Inside the grand doors, Blackwall found Bridget fidgeting with her gloves as Josephine hovered next to her, whispering in her ear. Bridget's face brightened at the sight of Blackwall, and his heart sank even as it lifted—a complicated maneuver he hadn't imagined was possible.
Bridget came to him, reaching for his hand, clutching it tightly. "Talk me down, Blackwall," she whispered. "Is the Orlesian court really as deadly as Josephine says?"
It was, and in more ways than one. "They'll be watching you," he said carefully, "weighing every word, and every gesture. They expect you to be an uneducated bumpkin, so you'll gain points by being the cultured and intelligent lady I know you to be; they'll expect you to be a dangerous mage, but they are titillated by that fear, so you'll want to walk a fine line between being reasonable and not voraciously in favor of mage's rights … and being just a little unleashed and potentially scary."
"Am I unleashed and potentially scary?" she asked anxiously.
He considered making a reference to the bedroom, but this wasn't the time to distract her, even if she could have used a moment of light-heartedness. "Only on the battlefield, my lady," he said instead. "Treat them as warily as if Corypheus were right in front of you, and you should find the right balance easily enough."
She nodded, her forehead wrinkling as she considered that advice. "I can do that, I think. Thank you, Blackwall."
"Don't tell them too much, be polite and complimentary and noncommittal … but stand your ground, as well. Don't let them think you're a pushover."
Bridget let out a long breath, slowly. "All right. I think I'm ready."
She moved on ahead, joining Grand Duke Gaspard.
"I told her all those things!" Josephine said. "Why did they only make her more nervous when I said them?"
Leliana chuckled. "You told her it was Wicked Grace played to the death, Josie. All well and good for you, since we all know you're unbeatable at Wicked Grace, but I don't think it was quite the right metaphor for the Inquisitor."
Blackwall made a mental note to teach Bridget all the Wicked Grace tricks he could remember when they got back to Skyhold—if they got back to Skyhold, whispered the Thom Rainier who still lurked in the back of his mind. He banished the voice by imagining Bridget playing strip Wicked Grace, which was a suitably distracting thought.
"You told her she was safer in the Fade with the Fear demon," Cullen pointed out to Josephine.
"Well, she was!"
"Yes, but that was hardly advice calculated to build her confidence."
"I'm just so nervous," Josephine said, looking worriedly at Bridget, who was talking with Gaspard and two other nobles. "It's nearly time to be introduced."
"Everything'll be fine, Ruffles. She'll charm the court just like she charmed all of you," Varric said. "Remember when you all wanted her executed?"
"Right. Everything will be fine," Josephine repeated. She shivered, adding, "Andraste watch over us all."
She and Cullen and Leliana moved on ahead, following Bridget and the Grand Duke toward the main doors that would lead into the ballroom. Blackwall felt sickened at how familiar this all still was, even after all this time. How long until he made a mistake and revealed that he had been here before?
Next to him, Varric groaned and shook his head. "Shit. I just saw two dwarves from the Merchants Guild go inside. Do me a favor—if anyone asks, I'm not here."
Blackwall pulled his thoughts away from his panic, glad for the distraction. He grinned at the dwarf. "I'll be glad to, but I don't think it'll make much difference after your name is announced for all the company to hear."
Varric groaned louder. "You think I can duck out of here before the introductions?"
"Not and still be available to the Inquisitor when you're needed."
"Yeah, you're right. I guess I'll just have to hang around by the food tables."
"You don't think the dwarves from the Merchants' Guild will go near them?"
"Come on! No self-respecting dwarf comes to these things for the food."
"What's wrong with it?"
"Too fancy. It's all about how trendy it is, not about how it tastes." Varric grimaced. "One time at a party I had this imported ham from the Anderfels that tasted like despair. Literally."
"You probably got to wash it down with an expensive wine," Blackwall pointed out. "Whatever they serve, it beats two-year-old hardtack."
"How bad can that be?"
"Eventually, you can't scrape off the blue anymore. You just have to try not to look."
