Martin gazed up through the oculus in the domed ceiling, a window that gave a glimpse to the molten red sky above.
Tamriel was dying. The white stone walls around them were weeping.
The amulet weighed against his chest. He thought he'd never get used to wearing the heavy thing. It looked like he wouldn't have to, after all.
He took a deep breath but the air was so acrid it felt like tiny rocks in his lungs.
Mona was there, too. She stood at the altar. With her helmet off. Her lips were moving but Martin could not hear the words. Tears glistened in her eyes.
They were safe from the Daedra here, for however long the walls would hold, but they had not gone to the temple for sanctuary.
Martin looked up again, at the cruel red sky through the oculus. A bestial, inescapable laugh, yellow-brown like bile, rocking the foundation of the Temple. The walls began to crumble.
There was something he had to do...
Cloud Ruler Temple
3 Frostfall, 3E 433
2:40 AM
Martin awoke with a start, nearly falling out of his chair. The candle on his desk was burning slowly, and he stared at the quivering flame over a pool of wax as his senses returned. A light sheen of sweat coated his brow, yet he was chilled to the bone. The blustering wind outside pelted snow and ice against the frosty window.
He had fallen asleep again.
Sleep. His tired eyes and sore muscles longed for respite, yet the nightmares were unrelenting, and morning would never come. Martin found it easier to stay awake than be subjected to these cryptic visions of what had thus far had turned out to be an immutable future. He had seen the red sky over Kvatch weeks before that terrible night, yet it had done nothing to prepare him for what would come to pass.
Others called it the gift of foresight. Uriel Septim knew it for what it was: a curse.
He blinked several times, and stared down at the open journal on his desk.
He'd only written one word on the page.
Mona.
During these sleepless nights the Redguard woman had been on his mind, and he sometimes whispered her name in the darkness because it tasted like cream on his lips. On parchment, though, Mona was cerulean, the color of the sea at dawn, a painter's most luxurious pigment.
In his youth he'd discovered this trait of his to be an oddity; he couldn't explain why Morndas was violet, or Midyear smelled like fresh bread. It was only a kind coincidence that Mona's name happened to be a beautiful thing.
Rest might have come easier to Martin had he been assured of her safety, yet when Baurus arrived at Cloud Ruler Temple on that gray Middas alone, he could only fear the worst. But Mona was still alive in his dreams. That much was a mercy.
Some time passed, and Martin was not quite asleep or awake when the shadowy voices down the hall caught his attention. People were moving about in a brusque manner.
Had she returned?
Martin did not need to dress, for he had not planned to sleep tonight, and never changed out of his robes. Taking the candle with him, he slid open the thin wooden door.
Baurus, apparently still posted just outside his door, immediately stood at attention.
"Hail, sire!"
Martin bristled at this formal address.
He appreciated everything his loyal guardians did for him, of course, yet he could not deny that he was uncomfortable being treated as if he were already the Emperor. It was difficult to fathom. It seemed a lifetime ago that he was simply Brother Martin, though only weeks had passed.
Martin Septim. That was his name now, though it tasted like sour wine whenever he said it. What an overwhelming notion, that he was the sole heir to the Dragon Throne. He hoped he wouldn't let everyone down.
If he even lived long enough to take the throne, at least. If he was interpreting his dreams correctly, the stars seemed to have other plans for him. Then again, it was too early to tell, and perhaps his exhaustion was fostering a bleak cynicism within him.
"Please. You needn't stand on ceremony on my behalf. What's all the commotion? Has she returned?" Martin asked, meeting the Blade's eyes.
"Mona has been seen coming up the mountain. The others are preparing to receive her, my Lord."
"And you?"
Baurus' expression did not change. Nor did his voice, steady and verdant. "This is where I am needed. Standing guard while you sleep, sire."
Martin chuckled. "I appreciate your earnest, yet I'm afraid I haven't lived up to my end of that arrangement. Sleep has proven to be... difficult. Ah, well. Shall we also receive her?"
