Chapter One
It was raining in the city of Riften. The stalls in the marketplace were not open and the only people who were outside in the dreary weather were the guards assigned to patrol that day, who were no doubt cursing their captain in their minds. The Bee and Barb was nearly filled to capacity with those who wished to both avoid the rain and leave their house, if even for the amount of time it took to down a tankard of mead. Brynjolf, thief and known conman, was one of those people. When he had emerged from the Ratway and seen the weather, he had known that that day was not going to be a lucrative one and that he might as well not open his stand of false wonders. However he did not want to make his way back into the Ragged Flagon. As much as he loved that place, the atmosphere was becoming a bit unbearable. What with Delvin blabbering about curses, Vex ripping out the throat of anyone who dared come close to her, and Mercer brooding and snapping at everyone's heels, it was a miracle that their other members hadn't completely abandoned them. All of them could easily find work elsewhere. Dirge could join Maul in watching the streets for the Black-Briar. Rune was friendly enough that he could charm himself into service somewhere. Cynric could join the Brotherhood—word was that their organization was suffering also, so no doubt their offer to employ him still stood. Thrynn could become a bodyguard or something else that required smashing heads together. Vipir and Sapphire were both talented enough thieves that they could work anywhere, even outside of Skyrim. Same went for Niruin, who had the added bonus of being a skilled archer. There were dozens of taverns that Vekel could work for. Tonilia's talent as a fence was needed everywhere. In fact, now that he thought about it, Brynjolf could only think of two people in the Guild who had no other options: himself and Mercer. The Guildmaster had been in the organization for so long that his second doubted that he could do anything else. And he was positive that Mercer had no friends that he could rely on. As for himself, Brynjolf had never done anything except steal and use his words to charm money out of people. He had never done an honest day's work in his life, and he was well aware of that. He knew how to fight, but not well enough to be a mercenary or anything like that. Opening up a shop of some sort was out of the question—he had pissed off too many people to find anyone to sell him honest supplies or invest in his business. And he didn't even want to think about doing manual labor other than crawling around in sewers searching for entrance to wealthy estates and fiddling with difficult locks and traps.
Brynjolf was afraid, both for himself and for his beloved organization. When he couldn't stand to be down there for long amounts of time, he knew that the Guild was finally ruined. Dejectedly, he took a long drink from the mead he had bought from Keerava, who kept eying him from time to time as though she expected him to sneak into one of her rooms and clear it out. That didn't sound like such a bad idea—but maybe later when her stare wasn't glued to his every move. Instead, he set down his tankard and observed the clientele present, looking for someone to either sell Falmer Elixir to or to pick-pocket if they weren't biting. Mjoll and her puppy were seated in a corner—that was out of the question. The hulking Nord woman would cleave his head in two if he came within three feet of her. Sapphire was leaning against a wall, and he nodded in greeting to her. No stealing from fellow Guild members, right. Also, she would slice his hand clean off, position in the Guild be damned. The Dunmer Romlyn Droth and Indaryn were relaxing after their shifts at the Meadery. They were frequent targets, so Brynjolf didn't really want to try them again. Vulwulf Snow-Shod was seated at his customary table, barking at anyone who wasn't of Nord blood to leave his presence as quickly as possible. The Snow-Shod family was fairly wealthy, but he wasn't in the mood to listen to the old man rant about the Imperials and how they were ruining Skyrim. Another time, perhaps, when he was feeling more patient. Talen-Jei was by the staircase keeping an eye out for anyone who bothered his love Keerava. Definitely not. His heart sank, but then his eyes landed on the pair seated on a bench across the inn. A man and a woman, both Imperials and both dressed in mage's robes. The man Brynjolf recognized—a snarky sell-sword by the name of Marcurio who boasted to everyone about his mastery of magic. But the woman was a stranger. She was a pretty young lass, with an emphasis on both of those traits. Not more than twenty and a fair sight better than any of the women in Riften. Thin and a bit taller than most Imperials, but Brynjolf guessed that the top of her head would reach his chin when they both were standing. Her black hair was swept away from an elegant face that was a pale olive tone, and he could see no scars or disruptions, save for some amethyst face paint by her right eye, which reminded him of a question mark. Seeing as she was too far away for him to make out any more details, his eyes left her face to scan down the rest of her body. She was wearing dark mage robes that were a bit too loose for his liking, but he could tell that she was very nicely shaped, with a small waist and defined chest.
Usually, Brynjolf stayed away from mages. They were quite dangerous targets and no one in his organization was all too good with magic. Niruin knew a bit of healing and a few others could make potions, but that was it. However, this particular mage intrigued Brynjolf, and not just because he was going over hundreds of different ways he could get her alone in an empty room upstairs in the back of his mind. She appeared wealthy—an amulet of Julianos wrapped around her neck and he spotted a gold and emerald ring on her finger, not to mention the fat sack of gold hanging from her hip. His fingers itched to snatch it. Besides, he couldn't go back into the Ratway empty-handed, could he? Making up his mind, Brynjolf stood and walked over to Sapphire. "Afternoon, lass," he whispered, leaning against the wall next to her.
"What do you want, Brynjolf?" she demanded, also quiet.
"I was just looking around and spotted that Marcurio has made a friend. Know who she is?"
Sapphire grimaced and shook her head. "Not much. She's renting a room here, and I wouldn't try to break in—I looked and it's pretty spelled up. Other than that, nothing. Guards say she just walked right in."
