Chapter 12

The glass chilled Rhosyn's nose as she all but smashed her face against it, watching the countryside roll by. She had never known there was so much green so near the incessant grays and browns of London. In the clearer air of the country, the leaves seemed even brighter than those on the sparse trees outside the manors in the upper city, where the smokey air from the nearby factories made everything muted.

A dry chuckle from the bench across from Rhosyn made her pull back.

"One would think you'd never seen a tree before." He teased.

"One tree? Yes," Rhosyn conceded. "This many in the same place? No."

Ansel tilted his head. "You've really never been out of the city before."

Rhosyn shook her head, looking away towards the window to avoid the feeling in Ansel's eyes as he observed her. They still hadn't talked about what had happened between them in the Merry Men's tent, and Rhosyn was loathe to bring it up. After all, what was there to say? It couldn't possibly mean more than a simple physical release. Not when Ansel would leave with the circus and Rhosyn would go back to the police after Mr. Gower's plans were uncovered.

"I never had the chance to travel," Rhosyn admitted. "When I was with the Lions, none of us had much time to do much but stay alive and keep the young ones fed."

Of course, after the Lions had dissolved, life had been different. Nate had taken Contessa to a cottage by the ocean, and even Kristoff and Gregor had managed to steal away for a holiday. But Rhosyn had entered training for the police as fast as she could and never taken more than one consecutive day off since. Not until her time with the Foxes.

"But you wanted to?" Ansel asked, drawing her from her thoughts.

She turned back to him. "Yes," Rhosyn admitted.

"Where did you want to go?"

It wasn't a question Rhosyn had expected, so much so that it surprised the truth out of her without a second thought. "The ocean."

"Really? The consummate city girl has a taste for exploring?" Ansel's brows rose, and a smile toyed with the edges of his lips.

Rhosyn sighed. "My father. He was a sailor on transatlantic steam ships. I barely remember him, but the images I do have of him are always headed off to another adventure. All the time away from London was probably what let him hide his Talent for so long. I've always wanted to see where he was running off to for all those years."

Rhosyn swallowed, looking down at her hands in her lap, unconsciously popping her knuckles. The sound was loud in the quiet carriage at the end of her speech. She had once admitted to Contessa that her dream had been to follow in her father's footsteps. At one point, when she was barely more than a child, she had inquired about jobs on one of the steam ships down at the port. Rhosyn had even gone so far as to gather up her meager belongings, to leave the perils of London and the lower city behind.

Then Nate and Kristoff had come to check on the overcrowded Den, looking hopeless and harrowed by the monumental task they had set for themselves, and Rhosyn knew she couldn't go. They were her family, and she owed them her life after they had broken her out of the textile factory she lived in after her parents' deaths. So, she stayed. Only Contessa had ever heard that she dreamed of something else for her life at one point. It wouldn't be fair to lay that responsibility at the feet of the men who had loved her like a sister for so many years.

"You know," Ansel said with purposeful casualness, "I've thought about taking the circus to America for a tour before. Talents are so much more widely accepted over there, after all."

Rhosyn blinked. The way Ansel said it almost sounded like an invitation—like a chance for a new life where her mixed past wouldn't have to constantly be locked in eternal battle for her future. But that would be impossible.

Rhosyn hummed noncommittally and turned her attention back to the countryside rolling by outside the window. In the absence of conversation, the rattling wheels of the carts traveling with them permeated the enclosed space. Alongside the modest carriage carrying Ansel and Rhosyn, Archer's Circus had sent several wagons of performers, whose equipment could be easily packed up and transported without the train. They had been on the road for an hour now and should be just over halfway to the estate where the King's gathering was to be held.

"We only have a little while until we get there." Ansel broke the silence to echo her thoughts. "We should finish getting you into your disguise, just in case."

Rhosyn turned towards the bundle at her side, containing the remainder of the accessories for her ensemble. She already wore a deep purple dress with sleeves more flowy than were strictly fashionable, but that gave her the appearance of drifting through water when she walked.

