Pride, and a measure of self-preservation made Rath go on. If Mercer was still here, and she refused to believe it was anyone else who'd opened the door for her, showing her back would be a red rag to a bull. He'd have the better of her; she'd thought she'd searched the place minutely, but he'd evaded her. So he wasn't just well-hidden, he was invisible, and until she figured out how to work a couple of magic tricks of her own she'd be at a fatal disadvantage.
She knew her best chance of getting out was to keep him entertained. He'd already chosen not to kill her when she'd been distracted by the door; Divines knew he'd had plenty of opportunity. But she lived, for now, at his whim.
And she hated him for it.
I will kill you, she promised him silently as she shouldered her pack and edged forward. I will gut you like a deer and hang your head on my wall, but that wasn't likely to happen today.
The fight that followed was long and brutal and made more so by the fact that Rath couldn't devote all her attention to the Dragon Priest practically filling the room with fire. She had to watch her back as well, as she leaped and ducked and paused to beat out the flames on her cloak. She needed a new cloak by the end and was lucky she didn't need a new head to match.
She didn't feel particularly proud about her victory; it had been ungraceful at best. She snatched whatever trinkets interested her and practically ran outside.
On her way back down to Riften, she chose to slog through the snow rather than stick to the roads for as long as she could. With a blanket of white around her, unbroken save for her own familiar footprints, she felt safer. Often she'd pause for breath and raise her head, trying to work out of she was being watched. She didn't know. She didn't even know if she'd imagined the whole thing; maybe she'd managed to break the door herself in her tinkering.
"Karliah." Rath dropped into the chair opposite the Dunmer and let her pack slide to the floor. Before she'd even asked for it, Vekel put a mug of ale down in front of her.
"Rathleen, what happened to you?"
Rath downed half her drink before replying. "Draugr. That's not important. The Skeleton Key doesn't work on puzzle doors, does it?"
"I don't know. I've never held the Key myself."
"Well, it doesn't."
They sat in awkward silence. Rath didn't dislike Karliah, but they seemed to have almost nothing in common. She didn't feel like telling her what had happened in Forelhost. Karliah probably wouldn't gossip about it, but some part of Rath looked down on her.
Mercer killed Karliah's lover and exiled her from the guild, and yet she had spent years hiding and licking her wounds. Rath would never say it to her face, but she simply didn't deserve to kill Mercer. No one did. No one but Rath herself.
So instead she nodded her thanks for her time and went into the Cistern to find Brynjolf.
"Ah, you're back. What happened to your cloak?"
"Tough fight in an old tomb. The Key doesn't unlock puzzle doors." She scowled.
"Well, you can't have everything." He frowned, "What's bothering you, Lass? I don't believe you care that much about the Key."
"It's not the Key. It's Mercer. Mercer can unlock puzzle doors. I saw him do it with my own eyes. But if he wasn't using the Key, then how did he do it?"
Brynjolf smiled at her, "Rath, forget about the Key. Mercer was one of the best long before he acquired it. Don't get me wrong, you've got it in you to equal him, but he was thieving before you were even born. Maybe there is a way to open those doors, but you might have to accept that even you will have to take a few years to work it out."
Rath sighed, "You think I can be better than him?"
"Aye. But first things first. You look exhausted. Go and eat, and get some sleep."
When Brynjolf returned from the Riften markets some hours later, he found Rath standing in front of the vault, gazing into it with her arms outstretched from her sides as far as she could reach.
"Rath?"
Rath jumped and whirled around, the Razor halfway out of its sheath before she saw who it was and relaxed.
"What are you doing, Lass?"
Rath slammed the weapon back into its sheath and pointed at the vault. "Okay, there are two keyholes, one on each side of the vault. Two people are needed to open it. Even if Mercer used his own key on one, and the Skeleton Key on the other, he couldn't possibly reach far enough to turn them both at the same time. And if you do them separately." She demonstrated with the Skeleton Key, unlocking first one side, then the other, but when she let go of the first, it just clicked back again. "It doesn't work."
She spread her hands and shrugged hopelessly, "So what did he do?"
Brynjolf rubbed the bristles on his chin thoughtfully. "Are you saying he had help?"
Rath thought for a while. "No, actually. I don't think he did. Not so much because he wouldn't be able to find someone, but more because he's the sort of man to work alone. He'd never find an accomplice he could trust. Which doesn't get us anywhere."
"Maybe you should let this go," Brynjolf said, resting a hand on her shoulder and looking into her eyes. "He's gone."
