Chapter 14

The smell of bacon roused Rhosyn from her doze. Her stomach growled before she even had a chance to open her eyes, prompting a low chuckle from somewhere across the room. She cracked one eye open to find Ansel standing at the foot of the bed wearing a bemused expression.

In his hands was the source of the smell: a plate of breakfast and a cup of tea. It looked almost as delicious as he did in that moment, his hair mussed from bed and his shirt open at the neck, exposing one shoulder.

Rhosyn opened both eyes to appreciate the sight and reached her arms over her head in a long stretch that drew attention to several sore spots in her body, both from her enjoyable night with Ansel and the much less enjoyable chase before that.

"Breakfast in bed? You're giving me the real princess treatment," she remarked as she sat up.

"I knew you must be hungry, but I figured we should let as few people know you're here as possible. There is a substantial reward for your capture, and people can't let slip a secret they don't know," Ansel explained, passing off the plate before setting the teacup on the rickety side table.

"Ah, so not a princess. Just a wanted criminal." Rhosyn grimaced, any illusions of domesticity in Ansel's breakfast delivery thoroughly shattered.

"Speaking of, we need to discuss why you're a wanted criminal. I'm assuming you didn't actually try to shoot the king?"

Rhosyn shook her head, mouth already full of bacon and a hefty slice of toast.

"Then, what actually did happen?"

"I was following one of Mr. Gower's men who was acting strange." Rhosyn explained the odd argument she witnessed in the garden, and how she had jumped in to thwart the assassination. She furrowed her brow when she began to recount how she had been the one left at the scene of the crime with a weapon. "It was so strange, though. Like he didn't even remember how he had gotten there."

Ansel's face grew pale. "So, Mr. Gower wants to use the Talented he's sponsored to get rid of the King."

Rhosyn grimaced even as she nodded in agreement. The cadre of Talented with violent abilities, combined with the assassination attempt at the party, painted a clear picture of what Mr. Gower wanted. "It's bold, considering that King Byron is wildly popular among the Talented after ending the Inquiries. It would be hard to convince them to take violent action against him."

Ansel's mouth formed a hard line, the look in his eyes causing the breakfast in Rhosyn's stomach to turn leaden.

"I had Little John look through the sponsorship papers we stole from the palace, and Rhosyn…one of the Talented he sponsored almost two years ago had powers of extreme persuasion, even to the point of being able to control somebody's actions."

Bile rose in Rhosyn's throat. "The groom."

Ansel nodded grimly. "His name is Hamish. It would explain what we overheard that night in the stables. Why they thought Olivia and Paul might come back of their own accord."

"And why they hardly seem to remember their time there. When the groom persuades them, it seems to put them nearly in a trance to force them to obey." Rhosyn's throat burned, and she put aside the plate of breakfast, food suddenly unappealing. All those Talented thinking they were getting a chance at a better life, only to be turned into thralls and set to a violent purpose.

"If Mr. Gower was willing to go to such lengths to oust the King, he won't give up after one failed attempt," Ansel pointed out. "He needs to be stopped. If a Talented assassinates another king, and one who was their best hope of equality, it would start the Inquiries all over again. Fear of the Talented hasn't abated, especially among the rich and powerful, and this would stir things up again."

Ansel's words picked up in pace as he spoke, signaling to Rhosyn that under the surface of his analytical approach stirred the beginnings of panic. It was panic she recognized all too well in the young Lions who started to show Talents, afraid that it would end with them at the end of a noose. A fear that she had felt responsible for protecting them from, as she had been lucky enough to have no Talent to hide.

"Mr. Gower will be stopped," Rhosyn promised. "But we can't do it just the two of us."

Ansel grimaced. "Do we have a choice? With you neatly framed for the attempt, I don't think many people would believe us."

She cracked her knuckles one by one as she thought. "I didn't escape the estate without a little bit of help. I know somebody who would give us the benefit of the doubt."