A muffled jingle came from the bag as she opened it, and she raised her eyebrows.

Ansel shrugged. "It's not like I haven't hidden somebody in plain sight by dressing them up as a circus performer before. When people are used to seeing you in a Royal Police uniform, they will barely notice you at all bedecked as an eccentric fortune teller."

"Hopefully, most of the people at this gathering will only ever have seen me in passing, on one of the few occasions Contessa and Nate took me to a party." Rhosyn pulled out a long navy scarf embroidered with silver moons and stars.

"For your hair," Ansel explained. "It's…rather distinctive. I thought it would be best to cover it up."

Rhosyn sighed, but he was right. She piled her curls on top of her head and began winding the fabric around it. The reason she and Ansel had decided on a fortune teller for her disguise was so she could mingle easily through the party, giving her better chances to eavesdrop on any important conversations Mr. Gower might have. It wouldn't do for him to spot her from across the room based on the top of her head.

She fumbled as she reached the end of the length of fabric, fingers struggling to tie the short ends into a knot at the base of her skull.

"Here, let me." Ansel shifted across the carriage, sliding onto the same bench as Rhosyn.

She turned her back to him, to give him a better angle to help. His warm hands came up to cover hers and she let them fall back into her own lap. His nimble fingers made quick work of the knot, but his touch lingered. The pad of one callused finger ran down the nape of her neck, so lightly she questioned if it was intentional.

A shudder washed over her. Ansel snatched his hand away, as if Rhosyn's response shocked him out of a trance.

"Sorry, rough hands." He cleared his throat.

Rhosyn turned on the seat, so her back was no longer to him, busying herself with the bag once more. "Between the trapeze bars and the knives, I'm surprised your skin hasn't turned to stone."

"I'd think the calluses are more from the knives at this point," Ansel admitted. "I almost completely stopped doing acrobatics for many years, when I was afraid my Talent would be too obvious. Not to mention, I'm not actually Talented with knives, so building that skill required a lot more practice…and a lot more accidentally slicing myself. I count myself lucky I still have all my fingers."

As Ansel spoke, Rhosyn fished a handful of silvery bangles out of the bag, explaining the earlier jangling. She slid them on and let them settle on her wrists, where they threw sparkling lights all over the carriage every time she moved her hands.

The bracelets jingled like tiny bells as she dug around in the bottom of the sack for the last few items. As she fished out a pencil of kohl and a small pot of rouge, she raised her brows curiously at Ansel.

"It'll make your face less familiar," he explained.

"It will just make it clear how much I don't know what I'm doing with this." Rhosyn frowned at the objects in her hand. The only times she had ever gone anywhere where her appearance might matter, Julia had helped her with her hair, only applying the most minimal amount of powder to her nose. Otherwise, whenever Rhosyn looked in the mirror, the lack of freckles made her feel like a ghost.

"I can help you." Ansel gestured for her to hand him the makeup.

Rhosyn's brows rose even higher. "You're going to help me with my makeup?"

"I run a circus. You don't live with this many clowns and not know how to paint up your face." Leaning in close, Ansel motioned for her to close her eyes.

When she did, he began smudging the kohl sticks on her eyelids, fingers sure despite the jostling of the carriage. With her vision gone, Rhosyn's ears pricked, zeroing in on the sound of Ansel's breath so close to her own.

A finger pressed into her top lip and her eyes snapped open, to find Ansel's gaze fixed on her mouth. He pushed at it again, smearing the rouge on it. As he moved towards the bottom lip, the pressure forced Rhosyn's mouth open slightly. Her breath caught, and Ansel's gaze flicked up to her eyes.

The glimmer she saw there made her bold. Quickly, she flicked her tongue against the tip of his finger where it rested against her lip. His gaze darkened.

"Be good," he purred.

Something in Rhosyn's core melted at the words. Where so often she rose to every challenge presented to her with bared teeth and flying fists, something about the way Ansel said it made her pliant. She ached for more, and the way Ansel looked at her told her he did too.

