Chapter 8:

Portia didn't even notice when she slipped into Oblivion. One moment she was studying her book, and the next, she was standing in Mehrunes' audience chamber. She blinked twice, taking in the sight of the black throne, before she realized what had happened. Obviously, she had been more tired than she'd given herself credit for, but really, she hadn't expected to arrive in Oblivion during a nap. There was no sleeping draught involved in this, yet here she was.

The chaos sphere was glowing, and she automatically turned toward a small archway to the right of the throne. She instinctually knew that he was there, her connection to Oblivion and the other sphere beckoning her in that direction. There was a slight stinging in her hip, but nothing crippling as she walked closer to the doorway, one hand reaching out to glide across the stone walls. She wanted to be brave, but there was a hesitancy in her step that would never leave her. This world was simply too dangerous for a human, and lest she forget that she was an intruder here, she recalled her cell and how her blood had seeped across its length.

Here goes nothing.

Portia found herself on the same balcony where she had seen Mehrunes once before, and it was her first time seeing Oblivion in daylight. The land's craggy cliffs rose in the distance, ribbons of lava trailing down their sides and forming pools about their bases, and the sky swirled in an odd kaleidoscope of purples and red. The main difference between day and night was the absence of stars, and the sky's shades were a bit lighter now, if not different in color. It was hotter too, Portia realized, and the heat remained apparent even though the stones of the palace were cool.

The palace itself stood on a flattened ledge jutting out from the side of a mountain, which Portia had not realized for some time. She had formerly assumed that it stood on an elevated plain, but the palace actually molded into the cliff's face, its rooms burrowing deep into the mountain. She could not imagine how large the mountain actually was if she had thought its ledge a plain, and as she looked upward, she saw other balconies and open passageways cut into the stone. The palace was more like a city given its massive size.

Suddenly feeling conspicuous, Portia grounded her attention to realize that Mehrunes was staring at her. He stood with two of his arms braced against the railing and the other two folded behind his back. He wore a calculating expression, and she took several steps backward to widen the distance between them. She did not like when he was obviously thinking about her.

"An odd time for you to be here," the prince stated in his gruff manner. Portia wondered if he would ever be able to hear her, but then again, she wouldn't want to test that possibility. So she remained silent, knowing that if he heard her, she'd never come back—the importance of spying or not. Every day, she was reminded of his wrath, and she knew from her readings that Mehrunes Dagon was vindictive. He'd once hunted a man for twenty years after the adventurer had defiled one of his statues at a shrine. How much worse would it be for her, having stolen from him?

"I have work to be done," Mehrunes told her. "Come along if you will, being, but there is nothing here for you to gain." He seemed insistent that she know he considered her nothing but a tolerated annoyance, and she was fine with that. Part of her was morbidly curious to know what he would do if he could harm her. She was sure that he would not be so accepting of her in such a case, but even now, she did not understand why he was calm. From her knowledge, he should be ceaselessly trying to capture or destroy her for invading his quarters, but he didn't.

She credited his apparent indifference on his unappreciated ability to launch surprise attacks, which would mean that his calm was a facade. Still, perhaps the prince brushed her aside since he was arrogant enough to consider her harmless. Just the way that he walked seemed to announce that he was untouchable, and then there was the way that he effortlessly commanded those around him. Part of it was his sheer power, for when he was displeased, it was enough to make the strongest dremora nervous, but beyond that, Mehrunes simply had their loyalty. From what Portia had seen, he was an expert at delegating tasks and enforcing order on his minions and world, and for that, she suspected that he was both respected and feared.

The more she watched, the more she learned. There were things here that no book ever said or hinted at.

"Valkynaz Kalket," Mehrunes called as they stepped back into the audience chamber. He stopped so suddenly that Portia didn't immediately follow suite, and her body inevitably moved forward against his, or that's what would have happened if she were physical. Instead, she was aware of touching him, but not being stopped by his solid form. Her ghostly presence rubbed across his, and for a moment, it looked to her as though her hand had gone inside of him. The sensation was downright creepy, and as she retracted her limb, she felt the earring flare with energy against her skin. Mehrunes must have also felt the spark, for he jerked his head around to glare at her.

