Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary
1 Frostfall, 3E 433
11:55 AM
Patience.
That was one quality that Vicente Valtieri could claim to possess. For what did a vampire of his maturity have, if not an abundance of time?
Yet in all of the two hundred years he had resided in the Cheydinhal sanctuary, out of every single family member he'd been acquainted with, the number he predicted to be well in the thousands, none had such an incredible salacity to provoke his vexation as Antoinetta Marie.
She sauntered into his chambers with a languid sashay, deliberately exuding what appeared to be an unintentional, innocent sensuality, like a vestal lass in a certain Lythandas painting with her back turned, wandering through a meadow of foxglove. Three lifetimes ago, Vicente may have been entranced by Antoinetta's alluring naïvety, thoroughly overcome by an intense desire to protect such a fragile maiden from harm.
But his youthful passion had long since quelled, and the vampire knew that she did indeed spend time wandering in meadows picking flowers – to use in deadly poisons, and that there was nothing childlike about the glacial stare when she fixed her lovely blue eyes on him, an icy detachment well beyond her years.
"You wanted to speak with me?" she asked with a measured timidity. Her wheat-colored hair framed her small face in ringlets.
Vicente smiled affably.
"How does the day greet you?"
"Fine... and you?"
"Ah, I can't complain, myself. Please, Sister. You mustn't look so frightened. This isn't an interrogation. I only wish to speak with you. Have a seat. Do you care for tea?"
Antoinetta frowned. She lowered herself in the seat across from him, settling her hands in her lap primly. If she was uncomfortable at all, she did not reveal it.
"Vampires drink tea?"
"No, not typically." Vicente chuckled at the forwardness of her question. Most skirted the topic of his vampirism entirely, save for the morbidly curious. "Though, some may, when hiding in plain sight amongst mortals. I may be a vampire, but that's hardly an excuse for me to be a sorry host."
"Well, aren't you a proper gentleman?" she said coyly. "I take two sugars with mine, please."
"Two?" Vicente arched an eyebrow.
Antoinetta smiled. "I like it sweet."
He poured the tea into a light green cup and placed it on a saucer in front of her, stirring in two lumps of sugar.
She slowly brought the teacup to her lips, never taking a sip.
Of course she didn't trust him. He didn't need to bother with the tea to know that. Antoinetta Marie didn't trust anyone, but she pranced about as if she loved everyone.
"Now, then. Perhaps you are wondering why I wished to converse with you. But I have the impression that you know precisely why. We are adults, of course, and instead of resorting to petty snipes, we ought to discuss it like adults."
"Adults? Ah... funny you say that," Antoinetta sat on her hands, bringing her knobby knees together. "To tell you the truth, I don't turn seventeen until Sun's Dusk. I've been told that I'm precocious for my age, though."
Precocious. Antoinetta was beyond precocious. The girl was positively cunning.
"I'm reluctant to call a professional killer a child, no matter their age," Vicente remarked dryly.
Antoinetta looked down at her tea.
"No, I suppose you're right," she said in that tinny little voice.
She brought the teacup to her nose and sniffed lightly. Her eyes flitted up at Vicente.
"Do you remember being a child?" she suddenly asked.
What a bizarre question. Did she intend to disarm him with nothing but a change of subject? He was certainly confused, seeing as his own childhood was absolutely irrelevant to the conversation at hand.
"Of course. I'm old, but not forgetful."
"Do you remember when you stopped being a child?" she pressed, setting the teacup down with a tink.
"Certainly I was an adult by the time I left my parents' manor in Wayrest. But that was centuries ago. Why do you ask?"
Antoinetta stared into her cup again.
"I don't know. I begin to wonder if I ever was a child. I don't feel different now than I did eight years ago, except I know more things, and I'm happier, I think." She paused, and ran a finger along the rim of her teacup. "Oh, but it doesn't matter. I'm only being silly. Forget I ever said a word. I did not know you were from Wayrest. I think that's grand. You know, I've never been to High Rock, even though I'm a Breton. Did you like it there?"
