A/N: As always, thank you to tafferling for betaing. All comments are appreciated, including constructive criticism. Thanks for reading.

Chapter Twenty-One

"Tenet 2: Never betray the Dark Brotherhood or its secrets. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis."

– The Five Tenets

I'd like to be able to say that over the course of the summer and winter that followed my leaving Anvil, I finally grew up, took stock of my life and realised that if I didn't change my ways I'd carry on spiralling ever downwards. So naturally, I pulled myself together, paid off whatever debts I might owe, and got a proper job. Something respectable.

Yeah. Right.

A nice thought. Unfortunately it didn't quite work out that way. One thing I always could count on was my ability to underestimate just how talented I was at fucking myself over. I seemed to have a knack for it. I didn't even have to try.

And it was this ability to fuck myself over that saw me, one evening in late Sun's Dawn, scrambling down the banks of Lake Rumare, praying I'd find the chest I knew was hidden there before the Imperial guard on my trail found me. What can I say? It's a gift.

The water was freezing, and the chest had been sunk into the rock at the bottom of the lake, deep enough that I had to submerge myself to pick the lock. As the urge to take a breath intensified, my fingers twinged and my hand spasmed hard enough to snap the pick.

I resurfaced to gulp down a couple of lungfuls of air and indulge in a spot of cursing, then dove again. This time the tumblers snapped into place moments before my air ran out, and I grabbed the glass bottle within, and dragged my shivering carcass back onto the shore.

I uncapped the bottle and knocked back the bitter liquid inside. Spent the next two minute wishing I was an Argonian, the next two minutes after that that I'd never been stupid enough to get into this mess in the first place, and countless minutes after that screaming in unmitigated agony.

Turns out growing gills hurts. And that's coming from someone who's suffered a lot of pain in his life. The splitting and reforming of the flesh and bones in the neck was eye-watering. It felt like my nerves had been flayed, doused in lemon juice and then sandpapered down with a sprinkling of salt for good measure. It left me rolling around on the bank in weeping agony, a hand clamped over my mouth to silence my screams, not entirely successfully.

As the pain ebbed to the point that I could see again, I lay on my back and glared at the sky, keeping my breathing as even as I could.

"You could have warned me," I muttered. The stars blurred, merged together, then broke apart into fragments of glittering light. "You could have sodding warned me."

I rolled to my feet unsteadily and felt at my neck with a shaking hand. The gash in my throat sucked hungrily at my fingers, and I shuddered .Took a few staggering breaths towards the lake, dragging the air into my lungs, ready to plunge beneath the surface and–

"Stop right there," a voice roared out, accompanied by the clank of legion armour.

Shit shit shit. Perfect fucking timing, and no surprise the way my luck had been going lately. Since I was now pretty much broke I didn't have enough money to pay the fine. So it'd mean resisting arrest and inevitably dying, or serving out my time, which would be at least a year. Probably two. Those two options could both go fuck themselves.

I lunged into the water. There was a moment of resistance, a what-the-fuck-do-you-think-you're-doing-to-us from my confused lungs as they flooded with water, and then my brain began to register that, contrary to all expectations, I was getting air. It felt like a miracle, all my boyhood fantasies (the ones from before I hit puberty anyway) come true.

Pity that this wasn't Morrowind, where levitation potions were still legal and not subject to ruthless crackdowns by the Mages' Guild, since all I needed now was to experience flying. Oh, and marry the woman of my dreams and live happily ever after, but clearly that was never going to happen.

Shit, Jack. Let it fucking go.

I swam deeper through the murk towards the rusting sewer gate. I set my bare feet against the rock and dragged it open, bubbles escaping from my mouth. And then I stared into the darkness, caught in the grip of a sudden terror that the tunnel would shrink as I swam along it and I'd be trapped like a constipated turd. Or that maybe there'd be some monstrous thing lying in wait. A were-crocodile, perhaps, or something half-dead and decayed and–

Fucksake. The Argonians used this route all the time. There was nothing dead down there, but if I didn't get a move on the potion would wear off, and then maybe there would be.

No choice.

The sides of the tunnel were slick with algae, and no matter how tightly closed I kept my lips a sour muddy flavour hit the back of my throat. I dragged myself along the tunnel, fighting the conviction that the gashes in my throat were starting to close up, that the potion was wearing off. My chest hitched, and I took a gulp of the foul water, instantly gagged.

The passage took an upwards turn so sharp I had to twist my spine like a ferret to haul myself up, shuddering in revulsion as debris in the water struck my cheeks. I turned my face away, and almost missed the turning for the bathhouse, forcing me to perform an awkward u-turn, my back scraping painfully against the jagged rock. Beneath my hands, the roughly hewn rock grew smooth beneath the gunge, as rock became carved stonework. I was getting close.

