Warnings for abuse, rape threats. etc. Malrian really hits his evil stride in this chapter.
Malrian checks his appearance in his vanity mirror. He looks impeccable, as usual, but with the impending arrival of the Supreme Emissary, he's been obsessing about his appearance all morning. He can find no flaw in his clothing, as his Justiciar uniform has been recently mended and polished. The early morning sunlight dances across the inky leather like moonlight upon water. His long, white hair cascades over his shoulders, contrasting nicely with the black robe. There is not a single hair out of place. No blemish marring his skin. He is perfect.
Despite all that, there is an impending sense of dread that settles over him when he leaves the safety of his chambers. His mother will be there soon, and he cannot argue with her like he argues with Elenwen. If his sister orders him to mate with Ravienne, he can fight back and delay the process. But if his mother orders him to do so, he will have no choice but to immediately comply. If he doesn't he could be stripped of his titles, purged from the family records, and cast out on the streets with not a single septim to his name, and that's only if Mother is in a good mood. He is her youngest child, male, unmarried and childless. He is of no value to her if he is disobedient.
Malrian always knew this day would come. He's been avoiding the entire, wretched breeding process for decades. But it seems as if his time has finally run out. He refuses to believe that the Supreme Emissary Psysha is visiting just to see her children. Elenwen has undoubtedly been in contact with her, and has told her all about his unwillingness to go along with breeding.
He schools his expression into one of sophisticated disinterest as he steps into his foyer. His sisters are already there, along with Ravienne, Ancarion, and his two brats.
"Nice of you to finally join us, brother," Elenwen says coolly. "A caller came by moments before you arrived. Mother's entourage has been spotted less than a mile away."
Malrian forces his breathing to remain steady, despite the anxiety twisting his stomach into knots. "Very good," he says, proud of how calm he sounds. "Is everything in order for tonight's party?"
"Yes!" Aelfwynie chirps. "The ballroom looks amazing, the caterers are currently preparing the meal, and the guest list is positively bursting! Everyone I invited has chosen to attend!"
Malrian clenches his jaw, Aelfwynie really is lucky she's his favorite sister. His voice is monotone when he says, "Marvelous. I am beside myself with excitement. I cannot wait for my home to be invaded by a hoard of strangers."
Aelfwynie rolls her eyes. "They're not strangers," she says. "They're your friends and colleagues."
"You have friends?" Lady Ravienne asks, batting her lashes and looking shocked at the mere idea. Beside her, Elaninde demurely covers her mouth with her hand and laughs.
"With me, all of you!" Elenwen snaps, effectively stopping another argument between Malrian and Ravienne before it even begins. "The Supreme Emissary will arrive soon."
They line up in front of the portico, Elenwen will greet their mother first, as is her right as the firstborn daughter. Ancarion and his two misfits stand next to her, followed by Elaninde, Aelfwynie, Ravienne, and lasty, Malrian. As the youngest male in the family he is not very important at all, so he is the last to greet their matriarch.
A train of carriages trundle down the tidy, cobblestone path in front of his home. The first, a white and gold carriage that is pulled by four, snow white geldings, stops in front of the porch. Two servants descend on the carriage; one opens the door while the other places an ornate stepstool on the ground.
His mother steps from the carriage, moving so smoothly one could almost think she is floating. A white, silk dress clings to her body. The dress has been cut specifically to accent her curves, highlighting her role as a mother. Loose sleeves hang past her shoulders, fluttering in the wind. The neckline of the dress plunges low, showing off her full breasts, and allowing them to rest naturally, rather than push them up and together as many of the current styles do. A wide, jeweled belt sits on her hips, emphasizing their width. The slits along the sides of her skirt reveal her thighs, which are adorned with stretch marks from her multiple, successful pregnancies.
She stands in stark contrast to Elenwen, whose body is concealed beneath her somber, black robes. Elenwen could have dressed in a way that showcased her own signs of motherhood, but she chose to greet Psysha as the First Emissary, and not as a fellow mother. The Supreme Emissary is dressed how most matriarchs dress in Alinor. Wide hips and stretch marks are a badge of honor. A silent declaration to the rest of society that a woman has bred successfully and her bloodline will continue on.