Rhosyn sat perfectly still as he finished applying the tint to her lips before pulling back to admire his work. "Dramatic and eccentric. Nobody will suspect a straight-laced police officer under that get up."

"I'm not sure I ever would have called myself straight-laced, even when I wasn't running with a gang of thieves," Rhosyn countered, her voice only slightly hoarse from Ansel's recent touch. She cleared her throat and shook herself free of his spell as he retreated to the far side of the carriage.

"Good, because you're going to have to be creative and have a little fun with your fortune teller ruse," Ansel said. "In fact, why don't you do a little bit of a practice run on me."

He dug in his coat pocket and produced a small packet, which he held out to Rhosyn. Seeing what it was, she stared at him quizzically.

"Playing cards? Shouldn't I be reading tarot cards or something a little more…mystical?"

"Do you know anything about tarot cards?" Ansel countered.

Rhosyn shook her head.

"In my years of hiding Talented in the circus, I've learned that it's best to stick to what people know. That way their ruse isn't completely a lie. Besides, I'm pretty sure you already know a few card tricks that could convince people you can read their minds." Ansel's look was pointed.

Rhosyn grabbed the deck from his outstretched hand with narrowed eyes. "Alright then."

She pulled them from their paper packaging and began shuffling. They were clearly new cards, snapping energetically as they jumped in her hands. She bent them in a rippling bridge, using the motion as a distraction as she palmed one card, surreptitiously glancing at it.

Keeping the one card in her hand, she restacked the deck and held it out to Ansel to cut. He did, and as she restacked it, the card in her palm found its way to the top of the deck.

"Draw your card," Rhosyn instructed, adding a dramatic timbre to her voice.

He did, the ghost of a smile playing over his lips before he schooled his features again.

"Now, think hard on your card, and I will tell you what it is and what it means." Rhosyn closed her eyes, breathing in deeply with a look of upmost focus on her face.

"You are holding…the three of spades."

Ansel huffed in amusement, and Rhosyn smiled slightly, although she kept her eyes closed.

"This card carries great weight. You have an important trial before you, and the fates of many others lie in your hands," Rhosyn intoned with as mystic of a tone as she could manage.

"That's hardly hard to figure out," Ansel snorted.

Rhosyn opened her eyes to glare at him. "Isn't that the trick of this sort of thing anyways? Be just vague enough and base your predictions off what you already know of somebody? Unless you have somebody with a Talent to actually predict the future…"

"That I do not. I'd think that would be much too powerful a Talent," Ansel admitted.

"I have a friend who can predict danger but nothing specific."

"Even if all those who tell fortunes at Archer's Circus are using tricks, you definitely used some slight of hand to make me pick the three of spades," he pointed out.

"It's not like you didn't know I knew my way around a deck of cards." Rhosyn shrugged one shoulder, smiling crookedly.

Ansel reached out and snatched the deck from her fingers. "Well, since you used that to swindle me out of a bet, I think I should have a chance to even the playing field."

"What did you have in mind?" Rhosyn's curiosity piqued. She watched his deft fingers manipulate the cards, and although his shuffling wasn't as elaborate as hers, the nimbleness of his fingers still held her attention. Realizing she was staring, she snapped her gaze back up to his.

"You draw a card," Ansel purposed. "If I guess the correct card, you have to answer a question."

"What kind of question?"

"Any question I want. And you have to answer honestly."

Rhosyn swallowed, her eyes drifting back the deck, which he now held out to her. It was a dangerous proposition.

And Rhosyn loved danger.

She reached out and slid the top card off the deck. Flipping it towards her, the perfect face of the Queen of Hearts stared back. Rhosyn glanced up to find Ansel smirking at her knowingly, and she grimaced. She wasn't the only one with tricks up her sleeve.

"You're holding the Queen of Hearts," he said.

"Yes," Rhosyn admitted, "But you already knew that."

"Now to figure out what to ask." Ansel leaned back in his seat and folded his arms.

Rhosyn wrinkled her nose. "You don't just want to know my favorite color? Or maybe my favorite food?"

