There was one thing that Méra hated more than anything, and that was waiting. Even though the list was long, doing nothing was on the top, and spending two never-ending days at the Nightgate Inn only made her remember how annoying it was. While she rested her chin on her palm, her left hand was hidden under the table, idly playing with a dagger. She heard low chattering from behind her back, but Méra didn't bother with checking the source of it for a while. No one came here—at least no one important.

Before she straightened up, she slipped the weapon back into her boots and looked around: only a few people lingered in the main hall of the inn. Her gaze met with the innkeeper's one unharmed eye, since the other was light grey, bright like the moonlight, surrounded by deep and black scars. Méra knew no blade but only magic could leave marks like those. The man, who usually wore a strict face, immediately started to grin at the sight of the woman's tiny smile; her pale blue eyes locking with his. She had gentle eyes, but a blazing look, as Astrid never failed to mention to her.

Hadring – the innkeeper – scratched his almost white, shaggy beard, and while his eye was glued to Méra, he accidentally wiped a tankard of ale off the table. She couldn't stifle a sigh while the old Nord crouched down to clean up his mess.

She brushed a loose strand of red hair out of her face, dark like dried blood, before she stood up from the table – which, thanks to that godforsaken dress, wasn't easy at all. To walk the numbing stiffness out of her legs, Méra paced around the inn, and her eyes wandered towards the basement.

That damned Orc.

Ever since she arrived to the Nightgate Inn, Balagog gro-Nolob never left the place. He spent most of his time downstairs, the door of his room securely locked. It crossed her mind to pick the lock, but if she broke in, that idiot would immediately scream for help. Usually, it wouldn't bother her, but now, she needed to stay incognito.

Méra tried to lure him out of the inn several times. Wrapping any men and women around her fingers was never a tough task for her – her appearance on itself was enough to do the job. But not with the Gourmet. Her smirks and cheeky words were only enough to make him blush and stutter like a teenage boy. The sight almost amused her – an Orc with flushed cheeks? Funny as it was, she couldn't laugh at it for long; not when he only wasted her time.

By the middle of the third night, when she seriously started to consider murdering him in front of everyone next time he left his hiding place, Balagog simply walked up from the basement and went straight outside. From the surprise, she only watched his empty, cold place, as he shut the door close after himself, letting in the scent of the chilly night.

She shook herself and hurried towards the exit, but just as her palm touched the door, she heard the innkeeper's rough voice,

"You're going to get cold, lady."

Shit. If there was the tiniest chance that the man could follow her out, he could easily ruin her plans. Méra heaved a sigh but didn't think for long before she walked back to the man. She stopped so close to him she could see him swallowing hard. "I have to do something first, but how about you prepare a room for us for later?"

Even his disgustingly bright eye darkened at her words. "A room for—I mean, my customers—"

"Now, now, Hadring," she said with a cheeky smile, tilting her head. "Are these drunken men seriously more important to you than me?"

"No!" he said, almost desperately, and Méra knew she had won.

"Then go, before I'll change my mind."

The innkeeper nodded and Méra didn't look back to check if he did as she said while she left the place.

It was a clear night with no snow or wind, yet it was so cold it burned her cheeks like fire. She leaned down and pulled her dagger out of her boot, only to hide it back into the sleeve of her dress. Her steps were light, quiet; even the snow was silent under her feet. She spotted the Orc: he was standing at the dock behind the inn, looking into nothingness.

Méra slipped the dagger down on her arm when she was close enough, the tip of the blade still hidden behind her fingers. The weight of her heavy dress brushed against the wood she was walking on, and she didn't even notice how loud it was in the silent night, not until the Gourmet suddenly turned around. Her eyes rounded for a second, but she tried to disguise her surprise with a smile.

The Orc sighed. "I already told you, m'lady. I'm not interested."

"Well, that's a shame," she said with ease, taking one last step closer, before she raised her hand and slit his throat. "Sorry, Balagog. I'm in hurry."

His eyes were round and desperate while his hands came around his neck, clinging onto his life until his very last breath. While Méra waited until he fell on his knees and chocked on his own blood, she wiped her dagger clean on his green tunic. The dark ebony blade swallowed every bit from the moonlight and didn't let it go.

Dragging an Orc through a dock and into the woods wasn't easy at all. Usually, it wasn't a problem to leave bodies behind, sometimes even in the middle of a town (in fact, in some cases it was even required), but now, Méra got one clear instruction about the job: hide the body. Neither Festus nor Astrid told her the reason, as they also didn't mention why it was so important to kill him. He was a damn cook, after all, as Méra wasn't sure how his death fit into their bigger plan. Yet, curious as she was, she didn't question it. Her job was to do, not to ask.

