Hey guys many thanks for the favs and notifications, please keep the comments coming, they are much appreciated and the feedback is extremely helpful! Also, it's good to know what you like and don't like about this story! Warning: this chapter is a little graphic!
They had travelled for two days and nights and were nearing Riverwood having dealt with a minor clutch of bandits, and a spriggon but thankfully no Falmer. They had passed and, in Mercer and Cynric's case, robbed a small group of Stormcloaks and a slightly larger cluster of Khajiit traders, who Marcurio had chosen to legitimately barter with, angrily waving away Cynric's offer to steal whatever he wanted.
It was a murky midday and a drizzle had just begun, the horses moved along a worn down path at a lazy walk carrying their belongings whilst the three walked beside them briskly, searching for a decent rest stop. They had come down from the mountains now and the snow had given way to damp grass, green leafed trees, weeds, dull flowers and thorny bushes. Near the path they walked on the grass was wild and thick, and the trees spread out. There were a couple of brooks nearby, some small hills and hints here and there of previous travellers including hoof prints, cow dung, burnt out campfires, a tatter of cloth caught on a bush and a dropped coin, which Cynric was swift to snatch up. Mercer noted it all with a dull interest, a small clump of dark fur on a tree branch indicated Khajiit, a tatter of soft, rich, navy blue cloth suggested the cloak of a Stormcloak, and the telltale black leaves high up in an oak tree hinted at a mage or a Flame Atronach.
After travelling for a weary hour, Mercer finally called a halt. "To the left," he commanded, gesturing to a small copse at the top of a hill, "we'll rest there." The thief did not wait for a reply or contradiction but instead tightened his grip on Frost's reins and led the way.
Cynric nodded approvingly and followed with his dapple grey, which he had named Robert, which had caused Marcurio to protest and grumble that Robert was not a horse's name. The thief had naturally ignored the wizard's argument and made a point of addressing the horse as Robert as often as possible.
"Well it will do," Marcurio grumbled, he was weary from travelling and eager to rest, eat and drink.
Amaris followed quietly, hopeful that she might get a chance to continue her reading. Though weary, she had slept surprisingly well the past two nights, warmer than she had been in Vilemyr Inn thanks to a fire and extra blankets thieved by Cynric from passing Nord travellers. Though wary of the Falmer in the night, she had felt a little more secure between the fire and Cynric, with Marcurio at her feet, and Cynric's dagger sheathed by her side.
Cynric unfolded a blanket for them to sit on beneath the trees, secured Robert to a tree and then lifted his bow from his shoulder with a grin and announced, "I'm going hunting." He hurried off to the east where another small group of trees lay and a stream trickled by softly, barely audible over the low drizzle.
Amaris pushed down her hood, sat down and reached to the worn satchel hanging by her side where the now much thumbed copy of The Beggar Prince dwelled.
"Don't even think about it," Mercer growled before lifting a book from his own belongings and throwing it to her.
She caught the worn tome with surprise and pressed one finger into the silver engraved letters on the front of its blue cover. It was two numbers first and then three words and three letters that made little sense to her. "Sixteen," she read the digits with ease, "Acorns,"
"Accords," Mercer snapped in annoyance, "A-C-C-O-R-D-S, that's a D not an N, and there are two Cs."
Marcurio glanced at him with a degree of suspicion as he smoothed down his tawny robes and sat on the edge of the blanket with his knees raised. He wondered why the master thief cared at all about the woman's ability to read, if he was bored, embarrassed to be with someone who couldn't read well, annoyed by having to listen to her struggling or perhaps actually cared. 'No,' the mage dismissed immediately, 'he's not the kind to care, it's either boredom or annoyance.' He turned from the pair to peer out at their surroundings. There was a small gap between the trees at the edge of the hill giving them a decent view of the path they had been walking upon and the wilderness that surrounded it. He glimpsed a hare bounding swiftly through the grass pursued by a thin, copper brown fox and felt his stomach growl in empathy with the fox.
"Sixteen Accords of..." Amaris paused and squinted down at the word, fearful of getting it wrong and earning Mercer's scorn once more. "Mm..Mad...Madness," she ventured. "Sixteen Accords of Madness," she repeated confidently when Mercer did not correct her, "V, VI."
"That's a small v," Mercer remarked gruffly, "it's short for volume, and it's not VI, it's six, those are numerals, letters that stand for numbers."
Amaris blinked at him in confusion though something in her agreed that that was right and something she had once been taught but paid little attention to. "So it's the sixth book in the series?" she questioned.