"You might tell me that without a wager. I need to use this on something you wouldn't answer otherwise."

It was Rhosyn's turn to fold her arms. "Bold of you to assume I'd tell you my favorite color."

"Even more reason to make this question count." Ansel narrowed his eyes. "Would you rather be a Lion or an officer of the Royal Police?"

Rhosyn sat back in her seat as if she had been slapped. To answer Ansel's question would be to dive off the knife's edge that her life was currently balanced on. She had been picking her way through every situation on tip toes, precariously balanced between upholding the law and thwarting it based on what the situation required.

In the secret tunnels, Ansel had asked her what she truly was. But which one did she want to be?

"Both."

Neither.

She wanted all of it, yet something beyond what either position had offered. Something, that Ansel seemed to offer more with every moment they spent together, yet Rhosyn remained terrified to grasp onto it.

"That's not an answer," Ansel argued.

Rhosyn opened her mouth to respond that it was the most honest answer she had when the carriage jolted to a stop, cutting her off. After a moment, the door to the carriage swung open, late afternoon light spilling into the darkened space.

Rhosyn squinted past the coachman, who pulled down the stairs on the carriage, towards a sprawling estate.

They had arrived.

Wearing the face of somebody else was simultaneously stifling and liberating. Rhosyn drifted around the party, shrouded in an air of mystery. She stole glances at guests under hooded, heavily kohled eyes and talked with her hands so that the bangles on her wrists glittered in the lantern light.

The persona of Archer's Circus's newest fortune teller sat heavily on her like a mask, allowing her to be less self-conscious than she had been on accompanying the Woodrows to parties in the past. Still, the evening of putting on airs gave her new appreciation for the exhaustion she found in the crinkles of Ansel's eyes, and the slump of his shoulders when he shed the personas of the dashing Mr. Blakely or the devil-may-care Hood.

At the thought, Rhosyn's gaze darted across the milling crowds scattered across the lawn to where Ansel stood. He was currently engaged in conversation with several posturing gentleman, who had paused in front of one of the many performers stationed around the garden.

Rhosyn recognized the girl who juggled the glasses at the Foxes hideout, now fully made up and in top form as she tossed flaming clubs in the air. The men gaped as the performer spun, tossing the clubs behind her back for a few passes before turning back around and grinning.

As if Ansel sensed Rhosyn looking in his direction, he glanced up from the partygoers he was entertaining, his gaze catching hers. The silken sheen of his top hat and his glittering eyes reflected the flames from the juggler beside him, giving him the appearance of incandescence.

Rhosyn tore her gaze away in favor of focusing on the knot of people approaching her. The group was mostly composed of young women who giggled and whispered behind their hands. It was several minutes before the ladies drifted away, all pleased with promises of marrying for love. Rhosyn hoped the fortunes she gave them would come to pass, fabricated as they had been.

Unengaged again, she glanced over to where Ansel had been, to find him gone. A furrow formed between her brows as she scanned the crowd for him. While the gathering had been underway for almost an hour and the revelry was gathering steam, neither of them had encountered Mr. Gower yet.

The gleam of Ansel's top hat finally caught her attention, his silhouette almost completely hidden in a tight knot of people. The man standing next to him explained the eagerness of the crowd in that area. The King.

Hovering just over King Byron's shoulder was a scarred and scowling face that Rhosyn knew almost better than her own. Internally, Rhosyn cursed. She had known there was a chance Nate would be serving as the King's bodyguard this evening, but she had hoped it would be another of the King's Guard in rotation, so she could avoid being recognized and having Nate accidentally ruin her cover.

Maybe if she could catch him alone, she could explain the situation to him and get Nate to play along. Rhosyn spun on her heel, dress swirling in a rippling pool around her, and walked towards the servants' entrance at the edge of the garden.

She slipped past white gloved footmen carrying silver trays of food and drink into the staging area. Some of the servants shot her odd looks, but she strode past with confidence, and nobody stopped her. Once she was hidden from view of the main garden by a dense wall of hedges, she paused, evaluating her next move.

