Chapter Three
"You have a plan for me, Speaker?"
Antoinetta blinks her eyes several times, just to make sure that she is not dreaming. Not only has she escaped certain death, but also her Speaker needs her help? Most importantly, she has been given an opportunity to prove herself worthy of his affection? It takes her a good deal of self-discipline not to reach out and touch the man who looks as self-assured and commanding as he used to. She will just have to trust her eyes and ears.
Lucien's smile deepens as he watches her expressions become slowly filled with what he wanted to see, hope and hunger for recognition. He does not make a habit of sharing classified information with his subordinates; he believes they need to know only what is necessary to complete a contract. This time, however, he believes it is to his advantage for her to learn the exact purpose of his scheme; it will help her better understand her role and his expectations.
"If the traitor still lives, he will be waiting for the completion of purification before his next move. Though he has never attempted to take my life so far, I believe it only a matter of time. If he were clever, he would target the other members of the Hand first, leaving the task of dealing with me to the Hand members who survive his sporadic attacks. The presumed link between my Sanctuary and the treachery will not be easily forgotten, making me the prime suspect. Even if they decide not to eradicate my existence without concrete evidence, each and every move of mine will be scrutinised and discussed, should things deteriorate further."
Antoinetta listens attentively without disrupting him, reassured by the confidence in his tone and manner. He must have a plan to prevent such an eventuality, and she will make sure it will work. The unwavering trust in her eyes is exactly what Lucien needed to regain. Now that he has it, all that his scheme requires is Ungolim's approval. As for the rest of the Hand, they must be kept in the dark as long as necessary.
"I will not become a sitting target, however. I will not wait to see how the events will turn out, whether the conspirator has indeed ceased to breathe during the purification process. If the Hand's response against the threat proves to be wrong, I must conclude that he has infiltrated into the very core of ..."
Lucien abruptly ends his talk as his trained ears pick up the sound of hurried footsteps approaching a hollowed tree, where a trap door to his private sanctum is hidden. Antoinetta too picks up the faint sound that only the most perceptive can make out in the middle of a discourse. A series of loud knocks on the metal trap door soon follows. By now, the Imperial Speaker has a pretty good idea about the identity of the unexpected visitor, the alarm in his eyes turning into relief with a hint of annoyance. Lucien calmly casts an invisibility spell over Antoinetta's worried form and whispers to her to remain silent before disappearing from her view. Antoinetta nervously watches Lucien reappear, closely followed by a rather exhausted-looking Argonian. Though she wants to stay put where she can view their interaction, she does not know how long the spell is going to last. Noiselessly, she moves herself away from them and hides behind a large stone pillar. It gives her some comfort that she should still be able to hear their communication.
Lucien takes a sealed parchment from Ungolim's messenger and reads the contents with a deep frown. He cannot understand why the Night Mother suddenly chose to speak about the purification of his Sanctuary after a long silence. She was perfectly content to watch her children suffer the consequences of their ignorance. It couldn't have been motivated by her desire to see her children unharmed. If that had been the case, she would have warned the Black Hand against their mistake earlier, before his Silencer wielded her deathly blade against her family. Something has changed, something important. He sends the Argonian messenger away, telling him that Ungolim should shortly expect a visit from one of his Speakers.
"You can come out now," Lucien says a short while after the trap door is securely shut, his features relaxing once again. "It seems that the Night Mother truly smiles upon you."
Sitting alone in a dark corner of his depressingly typical Bravil house, Ungolim takes a swig of what he regards as men and mer's poison. The placid, though charismatic, Listener rarely finds comfort in alcohol, especially during the daytime, but his last communication with the Night Mother was dismal enough to cause him to purchase a bottle of mead after a restless, sleep-deprived night. There were times when he enjoyed his prestigious position in the assassin guild and looked forward to hearing the sweet whispers of their Unholy Matron.
The quiet Bosmer has been a loyal child of Sithis and was once revered by all his Speakers. The Night Mother granted him her infinite and reassuringly dark insight, rendering him and his Black Hand powerful. That was why he was content to live a modest life in the rundown town of Bravil, to remain close to her wisdom. Unfortunately, Ungolim is now experiencing just how cold her love can be. She seems to have decided to withdraw her guidance when it was needed most and to show her disapproval only when it was too late.
He was rather surprised when she flatly refused his request to help the Hand to identify the traitor who somehow managed to infiltrate the Brotherhood. She told him in no uncertain manner that she would not reward incompetence, leaving him and his council no option but to take drastic measures; the purification of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. After that, she chose to deprive him of her audience for a whole week. Not a single word could be coaxed out of her during this period.
Last night, she finally broke her sullen silence, but the words that he had waited for so long did nothing but comfort him. The tone that accompanied the contents was equally unnerving; it was contemptuous and severe. There was no traitor within the walls of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary when you and your inept council ordered the annihilation of its residents was all that she revealed. It seemed to him that she now spoke only to condemn her children's foolishness. She still would not help them to find the desirable path.
Although he dispatched his personal courier to Fort Farragut immediately after his communication with the Night Mother, he had little hope that there would be survivors. He has never felt so inadequate in all his years of reign as the head of the awe-inspiring assassin guild. How is he going to relate her scornful revelation to the rest of the Hand, without losing their respect completely and deepening the mistrust and suspicion of each other that has already begun to take root?
Another swig of the bottle, and Ungolim's mood is beginning to improve. He so rarely drinks that the effect of alcohol doesn't take long to set in. Cold love is love nonetheless. He recites musingly, leaving aside his worries for the uncertain future of the Brotherhood for once. Suddenly, it hits him that the seemingly belated disclosure from their spiritual leader is not just that. He would have seen it easily months ago. He has been too troubled and apprehensive to think clearly these days. Ungolim takes the bottle to the sink and pours away all the contents. He will not require it any longer. What he needs is a long chat with Lucien Lachance over the past residents of the ill-fated Sanctuary.
A beautiful glade opens up before them as Antoinetta steps out into the clean air. Waving long grass moves in the wind, and outcrops of igneous rock pierce the surface. The view of the clear sky and the distant mountains holds the promise of freedom and positive things to come. Unlike the previous day, Antoinetta's steps are sure and purposeful, and her eyes burn with almost irrepressible excitement. If her Speaker weren't leading the way, she would have marvelled at the beauty of her surroundings, all things that she didn't expect to catch sight of ever again. She would have smiled at the song of the peewee filling the valley with seductive wobbling, calling for its mate. As it happens, her gaze rarely leaves the figure ahead of her, his plan and expectations occupying all thoughts. Well, most of her thoughts. There is still room for feeling giddy about the prospect of travelling together.
"We will have to stop at the Imperial City to get you new garments," Lucien states, helping her mount Shadowmere first. He does not want her to go back to the Sanctuary to retrieve her possessions. Nevertheless, he needs to free her from her shrouded amour at the earliest opportunity. "And you will have to change the colour of your hair once again, as a precautionary measure. Perhaps even make it shorter."
"Which hair colour would you recommend to me, Speaker?" asks Antoinetta, smiling at the slight contact Lucien's gloved hand makes with her flowing hair.
The first order Lucien gave her after she was admitted into the Sanctuary was to dye her hair, the original colouring of which had been dark red. Blonde was much less noticeable for a Breton girl, and it made easier her missions in the Imperial City. Lucien remembers well what she looked like when they first met. Despite her otherwise wretched appearance, there was still fire in her eyes, perfectly matching the colour of her hair. The sight left a strong impression on him, and he would like to see her shine in her natural glory once again. It is not the right time, however. Not yet.
"Light brown," he replies. "The Shadow prefers it that way."