"Did you miss me, girl?" she asked the black horse with a grin and a small growl as she could finally drop the body next to a tree. The cloth that she wrapped around his neck to avoid leaving a trail of blood on her way was soaked by now, but only left some marks in the white snow around her last few steps. She didn't bother with covering it; the weather would take care of it soon. Besides, they were in the middle of nowhere.

She scratched Shadowmere's nose, before she lifted the old knapsack off her back. Stripping out of her dress in the middle of the snowy, frosty forest was not a pleasant thing to do. She quickly put on the all-black leather armour and her cape, hiding her red locks behind the hood. She pulled a small jar out of her pocket, half full of a dense, dark liquid. Digging two fingers in it, she brushed it against her eyelids, from one to another, carefully covering the freckles under her eyes.

Without doubt, Méra was a great assassin, but her features could easily get her into trouble. She considered only sheer luck she was still free and alive.

She cleaned her hands in the snow before she pulled her gloves on; then hopped up on Shadowmere's back, leaving Balagog's body behind.

The early morning rays of the sun warmed her cheeks deliciously when she finally reached the border of Falkreath, and she pulled off her hood, letting her locks brush against her clothed shoulder. She made a mental note to remind Astrid that next time, she wanted to take a job in a place somewhere warmer. There was something homelike in the quieter, cold places, and Méra could find comfort in it, but she preferred sunnier cities.

The city of Falkreath was close to the sanctuary, too close, but just like now, she avoided it every time if she had a chance. She trotted around the city and down to the little valley, where her home was hidden from curious eyes. Méra jumped off Shadowmere's back and let the mare go back into her resting place before she murmured the three little words to the Black Door.

Since they mostly worked in the shadows of the night, it didn't come as a surprise when she found no one in the main room of the sanctuary at these early hours. She walked past the wall that whispered to her so many times before, down the dark corridors and small chambers, until she reached the dining hall. Her stomach growled loudly at the sight of the food that remained there from last night, so she dropped herself down on a chair to eat some cold, roasted chicken and figs.

"By Sithis," she heard a voice suddenly, so she looked back over her shoulder, seeing as Astrid hurried down the wooden steps. "What was taking you so long?"

Méra lazily turned back with a smirk and leaned against the backrest of the chair, wiping her hands off at a cloth. "I couldn't buy him with my charm. Can you believe it?"

Astrid's features finally softened as she smiled, running he eyes down on her. She rested her hips against a stone chair. "Hardly."

"He's dead. Don't worry," Méra said after she drank some water. "And would you tell me now why we needed to kill him?"

"Did you hide the body?" the blonde woman asked, ignoring Méra's question. She didn't answer, but gave her a pointy look; come on, she wasn't that amateur… "Good," Astrid went on. "Go and get some sleep. I'll fill you in the details later."

Méra didn't argue. She hadn't slept in more than two days, but the exhaustion only started to reach her now, when she was at home. In the last few weeks, she had been busier than any time since she first stepped into the sanctuary. The assassination of Gaius Maro. The murder of Vittoria Vici. Cicero… She really wouldn't mind if she could take off a few weeks.

Her chamber was simple with a small bed, two chairs, a table, and a long weapon rack. Different kinds of swords and bows were hanging off it, but since she mostly used her dagger, they were more of decorations than weapons. The only two she used were hanging above her bed. One of them was an ebony sword with glowing runes carved into the blade, enchanted so it absorbed the soul of the person she killed. It was a gift from Astrid a couple years ago. The other, an ancient Akaviri sword that even without enchantments was one of a kind, its blade still sharp like the day it was forged. Méra stole it from her brother the day she fled from home.

She took off all her clothes and dropped down on the bed, curling under warm and soft furs. It only took a few minutes before she fell into a deep sleep.

Living under the ground had its benefits: it was safe, and it was quiet, but one thing that Méra never liked about it was that she could never tell for sure whether if it was day or night. She had no idea how much she slept when she opened her eyes in the pitch-dark room: it could be minutes or days, she couldn't tell. After she opened the door to let in some light from the corridor, she put some fresh clothes on and left her chamber.

Every room seemed empty, until she found Babette in her usual place, sitting near to Lis' nest. Méra winced in disgust as she saw her throwing dead skeevers to the spider.

"Why do you wear that ridiculous war paint, dear?" Babette asked while she turned around, lifting a goblet from the table.

Méra rubbed the back of her hand against her temple; she completely forgot to wash it off before she went to bed. "You know it helps to disguise." she said, before she went to a dresser and poured some water in a bowl to clean her face.

"I like your freckles," the little vampire said. "They give you this meek virgin look."

She chuckled quietly, before drying her cheeks with a piece of cloth. "Astrid says I look like a southern whore with them."

"Astrid says a lot of things lately."

There was something in her voice that made Méra snap her head up. She slowly walked to Babette, whose red eyes were on Lis. "You don't trust her anymore?"

