Thank you all for reading! Special thanks to suilven for her sharp betaing skills!
Thule took his team to the Royal Wing, hoping their exit from the ball had been discreet enough to go largely unnoticed by the other partiers. Sera had been bouncing around all night; he pitied anyone who had been assigned to watch her. No doubt she had worn out a spy or two over the course of the evening.
Cassandra moved at his side, looking glad to be out of the fancier portion of the ball. Watching her, Thule felt a keen sense of loss—he would very much have liked to dance with her, and he had the feeling his chances had largely passed him by.
"I haven't seen you dancing this evening, Lady Cassandra," he said softly as they worked their way through the Royal Wing.
She looked down at him, scowling. "I would not give any of these popinjays the satisfaction."
He glanced back—Sera was rifling through a chest, and Vivienne had pulled a book off a shelf and was leafing through it avidly. Using the moment, he took Cassandra's hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. "And if the person who asked was not a popinjay?" He hoped she didn't think such a thing of him. Other disparaging terms, possibly, but not that one.
"I—" She was looking down at their joined hands, at his thumb moving over her skin, as though mesmerized. "This is …" Cassandra cleared her throat abruptly and pulled her hand from his. "This is hardly the time. We are here to find a killer, not to dance."
Thule sighed. Vivienne had snorted and put the book back, and Sera was prancing toward them with a shiny new belt fastened around her waist. The moment was gone. "If we find the killer, I may ask you again."
She gave him a small, wry smile that he found absolutely delightful. "I stand warned, Inquisitor."
The Royal Wing was largely abandoned, but in the gardens they found a man, a mercenary, by the looks of him, bound to a beam, yelling at the top of his lungs. Sera made quick work of the ropes that held him, and he got up, still shouting about Gaspard.
"The Grand Duke left you here?" Cassandra asked.
"The bastard. I gave him my bill, and this is what happens! He sent his sister to speak to me, and next thing I know everything goes black. I wake up, and … here I am."
"Florianne," Vivienne said, her tone almost admiring. "She appears to have been pulling the reins all along."
"No, no," said the mercenary, his accent unmistakably Fereldan. "It had to be Gaspard. He wanted to move on the palace tonight, but he didn't have enough of them fancy chevaliers. So he hired me and my men—offered us triple our usual pay. Then of course, didn't cough it up. Stinking poncy cheesemongers!"
"Impressively ruthless," Cassandra said, sighing. "If predictable."
"Wait … we're after one assassin, right? Do we just let the rest go at it?" Sera asked. "Tell them to queue up?"
There was an itch in the center of Thule's palm, and he looked down at his hand, seeing the Anchor crackling. A rift was about to open; had to be.
He looked at the mercenary. "You wait for me in the ballroom." The man hurried off without waiting to be asked twice.
The rift split the air in front of them, and on a balcony above their heads Duchesse Florianne appeared. "Inquisitor, welcome to my private party! I wasn't certain you would attend, but I did have high hopes. Hawke was a surprising challenge to read—I had no idea if she had taken my bait, or if she would investigate my hint on her own. I would have had to kill her, of course, and then blame it on you … and my brother." She sighed. "It would have been such fun. Not as much fun as this, of course, but still. Such a pity I did not have time to dance with you. I have never danced with a dwarf; it must be quite an experience."
"You have no idea," Thule growled.
Florianne smiled. "If Corypheus wasn't so insistent on gaining that mark for himself, perhaps I would keep you, but my orders are clear. Kill you, kill the Empress. And I would so hate to disappoint him."
"You would kill your own cousin on behalf of that madman?" Cassandra shouted, outraged.
"Her death is but a stepping stone on a path to a better world. Corypheus will enter the Black City and claim his godhood, and then all of Thedas will bow before him—and before those who stand at his side."
"He will cast you aside, my dear, like the worthless scrap that you are," Vivienne said coolly. "And in your last moments you will know despair."
"He will give me all of Thedas to rule!"
Sera laughed. "As if. Coryphellus give up power? Yeah, and I'm a biscuit."
The rift was opening, demons beginning to pour from it. Sera's arrow found the first, and Vivienne's lightning the second, but there were more. Thule raised the Anchor, straining against the rift.
Florianne's laugh rose above the sounds of the demons clustering on the other side of the rift. "In their darkest dreams, no one imagines I would assassinate Celene myself. And you, I'm afraid, will be too occupied to tell them. I will be back, Inquisitor, for that hand of yours." And she hurried off.
"We must warn the others!" Cassandra shouted at him.
He shook his head. "No time; we have to close the rift. Besides, I think someone already has." He was hoping against hope that the shadow he had seen accompanying them had been who he thought it was; it had disappeared about the time Florianne first mentioned Corypheus's name.