Baurus escorted Martin to the great hall. There were about ten Blades milling about already, rubbing their hands together for warmth. He wasn't certain why so many of them needed to be present at this ungodly hour of the night, but seeing as Mona's return would be the most eventful thing happening at Cloud Ruler Temple since... well, since her departure, he understood why they'd dragged themselves to the main hall with sleepy curiosity. From Baurus' report, the others expected Mona to return with the Amulet of Kings after infiltrating a major base of operations of the Mythic Dawn. And she had to do it alone. Martin was relieved she had even survived that ordeal. He'd wondered why Baurus did not stay to assist her before returning to Cloud Ruler Temple, though perhaps someone had to pass the pertinent information on to Grandmaster Jauffre in the event of her death. Which begged the question of whether the Blades expected her mission to be successful in the first place. Surely they would not treat her as expendable...
That was a terrible thought, of course. Not only that, it was a severe underestimation of Mona's abilities. As... tense as her relationship with the Blades was, they tolerated her presence because they needed someone like her. They did not have to enjoy her company. Baurus electing to leave Mona in the Imperial City while he returned to Cloud Ruler Temple alone underscored the Blades' chilly regard for her.
Two of the Blades were hovering over the massive hearth – Caroline was pumping bellows while Steffan struck a tinder. Sparks flew, yet nothing caught. Jena scoffed as she walked by, and with a flick of her wrist a sizable fire ignited the kindling.
Just then, the great double doors slammed open, the storm swirling snow and cold into the hall. It took two men straining on each side to close the doors against the strong winds.
Mona strode forward. The Blade walking beside her, another Redguard named Cyrus, carried her rucksack, dropping it on a table with a heavy thud.
Martin stood up from the chair he was seated in and brought it out for Mona to sit. After traveling for days, he could only assume she was in dire need of rest.
She stopped walking for a moment, glancing at the chair, then at Martin, her face inscrutable behind the visor of her helmet. Mona tilted her head slightly. Then, Jauffre impatiently closed the distance with another stride. Clearly, more pressing matters took precedence over Martin having a few words with Mona. Not that he could complain. He knew he would have his time later.
"The Amulet of Kings. Do you have it?" Jauffre's voice, always grainy, now a hurried plea.
Mona said nothing for a while. As if she had all the time in the world, and twenty or so Blades were not waiting for her to speak, she removed her mail gauntlets and placed them beside her pack.
Then, quietly, they all heard her voice for the first time in weeks, curt and fresh like the morning dew on grass.
"What did you say you were doing when the Amulet was stolen?" Then lower, more accusatory, still muffled by steel. "Praying?"
An icy silence fell upon the Blades. Her audacity even stunned Martin for a moment. Jauffre, however, maintained his composure, the creases in his forehead deepening as his arms remained rigid by his sides.
"I will assume, then, that you were unsuccessful," the grandmaster said.
Mona moved towards the table where Cyrus had placed her rucksack. It had sounded like something heavy was inside. She spoke as she unlatched the fasteners.
"Not entirely. Mankar Camoran was there – he was wearing the Amulet of Kings, I don't know how, but that's another story. But before I could get to him, he opened a portal with this book and vanished. It's the Mysterium Xarxes. I stole it."
She sounded a bit proud of that fact.
It took a moment for it to dawn on Martin what this truly meant.
By the gods...
She had a Daedric artifact inside of her bag?
Her shoulders tensed as she reached inside.
"Stop!"
Martin moved swiftly. Before he knew it, he had reached inside of her rucksack, grasped on to her wrists. She resisted at first. After only a second, though, she relented, and he pulled her hands safely out of the bag.
A din of murmuring resounded amongst the Blades.
"Please," Martin said, staring now into that expressionless slit of her visor. Her eyes were behind there, somewhere.
Then, addressing the rest of the group. "Unless I am not the only one who truly understands how to protect themselves from the corrupting nature of Daedric magic, I would ask that none of you risk your safety by handling this book. Do not touch it, do not even look at it for too long."
He realized he still had Mona's hands in his own. He ran his thumbs across her palms which were curiously pinkish in contrast to her dark skin.
"You did not try to read it?" he asked softly.
Mona shook her head. She wasn't saying anything.
He wondered if she would hate him, if ever she learned about his past.
Martin would have to tell her one day.
Finally, he released Mona's hands. Curiosity drew his eyes to the open rucksack on the table, and he was still staring at the shadowed opening when Jauffre started speaking to Mona again.
"I do not know what you went through to bring this to us. Yet... this may just be the edge we need. They still have the Amulet, but now we have something precious of theirs. You have given us hope. Martin..."
"Yes?" At least he had convinced the Grandmaster to call him Martin. It would not do for the Blades to see their leader speaking to him with such deference, not when they still needed Jauffre's direction.
