All rebellion starts out as a simple vocal resistance. It isn't until it reaches that tipping point, a single event, to throw it into the Void never to return to the way it was.

Chapter 26: Alliance of the Unkind

I watched the Grove of Bent Grasses from a high-point balcony of Centaurcrass. I said balcony, but I meant a carved hole in the bark of an Iron-Bark Graht-Oak overlooking the forest. For a hundred and forty years, people believed the Iron-Bark to have gone extinct, cut down and harvested by the Daedra during the Oblivion Crisis. Although a mere base of the tree was left, Centaurcrass was still all that remained of the Lockharte farmer's trees.

I dipped the small bristle nail tee in the vial, filling the small strands of black polish, and ran it over my toenails, two strokes to cover the nail. I ran my fingers through my toes to separate each toe from each other. Black coat to each nail, smooth, calculating, relaxing. On the small toe, I dabbed the tee to finish. The breeze took my foot in its buoyant embrace, hanging dozens of paces above.

The bark against my back, hard and rough, offered support on the bareness of my skin. I often looked down. I measured the distance of which I might fall. How would it feel? The snap, crackle, and pop of my bones as they hit the forest floor. What would my Father say? The world? No one I cared about lived anymore. Rollyn and his lessons; Milkar and his dream; Aranwen and his optimism; Elren and his smile.

Milkar wanted to see Valenwood flourish for all Bosmer, not just the select few that lived partisan lives, suckling on the Altmer tit. Altmerish coin was the lightest of them all, lighter than their bones, and the blood they spilled for their Thalmor Regime. The way Rollyn had it, it seemed the Bosmer deserved what was coming to them. It is a Mer's own mind, not her enemy or foe, that leads her to evil. I knew my ways were shaped by the rebellion in me. That dark side running as shadows in my mind led me to my many sins, but I still held to the only light that I had. But that light has shut away, done in by a single blow. Now all Bosmer won't ever flourish.

Monsotar offered a peace based on a lie. Sacrificed the many for the more. But a peace based on falsehoods is peace nonetheless. It was the only inkling of truth I held in the aftermath of the Crescents' death. I had six moon cycles to think on it. I rolled the thoughts and numbed my mind to the pain of accepting such a creed. Before, I only acted on my brother's word—trust before logic, loyalties before reason. My insanities led all of us astray. My promise to my brother was born among a million deceitful stars. That night I met Elren, a single goal was born that would last the test of time. A promise that I would find it, no matter what. Death will not stop us, my brothers.

I slipped back into my bedchamber, lowly lit by a budding spray of Gleamblossom sitting in a trio of sconces in the corners. A slate of dwarven glass rested evenly over a vanity. I placed the nail tints back in its place and stared into the face of my reflection. Things have changed in the six months since that night. My thoughts, my looks, my lust have expanded.

They kept me in this room, day in and day out. They fed me well and showered me with whatever I needed. But I was still a prisoner of war. I was stuck with every corner a brandished arrow or blade to my throat. I knew it to be Monsotar's orders that my death would come to endless torture for whoever took the chance. He wanted me alive. That didn't stop his Woods from trying. The first two assassins I killed myself with my bare hands. They came for me in the night, thinking me asleep. When you've lived long enough on the road, teetering on the edge of sleep is a must, lest you want a knife driven in your heart and your coin purse lightened. The last five, Rindiel took their souls into his Ranseur. The soul gems are kept in a glass case before my bedchamber to show anyone else with the mind for revenge. In truth, I did kill their friends, perhaps their family or those they considered such, but I hadn't a need to care. My sins are my own, and I am well aware of the consequences.

Generals and tacticians of old, men of wise battle strategies and professionals of the art of war have taught us to befriend our enemies to take down the enemy of everyone. Arian may have had it right to beseech Valenwood's prosperity in the lesser of evils. But was Monsotar the lesser? Sure, a Bosmer who fought and helped the Tam'Akar could be just as a menace as them, but who was guiltier for Valenwood's destruction? The destroyer, or the ones who allow the destruction?

My leaf-veil folded to the side, revealing Rindiel framing the veilway. I watched his reflection as his eyes made a smooth motion down the nakedness of my back. 'Most people give a warning before they enter a lady's room.'

He caught my eyes in the dwarven mirror. 'I'm not most people…and you're no lady.'