Goblin's Gall!

Portia slipped away from the prince, and found herself crouching near the throne and peering out from around it. Mehrunes was still looking in her direction, but finally turned his attention to the dremora that had joined them. This daedra was different, for he wore the same black and red armor of his compatriots, but his head was uncovered, revealing ashen skin, two small horns on his forehead, and purple hair that was swept backward over his scalp. Portia now knew that he was a Valkynaz, one of the highest ranking dremora, but that was only a recent discovery.

"My Lord," the dremora greeted with a bow, and Portia was thrilled that she understood what he had said. "I have acquired suitable replacements." Now she frowned, having only caught the word for 'replacements'. "And the fool mage has been dealt with."

"Very good," Mehrunes nodded. "Where is the clothing?"

"In your room, my lord. Do you require anything else?"

"No, but have the mage's head put on a stake at the front gates."

"As you wish." Portia, having realized that she would not catch the gist of the conversation, had turned her attention to the throne. With her basic knowledge, she was deciphering the text running along the back of the chair, and she grimly frowned every few seconds when she had to stop and think about the word that she was working on. She heard the dremora leaving, and some small shift inside her mind warned that Mehrunes was getting closer, but she only had one more line to go.

"Do you sense anyone else in this room, Kalket?" the prince asked, switching to common tongue as the dremora neared the room's exit.

"No, my lord," and the dremora sounded puzzled. "Should I?"

"No. You may go." He was getting closer, so close that Portia could almost feel his power shimmering across her skin. It washed over her in waves that she was unsure would be present if she weren't wearing the chaos sphere.

"Don't even think about sitting on it," Mehrunes growled at her as she reached out and touched the engraved text before her. He was standing with one elbow resting against the throne, and his eyes were gleaming red in warning. She could only imagine how he would react if she defied him, and so she quickly retracted her hand, but not without snorting in annoyance at his condescending tone.

"That's better," he stated. "Keep your hands to yourself." Portia froze, wondering how he knew that her hand had been running over the stone. Could he detect her precise movements rather than just her general location? She didn't like that possibility one bit. "You're curious," Mehrunes continued. "Always touching and stopping to read things. It's uncommon for anyone outside of the Dunmer to understand our alphabet."

He reached out a hand toward her, and Portia stepped backward, which made Mehrunes smile, but it wasn't a comforting expression. It looked predatory with the way that his fangs showed, and his eyes gleamed in wicked delight.

"So you're smart enough to fear me," he mused. "Good. You should be." He continued moving toward the door, and Portia followed at a distance, wrongly assuming that he was done with her for the day. She should have been paying closer attention to the way that his shoulders suddenly tensed, for without warning, he whipped around and spoke a few harsh words in his own tongue. The effect was almost immediate, for Portia found herself feeling nauseated, and her lungs began working for air.

Portia...

Someone was calling her name, but it sounded as if the word was spoken from across an ocean. The sound wavered in the air, repeating itself, and Portia thought that perhaps it was Lucretia. It sounded like her, but that made no sense, and Portia was too busy stumbling away from Mehrunes to think about it. Her stomach turned, and she felt herself being tugged downward. Why that should be so, she didn't know, but she fought it. She fought with every ounce of willpower in her body, and as Mehrunes darkly chuckled, she glared. If this was his idea of comic relief, he was one sick bastard.

"Not so immune to that one, are you?" he questioned. "Some spells aren't bound by physical targets. You should have known that I'd find a way to get at you." One finger reached for her, and Portia found herself increasingly frustrated. He would not treat her like some weakling to toss around—not again, even if that's exactly what she was. She could imagine his fingernail cutting into her skin, and his hateful eyes burning into her vision. The triumph that she saw in him now was worse and equally effective at making her want to injure him.

