The House of Hastles was nothing Rosalynde had always thought off. She's heard the rumours, how the members of the club revelled in their greatness bound to the blood of their great houses.
She had no idea it would have been like that on the inside. The sumptuousness of the inside seemed to cloud her mind- the columns of granite, the high wooden arches fresco decorated by the most wanted artisans, the immense chandeliers hanging from the room, everything designed to appease the hunger of the gold-famished aristocracy of their land.
"Don't look to much at the chandelier, Lord Pryton will trap you in an endless debate about how his ancestor got it in the battle of Gereniè," said Grey in a subdued whisper as he nodded towards what Rosalynde thought was the most luxurious object her eyes had ever laid upon.
She tested the waters by throwing glances around her. "And that should be a bad thing?" Rosalynde returned the whisper the second Charles turned his head around.
"It wouldn't be if the story hadn't been longer than the battle itself," Grey said, raising his eyes as only reply.
Charles led them threw the crowd of gentleman talking in the foyers, each one with a sea of well-known members of the high Rowlian society.
"So, Lord Rodolphus, in what area of business do you specialize?" Charles asked as he showed them to another foyer.
Rosalynde side-eyed Grey before answering. "Nothing much for now. I specialize in textiles, still a small fish I'm afraid. Lord Grey was gracious enough to let me study under his wing," she felt her pitch falter at the end, and brought a hand before her mouth to cough a little.
They'd concurred in advance on how Sir Rodolphus from the North had landed before the capital's doors.
A new coxcomb trying his luck in textiles after the sudden death of the greatest magnate of their generation going by the name of Mary Clark.
Rosalynde had sonorously snorted when he'd told her that, earning a well-deserved light smack from the latter.
A single nod was all Charles seemed to give her in reply, meaning that he probably still hadn't assessed her completely. Meaning that she still had time to impress in some kind of way, to leave her mark in this world once out of her reach.
She turned to look at Grey, who, while passing from room to room had been saluted and nearly revered from a good number of gentlemen who'd waved between them as sharks assessing their prey.
But Grey simply nodded at them, a few rare smiles here and there, and a never-ending number of firm handshakes and pats on the back.
"If I didn't know you then I dare say that you're going to completely ignore them for the duration of the whole night," she murmured close to his ear.
"I take pleasure in selecting who I like to spend time with, Rodolphus." Grey went to brush a lock of hazel hair, no doubt to make sure the wig stuck, and yet a gentle shiver seemed to break free and ran down her spine.
"Then I better consider myself an exception to the rule."
"It wouldn't be the first time you overturned the tables at hand," he sounded strangely sincere to her ears.
"A compliment coming from you? Coloured me shocked, Lord Grey."
"It took you a while to become aware of them." He cocked his head aside and went to shake hands with a pair of old lords eagerly awaiting them.
They settled in a sober foyer with viridian dominating all other colours. Viridian walls, viridian carpets, viridian couches with different shades of greens for cushions and plush chairs the very same colour. The only thing that was not thankfully viridian was the suffused light coming out of the candles and the golden edges her eyes seemed to find as they settled down.
There was no electricity in his room, and probably in the whole building itself.
"Tradition," the voice of Charles came from behind like a bullet being released from the barrel of a gun, swift and steady without a hint of fear.
Rosalynde turned out to look at him from her seat. "Excuse me?"
Charles chuckled from the opposite seat and waved his hands around. "The club loves to maintain traditions, in other words its main goal is to never change with the passage of the years, no electricity, no press crawling outside, complete privacy and animosity and especially no prying woman dragging away their spouses."
The only thing Rosalynde did to restrain herself was to ask an attendant for a cigar, a pair of wine glasses a bottle of red to ease her mind.
Had she not done that, Charles would have regrettably ended his long career as attendant on the bottom of the river with his legs tied with an iron chain and a bag full of rocks.
They were left alone for some time, the other users of the foyer didn't even dare meet Grey's eyes, nevertheless speak a single word to him.
A wrong gesture, a wrong word and the latter would have ended with a simple smile whatever project they were plotting in terms of career.
"So, what do we do now?" Rosalynde whispered once more as she gestured around them. "Are we to sit still until the answer to all our problems will magically waltz inside the room?"
She nearly made the chalice slip from her fingers as he ended her torment.
"That's exactly what we're doing, Silver." He raised his own glass and urging her to a toast they sat in a perpetual silence. "That's exactly what we're doing."