"It is difficult to ask you alone to take this upon yourself. I could send for Tar-Meena, from the Arcane University. She does not have the same... intimacy, that you have, regarding Daedric magic, but Tar-Meena is a scholar, specializing in cults such as the Mythic Dawn..."
Something in Jauffre's speech struck Martin. His intimacy with Daedric magic. How much did he know...?
As Jauffre droned on, memories surfaced, like uninvited guests.
That wretched, pitiful thing was never meant to exist on the mortal plane... scythe-claws tearing its way into the world, the thing was vaguely human-shaped though it was anything but, with bulbous insectoid eyes and scales that oozed sticky black mucus. It did not cry, it screamed and would not stop for one day and one night. Martin buried it behind Gottlesfont Priory on the twelfth of Rain's Hand. He was too late when he found Nerissa, who had crawled beneath the chapel to die. Her dress was wet with blood. She whispered with turpentine in her dying breath.
"You did this to me."
After that, Martin lost himself for a while.
He found himself again in a temple of the Divines, though Martin might have said that it was Akatosh who found him.
"Sire?"
Baurus. Loyal, steady Baurus.
"Ah – apologies, my mind was elsewhere. Was there something you needed?"
Martin realized some time must have passed again, for the Blades were beginning to leave the room. Mona had removed her helmet and was engaged in conversation with Jauffre, but the words were distant, and Martin found himself unable to focus. Had her face always looked so smooth?
Baurus stepped in front of Martin, blocking his view.
"Are you feeling unwell?"
"No, I am quite fine. Just tired, maybe. I do appreciate the concern." He offered a weak smile.
Baurus said something about escorting Martin back to his chambers, but he shook his head.
Mona was still speaking with Jauffre, but when her eyes met Martin's, she excused herself from the grandmaster and started towards him.
"You're alive," he blurted out as soon as she could hear him, unable to stop himself.
"More interesting than dead, eh?" she replied, rolling her shoulders to relieve the stiffness. Now that she was closer, Martin saw that she was trembling. "Damn. I'm cold."
"You hiked up the Jerall mountains in the middle of the night, during a snowstorm. That was... bold of you."
Mona shrugged. "I wanted the snow to cover my tracks. But Jauffre told me the spies found us already, so I guess there was no point to that."
So that was what he was telling her. Martin wished the grandmaster would have at least allowed her to rest before dropping that news on her, but nothing could be done about that now. She was likely to depart again first thing in the morning.
Martin walked her to the table closest to the hearth, and she finally sat down with a long, heavy sigh. Mona leaned her back against the table, closing her eyes.
"Would you like something to drink? Some spiced mead, perhaps?" Martin asked, still standing.
Mona moved her head slightly. That looked like a nod. Though she had made quite the dramatic entrance, striding in through a blizzard, she looked positively exhausted now.
Martin waved away Baurus' attempts at taking the monumental burden of pouring a drink unto himself, and moved to the table with the bottle.
Defeated, the Blade continued to stand alone by the table, looking a bit lost, as he often did.
As Martin began to warm the bottle, Baurus addressed Mona from where he stood.
"Mona."
She opened one eye. "Mm?"
"You mustn't speak to Grandmaster Jauffre in that way. Not in front of the other Blades."
Mona craned her neck behind her to glance at Baurus.
"Do you think I went too far?" she asked, a trace of mocking in her voice.
Martin could already tell this was not going to go well.
Baurus was still standing feet away, at the edge of the table. Stern and ever solemn, which was striking in one so young. Had he let his guard down once since the death of the Emperor?
Would he ever forgive himself for that?
The Blade crossed his arms.
"Why did you feel the need to disgrace Grandmaster Jauffre? You only sow discontent - our morale is stretched thin as is."
Mona did not even bother moving from her seat. She waved a hand in the air, dismissively. "Is it my fault you Blades are so insecure, so ashamed that you need to rely on an outsider like me?"
Baurus furrowed his brow.
"What we need is cohesion, not a – a spoiled princess from Hammerfell – deigning to tell us what to do and how."
There it was. Mona cared enough to stand now. Her hands clenched into fists, tar-black eyes widening in indignation.