"You can't say he won't be back."
"Maybe not, but there's nothing to gain by dwelling on this. The guild needs to move on. I don't want to leave you behind, either."
Rath sighed. "Right."
Brynjolf stepped away towards the desk. "We're currently short a guildmaster, for a start."
"You mean you're not doing it? Aren't you second in command around here?"
"Yeah, and I like being second in command around here."
"Well, there's Vex and Devlin-"
"Your name's coming up as well, Lass."
"Me? But I'm basically new here."
"Rath. Rathleen. The guildmaster doesn't have to be old, they just have to be the best."
Rath shook her head. "If you pick me, you'll just be electing another Mercer."
Brynjolf frowned and looked her up and down. "You're not Mercer."
"No. Not yet. Once Mercer wasn't the man he is now, either."
"Yes, well, unlike Mercer, you'd have us looking out for you."
"Who looked out for Mercer?" she murmured. Gallus and Karliah; two lovers who failed to look outside themselves until it was too late.
"There's no rush, Lass. Think it over."
As far as Rath was concerned, her mind was already made up, but she wouldn't turn down the opportunity to move on from the subject. She stayed staring at the vault for a while longer, doodling idly on her journal, but she knew it was getting her nowhere. Everyone seemed to sense she didn't want conversation, and left her alone with her thoughts.
Maybe Brynjolf was right about the puzzle door, but Mercer opening the vault by himself looked physically impossible and magically unlikely. Maybe when she found him again, she'd let him live long enough to force him to tell her his technique.
She went to bed annoyed and undecided as to what she'd do the next day.
She woke up some time later, viscerally certain that something was deeply wrong. She gave no sign she was awake, and instead listened, wondering what had woken her up. The soft snoring of her fellow thieves, the drip of water into the pool in the centre of the Cistern, the occasional pop of wood as the fires burned low – nothing sounded out of the ordinary. It had to be the early hours of the morning; the only time the Cistern really got quiet.
She opened her eyes. Everything was in its place. Her belt hung over the end of her bed, her weapons within easy reach. Her pack was on the floor near her bunk, just as she'd left it. Mercer was leaning against his desk, arms folded, quietly watching over the Cistern and its compliment of sleeping thieves. It had always struck her as an oddly affectionate and private gesture, and she'd only caught him at it once or twice in the depths of the night at times like this when she'd woken up for no reason. It always made her feel safe.
Wait. Mercer.
Every muscle tensed and every nerve ending jolted to alertness, as the last cobwebs of sleep were blown from her mind by sheer fear. Eyes wide open now, her heart pounding, she slowly eased a hand out from under the blankets, reaching up for the hilt of the Razor that hung next to her head.
"Very good." Mercer's growling drawl travelled across the space effortlessly, and sent a shiver down her spine. "I only just got here."
She'd lost the element of surprise, if she'd ever had it in the first place, and she flung herself out of bed, snatching her weapons, and landed in a low crouch. The cold air raised goosebumps on her bare skin; she was only in her chest bindings and a pair of linen shorts. Mercer was wearing his armour. Another unfair fight, but that seemed to be the way he liked them.
Only his head moved to track her movement, his arms were still crossed across his chest.
Rath took a deep breath, preparing to raise hell.
"You might want to rethink that." Mercer shifted his weight onto his feet, and drew his weapons. "The first one that comes to your aid will meet my blade. And how well do you think that will go for them? None of them are any match for you, and you are no match for me."
"We'll see about that." But she took his point, and kept her voice to a whisper.
All around the edge of the Cistern, thieves were sleeping. Rune with his head under his pillow, Cynric occasionally muttering in his dreams, and Sapphire curled up under a mound of blankets. There were all still alive, as far as she could tell, and all of them would die if Mercer decided to kill them.
Why was he even here? How dare he. And how stupid they'd been to assume he wouldn't be back, just because there was nothing left to steal.
"So, have they picked a successor yet? It should be you, you know. If you live long enough to-"
Rath wasn't listening, she was running, fast and silent, the stone floor under her feet cold and her blood hot. She raised Chillrend above her head, putting all her wiry strength into attempting to take Mercer's head off his shoulders. He jumped backwards rather than deflect her blade with his own, and put himself out of reach of the Razor. Rath followed, pressing him back, her face a mask of grim determination.
She didn't care what he had to say, or why he'd come back. All she knew was that he was now within reach of her blades, and that was all that mattered.