Psysha's full lips curl into a smile when she greets Elenwen. She compliments her, kisses her forehead and embraces her. She showers Elenwen in more affection in five seconds than she's ever shown Malrian in his entire lifetime. He supposes he ought to feel jealous, but he was always warned against seeking out his mother's affection rather than vying for it. In truth, Aelfwynie is more of a mother to him than Psysha. It was she who taught him to read, disciplined him when necessary, and tucked him into bed at night. Human society would find his distance from his mother shameful, or perhaps sad. But such things are quite normal in Altmeri society. She gave him nine months of her time and energy, what more should he really ask for?
Next, Psysha greets Aelfwynie with as much enthusiasm as she did with Elenwen. Aelfwynie may not be a Thalmor, but she is a rarity by Altmeri standards. She is madly in love with her husband, and she's had multiple female children by him, thus ensuring the family lineage will carry on. His Mother greets Elaninde as one would a guest at a party; she takes her hand and compliments her on her beauty, and then she moves on. Psysha ignores Ancarion and her two grandsons, as is expected, and she only awards Ravienne a polite nod as she passes her by.
"Malrian, my darling boy," Psysha purrs, and for a moment Malrian thinks he is hallucinating, because his mother is actually addressing him. She touches his chin, turning his head side to side. "You grow more handsome with each passing century."
"Thank you, Supreme Emissary," Malrian intones, not knowing how to respond to her compliment.
She smiles at him, shaking her head. "I am not here on official business, Malrian. I am here as your mother. Though I do wish to speak to you later about the success you've had here in Cyrodiil."
"Of course, Mother," he says, the word feeling unfamiliar on his tongue. "I would be honored to speak with you whenever it is convenient." His eyes briefly meet Elenwen's and she is just as surprised as he that his mother is speaking to him and praising him.
"Elenwen," she calls over her shoulder. "Walk me to my room. I would speak with you privately."
"Yes, Mother." Elenwen follows after their mother, and if she is nervous about speaking with her privately, she doesn't allow it to show.
With his mother momentarily occupied, Malrian excuses himself and retreats to his study. He has no desire to socialize with his sisters or his simpleton nephews, and he most certainly does not wish to speak to Ravienne or Ancarion. All he wants is a few moments alone, and the only company he is willing to tolerate is that of his pet. But he cannot risk it. Psysha likely knows about his pet, but the less time she sees him spending with her, the better.
A tremulous sense of peace settles over Malrian as he carefully drips sealing wax onto a folded letter, and presses his signet ring into the rapidly hardening substance. His family crest stares back at him from the neatly folded letter. It is easy to lose himself in the intricate design adorning the wax, and in what it means. A sealed letter is a sign of a job well done, or of one just beginning. If he loves anything, he loves the work he does for the Dominion. Nothing makes him happier than moving assets or soldiers, and interrogating and executing prisoners.
He wishes he could view Ravienne as he views his work. Elenwen claims it's his duty, but it is hard for him to see it that way. He can serve the Dominion so much more efficiently behind his desk, rather than beneath some wailing slattern.
The door to his study swings open, and when he looks up he expects to see his mother or Elenwen, but in their stead is Elaninde and Ravienne. "It is considered rude to enter one's chambers without knocking," he says, his voice calm as water, masking the anger that bubbles beneath. "I trust you have good reason for interrupting my work."
Ravienne places her hand to her chest, feigning offense. "I only wished to see you," she says, perching on the corner of his desk. "If we are to be mated then we really should learn to tolerate each other."
"I would tolerate you better if you were in the other room, my lady."
"You are lucky that I am trying," she snaps, all false pretense gone. "Especially after the way you've treated me."
"If you are so displeased, then we should terminate our agreement," he suggests. "Perhaps, then you could find someone more suited to your clumsy advances."
"Ravienne is hardly a clumsy lover," Elaninde purrs. "Trust me, I would know."
Malrian is prepared to tell them off, but the sound of his door opening again silences him. He rises from his chair when he sees his mother enter the room, and he isn't sure if her presence will be a blessing or a curse. Only time will tell.
Psysha steps across the carpet, her dress billowing behind her as she approaches his desk. "Malrian, my dear, I hope I am not interrupting anything," she says, but only for the sake of appearing polite. The Supreme Emissary may interrupt whomever she pleases. "I would like to speak with you."
"It would be an honor, mother."
Elaninde inclines her head. "Pardon us, mother. Lady Ravienne and I shall take our leave."
"Just a moment," Psysha says suddenly, and she takes a step toward Ravienne, running a strand of her long, black hair through her fingers. "You are to be providing me with grandchildren, is that correct?"
"It is, First Emissary."
