The Roost, it turned out, was Cyrus's kind of establishment. The building itself was rather unremarkable from the outside, consisting in one of those roofed, columned front verandas that seemed to be everywhere in Val Royeax, with a door much further back leading into the building proper. There were a few people around outside at this hour, approaching evening as it was, a rather interesting mix of native Orlesians of several social classes, by their clothes, plus no few foreign visitors, a small collection of dwarves, and the occasional elf, though those mostly seemed to be members of staff.
Though the guests were not always masked, the staff were, the masks adhering to an avian motif universally, from the look of it, though in styles with a great deal of variation, otherwise, from one fellow's etched red leather domino to what seemed to be almost black glass on the woman playing harp on the small stage platform set against one side of the veranda.
The inside was decorated to suit what Cyrus imagined was the Orlesian taste, predominantly in gold, black, and darker jewel-toned colors, though it wasn't half as gaudy as even the exteriors of some of the other buildings they'd walked by in this district, which he considered fortunate. There was a light scent on the air, something vaguely floral. Perhaps the silk draperies themselves were treated with it. Somewhat heavier was the smell of exotic flavored tobaccos; those he could see were available at some of the low tables. Patrons and staff mingled freely, with no sharp divides that he could see between groups of any sort of composition that was visually distinguishable. He found he wasn't even entirely sure whether the building was a brothel of some kind or merely a particularly-relaxed tavern, of sorts. There was music playing in here as well, several instruments together, and a woman's mellow voice.
They were met upon entry by a slender man with what seemed to be a dark grey pearlescent mask, asymmetric and styled so that the nose resembled a hooked beak. "Welcome to The Roost." His tone was pleasant, and he showed no particular surprise at the makeup of the quartet of people he was faced with. "How may I be of service?"
“We are here to see Kestrel. She is expecting us." Rilien spoke as flatly as usual, a fact which immediately drew the man's attention to him.
The eyes visible beneath the mask widened. "Ah, of course. Forgive me; I didn't recognize—" He shook his head, recomposing himself gracefully. "Follow me, if you will."
He led them back through the main room, and then up a staircase to a well-kept hallway. When they reached the door at the end, he knocked. "Kestrel, the Inquisition is here to see you."
"Well do send them in, Osprey, I've been waiting to meet them." The voice that called back was quite amused, the tone of it light and rather melodic.
The man—Osprey, apparently—opened the door and stood aside to admit them. Rilien entered first, the rest of them following his lead. The room was more modestly-appointed than the one downstairs, but clearly designed for company nonetheless, given the low table and cushions settled around it. Facing the door was a woman, elbow leaned onto the table and chin in her hands. Her expression bloomed into a bright smile as they entered.
"Stel! Look at you, dear." She rose to her feet with fluid grace and approached Stellulam, opening her arms wide in clear expectation of an embrace.
Estella didn't hesitate to meet the expectation, folding her arms around the other woman and returning the hug wholeheartedly. “Kess. It's so good to see you. How have you been?"
"Oh, same as always. You know me." Kestrel pulled back, placing her hands on Estella's shoulders for a moment. The eyes beneath her mask were a more yellowish shade of the typical elven green, almost chartreuse, giving them a rather catlike sort of appearance. She grinned, moving her hands up to delicately cradle his sister's face. "I swear, you only get lovelier every time I see you." Her eyes flickered to the rest of them, and her smile turned slightly sly. "And now you've got other rather dashing people following you about. Are you sure the Inquisition doesn't need another Bard? I'd be happy to help, really."
“U-um." Stellulam didn't get much further than turning a moderate shade of pink and stuttering out the syllable before Kestrel was moving on.
She let her hands fall away from Estella. "But don't introduce us. Let me guess." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I know Rilien, obviously, so no points for that one, though I'm of course honored to be in the presence of the Mockingbird himself."
When Rilien didn't react overmuch to that, she easily turned her attention elsewhere, meeting Cyrus's skeptically-arched brow with complete confidence in everything from her body language to her expression. "You look like the tall, dark and handsome male version of Stel, which makes you Cyrus."