Varric frowned at him, then sighed as Josephine turned and gestured for them to hurry up. "Maybe I'll get lucky and the representatives of the Merchants' Guild will starve to death in the middle of the ball."
"Let's hope it doesn't last that long."
The main ballroom was filled with people, all of them turning to stare at the Inquisition, who stood out like sore thumbs in their matching red uniforms. Blackwall felt naked and exposed, and he wished for a mask.
Bridget was crossing the expanse of the dance floor now, as her name and titles and accomplishments were intoned for the room to hear. She was beautiful, so tall and elegant and poised. You would never know how nervous she was from watching her, or that she hadn't been attending functions like these all her life. He hoped that watching her would be distracting enough that no one would even notice him.
The room was utterly silent as she walked, none of the nobles quite sure how to respond to her until they saw Celene's reaction, and Celene stood in shadow so her face, even the part visible under the mask, was impossible to see.
Vivienne was announced next, to a murmur of welcome and approval; then Varric, to a somewhat louder murmur of his starstruck fans. Vivienne would not be pleased to have been upstaged by a dwarf, Blackwall thought, a smile twitching at his mouth.
It vanished immediately when Varric's list of accomplishments was done, and he would have to go next. He was initially relieved at the brevity of his roll call. He had been hoping at least they had done enough research to unearth Blackwall's first name, which he had completely forgotten, if he had ever known … but they had managed to discover that Blackwall had once earned the Silverite Wings of Valor, whatever Blighted award that might be. He cursed under his breath, even as he was walking across the room, his eyes fixed on Bridget's face, so proud. Now he would have to make something up, for her if for no one else. One more lie to add to his conscience.
Yet again, he thought how unforgivable the deception he was practicing on her was … and how impossible to stop, as long as she looked at him the way she was looking at him now.
Bridget took her eyes off Blackwall with some difficulty as Leliana's announcement ended, and it was clear she was expected to turn to make her obeisance to the Empress.
Gaspard took charge of that, approaching Celene with the ease of their familial relationship. "Cousin! My dear sister," he added, nodding to the woman who appeared next to Celene as they both emerged from the shadows. Bridget suppressed a wild urge to look to Josephine to find out exactly who this might be, wondering why the ambassador hadn't mentioned her.
"Grand Duke," Celene was saying. "We are always honored when your presence graces our Court."
"Don't waste my time with pleasantries, Celene," Gaspard snapped. "We have business to conclude."
She shook her head. "So hasty, always, cousin. There is a time and a place. We will meet for negotiations after we have seen to our other guests."
Gaspard made an elaborate—and Bridget suspected deliberately ridiculous—bow. He glanced at Bridget. "Inquisitor." And then he stalked off into the crowd.
Bridget was panicked to realize that she stood alone in the center of the ballroom in front of the Empress, with the eyes of the entire Court of Orlais on her. Breathe, she thought. Breathe and smile.
"Lady Inquisitor," Celene said pleasantly, "welcome to the Winter Palace. Allow us to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible."
Transferring her smile to the Grand Duchess, Bridget filed away that piece of information. Wouldn't have been possible? If you wanted to assassinate the Empress, organizing a ball might be a way to accomplish it. She added the Grand Duchess to her list of suspects.
The Grand Duchess gave a somewhat perfunctory curtsy. "What an unexpected surprise. I was not aware the Inquisition would be part of our festivities." Her voice was chilly, and studiedly disinterested. "We will certainly speak later, Inquisitor," she added, disappearing into the shadows behind Celene.
The Empress was smiling at Bridget, a smile that appeared genuine—at least she wasn't going to be hostile, Bridget thought with relief. "Your arrival at Court is like a cool breeze on a summer's day."
Noncommittal, casual, complimentary, Bridget reminded herself. "I am delighted to be here, Your Majesty."
"We have heard much of your exploits, Inquisitor. They have made grand tales for long evenings."
"Perhaps you will allow me to tell you some of my exploits later, then."
"I would enjoy that, yes. In the meanwhile, feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom, Inquisitor."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Bridget bowed as Josephine had taught her.
The Empress nodded, and the introduction was over.