But my neck stung, prickling like a scabbing wound. Oh gods, oh gods, it was wearing off. And I was getting less air with every passing moment as rising panic flooded me. My movements sped up, until I was blindly flailing, dragging myself to the hatch.

On instinct, I flung my head upwards to find the surface, to find air, and the top of my skull cracked against the stone.

I took out my last pick, fingers stiff and uncooperative, because what the fuck was I doing trying to pick a lock when I was about to drown any moment? When I should be kicking back along the tunnel, scrambling for the surface before it was too late?

In my panic, I wrenched the pick a little too hard, caught myself in the instant before it snapped.

The prickprickprick of tiny bubbles popped on the edges of the gashes in my throat. My heart beat double-time, a rhythmic tattoo of you'redeadyou'redeadyou'redead, as I gripped the pick again. I thought of Millona, imagined her here with me, counting on me to pick this lock before we both drowned.

And then it was easy. Sort of. A gentle nudge of the pick, and the tumbler clicked into place. Relief surged like a tide, but it was short-lived. No question I was short of air now, and my neck was agony again. Not quite drowning, not yet, but I wasn't far off. I gripped the handle of the hatch and pushed, grinning wildly, because I was there, almost there, so close to being able to breathe like a normal human again. The hatch creaked, cracked open an inch–

–And stuck fast.

Fuuuuuck. Fucknoshitno. I jerked in terror, set my shoulders against the hatch, braced my feet against the rock, and pushed with all my strength. My vision shrank to a pinprick, red agony pulsing in my skull, and then the hatch cracked upwards, and I was surging up, legs kicking wildly, propelling myself into the warmer clearer water–

The top of my skull slammed into the metal bars of the cage, so hard I went dizzy for a few seconds before panic took over again. And there was still no air. I pressed my face against the bars, but the cage was wholly submerged and the lock could not be picked – even Sam Bantien couldn't have done it. And oh gods, I was fucked, because the potion really had worn off now and I was drowning.

A long few moments of screaming flailing panic, and then peace settled over me like a warm enveloping blanket. Millona's lips, still gentle but no longer quite so chaste, pressed against mine, and she said my name, even though she was still kissing me. As I drifted down into the darkness, I wondered idly when she'd started calling me Jack.

A metallic clang. A fist seized my shirt, and dragged me from the cage. Rough scaled hands slapped my cheek.

I choked, coughed up a couple of lungfuls of filthy water. Took a gasping choking breath and then another, flailing on the floor like a newborn calf. "...Took you long enough..." I wheezed.

Sakeepa grinned down at me. "Ah, you'll live."

I sat up, coughed again, and gagged at the awful taste in my mouth. "Gods, that's foul. I'm never doing that again."

Sakeepa reached down and pulled me up. "Don't fuck up a job so royally in the future and you won't have to."

"Talking like it was my fault." I touched a hand to my neck, feeling the ridged scabs of freshly healed tissue there. They stung at my touch, but would heal soon enough. "Sam around?"

"You're lucky. He's holding court."

I couldn't face Sam straight away. My nerves were too ragged. Instead I let Swims-Under-Moonlight oil me up while my terror eased away into the warmth of the room along with the knots in my muscles.

At least an hour passed before I went to find Sam. He was with Armande, who looked up, and gave me a nod and a commiserating smile. Sam didn't give me so much as a glance.

"You fucked up, Jack."

"Wasn't me," I said, sinking down on the bench. "It was that idiot I did the job with with. He fucked up. He panicked. If he'd just–"

"He panicked. You fucked up. And now Danic's in jail, a guard's been injured and the whole of the fucking legion is baying for your blood."

"He should have known better than to resist arrest. If he'd only–"

"You fucked up, Jack."

My cheeks burned. Armande had dropped his gaze and his smile and was staring at the swirling water in the shallow footbath. I opened my mouth to argue further, then looked away. "Yeah," I said, and kicked the side of the bench in sudden impotent fury. "I fucked up. Shit." I rubbed my face with my hands. "Can you at least sort my bounty?"

"Have you got the money? 'Cause we're talking almost six hundred Septims and the word is you're not so solvent these days."

"I can get the money. I just need a couple days to get my shit together–"

Sam gave an exasperated puff of air. "Do I look like a fucking bank? I don't offer lines of credit."

"You know I'm good for it–"

"Do I though? Because I'm not so sure. You ask me, it seems like your heart's not been in it these days. Like you left it behind in Anv–"

"Sam." My voice snapped out, and he fell silent. "Just... just give me a couple of days. It's all I'm asking."

"I'll cover his bounty," Armande said. I lifted my gaze to him, wanted to protest, but the words caught in my throat. Armande held up his hands as I started towards him. "Just don't hug me, you oily bastard."

