A rough sigh of exasperation escaped from Rosalynde emotionless gaze as she looked out of the window in her office, the light drizzle anticipating what seemed to be heavy snow - the wind blowing down the northern mountains traveling beside the river Seadris had made the capital shut down from the first true colds. Merchants were slowly starting to stop exposing their goods on the streets, the few nobles that had century-old properties in the countryside had already departed until the advent of the gentle spring, leaving behind their long list of sins that their high statue that'd made go unpunished in front of the law.
She'd carried out the orders coming from the higher up by searching the warehouses under the name of the Clark family herself, forcing the bolts sealing the iron door to crumble with a hammer made out of the finest steel she had in her possession.
There wasn't a single speck of dust on the ground when she barged in from the front door, making two simple soldiers clear the path with the title of sacrificial pawns to make sure that no type of incendiary device would have detonated as they stepped deeper into that humid piece of tin apparently void of anything.
No bomb detonated as they reached the center of the warehouse, the humidity growing over their initial expectations with each locked door they brought down by shooting at every single locked door.
By the time they reached the center of the storeroom Rosalynde had figured out what'd been bothering her since stepping inside the storehouse.
The absence of dust, while searching the place she hadn't encountered a single speck of dust, not even a grain roaming in the air.
They'd been alerted beforehand, someone had rattled their plans, and Verity had been able to move whatever they'd been hiding here for who knew long how long ago.
Rosalynde said nothing when she opened the last door, ordering with a tone of impatience the few that'd stayed to stay behind to guard her back, silently creeping inside the room.
Unlike the other rooms in the storehouse this one wasn't empty, on ho, this one contained a thin veil of mockery - towards her no doubts.
A blooming windflower sat in the middle of the room, its still vibrant green stem resting on top off a white counter. The mockery stood at the feet of the counter, where someone had been daring enough to commit murder and then leave the carcass rotting there, in that humid storehouse on the shores of the Middle Searis. A white swan, or what now was left of it, sat right under the windflower, its blood forming a dark pool that in the light of the warehouse seemed to morph to the passage to the afterlife.
A warning, or to be precise, a well-crafted threat - for the white imperial swan was the crest of the Des Reslows.
She knew nothing in terms of plans, she didn't have their moves in mind, but she did know that Verity was going after her masters.
They were going after Pharah.
That incursion was now an event lost in the memoirs of the past, she'd reported about the empty storehouse, but not of what she'd seen inside it.
And it was not as if they could have gone back and dare doubt her words, as she'd burned the storehouse to the ground, not before making sure the few that'd witnessed the scene had been silenced.
Dead men tell no tales after all, and this philosophy of life came forward even stronger when their dead bodies were lowered into the damp ground. Exactly how it'd happened with Haywire, when she'd drugged his wine and threw his unconscious body and mind into the deep waters of the Higher Seadris, knowing that the currents in that specific point would have not let him out alive.
She'd already killed his family, then hired three actors hailing from a traveling caravan before having them perform the part of the devastated family to trick people into believing that the Haywire's family would have retired to the countryside for an undefined amount of years, forcefully pushing them out of the equation with any means necessary.
It truly was incredible how the neverending pockets of a person could vary the life of so many, sometimes even completely severing it in half just like she'd done.
But that was all in the past now, her swift incursion had already happened over two rising moons ago, and now the lady-in-waiting to the apparent heir of the Rowlian empire was attending to her troubled master.
Pharah had been working non-stop from when the Empress had decided to invest her with the task of preparing for the upcoming celebration to commemorate the sixth century from the first ascension on the Des Reslows on the Rowlian throne, the Imperial Citadel never going to sleep as everyone rushed to prepare in advance for the upcoming ball that her majesty had come up with.
A ball would have started the week of festivities, and a ball would have ended the week of apparent joyous laughter coming from the yelling geese that hailed from high-society.
A chance to wed, to find an excellent match for the younger blossoms that the high families had been raising to please the crowd of expectancy, that was what balls were all about if they were organized from the Imperial Family.
"You've been awfully strange ever since coming back from your visit to the warehouse that lit up on fire while you and the rest of your team was still inside, don't tell me you actually feel bad for the ones that died - that would mean that something's really wrong." Pharah stated after an hour passed without speaking, taking a small break from the documents she'd kept on reading and signing before calling her aide to her side.