Mercer nodded impatiently. "Better than that Beggar Prince tripe, I've had enough of listening to that, I know the story so well now I could recite it in my sleep, and believe me I've better things to dream of than that nonsense."
Amaris grinned, amused at the thought of Mercer dreaming about Wheedle of all things. "Thank you," she said softly before turning her attention back to the book and opening it. She ran her fingers down the dirty spattered page like it was as precious as gold or jewels, staring at the only two words on the first page with interest. "Hi...Hire..." She struggled over the word awkwardly prompting Mercer to roll his eyes, mentally curse his stupidity in giving her yet another book to plague him with and then finally move towards her with some reluctance.
"Hircine," he snapped, "Hircine's Tale."
"Hircine," Amaris repeated in surprise, "I know that name."
"You should," Marcurio remarked calmly, "he's one of the Daedric Princes, specifically of the hunt and beasts."
Mercer spared the wizard a grey eyed glower, irritated that he had not given Amaris a chance to see if she could remember on her own. He had prompted her when they had left Ivarstead to honour her word and divulge what memories she had, and had been bitterly disappointed with her response. It was just more about her being a prisoner of the Falmer, she had not been alone, there had been others who she had known, tortured and killed, it was nothing the thief had not already guessed. She had made dark murmurings of some lasting longer than others, people being chained beside her purposely so she could be forced to watch their slow demise.
Amaris nodded. "Yes," she commented quietly, "a Daedric Prince, of course."
Mercer suddenly turned swiftly, pulling out Chillrend as he did. He slashed the sword in a blur, causing a scream of pain and a splash of blood to ripple through the air. Amaris and Marcurio both jumped up in surprise as a black blur became a person, sprung from the shadows of the trees, who hissed angrily before leaping back to dodge Mercer's next swing.
The figure was tall with the unmistakable emerald green scaled face of an Argonian, masculine and muscular, he was dressed in tight black and red armour designed for stealth rather than defence and moved with a surprising speed, lashing out with a dagger in each gloved hand.
Marcurio prepared to conjure a firebolt when Mercer ducked, elbowed the Argonian in the stomach immediately winding it, kicked his right foot hard into a knee causing his foe to double over and then finally slammed the hilt of his blue tinged sword into the back of the Argonian's skull sending him to the ground. He rolled quickly but was not fast enough to avoid Mercer's boot slamming into his chest and the tip of his sword pressing down to his throat.
"Who sent you assassin?" the thief demanded.
Defiant yellow eyes glowered up at him and the amphibian faced male retorted boldly, "I will not say."
Assassin. Amaris tensed at the word as she looked at the distinctive black and red armour and found herself trembling. She had seen that armour before; it caused her lip to tremble and a sudden dizziness to torment her as she stared at the assassin hesitantly like he was a poisonous snake ready to strike, an analogy she knew was disturbingly accurate.
"I know how your lot works," Mercer growled, "you get conjured in a ritual to assassinate someone but if you fail your contract there are only three options, die, accept your defeat or try again. In your case the third option is gone, you will never get the drop on me so you can tell me who hired you or your blood can adorn my blade you slimy bastard."
The Argonian sighed. "They said you would be tough, even Veezara warned me but there was a lot of gold involved not enough for my life to be forfeited for mind." He gave a sly smile as he tried to pull his head further up the ground and away from the sword but failed as Mercer pressed his boot down harder.
"So you know who and what I am and yet still you tried to kill me?" Mercer scoffed arrogantly.
"Yes, yes, of course I know, the Dark Brotherhood always learn what they can about their marks Mercer Frey," the Argonian answered wearily.
The Dark Brotherhood, the name sent another jolt through Amaris, a vision of two people, both in black and red, would be killers, swiftly made victims. "Kester," she choked out. "No." She shook her head wildly as her odd eyes suddenly burned with tears. Two halves of one whole, one fair and bright eyed, the other dark haired and pale, both come to be her reaper, death dealers from the shadows they had overestimated their skills or underestimated the confines their target was in and paid dearly for it.
The Argonian rolled his eyes back sharply and flicked out his pink tongue. "Kester?" he echoed curiously.
Mercer scowled at the woman briefly before returning his attention to the assassin, let the mage deal with the redhead.
Marcurio looked to Amaris with alarm and took a step towards her as she started to quiver. 'What is it this time?' he wondered curiously as he glanced at the assassin briefly. 'Has the assassin somehow triggered another memory? Why?'