꧁꧂
It wasn't before two hours made out of conversing with new business entries of Greys' that their man finally showed up. He announced himself with four attendants opening the foyers doors and looking around before giving their master a contained nod.
The man strode into the room covered in gold, long robes and with a strong scent of spices coming from across the sea.
They'd never met, not in person, at least. But Rosalynde knew who the man was- and she knew very well.
Out of the four Great Rowlian Houses of their standing empire, three remained.
Two ruled over the other with a sceptre of nobler blood.
One marked with unforgivable treason.
And not a single one of them free from sin.
Lord Regulus had been young when he assumed the title of the Duke of Sternstorn, but Lord William apparently had been even younger when he ascended to his. After a massacre that left him without family, with only a family ring in hand and in a home too big for a single person to live in he'd tried leading a simple life outside of the political schemes.
Those facts had happened many years ago, way before Rosalynde's birth, way before the day Lord Regulus by divine and royal will, had ascended to his father's seat.
William Heriom had retired from the political life to live free from preoccupations, but apparently he still frequented the House of Hastles in honour of his former self.
Or to hide everything hr knew he'd abandoned the second he'd renounced to his position.
"Lord Grey, it has been a while. How do you do?" Duke Heriom asked, holding out his hand.
"How do you do, Duke Heriom?" Grey was already up standing on his feet as Rosalynde slowly rose herself.
"Living my best life- within reach of the prying eyes of her Majesty, of course, especially after many of my associates have stopped coming here. Feels quite lonely these days." He gestured for an attendant to fetch them three new glasses.
He didn't waste time and poured for both of them a decent amount of liquor into their chalices.
There was a hint of regret in his voice, which made Rosalynde doubt how much his words were actually true.
Could be all, could not be a single one.
But that was all she would have allowed herself to care in that present moment. Any other thing would have easily been mistaken as a frail form of disclosure- attention, even- all things she did not intend to do in that present moment.
They had to focus. They had to start digging out the truth if they wanted to live to see another dawn.
Grey gentle made the liquor swirl inside his glass, shifting the weight from one leg to another. "You really are bored," he said, perfectly serene.
"I wonder what gave it away," Heriom replied with a tight smile, and turned his gaze on Rosalynde chilling one.
It was then she realised she still hadn't spoken a word. At least she'd remembered basic male gallantry while greeting him.
She finished her glass, leaving it on the servant's thin, silver plate before speaking. "Rodolphus Bersers, my lord, a pleasure to make your acquaintance," her voice did not fail herself, not this time.
"Tell me, young boy. What do you think of our great knaves of rulers?" The room when silent in an instant, as if a sigil of absolute silence had been cast all over the room.
Rosalynde went to sit down again. And did not flinch when she felt Grey's knee bump against her own.
Instead, she took a deep breath in, savouring the smell of spices the man had brought with him like a rebel gust of wind.
She turned her gaze away from the Duke- she straightened her tailored upper vest and simply laughed, a clear, crystal laugh deep enough that made her wonder why she hadn't picked up acting as public employment in the past.
"The stage has already been set, each card carefully selected, polished even- to make them stand out even more. Just like a magician has the art to deviate the attention of its spectators, the royals possess the craft of deviating the attention to the real problems that afflict our poor nation." She licked her lips as if to infuse her own body of a newfound strength. "As the noble, royal swan swims to death, the same way the roots of discontent spread through the nation," she felt every single eye on her as she spoke.
She knew it wouldn't have been a problem- Grey had told her what was- and what was not allowed in between those walls.
And apparently slandering the royal family did not constitute a problem.
Ideals ruled over nationalism in there, the more scattered your thoughts, the higher value you had.
But it wasn't that that made the Duke go still. A spark had ignited inside his dark eyes, a sliver of faraway recognition lost in time.
"You sound exactly like an old friend of mine," his voice came out gently as a breeze picked up by the wind and broken like infinite shards of a broken vase.
"What happened to him?" She kept her voice still and unbending.
The duke scoffed, lulling his head backwards as he fought the tears welling up at the corner of his eyes. "He stopped coming after the death of his beloved wife and stillborn son," his reply came out even more broken than before.
It was Grey that once more pulled her out of trouble. "We're here to ask for your council and wisdom," he said, posing as mediator between the other two.
"I shall do all I can to help you both. Tell me... what is it that you need from me?"
Rosalynde and Grey shared a knowing look.
"I was... poking my nose into older papers as past time when I stumbled upon an... interesting handwritten one dated twenty years ago." Grey took out from his pocket what the Black Judge had given them- the pamphlet of the original Verity and handed it to Duke Heriom.
