Chapter 2

Rhosyn grappled with the urge to twirl continuously just to watch her skirts swirl around her. Instead, she settled for a playful sway as she waited, just for the joy of feeling their fullness swish back and forth.

As much as Contessa sometimes grumbled about the impracticality of her wardrobe when trying to get something done, she still held herself elegantly, as if she were born to it. Rhosyn on the other hand, felt rather like she was wearing a costume every time she ventured into polite society, but she let herself enjoy the frivolous novelty.

"You look colorful," Contessa greeted as she walked down the stairs of her home to the front hall where Rhosyn waited.

Rhosyn held up her arms and twisted this way and that, so her friend might fully admire the vivid orchid of her dress. "My hair makes me bright enough anyway, there's no point in trying to blend in."

While Contessa's lady's maid, Julia, had tamed Rhosyn's coppery red hair admirably before scurrying upstairs to help her mistress, it still had an air of wildness about it that could not be smoothed. Julia, thankfully, had practiced doing Rhosyn's hair many times, when she was dreaming of a life as a lady's maid as a young Lion living in the Den. She knew it was better to work with Rhosyn's riotous ringlets, letting the stray curls frame her face instead of pinning them into oblivion and ending up like a rat's nest.

"I have to admit, I like the bright colors better when every available inch isn't covered in frills and bows. The dress suits you well," Contessa complimented as she reached Rhosyn.

She herself was in her customary gunmetal gray silk, and while Rhosyn would have felt silly in something with an air of such understated elegance, it suited Contessa perfectly. Instead of washing her out, the sedate color complimented her pale complexion and silvery hair, the exact opposite of Rhosyn's, as it easily smoothed into a silken twist. Her icy eyes matched the dress nearly perfectly. If Rhosyn hadn't spent several months years ago dumping Contessa on her ass and watching her reddened, sweaty face twist in frustration, she might even find her beauty cold.

Now, Rhosyn grinned wryly, and her friend smiled back.

A familiar stomping interrupted them as Nate marched into the hall. "Ready, ladies?"

"Watch who you're calling a lady," Rhosyn shot back, even as Nate behaved like a perfect gentleman and offered his elbow to his wife, who grasped it delicately with her gloved hand.

Nate shot Rhosyn a look as he donned his top hat, indicating he would ruffle her hair if it wasn't clear how much effort had gone into it, and the trio headed out to the carriage. The Woodrow's manservant, Gregor, already had it out front, waiting to take them to the palace for the night's festivities.

"What about the others?" Rhosyn asked as the carriage began trundling across the cobbled streets, slowly climbing towards the palace at the top of the hill.

"The Pearces are taking their own carriage, and Joseph sent a runner to tell me he would be making his own way to the palace tonight, since he was coming directly from headquarters," Contessa explained.

Rhosyn nodded. Even though the Lions were not what they once were, back when the name and membership in the gang alone was enough to grant you a modicum of protection in the lower city, they existed in a different capacity now. The Woodrows, along with Kristoff, Gregor, and Rhosyn, stayed true to the purpose of helping the Talented in London, albeit in somewhat less illicit capacities. The Pearces, Benedict and Scarlett, had joined their band a few years ago after helping dismantle the underground Talented fighting rings. As much as Chief Thorne—Joseph—was part of their group too, he was unlikely to admit it out loud.

"Well, thank you for bringing me along," Rhosyn said earnestly. "I know this is a bigger imposition than bringing me to the odd party and implying that I'm one of Nate's distant relatives."

"It's not an imposition if you're here on business," Nate pointed out. "Contessa and King Byron want to put a good face on both sponsorships for the Talented and the Royal Police's continued loyalty to the Crown. It's why, on nights like tonight, he has his other security relieve me of my bodyguarding duties, so I can be paraded around like a rehabilitation success story."

Nate's tone held wry amusement, as if the thought of the former Beast being an exemplar of anything for the crown was an amusing joke, but he took it in stride.