"Fair enough." I sank back down, smile slipping as I looked back at Sam. "The guard... will he..."

"He'll live, but he was damned lucky. It was a bloody stupid thing you did."

"It was an accident. He was going to hack Danic down. I acted on instinct. And he would have been fine if he hadn't slipped. My damn luck these days."

"Or your heart."

"It's nothing to do with my fucking heart. I'm as good a thief as I ever was. It's my luck."

"A thief with any damn sense wouldn't have partnered with Danic on a job like this in the first place. He was too green and you know it."

I kept silent, chewing bitterly on my lower lip.

And still Sam wouldn't let it go. "You were reckless and stupid."

"So," I snapped, "no fucking change there then."

"Jack–"

I pushed myself up, and turned to Armande. "I'll pay you back, Armande. I will."

"I know." As I moved out into the corridor, he followed me and took hold of my arm. "But take your time. I'm in no hurry. I'm doing all right."

I gritted my teeth, took a few steps, then gave up on stoicism and swung towards him, bursting out, "We should've been fine. That job, there was no reason why it should have turned bad. None."

"Just bad luck?"

"Yeah." I kicked the walls. "And my heart is in it."

"Jack." His voice was weary, filled with a don't-bullshit-me tone. "Come on. We both know where your heart is. You've not been the same since you came back from the coast. Even after all that business with Varian you weren't as bad as this."

"All that business?"

He grimaced, shrugged. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah." I slumped against the wall. "Well, you've said it yourself plenty of times. I'm a moony bastard when it comes to women."

"No, you're a moony bastard when it comes to Millona Umbranox. You can be a love-blind fool when you're in the mood, but it's never been as bad as this." He hesitated. "You ever think maybe you should go back?"

"Go back? To Anvil? Are you fucking serious?" My voice hardened. "You spent half your time trying to get me to come back to the City, and now you think I should have stuck in Anvil? Make up your damn mind."

"I warned you away from Anvil because I was worried you'd get hurt. Did you–"

"–Fuck her? That's none of your–"

"–Tell her you're in love with her." He gripped my arm, and shook me a little, trying, I think, to get me to calm down and see sense.

I wrenched away, held up my hands until my blind rage had eased. "I'm not in love with her," I said, once I had myself under control. "That's fucking ridiculous."

Armande didn't bother to answer, which made sense since I hadn't even tried to make the lie believable.

I tried again. "Even if I am, I'll get over it. Eventually. I should have listened to you. I should never have stayed in Anvil. It was a bad idea."

"But you never have been able to say no to a woman."

"Now that's a damn slander." I thumped my shoulder into his and he slung his arm around my back. It was about as close to an apology as we were ever likely to get. "I've never been able to say no to anyone."

~o~O~o~

They were right: my heart wasn't in it. I played it safe for a while after that, a series of small petty jobs, safe and reliable and too tedious for words, and at every turn I longed to be elsewhere, somewhere quieter. I was sick of the Rat, bored even of the bath houses, tired of the sweat and heat and noise of the city. Spring had always been my favourite time of the year, but the city now seemed as stifling as Bravil in high summer. So when the Fox returned I was ready for her, and desperate for anything she might have to offer me.

"I need your help," she said, and I sprang out of bed, eager as a bored puppy leaping at the heels of the master who had abandoned it.

"Is it a job?"

"Might be. It's not exactly Thieves' Guild business though. Still sure you're interested?"

"Fuck it, why not?"

She laughed, and it wasn't a pleasant sound. "I thought you were done with me."

"Please. I could never be done with you. You're my guildmaster, remember? What are we doing? Where are we going? What are we stealing?"

"We're not stealing anything. Not this time. You're going to help me guard something."

"Well, that sounds boring as fuck." And still I pulled my shirt on over my head, and buckled my sword-belt.

"Let's pray you're right and it does turn out to be fuck-boring. Never pray for an interesting life, Jack. Boring's good–"

"Boring makes me want to gouge my eyes out with rusty nails."

She leaned against the door frame, studying me. "And yet Sam tells me you long for Anvil."

"Sam talks too much. And Anvil isn't boring, it's peaceful. There's a difference."

"Especially when you're in love." There was something hard about her eyes, not especially friendly. "I really didn't think you'd be stupid enough to come back."

"Whatever you say." The Fox was the last person I wanted to talk to about my love life, with that mocking look in her eyes, and the cowl lending everything a sinister veneer. "What are we guarding?"

"It's not what, but whom."

"Anything I should know?" I asked. "Like is this personal business or the other?"

"What other?"

I caught hold of her arm. "You know what other. You think I've forgotten what happened in Kvatch? When the Dark Brotherhood nearly killed you and your friend?"

"Ah, yes, my friend. I hear she's not too fond of me, but the two of you got very close."