"No!" she spat, reaching out and knocking his hand aside. Mehrunes appeared shocked at the force that blocked his touch, and Portia could now feel her skin burning. His earring was glowing, and hers was glowing, and a force cracked between them so strongly that both felt it. Portia was left breathless from the effort as she stood there, looking at her hand and then Mehrunes'. She had succeeded in moving him with nothing but her bare hands, and there he was, eyeing her like the furious deity that he was.

"Where did you get such power?" he demanded. I don't know. Portia watched his face do the familiar morphing from anger to thought, and something told her that he sensed her confusion. "You don't know," Mehrunes said almost to himself, confirming her suspicions.

Portia?

Not that voice again. Portia felt like she had enough to think about at the moment without a disembodied speaker adding to her confusion. Tentatively, Mehrunes lifted a hand, but did not move it toward Portia. He simply held it out in front of his chest, half-way extended, and stared at her with the most difficult of expressions to read.

"Would you dare touch a prince?" he asked her. "You have permission this once." Portia found herself reaching out, the earring still warming her body as her fingertips drew closer to his. Her pointer finger met red flesh, and it didn't pass through him as it normally would have. It remained pressed against the hard, solid surface of his hand, causing her to recoil as quickly as she'd reached out. This revelation jolted her, and she decided that she was going to leave right now. The voice was getting more insistent; she was stunned, and Mehrunes did the unexpected by chuckling. The sound was rich and rumbled up from the depths of his broad chest, filling Portia's ears and reminding her of the low beginnings of an earthquake.

"How very brave of you!" he said, and he actually sounded approving. "But Oblivion eventually makes its visitors its own. Time ticks, being. How long before the power of my world pulls you in too deeply to escape?" The words hit Portia with chilling power as she left her dream. Someone was shaking her, and she went toward that force, wanting to escape Mehrunes' reach. She had never meant to allow her ties to Oblivion to take her so precariously close to the real thing, but here it was.

Elsewhere, within the walls of the Arcane University, several mages were congregating for a meeting. They had never felt a power surge such as the one that had momentarily shot through the air around the city, and they had a very bad feeling about its source.

*****************

"I'm awake," Portia announced. She was sitting in the same chair that she'd been reading in, and the book was still propped open on her lap. Lucretia was standing beside her, one hand on Portia's shoulder, and eyes staring curiously at the book's content. Damn, but Portia had slipped up this time. She closed the book with as much reserve as possible, and smiled up at the other woman. The two had been talking more recently, and Portia found that having another woman around was desirable. After all, she was overwhelmingly surrounded by men both in the Blades and at the palace training grounds.

"Are you alright?" Lucretia asked. "I could not wake you, and you were muttering in your sleep."

"I'm fine," Portia assured, but she herself didn't believe it.

"I'm glad to hear it," Lucretia smiled, and stepped away. They were in Portia's rooms, and the doors to the chamber were still open. "You will forgive my intrusion, but a maid came up to clean and said that you appeared to be in some sort of pain."

"It was just another nightmare," Portia dismissed, although inside she was still reeling from the new physical parameters that were forming in Oblivion. There was no telling how much stronger her presence would become if she continued to go there. That was an insurmountable problem now that she no longer knew if she could prevent her visits to the darker plane, for she hadn't even taken a draught to get stuck there this time.

"I can have tea or refreshments sent up for you," Lucretia offered. "If you are not feeling well, there is no need to trouble getting it yourself." Portia smiled at Lucretia's obvious amusement. The woman found it funny that Portia often fetched and did things for herself rather than letting the household staff handle mundane tasks. Being highborn, Lucretia probably didn't know what it was like to do everyday tasks for herself, but that was fine with Portia. The woman was privileged, and why not continue in a comfortable life? It simply wasn't for Portia.

"Thank you for waking me," Portia gratefully motioned, and she meant it.

"You're welcome, and how is your new job going?"

"Which one?" Portia snorted, and watched Lucretia give her a subtle nod of the head. So the wife did know about her guest's dual existence.

"Both," Lucretia replied. "I myself will be at the palace for the next few days. One of the countesses is visiting, and we are old friends, so if you require any assistance, I will be available." Portia nodded in thanks and mentally congratulated herself for having rightly assumed how useful Lucretia was as a friend.

