Kara spent four days getting through the swamps between Morthal and Solitude. The capital of Skyrim, poised on its overhang, taunted her with its presence as she dodged guards and soldiers. She spent hours at a time in the foul filth of the swamp, sometimes emerging only to heave up the dark water before vanishing again. She felt her insides would never be clean again—let alone her outsides. Her clothes were fast becoming what to anybody else would be a serious health hazard. Her boots had long ago been lost to the pull of the swamp.

She lay with eyes closed, clinging to the silt, and counted the days. With her efficient killings, her frantic running, she had ten days left in which to kill someone inside the walls of Solitude. She opened her eyes to darkness and broke the surface. Night had fallen over the swamp and for once, she could hear no shouts of guards or howls of dogs. She cleared her lungs and shambled north-west.

She washed herself in the bay but knew that she'd need something harsher if the stink of the swamp was ever going to leave her. There was a more immediate problem: how was she going to get inside the city? Any disguise now would be a waste—she must be top of every wanted list in Skyrim by now, her description circulated to every city. She looked up at the arch, with its long shadows and sheer rock. Nobody had ever scaled it, as far as she knew. Surely such a feat would be known. From there, she could hop over the wall into the grounds of the Blue Palace, quickly off some guard or servant, then drop back down the fastest way, right into the bay again. And be done for the month.

Drying her hands, Kara approached the end of the arch where it burst from the coast. She supposed it would be easier if she had some rope—or if the sun was up. But she couldn't risk be spotted from across at the docks. She circled the base, looking for a good place to start. She'd have to end the climb on the outside, of course, but that didn't mean the best place to start was directly below.

The spot she found was on the north face. The wind came in off the Sea of Ghosts, washing through to her bones. At least her clothes would dry quicker. She put her foot on a ledge and, stretching her arm up, began to climb.

Her increased strength allowed her to haul herself up by her arms, to continue the ascent in places where others would be stymied. Still, she paused after every reach to examine where the next would be. Ten days, she told herself. Plenty of time. Her strength, however, soon presented itself as a problem. Perhaps five metres up, as she reached with her left hand to the next ledge in the rock, it came away in her hand. She cursed and watched the piece of rock fall to the dirt below.

Hanging on by her right hand, she summoned her sword into her left and drove it into the rock. She praised every daedra she could think of who could have been involved in its creation. It was, however, just like her hand: too strong. The sword began sliding down through the rock. Kara cursed again and let go.

She fell. The pain spiked through her back and her head. New scars for her collection. She rose without blacking out, this time. She looked up at the arch and sighed. One other way into Solitude, then, without turning it into a massacre.

Kara swam across the bay. She was spotted when she was more than halfway across, her wake signalling her presence as the moonlight rippled in the water. A guard with a torch was waiting for her when she pulled herself onto the docks.

"I'd like to surrender," she said.

Again, they took everything from her. The crowds had formed by the time the guard marched her through the gates of Solitude. Brought from their beds by the news of the captured murderer. They locked her in the dungeon of Castle Dour and told her they had to wait, field messages from the other holds, to see who would have the honour of executing her.

On her first day in the dungeon, someone came to visit. A farmer, from his look, though she had never seen him before. He pushed a piece of paper through the bars and hurried away. Kara unfolded it before the guards could get to it. Of course, she thought. A message from her master. She scratched the horned symbol on the wall and burned the message with her candle. The symbol cracked and moved, taking on the eternal smile of Clavicus Vile.

"You've done so well," he said.

"I didn't do it for you," hissed Kara, looking around for guards. None of them seemed to have noticed the face of a daedric prince in her cell.

"No, you did it for yourself," said Vile. "For fear and hatred and joy. Tell me, how many of them did you enjoy?"

Kara was silent.

"I thought as much," said Vile. "Different to fighting your usual fare, isn't it? A new thrill. Like flexing a muscle you didn't know you had."

"No," said Kara, but she didn't sound convincing even to herself.

