's become a good man who's found love again, but…"

"You see me in this wife," Briala said, her voice tense. "Do you think I have so little self-respect that I'd return to Celene's side?"

"I think if you thought it was the only thing that would give you the tools you needed to help the elves, you'd do anything, no matter how much it hurt," Ciri said as gently as she could. "And I know what it's like to love someone who isn't good for you."

Try as she might, she couldn't excise that piece of her heart that belonged to Mistle. Mistle, who'd loved her, but who she could admit, after years of distance and the help of hindsight, had also raped her. She knew now she'd never return to her if she were still alive. Not now that she'd been shown gentleness, respect, and affection, and never once had Owain's hand felt like a small, warm snail she couldn't escape.

"What I do for my people is not your business," Briala said stiffly. The conflict in her eyes told Ciri there was more to it than that.

"Maybe so," Ciri allowed, "but I still care."

"For a stranger?"

"For an ally." Ciri reached out and lightly touched Briala's clenched hand. "One who deserves better from the people she cares for, and who should care for her in turn."

"You…" Briala sighed. "I hear what you're saying, as much as I wish I didn't."

"I will stand with you," Ciri promised again. "We'll find a solution that doesn't require you to sacrifice your happiness."

"Ha." Briala wound the cord around her fist and slumped against the railing. "'If.' I suspect it may already be too late for that."

Ciri didn't have an answer, and her hesitation drew another quiet scoff from Briala.

"Go, Inquisitor. You have leads to chase in the royal wing, and I have a duke and a marquis to speak with."

She left the balcony, her mind unsettled and her heart uneasy. Courtiers were easy to turn aside with smiles and light compliments, and it was the work of mere minutes to get to the entrance of the royal wing. Someone shifted in the shadows, and she stepped forward to see Olgierd lurking behind a statue, Sera at his side. Cassandra hid in the nook on the other side of the door.

"Where are Iron Bull and Solas?" she asked.

"Bull was too big to go missing again," Sera said. She shrugged, looking irritated. "Dunno where Solas got to. Only looked for a few minutes, though."

Losing track of Solas in the midst of all this was the last thing she needed, but she just didn't have time to hunt him down. "We'll have to go without him."

She cast a glance over her shoulder and pushed open the door, curiosity and worry congealing into a hard, sour knot in her stomach as she slipped inside.