When they arrived at the palace, Rhosyn had to focus to keep her mouth from hanging open as she took in the sights. Servants led them into the garden where the soiree was to be held, decorated with enough lanterns to send the Woodrow's sizable house up in flames. It gave the whole thing a dreamlike quality, enhancing the elegance of the socialites already milling about in pools and eddies of luxurious fabrics. The moment they entered the crowd, Contessa and Nate were whisked away into the conniving grasps of those who wished to gain an advantage by ingratiating themselves with the King's bodyguard and trusted advisor.

In a matter of moments, Rhosyn found herself alone at the fringes of the party, spending most of her effort on appearing like she belonged, and most likely only drawing attention to her lack of proper poise in the process.

Rhosyn tugged at her dress, suddenly conscious of the way it hung on her and the tightness where it clung to her waist and dipped low at the neck. As much as she loved it, she almost regretted her bold color choice as she found herself dressed in the most eye-catching shade in the vicinity. She attempted to brush off the thought, squaring her shoulders and not thinking about the way it caused her bodice to pull dangerously low. It always amused Rhosyn that Contessa continued to wear an expression like she was doing something forbidden every time she donned pants when she showed this much of her décolleté on a daily basis.

A playful elbow in her side distracted Rhosyn from her worries about her presence among such elegant company. Rhosyn looked down to see Scarlett Pearce at her side. At this point, it didn't surprise her that the woman could sneak up on her, as Rhosyn was convinced Scarlett was half a shadow herself.

Scarlett looked pointedly at Rhosyn's hands, which were fisted in the fabric of her skirt, sure to leave wrinkles. She uncurled her fingers with effort, intentionally pressing them flat on her lower bodice so they wouldn't misbehave.

"I still feel a little out of place at functions like this, as much as I work with the King these days," Scarlett confided quietly, clearly having sensed Rhosyn's moment of discomfort.

"At least you have a suitable dance partner to make sure you don't end up standing in a corner completely out of place," Rhosyn pointed out, just as the man in question, Scarlett's husband Benedict, stepped up behind them.

"And what a wonderful dancer he is," Benedict joined into the conversation seamlessly. Scarlett smiled up at him fondly, and he smoothed her chin length hair back, as if he would tuck it behind her ear if it weren't on the side where the side of Scarlett's head bore nothing but scar tissue after a run in with a stray bullet.

"If a dance partner is what you need, I might just be able to help," an unfamiliar voice joined the conversation.

Rhosyn turned to find an unknown man, although she didn't know how her eyes hadn't jumped to him the moment she entered the party. After all, how could one consider looking away from someone so ostentatiously dressed, yet disarmingly handsome?

A jade-green waistcoat, nipped in tightly around his waist, accentuated his athletic figure as much as the matching color of his mischievous eyes. A metallic gold vest and cravat, along with canary-yellow pants should have clashed, but the casual pose and crooked smile he wore transformed the look from obnoxious to endearingly eccentric.

Rhosyn blinked. The whole effect was remarkably charming, but it struck her that was exactly what the man was aiming for—like he had modeled himself after a character in one of Contessa's books and not a real person.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," the man prompted, drawing Rhosyn from what she realized had been an embarrassingly long perusal.

"Allow me," Benedict chimed in. "Mr. Ansel Blakely, this is Ms. Rhosyn Walsh. Rhosyn, I had the pleasure of making Mr. Blakely's acquaintance on my unsuccessful quest to fetch my wife some lemonade."

Mr. Blakely inclined his head politely, although his gaze remained trained on Rhosyn's face. The lantern-light flickered over his hair with the movement, revealing a single streak of silver running through his otherwise dark hair near his temple, although he couldn't be much older than her.

Rhosyn gave a small bow in return, before realizing a curtsy would be more appropriate for the occasion and her dress. She smiled ruefully at her new acquaintance and tried not to think about how bending over probably afforded him a view straight down her bodice. To his credit, his polished smile did not slip an inch.

