Chapter Eight: Wicked Hearts
Leliana scanned the crowd as best she could whilst still appearing to be busy tasting the wine one of the servants had brought her. To the untrained eye, she was swirling the golden liquid around in its glass, taking her time to savour its scent and colour before the first taste. In truth, she was watching everyone who was in her immediate vicinity - and aware of everyone who wasn't, but should be.
Rosalie had failed to meet with her. Already she'd managed to lose track of her Inquisitor, and that didn't bode well. Still, the worst thing to do would be to appear to panic, so she waited, and watched for the other person who currently held her concern: Morrigan.
They hadn't crossed paths for years, with the last meeting being but a brief encounter when the apostate had first arrived at court. That had been before Leliana's duties on behalf of Justinia had taken her from Val Royeaux. A more naive Leliana might have hoped that Morrigan wouldn't be a threat to Celene or the work of the Inquisition, but times were too dark for sentimentality. For now, she simply hoped that the apostate was not an enemy; she had strong enough memories of Morrigan's magic to know how dangerous she could be, after all.
"Leliana, it's been far too long," a deep but gentle voice called to her in greeting.
Ah, yes, the other one I need to watch out for. She hadn't been expecting Mathis Travére to approach her so soon. Summoning a warm smile to her face, she turned to face the man and offered her hand for him to kiss. The Game had never placed them at odds in the past, nor had they ever worked together, but she knew enough of him to be wary - and enough not to let even a hint of that wariness show. "But of course. It is good to see you, my friend."
Mathis bowed deeply and pressed a kiss to the back of Leliana's hand. "You must come to call the next time your work brings you to Val Royeaux. I have a wonderful cook in my employ who makes the most darling animals out of marzipan, and a young protegé whose skill with a lute may rival even your own."
Her false smile widened at the subtle mention of Rosalie's sister. "You are far too kind. It's been years since I performed."
"More is the pity," he said with a sigh. "I recall your performances were always quite captivating." His gaze drifted towards the entrance to the main ballroom and he offered out his arm. "Would you perhaps care to dance, my lady?"
Leliana quickly considered the matter. There were bigger fish to fry than Mathis that evening, but keeping him busy would mean that she didn't need to worry about him confusing matters for Rosalie. She would simply have to trust that the Inquisitor could handle things on her own. "Nothing would please me more," she replied, setting her glass down to link arms with the man. Perhaps she could even learn something of what Gaspard was up to by staying close.
"The Inquisitor is quite enchanting, isn't she, my dear?" he mused blandly. "A beauty as rare as yourself. And there's something terribly familiar about her as well. Don't you think?"
He was trying to find out if Leliana knew Rosalie's true identity, and she was mildly insulted that he thought perhaps it might have escaped her notice. "Do you know who she reminds me of? The bard Gaspard brought to court before the war began. You remember, don't you? She had dark hair like the Inquisitor, and one of the most beautiful singing voices I've ever heard at court."
"Melcendre," he offered, voice darkening just a touch. "A tragedy for one with a voice so pure to die so young."
Leliana let her smile soften and nodded in agreement. Cheap, perhaps, to remind him that Gaspard's last agent had died under mysterious circumstances, but if he was going to idly threaten to expose Rosalie, she was all too happy to sink to his level. Besides, they both knew he had nothing to gain from revealing Rosalie's true origins. No, the greatest chance to gain power here was for Rosalie to be reminded of all that she owed him, to have her wrapped around his finger once more. Not if I can help it, Leliana told herself.
The Inquisitor stared down at the key in her hand, wondering again who she could trust and who to be wary of. The mage she had just met certainly should have fallen into the latter category, and yet there was something about Morrigan's nature that made Rosalie believe her: a bluntness that was oddly refreshing in the midst of all these two-faced Orlesians.
It was either a lead or a trap, and either way it was worth investigating. Her first thought had been to look for Leliana, but her feet had stilled beneath her the moment she saw her Spymaster dancing with Mathis. There was no way of knowing what she should make of that. All she knew was that she had no desire to be near the man herself, especially not in the midst of the Game where she could do nothing but smile politely and pretend she was happy to see him.
Instead, she chose to leave the ballroom and investigate the key herself. In this case, it seemed prudent to find some of her companions to bring along, just in case she needed backup. That meant she had to look for them under the guise of mingling.