"I wonder where Elenwen managed to find you," she says, displeasure threading through her voice. "You have such dark hair. What a shame. I was hoping for blonde grandchildren." Psysha quickly removes her hand from Ravienne's hair, as if it were something nasty and impure.
"There is a chance our children will take after Malrian rather than me," Ravienne says, her voice strained.
"One always hopes their children will take after the more attractive parent," Psysha says, while Malrian revels in the insults she heaps upon Ravinne. "But sadly, that is not always the case. Now leave, both of you. I wish to speak with my son."
He watches the two women leave his study with immense satisfaction. "Are you not pleased with my mate, Mother?" he asks as he leads her to the sitting area near the bay window.
"I am not," she says, sitting primly on the divan. "You are my fourth child, and a male. I never expected much from you. But what you have accomplished in the last decade alone is rather impressive. As such, you deserve an attractive mate with more connections. Ravienne's only connection is Elaninde, and between you and me, that isn't much." She taps her chin with a perfectly manicured nail, regarding him very seriously for a moment. "Tell me, Malrian, why did you not choose a mate for yourself?"
His back goes rigid at that question, and he wonders how to answer. She would not like the truth, and she would see straight through a lie. A half-truth, then. "I know it sounds absurd, but I never got around to it. I like to stay busy, and with all that I do, I've hardly had any time to look for a proper mate."
Psysha nods, seemingly satisfied with his answer. "You certainly have been busy," she says. "I want to hear the story of how you eradicated the Dark Brotherhood from Cyrodiil."
"Were you not given the reports?" he asks, a little surprised she would ask him about that.
"Of course I read the reports," she says tersely. "Perhaps I want to hear the story from my son, himself."
"Yes, mother. Forgive me." Malrian stares down at his hands neatly folded in his lap, wondering where to begin. Again, he cannot tell her the truth- that he suspected Lumen's mother was an assassin, sent to get into his good graces and kill him. That heartbreak and betrayal is what started him down the path to his one, major success. "As you know, the Dark Brotherhood managed to kill quite a few of our high ranking agents here. When I heard of more and more Thalmor falling to the hands of those degenerates, I started to look into it. As luck would have it, an assassin that was sent to kill a fellow justiciar was caught. Rather than kill him, the justiciar had him imprisoned so I could question him. I wasn't certain if an interrogation would work, so I bribed him instead."
Psysha lifts one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "That was brave. He could have run off with the money and warned his brethren."
"He could have, yes, but only if I let him go," Malrian says, a tiny smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. "He remained imprisoned until I could verify that what he said was true. It was, and I did eventually free him with his reward."
"When did you free him?" she asks. "After you destroyed their sanctuaries?"
"I set him free after Bruma was destroyed. He showed us to the Night Mother's supposed crypt, which we raided, only to find nothing. I expected as much, however. The Night Mother was nothing but a fairy story used to justify murder."
"The assassin led you to one of the Dark Brotherhood's most precious relics? I find that hard to believe."
"The Dark Brotherhood was falling, and we offered him more gold than he would ever see working for them. His beliefs kept him from killing his own kind, but he was more than happy to point out his fellow assassins to us, and one by one, they fell to our blades."
"The report said there were two sanctuaries," she says, the tone of her voice putting Malrian on edge. "What of the other?"
"Ah, well, that is where things got complicated," he admits. "The assassin refused to tell us where it was. He said there was no one left and no reason to destroy the sanctuary. So we silenced him. I've had guards stationed in Cheydinhal for the past six months, searching for any signs of leftover assassins, but so far there have been none."
"Can you be certain you've destroyed the Brotherhood? Even without knowing where the last sanctuary is?"
"Yes, I am certain that my work is complete."
"Good," she says, gracefully crossing one leg over the other. "Because I have an assignment for you."
"You have but to ask," he says, because an assignment from the Supreme Emissary herself might give him the perfect excuse to get out of this horrid mating contract in favor of his true duty to the Dominion.
"How far would you be willing to travel in order to eradicate more assassins?"
"To the ends of Nirn, if I had to."
Psysha laughs. "You won't have to go that far, my dear. Just to Alinor."
"Truly? The Dark Brotherhood have a hold in Alinor?"
"No," she shakes her head, her fluffy, golden hair swaying with the movement. "One of my advisors believes the killings to be the work of a different group. We do not yet know who they are, or who they are working for. Since you had such success here, I want to have you by my side in Alinor."
"What about-" he stops himself before he asks "What about Lumen?" Would he even be able to bring her with him? He cannot just leave his little pet behind.
