Grey led Rosalynde outside the Imperial Citadel, not before telling her to change into something that would have not drawn attention while taking a stroll down District Street. A problem however had aroused at his request.
Rosalynde did not possess clothes that fitted the category he'd asked her to wear.
"We'll have to pose a remedy to that," was all he said. Snapping his fingers to catch the attention of a coachman resting alongside his horse beside a fountain.
They got on the carriage while it still hadn't come to a full stop, with Grey closing the door right after Rosalynde jumped inside the carriage.
"Where to?" Grey then knocked twice over his head, telling the coachman to drop them in front of the Masiner Atelier. Atelier which coincidentally stood on the opposite side of the road from the Bank of Lun.
They exchange a handful of words along the way, but lots of side glances were shot from both sides. The carriage rattled as the stallion's hooves hit the stoned road, making them lose their still forms to the bumps created.
Rosalynde didn't really know what to think. If they needed a change of clothes the possibilities could have been endless. Had he found something worth investigating? Maybe a contact? Or an essential clue on Verity?
But he said absolutely nothing until they arrived. Stepping out of the carriage first before extending his hand for her to use as support.
Then he paid the horseman a few extra dimes, instructing him to go back to the Imperial Citadel but taking another road.
"I like to be careful." Was all he said after helping her feet touch the ground. Eyeing her gown before a cracked laughter filled the air.
Rosalynde raised an inquisitive brow at him, patting her right leg to remind him of the weapon she still had at arm-length. She however didn't bother telling him that she'd left the gun empty, with the actual bullets safely kept inside an internal pocket sewn on the other side of her dress.
Raising his hands in surrender, Grey led her to the secondary entrance to the Bank. Ushering her inside before switching the electrical lights on.
However, little did Rosalynde know that there was someone waiting for them inside the main atrium.
A young man in the prime of his youth, with long dark-blonde bangs of hair kept from falling in front of his face, was lying on one of the many coaches. With what looked like a brand-new oil lamp on the oak wood table beside him.
The man rubbed his eyes before focalizing their still standing figures, his dark eyes widening at Grey's sight.
He stood up, straightening the ends of his tailcoat before combing his hair back. Taking large strides towards the new entries.
"I've been waiting two hours, Grey. Not funny." A yawn escaped his lips without him even realizing. Too late to cover it with his hands.
"Last time I checked it did not matter as long as I paid you fairly, Nathaniel," Gey replied with a chilling tone,his gray eyes now cold and demanding.
The man sighed loudly, his gaze turning to take a better look at Rosalynde. Eyes lighting up in what Rosalynde could sense being newfound interest.
"The lady-in-waiting of princess Pharah?" Nathaniel had recognized her within mere seconds. That reaction from him made her narrow her eyes, the ends of her lips curling up even more than before.
A signature smile of hers. A stunning harbinger of death.
Nathaniel's Adam apple blobbed once at her greeting signature. If it was terror or reverence displayed in his eyes, she still didn't know.
Hopefully it would have been the first option.
"A guest to be treated with absolute respect. That's all you're going to get for tonight." Nathaniel 's lips twitch in delight at Grey's remark, right before shrugging those daring words off his back without much care.
"Who was that?" Rosalynde asked after Grey instructed Nathaniel to bring her some plain and mundane clothes for her to wear.
Rosalynde changed first inside a room full of piled bars made of gold. She stripped off her second armor, replacing it with a plain cotton tunic, a single pair of worn out working trousers and snow boots that the workers used while cleaning the roads from the snow.
She looked like one of the many workers of District Street that barely got her throughout the month with flood and water.
"My personal assistant, at times," Grey said from the other side of the wall, his last two words coming out feeble, as a branch shaken and beaten by a brutal wind of the East.
Rosalynde halted briefly her action of closing her tunic to process his words.
If he'd said the truth then she'd just met the official public operator of the Bank of Lun. Grey had been named the Gilded Phantom exactly for that reason, because he always sent someone else in his stead.
That some apparently being Nathaniel himself.
"At times?" Her question found the answer in the silence that came after.
She would have asked again, but not now. Too little time has passed, and she still hadn't prepared for her next move.
Grey sighed in reply as he changed, his shoes tapping lightly against the pricey carpets the Bank of Lun had on that particular floor. They'd switched places, with Rosalynde now waiting for him to finish, her dress carefully folded in a basket in a corner of the room.
But she never made her eyes steer away from Nathaniel 's form, his shoulders free of stress longing towards the floor, free of tension.
There was something in him, a dark glim hidden behind his already dark eyes. It was a stare she'd seen before, and knew by heart. A hiding gaze, a mask she'd used once on herself. Many, many, years ago.
That man was dangerous, and judging by the way Grey talked with him, he seemed to know it well too.
