"Blasted…!"
Endarie's voice ripped through the silence of Radiant Raiment like an arrow, loud enough to spook Taarie and cause her to spill her snowberry tea. With a grimace and a curse, she slowly rose from her seat and gazed down in disgust and horror at the wet, red splotch on her dress. She usually loved her dear sister but, in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to strangle the life out of her lovely little body.
Brushing blond locks out of her face, Taarie shuffled awkwardly across the floor as though somehow moving slower would make the stain better. Her arms stayed lifted to her side, her legs spread as she hobbled, shoes padding against the floor like the footsteps of an unsure toddler. Across the counter, she could see Endarie fussing with something—something dark and leather and embroidered with gold. A needle was in her hand, thread tangled in her teeth, and she had a look on her face which brought to mind a rabid bear.
"I have no idea what the bloody Dominion makes their bloody robes out of, but I have not had this much trouble since working with that wretched guar skin that gods-blasted Dunmer brought me from Blacklight!"
"Maybe it is guar," Taarie answered, dodging into their room and shutting the door. As she walked, she threw off her belt and peeled her dress over her head, discarding it in a corner. It was of no use now, stained with snowberry, but perhaps she could salvage some material off of it to make something nicer. Tiptoeing across the tile floor in nothing but her smallclothes, she threw open the door to her wardrobe and began running her finger across her many garments.
Today was not a green day, and red made her look like a rusted Dwemer statue. The blue was nice, but it was too warm for the fur cloak and that was what made the ensemble. Perhaps black would work the best, since a massive tea stain on the skirt of a black dress wouldn't be noticeable after a few washings. Then again, did she really want to face the world as a mourner?
She supposed it was appropriate. Endarie made her ruin her favorite dress, and she grieved for its loss like one would grieve for their own child. Would the customers understand, though? Probably not.
Blue it was.
"No, guar is lumpy and smells of must and mold," Endarie called through the door, her agitation obviously growing. "This is too pliable. Too soft. Gods, do they butcher horses and make clothing from the pelts?"
"I would say no, but considering how old fashioned that lot is, I'm surprised they're not screaming in the old tongue and dancing around in furs with the stronghold orcs."
She slipped the blue dress on, checked to ensure that her petticoat wasn't visible under the edge, and then secured the fur cloak across her shoulders with a broach crafted by the finest jeweler in Summerset Isle. The emerald gleamed and glistened like a cat's eye, the perfect complement to her obviously radiant attire. She took down her hair and smoothed it down, twirling like a young girl in front of her mirror to watch the skirt twirl about like butterfly wings.
Beautiful.
"Who brought it in anyway?" Taarie called out as she modeled for herself, chuckling a bit at her own ridiculousness. She was far too old to act like a vain young maiden, but she could excuse herself by saying it was for business purposes. If she looked her best then perhaps it would draw in more customers, all of them dying to be as gorgeous as the mer who crafted their clothes.
"Was it Ondolemar?" she continued. "Another case of getting his coattails caught on the rocks or a busted pipe? The dogs again?"
When Endarie didn't answer, Taarie sighed and finally made her way to the shop proper. She hadn't expected anyone other than her sister so early in the day and, when she flung the bedroom door open, she was earnestly surprised to hear a startled cry of alarm. She shrieked in surprise and jumped away when she caught sight of a tiny little Imperial fellow standing in the middle of their shop, and the Imperial answered with an equally loud cry and a trip to the floor.
After a moment to catch her breath, she regarded the intruder, then glanced up to see her unamused sister standing just where she had been working. They both stared down at the human boy—no older than seventeen—who had decided to grace them with their presence. Endarie's lips curled up in a sneer.
He was young, wiry, dirty, and scuffed, and had graciously tracked in mud and grass from gods only knew. His hat was ragged, a cap made of flax and stained with sweat and oil, his scruffy face smeared with dust and grime. The tunic he wore was ripped and worn, splattered in blood and dirt and all manner of food stains. If he had boots any longer, they were lost in the chunks of swamp he had decided to bring in with him.
Still, he looked harmless enough. The dagger at his side was blunt from wear and his arms were skinny and weak. Poor lad looked like he hadn't had the chance to eat in days and panted like he had been chased into Solitude by a dragon.
"We have a customer," Endarie sighed, and the contempt in her voice was not lost on their visitor. Despite her mounting repulsion, Taarie put on her best smile and offered a hand. She visibly flinched when he accepted her offer although, if he noticed, he was polite enough to ignore it.