She didn't answer and didn't look at her. She kept watching the spider, but Méra had the feeling she was just staring into the distance, far, far away from here. She almost gave up and walked away when the girl finally turned to her,

"I trust Astrid. I'm just not sure that her decisions are… appropriate," she said lowly. "Are you sure that disobeying the Night Mother is a good idea? Are you sure that killing Cicero was the right thing to do?"

Méra swallowed hard. "We aren't disobeying the Night Mother. The contract is still on."

Babette smirked. "Good. About that… I think Astrid wants to speak with you."

Before she went to find Astrid, Méra visited Festus Krex first to report back about the Gourmet. As always, the old man was leaning above his desk, flasks and vials and all kinds of herbs around him.

"Hello, Krexy."

Méra couldn't tell for sure if he just ignored her or he really didn't hear her. Lately, the old man had problems with his ears. Nevertheless, she went closer and sat down across him, crossing her legs up on his table.

After he heaved a sigh, Festus looked up slowly, giving her a look that usually parents did after their kid did something wrong.

"The cook is dead."

"I know," he said shortly, placing down some ingredients with his shaky hand. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small pouch; it clinked when he dropped it next to Méra's legs. "Astrid also told me you hid the body," he reached into the pocket of his robe and walked around the table. There was a ring in his palm.

Méra took her legs off the table. "Oh, thank you, Krexy, but you're a little old for me, don't you think?"

An annoyed growl rumbled in his chest. "You'll never stop being an insolent little shit, will you? Take it now," he said, while Méra merely grinned, watching the ring on her hand. "It's called Nigthweaver's Band. Helps you to sneak and makes your destruction magic stronger."

Despite her barely ever using magic, especially destruction, she took it and thanked him for the gift. Maybe it would come in handy one day.

"So? How did you kill him?" Festus laughed. "Fireballs in the face?"

"Setting him on fire in the middle of the night would have been a little flashy, don't you think?" she stood up, shaking her head. "I slit his throat."

While she walked out of his room, the old man followed her for a while, murmuring more to himself than to her that you can never go wrong with fireballs. Festus said if it was up to him, he would have baked the Orc and serve it to the Emperor, just for the sake of irony, before she stopped in front of Astrid's door.

Lately, she kept her door closed. Méra wasn't sure if it was since Cicero or a little before his rampage, but she knew she had been a little paranoid since the Keeper brought the Night Mother into the sanctuary. She couldn't lie to herself, but it made her think sometimes: did she doubt everyone else, too? Deep down, she knew Astrid would never betray her… but she also knew fear could make people do terrible things.

Only a few candles burned on the nightstand, giving the room an eerie light. Astrid sat lazily, leaning back against the chair, one arm up on the table. Even in the dim light, she could see the smirk on the blonde woman's lips. "So, your time has finally come," she started while Méra sat down across her. Astrid straightened herself and leaned closer; her voice low and mysterious as always. "You killed Maro's son. You killed the Emperor's cousin. You killed the Gourmet. And now, it's time for you to kill Titus Mede."

No reaction, no emotion; Astrid couldn't read anything off Méra's face. They sat in perfect silence for a while, after she finally spoke up, "Why me?"

"Why you?" Astrid asked back, an eyebrow arched. "You're the Listener, after all. Aren't you?"

Méra couldn't ignore the cynicism in her tone, but she let it go. She got used to it by now.

"But importantly you are one of our best assassins. You've achieved all those things that led us to allow to kill the Emperor. You're the one who should do it."

Méra nodded. "Alright. How should I do it?"

The smirk grew on her face. "You're going to impersonate the Gourmet," she said, placing her hand on a piece of parchment, slipping it closer to Méra. "Here's the Writ of Passage you stole from the Orc. With that, they'll let you into the castle."

She took the letter and opened to read it, but her mind was elsewhere.

"I have special poison for this job," Astrid went on, filling her in with the details. She opened a little box that lied on the table, giving the red root to Méra. "It's called jarring root. It kills instantly. Once you're in the kitchen you'll be able to poison the food. Now, after he dies, you must flee as quickly as you can. You must escape through the upper door, and across the bridge. I've arranged for it to be unguarded once the alarm is sounded."

Méra narrowed her pale eyes suspiciously. "Are you sure? It's the Emperor, after all. Why would they leave any exit unguarded?"

"Believe me, it cost me a lot of blackmailing, bribing, and more gold than I'd have like to in the sake of arranging this. Now go. Fulfil your destiny as the Listener."

Her words were final, and Méra knew she was finished. The plan seemed perfect—though it was dangerous, she had participated in more dangerous jobs before.

"And do something with your hair," Astrid said before Méra opened the door. "It wouldn't be lucky if they recognized you in the castle."

Méra shrugged. "I haven't been there in the last fifteen years. I doubt anyone would recognize me."

Astrid stayed in silence and let Méra walk out of the chamber.