Rosalie had never been to Halamshiral before, but there were plenty of nobles there with whom she was well acquainted - at least by reputation, even if they had never previously met in person. It gave her a good idea of who to approach and who to avoid, when to flirt and when to be demure. After all, the Game was a subtle dance, and she had been trained to dance it well. Here her weapons were her wit and her charm. She answered insults with backhanded compliments, implied agreement with the most asinine opinions, artfully side-stepped questions best left unanswered and never let her smile waver.
Had it always felt so exhausting? Perhaps having her sister at her side had made it easier. Or perhaps she was simply out of practice. Either way, all she could think of for the moment was how desperately she wanted to escape, to hole up somewhere with Iron Bull and forget about the Game.
Maybe that was why she soon found that her footsteps had brought her to where the horned giant stood alone beside a window. In one hand he held a bowl of spiced nuts, and in the other a flute of sparkling wine that looked ridiculously tiny gripped between his meaty fingers. He looked about as happy to be there as she felt.
"You got anything that needs killing?" he sighed. "Because the nobles keep messing with me and they think I don't know they're doing it. This keeps up, I'm going to wear somebody's skull as my fancy little mask."
"I did warn you." Rosalie gave him a wry smile. "Anyway, notice anything I might have missed, Ben-Hassrath?"
Bull just shrugged. "This place is a mess. Everyone's trying so hard to hide that they're walking around in plumage. Makes it tough to spot the dangerous lies, as opposed to the normal stuff." For a moment he looked Rosalie up and down, a faint smile touching his lips. "Oh, but that couple over there with the silver masks? The woman's doing one of the nobles and the guy's doing two different servants." Realising that was unhelpful, he shrugged again and simply said, "You've got more of a handle on this than I ever could, that's for damn sure."
The compliment brought a smile to her lips, and she found herself stepping close and asking in a low voice, "Any interest in a dance?"
A grin split Bull's face. "Oh, shit, the nobles would love that. Can you imagine Josephine's face trying to explain that we were…" Suddenly he raised an eyebrow. "Wait, were you serious? Because if so, then yeah, absolutely. I mean, once we stop the assassins and all that."
"Glad to hear it. And in the meantime, if you've had quite enough of being messed with, I have something I need to investigate." She opened her hand to reveal the key that Morrigan had given her. "Coming?"
"Boss, I thought you'd never ask," he sighed with relief.
The elven servants they found lying in puddles of red weren't a welcome sight exactly, even if they were better company than some of the guests at the ball. They soon encountered Venatori agents in the servant's wing, enough that Rosalie was amazed to have made it back without any rips in her clothing. Possibly there was a drop or two of blood, but luckily that blended in quite well with the red of her uniform.
It hadn't exactly been a surprise when the self-proclaimed elven ambassador, Briala, approached to make her case. The woman seemed convinced that Rosalie would have a place at the negotiations before the night was through and wanted to try to gain favour for the elves, if she could. Rosalie didn't object to the woman's position, but the idea of having a say did make her stomach turn. Everyone would have their own opinion on what was best for Orlais, from her advisors and companions, to the nobles - half of whom were still sneering at her - to the elves pouring the drinks. There'd be no way to get through the night without making new enemies, and Rosalie already had far more of those than she'd have liked.
Arriving back at the ballroom, it was a surprise when Gaspard's sister, Florianne, approached her. Mathis had worked closely with Gaspard and become a part of the man's inner circle. In the past, Rosalie had helped the Grand Duke's cause by doing whatever her bard master had asked, but she had no recollection of the Grand Duchess ever being involved in those schemes personally. Whoever's side Florianne was on, Rosalie doubted it was her brother's.
"Come, dance with me," Florianne said, already moving towards where the other couples had gathered. "Spies will not hear us on the dance floor."
Rosalie decided that it would look best if she were the one to lead, and quickly pulled her partner into hold. She knew the woman wouldn't argue; whatever Florianne's game here, she wanted to be seen to be friendly with the Inquisitor.
