The dawn that followed was one of the coldest of the season. Every servant rushed in their private dwellings to escape the growing chills that roamed free inside the corridors.

Pharah sat solitary on a velvet chair, quill in hand as her personal attendant stood still beside the double oak doors. Rosalynde hadn't said a word after Grey left last night, a messenger had come from him, he'd left in quite a hurry.

The princess had started her work before dawn, and Rosalynde couldn't had been more grateful.

"Do you have any news on my bastard sibling?"

Rosalynde took her place beside her – her nails scraping the barrel of her gun.

"I have a lot of matters at hand. Your concerns, albeit on top of my list of personal preferences, are one of many." Between that, Verity, the reappearance of Vivianne and the revelations behind her true father, she didn't know what to think nor where to turn to.

"I don't want them dead. Even if it must be hard to believe it." Rosalynde knew she was saying the truth. She remembered when they'd first met how close she'd been with her twin – how Lord Regulus encouraged them to play with her.

But then Jeremias Bellcarver had been assigned as Pheron's instructor, and whatever bond they had formed had been severed with vile and serpentine words. Pharah had spent countless nights crying herself to sleep over those lost ties, with Rosalynde silently watching over her.

"I know."

"No, you don't. But I appreciate the sentiment."

"Do you?"

"Do I appreciate you trying to sound more human than usual? Oh, absolutely."

The hours passed slow, the only sound being the quill ruining the pristine paper announcing the imminent speech engagement between her person and the Egor's son.

Only after the first dinner was served did they start conversing again.

"I have a dinner with her majesty tonight. You'll be able to leave the palace grounds for a at least four hours, but you must be back before midnight. You know how strict my mother when time is involved."

"I do appreciate your trust."

Pharah stopped doing whatever she was doing to properly look at her. Narrowing her gaze before she threw a silver threated embroidered cushion at her. Rosalynde took the hit fair and square.

"Trust? Is that the only thing you think moves me this much to care about you?"

"Don't pressure her this much. She'll burst into flames before she'll even start formulating such sweet and endearing words." Katherine curtseyed before throwing herself against the soft coach.

"You came back from the rehearsal?" Katherine still had her tipless gloves and extra harp strings attached to her belt.

"Don't get me wrong. Jameson is an amazing director, but he doesn't realise that if you summon people before dawn, without giving them a chance to eat, drink or a simple break it quite obvious that someone will drop from exhaustion before he starts a new act." She suffocated a yawn, stretching her legs on the coach.

"Take those filthy things off the coach before I severe them and hang them in Reslow Plaza," muttered Rosalynde, gagging at the sight.

"For someone that deals with death as much as you do it baffles to see you hate on filthy things. Especially after you have taken more than one under your wing."

"That's because you don't see things in the way that I do. Where I see a chance of possible gain you only see failure."

"Tell that next time you decide to take in a stray that nearly had you killed do tell me in advance. Cleia Spinster was a problem since the day she found herself in front of the imperial carriage. And yet you continue to take her side. That, I will never understand."

"I see no wrong. You not understanding doesn't change things to me."

"You really don't realise the danger she could be to us if–"

"Katherine. I have to pass five full hours with my mother and my future fiancée, and I need God to help me survive the night. Now, as much as I do enjoy your company and you bringing out one of the most human sight I've ever seen of this problematic idiot here –" She gestured at Rosalynde, who wild-eyed threw her hands up in resignation. "If you aren't able to keep the ambient relaxing, then just shut up."

Katherine eyed Rosalynde, who clicked her tongue in disgust, shaking her head.

A valet silently entered the room, bowing as Rosalynde quickly send him on his way. She went rigid as he told her that the massage in his possession wasn't destined to her highness, but to Lady Steel herself.

She dismissed herself, tugging her gloves down as she thought of the best approach to use. The name that had summoned her – she'd heard it once. Many months ago, on the day they'd buried Brek, and she'd killed Ferdis for his persistency. She'd liked Ferdis – he'd been kind to her on more than one occasion, but that had been it.

Now, as she stood before the door that divided her and her drawing room, she wondered if everything that had happened up until now had been the work of God, and not her own.

That made her blood boil beneath her skin, bringing her alive and full of rage.

Since she'd first found out about the truth regarding her parents – her father in particular, her nights had been plagued with episodes of how her life could have been had her parents been with her, nurturing her as any decent family would have done.

But the past can't be changed. She tugged her gloves down, harder.

"Brother Keeles, Bishop Ferdis youngest acolyte." The young boy who'd celebrated Brek Haywire's funeral now stood before her, robes touching the floor while his hands fumbled with the tight strings of his belt.

"We haven't officially met. But I saw from afar when you met Bishop Ferdis," he stumbled with his words. "May the Gods have him in the high glory."

"Yes, yes, now. Why have you come here? So far from your refuge," she remembered the words she'd said before pushing the bishop down the stairs.

"This, madame." He took out from under his robes a small leather-bound journal.

"What a pretty design," was all she said.

He shook his head, courage simmering under his eyes as he encouraged her to take it. She stalked towards him, snatching the booklet from under his heavy robes.

She opened a random page.