"Kester, Kester," she crooned softly, "and Quintus, he was quiet in the end," she swallowed down a sob, "they were always quiet in the end!"
"Enough," Mercer snarled as he pressed the blade down on the Argonian's throat causing him to yelp and a trickle of blood to leak out.
"I know those names!" the Argonian snapped suddenly.
"They are common enough," Mercer dismissed carelessly though he knew it could not be a coincidence that Amaris was suddenly reciting names that the assassin knew. 'First the name of my would be killer, or rather the coward who hired someone else to do their dirty work, then Amaris can explain how she happens to know assassins,' he decided firmly.
"Now tell me who put the contract out on me?" the master thief demanded.
The Argonian sighed again as he turned his beady yellow gaze back on the thief. "Maven Black-Briar," he answered moodily.
"Really?" this surprised query came from Cynric Endell who had returned in time to hear Mercer's question and the answer that followed. He had a plump bird hanging against his waist, two rabbits clutched by their ears in his right hand and a fawn held by its broken neck in his left. His eyes took in the scene quickly; he had hurried back upon hearing Amaris' cries and the hysterical yell of a stranger. He recognised the garb of the Dark Brotherhood well enough, not as recognisable as the garment of the thieves, not even close, but he had dealings with them many times before to know a member when he saw one.
It had not been enough to finally kill him, their shared companion, not just a brother, but half of one soul, a partner, and a dear companion to one left to rot alone for so many years. They had unshackled she and the remaining half, the broken, cursing Kester, but she had no time to feel relief for the shackles were soon returned, new ones with studs on the insides that dug painfully into her wrists and ankles. She was facing forward now; they both were, watching in a horrid fascination as they carried the corpse of brave Quintus towards a wooden table.
She screamed in disgust, then shrieked and howled madly in horror and tried to shut her eyes to the sight though her ears kept her painfully aware of what they were doing. She heard knives and blunt axes cut through bone and flesh, heard the blood splashing onto the table and hard, rocky ground, the sinews snapping and the bones cracking as they hacked and dismembered the body. Then they were upon her, one clammy hand upon her mouth to silence the screams and another peeling back her eyelids painfully, forcing her to watch once more.
She thought it was at its worst when they threw the bits of flesh and bone upon a grill over a fire, she had thought it a terrible meal meant for them.
The taste was suddenly in her mouth, fresh, burned and bloody; she doubled over and vomited violently. It was a cursed taste that had plagued her for months after, perhaps even years, a taste she had never thought to forget but mercifully had until today. She jerked away from Marcurio's grasp before screaming over and over, "they made me eat him! They made me eat him! They burned his flesh and made me eat it!" Over and over her screams continued until they became a wild jumble of words none of them could understand.
Marcurio stood there in wide eyed horror, his hands half-heartedly still raised though he made no attempt to grab her. He tried to digest her sudden outburst but was too sickened to really consider what she had gone through.
Cynric swiftly restrained her, securing both hands about her waist, wincing as she dealt several kicks to his legs. He knew there was no point in consoling her, she was too hysterical, but equally he could not let her swing her limbs about wildly risking harm to herself and them.
They waited until she grew hoarse and still, exhausted by her outburst, until finally all she was able to do was whimper as vomit trickled down her chin and her body seemed to spasm against her will. Sweat soaked her brow and goosebumps appeared on her arms. Cynric sat down with her still restrained in his arms and leaned back slightly to allow Marcurio to dab at her stained chin with his sleeve. None of them were willing to question the meaning behind her sudden nausea and screaming.
"Maven Black-Briar hired you then," Mercer snapped down at the pallid Argonian, instantly drawing attention away from Amaris.
The Argonian was disturbed by the woman's screaming and immediately wondered if she was mad. If she wasn't the implication of her words suggested more than he wanted to know about. He nodded quickly. "Yes, she did the ritual," he babbled nervously, "and set a contract for your death."
"I see, a little over reactive but unsurprising," Mercer commented sardonically. "Well you've done your part, now, this shouldn't take long."
"Wait!" the Argonian snapped as he saw Mercer tighten his grip on his sword, preparing to push it down. "I know who those men are!" he shouted almost hysterically. "Kester and Quintus, for my life I'll tell you! They're not just names; they are the same ones she speaks of!"