She smiled thinly. Vicente watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. This had been an odd interlude, but he was not about to allow her to distract him from the pertinence of the matter at hand.
"I was fond enough of Wayrest, yes. But please remember, Sister, I didn't summon you so that I could discuss my childhood. If you truly are so interested in hearing an old vampire reminisce, you may approach me at a later time. I'd be glad to talk at length, but not now."
"I'd like that very much. I love hearing people's stories, especially from faraway places," she said, clasping her hands together. "Telaendril told me about Valenwood. She grew up in this great hollowed-out tree, and the tree walked! It must be wretched for the couriers to find anyone, when their homes keep uprooting themselves."
Vicente sighed. This conversation was going nowhere. Truly, it was like speaking with a child. An uncommonly astute and manipulative child.
He observed her hands, still clasped together.
Her fingers were skeletal, the skin so translucently pale that he could see the blue veins running along the back of her hands. Her recovery was going well, but she was still far from looking healthy.
Vicente remembered the day Lucien brought Antoinetta to the Sanctuary but two months ago. She was emaciated, dead-eyed, wandering the halls like a ghost. The others would whisper, questioning why Lucien would bring such a weak creature into the family, only to find her standing behind them, listening to every word with an unchanging expression.
Though she was mostly the ebullient girl with wondrous eyes that sat in front of Vicente now, she sometimes still drifted into that vague, emotionless state. As if she were retreating inside of herself when the world became too much for her to bear.
But Vicente saw endless potential in her, as Lucien undoubtedly had.
The vampire remembered when Lucien Lachance himself had been brought to the sanctuary, too, almost thirty years ago. A disturbed youth with a black eye and a terrible hatred festering in his heart. Vicente taught Lucien to control his rage, to channel it into ambition, and the choleric boy with a rusty shiv had matured to become a Speaker of the Black Hand.
Antoinetta... she was elusive. Vicente could not make any sense of the girl. She was a moth that fluttered away whenever he attempted to pin her down. None would deny that she was trying – no, 'trying' was putting it kindly; most would call her infuriating, but more than anything Vicente wanted to understand her. And more than anything, she did not want to be understood.
Yet there was only so much patience he could have for an individual with such an enthusiastic disregard for his safety. There was no way he could undo whatever terrible things had been done to her to cause her to feel this way, but that was no excuse to behave like that with family. What if someone had attacked the Sanctuary, and he could not defend it to the best of his abilities because the scent of garlic lingering in the air had weakened his senses?
"Garlic," he said abruptly. Her smile faded. "Why do you continue to antagonize me so? You concoct vile dishes, and the stench reaches me all the way down here. But you know this already. I've chided you repeatedly; even Ocheeva has scolded you. Why, Sister?"
"Garlic?" Antoinetta's eyes widened. "Well, I... I don't know. I don't like the smell of seared slaughterfish, but if I ever became testy with M'raaj-Dar when he cooks breakfast, I'd be laughed out of the Sanctuary."
She had begun to stir her tea again for no reason. Then, she tilted her head at him coyly: "Besides, I thought it was just a myth, the ordeal with vampires and garlic."
"It is," Vicente confirmed quickly. "But it's nothing to do with my vampirism. It's strange, I know... but to me, garlic is the same as poison. I have told you time and again. Have you ever eaten spoiled food that made you so ill you had to lay in bed with a basin at hand the entire day?"
Antoinetta was avoiding his eyes. She stared down at her lap, where she was fidgeting with her thumbs.
"Yes, but I-"
He interrupted her before she could formulate another excuse.
"Antoinetta. You are not a fool. You only endanger yourself with this behavior." He leaned across the table, staring at her with the unflinching gaze he normally reserved for his prey. It had been a few days since he had last fed, and his candlelit visage was already gaunt, his eyes blood-red and hungry. Antoinetta glanced up for a moment before looking down again, trembling slightly. She clutched the fabric of her trousers. Goosebumps had sprouted along her arms.