Rindiel stepped aside, allowing a Woods member to wheel in a small wagon filled fresh leathers rowed with quicksilver buckles and multitude pockets and sheaths still with the stink of the tanning and dye. They were blacker than the night was dark. Rindiel tossed a newly woven cloak over the pile. I stood, and the footpad's eyes fell on the curvature of my waist and the hourglass of my shoulders.

The Crow turned to his helper and chucked his head towards the veilway. 'Get lost.' The leaf-veil closed behind the boy.

'What's the matter?' I asked. 'Don't want anyone else looking on your eye sweets?'

Rindiel scoffed, folded his arms, and leaned against the wall. 'Put on your gear.'

'Privacy?'

'No.'

Silenced stretched.

'How do you know I won't run?' I asked, shifting the conversation.

Rindiel pursed his lips then said, 'You won't.'

It's true. Monsotar was working for Valenwood's meager survival rather than prosperity. I knew that much. It was all I had to cling onto. The thought of Monsotar being my enemy frightened me to my very core. Hatred was what carried me through.

Bantering with Rindiel was only for my own sake. I wanted to show them that I still wore my confidence, in truth though, I was sick to my core. Standing there naked, afraid, ashamed. Disgust bubbled in my throat and threatened to heave through at any moment. Rindiel knew of my farce, but I couldn't bring it to light; I wasn't strong enough. Monsotar stole everything from me, even the peace of mind that kept me straight for so long.

I slipped a foot through the sleeve of my leather bottoms and glanced up. Rindiel's eyes were closed as they usually were when I dressed. My hands shook as I did so—fear, shame, and disgust kept them trembling.

Buckled through loops and freshly painted feet in skin footwraps, breastplate over a black tunic, and gauntlets to my wrists, I was armored. I whipped my cloak over my head and stepped towards Rindiel, ready for war. Or just the usual.

'You look a bit paler than normal.' He said, opening the leaf-veil.

'People seem to lose color when their hearts are filled with hatred,' I told him.

'It's time,' he said, and I walked passed him and into the corridor. Other Woods members stood on standby as if waiting for the massacre I wanted to give them. Not today.

I remembered the walls, their greyness, the hard metallic of their skin. The coldness of the ground froze my feet, the wood splintered and unforgiven, full of grooves and snags. Solitary confinement didn't teach me anything. I was left with my mind and my hatred, a stew of guilt, and the memories of a time less complicated. Before I knew it, sadness didn't rock me anymore, but it was still swirling there. Fear didn't freeze me in my place, but it brooded on my shoulders and in my hands. Hatred festered in every inch of my soul.

'There's going to be a day when it's my time to die,' Rindiel said, an edge of sadness. I got better at recognizing it now. 'Leave it for Elren.'

'Elren is dead,' I told him.

'Well…' Rindiel paused and shook his head, '…then that's just too bad.'

We stopped before Monsotar's dining hall. To be truthful, I hadn't seen Monsotar since I was dragged bloody from this very chamber. I remembered the night as clear as day, the promises I lost, and the new ones I made. I was young then, probably more body than mind, but I was young. Too young for what happened to me that night, even for someone as hardened as I was. I have given more souls to the Void than most Mer do by their two-hundredth year. I'd never known the warmth of another. The feel of him. There was nothing warm about it. I thought then that my first would have been Elren—when we came to terms of the feelings that wrapped us in emotional confusion. But Monsotar took that from me, as he did my brothers and my friends. So, who was the true thief? This was his world; we were merely kids playing in it.

The leaf-veil folded, and we walked into his hall.

Images flashed through my mind, bad ones and worst. The smell of my friend's roasted flesh lingered. A ghost of it tricking my brain into thinking it was still there.

Monsotar stood behind his table, parchment, and scroll in place of meat and plate. Others flanked him. Nightblades, the first I've seen since my imprisonment here. They watched me with odious eyes. I'd wounded Rindiel and killed Arian, their hatred was well placed. Many in this Graht-Oak wanted to kill me. Over the months, many have tried and failed. They knew they would be hard-pressed for any success. As much as my death was warranted, I didn't think it was time for me to die. Not just yet, not until I've fulfilled my promise to Milkar.

'You're looking better than the last we met in this room, Raven.' Monsotar didn't look up from his maps and plans. 'How are you feeling?'