"Your work is extraordinary," said Vile. "The beggar in Riften, oh, that was raw, you were still finding your feet. By Windhelm you were already in your element. A character, a connection. Leaping yourself through loops of logic. Winterhold . . . subtle. I'll admit it didn't thrill me, but I admired the pace of it. But Dawnstar, there you came fully into your own. The way you used that bard was delicious."

Kara jabbed a finger at the scratched face. "Don't you dare," she said.

"Oh, but it was you who dared," said Vile. "I can't imagine her reputation is faring well after your little visit. Whiterun, though, Whiterun. Coarse, brutal, and utterly public. I loved it. And so contrasted with Falkreath! Dengeir is Jarl again now, you know. Much more a sympathiser of your old comrades the Stormcloaks."

Kara must have shown some reaction to that, for Vile chuckled.

"Were you not aware?" he asked. "Can't imagine his attitudes will mix well with the other Jarls. I can only congratulate you on your sowing of chaos. Onwards to Markarth, then, where you showed such restraint. Although the net began to tighten because of it, hmm?"

"I made it here, didn't I?" snarled Kara. The strength went from her legs and she sat on the bedroll.

"That you did, Kara, that you did," said Vile. He paused. "You know, I really shouldn't count Morthal. That little witch did strike the final blow, after all. But I so enjoyed it, I'll let it slide."

"You're so gracious," said Kara.

"Now, now, no need to be bitter," said Vile. "The deal was your choice, remember? Besides, you still have one kill left to make. Will you break down your bars and—but no, another guard would be dull, dull! No, I won't speculate. No matter how much I enjoy it. Remember Kara, nine days left of Morning Star. And you've got nowhere to go."

The face grew still, though the smile remained where it had not been before. Kara dug at the eyes with her thumbnail and scratched away the smile. She slept with her back to it.

It was three days before someone came to her. She was sitting crosslegged on her bedroll when a black-bearded man in guard armour came to the bars, who Kara recognised by reputation from her civil war days: Captain Aldis.

"They're still arguin over what to do with you," he said. "But it ain't lookin good, I can tell you that."

"What d'you want, Aldis?" she asked.

He started. "How do you know my name?" he asked.

"You're fuckin famous," she said. "Answer the question."

Aldis coughed and leaned closer to the bars. "They sent me to ask if you want to confess to anythin more."

"More'n what?" asked Kara.

"They got you for the orc in Markarth, the guard in Morthal, and the fellas over in Whiterun and Windhelm," said Aldis. "Horik is here, wants you for something in Dawnstar. He don't seem to have a whole lot of proof, though. There's a steward here from Falkreath, says you killed the old Jarl, though he don't seem real cut up about it."

"They're both right," said Kara.

Aldis' eyebrows went up. "Can't say as I believe it. You been movin round so fast, seems like it can't've been just you."

Kara grinned wide at him, not caring about her similarity to Clavicus Vile. "You better get to believin," she said.

Aldis sighed. "Thought these were supposed to be better times," he said. "Dragonborn killed Alduin. War's over. Someone gave it to those vampires." He shook his head. "Supposed to have some peace and quiet."

"I'm sorry," said Kara.

Aldis looked surprised. "Can't say as that's goin to make it any easier for you," he said.

Kara nodded and came over to the bars. "There's more," she said. "A miner in Winterhold, and a beggar in Riften."

"Can't say as I've heard about those," said Aldis.

"Can't say as you would," said Kara, "if I hadn't told you. Them Jarls arguing about their jurisdictions don't care the people at the bottom."

"Like you?" said Aldis.

"Not always," said Kara. "Just mostly."

Aldis scratched at his chin. "Well," he said. "I'll pass all this on." He half-turned away, before pausing. "Does that mean you killed someone in every hold capital? Except this one?"

"Yes," said Kara.

"It's all over now," said Aldis. "Get some rest, with all that running around you've been doin."

Not likely, Kara thought as he left. Not with her unfinished business still hanging over her.