"Well then, Ms. Walsh, I'd be happy to save you from…how did you put it? Ah—standing in the corner completely out of place." Mr. Blakely offered his hand.

Rhosyn took it without hesitation, although she looked over her shoulder as her new partner led her onto the dance floor. Benedict waved her on encouragingly, while Scarlett bit her lips in contained amusement.

Mr. Blakely swept her into his arms as the musicians started a new song, and Rhosyn's hands automatically rose to the appropriate position at his shoulders, thanks to the begrudging afternoons of dance lessons with Contessa on the days when Rhosyn could see that knife fighting practice would frustrate her more than it would help. While Contessa argued that she was not coordinated enough on the dance floor to be a good teacher, those afternoons had led to a surprising amount of giggling as they both attempted to follow, neither familiar with leading. Rhosyn picked up dancing faster than Contessa had picked up fighting, finding that they weren't really that different.

However, afternoons stumbling around the parlor with her friend had not prepared her fully for the intricacies of dancing as a social pursuit. Rhosyn had no idea if she should talk or smile or simply school her expression into one of pleasant vacancy. She didn't have nearly the skill for vapid beauty as those raised in high society, taught to keep their opinions hidden behind bland smiles.

As Mr. Blakely's fingers curled around her waist and the heat of his touch seeped through the delicate material of her gown, Rhosyn decided conversation was a must—something to distract from the unfamiliar fluttering beneath her sternum.

"I have to thank you for saving me from my evening of standing in the corner," she ventured. "My height tends to scare away many men."

"Well, that's foolish. A skilled partner can handle any amount of woman." Mr. Blakely demonstrated the truth of his statement by guiding Rhosyn into a slight dip, despite the top of his head being level with Rhosyn's eyeline.

His hand spread across her lower back as he did so, pressing her to him.

Rhosyn swallowed to combat the sudden dryness in her mouth. "Even if the woman is a woefully inexperienced dancer herself? I must admit, I don't come to these parties often."

"And what could possibly be keeping a lovely lady like yourself at home when there is revelry to be had?" Mr. Blakely asked.

"I'm not really a lady," Rhosyn admitted. "I'm an officer for the Royal Police, but I'm fortunate in my friends."

Something sparked in Mr. Blakely's eyes. It wasn't the disapproval that Rhosyn had come to expect from the admission, but she couldn't place the expression.

"I'm glad you chose to come out tonight, then, because I hear the entertainment is supposed to be incredible." Mr. Blakely's smile was mischievous as he nodded to a stage erected at the far end of the garden. Currently, scarlet drapes hid it from view.

"What is the entertainment?"

Just as Rhosyn asked, the song ended. Mr. Blakely stepped back. "You'll have to wait and see."

The sparkle in his eye as he bowed caught Rhosyn's attention, as the glimmer seemed to come from behind the poreless mask of proper manners. She wondered what else he might keep behind the glass.

Before Rhosyn could think of an argument to persuade him to tell her about the expected show, for she was not known for her patience in waiting for surprises, Mr. Blakely had turned away and melted into the crowd of dispersing dancers. Rhosyn's gaze tracked his receding back, but he was swallowed by the milling partygoers despite the vibrancy of his attire.

Rhosyn blew one of the curls that had fallen into her face aside with a disappointed huff, turning toward the edge of the dance floor where she was sure to wait for the rest of the evening. The three men she knew in attendance who were taller than her were unlikely to take to the floor with her. Benedict liked to dance, but threw propriety to the wind and insisted on stepping out with Scarlett for every single song at most balls. Nate refused to dance on principle and would spend the entire evening hovering over Contessa's shoulder as she constantly elbowed him to stop glaring.

Chief Thorne wouldn't be seen dancing with one of his own officers, determined to keep his professional reputation as spotless as could be. However, Rhosyn had noted with interest that he had taken Benedict's sister, Lottie, for several turns at the last few parties they attended. She hoped he would do so again tonight, as he always seemed a little less exhausted after a dance with the statuesque blonde.

