Chapter 10: A New Path Unfolds

The snow and harsh winds began to fade away the further south they travelled, and by the time they reached the Rift, they had been replaced entirely by the typical bright colors and delightfully cool breeze of autumn. It was dark when the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Riften stables, but still fairly early in the evening, and the streets were filled with traffic as Monica quickly ushered Aventus toward the same inn she'd stayed at last time. Although the passersby filling the streets appeared no less suspicious than they had on her previous visit, they no longer intimidated her. After the cold, constant presence of Ulfric in Windhelm, this seedy little city seemed like a haven by comparison.

The inn was just as raucous as it'd been the first night she'd spent here, but no mysterious strangers sprang from the shadows to corner her this time. She wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse, she thought grimly to herself as she guided Aventus along the wall. This inn, although smaller than Windhelm's Candlehearth Hall, was far louder and more crowded, and the constant rumble of noise and movement was already causing that panicky feeling to rise in her chest.

But luckily enough, she managed to find them a vacant space on a bench, and she breathed a small sigh of relief as she sat, letting her pack slide to the ground. "Now what?" Aventus grumbled as he slumped back, propping his head against the wall.

Funny how that happened to be the very question she was asking herself. At least the hard part was over—for the time being, anyhow, and now there was only a matter of waiting. Breathe, she ordered herself sternly, ignoring the sick feeling in her gut. There's nothing you can do now.

"We'll stay here tonight," she told him, twisting her fingers together, lest her shaking hands betray her attempt at calm. "I have something I need to take care of in the morning." She hesitated, then added, "Will you be all right staying here by yourself while I'm gone?"

But Aventus only scoffed, shifting so that his back was turned to her, and she heaved an inward sigh. She honestly should have known better. His hostility had faded within hours of his initial outburst outside the Windhelm stables, but he'd remained cold and aloof throughout the course of their journey. She'd spent most of the time in the carriage speculating whether it was because he still expected her to return him to Honorhall, or because the change in plans had overturned his only sense of stability, but either way, it was growing increasingly difficult to maintain her patience.

His silence was draining as the night wore on, as were the hours themselves. Not only was this inn particularly cramped and noisy, but there was no lull in the turmoil as there'd been in Windhelm—and there was no Susanna to slip them food or sneak them off to a place to sleep. Selfish reasons aside, the ache in her heart when she thought of Susanna surprised her. Somewhere in the short amount of time that they'd known her, she'd begun to think of the woman as a friend—the first friend she'd had in a long time, if she was being completely honest with herself. You couldn't count Hadvar's pity, or the cool tolerance of Lady Adlen's various attendants. And as for Heidmir…well, he'd stopped being her friend a long time ago, but if she started thinking about that now, she'd never get through what awaited her in the morning.

That wasn't exactly a pleasant thought either, but as her dread multiplied, time seemed speed along, and before she knew it, the faint light of morning was creeping across the floor. And although her eyes were heavy, she felt a stirring in the pit of her stomach, and her heart began to beat just a little faster. Not much longer now.

Aventus awoke soon after, and sure enough, his surly mood remained unchanged. His head had drooped against her shoulder in the night, but the moment his eyes opened, he was sitting upright again, turning his back to her without a word. He hated her, she thought miserably. He'd never forgive her for dragging him off to starve in the city where the worst memories of his life had taken place. A new spike of fear arose as she considered the possibility that he still might attempt to flee back to Windhelm no matter what happened today, and when mid-morning rolled around and she forced herself to her feet, she found herself faced with a new dilemma altogether.

"I need to go out for a bit," she said, choosing her words carefully. "And I need you to stay right here. Will you do that?" He still didn't look at her, and she felt a flash of irritation. "Aventus!" Her voice was sharp as Windhelm's winds, but at least it seemed to get his attention. He turned to face her, still wearing that baleful glare, and she took a deep breath. "I need you to stay right here," she repeated, exhausting the last reserves of her patience. "Keep an eye on our things, don't move, and don't talk to anyone. Will you do that?" Or do I have to drag you along with me and possibly get us both killed, she added silently, but he rolled his eyes and gave a curt nod.