His calm countenance did not falter; it shifted to take on dangerous undertones, the cold inhumanity that always lurked beneath his pleasantries and smiles. And Vicente was no longer smiling.
"You are trifling with an ancient vampire far deadlier than anyone else in the Sanctuary. I hear your little heart beating faster now than it was before. As it should be. You should be afraid of what I am capable of. This morning you dropped an empty vial in the common area. I could hear it shatter, and I could smell your fresh, young blood when you pricked your finger on the shards of broken glass." Vicente's sentences were sharp and penetrating, and he did not relent. "You are clever enough to manipulate the sympathetic or the depraved with your infantile presentation. You've killed many people that way. But, dear Sister, that's the only way you can fight. To me you are just as fragile and vulnerable as the child you present yourself as. Do not assume I am a fool like one of your marks. I am neither soft nor sadistic; I am a hunter, and you are nothing but a warm body without your pretenses. You have every reason to fear my wrath, and instead you tempt it."
Antoinetta swallowed. She was making odd noises in her throat, desperately trying not to cry. Her eyes darting to every direction possible except at him.
Her breath was caught in her throat. Of course, if she inhaled, she would sob, and she didn't want to do that in front of him, no. Even though she had made it painfully obvious that she was genuinely on the verge of tears.
Vicente sighed. He slid a handkerchief in her direction. Antoinetta only stared at it as if it were a spider.
"It didn't have to come to this," he said.
The girl scrunched her face up.
"Please do remember to breathe," he added.
Antoinetta took several short, choked breaths and tears glistened down her cheeks.
"I'm not angry with you, Antoinetta. I only wish to understand."
"Understand what?" she snapped. "Understand why I hate you?"
Hate.
In the outside world, Vicente was a monster, of course. Most sensible people had a healthy hatred of him when they knew what he was. But not here, not to the Brotherhood. He wondered what he might have done in the Sanctuary to inspire hatred from anyone in the family.
But almost immediately after she said it, Antoinetta frantically attempted to backtrack.
"N-no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it-" she hiccuped.
Vicente folded his hands in his lap. "What did you mean, then?"
All at once her demeanor began to change. She took several deep breaths, then lowered her head. Her hair blocked her face like wavy blonde curtains. She was no longer crying, and her voice had taken on a dull monotone.
"It's you I don't understand, Vicente Valtieri. What do you want from me? I've said all these horrible things to you, and I've done horrible things, because of what the others said-"
"Others? Someone else in the family?" Vicente ventured. Antoinetta was not making any sense.
"No, you don't hear what I hear. I thought you'd reveal your true self by now. And you keep smiling, and speaking so soft and gentle like a knight in a stage-play, but it's not real. It can't be genuine. You are a murderer. We're not nice people."
"Antoinetta..." Vicente had his elbow on the table and he rested his chin on the palm of his hand. "I've lived for a long time. If ever I want something, I simply take it. Putting up a front is exhausting; I'm too old and tired for that rot."
Antoinetta stared at him. Her eyes were cut glass.
Vicente continued. "Ah, but there is something I want from you. I do want you to stop bringing garlic to the Sanctuary. That is all I've asked of you thus far. I'm flattered that you're imagining I'm some mastermind concealing a wealth of ulterior motives, but I'm not nearly so interesting. I only want you to get along with the rest of your family."
Vicente took the handkerchief now and stood slowly. He knelt on one knee in front of Antoinetta. Her face was an utter mess. He started to dab at her cheek.
"We're your family. You're safe here. We are not the enemy."
The girl caught his wrist and dug her nails into his skin. Her hand was warm and pulsed with blood.
"Family," she spat the word like acid. "You keep saying family. I despise that word. My first family sold me to a... house. The people there said they were my new family. But they were just as cruel as the first."
Vicente pried her bony fingers off his arm and set the handkerchief in front of her again. She paused a second, then took it and blew her nose loudly.