Rhosyn had never wished more that Nate had not bricked up the secret passage into his office. The darkness was thick tonight, wind blowing the smog from the factories back into the upper city so that it blocked out the light of the stars. Still, Rhosyn wished for Scarlett's powers to thicken the shadows even further as she and Ansel crept over rooftops.

Ansel had donned the outfit of the Hood, face and hair covered, with a wrist bow strapped to his forearm. Rhosyn hoped he wouldn't have to use it.

He had leant her a spare hood too, and together they stole like shadows up through the middle city. Below them on the streets, Royal Police prowled between pools of flickering lamplight, out in force after Rhosyn's perceived betrayal.

She paused on the edge of one roof, waiting for a pair of officers to pass by on the street below, before jumping the gap to the next building, Rhosyn tried not to wonder if she knew the officers—if she had worked with them before, and what they might be saying about her now. Ansel's shoulder brushed hers as he crouched beside her, and the warmth of his touch dulled the chill of those thoughts.

It took the pair longer than it might have to make their way to the upper city, as careful as they were to not be spotted. Once they reached the affluent neighborhoods where the manors were too far apart to travel directly from roof to roof, they picked their way between shadowy hedges in back gardens, heading for a familiar house.

Rhosyn dropped to her belly next to a familiar hedge and dragged herself by her elbows through a narrow gap below the thick shrubbery that served as a natural wall. She cursed quietly as brambles snagged on her hood, nearly ripping it free.

When she emerged from the leaves, the familiar sound of tinkling water in a fountain drifted through the air. She pushed to her feet, waiting for Ansel to follow. However, no rustling signaled that he was following her through the shrub. She frowned with concern, only to start when a dark shadow flew overhead.

Ansel landed neatly before her on the balls of his feet, as if he hadn't just flipped easily over a hedge that stood as high as she did.

"Showoff," she muttered under her breath as she turned towards the house. As always, the back garden was a veritable Eden, flowers all at full bloom, dripping with the verdant life that Gregor coaxed from them so lovingly.

Rhosyn hadn't been here in too long, but she didn't have time to admire the roses.

As she had known they would be, the back door on the ground floor was locked. She didn't want to draw attention by knocking, in case they had company over, so they would have to climb. Rhosyn gestured to a window on the second floor, indicating to Ansel that it would be their point of entrance.

As picky as Nate was about security, he had a habit of leaving the entrance to the rose room unlocked so Scarlett could come and go as she pleased, without the apparent indignity of using the front door. Ansel started up the wall first, the agility from his Talent offering him incredible speed. Rhosyn's toes had barely left the ground by the time he pushed at the glass, swinging it open easily as she had hoped.

Rhosyn continued climbing as Ansel disappeared inside the house. Just as her fingertips reached the sill, a crash and a shout echoed from inside. Lightning shot up Rhosyn's spine and she flung herself over the ledge, tumbling into the bedroom.

Nate stood on the far side of the bed, knives drawn and a snarl on his face. Ansel had his wrist bow raised, pointed squarely at Nate. One bolt already quivered in the wall just over Nate's ear, the glass shade of a decorative sconce that had been there shattered on the ground.

"Stop!" Rhosyn shouted, throwing up her hands.

Nate froze, his gaze darting to her for a split second and then back to the threat before him. In one movement, Rhosyn stepped between them and ripped her hood back so Nate could see her face.

"It's me," she said. For half a second, everybody was still and Rhosyn stood frozen at the sight of the assassination again. Nate's eyes flickered gold in the lamplight, and her heart stuttered at the reminder of how truly dangerous he could be, even though she had never before been on the receiving end of his blade.

"We're here to ask for help." Rhosyn raised her hands to communicate that they came in peace, giving Nate a chance to feel her intentions.

Nate moved so fast Rhosyn couldn't react. His knives clattered to the floor and he crossed the room in two strides, before his arms came around her with enough force to knock the wind out of her. Still, he squeezed relentlessly, lifting her feet off the ground.