Marcurio and Cynric looked from the weeping woman to the assassin with renewed interest whilst Mercer frowned. He did not want the man escaping to speak of his failed attempt to kill the thief and thus risk another attempt on Mercer's life, perhaps with more thieves; or worse, speaking of Amaris to others. The last thing he wanted was anyone else having an interest in her, and whilst he doubted the assassin would suspect she was worth anything, evidently there was a tie between them; he claimed to know men she seemed to. Potentially it could be the answer the thief was waiting for but equally the men could be ones who knew her worth and would want it for themselves. 'I can't ignore this opportunity,' he reasoned with himself, 'it's not a coincidence, the assassin triggered another memory for her, an important one that might finally solve this riddle.'
"Start talking and your life is yours," Mercer growled before lifting Chillrend away, though he kept the sword out and his boot firmly pressed on the assassin's chest.
"They're members of the Brotherhood," the Argonian explained quickly, "well they were, Kester and Quintus Nevingo, twins, there is a common tale about them, how they were sent on a contract where they both meant their end, one physically and one mentally. Kester lost his brother and his sanity with him, he returned scarred forever, physically and mentally, babbling about a terrible place deep within the bowels of the earth, a prison, a torture chamber..." The Argonian paused and swallowed hard.
"There have been many tales and rumours about it," he continued, "I always found it interesting so I asked amongst the Brotherhood, they said it only happened a few years ago, but no one likes to talk about it, save one. A cranky old man, he's seen so much in his time that nothing fazes him, or so I thought, but when I asked about the twins, even he did not want to talk but I persuaded him. It was a mystery, I had to know what had happened, who they were trying to kill, how Kester escaped, where he had gone after returning to the Brotherhood, and what foe they had met that could defeat his brother. They were the best," he swallowed hard and licked his lips anxiously, "the former leaders in fact, that's what I learned. A joint leadership under which the Brotherhood had prospered, then that contract came, one that demanded the best, one that warned of awful things but promised so much in return. I never found out who it was for."
"Me," Amaris spoke up with a shudder. "Me," she repeated savagely, "they came to kill me."
Mercer's blade moved too fast for the Argonian to see, he had not even the time to digest Amaris' revelation before Chillrend sank through his throat and opened it up, causing his blood to trickle out so rapidly he was dead within seconds.
For a moment there was only a shocked, heavy silence before Marcurio commented coldly, "he could have told us more."
Mercer, who had been looking pointedly at Cynric, shook his head dismissively as he wiped his blade clean with a rag before sheathing it. "He was learning more than we were," he grumbled before he turned his stormy gaze on the redheaded woman. She had always been unkempt with her hair so filthy it was brown, and her clothes permanently stained despite several washes in the river but now she was just pitiful looking, too sorry a state for anyone to stare unfavourably at her. Snot and vomit stained, hunched up against Cynric, small and bony, she was almost childlike. Mercer regarded her with disgust wondering how anything so woeful looking could ever be valuable.
"They killed Quintus," Amaris rambled madly, "they killed him, they cooked him, and we ate him. They killed him, they cooked him, and we ate him," she repeated as if it was a disturbing rhyme.
"Shush," Cynric attempted to hush her as he pushed back some of her damp hair from her now burning brow. He could think of nothing to soothe away this new horror for the girl and privately thought for the first time that perhaps she had been better without her memories. 'What more can she have went through?' he wondered darkly. 'What could be worse? Is it right to push her? Is it right to pursue these memories? Perhaps she's better off without and we should turn back to Riften.' Truthfully he wanted to hear no more, the Argonian was not the only one to know the names of Quintus and Kester Nevingo.
She vomited again as she recalled how they had held her mouth open and forced bits of burned flesh and bone into it, how she had choked and vomited several times as they had forced her to swallow it, and how her starved stomach had growled for it even as she had groaned. Quintus, a name to go with the screams, a face to go with what had become a bloody mess of burned flesh; it was exactly what she had not wanted.
"We'll ride on," Mercer commanded suddenly, "and get to Riverwood. Cynric saddle the horses."
Cynric looked up in surprise at his superior's voice before glancing down dumbly at the girl and then back up at Mercer's impatient glower. He released the woman with some reluctance before standing up and retrieving his dropped spoils and then heading over to Robert.
Mercer went to the girl, gripping her by her hands tightly and pulling her up roughly without warning. "You'll ride with me," he told her sternly before pulling her over to Frost. 'By the eight she stinks,' he thought in revulsion. She removed stiffly without resistance or protest, her eyes empty as she reached for the reins and allowed Mercer to pull her up and onto the saddle.
The thief turned back to their belongings, taking care to lift up 16 Accords of Madness and place it into her satchel, which he fastened closed and then knotted carefully onto Frost's saddle with their other sparse belongings. He mounted behind the woman as Marcurio mounted Robert with a frown and rubbed his palms together impatiently as Cynric jumped on in front of him.