There were only two days left of Morning Star left when someone next came to Kara. It was late, but she had given up on sleep and taken to pacing the limits of her cell. The still face of Clavicus Vile had been completely hacked away days ago. It was a Nord in fine clothes who appeared on the other side of the bars. He stunk like the Blue Palace. Kara still stunk like the swamp. The guards had thrown a few buckets of water on her, to no avail. Now they just complained.

"I am the steward here," said the man. "Falk Firebeard."

"Well?" asked Kara.

"Dawnstar and Markarth fought hard to have you themselves, but . . . we've decided to execute you here."

"When?" asked Kara, pressing close to the bars. Falk stepped back, his nose wrinkling.

"Tomorrow," he said. "Early."

Kara gripped to the bars, feeling that she would collapse without their support.

"I'll be there," she said. She couldn't summon a smile.

They came for her just before dawn and she could swear that, despite her efforts, Vile's image on the wall was grinning at her. She let her wrists and ankles be shackled and was led out of the dungeon. A crowd had already formed as she was led towards the block, positioned right near the door out of the city. Someone threw a rock at her and a guard waded into the swarm to find the culprit and berate them for causing possible injury to the esteemed guards of Haafingar.

The executioner, with his long axe and black mask, was waiting by the block. Kara was stood on the other side. At the top of the stairs where she'd come down from Castle Dour she could see someone who had to be Jarl Elisif, her steward beside her. Captain Aldis climbed the platform and the executioner stepped back. Aldis read from a scroll.

"You have committed eight counts of murder by various means and numerous other counts of assault and theft," he said. "The sentence is death. Do you have anything to say before it is carried out?"

Kara shook her head. She spotted Horik from Dawnstar and Urzoga from Markarth in the crowd. She didn't want to keep looking in case she spotted Karita. She remembered her trip to Helgen—not the battle where she had fought alongside a ragtag group against the Thalmor trying to open an Oblivion gate, where she had plunged through and made her fatal bargain with Clavicus Vile—but her first visit. Captured with Ulfric and a ragged Breton who would go on to become the Dragonborn.

She remember the way the Dragonborn's head had been lowered to the block. She remembered the executioner raising his arms. She remembered how Alduin's arrival had denied her own chance to face the axe.

"Guards, prepare the prisoner," said Aldis. He stepped back, but remained on the platform. Two guards grabbed Kara from behind and brought her to the block. They forced her to her knees and pushed her upper body forward so her neck was on the block.

Now she was here, she realised she was uncertain what would happen. Decapitation had been beyond her means, back when she was trialling her various methods of suicide. She had never been able to break a bone, however. Would the axe stop at her neck? Or was this, finally, the way to break from Vile's curse? But as the guards stepped away and the executioner stepped forward, Kara felt a primal fear return. An instinct she'd crushed, worn down with repeated assaults on her cursed body. A fear of death.

She heard rather than saw the axe coming down. No god appearing from the sky to save her. And she denied the demon his chance to do the same. She slipped to the side and placed the chain between her wrists where her neck had been. The blade cut through them with a sharp clink of metal against metal. She rose, and kicked the executioner away, taking up his axe.

Kara swung the weapon in a wide arc, scattering the guards who were coming at her from multiple directions. A superior reach that could never last. Already she could see other guards putting arrows to their bows. Urzoga was pushing her way to the front of the hysteric and half-fleeing crowd, her hand going for her mace. Kara swung hard at the executioner. His own blade carved halfway through his side and Kara left it there. She reached down, snapped her ankle manacles, then jumped off the platform.

The crowd fell into chaos. Screaming and shouting ruled as people ran in every direction. The doors out of Solitude cracked open as some fled that way. Kara headed in the same direction. Once she was clear of the city, she started to run. The bodies around her soon faded away as her pursuers became more organised. Two arrows took her in the back, more falling around her. She kept running.

Where the hill flattened out she paused and tore off her manacles. She could see Urzoga at the front of the group after her, outdistancing most of the guards. The orc woman let out a defiant yell as she ran. Kara realised Clavicus Vile had been right. She had nowhere to go. In every direction were people who wanted to hunt her, kill her, lock her up. Nowhere to run to. She ran anyway.