I fear that it may be too late to change her mind. No matter how many times I've told her this was not going to end well for her. They're all doomed. Now that she's betrayed them all there is nothing to be done. She sold them out all, one by one, name by name, it appears that only two of them have been spared for now. Gabriel has been killed; Seraphina has escaped to the countryside to escape Veritas aided by her husband's support, Roysten's body was found hanging in his family home, his daughter the soul which found him first. Everything is going exactly as she wanted things to go. Those ideals once so noble, thrown out of the wisdom for a chance of a higher power.

Veritas condemned them all.

Rosalynde shut the book, and glanced at the acolyte before opening another page.

They've been meeting more than usual; the pamphlet was successful. In the eyes of the Gods, I may be nothing more than a miscreant, having them meet under the Cathedral. Contaminating the underground ruins. But I believe that they may be the key into changing things. They just need to move forward.

I've heard that Reg is getting married soon, and with some noble lady of the Detrian Republic, a niece of the former Egor, hopefully I'll be able to celebrate their wedding. Her name is Seraphina. I do wonder if she knows what her future husband is doing behind her back. One word and we're all going to be hanged.

She burst out of the room, clutching the journal in her hands as she found a quiet nook, ghost hands guiding her against her will. But she knew she needed to read more.

She did it again, another death, another funeral held. I've been told to not attend, but no crown can give me order in the house of Gods. She'll attend – she always does, she never gets discovered, but I know it. She is so similar to her father, its unbecoming as she never officially met him. But, each time we meet, I can't help to think she has her mother's eyes.

I want to tell her everything, to have her know that she was never unwanted, I would like her to know that I was the one that baptised her right after her birth. That it was Seraphina that chose her name.

But it's still not time, not as that woman is still watching Reg, I do hope that the high Gods shall forgive me, and give me a chance to explain all secrets kept before I meet my end.

I shall continue after the funeral ends.

Rosalynde shut the book for good this time, ruining the edges, nails penetrating the withering leather. Her eyes roamed around the room, taking in every little detail she could spot to keep her mind from wondering away, from going insane.

When she went back, Pharah had gone already, a sunset over the rocky mountains, the acolyte too had been escorted back to his quarters. But Katherine was still there, waiting for her friend to come back.

Rosalynde quickly took her mantle, journal still in hand as she beckoned her comrade to silently follow her. They didn't say a word as they took off to Daunting Cathedral.

꧁꧂

It felt just like old times, when Verity was still a nothing more than a whisper, when Rosalynde could go to sleep without a death sentence pending over the woman she served. Katherine had scouted the perimeter of the church before they'd entered by picking a window of the sacristy. Their footsteps silent and quick as they passed the night guard the columns aiding them in the darkness.

They had no idea where to start searching, while in the carriage she'd taken the diary out, passing it to Katherine, who silently had read a few pages, eyes periodically glancing up at Rosalynde before turning back to check the content.

"There has to be an entrance close to the presbytery. How would have Ferdis easily given them access without getting seen otherwise?" Katherine whispered as they explored the area close to the altar.

"You think it was a place where he could easily come and check them himself?" Rosalynde asked.

"Think about it. If Ferdis knew what the former Verity was up too, then he must have selected a place where they could easily escape without getting caught, a place where he could easily warn them from any time."

The looked at each other at the same time.

"Are you thinking..."

"Where does the bishop usually stay when he celebrates masses, or where he can look after his refuge?"

Twisting their heads towards the altar, they barely had time to drop to their knees as the guard came back, blazing torch in his hand. They waited for him to turn his back on them, before crawling towards the carved marble, breaths sucked in.

"Well, isn't this fun?" Rosalynde murmured.

"Fun as buying a one-way ticket to our next lives. Maybe I would be pardoned, but you? Oh, hell no you'd go straight to hell. I couldn't even come and visit you."

Rosalynde jabbed her side, telling her to keep her volume down as they started checking.

The guard was coming back when Katherine found an indentation right under the high altar, hidden by the antependium. She pushed it, and yelled as a small passaged appeared right under her.

Rosalynde swore as hurried footsteps were heard. Their anonymity was no more.

She sprang into action, feet gliding against the tiles. The guard avoided her right before her feet struck his side, missing him for inches. She tumbled to the ground, rolling down the steps as she scooted out of the way as she saw a flash of red drove down onto her.

Ashes went flying as the torch came crashing against the tiles, her face lighting up under the glowing flames.

The guard grunted, and went to strike again. Rosalynde ducked, shielding her body with a bench. Scrambling away she turned around in search of something to use. She'd left her gun to Pharah, and was currently disarmed.

She hid behind a column, checking the ground for any signs of the guard's shadow coming from the fire. Her breath felt messy, her hands sweaty under her gloves, she couldn't keep a single thought on her without shuddering.

A sound came from afar, the sound on a door being moved, but she didn't dwindle on it more than necessary. The man was here, the fire on the other side of the column.

Waiting until it was necessary, she crouched down, one knee on her floor ramming her elbow against his body. It didn't do a thing; he barely moved this time as he grabbed her by behind.

She felt his hands on her neck, squeezing the life out of her. Black spots started clouding her vision as her attempts into freeing herself became weaker. The numbness spread as her eyes settled on the frescos painted the roof. The faint, desperate, cries of Katherine too became nothing but a whisper as she stopped struggling at last.

The last thing she heard was a shot resounding throughout the dark.

Then, darkness itself descended on her death bed.