"Not much, you know my hatred when it comes to balls such as this one," Pharah chuckled in reply, finally taking her cerulean eyes off the documents she'd been reading to make them meet Rosalynde's usual smiling face.
Pharah waited until Rosalynde was mere feet away before slapping her lightly on the arm, making the other narrow her eyes in a sign of clear annoyance mixed with sheer confusion. But the other just laughed it off, her cheerful laughter slowly dying as she took another document in her hands.
Rosalynde never really knew what the lady she served thought when she sat down on that dark desk with blue dyed lace ornating the top of it, but she knew how the first heir acted when such tasks were given her.
She didn't eat, nor sleep, nor socialize with anybody except Rosalynde until she made the last document on her table meet her elegant stylized signature.
"Would you like some tea?" Rosalynde asked the other, who snapped out from the spell she'd already fallen prey of, nodding once as her eyes struggled to raise themselves off the papers containing the uncountable amount of budgets the Crown had provided her.
She was tired, slowly withering away with each forsaken hour passed reviewing what seemed to look as a neverending combination of money given in her capable hands.
"What tea do you have for me today?" Pharah asked with a strained tone of cheerfulness, making Rosalynde knit her brows together as she took out a small package of tea she'd bought the day before.
Black tea with sliced up pieces of peach and petals of sunflower, the delicate fresh fragrance making her draw a small sight of pleasure escaping her lips.
She'd decided to follow Grey's advice and had buyed a small package from the same shop he'd recommended close to Merchants road, the ingredients freshly picked from the Imperial Botanical Garden. He'd been right, the unique taste of that black tea had made her close her eyes for a mere handful of seconds, reveling in the feeling of the black tea.
"Oh, this is a new one! So sweet!" Pharah exclaimed in surprise, making Rosalynde sneer in reply.
There was still something that Rosalynde didn't like of the stalling situation she'd fallen into. The swan placed into the warehouse had been an obvious threat, but something told her that that wasn't the end of the message, a hidden second meaning that only few knew about - and she wasn't one of them, for now.
She needed to arrange a meeting with both Grey and Cleia alone, as they would have been the only people that would have learned from her lips about the danger they were bound to face.
Grey still had the files of Mary Clark on him, while Cleia had received word to investigate in the Underworld on her account.
A knock came from the door, making both ladies turn around without missing a beat.
"Lady Rosalynde, a package has been delivered to your office," the feeble voice of a young maid filled the room, making Pharah shoot an inquisitive look towards Rosalynde, who'd narrowed her eyes as soon as the young maiden had finished her phrase.
She hadn't ordered anything, and if a package had been let through the palace surveillance then that could have been a severe breach in the security system she'd implemented a few weeks back.
"I'll be right back," Rosalynde assured her master, who'd gotten up from her seat to go with her, only to be stopped by the other Apostle's arm which blocked her way.
"No need, even the walls and keyholes have eyes and ears. If people saw that you disregarded your duties as apparent heir to help your private attendant with even the most banal of things your brother could use it against you," Ever since Pharah had won over her brother in the line of succession all duties related to paperwork had gone straight to her, leaving the other free to do whatever he wanted.
He was free to roam around at night, he was free to do nearly whatever he wanted, while Pharah now was kept under tight surveillance to avoid any types of unfortunate accidents to happen that would drag her into the midst of danger.
She cared too much when she wanted, Pharah had become an anchor to keep her sanity in check, that was why she'd decided to become her personal attendant - to make sure nothing ever happened to her under her careful watch.
Curtseying to the apparent heir, the hems of Rosalynde's white dress touched the floor, left heel behind the right one as she then left the room with the young maid guarding her back.
But as soon as she entered her office room and kicked the door shut with the end of her heel, she just knew something was going to go wrong.
"Come out," she said, gun out and off with the safe.
A thundering applause came from behind a armeast facing the windows. Making her narrow her eyes at the gesture.
"I wonder what are you going to do with that, shoot a member of the Imperial Family? Even if my sister dotes on you you still would be hanged for murder," Rosalynde knew he was coming back today, but her sources had told her he would have been back just before dinner, and it was barely midday.
"You're highness, to what do I owe this unpleasant surprise?" Rosalynde asked as she walked up to him.