"Spoiled princess? I nearly died in there to retrieve the Mysterium Xarxes, and that is the first thing you say to me? Did you know that you were sending me straight into a trap? Oh, but I suppose you didn't care, because there was a Septim up here to attend to! The rest of Tamriel can burn in Oblivion as long as you're up here to stand next to Martin!"
Trained to suppress his anger, Baurus responded with an oaken calm. His face twitched slightly.
"Emperor Martin's protection is our highest priority. The rest of Tamriel hinges on his survival."
This entire argument pained Martin, and he wondered if he ought to remind them both that he could hear every word. More than anything, though, he wished they would stop fighting. This was not helping anyone.
Yet neither of them were close to backing down. There was a dangerous intensity in Mona's eyes. She did not falter in her tone, nor did she break eye contact with the Blade. Martin did not even see her blink.
"But you don't care about the rest of Tamriel, do you? The Blades would never be truly loyal to Chancellor Ocato or anyone who isn't a Septim, should we fail to retrieve the Amulet of Kings. Jauffre told me this himself. This ultimatum you create for yourself with this... this fanatic devotion to a single bloodline; it's absolute madness!"
Baurus was shifting his weight between his feet. The young man had served the Blades for all of his adult life. Mona's cutting remarks seemed to make him uncomfortable, and he did not speak with as much conviction as before.
"You know nothing of our order, or the work we do to preserve the Empire. The people need the Empire, and the Empire needs a Septim on the throne."
Now, gaining confidence, Baurus advanced closer. He pointed an index finger at Mona's face.
"What, are you going to run away because the reality is too rough for you?" he said, lowering his voice. "Because not everything goes according to your whims? Is that the reason you deserted the Imperial Legion? You would still be rotting in a prison cell if it weren't for the Blades. Remember that, princess!"
"Your captain was ready to kill me! It was the Emperor that saved me. Not any of you."
Martin rubbed his eyes. "Enough. Both of you."
At his command they ceased. Instantly.
Now they were looking at Martin expectantly, while he stood holding a bottle in one hand and a porcelain cup in the other. He was surprised it only took one exasperated comment to silence them. Of course, Martin Septim's words held more power than Brother Martin's, and this served as a reminder that he had to be particularly careful with what he said these days.
"It is bad enough that the Mythic Dawn seeks to kill us all. Why should we make it easier for them by destroying each other?"
The two of them started speaking over each other.
"Martin, the Blades are-"
"Sire, I cannot stand idle while she-"
Martin held up his hand to silence them again. "You both have valid arguments. These are important matters to discuss. But there is a time and place for everything. Now is not the time nor the place."
He walked back to the table and offered cups to both Mona and Baurus. Mona took it without hesitation, but Baurus shook his head and politely refused.
"Baurus... you've been so diligent. Please, why don't you take a break?" Martin suggested.
Truthfully, he longed to speak with Mona alone. Yet this was difficult to convey to Baurus without giving him the wrong idea.
Jauffre, deep in his machinations, once suggested to Martin that he propose to Mona. Yes, as that catastrophe of an argument reminded him, it was the death of the Septim dynasty that would anticipate the death of the rest of Tamriel, for the jaws of Oblivion would never be closed shut without the lighting of the dragonfires. That made it crucial that Martin produce an heir. Preferably several.
Somehow, that didn't seem right. That one dynasty should be given so much power. The Blades proclaimed their loyalty to a travel-worn priest in soot-stained robes before they had known anything about him apart from his heritage.
What if he had been mad as Pelagius? Or a bloodthirsty fiend like Potema? They would have blindly accepted him all the same. Mona's point was undeniable. Historically, the Blades had been fervently dedicated to the protection of the Septim line. But how could they operate when the line was dangerously close to extinction?
It... was all for the greater good, was it not?
How was he expected to lead an Empire when he could not even resolve the animosity stewing at Cloud Ruler Temple?
No, Martin was not comfortable with his role in this farce. And even less comfortable with the notion that Jauffre was encouraging him to use Mona as a vessel to sire an heir.
But this was his duty, after all. All of Tamriel depended on him. He hoped he would not end up disappointing everyone.
Baurus muttered a few words and took his leave.
They were alone, now. He and Mona.
"Thank you for that," Mona said, looking down into her cup as Martin sat down beside her.
"Think nothing of it. If you're hungry too, I could-"
"I was talking about Baurus." Mona took a sip. "I think he blames me for a lot of things."
"Baurus blames himself more than anyone. The Emperor's death has haunted him so," Martin said.