They headed off briskly, urging their horses into a canter, all of them made sombre by the sudden turn of events. Mercer turned them over in his head methodically trying to fit this new piece of information into the puzzle, whilst Marcurio filled with disgust and pity and Cynric pondered over the situation glumly and considered suggesting returning to Riften once they reached Riverwood.
They arrived in the town in the middle of a heavy rainstorm. The clouds were so thick and dark it was as if night and only a couple of people strode about the mucky streets as their now soaked and mud stained steeds trotted in with weary snorts. Cynric jumped off first, his boots splashing in a puddle as he did, and seized Robert's reins in his right hand. He raised his left hand to shield his eyes from the heavy droplets pouring from the sky and try to spy the stables.
They moved quickly through the rain, glancing about impatiently for stables before Cynric finally stopped a young boy running with a dog and waved a silver coin before his face. "Where can we find stables for our horses lad?" he queried loudly in an attempt to be heard over the heavy patters of rain.
The boy's eyes widened at the coin before he looked about the town quickly and pointed to the left. "There's a stall there for my father's cow, but it's big, your horses could stay there if you paid him. Come on, I'll show you for another coin."
"Done." Cynric tossed him the first before following him as he hurried through the rain.
They found the stall at the edge of the town built beside a small outdoors pen; it was rundown but large, dry and stocked with enough straw for the horses and the large, slightly alarmed looking, hairy cow standing in the corner. Mercer dismounted from Frost, lifted Amaris down and then immediately tended to the horse. Once the horses were free of their tack and burdens, the boy led them to the long, single floored, stone house that stood beside the barn. He opened the door and entered with the dog by his side; not bothering to take off his mud stained shoes or soaked clothes.
The dog, a large, shaggy haired beast, shook its damp fur out with a happy bark prompting a woman to immediately scold, "you're soaking everything!" She looked past the dog to the strangers behind the boy and immediately grasped the handle of the pot she had been tending with one hand as she looked to the men fiercely. "Frodnar who are these people?" she demanded.
"Strangers," the boy answered merrily, "they've promised coin for using our stall for their horses."
"Our stall?" the woman echoed as she frowned. "Frodnar!" she scolded.
Cynric tugged out a small pouch of coins and jingled it pointedly. "We can pay good coin," he assured her before stepping forward to hand another silver piece to Frodnar. As he moved forward the drenched, bedraggled and empty eyed Amaris was revealed to the woman.
She tutted disapprovingly and looked to the men once more trying to decipher who and what they were. "Well," she paused to look at the pouch Cynric placed on the table before her, "alright, if you can pay."
Cynric nodded amicably. "Just until tomorrow," he assured. "Now where can we find shelter for ourselves?" he queried as he gave the woman a charming smile.
She flushed faintly, not immune to the thief's good looks before answering quickly, "The Sleeping Giant Inn, it's not far from here."
The thief's smile widened slightly and he said sincerely, "thanks for your help, we appreciate it." He turned from her and back to the others. Mercer had already opened the door and was pulling Amaris behind him.
They headed back into the torrent of stinging, ice cold water and stomped through as quickly as they could, Marcurio and Cynric both sighing in relief when they saw the sign for the inn rattling in the storm. Mercer led the way in wordlessly, hurrying to the counter and requesting two rooms with single beds and extra blankets.
The sullen faced, large nosed Nord behind the bar perked up slightly, delighted to have four customers for business. He hunted out two brass keys for them before calling over a woman sweeping named Delphine. "Show these guests to their rooms," he ordered, "the two on the right, and get them whatever they need."
The woman, a tough looking, sharp faced Breton with reddish blonde hair tied back in a severe bun, looked them over with disapproval. "Thieves' Guild," she remarked to Cynric accusingly, recognising his brown outfit.
Cynric grinned brightly at her. "Only on weekdays," he jested before lifting out yet another small pouch. "I'm happy to pay for some shelter and food and whatever other delights you want to offer."
Delphine scowled back before turning on one heel and walking to the rooms lined up on the right side of the building. "This way," she snapped.
They followed; pausing as she reached them and gestured carelessly with one hand to two doors that were beside each other. "Your quarters are here, please enjoy your stay and let me know if there's anything else you need."
"Some food," Cynric commented again, "what's the special?"
"Roast beef served with fried potatoes," Delphine answered coolly as she looked at the thief with small, frosty blue eyes.