Rhosyn's arms wrapped around his shoulders, and for a moment, she was just a girl again, desperately holding onto one of the only people who had been able to make her feel safe in a city torn apart by hate.

She made a sound that was half chuckle half sob. "Nate, you're going to break my ribs if you keep on like this."

He put her on her feet and promptly punched her in the shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but still enough to mean business. "Don't ever scare me like that again."

Rhosyn rubbed her shoulder and grimaced. "I would rather not have done it the first time."

Nate looked over her shoulder to where Ansel stood just behind her, weapon lowered, watching the reunion.

"You're lucky your friend missed, or I might have hurt him before you stopped me," Nate grumbled as he gestured to the bolt in the wall.

"I didn't miss," Ansel retorted, pulling his hood back now as well. "It's called a warning shot."

The two eyed each other appraisingly, each puffing out their chests and squaring their shoulders. Rhosyn resisted scolding them for their posturing by reminding them that she had beat both of them in a fist fight at one point or another.

"Nate, this is Ansel Blakely," she gestured between them. "You can trust him."

"I take it you're the one the Royal Police have taken to calling the Hood." Nate folded his arms across his chest.

"I do have that dubious honor," Ansel admitted. He opened his mouth as if to say more when a swishing sound came from the doorway.

"Rhosyn!" Contessa crashed into the room, still managing to have her skirts drift around her elegantly as she threw herself at Rhosyn. She hugged her around the waist tightly but briefly before holding her at arm's length to inspect her.

A slight glassiness in her eyes and pallor in her complexion took Rhosyn off guard, as Contessa's polished exterior rarely showed a scratch. Especially now that Rhosyn didn't have the chance to knock her guard down by training her in self-defense.

"Sorry to stop by unannounced." Rhosyn smiled ruefully.

Contessa's lips pulled up at the corners slightly. Behind her, the rest of the tension in Nate's posture relaxed. If Contessa's Talent wasn't signaling any danger, then he would be convinced that Ansel wasn't planning any betrayal.

Contessa's eyes darted to Ansel.

He sketched a small bow. "Ansel Blakely. I do apologize for the light fixture."

With a frown, Contessa stared at the broken glass on the floor. "No apology necessary. Everything in this room is hideous. I'm just sorry I wasn't the one who got to smash it. But we'll be redecorating soon enough anyways."

Rhosyn caught Nate's eye over his wife's shoulder and snorted. The gaudy wallpaper of the rose room was a running joke, but no matter how many times it came up, they had never gotten around to changing the décor in Contessa's old bedroom.

"We've been saying that for years," Nate pointed out.

Contessa hummed noncommittally before turning back to Rhosyn and Ansel. "Come downstairs and I'll have Gregor make some tea. Although, I assume you're here for more than a polite visit."

Rhosyn's gaze flicked to Nate. "I have an explanation…and some information."

The four cups of tea on Nate's desk were empty by the time Rhosyn finished her tale. Nate's knives were unsheathed and spread across the desk, glimmering almost as lethal as his golden eyes in the lamplight. The metallic shink of a whetstone being drawn across a blade punctuated the heavy silence. Rhosyn wasn't even sure Nate realized he had begun sharpening his knives, just falling into the habit as Rhosyn informed him of Mr. Gower's treachery.

Even worse, though, was the complete absence of color in Contessa's already pale complexion. Her gray eyes were as cold as ice, reminding Rhosyn the woman could be even more intimidating than her husband in the right circumstances. The twisting of Contessa's hands in her lap, knuckles white against the blue fabric of her dress, gave away her distress, though.

Nate set his knife down and put one hand in Contessa's lap, interlacing his fingers with hers so she let go of the now wrinkled silk of her skirt.

"They'll try again," Nate broke the heavy silence. "Especially since he can use you as a scapegoat." He nodded at Rhosyn.

She nodded in agreement. "You need to keep the King safe at all costs."

"The sponsorships were supposed to help the Talented. Instead, Mr. Gower is using them to try to start the Inquiries all over again. To turn people against the Talented." Contessa's voice cut through the stillness of the night like a blade, so sharp Rhosyn nearly flinched.