"Walked?" Not many people walked to Riften. The roads from Whiterun and Windhelm were both dangerous, so most preferred to hire a carriage. Walking usually led you into bandit camps and wolf packs.
"That's what I said. She walked. Said something about, 'enjoying the sights'." Sapphire snorted. "Like there's much to see."
Wealthy and oblivious to danger? That was quite a target. Brynjolf patted Sapphire on the shoulder and walked up to the mystery mage, who was now standing at the bar ordering another drink. "Allow me, lass," Brynjolf said, sliding a few septims down the counter toward Keerava, who scowled and hurriedly stashed the gold under the counter lest someone snatch it away.
The Imperial looked over at him, giving Brynjolf a chance to study her up close, and if anything she was even more beautiful. Smooth skin, full and soft lips, high cheekbones, and eyes that were a curious shade of silver. Brynjolf smirked as he imagined Delvin's reaction to such a looker. The old man would probably have a heart attack on the spot. "Thank you," she said to him. "But I can pay for my own drinks." She turned to Keerava. "Please give him back his money—I can cover it."
Keerava, looking displeased, gave Brynjolf back his money and accepted the mage's coin instead. Brynjolf chuckled slightly, saying, "I didn't doubt that you could, lass. I just thought that a traveler could use a free drink every so often. I meant no offense."
"I know. I just refuse to be in debt to people. Perhaps if I want another drink, you could buy that for me. Deal?"
"Deal. Why don't you come join me?" The woman nodded and followed him back to his table, seemingly oblivious to the hateful glares Keerava and Talen-Jei were throwing at her new companion. Brynjolf sat and motioned for her to take the seat on the other side of the table. He usually sat here with targets because most people wore their coin purses on their left hip, and the positioning of the tables and the seats allowed him to reach their money without their noticing. This woman was no different. "So lass," he said after taking a hearty drink, "why don't you tell me your name?"
"Alessa. And you?"
"Brynjolf. So what brings you to Riften? We don't get many mages here."
Alessa the mage shrugged and took a dainty sip of her mead. "I am currently making my way through all of the holds of Skyrim. The Rift is my last stop."
"Why are you going through all of Skyrim?"
"I am a curious person, and I wish to sate my curiosity about the people that inhabit all of this land, not just the ones that I am familiar with. It is also giving me an opportunity to investigate various ruins and plants that may hold magical properties."
"Fascinating," Brynjolf mused, although really he didn't see the point. The only reason he left home was to go fetch some rare bauble from a rich man's bedroom, and he supposed this was the same sort of thing. Just more time consuming and less profitable.
The woman smirked. "There's no need to lie. I know most don't understand it. But enough about me. What are you doing in Riften?"
"Lived here most of my life," Brynjolf declared with a dramatic sweep of his arms. "I'm a businessman here."
"And what sort of business do you deal in, Brynjolf?"
"Right now I am selling Falmer Blood Elixir. Would you care to buy some?"
Her nose wrinkled. "You can't be serious."
Brynjolf laughed at her reaction. "Oh, but I am. The blood of the Falmer is full of all sorts of properties. I could show you, but I don't have my supply with me."
She just shook her head. "No, it's not. Blood is only useful in devices such as blood locks, but our knowledge of how to create such devices has been lost over the centuries. This is a scam."
His eyebrows shot upward. She was a quick one, wasn't she? It was time to wrap this up. His hand, which had been under the table this whole time, began to creep toward her coin purse. "That is quite the accusation, lass. What makes you think this is a scam?"
"Well, so far in Riften I have crossed paths with a woman complaining about the Thieves Guild, a young man being shaken down by a money lender, and a guard attempting to persuade me to pay an imaginary 'visitor's tax'. It's certainly enough to cause me to quicken my wits." Her eyes looked at his meaningfully. "And my reflexes."
A foreboding feeling sank into his gut, but he ignored it. She couldn't know. He had been picking pockets for longer than she had been alive, and hadn't been caught in years. "How so?"
A smile spread across her lips and she leaned forward, chin propped in her hand. "Well," she breathed, "for one I can tell you that if your hand comes any close to my purse, I'll incinerate it. That is how." It took almost all of his will power not to let his jaw flop open. How in Oblivion did she figure that out? Her grin brightened as his hand quickly withdrew. She stood up and smoothed the front of her robes. "Well, it's been lovely talking to you, Brynjolf, but I'm afraid that I have grown quite weary. Perhaps I shall see you later." With another flash of her smile, Alessa swept upstairs and out of sight.
Brynjolf simply sat there staring at the empty chair across from him, lost in thought. How did she know? If there were two things that he prided himself on, it was pick pocketing and talking people into blowing septims on his phony wares. And she had just prevented him from doing both. Without calling the guards on him. Most people would have him thrown in jail, not smile at him and hint at seeing him again. Why would she simply catch him and not gain anything from it? It did not make any sense.
Noticing that Sapphire had left, he realized that it must be fairly late and that he ought to be getting back to the Flagon. He stood and reach for his coin purse, meaning to leave a tip for Keerava so maybe she wouldn't glare so hard next time. His stomach plummeted, then he laughed—his purse was gone. That little fox! She had pick pocketed him right back! Laughter bubbled up in him and he left the tavern in high spirits for the first time in quite awhile. Divines, he wanted to see her again; and not just to reclaim his gold.