The steps were easy, and from practicing with her sister, Rosalie was as used to leading as she was being led. Her feet moved them through the steps without her having to give the matter much thought at all, which was a relief considering how much she would need her wits about her for other matters. Their conversation was as much a dance as what their bodies were doing. Every word had to be carefully chosen, their tones had to be just so or either one of them might reveal too much. Florianne had danced with words from a very young age, that much was clear. Rosalie supposed a Grand Duchess would be used to playing the Game to much higher stakes than a lowly bard from Ferelden.
It quickly became apparent that Florianne was trying to convince Rosalie that she'd turned on her brother, that her loyalty was to Empress Celene and that she wished to prevent any attack. To what end? That was always the important question to ask, Mathis had taught Rosalie early in her training. A master of the game did nothing that didn't further their own ends. Patriotic duty was not a good enough reason. Florianne had something to gain from offering up her own brother.
"You have little time," Florianne whispered just as Rosalie dropped her into a low dip, much to the amusement of the crowd. To the sound of clapping and gasps of delight, they both stood up straight and moved into the next steps. Only then did Rosalie notice that they were the only pair left on the dancefloor, and all eyes were now upon them.
"The attack will come soon. You must stop Gaspard before he strikes," the Grand Duchess warned. "In the royal wing garden, you will find the Captain of my brother's mercenaries. He knows all Gaspard's secrets. I'm sure you can persuade him to be forthcoming."
Their dance at an end, they stepped back from one another and bowed. Rosalie feigned a warm smile. "We'll see what the night has in store, won't we?" was all she said in answer to that.
As she climbed the stairs leading up from the dance floor, she found Cullen, Leliana and Josephine all waiting for her.
"Were you dancing with Duchess Florianne?" Leliana asked. She and Rosalie exchanged wary looks, but neither one mentioned their missed meeting or Leliana's dance with Mathis.
Rosalie glanced over her shoulder in the direction Florianne had gone, but couldn't spot her through the crowd. "The Grand Duchess tried to convince me Gaspard is the traitor, but I'm not sure I buy it."
"Then… the attack on the Empress will happen tonight," Cullen noted with a sigh.
"Warning Celene is pointless," Josephine chimed in. "She needs to succeed, and to flee would admit defeat."
It was true, and Rosalie was starting to feel she was running out of options. She was just about to bring up the mercenary Captain Florianne had mentioned when Leliana made a suggestion that completely caught her off guard.
"Perhaps we should let her die."
It took every ounce of Rosalie's willpower not to let her expression change in the face of words that felt like being doused with a glass of icy water. People weren't likely to overhear them this close to the band, but the conversation had to at least appear to be calm and friendly. That meant that her face needed to remain neutral no matter what.
"I thought we were here to stop the assassination!" It wasn't just that Leliana was being cold and calculating. Seeing it reminded Rosalie of Mathis and that was hard to take, especially given that she'd seen them dancing with one another. In the face of that, it was hard to sound anything but outraged.
"Listen to me carefully, Inquisitor." The Spymaster's voice was firm. "What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive, that could still happen. To foil his plan, the Empire must remain strong. This evening, someone must emerge victorious."
"And it doesn't need to be Celene," said Cullen. "She's right."
"Do you realize what you're suggesting, Leliana?" Josephine gasped. Rosalie would have wondered the same thing, but she'd known enough bards in her time. Still, Leliana was certainly bold to suggest what amounted to treason in the very room the Empress herself was standing.
"Sometimes the best path is not the easiest one," the Spymaster countered.
"You're asking me to decide what's best for Orlais," Rosalie accused. In truth, that was the part that bothered her. Bards were trained to toy with people's lives, even to claim those lives when they had to, but it was their patrons who toyed with the fates of nations, not them.
"More than that. Whoever controls the Imperial throne will affect all of Thedas," said Cullen. The added pressure made Rosalie's stomach turn. She began to feel dizzy and lightheaded.
Her advisors each went on to say what they thought she should do, not one of them agreeing with the other. "This is, however, your decision, Inquisitor. Not ours," said Josephine. Then each of them looked to her expectantly.
The colour had drained from her cheeks, her pulse was racing, and her stomach twisted in knots. All she could think was that needed to get away before too many people noticed that her hands were shaking at her sides.
"I… need some air, I think. Excuse me." She quickly moved towards the vestibule, ignoring Leliana's hushed pleas that she stay to speak awhile longer. She ignored them, and once she was a few steps away, she knew she was clear; Leliana was hardly going to chase her in front of everyone.