“Never heard it put to me that way before." He felt himself relax slightly though, long familiar with this sort of social situation. The comparison was flattering, in its way, which was no doubt the intention.
"Shame. It's a good way to put it." Kestrel winked at him before turning her attention to Vesryn, hands finding her hips. "Really, Stel. It's just unfair how pretty your friends are. You're... Vesryn Cormyth. It's the hair, by the way. Rather easy for rumors to remember a tall elf with silver hair. Not every day one sees such a distinctive individual."
"I certainly don't aim to be forgotten." Vesryn smiled. "A pleasure, Kess."
"Likewise, I assure you." She gestured expansively behind her at the table. "Sit, sit, all of you. I know you're here for business, much as I'd prefer you weren't. This group in particular could be so much fun, I think." She resumed her own seat cross-legged, tapping elaborately-painted fingernails on one knee. Her sartorial choices were much like Rilien's: very high quality and very well-tailored, but more practical than they might at first have seemed.
Estella took her own seat a little more slowly, settling into a similar position and giving herself a few moments to recover from the rather whirlwind greetings before broaching the subject that had brought them here in the first place. “Right. I'm sorry we're not here under better circumstances, but... Julien asked for my help. He said you'd already been looking into things for him, but that you might have hit some obstacles?"
The others sat as well. Cyrus didn't have difficulty understanding how this particular woman had made friends with Stellulam—his sister did seem to do better around those with dynamic, outgoing personalities. Kestrel certainly seemed to have one of those. She hummed a moment, almost under her breath, then nodded. "Ugh. Naturally. Do you know how hard it is to try and charm your way into the evidence rooms at the court building?" She paused, then shook her head. "Of course not. I don't recommend it, by the way. It doesn't work. Particularly not when you're a 'dirty knife ear.'"
Kestrel wrinkled her nose, a rather succinct summary of how she felt about that. "Julien has it in his head that this is some big conspiracy against him, but honestly I'm not so sure. To me it just looks like one of the dozens of people that hate his guts decided to do something about it. It's a solid frame-up, if it is one."
“If?" Cyrus echoed the qualifier with deliberate emphasis. “You believe there's a chance he actually committed the crime, then?"
Kestrel grimaced. "I didn't think so, when I started looking into it. And I'm not an expert in this kind of thing, so I could just be wrong. But... the copy of the letter I saw really looks like his writing. What I've seen of it, anyway. If it's a forgery, it's a very good one." She shook her head, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of deep brown hair back up into her elaborate bun. "It's still hard for me to believe he'd have been clumsy enough to get caught if he decided he wanted to do this, but... he is a known radical. As much as I like him, I can't deny that he wants Celene off the throne. He's never been deceptive about that."
Shifting in her seat, Stellulam drew her brows down over her eyes. “It still seems like we should check everything, just to be sure. I don't doubt that there are people who could make this kind of thing happen, if they really wanted to." She sighed. “But Julien has so many enemies. It would be hard to clear them all if we had months, and we've only got three days to work in."
"Well, I can help a little with that." Kestrel offered a half-smile. "I've at least managed to narrow the list from 'most of the Orlesian peerage' to 'a rather substantial chunk of the Orlesian peerage and a few other people.' I can give you a list of who I think are the most relevant people to talk to, as well as what I know about them. A few I've been able to contact, but most of them I haven't."
“Such as?" Rilien let his head tilt at a slight angle.
Kestrel leaned back, catching herself on her hands and tipping her head up towards the ceiling, as if in thought. "You'd have a hard time talking to the judge or the barristers. Neither of them would so much as agree to meet me. And they might get pissed at you for trying, which I doubt you want. Let's see... I saw the copies of the evidence Lefévre had. He'd probably show them to you, too."
That was the second time Cyrus had heard that name. It seemed important enough to ask about. “And who is he, exactly?"