Her heart squeezed at the anger in Contessa's words—how much it must hurt to have her life's work turned against her, when she had put her own father in jail to put a stop to the persecution of the Talented.

Before Rhosyn could offer any words of comfort, Nate squeezed his wife's hand. "We'll arrest Mr. Gower."

Contessa shook her head. "He'll be out of jail in no time without hard proof. You know that better than anybody." She fixed Nate with a pointed look and he ducked his head, acknowledging that she had married him in the first place to get a hold of hard evidence necessary to send a known gangster to jail.

"The only proof we have is the testimony of a person already wanted for the attempted assassination and documents that were stolen from the palace by a gangster. Even then, the sponsorship contracts are circumstantial at best," Contessa explained.

"We have to prove he was behind the attempt at the party to clear Rhosyn's name," Ansel chimed in.

Rhosyn twitched in surprise, as he had been silent through her whole story, letting her tell it uninterrupted. She glanced at him to find his gaze fixed on her.

"And what do you have to gain from all of this?" Nate asked, fixing Ansel with a deep stare, sharp enough to look into Ansel's soul. Knowing Nate, he probably was.

Ansel raised his chin. "I've spent my life trying to give the Talented a better life too, albeit in a different way than you. This is my fight as well."

Nate's eyes narrowed. "And clearing Rhosyn's name?"

Rhosyn cleared her throat and glared at Nate, clearly trying to intimate that now was not the time for such discussions. His eyes darted over to her, and she detected the slightest hint of amusement in them before they landed on Ansel once again.

She supposed this was his payback for the way she ruthlessly teased him about Contessa when they were first married.

"Rhosyn should have the chance for the life she wants too," Ansel said firmly.

Crimson climbed up Rhosyn's neck to her face, and she looked down at her hands. Somehow, she felt more exposed than if Ansel had admitted to their truly debauched activities on a trapeze a few days earlier. But this statement went farther than skin deep, flaying her open more thoroughly than something that would just result in incessant teasing from Nate and Contessa. Rhosyn had fallen for her kidnapper, and the feelings were reciprocated.

"Then we will bring to justice the people really responsible for the plot against our king." The voice was Contessa's, proud and firm. Rhosyn glanced up at her friend, finding some warmth returned to her steely gaze.

If anybody understood falling in love with somebody you didn't intend to, it was Contessa.

"What we need is to catch Mr. Gower and his Talented in the act, so there is no way he can wiggle out of the charges," Contessa mused, her brain whirring almost visibly as she turned her mind to planning.

"If we set up a prime opportunity for the King to be assassinated, we might be able to entrap Mr. Gower into trying again." Ansel nodded along.

Nate frowned. "I'm not sure it would make me a good bodyguard if we used the king as bait in a setup."

Contessa shook her head. "We won't use him as bait. The king needs to go into hiding. Get out of the line of fire until we know the threat on his life has passed. We need to come up with a way to sneak him out of London."

"I think we might have a way," Rhosyn interjected. She looked over at Ansel, and understanding dawned across his face.

If he could dress Talented up as acrobats and clowns and smuggle them out on his circus train, then he could certainly sneak out a king.

"Archer's Circus," he chimed in. "We've been offering Talented safe passage out of the city with our performers for years. Our train is scheduled to leave the day after tomorrow. We may just have picked up another act while we were in town."

Nate's unscarred brow raised in curiosity at the admission, but there was no time to get into the hidden history of Archer's Circus—not when Contessa's eyes were already narrowing in renewed calculations.

"Then the King will take the train to his country estate where he will stay until Mr. Gower is arrested. Who knows how long he will have to rule from there, so I'll have to accompany him," Contessa thought out loud.

"And I'll be going to guard him," Nate added.

"No." Contessa's voice was firm, causing her husband's gaze to snap to her. "You'll be needed here to make it seem like the King never left and apprehend anybody who participates in the next assassination attempt."