'Better,' I said.

'I would hope so.' He raised an arching eyebrow, perfectly shaped. 'Come, Young Raven, there is much work to be done.'

I stepped towards the table, slowly. My hands quaked, and I grabbed the seams of my breeches. The severance of fear is a difficult thing. Fear tightens its jaws around you and lowers its sharp teeth on your heart. It holds you in chains like a collar or leash keeping you from the capacity of mind. What stopped me from brandishing a knife on everyone in this hall? Open a throat here then there, and this nightmare could be over. But I didn't.

One of the Nightblade slipped his foot to the side, a miniscule movement in the thousands of unconscious tripping of our muscle tendons, but recognizable for any fighter. A stance. I knew it to be so immediately. Perhaps he thought this the perfect opportunity to end a score he built between us in his own mind. For me, killing Monsotar's lacky men was nothing personal. It was war, business, and a goal of which no one would have stopped me. I didn't think of the thousands of relationships one mortal might have in his life. I didn't feel that until Monsotar killed my brothers. This Bosmer wanting my head right here and now was not different from me if I were to go after his leader.

I pulled the short steel knife pinning Monsotar's scroll to the table. I had the steel clashing against the Nightblade's blade in a flash.

'Sharp reflexes,' he grumbled and sheathed his dagger.

I shook my head. 'I was too slow to cut your neck. My senses have dulled in my captivity.'

Monsotar watched my hands as I lowered the knife; they were shaking uncontrollably. His eyes came up to meet mine. There was a slight ghost of a grin whispered on his lips.

'This is a very important moment in your life, Raven,' Monsotar said. 'Today, you will learn about working as a unit. I'm sure Ambassador Faeden wanted the Ranger Guard to teach you that one.'

'What are you talking about?'

'You may have been in the Silver Crescents, but you were never a Silver Crescent. You often acted on your own volition, recklessly, and you put your family in danger.'

'You…watched us?'

Monsotar laughed. 'I even watched you bathe. Don't think I don't know about Augoth Thornbush, or that wild boy of yours, hiding in the forests somewhere. You want to know why I spared your life, Black Raven of Shimmer Root? You reminded me of myself when I was your age.' He put his hand on his hip and talked with his other hand. 'Anger, hatred, a willingness to become the best, pride, and bloodlust. Those are the hallmarks of a story villain. And I'm going to beat it out of you.'

He took the darkest parts of me and laid them out to a light that it should never see. A mad woman in any collection. The Nightblades on his flanks chuckled in deep guttural grumbles.

'I don't think Elren is alive,' I said. I wanted to get that out there. That single statement is something I had to say and hope it true.

I needed it to be true.

Death was the only conclusion because abandonment would push me over the edge. If Mother didn't die; if she merely walked away, leaving us to fend for ourselves with Father, I couldn't fathom such hurt. If Elren was alive…

'Very well…' Monsotar's words trailed off into a solemn silence. 'Anyway, the Silver Crescents has caused a sought of blemish on my skin. A bite on the surface that needs treatment. We need to mend the relationships with the Raw Tooth, find ourselves another Soul Link, and an enchanter.'

I'd nearly forgotten about Ceril's ability to hold animal souls within her body. As a living soul gem, she was a prime assistant for Torgoth in his underground station. Such powerful weapons needed hundreds of souls from the animals hunted by her tribe's specialty. Such a precious loss was my fault. I didn't like being moved to guilt so easily, so I tried to hold Monsotar's stare but struggled.

'Chieftain Gleril would have my head,' I told him. 'I promised to protect his daughter, but I failed. He won't take kindly to that.'

Monsotar shrugged. 'Fine. I have something different for you. Something you'll like. Follow me.'

I swallowed hard and slowly stepped forward. Rindiel and I left the dining hall and emerged into a smaller room. Like the others, the Iron-Bark wood was carved out forcibly, gradient grooves scarred the surface of the walls, parallel and moving in long hatched lines. In each corner, miniature sconces sat burning fire salts and boar fat, illuminating the room in an even light. The smell of it brazened on my nose. Another table stood in the center of the room covered in thick hides with several weapons placed in a neat order. When I grew closer, I realized whose weapons they were.