"Don't change the subject. Is this to do with the Brotherhood?"

She tilted her head. "If I said it was, would it change anything?"

I kept silent.

"Then yes, it's to do with the Brotherhood," she said. "And if you don't want to get involved, tell me and I'll leave you alone. If it's too much for you."

In other words, if I was a coward.

I grinned. "Fuck that. I just wanted to know, that's all."

~o~O~o~

The whom turned out to be an Altmer, waiting for us in the upstairs room of an inn on the road to Bravil, and on seeing her I let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding, because I'd been expecting a monster, not a frightened elf. She clung to the door, unwilling to open it fully and let us in. "I didn't think you'd come," she said.

"I almost didn't," the Fox said.

"And you brought a bodyguard, I see," the Altmer said, her gaze flicking to me. "Not much of one though. He's just a boy."

I prickled at that. "I'm not a boy. And I'm tougher than I look."

The Fox's hand tightened in warning on my arm. Her meaning was clear: What part of 'shut up and let me do the talking' is difficult to understand? I snapped my mouth shut and glowered at the pair of them.

The Fox placed her hand against the door and pushed it. The Altmer's jaw tightened, but she stepped away reluctantly, allowing us inside. There was something familiar about her face. I'd seen her before somewhere, I was sure of it.

"He's here to guard you, not me," the Fox said, jerking her head towards the door to indicate I should close it.

The Altmer paled a little at that, but tried to hide it. "To protect me or keep me prisoner?"

The Fox shrugged. "Whichever he judges most needs doing."

I glanced at her, and the look in her eyes beneath the cowl was enough to keep me quiet.

"He looks like a strong breeze would blow him over," the Altmer said, studying me.

"That's his secret. Everyone underestimates him–"

"Thank you," I said, but the Fox wasn't done.

"–And every once in a while he proves them wrong."

"Hey!"

A smile ghosted across the Altmer's face, but it quickly faded. "I want out. This life, I can't do it anymore."

"You're not the only one who's felt that way."

"It's true, then? You know a way out? A way to stop them from coming after me?"

"I'm alive, aren't I?" the Fox said, and hope glittered in the Altmer's eyes. "I can show you. But I need to know where I can find him. If you know..."

"I do, but... what you're asking..." She glanced around the room, fear on her face. And suddenly I knew where I had seen her before.

"Bravil!"

They stared at me, startled by my sudden exclamation. I cleared my throat, embarrassed. "Just... I thought you looked familiar. You used to live in Bravil. You, um..." I cleared my throat, remembering. You butchered a crooked bastard of a guard who beat the shit out of me more than a couple of times. Fun times.

"Of course," she said, staring at me. "The little beggar boy who used to spy on us."

Heat rose to my cheeks. "I wasn't spying–"

"Well, far be it for me to interrupt this delightful reunion," the Fox snapped, "but this hardly seems the time." She turned to the Altmer. "Tell me where. Now. Or the deal's off."

"You swear you'll help me?"

"I swear. On Nocturnal. On Sithis. On the Nine. On anything and anyone you want, just fucking tell me."

The Altmer exhaled, closed her eyes and nodded. There was defeat in the gesture and in her voice when she spoke. "Leyawiin. He has a contract there. A special one. A... a slow one. He'll take his time. Enjoy it. You should be able to catch him if you leave now." She spoke in a rush, as if once she'd started she couldn't stop, and then she hunkered down on the bed, her hands pressed against her mouth as if she longed to force the words back in. Make it as if she'd never spoken.

The Fox nodded. "Good. Good."

"Do you mean to..."

"Only to talk to him. We have some unfinished business, he and I."

On her way out, she glanced at me. "Jack, a word." And when I followed her out, she drew me aside. "Do whatever you can to stop her leaving. And if anything turns up–"

"Protect her. Got it."

"No." She was as patient as if speaking to a child. "I don't want you to do a damned thing."

"I don't get you."

"I mean," she said, "if someone or something turns up to kill her, I want you to let them. Sheathe your sword. Step back. Open the fucking door for them if necessary and usher them in. Offer them refreshments if they look thirsty. In other words, let them do it."

A chill settled through me. "You're not serious."

"There isn't a damned thing you can do to save her. She was a dead woman walking the moment she opened her mouth. And don't forget she's a killer. She's a member of the Brotherhood, and cold feet or not, she's butchered innocents for money and for the sheer fucking joy of it. Don't get qualms because you used to get your sheets sticky dreaming about the amber gash between her thighs. Intervening will only get you killed, and I prefer you living rather than dead."

"You said you could help her."

She lifted on tiptoes, and leaned closer. The cowl brushed against my cheek, and I shuddered in revulsion at the rough touch of the wool. "Sometimes I lie."

