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As she looked for Leliana's bright red hair amongst the masked crowd, Bridget was startled to find herself suddenly face to face with the Grand Duchess Florianne.
"Lady Inquisitor."
"Your Grace." Bridget bowed with what she hoped was sufficient honor.
"Welcome to my party."
Bridget had been under the impression it was Celene's party, but she deemed it unwise to argue about it.
"Come, Inquisitor. We have much to talk about." She gestured with her head toward the dance floor as the music shifted to a slower strain. Bridget knew this dance; Blackwall had taught it to her. "There are fewer ears upon the dance floor."
"Very well, Your Grace. If it pleases you, we shall dance." She held her arm out for Florianne to take.
"How delightful. And here I was afraid you would be tiresome and Fereldan about the idea."
"I am from the Free Marches, Your Grace."
"Of course you are." Florianne's tone made it clear she didn't see much difference between the two.
They took their places on the dance floor. Bridget tried to prepare herself mentally for the dance and for the fencing match of words she was sure was coming. Whether Florianne was the agent of Corypheus she sought or whether she was merely playing the Game, much depended on Bridget being able to meet her jibe for jibe.
"How much do you know about our little war, Inquisitor?" Florianne began, floating across the floor with one hand lightly clasped in Bridget's.
"Surely not enough. What do you think I ought to know?"
They took long, measured steps down the length of the dance floor as Florianne sighed heavily. "My brother and my cousin have been at each other's throats for far too long. It took great effort to arrange tonight's negotiations. Yet one party would use this occasion for the blackest treason. The security of the Empire is at stake." She twirled into Bridget's arms, standing face to face. "I am certain neither one of us wishes to see it fall."
As Florianne stepped back, she curtseyed, and Bridget bowed. Straightening, she clasped hands with Florianne, moving in a stately circle. "I think I can agree with that."
"You have lifted a terrible burden from my heart, Inquisitor." As they circled one another, Florianne continued, "The world is filled with doubt and uncertainty. Fear rules more hearts than any empire." They were dancing in each other's arms now, sweeping around the floor. "I know that you arrived this evening as a guest of my brother, Inquisitor, and that you have been everywhere in the Palace searching for answers … You are a curiosity to many—and a concern to some."
"And which am I to you, Your Grace?"
Florianne smiled. "A little of both." She studied Bridget's face with interest. "This evening is a matter of great importance, Inquisitor. I wonder what role you will play in it."
Bridget could have said the same to Florianne, but she kept that suspicion to herself. Voicing it now would do no good.
"Do you even know yet who is friend and who is foe?" Florianne continued. "Do you know who in the court can be trusted?"
"An excellent question, Your Grace," Bridget replied, not wishing to tip her hand by naming names. "I might ask the same of you."
Florianne laughed lightly, clinging to Bridget's shoulders as Bridget waltzed her around the floor. "In the Winter Palace, everyone is alone."
Over the Grand Duchess's shoulder, Bridget saw Blackwall. His scowl brightened when their eyes met, and she let her eyes smile at him, although she dare not smile with her mouth. She, at least, was not alone here in the Winter Palace—she had him.
Oblivious to Bridget's distraction, Florianne was still talking. "It cannot have escaped your notice that certain parties are engaged in dangerous machinations tonight."
"This is Orlais," Bridget replied, noticing that they were now the only couple on the floor. The rest of the party was watching them avidly. "I thought 'dangerous machinations' were the national sport."
They spun into the big finish, and Bridget dipped Florianne, saying a silent prayer to Andraste that she wouldn't drop the Grand Duchess on her rear end—much as she might deserve it.
As they straightened up, to the applause of the ballroom, Florianne hissed through her teeth, "You have little time, Inquisitor. The attack will come soon. You must stop Gaspard before he strikes. In the Royal Wing, you will find the captain of his mercenaries—he will tell you everything you wish to know." She gave Bridget another curtsey and hurried off in a swirl of skirts, leaving Bridget to wonder why she had given her brother up so quickly.
As she left the dance floor, Josephine caught her by the arm. The Ambassador's eyes were sparkling. "We should take you dancing more often! You will be the talk of the court for months."
"I'm just glad I didn't trip and fall on my face."
"Far from it, Inquisitor."
"And the Duchess had some very interesting things to say."
"Of that, I have no doubt." Josephine steered Bridget through the admiring crowds to a relatively open area. Leliana and Cullen joined them, the four of them standing very close together to avoid being overheard as much as possible.
"Did my eyes deceive me or were you dancing with Duchess Florianne?" Leliana asked. "Well done, Inquisitor."
Cullen made an impatient gesture, dismissing the dancing. "More importantly, what happened in the servants' quarters?"
Josephine's momentary elation had faded into her more customary worried expression. "I do hope you have good news. It appears the peace talks are crumbling before they have even begun."
Bridget shook her head. "The Grand Duchess tried to convince me that Gaspard is the traitor—but I have a hard time swallowing that story. He simply doesn't have the subtlety."