Rhosyn edged her way to the table of lemonade, determined to at least enjoy some refreshments when Joseph intercepted her, apparently not dancing yet, taking her by the elbow.

"I have somebody for you to meet," he said, guiding her away from the lemonade. Rhosyn looked longingly after it as she followed, already sweating in the layers of her dress and her mouth watering at the thought of the cold liquid. Still, she dutifully followed her Chief.

"Who would you have me charm with my less-than-ideal manners?" Rhosyn asked.

"Mr. Gower. He's one of the biggest supporters of the Talented in society at the moment. He's already sponsored about a dozen of them, including Paul and Olivia."

Rhosyn's eyebrows rose in interest. After Scarlett had brought to the crown's attention the difficulties of Talented criminals reintegrating into society, Contessa had the inspired idea to encourage noble households to sponsor them. The socialites would pay the expenses of their pardon with the crown and give them a position in their household where their Talents might be put to use doing honest work.

Very few socialites had taken the bait in the first few years, but after Contessa mentioned that the Woodrow's famously beautiful rose bushes were the result of their gardener, Gregor's Talent, a few wealthy citizens had chanced to sponsor one or two Talented. After all, there was certainly no harm in hiring a coachman who was so uncannily good with the horses it was as if he could talk to them, or a seamstress who could tailor a dress perfectly without even looking at a measuring tape.

It was an imperfect system, leaving out those with more intimidating Talents, like Scarlett, but it was a start. One household sponsoring a dozen Talented was unheard of, though, and a costly proposition.

Joseph stopped in front of a large man with the most impressive mustache Rhosyn had ever laid eyes on. Bowing beside her, Joseph surreptitiously stepped on Rhosyn's toes, startling her into a less-than graceful curtsy of her own. Still, it was with great effort that Rhosyn ripped her eyes away from the silver facial hair, polished and shaped so long that it nearly stuck out past the man's ears.

"Mr. Gower, allow me to introduce Officer Rhosyn Walsh of the Royal Police," Joseph introduced as they both stood up straight once more. "As one of our most experienced officers in the lower city, she sees the benefits of your generosity firsthand."

Rhosyn smiled politely as Mr. Gower's eye swept up and down her form. The smug superiority of his gaze rubbed icily against her skin, and Rhosyn had the sudden urge to point out that it would take more than offering better lives to twelve Talented to undo the harms of the Inquiries to the lower city. She swallowed down the barb, surprised at the sudden ferocity of the thought, and smiled wider instead. After all, Mr. Gower was setting an example, which they hoped more socialites at this ball would follow.

"I hear you've sponsored young Paul and Olivia," Rhosyn said. "They're wonderful children. I doubt you'll regret it."

"You know them well?" Mr. Gower's eyes narrowed and Rhosyn swallowed, sensing it was unwise to admit that they had lived under her care as young Lions at the Den. It was there that Paul's Talent for lulling people into deep sleep with his voice, and Olivia's for lighting fires with a clap of her hands, sprung to life—back when an obvious Talent like that could easily lead to a short drop from the end of a noose.

"I met them when they were quite young," Rhosyn hedged. "I'm glad to hear they are doing well."

Mr. Gower nodded. "Having so many Talented working in one household can be challenging, but I manage to keep them in line. I'm sure my newest additions' abilities will be a valuable asset."

Rhosyn bit her lip to keep from frowning, hiding the expression by looking down and smoothing her skirts—a gesture she had learned from Contessa. She couldn't let the way the man's words rankled show. For him, the Talented sponsorships were an investment—one that the lower city sorely needed.

"I do hope they turn out to be trustworthy," Mr. Gower barreled on, seemingly oblivious to Rhosyn biting the inside of her cheek. "I'm afraid I don't know who to trust in my own household these days."

Joseph made a face that spoke to holding back a long-suffering sigh. "I assure you, Mr. Gower, the Royal Police are doing all we can to apprehend the thief of your wife's jewels and return them to you. It is unlikely to be a member of your staff, considering there have been a rash of these thefts across the upper city."