Amaris paled and let out a choked gargle as another mouthful of vomit immediately came up and spattered onto the floor. Delphine whirled round with surprise, her annoyed stare turning tender as she took in the woman's soiled and wretched state and wondered, as Frodnar's mother had, what exactly she was doing in such a state and with three men, two of whom looked anything other than law abiding citizens. "Is she ill?" she queried calmly, wondering cautiously if it might be contagious.
"A little," Marcurio answered as he looked to Amaris with worry.
Delphine nodded. "Well we have soup," she offered kindly, "I'll have Orgnar make some and whatever else you want."
Mercer unlocked the door to the room on the right and pushed Amaris into it without reply.
"That would be good," Cynric retorted with a smile, noticing how Delphine frowned at Mercer's gesture. "They're a strange couple," he explained when Delphine turned a disapproving stare on him, "but it works for them."
"And you two?" Delphine queried dryly as she folded her arms and glanced at Marcurio.
The Imperial's cheeks immediately turned red and he jerked his fists down sharply as he snapped firmly, "we're not a couple!"
Cynric snickered and commented chirpily, "except on weekends."
"No we're not!" Marcurio protested with a glower at the thief before he looked to Delphine desperately. "He's joking!" he insisted.
"Of course," Delphine commented icily as Cynric chuckled. "Now, would you like anything else?"
"Your best wine," Marcurio grumbled, "a jug, I'm going to need it and whatever food you have."
"A bottle of ale for me, water for the girl and soup," Cynric remarked, "and chicken if you have any, with those fried potatoes, thank you." He unlocked the door to his room and headed in, leaving Marcurio standing indecisively in the corridor.
The wizard was reluctant to leave Amaris with the master thief but equally unsure about risking a confrontation with him. Concern overrode fear and he stepped into the room after the pair. Amaris sat on the edge of one of the beds, pasty faced and damp from the rain, she had fallen silent and was staring blankly at the wall. Mercer stood against the opposing wall with a scowl and a thoughtful gleam in his grey gaze.
'She was important enough to have the assassin masters come for her,' the thief thought suspiciously, 'but they failed, evidently they were no match for the Falmer who were determined to keep her alive, why? What is it about her that makes her so damn important?' He looked to her disapprovingly, she was a scrawny, sickly looking creature, young faced and yet old in her stare, only the mage's certainty that she was only a few years younger than him made Mercer place her in her twenties, she was so bony her body was childlike, yet her horror filled unusual irises could have belonged to someone his age. 'It's experience in them,' he thought, 'and history, a twisted kind that usual only comes with years, many years, but she seems to have had it all in a mere six.'
Marcurio stepped up to her but could not think what to say. No words or touch would undo the nightmarish memories and he was not Cynric, it was not in his nature to console a distraught a woman. 'Of course his motives for doing it are questionable,' the mage thought with a frown. He sighed and glanced Mercer's way briefly.
Mercer met the dark brown stare and queried bluntly, "is Solitude a ruse? Is there someone or something waiting for us there that you know about mage? All these coincidences began with you, how is it that you and she came to be in Riften at the same time? How did you spend two years with her and learn nothing, not even a name?"
Marcurio did not flinch at the accusations, his frown deepened and he held the thief's stare with a calm gaze knowing that if he looked away he would only make Mercer more apprehensive. "I live in Riften," he answered bluntly, "and I do not know how or why she came to be there, it was you who found her not I. Surely if I had planned it I would have made certain to locate her before a thief could," he retorted coldly, taking care to emphasise the word 'thief'. "I learned what she wanted me to learn in the two years we knew each other and she equally learned the same about me. She was running from something and I am sure you know as well as I that you cannot escape your past without hiding it."
Mercer let out a snort of annoyance. "If we get to Solitude and it is a trap I won't hesitate to gut you."
"Why would the trap affect you?" Marcurio demanded angrily. "Is she your property now, your prisoner? Should I now be I questioning your motives? I was her friend, you are only her possessor. She is worth nothing to you but the gold you hope someone will pay for her."
"Stop it," Amaris spoke up frostily, "both of you, stop. I am no one's property not now, not ever again."
Marcurio nodded agreeably before turning and exiting the room before he said something to the thief that he might regret. He found Cynric lying on the bed to the right with his arms folded behind his head and a dark expression on his handsome face. 'So Kester is mad and Quintus dead,' the thief thought pityingly, 'I had heard the rumours but never suspected the truth, and she knew them. Why did they try to kill her? Why did they fail?'