Ceril's lightning swords were parallel to each other. Inactive, they seemed like two small mundane knives, too short to cut even the flesh of a Jungle Fowl. I ran my hand over Aranwen's Tanto blades; the Akiviri-imitated style had the eastern continent's maze decorum down the length of its hilt. I allowed a small chuckle to escape me. Aranwen's comical nature led him to wield two secondary knife weapons as his sword style. He was unstoppable with them. Finally, I saw it; dormant as the first time. Its hilt was black as night, leading down to the single talon of a raven. A crossguard that seemed it would fly at the first chance it gets with stretched wings. And the blade, that was my blade. The Iron-Bark was so expertly carved, its form could not be differentiated from metal. That was the potential Iron-Bark wood had. A grown metal. Ebony steel chased over the Iron-bark in long lines, bolstering its dexterity and power. Whoever crafted this weapon was a genius. I picked up Twilight's Talon, feeling something slip inside of me. The solace I received put my nerves at ease, and my hands stopped trembling. My bow was there too, branded with the Lockharte symbol that represented our Iron-Bark tree farming and archer roots.

I grabbed up my weapons and finally felt confident enough to speak. 'Where's Pondus?'

'Never recovered,' Monsotar said quickly. 'It's probably burned to ash.' His voice sounded glee.

Pondus wasn't the strongest of swords, but it was Iron-Bark from a bygone era. To hear such a legend burned away made my heart sink. From the recurved bows of the Empire's forces to the discreet finger knife made from the bones of Fellrunners in the land of the Yokudans. This is a passion for weapons I've shared with Tutor Rollyn. The old Bosmer mercenary was a master in every weapon created by a mortal or immortal. It always came naturally for him, mastering a weapon in less than a day. We would lament over the names of swords of old and their wielders for hours on end. He knew so much history down to the excavation site where they pulled the metal from the dirt.

'I do hope everything is in order?'

I nodded, not looking him in the eye.

'Very well then,' Monsotar said. 'Time to meet the Leucrota.'

'Leucrota?'

'A group of misfits. Geniuses of what they do, but damned idiots.' Rindiel folded his arms. 'My idiots.'

I shook my head slowly. 'I don't want to work with anyone.' In truth, I would probably kill them all.

'Here we work as a family.' Monsotar wagged his finger. 'There's no point in having such a vast guild as mine and not utilizing our numbers,' he paused, 'ah, but you're a bit different, aren't you? You're the Black Raven, of course, the legend that surrounds you only speaks of you and no one else. You might have moved with the Silver Crescents, but you've always seemed detached. That's what got them killed.'

A whisper of the old me slipped into me. Perhaps it was because I was in possession of Twilight's Talon again, having a familiar strength bubbling like a molten rock beneath the surface of Nirn ready to sprout from volcano and caldera. The blade was already out before I had the mind to stop it. That feeling of holding it, balanced across my arm and body, sharper than sharp. It felt good. But when my mind settled, and I stared into Monsotar's eyes down the length of Twilight's blade, I froze.

Rindiel raised his Ranseur, but Monsotar stayed his hand. 'No need to do that, Rindiel. You were too slow to act before she pulled it on me, you'll be too slow to act before she cleaves my head off.'

'My apologies, Monsotar.' Rindiel looked at me. If not for being half-Bosmer, Elren would have looked just like him.

'Do it,' Monsotar said. 'Go ahead. By the time any of us can counter you, my head will have rolled several paces across the ground.' Monsotar smiled, his eyes hard. 'Isn't this all you know how to do? You called yourself a thief, a criminal, a rebel? Your none of that, Leila Lockharte. You're not anything but a bloodthirsty death monger. You feed off it.'

I stepped forward. Still, my mind didn't understand what my body was doing. 'What about all the Bosmer you've killed and plan to kill? The ones you sold to the Tam'Akar. The Red Moss tribe,' I nodded towards Rindiel, 'his tribe.'

'You're speaking of things you don't understand, girl.' Rindiel shook his head.

'What's it going to be? Show us your nature.' Monsotar grabbed the blade of my sword and clamped down. His blood ran down its length and pooled at the hilt before dripping off. 'Show us,' he said, 'so I can show you mine.'

At his side, Goldfire began to glow hot yellow, then orange, then white. The air in the room began to boil, and the sweat immediately poured from my brow. He activated the sword's enchantment without touching it. Sweat glistened up and down his body, wet and moist. It streamed down the muscles of his belly, absorbing into his breeches.