"Fine." It was the closest thing to an agreement she was going to get from him, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"All right. I don't know when I'll be back, but just…stay here.

He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, and she nodded slowly as she stepped away toward the door. It occurred to her that perhaps she ought to have left him with some sort of contingency plan—a way to contact Hadvar or something in case this went badly for her—but deep down, she knew it wouldn't matter. If she didn't return, his first impulse would be to disappear on his own, and if he didn't trust her, there'd be no way he'd place any faith in a stranger. They really were down to their last hope—and she couldn't put failure on the table.

Riften's marketplace was easy enough to find—located in the center of town, all traffic naturally gravitated in that direction, and it didn't hurt that it was close by the inn. Although the noise and nearness of the crowds sent a flare of panic rising in her, she kept her head down and drifted from stall to stall, not really sure what she was looking for. She briefly considered heading back to the inn and coming back at a less busy time, but quickly dispelled that idea. She'd never manage to work up the courage a second time. But despite the din of the merchants' shouts around her, she finally made out a familiar voice rising above the rest.

She elbowed her way through the crowd, following the sound until she broke through a throng of shoppers and saw him dead ahead, behind a stall lined with dozens of glittering red glass vials. This was it then. She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and straightening her spine before she started forward.

He didn't seem to notice her, his gaze sliding over her as though she were a stone on the pavement as she approached, but when she stepped up to the counter, he looked her square in the eye and smiled.

"I've got to say, lass," he remarked, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't think I'd be seeing you again." He was far less terrifying in the daylight than he'd been in a smoke-darkened tavern, the very picture of a respected merchant as he stood smiling behind the market stall. Only the worn threads of his expensive clothing and the grime beneath his fingernails hinted that he was anything less reputable, and as she stood facing him, her fear melted away and all she felt was annoyance.

"Well, here I am," she said plainly, crossing her arms over her chest and breathing a silent sigh of relief as she felt the lump of the coin purse hidden in her sleeve pressing against her ribs. She hadn't been robbed yet—that had to be a good sign.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, and her heart sank a little. "So you are," he said, turning to straighten the bottles on the other side of the stand.

She blinked, taken aback. If she'd gambled the last of her coin and her hope on this only to—no, she couldn't think about that now, she reminded herself as the panic began to brew in the pit of her stomach.

"So?" she challenged, following him along the length of the counter. "When we—" She hesitated, glancing around for any sign of the guards before leaning in closer. "When we last spoke, you said you might have some…work for me."

"Too late," he replied, flicking away a speck of imaginary dust from one of the bottles.

"Too late?" she repeated. Her heart had all but stopped, and she was already feeling the tears beginning to well up. He stared at her blankly.

"Things move fast around here," he said, and even through her haze of shock she detected a hint of admonishment in his tone. "That particular errand was finished up last week. Without you."

So that was it then. It was done. She and Aventus were both finished. Yet another failure on her part—only this was the worst one of all. There could have been some chance for them in Whiterun—only it was too late for that now.

"Okay," she said numbly. It was all she could say. The reality of the situation had yet to sink in, instead hanging above her like a stormcloud, threatening to break at any moment. But she had turned to walk away when he spoke up again.

"But if you're serious, something else has come up that you could help me with."

She froze in her tracks, scarcely daring to believe what she was hearing. Slowly, she turned back to face him. "What?" she asked suspiciously.

He leaned across the counter, a hint of a smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. "First, you need to come around to this side."

She stood her ground, once again bringing her arms up to cross protectively over her chest. "Why?"

His smile widened into a bright grin that would have been dazzling were it not for the crooked, yellow teeth lining it. "Because my strongbox is back here. I'm going to teach you how to pick a lock."

In spite of everything, one small advantage had just presented itself, and she took it and clung to it. "I already know how," she said proudly, straightening up to full height.