Kestrel laughed, just once. "A good question. He purports to be a gentleman scholar with a particular interest in all things crime-related, but the gentleman part is the subject of some debate. Rumor has it, he paid Le Mage du Sang quite a hefty sum to conjure up a distant relation to some dead noble family. But what matters for your purposes is that he's an... investigator. Knows all sorts of things about crime. How to tell how a person died, how long they've been dead, whether something is a forgery, what kinds of poison leave what kinds of traces, all that sort of thing. He's the one who verified the letter's authenticity to the court."
Dropping her chin to look at them again, she continued. "Personally, I think Lady Janvier probably set Julien up. But she's not an easy woman to approach. For one, she's a duchess, and for two, she's very good friends with the Empress. You're going to have to be careful if you so much as sneeze within earshot of her."
Estella grimaced. “Anyone else we should talk to? Gauvain's in Val Royeax now, right?"
"Just got here yesterday." Kestrel expelled a theatrical sigh from her nose. "Else I'd have saved you the trouble and talked to him already. He at least wouldn't turn me away. But yes, you might want to talk to him about things; he could have something to say about the ledgers, at least. Seems like a steward's job to know that sort of thing, doesn't it?" She lifted her shoulders. "And then of course there are the Costanzas. I believe Julien had regular correspondence with Lord Sabino, but it's Lady Fiorella that nearly got drawn into the trial. I'm sure they'd talk to you."
It was quite a lot of information to sort through, but Cyrus thought it was all worth having. It seemed that, excluding the judge and the barristers, the people of particular interest were only five. At least until some kind of evidence pointed them in a different direction. There were the ambassador and her husband, recipients of the supposed letter. The investigator Lefévre who'd verified it to be in Julien's handwriting. Julien's steward Gauvain, who might have some information about the ledgers that showed embezzlement and smuggling evidence, and then this Duchess Janvier, who seemed to have quite the personal bone to pick with Julien for... some reason or another.
The reasons for this sort of thing usually boiled down to one of three things: money, sex, or power. Which it was almost didn't matter.
“If you really think about it, we don't have to figure out exactly who set him up." He crossed his arms over his chest. “As long as we can prove that someone did, we can go back to the courts and ask for a retrial, right?" He lifted his shoulders.
“That is a possibility." Rilien turned to Kestrel. “You said Lefévre had copies of all the evidence?"
She nodded. "Well... except the character testimony. I think Lady Costanza was at the trial, though, so you might be able to ask her how that went. Or the Duchess, if you're feeling brave."
“It's getting late," Stellulam observed with some worry, glancing out the window. The sun was indeed setting, and socially-acceptable visiting hours were certainly disappearing. “I don't know how much more we'll be able to do today, but... I think we need to have some kind of plan for how to approach this tomorrow." She hesitated. “It seems better not to divide ourselves, but... I'm worried that if we don't, we won't finish in time."
"Staying together could have other drawbacks besides the lost time," Vesryn pointed out gently. "My presence in particular might be more detriment than help with some of these people. I get the sense that Duchess in particular wouldn't be fond of the sight of me. As much as I'd like to help there, maybe I'd be better off speaking with one of the others."
It was incredibly stupid that Vesryn was right, but that didn't change the facts. Cyrus considered the four other people around the table. Kestrel seemed willing enough to help, though admittedly he didn't know how far that help would extend or how reliable it would be. Still, that Julien had gone to her first with his life at stake did say something in her favor. Bracing his elbow on his knee, he dropped his chin into his hand. “What's she like? The Duchess?" He glanced between Rilien and Kestrel, supposing that if anyone had the answer, they would.
"Like most nobles in this part of the world. Full of herself. Hard to read. Ruthless. Not too bothered with nuances like right and wrong." Kestrel's nose wrinkled; she shook her head. "You're right that she probably wouldn't talk to an elf. And probably be offended by the presence of one that didn't look like a servant or a Bard. Or act like it."