~o~O~o~

When the Fox had gone I paced and agonised while the Altmer watched me, her expression strained. She looked different now, no longer the heart-stopping beauty I remembered from my boyhood. Pretty enough, and I still would have (although, since beauty never had been all that high on my list of requirements for a bed partner, that didn't mean much), but it was mainly due to paint and artifice, and to the exotic glamour that clung to her because of her race. The hollows beneath her eyes were a little too deep, her cheeks a little too gaunt, even for an elf. And I had no way of knowing whether she really had been as beautiful as I remembered, or if my memories were mistaken. After all I'd been an adolescent boy with no experience with women. Two female lovers entwined for all to see? Hardly a surprise I might have remembered that wrong.

What the Fox had said kept coming back to me. If the Altmer really was a member of the Dark Brotherhood – and I could see no reason to disbelieve him – then she had killed. And perhaps her victims hadn't been innocents, but I couldn't keep my thoughts from ticking back to Jory. I'd never seen the body, although it wasn't for want of trying: we'd balanced precariously on the slates of the overlooking shacks, trying to get a glimpse of the corpse as the Watch carried it out, wrapped in a shroud. There had been nothing to see and we'd slunk away, disappointed, with nothing but the tales of how he'd died to make us shudder with glee.

Let it go, Jack, I thought, as I paced the length of the room, crossing from the door to the window and back again, while the Altmer watched. As if I could.

I turned on her abruptly. "What the fuck happened in Bravil, anyway? That night, when you..." I trailed off, already regretting speaking.

Her eyes seemed filled with fire. "Do you really want to know?"

"Probably not." I pictured Jory, the monster he'd seemed when I was a boy. And the weeping shadow hidden behind the door as he emerged. A necklace of bruises on a woman's throat. "You know what, fuck it. It doesn't matter."

She was a murderer. But I'd killed too. I'd killed Pellis, and even if I hadn't understood what I was doing back then, I'd slaughtered the bandits who had attacked me and Millona without a second thought. With them, I'd understood exactly what it meant to steal away a life.

And I tried to stop myself from pacing, went to lean on the dresser, but I couldn't stay still for more than a couple of moments before I was on my feet again.

My gaze kept flicking towards the closed door. Fuck the Fox. Fuck whatever he said. He was full of shit anyway. Whatever came through that door, I'd protect her. Because wasn't that supposed to be what you did?

"What happened to your woman?" I asked. Because fuck knows I couldn't keep my mouth shut any longer than I could keep myself from pacing the room.

"My woman?"

"The Dunmer you lived with. Back in Bravil."

"Oh." She gave a slow lazy blink. "She took to this life better than I."

"You mean murdering."

"It's a way of life back in Morrowind. Not the Brotherhood of course, but..." A shrug. "Was she telling the truth?"

"Who? Your Dunmer?"

She gave me the sort of look you gave someone who had just said something irredeemably idiotic, and you can't work out whether they're serious or not. "The Gray Fox. Is she telling the truth?"

"What do you mean, 'she'—?"

The candles guttered out. Every single one and at the same time, as if they had each been pinched out with invisible fingers. There was no breeze. The Altmer drew in a sharp breath, and I held my hand out towards her in a stilling gesture as if she'd made to leap up. She hadn't. Instead she'd shrunk down into herself, wrapping her arms around her torso.

"Stay there." I moved to the door, and listened. No sound. Nothing, not even the creak of floorboards, the bustle of the inn below. An icy sensation swept over me, as if a chill wind had crept along the corridor. My breath frosted on the air.

Whatever comes, the Fox had said. Not 'Whoever'. And it wasn't just the sudden drop in temperature I could feel, but a sense of dread, a steady drip drip drip of remorseless terror, which stripped away my bravery, whatever was left of my courage, because I was nothing, just a thief, just an unwanted, abandoned boy who was good for nothing – selfish, lazy, cowardly – and the one woman I loved, if it had come to it, if it had been a zombie in those caverns outside Anvil, rather than just a skeleton, I would have shoved her at it, sacrificed her to save my own worthless hide, and fled because–

No. No, I wouldn't have. Not to Millona. Never.

I pressed my hands to my face. The thoughts were relentless, and not entirely my own. And whatever was silently coming up those stairs, I knew I didn't want to meet it.

"What is it?" the Altmer asked, as I backed away from the door.

A moment or two passed before I could speak. "We have to get the fuck out of here."

She rose to her feet, gaze flicking towards the door. "What's coming?"

"Nothing's fucking coming." I turned to the window and jerking open the shutters, stared in panicked confusion at the bars trapping us inside.

My fist slammed into the wall. "Shit!"

He'd chosen this room deliberately. that treacherous bastard. He'd known.

Open the door, the Fox had said. Usher it in. "Fucking arsehole," I hissed under my breath, then jerked my gaze away to the dresser. "Help me."

