"I will not ask you again, sera. Who is the Khajiit?"
Arys Drathan's golden faceplate gave him a look of beatific calm, but Mehra Milo didn't need to see the Ordinator's face to know he was furious; she could hear it in the dangerous silky-softness of his voice, see it in the barely controlled shaking of his hands. For a split second she had a mental image of him throttling her with those great gauntleted hands, but she pushed it from her mind and forced herself to say, "I don't know."
"You don't know." The rasp was creeping back into Drathan's voice. "You let a stinking Khajiit make off with one of the most valuable books in Vivec, and couldn't bring yourself to ask his name? Very…convenient for you."
Mehra suspected that Drathan's anger stemmed not from the theft of the book--though she herself had asked the Khajiit to ask for it at Jobasha's bookstore, not to attempt taking it from the library--but from the race of the thief: a Khajiit, great crafty feline, and one who was a free creature and not a slave.
"With all due respect, muthsera, a good many people come through the library every day." To Mehra's own surprise, she managed a smile. "Some of them are even Khajiit."
Arys Drathan made a noise like a wounded kagouti. The young Dunmer woman stole a glance at the two Ordinators standing behind him: subordinates, lackeys, probably glaring at her behind their gilded masks as they waited for their superior to decide her fate. I promised Caius I would help, she reminded herself, and I will not let him down now. I will not betray his trust.
The Ordinator loomed over her, smelling of Temple incense and oiled metal. Involuntarily she took a step back, bumping into one of the shelves; books tumbled to the floor. Blood roared in her ears, making them ring, seeming almost audible. Sweat crept down her spine, cold as ice.
"We've been watching you, sera. We know you've been trying to communicate with the Dissident Priests. Now their little book of heresies goes missing--when the librarian on duty is you." Drathan leaned over her, his voice barely a whisper as he added, "I must admit your stubbornness is admirable. But it's also very, very foolish."
He could kill her here; he could strike her down where she stood and no one would care enough to question it. Heart in her throat, Mehra Milo looked up at him…and smiled.
Arys Drathan stepped back. For a long, long moment he stared at her; then he spun on his heel and stalked away, past his underlings.
"Take her," he snapped. "We'll see if a night in the Ministry loosens her tongue."