That narrowed their options. “It seems that Stellulam should talk to Gauvain or the Costanzas, if we decide to do so. They'd probably speak more freely to a friend, after all. If Lefévre spoke with you, I don't suppose he'd likely have a problem with any of us."
“It is doubtful." Rilien seemed to agree. “However... it would be unwise for any of us unfamiliar with Val Royeaux to go anywhere alone. Our presence here is already noted, and watched carefully. By more than one party, I believe."
“Do you know anyone else here who would help us, Stellulam? Other Lions, your infamous Commander, perhaps?"
Estella shook her head. “Commander Lucien's dealing with a bandit incursion near Lydes, last I heard from him. The barracks were empty when we passed them earlier today; the flag in the window means they're all out. I don't think we can rely on any of them getting back in time to help with much."
“I think we should begin with the evidence itself, then." The time constraints they were operating under made prioritizing their objectives extremely important. "It seems like most of that is split between Lefévre and Gauvain, and so it makes most sense to split ourselves the same way. Stellulam should go speak with the steward, and I think I'm fairly well suited to discussing more academic matters with someone interested in them. Perhaps he'll be forthcoming. We can see where that leads us, and adjust our plans accordingly afterwards."
Kestrel nodded thoughtfully. "I can at least keep eyes on the Duchess and the Ambassador for you. Let you know if anything changes once they learn you're looking into things."
That seemed like a fair idea. Which meant that all they needed to decide now was who the second member of each group would be. “Then I will go with you, Cyrus, as long as Vesryn accompanies Estella. The Inquisitor in particular should not wander without protection here."
"Nor should I, for that matter," Vesryn added with a degree of lightheartedness. "We can keep each other out of trouble, then."
Estella scoffed almost under her breath, but she did smile a bit, too. “I can at least make sure you don't get lost. The city's a maze, in places."
Kestrel's eyes narrowed keenly, flitting between the two of them, with particular interest in Estella's expression. "I think I'm jealous." She delivered the words in a lazy drawl, grinning brightly despite them. She did not specify of whom.
"Anyway, feel free to use The Roost however you like; if you need somewhere to meet, it's a bit more central than the harbor district. I should be in for part of the day, but if I'm not around, just get Osprey to let you back in here." Her smile softened. "Best of luck, all of you."
Cyrus inclined his head. “Thank you. We may well need it."
Though the guests were not always masked, the staff were, the masks adhering to an avian motif universally, from the look of it, though in styles with a great deal of variation, otherwise, from one fellow's etched red leather domino to what seemed to be almost black glass on the woman playing harp on the small stage platform set against one side of the veranda.
The inside was decorated to suit what Cyrus imagined was the Orlesian taste, predominantly in gold, black, and darker jewel-toned colors, though it wasn't half as gaudy as even the exteriors of some of the other buildings they'd walked by in this district, which he considered fortunate. There was a light scent on the air, something vaguely floral. Perhaps the silk draperies themselves were treated with it. Somewhat heavier was the smell of exotic flavored tobaccos; those he could see were available at some of the low tables. Patrons and staff mingled freely, with no sharp divides that he could see between groups of any sort of composition that was visually distinguishable. He found he wasn't even entirely sure whether the building was a brothel of some kind or merely a particularly-relaxed tavern, of sorts. There was music playing in here as well, several instruments together, and a woman's mellow voice.
They were met upon entry by a slender man with what seemed to be a dark grey pearlescent mask, asymmetric and styled so that the nose resembled a hooked beak. "Welcome to The Roost." His tone was pleasant, and he showed no particular surprise at the makeup of the quartet of people he was faced with. "How may I be of service?"
“We are here to see Kestrel. She is expecting us." Rilien spoke as flatly as usual, a fact which immediately drew the man's attention to him.
The eyes visible beneath the mask widened. "Ah, of course. Forgive me; I didn't recognize—" He shook his head, recomposing himself gracefully. "Follow me, if you will."
He led them back through the main room, and then up a staircase to a well-kept hallway. When they reached the door at the end, he knocked. "Kestrel, the Inquisition is here to see you."