"Do you, now?" His smirk had returned, and she frowned.

"I do!" she insisted, silently thanking the thieves who'd broken into the Riverwood Trader the month prior—and praying that what Alvor had taught her about locks would actually prove applicable.

"All right, then. Here. Take these before the guard circles back around." He slid several long, slim pieces of metal across the counter, and she hurriedly shoved them into her pocket. "Now. I'm going to cause a distraction, and you're going to steal Madesi's silver ring from the strongbox under his stand. Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing."

She'd known going into this that she'd most likely be doing something unsavory, but she still recoiled. "We're going to frame somebody?" she hissed. She could feel the blood draining from her face. "Why?"

"There's someone who wants to see him put out of business, and that's all you need to know." He lifted an eyebrow, staring pointedly at her. "Now if you're ready, we'll get started."

"Wait," she protested. Even she could hear the desperation creeping into her tone. "What exactly am I doing? Where's Madesi's stand? Who's Brand-Shei? How do I…" She trailed off uncertainly, and he sighed.

"Madesi's stand is the one with all the shiny baubles on it. Brand-Shei is the Dunmer who'll undoubtedly be arguing with me once the diversion is underway. And as for the rest…" He shrugged. "Use your judgment."

Well, that was hardly helpful. But he was once again wearing that vaguely irritated expression, so she had no choice but to nod quickly. "All right," she agreed, but her mind was racing. She'd never done anything of this sort before—not even swiping cookies from the kitchens when the cooks weren't looking as a child. How on Nirn was she supposed to pull this off without getting herself arrested and thrown in prison? Aventus, she reminded herself. She had to make this work. For his sake. She took a deep breath. "Let's, ah…let's do it, then.

"Good." His smile returned. "Wait until I start the distraction, then show me what you're made of." She could practically feel the challenge oozing from his smug grin, and it was all she could do not to roll her eyes. Steeling herself, she stepped away from the counter and slowly began to make her way across the marketplace.

"Everyone!" The thief's roar from behind her made her jump. "Everyone, gather 'round! I have something amazing to show you!"

"Come on, Brynjolf," someone grumbled from the crowd. "What is it this time?"

"Patience, Brand-Shei." At that name, she risked a glance over her shoulder, and caught a glimpse of a tall Dunmer with an unruly shock of black hair. "This is a rare opportunity, and I wouldn't want you to get left out."

Seeing the individual they were about to harm made it all seem suddenly too real. The crowd around her was thinning, drifting over toward the thief's stand, but her nerves were hardly calming—instead, they were growing worse. She could scarcely breathe and her vision was swimming, but she managed to make out the glint of gemstones on one of the nearby stands. She stumbled over to it on shaking legs, hoping that there were no guards watching. Were she not certain that the gods would strike her dead on a matter of principle, she would have been praying, begging for even a shred of mercy.

Crouching behind it, she steadied herself on the edge of the counter as the thief launched into pitch about the miracle elixir he was selling. There was a locked latticework door covering the inner shelves of the stand—peering through the slats, she could just see the strongbox behind them. Fumbling for the lockpicks, she grasped hold of the lock, closing her eyes as she struggled to visualize all the moving pieces inside. Taking a deep, she slipped a pick into the opening and as she cautiously jiggled it, she felt the hook on the end scraping against the pins. Okay. That was a start. Now if she could only—

Without warning, the pick snapped in half, and as she jumped back, startled, the broken pieces clattered to the stones below. She glanced around fearfully, but there was a stone wall to her back, and she didn't see any sign of a guard's uniform approaching from around the corners of the stand.

Wiping her sweating palms on her skirt, she slowly exhaled and tried again. This time, she managed to maneuver the pins out of the way before rotating it, but still ended up breaking the end off.

Her vision was blurring again, but this time it was from tears. She could still hear the thief shouting, but she had no idea how long he'd be able to go on. Either way, the longer she took meant a greater chance of discovery, and she was running out of time.

Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely steady them, but she nonetheless made another attempt. Despite everything in her screaming to hurry, hurry, she forced herself to move slowly, easing the pins out of the way and turning the lock slowly, slowly…

With a click, it popped open, and she let out a silent gasp of relief. Sliding the door out of the way, she flexed her fingers and set to work on the strongbox. Boldened by her success, she broke the pick on her first attempt, but on her second, she managed to get everything lined up just right and open it right up.

Sifting through the coins on top, she quickly caught sight of the glint of silver among them and pocketed the ring, closing the box back up and sliding the door shut. The thundering of her heart had somewhat eased as she peered around the corner of the stand, making sure the coast was clear before ducking out into the open.

But as she stood facing the sea of bodies before her, her courage faltered once more. With the ring safely in her pocket, she miserably realized that the hardest part of this task was yet to come. Theft was one thing—and that was bad enough—but she was about to make an innocent individual suffer for it.

Her knees began to tremble as the urge to back out overtook her. She could do it. She could simply drop the ring and flee back to the inn. Take Aventus and leave this wretched city behind for good. Although, she reminded herself, they were all but out of coin. Unless they wanted to walk to Whiterun, they were stuck here until she made more money—and at the moment, this was her only real option. And, more selfishly, it occurred to her that without a clear culprit, it could be traced back to her, if someone had seen her lurking around the stand. And then it would have all been for nothing. Not to mention the thief—she had agreed to this, after all, and if she failed him, there was no telling what would happen. For all she knew, he could be dangerous. She had no choice. She had to move forward. She had to.

She took a series of slow breaths, forcing herself to focus. Her target—she couldn't think of him by his name, she couldn't—was near the front of the crowd, if she correctly remembered his voice from earlier, and judging by what Brynjolf had said about him, it seemed a fairly safe assumption. Bracing herself, she made her way to the fringes of the crowd and began to force her way through.

But the crowd seemed even less pleased to have her among them she was to be there. As she tried to push her way through, they pushed back even harder, and she found herself being roughly jostled from side to side as multiple curses were thrown her way. Gritting her teeth together, she shoved back against them as hard as she could, stomping on toes and digging elbows into ribs for good measure. Although the curses grew louder and nastier, that seemed to do the trick, and she found herself able to slip through. The crowd was beginning to thin, however, and the closer she got to the front, the easier it became to get through. Swerving just in time to avoid a heavily-armored Nord, she looked up—and saw her target heading straight toward her.

She froze, instantly breaking out in a cold sweat. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, it was all happening too fast. He was mere paces in front of her, and her hand was still in her pocket, fumbling with the ring as it slipped out of her sweaty grasp.

But then, in this first stroke of luck she'd encountered since leaving Cyrodiil, the Nord she'd just avoided barreled straight into Brand-Shei. "Watch yourself!" the Nord barked, and Brand-Shei snapped something in protest, but she was no longer paying attention. She had her opening, and she was taking full advantage of it. Catching the ring on the tip of her finger, she snatched it free of her pocket, lightly grasping it between her thumb and forefinger. Brand-Shei was lurching away from the Nord, straight in her direction—and as he brushed past her, she dropped the ring into the pocket of his tunic.

She immediately felt the blood rush to her head, both elated that she'd pulled it off yet horrified of the implications of what she'd done. With every step away, the likelihood seemed to increase that any second, there'd be shouts or a hand closing around her arm. But she fled through the crowd unhindered, and as she approached a grinning Brynjolf, a sweet flood of relief had begun to course through her.

"I don't believe it," she said, letting out a long breath as she slumped against the counter.

"Better believe it," he chuckled, his grin widening. "Looks like I chose the right person for the job."

"I…I didn't think I could do it," she admitted as she leaned in closer, momentarily forgetting that she was afraid of him. "He started walking away too quickly, and I thought it was going to be too late, but then someone ran into him and…"

"Sometimes that's what it takes." He nodded as she trailed off, unable to properly describe the seemingly miraculous nature of the encounter. "A bit of luck at the just right time can make all the difference. Although the way things have been going around here, it's a relief that our plan went off without a hitch."