When they both changed, Nathaniel led them out, holding the door for Rosalynde as she exited into the frigid winter night once more. Grey right on her heels
"Be ready for that, if anything happens," Grey said. Earning an understanding nod from his personal assistant, who smiled in return, making it clear that he knew exactly what Grey was talking about.
Then they were off with a new carriage awaiting for their arrival in front of the Masiner Atelier.
꧁꧂
She had to admit it, Grey was probably the most reliable source of information in the empire, not counting her esteemed network of course.
He'd explained it all in the carriage, but only when their voices mixed with the nearby surroundings of the streets. All those precautions just to make sure nobody except her could hear his words. He'd even marked the roads for the coachman to follow. And it hadn't come out as a surprise when she'd figured out why he'd picked those streets out of all.
All of those roads were filled to the brim with holes and uneven stepping stones, making the carriage dangerously rattle without end.
They got off the carriage a quarter before midnight. Placing over their heads two dark hoods to make them blend with the moving crowd. District Street appeared to be busier than ever, even if less than two months ago she'd brutally killed Finger Keeper in one of the parallel alleys they'd seeked refuge in.
She'd been right, Grey had found a lead. Someone who could actually drag them out from the skein of darkness and shades they'd fallen pry off.
He hadn't told her how, and he seemed keen on taking another secret with him to the grave.
She took a peak at the name painted on the panel over the entrance to the cavern, her eyes making out the words: The Wandering Cloud.
Chaos was the only thing that Rosalynde could make out after entering the tavern. The stench first smelled inside coming from the piles of dirt, of broken shoes and puddles of what looked like vomit in the corners of the room. She raised the hem of her jacket sleeve over her nose in a miserable attempt to block the smell which was slowly starting to penetrate the inside her clothes. Swiftly cutting through the fabric with that putrid smell of beer mixed with piss.
They quickly took a seat on the opposite side of the room. Rosalynde's back facing the door and Grey's eyes peering at the door with unprecedented tranquility, recording every person that appeared at the door.
Nothing seemed to escape from his vigilant gaze, no ounce of emotion, not even a gentle reassuring smile.
It was like he'd morphed completely into something her mind couldn't place a solid idea on, a whole different man now sat in front of her.
"So, what's our move?" He didn't reply immediately, his eyes breaking contact with the door to fix on her inquisitive pale ones.
"Now, we drink." Her only reaction was a blink at him, soon followed by an unamused smile gracing her lips.
Her eyes filled themselves with a silver of perplexity, as if trying to solve an unsolvable enigma which'd been placed in front of her.
"Excuse me?" She seethed under her breath, lowering her tones to make sure their neighbors sitting close would not hear her words laced with threats.
"Loosen up a little, Steel. It's not like I'm going to bite you anytime soon." He got up from his seat and went to the counter, pointing towards their table, chatting with the bartender as Rosalynde squared him from top to bottom.
His ruffled dark hair glimmered at the light of the candles burning over his head, while the darker shades that the lamp projected over his body made him look as if he'd come out of a painting mere fortnight ago. The clothes he'd chosen for himself were perhaps simpler than her own, but that still hadn't been enough to hide himself completely.
She could still see parts of his ripe body under the fabric.
And she knew with just one glance, that she hadn't been the only one to notice that small detail he hadn't been able to hide well. An elevated number of young women had slowly begun circling him at the bar, some even getting as far as touching him on both shoulders, offering him what looked like a massage.
But Grey didn't even look their way as the bartender took out from under the counter three bottles full of wine, making them slide towards Grey's end, everything with a half-loose smile hanging on his face.
"Here." He said after sitting down, opening the first bottle as he took both glasses from a nearby waiter, filling both 0f them to the brink as Rosalynde didn't utter a single word at that action.
"Why?" Grey replied to that question with a knowing smile, pushing a glass towards her.
"My informant told me something interesting will happen after midnight. We're looking for two men, both with a tattoo on their wrists," Rosalynde didn't need to ask what the tattoo was.
A windflower no doubt.
"And what do you suggest we do in the meantime? Drink to our heart's content?" She mocked him with pleasure dripping from her tone.
But he was dead serious, and locking gaze once more she grunted, reaching her hand to grab her glass.
How long had it been since she last had a drinking competition? Months, probably. Before the dark fog bearing the name of Verity ran her over, making her stumble in the dark.
She remembered the last time she'd passed out too - after winning with exactly twenty-seven shots of whiskey lemon against Pharah's miserable twenty-four.
How she hadn't emptied her stomach in one of the many golden toilets after that monstrous demonstration of resistance still failed her mind.
Exaggeration had been the word used that night, without doubt being probably the record of shots she'd drained in less than an hour. But that was because she'd eaten a good loaf of fresh bread before assaulting that sweet amber colored liquid in the company of Pharah.