"Florianne and her brother have always been thick as thieves," Leliana offered. "But she would give him up in an instant to save herself."
"Then … the attack on the Empress will happen tonight," Cullen said.
"We should warn Celene." Bridget looked to Josephine for agreement, but the Ambassador frowned.
"That would be pointless. She needs these talks to succeed, and to flee would be to admit defeat."
"What if we didn't stop the attack?" Leliana suggested.
Bridget looked at her in shock. "Do you know what you're saying? I won't stand by and let her be killed!"
"Corypheus wants chaos. If we save Celene and lose his assassin, that could still happen."
"She's right," Cullen said. "As long as someone emerges victorious, and with a strong hand on the reins of the Empire, it doesn't need to be Celene."
"Do you realize what you are saying?" Josephine demanded.
"Sometimes the best path is not the easiest one. You know that, Josie."
Bridget took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to think. "We came here to save Celene," she said at last. "And that's what I intend to do."
"In that case, we must save both her life and her Empire. Are you ready to do that, Inquisitor?"
"It would mean giving her a clear victory over both Gaspard and Briala," Josephine added.
"Well, if there is proof of Gaspard's duplicity, that would be a start." Cullen looked at Bridget. "You said the Grand Duchess gave you information?"
"She did, although I'm not entirely inclined to trust it. She told me to go to the Royal Wing and find Gaspard's mercenary captain, that he would be able to give me incriminating information."
Cullen frowned. "It could be a trap."
"Yes," Bridget agreed, "that's how it feels."
"Well, then, you are forewarned," Leliana said decisively. "But you must investigate."
"Yes, I suppose I must. I'll gather the others."
It was while he was watching Bridget dance, admiring her coolness and the smooth execution of the steps, remembering the joy it had been to teach her, that Blackwall finally heard the name he had been dreading to hear all night.
Two men were speaking loudly not far from him. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that they weren't concerned about being overheard, but they had no idea that the real Thom Rainier was anywhere within earshot. That was a relief—but the words that followed weren't.
"And they have no idea where he might be hiding?"
"He could be dead for all they know," sniffed the second man, a dandy in a feathered headdress.
"I hope he is, the traitor." The second man's bearing marked him as ex-military.
"At least they have caught this other man, Mornay or something like that. And he will hang as he deserves."
"I intend to be there. What they did was a disgrace to all of Orlais."
The two of them moved off, their conversation turning to something else, but Blackwall had heard enough. Mornay. After all these years. How could he have been so careless as to let himself get caught? Of course, that was a fine sentiment coming from someone standing in the middle of the Winter Palace without even a mask to conceal his identity. Blackwall reached up to touch his beard, reassuring himself that it was still there.
He remembered Mornay, a bit of a weasel, really, hanging on Thom Rainier's coat-tails, taking his castoffs—clothes, women, whatever Rainier no longer had a use for. Now he would take the rope that was meant for Rainier as well.
Blackwall stopped short, staring blankly ahead of him, only aware that he was in the middle of a busy throng of people when a woman's sharp heel dug into his foot. "Sorry," he muttered, moving aside, his thoughts still in a turmoil. Could he let Mornay hang? The man had done only what Blackwall—Thom Rainier—had ordered him to do. He hadn't even been paid for it, for the Maker's sake! Only Rainier had gained coin from what they did. The others had followed blindly, believing they were doing the right thing, believing it even as they opened the carriage doors and saw what—who—was inside.
Blackwall winced. He deserved whatever was done to him. They all did. Only monsters killed children, regardless of whatever their political convictions might be, regardless of who ordered it or why. Mornay deserved to hang.
But he, Blackwall, he had been behind it all. He hadn't stopped it; hadn't even tried. Did he deserve to be standing here a trusted member of the Inquisition, loved by the most extraordinary woman in Thedas, spending long nights in her arms? Surely that was far more happiness than he ought ever to have tasted in his life.
On the other hand, Bridget depended on him. He remembered that look across the ballroom as she danced with Florianne, the way her eyes had met his, the smile that had lain in their blue depths, the knowledge that if she was amazing the crowd at the Winter Palace, it was because of the skills he had taught her. If he took himself away from her now, what would she do? Would he be damaging the cause of the Inquisition by undermining the confidence of the Inquisitor?
Or was that simply the convenient excuse he made for himself to get out of suffering the consequences of his actions?
Either way, Mornay would hang. And it would be the fault of Blackwall. Thom Rainier. Whoever the Void he was. Could he live with that, with one more comparatively innocent life staining his already dirty hands? At what point would there be too much blood on his hands to ever be cleansed?
"Hey, Broody Beard. Sunflower's looking for us. Work to be done," Varric said at his elbow.
"Oh, is she? Good. I was getting bored standing around," he replied to the dwarf, glad to have fighting to do. At least that was clean and simple and he knew the answers. The question of Rainier and Mornay could wait until another time.