Back at his spot beside the courtyard window, Bull sighed as he found the bottom of the bowl of spiced cashews. He hadn't seen any servants come by with trays of appetisers in a while either, and the party didn't have a whole lot going for it besides the food. Now there was nothing for it but to try to not look too bored as he simply listened to what those around him had to say.
A soft smile touched his lips as he heard some guests speaking excitedly about the Inquisitor's enchanting moves on the dance floor as they passed him, and he felt sorry to have missed it. The sight of Rosalie dancing with her daggers across a battlefield was always pretty spectacular, after all. Probably not quite as hot without her being covered in sweat and blood...
Then, just as his thoughts began to wander to places unsuitable for when he was in public, a familiar woman in a silver mask and powder blue ball gown appeared, almost as if summoned by his lustful thoughts.
It was Rosalie, he was sure of it, though it made no sense for her to be out of her Inquisition uniform. Still, the contrast of her dark hair against pale skin, those slender shoulders that were so much stronger than they appeared, those long, dexterous fingers… He coughed awkwardly as he noticed his thoughts becoming distracted once more. The point was, not a lot of people looked much like Rosalie, and the woman approaching him looked exactly like Rosalie.
"You're the Iron Bull," she said by way of greeting as she bobbed into a curtsy. And sounds like Rosalie, Bull noted. Did she really think the mask would throw him? He'd know those lips anywhere. "I am Lila Avery. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Avery, huh? Well, fine, he could play along for now. Maybe there was a reason for it, though if that was true, she was wasting time talking to him. "How'd you know my name?" he asked.
She giggled at that. "Besides the fact that the announcer called it when you entered alongside the Inquisitor?"
He just shrugged. "Everyone else here seems happy enough calling me oxman or savage. I just assumed nobody was actually listening when I was announced."
"This is the Winter Palace, Ser Bull," she said with a gentle laugh. "It's safe to assume there is always someone listening."
He opened his mouth to respond to that, but the words never came as his gaze was suddenly drawn elsewhere. Spy or no spy, even Bull struggled to keep the surprise from his face when he saw Rosalie - the real Rosalie, he assumed - walk into the room, still dressed in her red Inquisition uniform, same as him. He couldn't help but do a double-take, and the woman beside him in the ballgown smirked as she noticed it.
His face fell though as he noticed that something was wrong. That Rosalie had that sort of pale green colour to her face that humans seemed to get when they were about to puke. He'd seen his men look that way enough times to recognise it. Her hands were shaking, and she was walking pretty fast too, not stopping to speak with anyone like she had earlier. She didn't even look his way, just hurried out into the courtyard.
Without much thought, Bull moved to follow her, but the doppelganger beside him placed a hand on his arm. "Not yet," she urged in a whisper.
Stepping closer to him so that her back was turned to most of the room, the woman plucked what seemed to be a small marble from the bodice of her dress, which she then dropped to the floor and subtly rolled across the room with a nudge of her foot.
"The trouble with masks," she murmured, leaning closer to him still, "is they do rather make it difficult to watch where one is stepping."
Bull barely had time to smirk at that before a nobleman - one of the very ones who had been giving him a hard time that night - stepped on the marble and slipped. Spectacular mayhem followed. The nobleman managed to rip his trousers as he suddenly found himself doing the splits. On his way down, he managed to crash into a poor servant carrying a tray of drinks, which in turn were catapulted across the room, drenching a couple of noblewomen in wine and ruining their dresses.
This inevitably led to more servants rushing over to help, people with ruined clothes shouting in outrage and the nobleman simultaneously trying to get to his feet with his dignity intact whilst somehow trying to insist that it was all the servant's fault. Bull wouldn't have minded staying a while to watch the commotion, but the point of it wasn't lost on him. It was a distraction, a chance to slip away and follow after Rosalie.
Not saying a word, the woman who looked just like the Inquisitor linked arms with him and tugged him towards the courtyard. Bull was happy to bring her along. He wanted some answers about who she was almost as much as he wanted to know that Rosalie was okay.
They found her shut away in a storage closet on the other side of the courtyard, and opened the door just in time to see her doubled over behind some crates, puking her guts up from the sounds of things.