After some time, Vicente spoke again, gently.
"A true family would never hurt-"
"I don't want to talk about this anymore."
"That is quite alright."
Vicente stood. He was trying to think of something else to say, something that could possibly get through to her. She was addled in the head, there was no doubt about that. He felt sympathy for the girl, for no one so young should have to bear such horrors. But if she could not learn to control her hostility, it would not be wise to keep her here any longer. They were all outcasts and monsters here, but that was why these Sanctuaries existed. For people like them to have one place in the world where they didn't have to hide who they were.
"I... don't actually hate you, Vicente."
She said this unprompted.
Amused, Vicente raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Antoinetta bit her lip.
"And I... I'm sorry about the garlic thing."
Perhaps Antoinetta's apology was not entirely sincere, but he would not fault her for it. All that mattered to him were her future actions.
"Let's just not do it again, eh?"
"I won't. And I... I really was interested in Wayrest, you know..."
All of a sudden, a sharp scent prickled his nose.
Vicente held up a hand to silence Antoinetta.
Something was wrong.
Extraordinarily wrong.
Blood. He smelled blood.
Antoinetta continued to ramble.
"I hope you're not too cross with me or-"
"Quiet, girl," Vicente hissed.
Stagnant blood. Ocheeva's blood.
In her chambers just above Vicente's ceiling.
Only seconds had passed but he knew she was already dead.
Eliminated swiftly and silently. Like one of their marks.
Who could have done this?
Vicente knew that no intruders prowled these halls. He would have caught the unfamiliar scent of an outsider forthwith and intercepted them long before they could approach Ocheeva's quarters.
No, the truth was far more disturbing.
One of their own had betrayed them.
Antoinetta, unsettled by his cryptic silence, opened her mouth to speak. Vicente put a finger to his lips.
He could hear them through the walls.
Footsteps. The quiet, purposeful stride of a leather-clad assassin.
Vicente recognized their flat-footed gait. He recognized their odor, faintly tinged with volcanic ash. He did not want to believe it, but there was no denying who those footsteps belonged to.
"Sothrys," he growled. Dunmer. The other new initiate. Arrived at the Sanctuary a fortnight after Antoinetta Marie, but they couldn't be any more different. Where Antoinetta was volatile and frivolous, Sothrys was calm and consistent.
How could this happen? Vicente had scrutinized Sothrys as meticulously as he had every initiate that graced these halls. Not a single quickened pulse or furtive glance could escape the vampire's discernment, and he had no reason to suspect Sothrys would betray them. Again, while Antoinetta was glib and cheeky, Sothrys was a mer of few words. When he did speak, he always spoke the truth. Never questioned an order or botched a contract.
There was simply no time to ponder this any longer.
Straightaway Vicente's mind shifted to focus on the prey.
Wordlessly, he cloaked himself with a spell and pursued the ash-scent through the dim corridor. Antoinetta crept after him on the balls of her feet, holding a dagger behind her back. He did wish she had stayed behind, for all she could be now was a troublesome liability. But it was too late for words; the hunt had commenced.
His hunger sharpened his instincts and he concentrated on the blood pumping through Sothrys' veins, the heat his living body left behind.
The Dunmer waited in the common area. Tall, lean as a beanstalk. Obscured by black leathers unable to mask the fear Vicente smelled.
Gogron. M'raaj-Dar. Teinaava. They must have already passed, for Vicente could no longer sense them in the living quarters. Antoinetta might have been dead too, had she dined with the others before meeting with him.
The Dunmer was still standing there, impassioned, statuesque.
Vicente drew his sword.
"Why, brother?"
Sothrys had a scroll in his gloved hands. "It is the will of Sithis."
He unfurled the scroll.
Antoinetta shrieked.
Color flashed onto the walls, coalescing into a ghostly form. A humanoid figure, with long pale limbs and a hideous gaping mouth. Its wail rattled the foundation, extinguished the lamps above. It lunged at Vicente with icy breath and outstretched arms.