"You better be right, Chief Thorne." Mr. Gower's mustache bristled. "I'm supporting the Royal Police's efforts by sponsoring these Talented, and it disappoints me to hear that you are still struggling to do your job."

Joseph reddened, and not for the first time, Rhosyn offered silent thanks for being a patrolling officer and not the Chief. After all, it wouldn't be very fitting for the figurehead of the Royal Police to punch an innocent citizen in the gut for being an arrogant prick.

Thankfully, Rhosyn was distracted from the itching in her fists and the strange urge to unearth her trusty brass knuckles by a ripple of excited chattering through the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" A familiar voice boomed through the garden from the direction of the stage. Rhosyn turned to find a green and gold clad figure standing on the edge of the stage, just in front of the crimson drapes.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Blakely, and it is my absolute privilege to have been invited here alongside my little troupe by His Royal Highness, King Byron, for your entertainment."

A tittering ran through the crowd at the promise in Mr. Blakely's voice, and Rhosyn found herself drifting forward, away from her interrupted conversation, to get a better view of the stage. No wonder her dance partner had been so complimentary of the night's festivities. He had supplied them.

"Tonight, I have the pleasure of introducing the acrobats from Archer's Traveling Circus. Please give a warm welcome to the Merry Men!" With an exaggerated flourish, Mr. Blakely stepped aside as the curtain split in the middle to reveal the scene on the stage.

A gasp escaped Rhosyn at the sight of platforms elevated at a dizzying height above the stage, connected by a series of tightropes and swinging trapeze bars. Six men perched on the elevated platforms, and one of them raised a hand in a confident wave.

Then, he jumped.

Rhosyn's heart hammered in borrowed fear, but he easily caught one of the trapezes, using his momentum to swing, then letting go and performing an elegant flip before grabbing onto the next one.

One by one, each of the men jumped into the fray, weaving between each other in a dizzying choreography of gravity-defying daring. One man levered himself until he was hanging from the swaying bar by his knees and reached downwards so another performer could grab his hands as he flew through the air.

A third stepped onto the tightrope as Rhosyn looked on in awe. Before she could reason that perhaps she, too, might be able to walk on a rope—how different could it be from running across a peaked rooftop?—the acrobat dashed the thought by kicking up into a perfect handstand, still balanced on the rope, but now upside down.

At that point, Rhosyn gave up on making sense of how such a performance was possible and just enjoyed the spectacle. The acrobats flipped and flew, streaks of green swooping across the stage and launching themselves into inconceivable flips. Every time they plummeted towards the earth, Rhosyn's breath caught, sure that this time they would fall, but they caught the next bar in the nick of time.

Rhosyn clapped her hands in delight as they soared higher and higher. One of the performers launched himself off a swinging rope, executing a neat flip before sticking the landing on the elevated platform where he had started. As he did, the vision of the hooded man, whom Fletcher and Davies had dubbed "The Hood", swinging from the clothesline flashed through her mind.

She narrowed her eyes at the performers, but none of them were the right build. Most were long and lithe, slim legs and wiry muscles affording them the mobility to twist quickly in midair. None had the broad shoulders and powerful thighs she remembered all too distinctly on the criminal. Not to mention they were missing…something—the odd hovering in midair before gravity took hold. She shook her head, chiding herself for dramatizing the Hood's skills just because he had managed to slip away.

As the performers landed on their platforms and took a bow, Rhosyn was so busy joining in with the thunderous applause that she almost missed a sudden flurry of movement from the side of the garden. Her hands froze mid clap as her eyes zeroed in on a member of the King's guard pushing through the crowd to where Contessa and Nate mingled. No sooner had he leaned in to whisper something in Nate's ear than the trio began all but sprinting towards the palace.

Rhosyn turned away from the stage and pushed through the crowd, shoulder bumping into Mr. Gower's and making him splash brandy onto his expensive looking waistcoat. He sputtered in indignation, but Rhosyn paid him no mind, hurrying to intercept her friends. If there was trouble afoot, then that's where Rhosyn belonged.