"Who? Lady Ravienne? Don't tell me you're attached to her," Psysha laughs. "Do this for me and you will rise higher in the ranks than you ever thought you would. Do this, and I will see to it that you are given to a suitable mate with connections and traits just as attractive as your own."
"I will gladly do this for you," he breathes, giddy at the chance to go home. Glad to leave Ravienne behind and- well, he will figure out a way to bring his pet with him. He will not leave her behind.
Lumen stares out the window at the clear, blue sky. She gave up on reading hours ago, after she kept dozing every few pages. Now, she just sits at her small writing desk, idly picking at a dent in the wood. She is bored beyond belief. How could Malrian expect her to stay locked up like this? How long does he expect her to tolerate this before she loses her mind?
The sound of the doorknob turning rouses her, and she stands up, straightening the wrinkles from her skirt. She wonders if her master has had a change of heart and he's come to free her. If not that, then perhaps he's at least willing to offer her a bit of company for a few minutes. But when the door swings open to reveal Ravienne instead of her master, Lumen's heart sinks.
Ravienne slips an odd-looking hairpin back into her bun. "Come on, girl. Your master has need of you."
"He does?" she asks. "He would come fetch me himself if he did." The words are out of her mouth before she thinks better of it, and Ravienne narrows her eyes at her.
"I am going to be here for a very long time," she snaps, resting her hands on her hips. "You are expected to follow my orders, as well!"
"But-" she flinches when Ravienne stalks toward her with her hand raised, as if she means to strike her. "Yes, mistress," she says quickly. "Forgive my impudence- I didn't mean to offend-"
Ravienne swings her arm, but rather than slapping Lumen, she balls her hand into a fist and punches her square in the jaw. Lumen stumbles backwards, her back connecting painfully with the edge of her writing desk. There are stars dancing in her vision and a sharp, swelling pain spreads across the side of her face. She stumbles to the ground, her mind reeling from what just happened.
"Malrian may get off on your groveling, but I don't!" She grabs Lumen by the collar of her dress, and while she doesn't have the same strength as Malrian, she is still able to drag the little Bosmer to her feet. "If the fool wasn't so enamoured with you, I'd be pregnant by now!"
"I doubt it," Lumen says through gritted teeth as she tries to escape Ravienne's grasp. She doesn't know what the woman is up to, but her master would never send a guest to fetch her. He either does it himself, or he'll send a servant if he is unable.
"How dare you!" she hisses, her hand letting go of Lumen's dress only to yank at her hair.
Lumen lashes out at her attacker, stamping on her foot and digging the heel of her shoe into the exposed flesh of Ravienne's foot. She flails her arms, nails scratching skin and ripping fabric. "Let me go!" she shouts. "My master will hear of this!"
Ravienne cries out in pain, stumbling away from her, looking rather shocked. She hadn't expected such ferocity from Malrian's pampered pet. Lumen darts out the door before Ravienne can attack her again, running down the hall with the other woman hot on her heels. Her master will be furious about this, but she doesn't know who else to run to for protection.
They both descend the stairs, their feet thumping loudly against the wood as they both run toward Malrian's study. But the noise attracts more attention than either of them want, and Elenwen steps out of the sitting room and gasps. "What in Auriel's name is going on, here?"
Lumen skids across the marble, coming to a stop at Elenwen's feet and dropping to the ground. She has no choice but to grovel at her feet, hoping for mercy. "She attacked me, mistress!"
"I did no such thing!" Ravenne snarls, limping toward Elenwen. "Look at what that beast did to me!"
"Keep your voices down," Elenwen hisses. "Malrian is meeting with the Supreme Emissary, and I do not want them interrupted by either of you."
Elenwen's warning comes too little, too late. Malrian steps out of his study, a quiet fury burning behind his eyes as he looks to the three women in the hallway. "What was all that racket? Mother and I are trying to have a conversation."
"Your little mongrel attacked Lady Ravienne," Elenwen says, looking to Ravienne and then to Lumen. "Supposedly."
Psysha steps out of the study, her discerning eyes sweeping over the interesting scene in the hallway. "I thought you would have more control over those in your care, Malrian," she says, her voice soft and menacing. "You command your soldiers so well."
Everyone gathered in the hallway falls silent. Malrian has no excuses to offer, and Elenwen knows better than to involve herself in this affair. The only sound is the soft click of Psysha's heels as she steps around the group, carefully studying every minute detail. She stops in front of Ravienne first, gingerly taking her bruised hand in her own to examine the swollen, bruised knuckles she gave herself when she punched Lumen.