Either way, the rift was their first task, and they had to close it quickly and get into the ballroom. Thule focused all his energy on the mark, gritting his teeth as the rift fought against its closing.
Leliana had subtly made her way around the ballroom, one eye open for traps and one ear pricked for juicy gossip the Inquisition could use. She was coming around on a second pass, noting with approval Cullen in the center of a bevy of Orlesian beauties, doing his part to be a distraction, when she felt a presence joining her, and looked down at her shining boots to see Nathaniel Howe's soft shoes padding next to her.
"You have news?" she asked softly.
"The Inquisitor is in the Royal Gardens, closing a rift."
"A rift here?" She was startled enough to look up at him.
"Yes. Courtesy of the Grand Duchess. She's coming to kill the Empress."
"I knew it." Leliana swore softly under her breath, angry at herself for not getting ahead of Florianne. She glanced at Nathaniel. "Stay with me while I do this—I may need an extra pair of hands."
"My pleasure," he said grimly.
Florianne and Gaspard were entering the room, both moving with stately grace. No doubt Florianne was confident no one suspected what she was about to do, but she had been rather clumsy, after all. Gaspard was too confident he could win with brute force; Briala had nothing to gain by assassinating the Empress, as Gaspard would not be nearly as amenable to her cause. That left Florianne as the next most obvious candidate.
Nathaniel nudged Leliana. "The Empress is coming out to give her speech."
"Then there is no time." Leliana approached the Grand Duchess, taking her arm. Nathaniel stood forbiddingly on Florianne's other side, while Gaspard looked at both of them in confusion. "I believe the show is over, Your Grace. I will not allow you near enough the Empress to do her harm."
"Lady Nightingale, have you been drinking? Perhaps you have had too much!" Florianne protested. She looked over Leliana's shoulder and her face paled. Without looking, Leliana guessed that the Inquisitor must have returned.
"Has your plan failed, Your Grace? Our Inquisitor is a remarkably surprising—and resourceful—man."
"I have no idea what you're talking about!"
"Haven't you?" Nathaniel asked. "Because I heard you boasting that no one would suspect that you intended to assassinate the Empress yourself; I heard you promise to take the Inquisitor's hand to Corypheus. And so did they." He indicated Cassandra and Vivienne. Sera was nowhere to be seen—probably somewhere with an arrow aimed at Florianne's head, Leliana imagined. "The word of a Grey Warden is worth very little right at the moment," Nathaniel continued, "but the word of the former Court Enchanter and of Princess Cassandra Pentaghast? I believe everyone here will accept that."
There was a murmur through the crowd, assenting and horrified and titillated. Gaspard stepped away from his sister, looking at her with anger and sorrow.
"Stories, all of them, meant to make the Inquisition look good," Florianne said desperately. "No one will believe any of you!"
Above their heads Celene had taken her place, ready to begin her speech. She looked down at her cousin with disappointment. "That will be for a judge to decide," she said.
Florianne looked at her brother, her eyes pleading with him. He took another step back, shaking his head. Nathaniel caught Florianne's elbow in his grip, and on the other side, Leliana drew a small dagger and pressed it against the Grand Duchess's ribs. "Come along quietly, or I will paint the dance floor with your blood."
Whether she would have done it or not was debatable—blood at a ball was a bit over the top, after all—but Florianne believed her. She sagged in their grip, the fight gone out of her, and Leliana released her to three of Celene's guards, who hauled her away.
Celene nodded at Leliana in recognition of what she had done, stepping in before Florianne could go through with her plan.
On the edge of the crowd, Alistair had watched it all, feeling helpless and foolish and somewhat lost—which was, of course, just when Celene lifted her head and caught his eye. She motioned him to come closer.
"Your Majesty, perhaps you would accompany me to the negotiations? I would feel safer with you at my side, and perhaps you may have something to add to the discussion." She glanced past him. "You, too, Inquisitor, if you would."
Thule nodded, and so of course Alistair had to agree as well … not that he truly would have had another option, not when the most powerful monarch in Thedas beckoned. They walked on either side of Celene out onto the balcony, where Gaspard and Briala waited.
The two of them were already arguing about Florianne and how much Gaspard had—or should have—known about her plans.
"Your sister attempted regicide in front of the entire court, Gaspard!"
"You are the spymaster—if anyone should have known this atrocity was coming, it was you!"
"Ah! Then you do not deny your involvement!" Briala cried triumphantly.
"Did you know, Gaspard?" Thule asked, his voice cutting through the air, quiet though it was.
"Of course not! Florianne never took me into her confidence." Gaspard flung out an arm, pointing at Briala. "But this woman must have stumbled across Florianne's plans, and she said nothing. That makes her complicit!"