There was a pause. The hearth crackled on.
"That book," Mona stared straight ahead, the orange flames of the fire reflecting against her eyes. "It's so evil. I wrapped it in two of my shirts and hid it away in my pack, but I still felt it calling to me. You really intend to read that?"
"I will do what I must."
"Can't we just... destroy it, or something?" she asked. "Would that kill him?"
"I don't know. That is why I must coax the secrets from its pages. The vagaries of Daedric magic are such that these artifacts can often be manipulated to serve another master than intended. But... extreme caution must be practiced."
There was silence, save for the crackling of the hearth.
Mona eventually broke the silence.
"I still think about him too. The Emperor, I mean."
"Oh, yes?" Martin was relieved at this change of subject. He never brought up the Emperor's death, as that wound was still fresh in all of their minds, yet he longed to learn more about the father he never knew.
"When we met, he had already accepted he was to die that night, in that room, and there was nothing to be done to change it. 'What path can be avoided whose end is fixed by the gods?' he said. I think a lot about what he told me. Do you believe in destiny?"
Martin chuckled joylessly. If only she knew. "I have reason to believe in it, yes."
He turned so that he could observe her, his elbow on the table, face resting on the palm of his hand.
"He... had kind eyes." A soft smile formed on her lips. "Like you. Kind... but so distant. I didn't know him for very long, though he seemed to know everything about me. He trusted me. Spoke his last words to me. I don't know why." She drew her legs closer to herself. "I thought it very sad, for someone to be able to see the future, and still be powerless to change it."
Martin was struck. He had never told her of his own dreams, but now he was tempted to fall into her, so that she could hold him in her lap while he confessed the terrible futures he had seen, the fragments he could make no sense of until it would be too late, how he was haunted by the vision of Mona crying in the temple every time while the white walls around them fell.
But he did not wish to trouble her with such things. She already had enough to worry about.
"My father was blessed to be able to share his final moments with one as kind as you," the priest mused.
Mona scoffed. "Kindness? No one has accused me of that before."
"It is not such a heinous crime."
"No, perhaps not." Mona set down her cup. She stretched her arms out behind her head and stifled a yawn. "I decided years ago that I didn't care about being kind, so long as I was right."
"How can you be certain that you are always right?"
"I can't. I know I'm wrong a lot. But I'd rather tell an unkind truth than a kind lie. What about you?"
Martin chuckled. "I admire you for this, Mona. Honesty is important. I concern myself greatly with the thoughts and feelings of other people. Sometimes, I believe in sparing another from undue harm, and only saying things that could help them. Perhaps that is a weakness."
"You're a priest, though. You're supposed to be like that."
"I don't think Jauffre wants me to be a priest anymore," Martin said. He'd already drunk half the cup already. The mead unsettled his empty stomach, and this made him realize that he should have offered Mona some food instead. But it was too late for that, and she didn't like his fussing in any event.
"With me... you are still a priest, Martin."
"What does that mean?"
Mona narrowed her eyes. They were so dark, pitch-dark, he could not distinguish the pupils from the irises.
She inched closer to him. Her hand reached out to his face, lightly brushing against his cheek as she tucked a stray lock of his hair behind his ear.
Martin felt the heat rising to his face at once. Her dark lips... they were so close. He struggled to pull himself away, but he did it, feeling a great constricting tightness in his chest.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Mona slammed a hand on the table. The cups rattled.
"Don't apologize! This is what I mean! You care about everyone. Everyone except yourself. I see you flush with ardor every time I draw near, and yet-"
Mona cut herself off abruptly, shaking her head.
"Never mind," she muttered. "This isn't helping."
Martin's head was still reeling in shades of rose from her sudden outburst. He wished she could have finished what she was going to say.
Instead, the Redguard stood, eerily composed. She took her cup and quaffed the rest of the mead, tilting her head back.
"Ah... I'm tired," she announced. "I'm going to bed."
"Mona..." he rose from his seat, suddenly aware of how awkward and burdensome his movements were. His chest still ached. She was an island with her arms crossed, as she stood waiting for him to finish speaking all the words that wouldn't come. It would be difficult for him to explain just why he hesitated with her. He didn't want to hurt her. But how could he tell her this?
Nerissa. Haderus. Drothys. M'reeza. Rorik. He would never forget their faces. Why should he be allowed happiness while they were dead because of him?