'You think your anger trumps mine? You think your hatred festers more than mine? I've seen horrors and committed atrocities. We mortals, you and I, are one in the same. We live by our rebellion, hating anything that told us the one word that we loathe the most: "No." You and I are the same, Leila. The Crow and The Raven. My murder with your unkindness will reject this world. People like us become players, pitted against each other. So, do it, Leila. Do it, and you'll see which one of us burns the brightest.'

His blood dripped to the floor and boiled away. Rindiel swayed a bit, his eyes faltering under the heat. Finally, I pulled away violently, seizing control of my body once more. Monsotar still held Twilight's Talon by the blade, but I was clear across the room by then. The fire salts sconces dimmed down to the usual glow, the steam wisped from the walls, and dry papyrus sheets burned on at the edges and puttered out. Goldfire cooled back to normal, and the room's heat subsided. In the school of Enchantment, soul gems are used to cast various spells on a blade. Not with Augoth. His mastery was so astounding, he could use the essence of a living being. As long as Monsotar stood alive, then Goldfire will have power and will react to his heart. It was the same for Twilight's Talon.

'There's a fire in all of us,' Monsotar tossed my sword, and it landed upright from the ground. 'Some burn cold, some hot.' The wound on his hand disappeared slowly, weaved closed by healing magic. 'But even the coldest of fires can turn a Mer to ash faster than the fires of heat and flame.' Monsotar approached slowly, sweat still rolling down him. He knelt and stuck a hand out. 'Stand.'

I looked him in those dark, evil eyes. Insanity waited there. It was something I saw before. And I never wanted to see it again.

'Stand,' he said. And I stood.

'Your goal was always peace. It was the promise you gave your brother. But what about what you want? In what order do you see yourself achieving such "peace?" You're not free of shackles. You're not the raven of the twilight you believe yourself to be.' Monsotar reached and wiped stray strands of hair from my face. 'Your mother's whim still oppresses you as it does all of us.'

'What…' I coughed. 'My mother's whim?'

'Do you not know who your mother was? Sure, you've heard the stories of the Oblivion Crisis. The valiant tales of the Circle of Seven will be told for centuries to come, but your mother was only sixteen then. And she was one hundred and thirty-seven during the birth that took her life.'

'I—what's your point?' I asked.

'One day, do a little research of your mother's life. Travel Valenwood; learn about its history. See this province in a world without her and how it was with her.' Monsotar swung around and nodded toward Rindiel. 'Take her to them.'

Rindiel nodded.

The dead Iron-Bark tree Monsotar found his refuge in was a crisscrossing maze of corridors and dark rooms. These thieves talked and skulked, skulked and talked. Banters and whispers from behind closed leaf-veils and around sharp corners told tales of disdain for the hierarchy within this guild. Disdain of the Nightblades and their magic. But the Nightblades talked as well—more discreet than the others, but words spoken of bilateral fights between subsects and separate gangs. Monsotar lied when he said this was a family. He lied when he said this was to further peace and stability in Valenwood. Monsotar was the state's chaos. Like the Dremora that came a-knocking on Arenthia's doors many years ago; all he had to offer is deceitful destruction.

We came down a twisting set of steps and deposited into a chamber, giving me a nostalgic reminder of Shimmer Root's inner sanctum. This was the belly of the beast, but unlike Shimmer Root, it was half its size and awarded with more natural lighting. Despite its grove being not as large, the size of this base proved the tree must have reached the Elden Tree's height and width, or at least a bit smaller. I shivered to think that my father's clan farmed trees like this in Valenwood. The chamber hosted a series of long and squat Rye Pods, elongated snugpods that could house more than one family. These didn't house families. No father to hunt the food, no mother to cook it, and no children to eat it. These were homes of the worst criminals in Valenwood. Illusionist and Alterationers; healers, conjurers, and destroyers; thieves, pilferers, ringleaders, and operatives.

Besides that, the place seemed like a thriving community. A close-knit neighborhood where each neighbor knew each other, traded, borrowed and stole, fought, and the occasional murder.

We walked through, Rindiel and I. Eyes fell on me, some of suspicion and incredulity; some of lustful aching for a pretty face and widening hips. I slipped my hood over my face and ran fingers over my blades. Since Monsotar so readily robbed me of virginity, any mer that looked at me in such ways would have it be his last memory. This time I stayed my blades.