He was the one to start, staring at the filled glass before emptying it inside his mouth.
"If you want people to stop staring at us then start drinking Steel," he threatened, pouring himself a new glass.
"...Why not?" She spoke out loud, mainly to herself.
They started the competition with moderation, with Grey being the first one dumping the burning amber liquid inside his mouth.
"Not much of a talker while drinking?" His question took her off guard, hitting her with unexpected honesty, forcing her eyes to look up and take a better look at the man leisurely sitting in front of her.
She settled her glass down, twirling its contents as her smile curled up even more. "Depends on the company."
"Oh? And what definition of your company do I fall into?" Her throat ached as she made another shot go down.
"We'll see how long you last against me." She sneered in reply. A light chuckle escaped from her chest.
"Well then. I better put on my best show." He made his glass hit the wooden surface, the fragile wood wobbled at that.
"Your best show?" She gently brought the glass to her lips, her pale eyes mindlessly gazing at the amber liquid swirling inside the glass.
"Let's play a game," that sudden outburst nearly made Rosalynde choke on her glass, some droplets slid down the glass and back into.
But Grey simply smirked, fingers curling over her own glass as he lowered it on the table. His smirk seemed to possess the ability to never make her falter. They'd met less than three months ago and still Rosalynde couldn't break through that sly grin of his.
A grin so different yet so similar to her own.
She decided to play his game, her hold on the glass vanishing into thin air as she made her hands slide under the table over her crossed thighs. All left as proof were her prints staining the translucent glass, leaving an opaque mark.
"Very well then, what game are we going to play?" He then asked for four more glasses. At the end three for each one.
"I call it Drinking Hangman. Even if I warn you, it has nothing to do with the original name." The perplexed smile on her face made his grin grow only wider.
"Then why the name?"
"I liked how it sounded."
Rosalynde hoped that that wasn't the real reason.
"Three statements each, two true and one false. The one that guesses which statement is the false one doesn't drink," at that point Rosalynde questioned herself if he'd planned it all in advance.
Probably. She surely couldn't take that possibility off the table
She stretched her back, bits of stress rolling off her shoulders as she thought of what to say.
"I would like to remind you we still are on duty," she informed him, shooting a glare his way.
"And I would like to remind you that we have to blend in with the patrons here. Nathaniel did his best but even with rags on you still stand out. Should have made you wear a wig to cover your unusual hair color."
She gave an unamused look in reply to that statement coming from his part, he however said nothing as he took that as a silent agreement from her part.
"But let's make things more interesting. The one who first loses has to honestly answer a question," he spiced things up, drastically raising the stakes.
He pushed one of her three shots in front of her, the look in his eyes anticipating something that unsettled Rosalynde's distrusted mind, to say the least.
And Rosalynde was right about that unbending sensation that'd taken residence inside her guts, twisting them with each burning whiskey honey shot she made slide down her throat.
She lost more than half of the rounds they played. Nine shots in less than thirty minutes. While Grey had saved himself from five shots
Banging the last empty glass shot on the table she eyes his side of the table, two shots still sitting there intact.
"So. Ready to answer some questions?" She would have thrown the glass at him in a form of revenge, but the many eyes watching them had stopped her from cutting his handsome face.
She said nothing again, studying his face for any form of wavering temptation, but she found none. Or to be precise, nothing she could pinpoint as the main cause.
How? She knew he couldn't have possibly won them all based on his ability, that alone wasn't enough. There was a trick, something that in every single manche she'd lacked.
It wasn't her excellent poker face that she'd neatly crafted with the last years that'd betrayed her ,nor the voice that she was doing wrong. So what was it?
She rubbed her forehead, her subtle smile still present as the gears in her mind worked without fault.
Grey on the other hand kept on watching her, joking with a passing waiter, [laying the part of the classical luck patron overjoyed after his win, ordering a new bottle full of whiskey honey to celebrate the occasion.
She had to find it - the key he kept on using to assure himself the ultimate win.
"Why guns?" Rosalynde didn't need to ask what he was referring to.
Shadows slowly started clouding her pale eyes, making her cross her legs, head naturally tilted to the side, staring at Grey's twp untouched shots.
There was only one answer to his question.
"It's the easiest way to take a life," she glanced at his curious face before continuing.
"Every weapon carries a meaning behind them. Swords carry honor, axes carry strength, bows carry stability. And Guns? Guns can only carry death in their path," It was irrevocable and unchangeable, the meaning behind the usage of guns like her own.
To make sure people never forgot the feeling, and to remind them all of the difference between honor and simple will to kill.
"You didn't lie," she simply blinked at that statement, painfully taken aback from the sincerity laced in voice.
"No, I did not."