Yet... Mona was standing here in front of him. Glaring at him with that livid compassion she seemed to possess.
Against his better judgment, Martin took a step forward.
Her lips parted and she looked as though she might speak, but then Martin wrapped his arms wholly around her, pulling her towards him, and instead of words he felt a light, shuddering gasp escape her. Without pause, Mona's arms untangled and returned the embrace, drawing him even closer. Even her lithe body was firm and efficient as her demeanor, not wasting an ounce that could be toned into muscle, all without any unnecessary bulk. She had all the strength, all the courage that Martin did not, and while he wondered what he had done to deserve her affection, he put those thoughts aside to enjoy this moment while it lasted.
Her clothes smelled of dried sweat but this was all fine because she was so warm and he could feel her chest rising and falling with each breath. Mona's head was pressed against him, and he ran his hand over her short hair. He liked the rough, wiry texture of it.
It was a warm, still moment, and neither of them spoke for a long time.
His hand in her hair gradually moved down the nape of her neck.
Martin spoke softly in her ear. "I haven't always been a priest."
The Mysterium Xarxes was laid out in front of him. All around were words, swirling blood-red and razor-sharp. Dagon's symbolism twisted, warping in a ring around him, coaxing Martin to delve further through tunnels of malice between the characters.
That hateful voice spoke often. It was bile-yellow, same as the laughter in his dream.
"Martin..."
It was the array. He knew he had to reconstruct it in the same way Mankar Camoran must have done. Mona hadn't remembered anything about it when she saw him perform the ritual. Of course she hadn't. She knew not what to look for. 'It just happened.' Yes, that was what magic looked like to someone who knew nothing about it.
Martin was on his hands and knees on the floor of the great hall, just in front of the empty hearth. Hours ago, a fire had been lit, but only ashes remained.
"I can see inside of you."
He held a brush dipped in black paint, but as he traced the array the sharp angles and sweeping lines looped to infinity inside of his mind, orbiting him in space like planets projected in some Dwemer observatory. Though the paint was black, each Daedric character became something else when he brought them to life with the brush. Oht was the cruel scarlet sky above Kvatch on that terrible night. Ayem was a glossy off-white, like polished bone. Neht was dirty rust-brown like dried blood. Tayem seductive, toxic purple nightshade.
That ugly voice again. Like maggots in his brain.
"Martin... what master do you serve?"
"I serve no master," he replied to the voice. He could feel the heartbeat of the Xarxes pulsing in his ears.
"I could set you free."
Martin had to remain calm. Dagon was known for his arrogance. If Martin could keep a conversation with the Daedric Prince, perhaps his secrets would eventually be revealed...
So long as Martin did not reveal more than he had to.
"It is not freedom you offer, only shackles. I am not so much a fool as you think," he said to the Daedra.
"Ah. You puppet, you lamb, you callow fool, you. The Empire you serve is decadent and corrupt. Look inside yourself, Martin. There are things that I know. Why did you leave the Mages Guild? What was it you desired the most?
"Power," Martin murmured. "The power to change destiny."
"Power, yes! The power to change! Do you believe that the power to change destiny will come from being Emperor to this rotting kingdom, which will soon be dust on the winds of revolution?"
"I will become Emperor so that I may defeat you."
"Why?"
"Because you are evil. You do not belong on Mundus and I will destroy you."
"You believe in good and evil? You mortals create such useless words for concepts you do not understand. But I will explain it to you. There is no such thing as evil. There is only power. You could change your fate, Martin. You could change the fate of Tamriel. Not with good, or evil, but with power. Absolute power."
"Sanguine could not change the destiny I foresaw. Why should I believe that you can?"
"Sanguine? Sanguine is a hedonistic, self-indulgent voyeur as easily distracted as a gnat. He plays at a vile imitation of power, but only children play games. Are you a child?"
Martin did not answer.
"You could become a god. In your dreams, do you see the new Tamriel that I have created?"
"Why would I tell you?"
"Because I am not merely a shadow in your nightmares. I am the beginning of the end. I am rivers of blood, I am the sundering earthquake, the tides of destruction against your pitiful Empire. Resist, and you will be punished with the rest of the flock."
"And if I join you?"