She reached them as they entered the palace, turning to head into the bowels where the walls were adorned with less decoration and the corridors seemed slightly narrower. Rhosyn quickly overtook Contessa, who made slower progress with her shorter legs, to jog alongside Nate.

Before she could ask what had happened, Nate and the other King's guard turned abruptly off the main hall. They stopped suddenly in a doorway, faced with the carnage of what appeared to be an office. Papers lay strewn everywhere, drawers pulled from the desk and cast on the floor, cabinets on the walls left hanging open as if somebody dug through them unceremoniously and emptied their contents on the ground.

A sharp gasp behind Rhosyn signaled Contessa's arrival.

"My office!"

Contessa pushed between the trio standing motionless in the entry, but Nate's hand shot out to grab her wrist before Contessa could make it to the desk. She looked up at him and furrowed her brow at her husband, but she shook her head gently.

"We're not in any danger," she assured.

At this, Nate nodded and let go of her wrist. Her skirts puddled around her as she crouched to the ground to look at the papers littering the floor, gathering them up into a stack.

Rhosyn stepped further into the room, eyes darting around to carefully catalogue anything that might be evidence of how somebody had gotten into the office of the King's advisor, and who it might have been. However, she breathed easier at Contessa's assurance that they weren't in danger, and if Nate agreed with her, then it must be true.

After all, Contessa's Talent for sensing peril had only become more precise over the years, and with Nate's Talent being so attuned to Contessa's feelings, he would know if his wife's mental alarm bells were ringing in the slightest.

As Contessa continued to shuffle through papers, Nate grumbled orders to Rhosyn and the King's guard to watch over her before hurrying out the door. While he technically wasn't on duty bodyguarding the King tonight, the office might not be the only target if somebody broke into the palace.

Rhosyn nodded, reaching into the front of her dress to produce a short, but still quite sharp, knife. The King's Guard frowned at it, clearly concerned that a guest had been able to bring such a weapon to a celebration when His Royal Highness was in attendance. Rhosyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew as well as anybody that one didn't need a weapon if they were intent on doing some serious damage.

"It's fine, I'm an officer of the Royal Police," Rhosyn offered by way of explanation instead, which seemed to placate the guard. "Contessa, keep track of anything you think might be missing."

Contessa nodded, eyes already narrowed in on each report she rifled through, her steel trap of a mind likely cataloging each and every one. Stepping around the desk, Rhosyn headed toward the window on the far wall to inspect it for any sign of forced entry. Before she could reach it, she paused with a frown. While all the cabinets lining the walls of the office hung open, contents in some degree of disarray, the one in the far corner remained tightly closed, seemingly untouched. Rhosyn edged closer to it, seeing that no lock kept the handles closed.

She looked back at Contessa as she approached it, but the woman remained on the ground, seemingly unperturbed by any mental signs of danger. The King's Guard had stationed himself in the doorway.

Tightening her grip on her knife, Rhosyn reached for the handle of the closed cabinet, curious why this one had escaped the intruder's ire.

The door nearly smacked Rhosyn in the face as it smashed open, a slight figure springing forth from the enclosed space. In her effort to avoid having her nose broken by the swinging wood panel, Rhosyn jumped aside, giving the hidden occupant just enough room to slip past her.

With a crash, the thief leaped through the window, shards of glass exploding outward as they avoided the guard in the doorway. Shouting erupted behind Rhosyn, but she had already leaped into pursuit. She threw her arms up to protect her face from any errant glass as she followed her quarry out the window.

A tearing sound and a tug at her waist told Rhosyn her skirts had caught at the jagged edges clinging to the window frame, but she paid them no mind as she pounded through the courtyard. The shadowed figure had gained the slightest lead in Rhosyn's moment of frozen surprise. Now, they turned out toward the gardens and the surrounding buildings.