"Why? You have no reason to trust me," he was right, Rosalynde didn't trust him. But a deal between the two had been made, and she was
"I value the promises I make," she would have died for Pharah, she would have cut off every single limb of her own if the latter ever asked her to.
She'd chained herself to her master without second thought at the time, eager to see where that moment now lost in time would have brought them.
She'd eliminated Pharah's threats, tarnished Pheron's honor by slowly cutting off his support amongst nobility, killing those opposing what was soon going to be written down in history. And that was a royal woman ascending the throne not through marriage, but thanks to her abilities and those alone.
"Very noble of you," She scoffed at that reply, drumming her slender gloved index finger on the table, asking for more whiskey to be poured in one of her glasses.
Grey obliged, serving some more burning amber inside his own shot.
"Do you know the second reason that led me to bring you here tonight?" He made the amber swirl inside his shot as he eyes her once more.
Not even the shadow of the smiles he'd given her until that moment were present when he settled his glass down, lips pursed into a thin straight line, waiting for something from her side to happen.
Rosalynde kept her cool as she raised the burning amber to her lips, apparently unbothered by what he'd just said.
Her mind however was in a whole different state of judgment, rushing without seeing the end. He wasn't the kind of man to simply get her out to drink and track down someone who probably had a connection with Verity.
He wanted to come clean on something. But what, exactly was that something?
"I'm sure you've been asking yourself this question ever since we met, I could practically read it in your eyes," she'd been asking herself a lot of things on his account ever since they'd met.
He should have specified what of the many enigmas rotating around his person he was referring to: the unknown past? How he'd climbed to the top of the Lowelian social ladder? Or his innate ability to detect -
Ah. That was the reason why he'd brought her there.
A showdown of abilities, that had been his intention all along. A place full of nameless faces he could use to his advantage to push her into a mental corner.
To maybe even break into her mind, if she would have broken down enough to him to pass through the cracks.
But there wasn't much on that part, for her mind and thoughts had already been tainted when she'd been touched by those crimson hands covered in fresh blood.
"You can detect lies." She breathed out, a chuckle of disbelief escaping her mouth right before he shifted positions on the chair.
And there it was, his arrogant grin.
Everything seemed to fall into place as the minutes passed, a veil of silence creping over their heads and into their hearts, with Rosalynde connecting all the dots - all the hints he'd laid out for her to uncover.
From the very damned start, he'd been subtly pushing her towards the answer.
He'd never openly stated it, but at the same time never did anything to hide it. All because he knew nobody would have ever believed it in the first place.
Who in their right state of mind would even dare phantom such an idea in the first place?
It was like he'd ripped off from her eyes a blindfold made of heedlessness, a blindfold which time herself had placed over her pale unsympathetic eyes to block any signs of perception and understanding to trespass into her mind.
She'd always asked herself how at the Black Tide he'd been so sure of himself, how he could keep on the arrogant tone he used every single time he'd called her out, or when they'd paid that visit to Mary Clark. He'd known from the very start that she was lying, and did not hide that subtle fact.
She'd been blind not to consider it.
"How do you do it?" He shrugged the question off before attacking the bottle of whiskey once more.
"I have no idea now exactly how it works - had it since birth though," just like her then, difference is that he knew he had it, while she discovered it after nearly getting beaten to death by Haywire after she'd refused to kill a second time.
"And now what? Are you going to tell me you can even read minds?" She laughed at her own words, and for once didn't even bother checking his face, raising her hands to rub her cheeks.
"I wish. I would have found out sooner who my true enemy was ages ago," his tone dropped again, death dancing in the gaze behind his eyes.
But then he continued, stepping over the point of no return.
"However, from what I know. You aren't exactly standard either, right?" Rosalynde's smile nearly dropped, her spine froze on spot, her legs grew numb as her feet got nailed on the dirty wooden floor.
He knew, once more, he knew.
"How?" Was all she uttered, voice faltering, at the verge of choking.
"You forgot the little outburst you had while we hunted Hellenia down in the backstage of the Imperial Theater." At that moment, a shadow appeared over the table, making both Apostles raise their gaze to look at the intruder which disrupted their small game.
"Fancy sharing her after you're done?" A man asked, stumbling their way.
The unknown man's knees bent under an apparent excessive amount of weight right before his calves buckled, hands shooting out to grip the edges of the table to not fall on the dirty ground, a toothless grin addressed to the Smiling Dame.
"Care to give a second demonstration?" Grey inquired amused. The man's eyebrows knit together at that statement, grunting in disagreement.
The stench coming from his mouth made Rosalynde's nose scrunch up in plain disgust, her smile darkening right as her eyes had done instants before.
"Why? Are you curious to try it on yourself after I'm done with him?" Her feline smile was the only thing Grey could set his eyes on.