"Why?" The glow of triumph faded slightly, suspicion taking its place. "What's been going on?"

"Bah." Was she imagining it, or did he suddenly look uncomfortable? "My organization's been having a run of bad luck, but I suppose that's just how it goes."

She frowned. "What sort of bad…" But before she could finish her question, there was a commotion behind her, and she turned to see a cluster of guards surrounding Brand-Shei's stand.

"All right, Brand-Shei," one of them was saying. "Turn out your pockets, we know you have it."

"Have what?" The Dunmer gazed blankly at them, clearly confused, and Monica's stomach dropped as she realized what was happening. "What in blazes are you talking about?"

"Don't play stupid." The guard's voice was rising menacingly. "I said turn out your pockets—now!"

The Dunmer rolled his eyes, huffing angrily, but he obliged. "I'm telling you, I don't—" His voice abruptly cut off as he froze, his ashen face going pale. "Wait, what's this…this ring? This isn't mine!"

"That's right, it isn't yours," another guard spoke up. "You're under arrest, Brand-Shei."

"This is insane!" His voice was rising in panic. "I didn't steal anything! I never saw this ring before in my entire life!"

"We can do this one of two ways." The first guard drew his sword, and Monica's hand shot up over her mouth in horror. "You can walk with me up to the keep, or I can drag your lifeless body. Your choice."

"But…I…" The Dunmer sputtered in protest, but she could see his shoulders drooping in defeat. "Very well." As they led him away, she turned back to Brynjolf, confused.

"I don't understand," she said quietly, bile rising in her gut. Was she falling ill, or was it guilt? "It…it was so…fast. I just…how…?" But something suddenly clicked, and it all fell into place.

"It was him, wasn't it?" she hissed, staring pointedly in the direction of Madesi's stand. "He's the one who wants him out of business. He hired you to make it happen, didn't he?"

There was no reply, but when she turned back to face him, he was staring at her peculiarly, a hint of a frown furrowing his brow.

"Asking questions can get you killed in this line of work, lass," he said softly. "You did the job and you did it well, and that's all you need to be concerned about." But that was all the confirmation she needed.

"Was there even any real risk?" she wondered out loud. "He could have at least left it unlocked." A hint of a grumble had leaked into her tone at the last part, and the thief let out an awkward cough.

"You had to evade the guards," he replied evenly, but judging from the twitching at the corners of his mouth, he was struggling to hide a smile.

"Did I, though?" she challenged. "Maybe he paid a guard, too."

To her surprise, his expression turned thoughtful. "To the best of my knowledge, no." He frowned off in the direction of the keep. "But corruption runs deep in Riften, as I'm sure you've realized. It could be worth looking into."

That hadn't been the response she'd expected. She hesitated, but his attention shifted back to her. "But like I said. Asking questions can get you killed," he said—a little too cheerfully. "And just as I promised, here's your payment." He slid a leather pouch across the counter, and as she grabbed hold of it, the first thing she noticed was the weight.

Her eyes widened, and her gaze flicked back up to him. "Are you sure?" was all she could manage.

"I am." He was watching her carefully, a knowing smirk on his face. "And best of all, there's more where that came from," he added.

She glanced down at the purse clutched in her hands, then back over her shoulder toward the keep. "What will happen to him?" she asked softly. His words of protest were still ringing in her head, a painful echo of her own just months prior, and she once again felt the bitter sting of guilt. From behind her, she could hear the thief's exasperated sigh.

"That's up to the Jarl," he said, but his voice was gentle. "I don't know the goings-on of her court. But what's done is done. If you can't handle it, then take your payment and walk away. Otherwise, the group I represent has its home in the Ratway below Riften—a tavern called the Ragged Flagon. If you've got what it takes, I'll see you there—and we'll talk about making some real coin."