Together we dragged the dresser to the door, both of us shivering now, because the air had gone bitterly cold, our breath wreathing mist. As we set it against the door, I felt a moment of panic, convinced the door would open outwards into the corridor, and whatever it was would stare bemusedly at the makeshift barricade before clambering over it and coming after us.

No, I thought, closing my eyes, remembering. The door opened inwards. We'd bought ourselves a little time.

"Will it hold?" the Altmer asked.

"You know more than I do."

"But you can kill it, can't you? She said you could kill it."

"I don't know who the fuck you're talking about." My voice rose, high pitched and tinged with panic. Outside the door the floorboards creaked, and I drew my sword, flexed my grip around the hilt.

You can do this, I told myself. This was a piece of piss. And when the Fox came back I'd beat the fucking shit out of him, cowl or no cowl. I'd make him pay.

It was right outside the door. There was no sound, only the Altmer's shallow breathing. I held my own breath, my gaze fixed on the dresser, on the door.

There's nothing there, I told myself. There's–

Something crashed against the door, so hard the wood buckled. The Altmer screamed, stumbling back across the room, whirling towards the barred window. The door shattered inwards in a shower of splinters and I threw up my hand to protect my eyes. There was a shuddering scraping noise, and the dresser flew away from the door and slammed into my gut. It crushed me against the wall, knocking the wind from me.

And if I'd thought the room was cold before, the temperature dropped still further, until every joint in my battered body was aching and sore. Any lingering courage I might have been clinging onto was torn away, leaving me with nothing but stark terror. Leaving me weeping and sobbing, shoving at the dresser pinning me to the wall, because I was locked in that crate again, with something dead bucking beneath me.

It wasn't the stink of rot that filled the room, but a mustier scent: corpse shrouds, dust and slow decay. I clenched my hands against the dresser, and heaved, shoulder blades flexing against the wall. The crushing pressure eased, enough that I could suck in a couple of lungfuls of air, until something brushed against my cheek, soft as a spiderweb, and the smell of death enveloped me.

Something hung in the middle of the room, a drape of translucent, gauzy cloth between me and the Altmer. She opened her mouth to say something.

She never spoke. Instead something yanked her off her feet.

I jerked my gaze up, saw a dead thing in mid-air, flickering in and out of visibility. Beneath its tattered shroud shrivelled desiccated flesh clung to bones. It carried a sword in one hand, and the other hand was hooked around the Altmer's throat, and as it flickered in and out of existence, I could see the furrows in her neck where its fingers bit into her flesh. Her feet dangled half a yard off the ground, bucking and jerking like a hanged man taking his time to die.

At my choking gasp, the flickering thing turned its face towards me. The movement was slow, inevitable. No zombie this, but something much worse, and I was shaking, begging for my life, the thought that I ever could have hoped to fight it laughable, since I couldn't even speak beneath its terrible regard.

A crunch and the Altmer's throat split open. The wraith vanished as blood spilled down her chest, pattering on the floor, mingling with her piss, and through the blood, through her gaping throat, I saw a flash of gleaming bone.

Too much to hope the wraith had gone. A space of a heart beat and it was back, its attention fixed on me.

The Altmer dropped.

I pressed back against the wall, as if I could sink inside it and be hidden if I only tried hard enough.

And now came footsteps, slow and methodical, up the stairs. A boot crunched on the splintered remains of the door. And I couldn't turn my gaze away from the wraith. A jerk of its fingers and the dresser was wrenched away to crash against the opposite wall. Its shrivelled fingers clenched into a fist, and I felt a tug at my chest. It jerked its fist upwards, and I followed, my back sliding relentlessly up the wall. The wraith gave a piercing scream, and advanced, the drip drip drip of the Altmer's blood leaving a bloodsplatter trail in its wake.

I was on a level with it, pinned to the wall like a butterfly, as it brought its face up to mine. My throat knotted at the dead thing smell of it, the pores in its skin stretched tight over bones and tendons, how ancient it was, how hungry, and in its eyes nothing but the howling void. It reared up, still flickering out of existence, and brought its hand up to my throat.

"Stay." A man's soft voice. The wraith's hand froze next to my cheek. Its seething malice and fury at being thwarted rolled outwards in a cloud. "Release him."

It turned its head a fraction, seemed to consider. Then I crumpled to the ground. My skull slammed into the upturned bedside table, and my vision blurred. The sensation of the wraith's shroud brushing against my cheek brought up a shudder of revulsion, and my heels scrabbled at the floorboards in my desperation to escape. But I was too slow, too weak, especially when a hand pressed against my chest. He was gentle, but there was steel in his grip.

"I bear a message from the Speaker," he said. He had a Breton accent, soft and melodious. "He says 'no deal.'"