"What? No, shouldn't you still be on the outskirts for the land inspection? You disappoint me, Steel." All that the IX Apostle gave in reply was a roll of eyes before bowing her head in obvious sign of greeting.
"Very well your Imperial highness, why aren't you inspecting the outskirts of Lowen?" She replied dryly.
Pheron got up from his seat laughing, his expensive clothes seemed to glow for the number of gems on his sleeves.
"I seemed to have missed a lot of things in my absence," he replied with disdain.
"Would you like something if you're going to stay here?" She seemed to ignore his words, taking out a bell from her drawer, stroking it with her thumb before ringing it two times.
A knock resounded on the door right after. "Come in," she replied, the door then opening with the same maid from before coming in with a set of pastries on a plate.
The tingling of the plates made Pheron sigh in annoyance, crinkling his and then curling his lip in an act of disgust.
"Can't you be faster, you useless thing!" He shouted, raising his voice, making the young maidservant drop the last plate of pastries at the hostile act.
"Well well, seems like you aren't even good at doing your job, you even dropped the dessert I was going to eat, how are you going to apologize," ice was all that'd replace this voice, so similar to his sister at times, but at the same so different.
Pharah knew how and when to use it, this man so different in both appearance and character had always tried imitating his sister, but all he could produce was the cheap copy of what Pharah's wrath really looked like.
"I-I apologizes your Imperial highness, please pardon my incompetence, I assure you'll never see me again," the maidservant stuttered, dropping on her knees as her eyes started welling up.
Tears would have not saved her, Pheron had a lot of nasty habits, one of them not knowing the right times to abuse the power he'd been born with.
"If you're going to eliminate her then do it outside my workplace your highness, I'm pretty busy if you haven't noticed," Rosalynde replied.
Her mind however wasn't thinking in the same way, Pharah's words restlessly invading her mind, her light breathings getting uneven as she made her mind up.
A pawn saved would have only lessened his authority in the imperial run, and that was something she would have done without thinking twice.
"I do realize the grave blunder she committed against your person, however It would be unfortunate if the name of Chester Hoid would come out in a meeting," she laughed out loud, letting go of the subtle mask she was so used to wearing at all times.
"I have no idea what you're talking about Lady Steel, but I should tell you to watch your tongue, offense against the imperial family is punished with -" But he couldn't even finish the phrase before the door opened again.
A new set of voices invaded the room.
"I knew that something was wrong," Pharah stepped into the room, with Hector Grey following right behind her.
Pheron Des Reslow seemed to start to realize the situation he'd stumbled upon, taking a few steps back to straighten the edges of the clothes he'd selected today.
"Sister dearest, can't have enough of your attendant? You know I read in one of the many books that father loves collecting that twins should have the habit of sharing things. How about we do the same?" Pheron asked with a tone of obvious sense of mockery, making Pharah stop at the doorframe of the door, her dark hair covering her eyes as she took a few seconds to regain control over her mind.
"You. Out." Pharah intimated to the still kneeling maid, who without leaving time for a second order had already pushed past her future ruler and banker, the darkness of the corridors devouring her frail figure as Rosalynde slowly started walking towards her master, eyes locked on her.
"It seems I've not made it clear, Second Choice," Pharah seethed, passing Rosalynde with two strides before halting in front of her one and only twin.
"If you've been kept alive until now it's not because mother saw some redeeming qualities in you that makes you fit for the throne, it's because you are nothing more than the second choice in case something happens to me. It's not mother that decided that you can wake up to see the light of a new day, oh no, that's me." She'd started somewhat contained both in gestures and tone of voice, but it hadn't taken much before she'd moved the few locks covering her eyes to gaze at her failure of a twin.
Pharah loathed her brother, she'd always loathed him from the moment she'd realized the world she'd been born with, privileges and restrictions that no children of her age would have ever experienced in their lifetime.
"If you think someone's watching your back brother, then do be mistaken. Because I can make you disappear whenever I wan, and on my command nobody would ever speak about you again." She'd ended it with a sweet charming smile on her face, her cerulean eyes sparking of an emotion Rosalynde had become found off.
That superior sense of knowing that nobody would have dared oppose her actions.
Nobody, not even their mother, who'd taken out of the political picture her very own husband to acquire full control over the Rowlian empire.
That was the skill that'd made her become the perfect candidate for the position of next ruler.