The latter eyes seemed to burst into flames as he grabbed the note from Veritas.
"Come with me," Duke Heriom said visibly uneasy. He looked around before ushering them inside a new room, closing it before turning the lock.
Rosalynde took a step forward. "What is it that you know?" Because that reaction had gave it away.
What Rosalynde and Grey had seen flashing in his eyes before intimating them silence had been too much easy to detect.
Fear. The irrational fear all sinners possessed since birth.
"Burn that. You do not want to know, believe me." Duke Heriom turned around, stalking towards the dark window. "You do not know what you're venturing into, forget everything you've seen and live a long and blissful life."
"We are already too deep into this, Duke Heriom," Grey said without missing a beat.
"How much deep?"
"We cannot go back, not anymore. We are too involved." Rosalynde said without thought, regretting everything single word before she was even done.
Her voice, it sounded like her usual voice. She felt the air leave her lungs and a knot in her throat that seemed to not go down.
And the look the duke gave her said it all.
"You-" But Grey was faster, bouncing forward as he pressed his hand over the Duke's mouth, silencing as he instructed Rosalynde to keep close to the door.
"Let's make a deal, I take my hand away from your mouth and you're not gonna scream. On the contrary, you'll keep a low profile after we'll let you leave and tell us everything you know."
And Grey was showing a new side of him- his perfect façade cracking under Rosalynde's gaze as she slowly stalked towards the door.
"That doesn't seem to be very fair on me," the Duke said after being unhandled.
Grey gave him a sublime sneer before delivering a mocking bow.
"If it wasn't enough the fact that you out your hands on me- you even dared to break out historical rules by bringing in a woman- Lords have mercy." He spat.
"The rule is broken only if they figure it out," Grey seemed to remind him. And it was in that moment Rosalynde actually saw threw Herioms' façade for the first time.
There aggressiveness had never been a forte of the man. Rosalynde knew it- she'd read his file before coming here.
The verbal attack had been so out of character for a poised man like the Duke of Heriom- the mere action should have raised some sort of flag inside her mind.
They stayed silent as Heriom got back on his feet, tugging the edges of his over-coat before looking at them once more. "You seem to know more than I initially thought."
His gaze slowly fell on Rosalynde. "Who, exactly are you?" He asked her.
"A discardable chess piece," was all she said.
Heriom shook her head. "Your stance, your words, your mannerism too... have you ever encountered Regulus?"
Grey turned around just in time to see Rosalynde's chest exhale a silent breath. She hadn't predicted the appearance of her commanders' name.
"You speak of my benefactor and master," Rosalynde said.
"I knew it, he sponsored you. Did he not? After Seraphina died along with their stillborn he decided to raise you under his wing.
Seraphina Sternstorn, years had passed since her name had come up. The taboo of the former duchess was still very much active between the ranks of nobility.
"That matters not, we have come here for another reason. You've been here forever.- in other words a witness. You must have heard or saw something in all this years here." Rosalynde said, pressing her back against the wall.
Heriom stayed silent for a while before his shoulder visibly seemed to drop. "Very well. What do you need?"
"We know that Verity held some meetings here, we want to know the names," Grey said, earning a curious glare from his partner behind.
They had no idea if Verity had actually held meetings there in the past- it was all a bluff meant to get the duke to speak- to say something at all that could have led them on the right track.
Heriom rounded the corner. Took a paper and a pen from a side table close to the window and started writing.
"I do hope Charles has been treating you well Lord Grey, and you too, Sir Rodolphus? You see Charles is one of the oldest attendants still around, he has served my father before me too." He kept on writing. "I would suggest you two indulge yourselves in a game of cards. Charles has good eye in who recommend for your expanding business, sir."
Rosalynde and Grey silently reached Heriom, who'd not stopped talking since the beginning as he passed the paper to them.
In the deepest rooms on the back of the clubhouse you shall find the ledgers with all the names, dates and meetings held inside the House of Hastles since creation.
Follow the corridor opening on your left until the dead end.
Push the pearls.
You should find what you're searching for after entering on the right side.
Pardon me from not telling you all this- but all walls grow ears in places such as this one.
But I would like for you two to keep in mind a warning.
Do not wake the ghosts of the past.
"Oh, the restroom is on the left side after getting out, better be quick you too- everyone is eager to see how you're going to play your cards."
Heriom took the paper and threw it in the hearth before Rosalynde could even utter a word of warning.