"Well do send them in, Osprey, I've been waiting to meet them." The voice that called back was quite amused, the tone of it light and rather melodic.
The man—Osprey, apparently—opened the door and stood aside to admit them. Rilien entered first, the rest of them following his lead. The room was more modestly-appointed than the one downstairs, but clearly designed for company nonetheless, given the low table and cushions settled around it. Facing the door was a woman, elbow leaned onto the table and chin in her hands. Her expression bloomed into a bright smile as they entered.
"Stel! Look at you, dear." She rose to her feet with fluid grace and approached Stellulam, opening her arms wide in clear expectation of an embrace.
Estella didn't hesitate to meet the expectation, folding her arms around the other woman and returning the hug wholeheartedly. “Kess. It's so good to see you. How have you been?"
"Oh, same as always. You know me." Kestrel pulled back, placing her hands on Estella's shoulders for a moment. The eyes beneath her mask were a more yellowish shade of the typical elven green, almost chartreuse, giving them a rather catlike sort of appearance. She grinned, moving her hands up to delicately cradle his sister's face. "I swear, you only get lovelier every time I see you." Her eyes flickered to the rest of them, and her smile turned slightly sly. "And now you've got other rather dashing people following you about. Are you sure the Inquisition doesn't need another Bard? I'd be happy to help, really."
“U-um." Stellulam didn't get much further than turning a moderate shade of pink and stuttering out the syllable before Kestrel was moving on.
She let her hands fall away from Estella. "But don't introduce us. Let me guess." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I know Rilien, obviously, so no points for that one, though I'm of course honored to be in the presence of the Mockingbird himself."
When Rilien didn't react overmuch to that, she easily turned her attention elsewhere, meeting Cyrus's skeptically-arched brow with complete confidence in everything from her body language to her expression. "You look like the tall, dark and handsome male version of Stel, which makes you Cyrus."
“Never heard it put to me that way before." He felt himself relax slightly though, long familiar with this sort of social situation. The comparison was flattering, in its way, which was no doubt the intention.
"Shame. It's a good way to put it." Kestrel winked at him before turning her attention to Vesryn, hands finding her hips. "Really, Stel. It's just unfair how pretty your friends are. You're... Vesryn Cormyth. It's the hair, by the way. Rather easy for rumors to remember a tall elf with silver hair. Not every day one sees such a distinctive individual."
"I certainly don't aim to be forgotten." Vesryn smiled. "A pleasure, Kess."
"Likewise, I assure you." She gestured expansively behind her at the table. "Sit, sit, all of you. I know you're here for business, much as I'd prefer you weren't. This group in particular could be so much fun, I think." She resumed her own seat cross-legged, tapping elaborately-painted fingernails on one knee. Her sartorial choices were much like Rilien's: very high quality and very well-tailored, but more practical than they might at first have seemed.
Estella took her own seat a little more slowly, settling into a similar position and giving herself a few moments to recover from the rather whirlwind greetings before broaching the subject that had brought them here in the first place. “Right. I'm sorry we're not here under better circumstances, but... Julien asked for my help. He said you'd already been looking into things for him, but that you might have hit some obstacles?"
The others sat as well. Cyrus didn't have difficulty understanding how this particular woman had made friends with Stellulam—his sister did seem to do better around those with dynamic, outgoing personalities. Kestrel certainly seemed to have one of those. She hummed a moment, almost under her breath, then nodded. "Ugh. Naturally. Do you know how hard it is to try and charm your way into the evidence rooms at the court building?" She paused, then shook her head. "Of course not. I don't recommend it, by the way. It doesn't work. Particularly not when you're a 'dirty knife ear.'"
Kestrel wrinkled her nose, a rather succinct summary of how she felt about that. "Julien has it in his head that this is some big conspiracy against him, but honestly I'm not so sure. To me it just looks like one of the dozens of people that hate his guts decided to do something about it. It's a solid frame-up, if it is one."
“If?" Cyrus echoed the qualifier with deliberate emphasis. “You believe there's a chance he actually committed the crime, then?"