"Well then, it seems my presence isn't wanted anymore," Pheron tried his best to appear calm and unfazed by what had just happened, faking his reaction until he shot a peculiar look at Grey, who took the advantage on what had just happened, clearing his throat lightly.
"What just happened makes me wonder if it ever was wanted in the first place," Grey said out loud, all eyes turning towards him as Pheron eyes seemed to be dragged under a thick veil of mist.
"How dare you -" But Pharah herself had no intention of letting her twins' painful lack of respect towards another Apostle go south, slyly reminding her brother of the one detail he'd apparently forgotten. And that was that Hector Grey was a guest invited by the apparent heir, which meant he fell under Pharah's protection as long as he stayed inside the palace, he would have not been touched nor offended without the assailant going unpunished.
"He's currently under my protection brother," Pharah raised her voice, with Rosalynde quickly sharpening her gaze as she studied the little movements that Pheron Des Reslow was giving away.
His left leg slowly shifted backwards, his erupting fury changing path of vengeance with the shift of his eyes. He was ready to bounce onto someone, someone that wasn't Hector Grey anymore.
Rosalynde was fast in acting, getting in between the two bloodbound siblings, taking out from under her uniform the gun she kept on her all times, a gift from Lord Regulus taking the safe out before pointing it in the middle of Pheron's forehead, inches away from pulling the trigger.
"Get away from her highness," Rosalynde seethed, making sure to not physically touch even a single strand of his hair.
"And what are you going to do Rosalynde? Shoot me? Try it and I'll have you hanged for lèse-majesté first thing in the morning before the ball tomorrow night," he seemed as he finally let go of the mask of indifference he'd placed on himself, a wicked grin gracing his clear noble face.
"By my order she will," Pharah stepped forward, chin high and head raised without hesitation as she stared without blinking at her brother.
Pheron said nothing to that, his twins' authority crushing him like an fisherman facing the inevitable death against the waters he'd sought a duel with, the weight of defeat crushing against his body and mind as it seemed to drag him down below a surface the rest could not cross.
"You want your precious attendant killed? You could have said that years ago when that woman first got her hands on her," time inside Rosalynde's study seemed to halt as the Left Hand lowered her gun, staring at it before unloading it with the safe on, nobody expecting what was going to happen next.
Her smile widened little by little as the past memories flashed in her mind - she wasn't one that forgot easily after all, and that's why with a smile on her face she slammed the gun against his cheek, the impact bruising his pretty skin as he went dropping on the floor.
She'd taken a lot of pleasure in doing it, the moment her gun had made contact against his cheek nearly made her burst out laughing like the madwoman she'd become with the advent of the years.
The shuffling that came behind her made her halt for a brief second, she then kept quiet to figure out which one of the two behind her had moved - in Pharah or Grey.
"I must say brother, I've started tolerating your presence less and less with the passage of this never-ending year." Pharah mused with a forming wicked grin, extending her left hand towards Rosalynde without even bothering to look at her private attendant.
Steel knew what she wanted without even asking in advance - her gun.
"If it were Rosalynde to attempt your life it would be considered lèse-majesté, but if I were to plant a bullet in the middle of your forehead it would be considered as eliminating my competition in this pathetic game we were born in together right?" Pheron's golden hair seemed to grow pale like his face, whatever color his cheeks had been before didn't even matter anymore, a gaze full of terror was all that was left.
"I need to talk to you regarding what happened the night of the Opera," Grey's voice materialized suddenly extremely close, the light tingle his voice produced went rushing down her spine, nearly making her lose her usual untouchable composure.
"And I what I discovered at Clark's warehouse," he would have been the only one to know about the gutted swan.
Unsurprisingly he seemed to understand without her needing to explain, fixing his clothes in a quick yet still efficient manner before turning towards the door, as if it were possible to straightening the corner of his shirt even more
"May we take our leave, your Imperial highness?" Grey asked in a heartbeat, voice cool and contained as Pharah merely acknowledged them, her dark hair all they could see as she gestured to them to leave her and her twin alone.
They exited the room without making noise, Rosalynde's eyes never leaving the standing figure of her attending lady, gaze shifting between her back and the gun now in her hand.
She would have not killed him - it was still too early for her to bloody her hands again.
But it wasn't her that would have stopped Pharah from harming someone that never should have dared challenge her undisputable authority.
And at the moment there were more oppressive matters she had to take care of.