As soon as she was off the dance floor and out of the eye of the entirety of Orlais, Bridget sought out Josephine, who was standing with a young woman in a very fancy dress.
"Tell me, Yvette, how are Mama and Papa? Are they in good health? Do they want for anything?" Josephine was asking as Bridget joined them.
The other young lady, evidently her sister, replied, "Papa's perfectly happy in the studio." Her mouth turned down in a studied pout. "Mother is the same as always."
Josephine smiled indulgently. "Meaning she is after you to do more work."
The sister's pout deepened. "You always take her side!"
"I do not 'take her side'. I happen to think, as she does, that you might attend to more of the estate's duties."
"And give up my art?"
Josephine rolled her eyes, and the two sisters stood glaring at each other before Bridget, amused, cleared her throat.
"Oh! Inquisitor, my apologies. Little sisters can be so trying," Josephine said.
"Inquisitor! Josephine, is this her?" The other Montilyet sister was looking Bridget up and down with avid curiosity.
"Yes. Inquisitor, please allow me to present to you my younger sister, Yvette Gabriella Montilyet."
Bridget and Yvette exchanged bows. Yvette giggled. "I have heard so much about you—but not as much as I want. Josephine can be so … discreet." The pout made another appearance.
"So tedious of me, I know," Josephine agreed.
"Tell me, Inquisitor, is it true that the rebel mages in Redcliffe were performing blood rites and orgies before you stopped them?"
Bridget's eyebrows flew up in surprise, even as Josephine scoffed, "Where did you hear such nonsense?"
"Everyone in Antiva says so! Is it true?" Yvette repeated eagerly.
Thinking of what had actually occurred at Redcliffe, the nightmare future that still haunted her, Bridget shook her head. "Of course not."
"Oh." Yvette subsided, the pout even more in evidence. "How dull Redcliffe must have been, then."
Bridget wished it had been dull. Not wanting to talk about Redcliffe any further, she asked if Yvette were enjoying the ball.
Waving her fan, Yvette nodded. "The dancing is so dull … but the Empress's gallery is magnificent!"
"Yvette …" Josephine said warningly.
"Sorry, Josie."
"This may be my only opportunity to learn about what Josephine was like as a girl," Bridget said, smiling at her Ambassador. "Do you have any stories?"
Oblivious to Josephine's protests, Yvette said, "Oh, yes! Has she told you about when she was ten and—"
"Yvette. Stop."
"Fine. Ooh, what about when we were climbing the cliffs by the—"
"No."
"She once told the Duke of—"
Josephine put her hands on her hips. "Absolutely not."
Yvette scowled. "She still plays with her doll collection when no one is looking," she said quickly, and hurried off before Josephine could remonstrate with her.
Josephine sighed, watching her sister go. "I love her, but she is impossibly spoiled." She shook her head, then looked more closely at Bridget. "You did quite well with the Empress."
"Thank you."
"Now, you cannot remain here or we will learn nothing. Just remember what I've told you, and you'll do fine."
"Of course," Bridget agreed, not wanting to admit that she had forgotten half of what Josephine had told her. She drifted through the groups of nobles, listening idly to their conversations. Leliana had asked her to report any secrets she might hear, possibly as a method of forcing Bridget to pay more attention to the nobles, Bridget suspected.
A nobleman watched her walk past, and whispered loudly to his companion, "Can you believe the Inquisition has filled its ranks with apostates? You just know that will end badly."
Bridget would have loved to have argued with him, but this really wasn't the time … and one never really won an argument of that nature, anyway.
Vivienne caught up to her, casting a chilly glare at the nobleman, who hastily melted back into the crowd. "So wise, my dear," Vivienne said. "It never does to engage with the uneducated that way." She looked Bridget over with a critical eye. "You haven't embarrassed yourself—or the rest of us—as much I feared you might. Well done."
Used to the other mage's manner of speech by now, Bridget took the compliment for what it was. "Thank you. I'm doing my best."
"Indeed."
"Any words of wisdom for navigating the ballroom?"
Vivienne tilted her head to the side, considering. "Speak to the Council of Heralds. Six of them are here tonight. They are among the highest ranking players of the Game—they see everything. They may well know something we can use."