Kestrel grimaced. "I didn't think so, when I started looking into it. And I'm not an expert in this kind of thing, so I could just be wrong. But... the copy of the letter I saw really looks like his writing. What I've seen of it, anyway. If it's a forgery, it's a very good one." She shook her head, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of deep brown hair back up into her elaborate bun. "It's still hard for me to believe he'd have been clumsy enough to get caught if he decided he wanted to do this, but... he is a known radical. As much as I like him, I can't deny that he wants Celene off the throne. He's never been deceptive about that."
Shifting in her seat, Stellulam drew her brows down over her eyes. “It still seems like we should check everything, just to be sure. I don't doubt that there are people who could make this kind of thing happen, if they really wanted to." She sighed. “But Julien has so many enemies. It would be hard to clear them all if we had months, and we've only got three days to work in."
"Well, I can help a little with that." Kestrel offered a half-smile. "I've at least managed to narrow the list from 'most of the Orlesian peerage' to 'a rather substantial chunk of the Orlesian peerage and a few other people.' I can give you a list of who I think are the most relevant people to talk to, as well as what I know about them. A few I've been able to contact, but most of them I haven't."
“Such as?" Rilien let his head tilt at a slight angle.
Kestrel leaned back, catching herself on her hands and tipping her head up towards the ceiling, as if in thought. "You'd have a hard time talking to the judge or the barristers. Neither of them would so much as agree to meet me. And they might get pissed at you for trying, which I doubt you want. Let's see... I saw the copies of the evidence Lefévre had. He'd probably show them to you, too."
That was the second time Cyrus had heard that name. It seemed important enough to ask about. “And who is he, exactly?"
Kestrel laughed, just once. "A good question. He purports to be a gentleman scholar with a particular interest in all things crime-related, but the gentleman part is the subject of some debate. Rumor has it, he paid Le Mage du Sang quite a hefty sum to conjure up a distant relation to some dead noble family. But what matters for your purposes is that he's an... investigator. Knows all sorts of things about crime. How to tell how a person died, how long they've been dead, whether something is a forgery, what kinds of poison leave what kinds of traces, all that sort of thing. He's the one who verified the letter's authenticity to the court."
Dropping her chin to look at them again, she continued. "Personally, I think Lady Janvier probably set Julien up. But she's not an easy woman to approach. For one, she's a duchess, and for two, she's very good friends with the Empress. You're going to have to be careful if you so much as sneeze within earshot of her."
Estella grimaced. “Anyone else we should talk to? Gauvain's in Val Royeax now, right?"
"Just got here yesterday." Kestrel expelled a theatrical sigh from her nose. "Else I'd have saved you the trouble and talked to him already. He at least wouldn't turn me away. But yes, you might want to talk to him about things; he could have something to say about the ledgers, at least. Seems like a steward's job to know that sort of thing, doesn't it?" She lifted her shoulders. "And then of course there are the Costanzas. I believe Julien had regular correspondence with Lord Sabino, but it's Lady Fiorella that nearly got drawn into the trial. I'm sure they'd talk to you."
It was quite a lot of information to sort through, but Cyrus thought it was all worth having. It seemed that, excluding the judge and the barristers, the people of particular interest were only five. At least until some kind of evidence pointed them in a different direction. There were the ambassador and her husband, recipients of the supposed letter. The investigator Lefévre who'd verified it to be in Julien's handwriting. Julien's steward Gauvain, who might have some information about the ledgers that showed embezzlement and smuggling evidence, and then this Duchess Janvier, who seemed to have quite the personal bone to pick with Julien for... some reason or another.
The reasons for this sort of thing usually boiled down to one of three things: money, sex, or power. Which it was almost didn't matter.
“If you really think about it, we don't have to figure out exactly who set him up." He crossed his arms over his chest. “As long as we can prove that someone did, we can go back to the courts and ask for a retrial, right?" He lifted his shoulders.