"Welcome to Radiant Raiment," she stated as pleasantly as she could manage. "We can turn a pauper to a prince, or just make you a mite more respectable with the… common folks."
He completely ignored her pitch, instead arching his eyebrows and asking hopefully, "Are you Taarie of Alinor?"
She blinked. Endarie shook her head and returned to her work. Slowly, Taarie nodded, only slightly surprised when the boy reached into his knapsack and pulled out a neatly folded letter sealed with golden wax. Grinning with pride, he held it out to her like he was presenting a king with his crown.
"For you, ma'am! The man who sent it said you'd recognize the seal, said it was important."
Taarie nodded, plucking away the letter and examining it curiously. A feeling of dread began to well in her, condensing into a nauseating chill in her stomach. She recognized the seal, alright, but they wouldn't be contacting her so urgently unless something had gone awry.
"Endarie, it's from… uncle."
The sudden change of tone even made the courier's smile drop. He stepped out of the way to make room for Endarie, the Altmer throwing down her work and practically bolting for her sister. Taarie didn't even give her the opportunity to yank it out of her hands, holding it high above her head until Endarie settled down and quit cursing in her ear.
Only then did she pop the seal. Her breath caught in her throat as she unfolded the letter. They completely ignored the curious, confused courier who stood right in front of them, shifting his weight uneasily and waiting for a dismissal. He was forgotten the second they saw the handwriting.
His handwriting. Even Endarie swallowed hard and fidgeted as her eyes pored over the words. It couldn't be good if Malborn was contacting them out of the blue. He had a set schedule, one that he had never broken, and he was far from stupid enough to hire a courier to carry his messages. His discretion and reliability were the whole reason they had trusted him.
Most of it was typical: Elenwen this, Elenwen that. Be careful. I hope you know what you are getting yourself into. I'm fine, hiding somewhere in Skyrim. The words were more frantic, though. She couldn't put her finger on how, but they were. She and Endarie shared a troubled look, then turned back to their reading.
In true twin fashion, they reached the same place at the same time. They gasped at the same time. Endarie bit into her finger and looked away as though she had just witnessed an execution. She wasn't far from the mark.
"Is everything alright?" the courier asked worriedly. Endarie wouldn't look at him and obviously didn't have it in her to toss a snarky rebuttal. Instead, she retreated to a corner and took a seat, tears welling in her eyes. Was it grief, or was it panic? Taarie wasn't sure.
Choking down her own anxiety, Taarie turned to the courier and nodded. Without hesitation, she swept past her sister, behind the counter, and knelt down to open a strongbox on a shelf close to the floor. She didn't even count the gold more than she pulled out a handful, trudging back to the nasty little deliveryman and forcing a rather large tip into his hand.
He was disgusting, but he seemed a good enough boy. Beyond that, she couldn't shake the feeling that some ill would befall him for even touching the letter. At least she could make his possibly final meal a good one.
"A-are you sure this is necessary?" he asked in shock, but his smile betrayed his excitement. Taarie forced herself to reciprocate it, though it was tainted with sadness.
"Positive," she assured him. "You look like you deserve the king's treasury for whatever you had to run through."
He thanked her profusely, pocketed his gold, then turned tail and excitedly bolted for the door. Taarie couldn't even claim to care that he tromped more dirt all over her floors. A broom could fix the floors, but nothing could fix…
"He's going to end up like Sanyon."
Endarie's voice broke the silence and Taarie whirled around, her eyes fixing on her suddenly meek, tiny sister. Her fire was replaced with fear and sorrow. Taarie's guts twisted themselves into a knot.
"They know!" she spat, perhaps a bit too loudly. "They know and now Ondolemar is going to end up like Sanyon!"
"Not if we get to him first," Taarie protested. Endarie shook her head and stood, tromping like an angry child into their room and slamming the door. Letting out a sigh, Taarie stepped back behind the counter, examining the black robe that her sister had been laboring over the entire morning.
Carefully, she lifted it and folded it as neatly as she could. Somewhere in their room, her knapsack was waiting, already packed due to a long-distance delivery she had never actually made. It was just a matter of getting in there to get to it, and perhaps fighting off Endarie on her way out the door. Regardless of whose robe it really was, Taarie suspected she had a delivery to make in Markarth.