"Thank you for the offer," she said. "The work is fine, although I have a feeling that Arelius has something up his sleeve. And you," she smiled goodheartedly, "are probably working as his accomplice."

"I am only a humble wife," the other woman said. "I am bound to give him my assistance." Portia made a snort of disbelief, and Lucretia lightly laughed in response. "I am pleased to see that your ordeals have not crippled your sense of humor, Portia. It makes things easier, doesn't it?"

"Hell yes." Lucretia raised her eyebrows at the woman's word choice, and it was Portia's turn to laugh. Her comment definitely wasn't language befitting the chambers of polite society, but she didn't particularly care. In this manor, she had no role other than herself. It was the only place that she allowed herself to be so relaxed, except maybe when she was with Gilthan.

"Arelius left this for you," Lucretia informed her, and passed a sealed letter to the seated woman. "It goes with the present on your bed." So Arelius was back to his traditional way of dealing with Portia—back to being the distant figure that always showed up at the perfect moment, and always made the job feel personal without getting too close to anyone.

"I knew that you were plotting with him," Portia teased Lucretia as she accepted the letter and noted the large box sitting on her mattress. She cracked the seal and frowned as she scanned the letter's contents. "Do you know what it says?" she asked.

"No, and it is meant for your eyes only," Lucretia stated. Contrary to popular belief, there were many secrets between her and her husband, because that's how the Blades operated. She excused herself and left Portia to deal with the latest assignment, which Portia was digesting with interest. A body of a beggar had been found in the Market District, and the killing was unusual in that the person had been dispatched with a poisoned dagger. Apparently the poison was rare and expensive, and Arelius wanted Portia to investigate and find out what had happened. He suspected that it might have something to do with the secret attackers at the harbor, for the poison in both incidents was the same, and that could mean a lead on the Mythic Dawn.

Portia burnt the letter and opened the box that Arelius had left her. She paled when the lid came off to reveal a beautifully polished sword that bore the Imperial Legion's dragon carved into the blade directly beneath the hilt. The pommel was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship that was wrapped in a red, leather grip, and the blade itself was a little longer than her arm. She recognized the sword alright, for it was that Arelius had given her upon her first promotion in the Blades, and she could still imagine innocent blood flowing down its length.

He had died on this sword.

Why the hell would Arelius give this back to her? She had forsaken it that night, and she hadn't touched it since. It held too many painful associations, but here it was, as sharp and artfully designed as the day she'd first received it, and how she had loved its weight strapped to her hip! Anger bubbled in her chest when she realized what Arelius was trying to force on her, but she quickly brushed it aside. She would reclaim the sword alright, and she'd wear its bloodstain as a part of her history, but it wasn't just for him. True, she knew that refusing the gift would make her look weak in his eyes, but it wasn't his will that made her fasten the scabbard around her waist.

Her body easily and naturally accommodated the addition weight and feel of the sword at her side, and she laid a hand on the metalwork with a blank expression. If Mehrunes couldn't break her, neither would the ghost of a man, but he was there, standing in the back of her mind, watching her with wide and pained eyes. She knew that it would never go away, but since that was the case, and since she had wronged that man, she had no right to ignore what had happened. That had been what she'd been resorting to: running from her actions, and that was unacceptable, as Arelius had pointed out. She already had one wound to remind her of what chased her, so why not a tool that would do the same? It was a painful decision to take up that sword, but she realized that since she'd gone to Oblivion, her life had been building up to this moment. The chance to run was gone.

Portia strode out of the room with a renewed burden that somehow felt lighter than it should. It almost seemed silly to be scared of a sword when a daedric prince was after her, and that's what she told herself as she went looking for her most prized beggars—the ones that always knew what happened on backstreets. She pondered at the coincidence that her sword belt wound directly over her eternal wound, making it gently ache as if to rub her faults in her face. That was heavier than the blade, but she bore both of symbols of suffering with a determination that had been set upon her by powers outside of her control. It was exactly what Arelius wanted, but Portia would never admit that carrying the sword had anything to do with him...or Mehrunes for that matter.