As Bull quickly closed the door behind them, Rosalie's look-alike rushed forward to whisper comforting words to Rosalie and rub her back, which was when it finally hit Bull who he was dealing with.
"Oh shit, you have a sister?" He was annoyed with himself for not putting that together sooner. In his defence though, they didn't have siblings under the Qun. Not ones they knew about, at any rate.
The look-alike pushed her half-mask up to rest on the top of her head, revealing a face that differed from Rosalie's in only the subtlest of ways. He doubted most could tell them apart, in fact. "As I said, I'm Lila. Nice to meet you." At that, she helped Rosalie over to a crate so that she could sit down for a moment.
Rosalie looked a little better now. There was some colour back in her cheeks, at least, though her hands were still shaking. "I probably should have mentioned the whole twin thing," she admitted.
"Something happened," Bull noted, deciding it was best for the Inquisitor stay focused on the mission, even if she did look like she needed to be hugged tightly and carried off to a bedroom to rest just then.
"Just my Spymaster wanting me to write the course of Orlesian history," Rosalie muttered. He noticed her clench her hands tightly to try to keep them still.
Crouching down so that they were at eye level, he touched a hand to her cheek. "Hey. We came here to stop Corypheus. This Game was always going to have higher stakes than the one you're used to playing," he said softly. He understood the problem because it was the same one she'd faced countless times since being named Inquisitor: Rosalie was used to orders, not decisions. The fear of making the wrong choice was crushing her in that moment. "Whatever happens here tonight, as long as you stop that asshole's plan, you made the right call," he added, hoping that was what she needed to hear.
It took her a moment to respond, but then she nodded. "I still want to stop the assassination, if we can."
"You have a plan, boss?"
"Florianne said Gaspard's mercenary Captain is waiting in the royal wing and that he knows everything about the attack. I just feel like the moment I go to investigate it is the moment our assassin will strike."
"So let me help you," Lila pleaded. "You can finish this the way we would when we worked together. Ma soeur, I hate to see you like this."
Rosalie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Do you know how much my advisors would kill me if I willingly sent along an impostor?"
"Right now, they might prefer it to a green-faced Inquisitor whose hands are shaking," Lila countered.
Given all Bull had learned about Orlesian politics that night, it was a hard point to argue with. "You sure you shouldn't take her up on the offer, boss? It would free you up to investigate this mercenary captain, and the assassin might not strike if they think they see you close to the Empress."
"She's here with my former Master, and that means she's working for Gaspard."
Lila shook her head. "I don't want to work for Mathis. I want to be at your side. The Game feels meaningless without you. Ma soeur, please! Anything you ask of me, I will do it. Give me a chance to prove myself," she begged.
An emotional plea. Bull had to hand it to the woman, if she was lying, she was damn good at it.
"How do I know Mathis didn't send you to me?" Rosalie asked quietly. She believed her sister though, Bull could tell. She wanted to believe her sister.
"Because you know me," Lila said softly.
Bull saw it in Rosalie's eyes the moment she decided to go ahead with her sister's plan. There was resignation in her face, like she'd finally acknowledged to herself that she couldn't untangle this web of lies on her own.
Given how normal it was for them to swap outfits at a party, it only took them a couple of minutes to have Lila dressed in the red Inquisition uniform, complete with Rosalie's neat braid and bare face.
Lila slipped from the room to rejoin the party first. It might start unwanted rumours if the Inquisitor was caught sneaking out of a storage room with two other party guests, after all. Once they were alone, Rosalie - now dressed in powder blue ball gown - turned to Bull and said, "This is a really bad idea, isn't it?"
Bull shrugged. "This whole party is one big shit-storm. Sometimes when there's no good ideas to be had, you just gotta choose a bad one, roll with it and hope for the best." Given all the different players trying to use Rosalie as their pawn, he couldn't really fault any decision she came to right now, just so long as she decided something.
"Right. Hoping for the best… I can do that. I think."
Grinning, he reached around to settle a hand on her ass and squeeze. "Get through this, and I'll give you a night you'll never forget, boss," he said in a low murmur.
For a moment, she closed her eyes and shivered. Then a faint smile came to her lips and then she moved for the door. "Let's go."