Page 62 of The Hood and his Thief

“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.