"Can you not cast a simple healing spell, dear?" Psysha asks. "There is no reason for you to stumble around, covered in bruises."
"I can, Supreme Emissary, but-"
"But, what? Were you expecting pity?" she asks, amused. "From me, or from my son? Because I assure you, it will take more than a little scrap with the hired help to earn pity from either of us."
"She isn't hired help, she is his plaything!" Ravienne says, her voice shaking with rage. "She is the reason he has no interest in me!"
The others may not notice, but she can hear Malrian taking a slow, deep breath. That, combined with the stiffness of his posture tells Lumen all she needs to know, and she wishes she could run. He is furious. Mostly at Ravienne, but probably at her as well. He wanted her to remain hidden from the Supreme Emissary, but now she's here, groveling on the floor while the woman stalks around her like a wolf on the prowl.
"That's quite an accusation," Psysha says, then taps Lumen on the shoulder. "Stand up, girl, so that I may speak with you. I cannot hold a conversation with someone who is wallowing on the floor."
Lumen does as she's bid, standing quickly with her eyes trained on the ground. Psysha grips her chin between her thumb and forefinger, lifting her face and moving it side-to-side, her gaze lingering upon the swollen bruise on her jaw. "Do you know who I am, girl?"
"The Supreme Emissary."
"Beyond that."
"I do not know," she answers, her body quivering in fear. "I am sorry."
"I am Supreme Emissary Psysha," she tells her. "And I am Malrian's mother, did you know that?"
"No, mistress." She can scarcely believe she's speaking to her master's mother, let alone the leader of the Aldmeri Dominion. Oh, this is not good.
"What is the nature of your relationship with Malrian?" Psysha asks, smiling sweetly as she gently pulses a healing spell across her swollen jaw. But Lumen knows better. She knows it is only a ploy to gain her trust.
Lumen's eyes flick to her master's angry face, and then back to Psysha. She's never had to describe their relationship before, and it's not exactly an easy thing to put into words. "I- I am his pet. I provide him with company if he wishes, and I leave when he tires of me."
"Do you pleasure him sexually?" she asks calmly, as if she is an interrogator with no emotional stake in the mer around her.
"No, mistress," she gasps, while Malrian blanches at the question. "Never."
"Lady Ravienne seems to think so."
Lumen hesitates, glancing at Ravienne before continuing. "Lady Ravienne is looking for someone else to blame for her own failures," she says, figuring she ought to at least earn the beating she received earlier. "She is simply too low-bred for my master's refined tastes."
"You little bitch!" Ravienne snaps.
"Leave us. This is a family matter." Psysha doesn't bother to look at Ravienne when she gives the order. Instead, she turns to look at both Malrian and Elenwen. "My children and their proclivity for willful pets," she sighs. "What is a mother to do?"
"Mother, please," Malrian begins, his voice nervous and uncertain for once. "I can explain-"
"I do not require any explanation, Malrian," she says tersely. "If you are to come to Alinor, you cannot bring an untrained pet with you. She may get away with lashing out at your guests here, but the laws surrounding pet ownership in Alinor are quite strict, and I will not suffer the shame of you being fined because of your wild Bosmer."
"I have broken her before, Mother," he says with more confidence. "I can do it again."
"See that you do. Because if you do not have her perfectly trained by the time we leave, then she'll have to be put down." Psysha, fluffs her hair, breathing yet another sigh. Having all the signs of a mother who is disappointed in her children. "See to your pet, Malrian. We will talk again at supper."
Malrian practically drags Lumen back to her chambers, where the servants have already brought her evening bath. He slams the door shut behind them, and shoves her further into the room. "Do I even want to know why you attacked Ravienne?"
"Because she attacked me!" Lumen gasps, cringing in his shadow. "I didn't know what to do!"
"What you do is tolerate whatever she does to you," he snaps. "Then you tell me what has happened and I will be the one to deal with her, not you!"
"Yes, master," she whispers. "I'm so sorry, master."
He stares at the large, copper tub of water. It's been sitting there a while, as there is no steam coming from it. Good. A cold, uncomfortable bath will only be the first part of her punishment. "Your bath is getting cold," he murmurs.
"I suppose it is," she says, surprised by the change of subject.