One of the servants could pass Nate a message asking him to meet her away from the main party. Before she could grab one of them to ask a favor, an eddy in the flow of activity in the staging area caught her attention.

Off to one side, three men stood bent in close conversation. Rhosyn recognized with a start the impressive silver mustache of Mr. Gower. From the redness of his face and the sharp gesticulations of his hands as he talked, Rhosyn could guess he was arguing with the two other men. She was unsure what he might have to argue with his servants about, as the other two men were clearly his staff—not dressed nearly as finely.

Rhosyn drifted closer as subtly as she could manage, straining to hear their words, although the ambient buzz of party made picking out a single conversation nearly impossible. As she approached, it became apparent that Mr. Gower and one of the men were in disagreement with the third.

Mr. Gower snapped something at his companion, and the conversation stalled for a moment. Then, the man who appeared to be on Mr. Gower's side said something, and the third man stiffened, standing as straight as a board. Mr. Gower said something next, but the stiffened man barely reacted at all, only blinking slowly.

Something about the blank expression on his face trickled cold down Rhosyn's spine. It reminded her of something she had seen before.

It reminded of her of Paul's listless appearance when she had seen him at the Gower's house.

Mr. Gower and the second man each said a few more words before turning around and striding purposefully back towards the party. Rhosyn moved to follow them, sure that whatever was happening with Mr. Gower's servants was untoward and likely held the answers to what he was trying to accomplish with such a dangerous group of Talented. Her gaze clung to the third man, though, who remained oddly inanimate.

Before Rhosyn could follow Mr. Gower and the second man to the main garden, the third man turned on his heel and marched from the side garden, motions as mechanical as a tin soldier. He strode quickly in the direction of the manor house, and Rhosyn frowned.

Something about the oddity of his behavior called to her instincts. She hovered for a split second of indecision before trailing him in the direction of the house. Ansel was still at the party, where he could keep an eye on Mr. Gower.

On light feet, Rhosyn followed the servant out of the side garden towards the manor. She held her wrists with her opposite hands to keep her bangles from jangling and giving her away. The servant ducked in a side door, and she waited for a moment before following suit.

She thanked luck for hinges kept well-oiled by the royal housekeepers as it shut silently behind her. The quiet in the empty hallway lay heavily after the liveliness of the party. Rhosyn took short steps, afraid even the quiet swish of her skirts would alert the man to her pursuit, but he didn't react.

In fact, he seemed blind to all around him, marching with purpose towards his unknown destination. He led Rhosyn up a flight of stairs, out of what appeared to be the servants' quarters and into the manor proper.

The halls here were richly appointed, paintings in gilded frames decorating every wall and elegant furniture upholstered in brocades and velvets. The man clearly wasn't here to steal, for he easily would have been able to pocket a fortune, unattended as they were. He instead made a beeline for the stairs.

Up on the second floor, they passed several closed doors that Rhosyn assumed concealed bedrooms, until the man opened one and strode inside. There was nothing marking this door as distinct from the others, and Rhosyn might have thought it was chosen at random if not for the purposefulness of his stride.

Rhosyn stopped outside the closed door, weighing her options. Looking up and down the hallway for anybody who might be watching, Rhosyn found the place deserted, everybody apparently at the party. She leaned forward and pressed her ear to the door. Only a faint shuffling greeted her, the absence of voices indicating he had not come up here for a surreptitious rendezvous.

In a rustle of skirts, Rhosyn fell down onto her belly so she could peer through the slight gap under the door. She squinted, as she tried to concentrate her vision through the narrow slit. As the man's silhouette came into focus, her stomach dropped.

In his hands was the long, thin length of a repeating rifle. A metallic click told Rhosyn he was loading it.

The time for secrecy was at an end.

She sprang to her feet and grabbed the door handle, only to curse when it didn't turn. He had locked the door behind him. Bending over to get a better look at the lock, she was momentarily distracted by a distant cheering from the party.