“That is a possibility." Rilien turned to Kestrel. “You said Lefévre had copies of all the evidence?"
She nodded. "Well... except the character testimony. I think Lady Costanza was at the trial, though, so you might be able to ask her how that went. Or the Duchess, if you're feeling brave."
“It's getting late," Stellulam observed with some worry, glancing out the window. The sun was indeed setting, and socially-acceptable visiting hours were certainly disappearing. “I don't know how much more we'll be able to do today, but... I think we need to have some kind of plan for how to approach this tomorrow." She hesitated. “It seems better not to divide ourselves, but... I'm worried that if we don't, we won't finish in time."
"Staying together could have other drawbacks besides the lost time," Vesryn pointed out gently. "My presence in particular might be more detriment than help with some of these people. I get the sense that Duchess in particular wouldn't be fond of the sight of me. As much as I'd like to help there, maybe I'd be better off speaking with one of the others."
It was incredibly stupid that Vesryn was right, but that didn't change the facts. Cyrus considered the four other people around the table. Kestrel seemed willing enough to help, though admittedly he didn't know how far that help would extend or how reliable it would be. Still, that Julien had gone to her first with his life at stake did say something in her favor. Bracing his elbow on his knee, he dropped his chin into his hand. “What's she like? The Duchess?" He glanced between Rilien and Kestrel, supposing that if anyone had the answer, they would.
"Like most nobles in this part of the world. Full of herself. Hard to read. Ruthless. Not too bothered with nuances like right and wrong." Kestrel's nose wrinkled; she shook her head. "You're right that she probably wouldn't talk to an elf. And probably be offended by the presence of one that didn't look like a servant or a Bard. Or act like it."
That narrowed their options. “It seems that Stellulam should talk to Gauvain or the Costanzas, if we decide to do so. They'd probably speak more freely to a friend, after all. If Lefévre spoke with you, I don't suppose he'd likely have a problem with any of us."
“It is doubtful." Rilien seemed to agree. “However... it would be unwise for any of us unfamiliar with Val Royeaux to go anywhere alone. Our presence here is already noted, and watched carefully. By more than one party, I believe."
“Do you know anyone else here who would help us, Stellulam? Other Lions, your infamous Commander, perhaps?"
Estella shook her head. “Commander Lucien's dealing with a bandit incursion near Lydes, last I heard from him. The barracks were empty when we passed them earlier today; the flag in the window means they're all out. I don't think we can rely on any of them getting back in time to help with much."
“I think we should begin with the evidence itself, then." The time constraints they were operating under made prioritizing their objectives extremely important. "It seems like most of that is split between Lefévre and Gauvain, and so it makes most sense to split ourselves the same way. Stellulam should go speak with the steward, and I think I'm fairly well suited to discussing more academic matters with someone interested in them. Perhaps he'll be forthcoming. We can see where that leads us, and adjust our plans accordingly afterwards."
Kestrel nodded thoughtfully. "I can at least keep eyes on the Duchess and the Ambassador for you. Let you know if anything changes once they learn you're looking into things."
That seemed like a fair idea. Which meant that all they needed to decide now was who the second member of each group would be. “Then I will go with you, Cyrus, as long as Vesryn accompanies Estella. The Inquisitor in particular should not wander without protection here."
"Nor should I, for that matter," Vesryn added with a degree of lightheartedness. "We can keep each other out of trouble, then."
Estella scoffed almost under her breath, but she did smile a bit, too. “I can at least make sure you don't get lost. The city's a maze, in places."
Kestrel's eyes narrowed keenly, flitting between the two of them, with particular interest in Estella's expression. "I think I'm jealous." She delivered the words in a lazy drawl, grinning brightly despite them. She did not specify of whom.
"Anyway, feel free to use The Roost however you like; if you need somewhere to meet, it's a bit more central than the harbor district. I should be in for part of the day, but if I'm not around, just get Osprey to let you back in here." Her smile softened. "Best of luck, all of you."
Cyrus inclined his head. “Thank you. We may well need it."