He leaned in close, his skin unnaturally cold and waxy, but his breath against my ear burned. "Tell that bitch I'll see her in Whitstone."

His hand clenched in my shirt with sudden violence, and slammed me back so my skull crunched against the wall. Dizziness crashed through me, a rolling wave of darkness that kept coming, on and on. Only a stinging pain in my neck kept me from passing out, followed by a surging heat that rippled from my neck, where the Breton had buried his face in the hollow of my throat. Feeding.

Every muscle in my body locked tight. A spasm in my legs, as I struggled, and he placed his hand against my chest, pressing me against the wall. His other hand cupped my cheek, almost tenderly pushing my head aside. Quiet little mews of desire sounded in the back of his throat, and gradually a quiet languorous bliss spread through me, until I no longer wanted to fight, but echoed his moans of pleasure. Until I reached up with one spasming hand, felt his hair come loose from its ponytail, and a thought glinted like a distant speck of light in a flood of darkness: that I could grip his hair and wrench him away. And instead I buried my fingers in his hair and sank into the welcoming ocean of darkness.

~o~O~o~

Someone was shaking me, and not gently. The back of my head knocked against the floor. I gave a wordless groan of protest, batted at them, but they wouldn't leave me be. Instead they grasped me by the shirt and hauled me up, dragging me out of the clinging darkness. Back into the world of light and shadow and pain.

A hard crack against my cheek roused me.

"Wha–" I opened my eyes, flinched at how even the dim light burned, and squeezed them shut. "Eyes hurt."

Not just my eyes. Every bit of me hurt. I felt weak and disconnected, like a puppet with its strings cut.

"You'll live." The voice was soft, not exactly sympathetic, but not impatient either.

I squinted up at the Fox, a memory winding its way up from the darkness. "He says 'no deal.'"

"Yeah. I figured that out already. Still it was worth a try."

Worth a try? Almost getting me killed was worth a try? I stared up at her, unable to find the words to tell her what I thought of her, how utterly furious I was. And then I hadn't a hope, because she'd gripped my jaw and turned my head to the side to examine the bite-mark in my neck. A splinter of pain drove up from my neck, through my left eyeball and right to the back of my skull. I gave an involuntary cry of pain, the pain so acute it might have had me voiding my bladder if a sharp mossy scent hadn't told me that my bladder had already been well and truly voided. I clawed for shame and embarrassment, found them missing, and instead I buried my face in her shoulder like a frightened child.

"Am I going to become a vampire?"

She went stiff for a moment, then wrapped her arms around my back. "No," she said. "Not unless you want to. I wouldn't recommend it personally. You're infected, but that's easily dealt with, so long as we're quick. Do you think you can stand? We need to get away from here."

Over her shoulder I saw what was left of the Altmer, and began to shake. Her hand caught my cheek, and turned my head away.

I stumbled down the stairs after her on shaking legs, clinging to the bannister. The inn was deserted, the fire burned down to embers in the grate.

"What happened to everyone?" I asked.

"The same thing that happened to you. Only they weren't so lucky."

"Lucky?"

"You're alive, aren't you?"

"Barely." I stared into the sunken bar, my gaze falling on an opened bottle of wine, flanked by two glasses, one full, the other upset, a dark stain spreading over the wood. And behind the bar, just visible, an outstretched hand.

The Fox pulled me away.

It was only once we were outside, with the cool night air on my face, that I began finally to regain my wits. I'd delivered the message, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else that I'd forgotten, left behind in the murk. "And no thanks to you. Why the fuck didn't you warn me?"

"I did warn you. It's hardly my fault if you chose not to listen."

"That... thing–"

"Which one? The vampire or the wraith?"

I shuddered. "The wraith. What was it?"

"The Wrath of Sithis. It's sent after members of the Dark Brotherhood who break the tenets."

"Did you know it was coming?"

"I didn't think it would—"

"Did you know it was coming?"

She stopped, and turned on me. "I hoped it was."

"Why?"

"Because if it came it meant she wasn't trying to bullshit me. That she'd told me the truth. But I didn't think it would attack you unless you did something stupid–"

I gritted my teeth. "It's me, remember?"

She grimaced in acknowledgement. "–And I didn't think Valtieri would be there." She turned away, sank against the side of the stable. "He knew. All along he knew. That son-of-a–"

"This... Valtieri?"

She shook her head. "The Speaker."

"The Speaker... That's what the vampire said. The message was from him. Did you mean to kill him?"

"Only to speak to him. To make a deal with him."

A chill ran along my spine. "What sort of deal? Not..."

"What, you're baulking because you think I want to arrange a murder? Please. I'm not afraid of doing my own dirty work." She turned away, moving again towards the stables. "And I made a far better killer than I ever did a thief."