"Which ones are they?"
"They will be closeted together, speaking in very important whispers." Bridget frowned, looking around her, and Vivienne laughed. "I know, that appears to describe everyone, but I promise you will know the difference when you see it." The humor faded from her face, and she looked at Bridget intently. "Do keep an eye out for Celene's pet apostate. I've no doubt she's involved in this."
"That isn't professional rivalry?"
"My dear. No. When you see her you will understand—there is nothing professional about her." Vivienne looked around her as they came to the door of the ballroom, and took in a deep breath, as if drinking in the scene.
"You enjoy this."
"But of course! This is the Game, Inquisitor. Of course I enjoy it." She gave Bridget a brief smile. "If I didn't, I would be dead by now."
And she glided away, her lovely smile in evidence as she greeted the people she passed.
Bridget, left alone, went looking for the Council of Heralds. She heard of them before she saw them, however. A group of dwarves standing near a window was speculating whether Gaspard could take the throne without the support of the Council, which apparently he didn't have. The dwarves determined that what he couldn't take through more approved channels, he would take by force, marching on the Council if they wouldn't see things his way. She considered that, whether it changed her overall view of Gaspard. He was a man who would rather batter his way to what he wanted on the field than take it through the subtlety of the Game—but was assassination subtlety or a frontal assault? It depended on how it was done. Here at the ball, Bridget thought it was more subtlety than suited Gaspard … but apparently the Grand Duchess Florianne was his sister. If the two of them were working together, Florianne seemed more than subtle enough to make up for Gaspard's shortcomings.
A very harried man in a very ridiculous hat came rushing up to her. "Have you seen Philippe?"
"No."
"Ah." The man hissed in anger. "He should have returned hours ago! No doubt dallying with some serving girl while I deal with Gaspard's vitriol."
His outraged face seemed to demand a response from her. While she would have loved to have asked what he had done to anger Gaspard, she remembered the advice the Iron Bull had given her about the occasional application of audacity. So she shook her head. "Awfully selfish of Philippe, running off to play and leaving you with all of the work."
The man nodded, relieved that she agreed with him. "Tonight of all nights, too, leaving me to convey Gaspard's death threats to the Council! Wonderful timing, Philippe." He drew himself up and bowed to Bridget. "Thank you for listening to me rant. You are too kind, Inquisitor."
"My pleasure."
He hurried off, leaving her to wonder. If Gaspard was threatening the Council with death, it didn't sound as though he had Celene's assassination in his pocket. Or was he covering all his bases? It was hard to say.
Two women went by, speaking loudly, seeming unaware of Bridget's presence, as one of them said, "What was Gaspard doing with the Inquisition? He's never struck me as pious."
"He must think he gains a military advantange."
"Does Gaspard know any other kind?" the first one retorted, and they both giggled.
A small man, shorter than Bridget, older and wizened, came up to her and looped his arm through hers, propelling her forward with his momentum. "Well, well. The Inquisitor. And here as a guest of my nephew, no less. How curious."
"It was kind of him to invite us."
The little man laughed. "How refreshing. Kind! Gaspard? No, he wants something. Trust me on that." He sighed deeply. "He was always a difficult child, so willful. Never listened, never did what he was told."
Bridget could see that.
"Then again—he was raised as a prince. All his life, we told him he would be Emperor. This it was his destiny, his duty. Can we be surprised now that he believed us? After all, what else should a man do with his life, if not fight for his destiny?" He squeezed her arm. "Or a woman, either."
"Yes. That's a good point." Bridget wondered if she was fighting for her destiny. Was the Inquisition her destiny? Or was it simply how she fought in order to get to it? Shaking her head a little, she reminded herself why she was here. "Have you noticed anything strange this evening?"
"It's the Winter Palace. What isn't strange?" He laughed again, then frowned. "But come to think of it, my niece Florianne hasn't spoken to me all evening. That's not like her."
Florianne again. That name kept coming up. Bridget decided she needed to know more about Florianne and where she fit into all of this—and why none of her advisors had thought to mention her.