"I will reward you with power you are incapable of imagining. Mankar Camoran has been a useful pawn, but he is not worthy of being my champion. Sanguine misused your potential. You did well to reject an unworthy Prince as him. Come to me, Martin Septim. Come slow, and bring four keys. You know the secrets behind my words. You have always known many things that mortals should not know."
Four keys. Yes, Martin had read that passage many times over while the book tried to probe him through layers of magical wards. This was why he could not allow the others to touch the Mysterium Xarxes, especially not Mona. It was akin to the very eyes of Mehrunes Dagon himself –
the fourth, the very eyes of Padhome...
Daedric Princes did not have blood in the same way men and mer had blood to sustain their life force, but all were formed from the blood of Padhome. Daedric princes shaped their blood into objects of great power, like the Mysterium Xarxes or the Sanguine Rose. These objects were their way of exercising control in Mundus through mortal champions while the liminal bridges were still intact.
"Was your blood used in Mankar Camoran's ritual? Your Razor?" Martin asked.
The rumbling laughter echoed in his brain.
"I would never allow Camoran to touch my Razor, let alone destroy it. I had another sword for him, one with twin blades shaped like the sliver of Secunda when the shadow of Jode obscures all but a crescent."
Then it was confirmed. The fourth key was the blood of a Daedric Prince. Mehrunes Dagon, with his vaunting pride, had revealed it himself. He also revealed that the artifact would be destroyed in the process. That left three keys, and Martin did not believe Dagon would make plain those secrets so easily.
He dipped the brush in the paint again, but a shadow from behind crept over the array he had drawn on the floor. Hands clamped onto his shoulders.
Martin snatched the cup of dirty brush water and splashed it backwards at his would-be assailant.
"Martin!"
His heart lurched when he heard her rosewater voice. Immediately he slammed the Mysterium Xarxes shut, covered the evil book with the oilcloth from the table so that she would not have to see it.
Mona crouched beside him. Ashamed, he forced himself not to look at her. She was dripping on to the floor, as if she were made of water. He could hear her teeth chattering.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice sounding hoarser than he imagined it would be. His throat felt dusty.
The symbols painted on the floor seemed so unclear, so fuzzy now. When he had been reading the Xarxes, everything was sharp and distinct and he felt as if he could do anything. Now he just felt tired, his bones a hundred years older.
"You need to rest. Jauffre told me you've been at it since I left. Please."
"Since you... left?" He struggled to remember. She'd talked of leaving the next morning, but... it was still nighttime.
Mona let out an exasperated sigh. He could see her misty breath in his peripheral vision. Martin turned to look at her, now.
It was cold enough in Cloud Ruler Temple in Frostfall when the hearth was dead, but her shirt was soaking wet. Mona was shivering. His fault. He had done this.
"You're... gods, I'm so sorry, you're freezing. You should change your clothes."
"I will if you eat something," she retorted.
Then it was decided.
He attempted to stand, but the weakness hit Martin all at once and he wondered why everything looked wavy. His legs buckled and he the black void overcame his vision, but Mona's strong arms caught him before he fell. She was so close to him now, cold and wet and still trembling, holding onto him firmly and keeping him grounded in reality.
She helped him walk, slowly, as if he were a sickly old man. His legs felt like they had not been used in decades.
"I'm sorry," Martin said again.
"For what?"
He was not certain what for. He thought he should be sorry for something.
"I..." Martin looked around, but moving his head that much curdled him with a wave of nausea, so he just closed his eyes and trusted Mona to guide him.
"I did not hurt anyone, did I? Baurus..."
"No, Martin. You shouted at Baurus a great deal for disturbing your work, and he let you alone after that. But you didn't hurt anyone."
"I splashed water on you," he said, dejectedly.
Mona laughed, though.
"I'll live."
Martin awoke to a gentle nudge. He was still in the great hall, though someone had wrapped a blanket around him, which he now drew tighter over his shoulders.
He could see the sun peeking through the windows.
"It is day already?" Martin groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. It seemed like he had been nodding off only moments ago, after eating. At least he thought. Lately, it had been difficult for him to tell.
Mona's voice responded. "Mid-day, yes. Martin, when was the last time you went outside?"
Mid-day? That was new. Why had no one had decided to wake him?
"I... don't know." Since the spies had been sighted around the Temple, he had been advised to stay indoors. 'Away from windows,' Jauffre added, but Martin thought that was taking it too far.
"The sun is out for once. Why don't you wash up? We should take a walk."