'They sense your anxiety,' Rindiel said at my side. 'Try relaxing. Lower your arms. Appear to be defenseless but still dangerous.'

'I don't need you to tell me how to be dangerous,' I snapped. 'Just take me to this Leucrota so we can get on with it.'

We stopped before one of the Rye Pods with a bath of milky waters just before it. I knew it to be the poisonous Iron-Bark sap. The stuff was more precious than daedric ebony or even Iron-Bark itself. Rindiel led me inside, and I was met with the harmonious vibrations of a lute. It sounded like some misfit in here knew how to play the instrument. Somehow, that reminded me of the Silver Crescents. Aranwen was a world-class chef, Elren could have made a fortune as a concept carver, and Milkar could have politicked his way to a thaneship.

There was a female Bosmer lounged about a daybed, one leg stretched another drawn up in an arch, working dirt from under her fingernails with a knife. Four others sat around a round table with a pile of jewelry and Empire Septims stationed at the center. I never learned to play Slates, but I've always wanted to. They placed numbered cards in neat order down in front of them, their faces rock hard in their focus. I glanced one of them for a bit—crunched in the face with a protruding jaw. He looked almost orcish. Adjacent to them, a thick-armed Bosmer worked over a bench, taking a hook knife to a piece of Iron-Bark, breaking the tool in the process.

The Bosmer woman glimpsed us first and raised an eyebrow. She wore full leather armor, like mine without the black. Hers was like that of the Ranger Guard, rippled at the sides to fend off the occasional slash and stab. Being calloused in the fingers, broad of shoulders, thick of legs, and testy in the face gave her the personification of a fighter.

'Rindiel,' she said. 'Hopefully, you come with work.' She sat upright.

'Larethia, that last job we put you on didn't go quite as well. And you got Glorian killed in the process.'

Larethia stood at that, her tongue molesting the front of her teeth. 'What can I say? Idiots don't last long in the Leucrota.' She turned her eyes my way. 'Who is this?'

'This is the Black Raven.'

That put a stop to the rest of the Leucrota. Heads turned and faces wrinkled. Murmurs began at the back.

'You. Are. Not. Serious.'

One of the card players came to me. A scarred fellow with a two-toned eye glaring. It didn't seem their little group would give me the warm welcome I so deserved. There wasn't anything I didn't expect to happen yet. My name flowed through their ranks as did the name of the Silver Crescents. They knew who I was, and they knew what I was capable of. These people were my enemies, and now I was to become one of them.

The title of thieves' guild is usually awarded to the criminal entity of like-minded mortals that have cornered the market in a set province. Where all other thieves and criminals alike answered to a single organization. The Thieves of the Wood was such the enterprise. Their roots reach in every corner of Valenwood. Everyone knew of them. They knew the key players on their roundtable. The ones who played their cards and tossed their coin at the top. But what the Thieves of the Wood became after their infant years was something more than a simple guild of burglars and robbers. They were a hierarchy of the underground; they were a society of shadow and stolen coin. And they had an army to meet the challenge of anyone.

To understand the depth of this hidden and not so hidden world would require more of your and my time. But my brother knew that he did. He knew what he was up against and he never faltered even at the very end. I was still alive, and I didn't take to flinching when peering into the Void.

'Ain't you the girl the live up in the Boss' Iron Wing? Right across from the Boss' own chambers?'

Larethia gritted her teeth and turned. 'He sent us his whore?'

'Yeah! Yeah! I remember you,' another said. 'The wild one he keeps locked like a caged bird.'

That got the gang grumbling.

'The Black Raven as the Boss' personal pet,' Larethia sneered and jittered that sort of laughter that said, "I'm better than you."

I thought about smashing my head into that mouth of hers. They crowded around now. A show of a freak for all to see. The roving circus was in town, I suppose, and this little birdy has tricks o' plenty. I stood there, the subject of their imaginings, wishing I wasn't. Monsotar's whore, pet, and his subordinate? This is what they believed I was?

Another came up, bypassing Rindiel and reaching for me. A slick smile on his face. I froze at his approach. That night when Monsotar had the same air took me in its grip, and the memory started in my mind. He came, his mouth slackened to a grin, evil and ready. He took my arm and lowered his mouth to my ear. 'Whore is it?' His hot breath licked on my neck. 'That's good. That means you'll put out when—'

I grabbed his finger and twisted it. 'Why would you do that? Why would you ever think it's a good idea to touch me?' I twisted it further.