Rhosyn's long strides ate up the ground between them, but her legs tangled up in her now tattered skirts. With a huff of annoyance, she hoisted them out of her way as much as she could without slowing her pace.

In the moment it took her to slow, the thief turned abruptly, crashing through the doors to one of the outbuildings. Rhosyn hurtled through after them and nearly pulled up short at the cacophony of color that greeted her within.

"Stop them!" Rhosyn shouted into the crowded room, the words nearly swallowed by the hubbub.

The thief was already bobbing and weaving between brightly dressed figures in all manner of curious ensembles. Rhosyn tried to follow, but found herself slowed considerably by trunks and boxes, as well as the crowded nature of the room. She frowned at the people around her as glimpses of her quarry in the distance became less frequent.

Finally, breaking free of the crowd, she dashed out the back exit the thief must have taken, only to barrel headfirst into a familiar figure.

"Rhosyn," Chief Thorne exclaimed as he righted himself.

"Did you see where they went?" Rhosyn panted without preamble.

He frowned at her. "Nobody came out this door. I was just coming in to sweep the outbuildings after Nate told me what happened."

Rhosyn spun on her heel, staring back into the crowded room and blinking in confusion at the sight that greeted her. Now that she wasn't running, she recognized the strange outfits as costumes of performers. A nearby woman in a short, frilled skirt held the type of clubs used for juggling while a man wore the outfit she remembered on the acrobats, what seemed like hours ago.

This was where the circus was preparing for their performances.

"I was chasing the thief. They disappeared when I followed them in here," Rhosyn explained.

"Then we better start searching," Joseph ordered grimly.

Together, they swept through the open space, Rhosyn keeping a keen eye out for anybody in plain, dark clothing. To her dismay, everywhere she looked was a performer dressed more flamboyantly than the last. They all moved aside easily, letting her search, even opening the larger trunks for her, in case the burglar had attempted to hide again.

A few King's Guards joined them after several minutes, but by then Rhosyn knew the trail was lost. The thief must have doubled back and slipped out the front entrance when she ran into Joseph. She asked the circus performers if they had seen where they went, but they all shook their heads earnestly, citing that it had all happened so fast.

The guards moved on to continue sweeping the area, but the thief would likely be long gone by now. Rhosyn trudged back to Contessa's office, this time with Joseph, failure weighing heavy on her heart.

"I could have caught them if not for this damn dress," she grumbled, only for it to turn into a grimace as she looked down at the now ruined garment. With the way the skirts were torn, she was showing a near indecent amount of ankle and calf, but Joseph had the civility not to comment on that.

"You weren't expecting to be in a chase tonight," Joseph offered, his tone clearly attempting to be reassuring, but coming out more tired than anything.

Rhosyn's upper lip curled in a snarl of frustration. This was the second criminal in as many days she had failed to apprehend, this one caught sneaking around the palace, no less. Some credit to the Royal Police she was.

They entered Contessa's office to find her deep in muttered conversation with Nate. They both looked up hopefully when Rhosyn and Joseph entered, only to frown at their clear expressions of disappointment.

"Do you know what they took?" Joseph asked.

"From what I can tell, there is just one stack of papers missing," Contessa admitted with a grim look. "I can't seem to find any of my records on the sponsored Talented."

A muscle in Joseph's jaw ticked and he scrubbed a hand over his face. "Why would somebody want those?"

"I don't know, but I doubt it will be good," Nate grumbled.

"Will the King's Guard need help investigating?" Rhosyn asked. "I could—"

"You already have a case that I need you to focus on," Joseph reminded her sharply but not unkindly. "You can just give me your description of the thief and then rejoin the festivities."

Rhosyn sighed, looking down at the wrinkled tatters of her dress. She wasn't likely to get the good kind of attention dressed like this, and certainly wouldn't be putting forth a good face for the Royal Police.

It was too bad, really. She would have enjoyed seeing the rest of the Circus's performance. She wouldn't have minded another dance with Mr. Blakely either.