Something told her she didn't have much time. Rhosyn didn't know what the man planned to do with the rifle, but she doubted he was using it as a back scratcher. With a grimace, she took a step back. Then she drew her knee up into her chest and kicked out, foot hitting the door firmly, just above the handle. The blow rattled her teeth, and a shock ran from the sole of her foot up to the top of her head, the slippers she wore not offering nearly as much protection as her usual boots.

Still, it was enough for the lock to give way, and the door crashed inwards.

The sight that greeted her left her with no time to think about the jolt echoing through her. Seemingly unperturbed by the interruption, the man stood in the window, back to her with the rifle raised. He stared down the sights through the open window, which offered a clear view of the garden where the party was being held.

At the near end of the garden was a small platform, erected by Ansel for some of his performers, and standing on it, with his arms raised as if in speech, was King Byron.

The safety on the gun clicked, the sound echoing as time stretched. Rhosyn bounded across the room in three long strides. The man's finger was already tightening on the trigger by the time she reached him, giving her only enough time to crash into him. She grabbed him around the chest, forcing his arm up as the gun fired.

The volume of the shot shattered through her, leaving both her and the gunman momentarily frozen. The ringing in her ears quickly gave way to screams from the party. Over the gunman's shoulder, she spotted Nate hustling King Byron off the stage, both seemingly uninjured.

Before she could process anything else, the man lurched back into her, trying to throw her off. The motion loosened her grip just enough for him to spin in her grasp. He tried to lower the gun to point it at her, but the close quarters gave him very little room to maneuver. Rhosyn grabbed the rifle, keeping the barrel pointed at the ceiling and trying to wrest it from his grip.

He was deceptively strong and tugged back. Rhosyn grit her teeth and held on with all her might, knowing that her chances for survival were infinitesimal if he controlled the weapon. She kicked out savagely, foot catching him in the shin.

He grunted in pain, and she gained the advantage. As she tried to get a better grip on the gun, her finger slipped onto the trigger.

A blast echoed through the room as the gun discharged, so loud and so close that Rhosyn's vision swam. Stunned, she staggered back, letting go of the gun.

A heavy object plummeted past her, missing her by inches as she stumbled away. The gunman wasn't so fortunate, a heavy light fixture dropping from the ceiling, knocked loose by the accidental shot.

One of the wrought metal arms caught him square in the forehead, and he crumpled like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Rhosyn took the opportunity to lunge across the destroyed light fixture to where he lay on the floor. She pinned him to the ground and wrenched the rifle from his slack fingers as he blinked dazedly.

In the few seconds of relative calm, shouts drifted in through the open window.

"—tried to kill the King!"

"On the third floor!"

Slamming doors and pounding footsteps accompanied the voices.

Rhosyn's attention was drawn away from the commotion by gunman's expression going from dazed, to confused, and finally settling on horrified.

"What happened?" he gasped.

"What do you mean what happened?" Rhosyn snarled. "You tried to assassinate King Byron. Did Gower put you up to this?"

His eyes widened so far that white showed all the way around his irises. "He wanted me to do something… I told him I wouldn't," the man sputtered. "But then the groom, Hamish—the one with the unnerving eyes—he said something to me. I…I don't remember."

Rhosyn froze. Mr. Gower's groom. Something began to click into place in her mind, only to be blocked by shouting from the hall.

"Down there! That's where the shot came from."

Panic overtook the man's expression. "No…no! I'll hang."

Before Rhosyn could do anything, the man shifted beneath her. She moved to press her weight into him so he couldn't escape, but he didn't try to push her off. She had the odd feeling of sinking and blinked incredulously as the servant beneath her appeared to sink into the floor as if being submerged in water.

In a second, he was gone. Rhosyn patted the floor where he had been in disbelief before an image flitted through her head: Sponsorship papers for a Talented who could walk through walls.

She shot to her feet, ready to dash out into the hallway and try to cut the would-be assassin off downstairs. Before she took one step, several King's Guard and Royal Police piled through the door, shouting.

There she stood, alone in the very spot the shot had come from, holding the weapon that had been used in an assassination attempt on the King.

"There she is. Arrest her!"