Nate scowled—an expression known to send grown men running away with their tails between their legs—but Contessa stared him down coolly.

"I won't leave you unprotected," Nate growled. "Not when you've been ill recently."

"I'm not ill." Contessa looked down at her lap.

"But—"

"You can tell I'm not lying," Contessa snapped.

Rhosyn looked at her friend more closely, seeing her pallor and the circles under her eyes in a new light. Guilt began to gnaw at her belly for not noticing how drawn she appeared and for laying these concerns at Contessa's feet when she already shouldered too many troubles. Maybe she and Ansel could solve this problem without bringing Contessa into it.

"I can tell you're not telling me everything though," Nate argued, standing and squaring on his wife, completely ignoring the others in the room. "You barely gave me any information on what the doctor said last week."

"I wanted to wait to tell you until you weren't so busy worrying about what happened with Rhosyn," Contessa said softly.

"Tell me what? If you need treatment, I want to know as soon as possible. We can go anywhere you need for the best—"

"We're having a baby."

The room froze as Contessa stared up through her lashes at her husband. Nobody breathed at all. The thuds of Nate's boots against the floor echoed loudly as he stumbled back a few steps, before sitting down heavily on the top of the desk.

"You're…pregnant?"

"We've been trying so long. I just wanted to be sure before I told you," Contessa's voice had softened to something full of hesitant joy.

Rhosyn looked over to Nate, his scowling face blooming into an expression softer than it had any right to be, with the fearsome scar bisecting his face. It was the way he looked at Contessa when they were first married, every time he didn't think anybody was looking—back when he didn't think there was any way she might love him.

Warmth bloomed in Rhosyn's chest—a delicate tendril of hope springing forth amid the darkness of recent events.

"I guess we do really have to redecorate the rose room," Nate mumbled, shell shocked. "We're going to need a nursery."

Contessa stood slowly and took a few steps forward, to stand between his knees. Nate's hands drifted to her waist and pulled her closer. He buried her face in her hair and breathed in shakily, paying no heed to the delicate mass of braids that must have taken hours to weave together.

"You're definitely not going anywhere without me," Nate declared into Contessa's hair.

At that, she stepped back, not far enough to force him to let go of her waist, but enough that he had to lift his head and meet her gaze.

"No. This is exactly why we have to do this." Contessa's tone brooked no argument. "I want our baby to know that we always do what must be done. They are likely going to be Talented, with the two of us as their parents. I do not want them born into a world where they have to fear their Talent, like we did. If we fail to catch the Gowers, that is exactly what might happen."

"I won't let you go alone," Nate said, his voice the closest to pleading it had ever been.

Rhosyn sprang to her feet. "She won't be alone."

In a few strides, she had crossed the room and slung her arm around Contessa's shoulder. The shorter woman smiled up at her fondly.

"You know I would walk over broken glass for both of you, and my future niece or nephew," Rhosyn added.

"You have also done much stupider things for much less important reasons," Nate pointed out, but his gaze softened.

"Even more proof that I won't hesitate to do what needs to be done."

"I'll be there too," Ansel volunteered, joining them all in standing, stepping up at Rhosyn's shoulder.

"And you think you have what it takes to protect my wife? And my sister?" Nate looked at Ansel appraisingly.

Before he answered, Ansel leaned forwards and picked up one of Nate's knives off the desk before him. He tossed it in his palm a few times as if testing its weight. Then, his wrist whipped forward faster than Rhosyn could blink.

A thud punctuated the air as the tip embedded itself into the wall above the shelf that served as a bar. Pinned to the knife was the cork of a bottle of whiskey, neatly removed by Ansel's throw.

Nate's eyebrows rose in admiration, a feat rarely achieved by anybody when it came to knife handling. "You certainly know your way around a blade."

"That's settled then," Contessa said, with finality in her tone. "I'll have plenty of protection."

Rhosyn clapped her hands and rubbed them together. "Let's go catch a king killer."