I went after her, caught her arm and hauled her around. Or tried to at least; I was still weak and shaky, and she could have shoved me away with ease. Instead she let me do it, let me crush her against the wall. "How the fuck do you know any of this anyway?"

Contempt and challenge glittered in her eyes. "How do you think, Jack?"

And it sharpened then, my image of her coming into focus, and I saw the pattern I should have seen years ago. "You're one of them," I said numbly. "You're an assassin."

"I used to be." She brought her hand up to the cowl. "Now I'm something else."

"But the Gray Fox... he's not supposed..." I trailed off, tried again. "I mean, she's not supposed to kill."

"The Gray Fox is a law unto himself. And I do take off the cowl from time to time."

Shaking now, I released her and sank down onto the wet grass. There was a pulsing pain in my neck. "So you're a murderer then."

"I told you you wouldn't like me when you got to know me."

"That's..." I straightened up, wavered a little as a wave of light-headedness struck me. "You know what, it doesn't fucking matter. If the legion turns up..."

"They won't. Not for a while."

"But if someone got out, rode for help..."

"No one got out, Jack. No one escaped. Valtieri didn't let them."

I looked back at the darkened inn, shivering now. "They can't all be–" And again, that glittering memory, much closer now. I closed my eyes, concentrated, and it came to me, dropping into my waiting hand like a cut purse. "Whitstone."

The Fox froze, so still she might have been a statue, then slowly turned her gaze to mine. "What?"

"Whitstone."

"What about it?"

"He said he'd see you there."

Another frozen moment, then she came at me, shoved me so hard I slammed against the wall of the inn. "Why didn't you say?"

"I just remembered now. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" She spat the word at me, rage and fury and terror in her eyes. "Well, that's all right then, isn't it? So long as you're fucking sorry."

~o~O~o~

The vampire had left the horses untouched. We stole a horse each, and I had to ride hard to keep up with the Fox, who rode with as little care for her animal as she had for my safety. I clung onto the horse in desperation, the pelting rain so heavy it ran into my eyes, blinding me. I wiped my face on my shoulder, and wondered what the fuck I was doing, why I was still following her after everything that had happened, after everything she'd done. But I never had been able to say no, and the terror in her eyes had been contagious. I couldn't help but follow.

The dawn was a red one, overshadowed by a gathering storm-cloud on the horizon. The lightening sky made my eyes sting, and the horse shied beneath me. Gods only know how I managed to keep my seat because the pulsing headache in my skull intensified, until I could hear the rushing of the blood in my veins like a torrential river in full flood.

It was brief, and passed quickly, but it left a churning hunger in my gut and a metallic taste in my mouth. I spat onto the dirt road, wished I had a drink to wash out the taste in my mouth, and spurred my horse on through the driving rain.

We rode not to the guild safe house on the bluff as I had expected, but into the village itself.

"Is it a good idea?" I asked, as she dismounted. "Going to meet him?"

"He won't be there. He's not a fool."

"But... Wait, are we..."

She was already gone, vanishing into the cottage. I struggled to dismount, my feet tangling in the stirrups. I almost fell as the horse pranced sideways, and floundered in the mud. My hip thumped painfully against the dry-stone wall as I straightened up, set my hand against it. Rough grit rasped at my fingers, as I looked at the door. She'd left it open. The sky overhead was the colour of an old bruise, and the metallic taste was back, and with it came a wave of nausea. The flood of saliva was my first warning, scant seconds before I threw up.

The puke was too dark. Unnaturally dark, and my knotted stomach growled with hunger. I breathed through it, then forced myself towards the open door, through the garden where I'd seen the children playing. Told myself it was so silent because they were still sleeping.

I didn't want to go instead. At the threshold, the metallic taste hit the back of my throat again, the air thick with the smell of blood, and my stomach clenching with mingled hunger and revulsion. My breath came in shallow, hitching breaths.

On the whitewashed plaster, near the door, I could see a perfectly formed child's hand print. Dark enough that it could have been mud. I knew it wasn't.

I pushed the door open with trembling fingers. The room beyond would be empty. Just the Fox, waiting for me. Smiling in relief and surrounded by children like the Lucky Old Lady statue back in Bravil. That was all I would see. That was all I would see.

The door slid open a foot or so, caught against something. I shoved a little harder, and there was a slithering sound as whatever it was blocking the door from opening slid across the ground

The Fox knelt in the middle of the room, shoulders hunched. A child lay cradled in her lap, sleeping. The old woman – the grandmother – was slumped against the wall, her throat a bloody mess. He hadn't been as gentle with her as he had been with me.

She had fought him.

I pressed my hand against my mouth. The child in the Fox's lap wasn't sleeping. And the Fox's hand was rising, reaching up for the cowl. And I couldn't stay, couldn't see any more.

I turned my back and ran.