"I don't know which I find more amusing—that you seem to think I am all-seeing, or that you continue to deny your own involvement."
"Enough!" Celene said, cutting the air sharply with the side of her hand. "We will not bicker while Tevinter plots against the safety of our nation." She glanced sideways at Alistair. "Indeed, the safety of all southern Thedas. We will have answers."
"I'm told Gaspard was sneaking mercenaries into the palace all night, intending to attack," Thule said.
"And the Inquisition had no troops stationed anywhere in the vicinity?" Gaspard snorted. "I doubt it."
"The fact is that yours were already here," Alistair pointed out. "And I understand some of your mercenaries were Fereldan. We do not look kindly on being brought into an attempted coup on foreign soil." He was surprised at how royal he sounded; apparently he had learned a few things over his time as king.
"Hired thugs?" Celene said in disappointment. "I didn't expect you to stoop so low, cousin." She seemed genuinely grieved at the betrayal of both her cousins.
"I understand that the Grand Duke also attempted to threaten the Council of Heralds in order to make them gift him the Crown," Alistair said. He understood Gaspard, indeed, rather liked him, but Gaspard reminded him of himself, and no one knew better what a disaster he had been on the throne. The fact that Gaspard had needed to stoop to threats and bullying only spoke to what a poor choice he would be to lead Orlais, home of the Great Game.
"If the worst you can say of me is that I am a bully, Your Majesty, I must not be very bad."
"Ah, Gaspard, if only that was the worst. But you have conspired against me, with your men if not with your sister, and snuck men into my home in an attempt to take by sudden attack what you could not win on the battlefield, or by diplomacy. No one in Orlais would respect that, you know it as well as I." Celene sighed. "I have no choice but to charge you with treason and declare you an enemy of the empire."
Gaspard's shoulders slumped. He had gambled and lost, but he was soldier enough to know when he had been beaten.
"You are hereby sentenced to death," Celene continued.
"Wait!" Alistair spoke before he thought. "You would condemn one of your finest generals to die? What will you do if Orlais is attacked?" As Celene stiffened next to him, he realized too late which country would be considered most likely to be doing the attacking, and he hastened to add, "Corypheus remains a threat, and we don't know how involved Tevinter was or what they might do."
"Do you ask this as a favor, Your Majesty?" Celene asked softly.
Alistair wished he had had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. He couldn't ask Celene for a favor—what she would want in return would certainly be more than he was willing to give. But he couldn't call back his words, either, without appearing to be afraid of Orlais.
Mercifully, blessedly, Thule stepped in. "I ask it as a favor, Empress Celene. On behalf of the Inquisition." The words "which has saved your life tonight" hung in the air, unspoken, but the implication was clear.
Celene smiled, aware that he had adroitly taken the favor from her hands and made of it something he had already earned rather than something she could hold over his head, and in the process cemented Alistair's good will by saving him from the consequences of his own big mouth. "I have no choice but to grant your request, Inquisitor, and I do so, gladly, and with thanks for what you and your people have done for me this evening." She looked at Gaspard. "I will let you live, cousin, but you will be exiled, and constrained from lifting a weapon against Orlais. If you enter the empire again, your life is forfeit."
He gave them all an exaggerated bow. "You are too generous." He glared at the guards who came for him, refusing to allow them to take his arms and draw him away as they tried to do. He walked off between them, his bearing impeccable.
"A shame," Celene said softly, watching him go.
"And I? What will you do with me, Celene?" Briala asked.
Alistair could tell by the look on Thule's face that he had weapons against the elf, too, but didn't want to use them unless he needed to.
"If you and your people will work with me, I will do what I can for them. You know that." There was a softness in Celene's eyes under her mask as she regarded the elf, and Alistair remembered the rumors that painted Briala as the Empress's lover.
Briala held the look for a long moment, then bowed her head. "I will do what I can."
At a nod from Celene, she left them alone on the balcony.
"Inquisitor, I owe you my life. And Orlais owes you its future. We will not forget. You can count on our assistance in your fight against Corypheus." She looked at Alistair. "And you … my friend, you have much still to learn, about … many things, but women most of all. It is past time that you decide what you want and go after it."
"I … yes, you're probably right." He had the sense that she meant Lilias, but also more than that. Or was it only that a chord had been touched in him, awakening thoughts and longings he had believed long dead? "For the moment, I will continue to support the Inquisition against Corypheus. When that is over …" He nodded. "I will take your advice."
Celene smiled at him, the most genuine smile he had ever seen from her. "Good. You are a good man, Your Majesty. Do not forget that."
He found himself deeply touched, and for once grateful for the fate that had put him on the throne of Ferelden, that it had allowed him this close to a woman such as the Empress and a man such as the Inquisitor. If only he could be a king to match both of them.