This sounded more like a command than a suggestion. Martin was anxious to return to work on deciphering the Xarxes.
"What about the spies?" he asked in a halfhearted attempt to deter her.
"Oh, I took care of them."
Martin raised an eyebrow.
"You were gone for only three days."
Mona grinned, scratching the back of her head.
"I'm good at what I do. Let's talk about it outside, okay? I've got a lot to tell you."
The dazzling reflection of the sun against the snow blinded Martin momentarily as they took the first few steps outside. Everything seemed so... bright. The air was crisp and smelling of pine, invigorating him as he took a deep inhale.
His weary mind began to clear as he listened to Mona's summary of events. They meandered along the battlements at a slow pace, which Martin's stiff legs were grateful for. She told him about Bruma, and what she had learned from the spies. A Great Gate was to be opened on the outskirts of the city. Miraculously, they had a date. The 20th of Evening Star. That gave them plenty of time to advise the Countess and bolster Bruma's defenses. This was a rare bit of good news; that they could avert a disaster before it even started. The last thing Martin wanted to see was another Kvatch.
Still, each time he remembered the Xarxes Martin experienced a surge of impatience, even anger at Mona knowing every moment squandered out here could be spent studying.
At the same time he dreaded returning to that wretched voice, the jagged characters scrawling hateful words in Dagon's blood.
It was disturbing to think that he had been studying the Xarxes for three days straight without food or water or rest. To Martin, it only felt like hours had passed. The tome consumed him wholly, chewing slowly at his psyche through all of his wards, savoring him like a sugar treat.
Mona was here, though. She offered a brief respite from the corrupting magic of that horrible book, yet he could not become too distracted from the task at hand. He'd already slept half the day when time was in such short supply. Why should he be allowed to rest when the fate of Tamriel depended on him alone to conquer the secrets of the Xarxes?
They talked, and the fog in Martin's mind gradually began to lift.
A stray wind tousled his hair. Mona brushed out the tangles with her fingers.
"Your hair is so soft," she said idly. "It grows out long. My hair can't do that. It just grows... out."
"I like your hair," Martin said. Without thinking, he moved his hand out to feel the short, tight curls atop her head.
Then, he felt that pang in his chest again.
Martin instantly retracted his hand just before he would have touched her.
Mona frowned. She leaned backwards over the parapet, placing a finger on her lower lip.
"Tell me, Martin, how do you think of me?"
"Constantly," he admitted, and that was the truth.
"Then... why? Is it because you believe it would be inappropriate for us to..." she trailed off. Martin did not know what she meant by this. Normally she was more straightforward, but he did not know if she was speaking of marriage, or something more... carnal than that.
"That... no. Even Jauffre has made it no secret that he would find you a worthy empress, if ever we were to wed. And, I would not be opposed to, to-"
Gods, what was he saying? Marriage? That was such a sudden leap, why had his exhausted mind even brought that up?
Yet Mona was still waiting for him to finish. He could see the edge of her mouth twitching into a half-smile. Thankfully she was amused by his fumbling rather than offended.
"I mean... forget about marriage," he said quickly, gesturing emphatically with his hands. "That is not even what this is about. Whoever I become, whether I am Brother Martin or Emperor Martin, I would never treat you coolly because of it. In soothe, Mona, I believe you have a lot to teach me. You have lived as a noble, even though you deny your heritage. I am quite flattered that you choose to spend so much of your time with me, I..." he was rambling, and still did not know what he was trying to say. Mona had been gazing at him the entire time, the smile on her face turning into a sly grin, as if she were hiding a most tantalizing secret.
"What are you thinking about?" Martin asked.
Mona placed a hand on his cheek.
"I'm wondering what would happen if I did this," she said, almost whispering.
Abruptly, she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him close.
Martin did not resist while Mona locked him in a strong kiss. It was so sudden, and so vigorous, she did not give him time to deny his feelings.
The fluttering in his stomach turned into warmth flooding through his body, as if he were made entirely of light. They pulled away a moment to take sharp breaths of winter air, laughing airily in spite of the cold burning in their lungs.
Her eyes, wide and elated, took on new depth as the sun caught her at this angle, illuminating a swirling cascade of umber and gold and olive around the pupils and Martin thought how fortunate he was to see this hidden world within her eyes.
Then, Martin kissed her again. He didn't feel cold in the slightest.