The vampire scoffed.
What a foolish notion, to unleash an angry spirit on one who could command the undead.
He simply raised his left hand and sent forth a spell. His magicka became a powerful suggestion, a single word which overrode the bound spirit's previous orders. It froze at once, then turned away from Vicente, contemplating its empty existence on this mortal plane.
Vicente moved inhumanly fast to tackle the Dunmer to the ground.
He could tear his throat open with his fangs right now and gorge himself on the soft fleshy sack of warm blood quivering in his grasp, but he fought against the vampiric urges that still pounded in his ear.
"What is this madness?" he demanded. He gripped Sothrys' shoulders and slammed his head into the stone floor.
Gentle, he reminded himself. He had to be gentle with mortal bodies because they broke so easily.
"It- it is the will of Sithis!"
When Vicente slammed Sothrys again he heard the distinct sound of glass crunching under him.
A pungent scent escaped, causing Vicente to recoil. It permeated his nostrils and his throat was on fire.
Garlic.
His arms no longer had the strength to restrain the Dunmer, who took this opportunity to leap to his feet and fling a knife at Antoinetta Marie.
It hit her in the shoulder.
Disoriented, Vicente was still crawling on the floor. The light from the candles became hazy orbs. But Sothrys' back was turned.
That was a mistake.
Vicente cast a paralysis spell on the Dunmer. As the green magicka swirled around him, his limbs stiffened and he fell backwards, like a wooden board.
Antoinetta tore the knife out of her shoulder. Weakened by poison, she stumbled towards the motionless Sothrys and plunged the blade inches deep into his chest.
Antoinetta clutched at her shoulder. She was sweating profusely.
Vicente couldn't look at her until he had drunk his fill from Sothrys and felt the surge of energy from the warm blood refresh his parched veins. He was regaining his strength, counteracting the effects of the damned garlic.
The rest of the family was dead, then. The only one Vicente could not be sure of was Telaendril, who was out completing a contract, but Sothrys must have already eliminated her. He was not one to leave loose ends.
And he was not a traitor, either. Steadfast, loyal Sothrys...
What did this mean?
Someone ordered him to do this.
Had Lucien invoked the ancient ritual of Purification?
Why?
"Vicente..."
Her voice brought him back to the present.
Vicente caught Antoinetta just as she began to collapse. Her chest heaved against him with each strained, gasping breath.
"Do it..." she murmured.
The blood was thickening, coagulating inside her veins from the poison.
Antoinetta was dying.
Her pulse slowed. Her blue eyes stared at Vicente with temerity. She moved her lips slowly.
Now.
That was the word she mouthed with dry, cracked lips.
As she leaned against him, the blood from her wound seeped through his shirt. Vicente took one of her hands in his own, meshed his fingers lightly between hers. Antoinetta's warmth was fading.
"Are you certain?" Vicente asked, nearly whispering. "This is an existence more frightening than death. You will never know a peaceful afterlife."
Antoinetta responded by curling her fingers around his hand.
She wanted him to turn her.
But what if he did?
Vicente might have said it was what she wanted, it was her decision, and he was merely the intermediary. But he would not placate himself with falsehoods to pretend he still followed some broken idea of morality.
The only justifications for turning an adolescent into an abomination were self-serving and he was well aware of that fact. Her "decision" was entirely uninformed. She did not want to die, but she did not fully understand what it was to be neither dead nor alive. To steal the life-blood from others to maintain a hollow existence, to see everything as it truly was; vacillating between curious fascination and murderous hatred towards the living for the beauty of their mortality they could never appreciate.
And yet... Antoinetta already had the percipient mind of a hunter. She did not concern herself with the feelings of others, unless she could manipulate them to her benefit. If unbridled, Antoinetta could kill freely and easily; her only limitation was that fragile mortal body. She would have wanted this even if she were not on the verge of death. She would finally know what it was to be stronger than other people.
Ultimately, it was Vicente's decision. There was little time left for deliberation.