"Disrobe and get in your bath," he says suddenly. "No sense in wasting it." When she looks up at him in question, he can no longer control his anger. He lunges at her, shoving her into the lukewarm water, clothes and all. "When I give you an order, you do it," he growls, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her from the water. "Do you understand me, girl?" When all Lumen can do is cough and sputter rather than provide a suitable reply, he shoves her head beneath the surface and holds her down. He doesn't care that his robes are now soaked, and he barely registers the little hands grabbing at his arm. All he cares about is putting her in her place. Taming her. Breaking her. And if he cannot break her, then he will be the one to kill her, not his mother, and certainly not one of her lackeys.
He yanks her back out of the water, only for her to wretch upon the first gasp of air. "Do you realize what is happening? Do you realize that I hold your life in my hands?" He leans closer to her, reveling in the fear in her eyes. "I could kill you in so many ways. I could drown you. Electrocute you. I could call my guards up here and let them fuck you until there was nothing left of your spirit. Would you like that?"
"No," she cries. "Please don't-" Her words dissolve into meaningless drivel as the tears start to fall uncontrollably.
"I've no palate for your tears, pet." Malrian pushes her beneath the surface again, squeezing his hand around her throat and watching her thrash. She fights even harder this time, fear and the basic will to survive taking over her sense of obedience. He drags her out of the tub, dropping her to the floor and watching her body shake as she breathes in lungfuls of air.
He holds his silence as he watches. Her body shivering from the cold and from air deprivation. Her rasping breaths, the water still rattling in her lungs. He watches, satisfied, when she remembers herself and she crawls across the wet carpet and curls up at his feet. Her voice is little more than a soft murmur; her lungs too weak to push enough air to her sore throat. But he understands her. Her desperate pleas for mercy and her promises to be good. But they are not enough. Not this time.
"Come with me, pet." He grabs the collar of her dress, dragging her upright and forcing her to walk. She stumbles down the hallway, her legs weak, but she knows better than to test his patience by falling behind. The servants that they pass all turn their heads to look away when they see a furious justiciar dragging his disobedient pet through the corridors of the estate. They know that it's best to pretend they see nothing at all, lest they fall victim to his temper.
They pass through the kitchens and down into the vast cellar, her waterlogged dress dripping a path of bathwater all the way. It doesn't matter. He'll have the servants mop up, and it will be as if this entire, tedious affair of punishing his pet never happened.
Down through the twisting hallways of the cellar, he finally reaches the room at the very back. The interrogation chamber. The room is pitch black and practically soundproof, equipped with a drain to dispose of any blood, viscera, or any other unsavory substances that leak out during a typical Thalmor interrogation. He wrenches the door open and shoves Lumen inside. She cries out when she lands on the floor, which is tacky with the half-dried remnants of his last prisoner.
"Did you know your mother died in here? Not by my hand, unfortunately. But on my orders." He motions at the rack on the far side of the room. "Just over there."
"B-but you said-" she gasps, hysterical sobs threatening to overtake her once again. "You said you tried to save her."
"The truth would have saved her," he snaps, curling his lip as Lumen pulls away from the sticky floor, her dress coated in old blood. "Your obedience will save you, pet. You want to live, don't you?"
"I-" she hesitates for a moment, as if she actually has to think about that question. "I do."
"Good," he says, pulling the large, door shut.
"No!" she screams, scrambling toward the door. "No! Please don't leave me in here! You can't!"
A tendril of lightning arcs from his hand, hitting Lumen and throwing her back into the room, and away from the door. "I can and I will," he growls. "You will remain here until I decide to come get you. Pray that I don't forget about you." He slams the door shut, muffling the sound of his pet's terrified screams.
As muffled as they are, he can still hear her desperate cry of, "Master, please! You can't leave me in here! Come back!" Despite her cries and the effect they have on him, he keeps walking. It is imperative that he breaks her again. Mother is right, though it pains him to admit it, his pet must be properly broken if she is to come to Alinor with him.
Lumen may think being locked in the cellar is her final lesson, but it is only the beginning.
Notes: So how many of you really hate Malrian now? Poor Lumen is in for a rough time these next few chapters...
The Dark Brotherhood thing - I am taking some liberties with the lore. There is little information about the fall, and I don't think Cicero's journal could be 100% reliable because it seems like his depictions of how other assassins died, etc. may have been hearsay rather than things he witnessed. It also seems like he was starting to lose his mind even before everyone died off. His writing starts to really take a change in Volume 3. (I don't want to admit how much I studied those damn journals so I could understand the character. Augh.)