He was quick with his counter. He reached for me, hand wide and hurdling for my throat, but not at all faster than me. I whipped my dagger from its sheath and slipped it into his gut. The blade slid easy just under his ribcage and not in a fatal point. He flinched, but I couldn't drag him down with it. This one had some strength. He faltered on the throttling and chose to hang on my collar instead. I looked him in his eyes. They were wide and full of sorrow. Mer like him are the ones to slip from the pack and hunt for the girls. He thrills in it. Taking virginities, rough and assaulting, and preying on them with a toxic mind. They're the lowest of degenerates, lower than insects and the creatures smaller than they.

'Never touch me.' I took my dagger from his belly and pushed it slowly through his jaw. I did it tantalizingly, I wanted to feel every inch of Elren's Osseinium dagger slipping in his flesh and taking his life. Blood bathed my hand and his face. It penetrated his brain. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, leaving his body limp. Just a wriggling mess of a Bosmer.

At my back, the Leucrota grew silent. All of them watched as I took the life of their friend. Not a single protest about it either, not even from Rindiel who stood at my side.

Rindiel was always easy to read. More annoyed than angry. I let the Leucrota member slip from the blade, making that sloppy wet suck as I withdrew it slowly. I turned to, and they watched me.

'What was this Mer's name?' I pointed to one of them with my bloody dagger.

'Timlo Greenfeet,' he said.

'What was he good at?

'He was a subversive for hire. A Saboteur.'

'Who are you?' I asked him.

He stepped forward, throat bobbing. 'Name's Ropoven Falcon-Branch. This bunch calls me Falcon; I prefer that.'

'And you carver?' I pointed to the one in his apron.

He straightened. 'Fentiin Bark-Smith.'

The tip of my dagger went down the line.

'Reiran Treefort.'

'Dark Tooth.'

'Mondo Bow-Caster.'

'And you, ugly?' I asked.

'Name's Orc,' he snorted. 'Cause I look like one.'

'You?'

'Grim,' the Bosmer said with a grating voice. There was animosity written in him. He at least looked formidable. One of the few here that could probably take me in a fight. But I was never the one to fight fair, and I doubted he did either.

Finally, I pointed to Larethia. I knew her name. She seemed to lead the gang. I wanted her to say it because if she didn't that meant she rebelled against me. And I wasn't going to be squeamish on killing the whole lot of them. She didn't say anything. I smiled gently.

'What's the matter,' I asked. 'Having a moment of pride? Let it wash into you, Larethia. Know it. Feel it. Realize because of it, you'll die.' I pointed towards the entry. 'Either out there or right here. Or worse, you could let it kill the rest of this sorry cluster of bird scat.' Those eyes challenged me, so I took a step to meet her face to face.

Larethia was taller than me by a hands length. I pushed my dagger down in its sheath and held my bloodied hand between our faces.

'Heed to me,' I said. 'Contrary to what you see, your friend's blood is on your hands. You knew what he was about, and you knew the name of the Black Raven. This is your fault, Larethia.' I put my hand under her chin and caressed it softly, leaving streaks of blood in the wake of my fingers. 'I'm Monsotar's Crow, not his whore. I'll murder all of you if I must. I'll sacrifice every one of your sorry lives to spread my shadow. So, heed.'

Our eyes met, and she read into them. A deep look that only those who've experienced the same hurt can know to do. She saw the walls in me and peeked over them. Larethia didn't say a word because at that moment where we looked at each other's soul, all my hurt was exposed. The mangling of someone that once knew good, loneliness, love, and pain. A broken child that was shielded by stone and iron walls from the world. She knew my past, and I knew hers from just one momentary exchange.

At that moment, I knew we were the same.

The bucket of water reflected my blood-splattered face. I had some questions about who looked back up. Someone else's blood dripped into that water, swirling, causing ripples across the surface. It skewered the reflection. Blood ripples skewered my mind. A different girl reflected.

My hands made it hard to clean them as if the weight of my sins didn't want me to forget them. They trembled like Nirn trembles during groundquakes. I collapsed to my knees, the hard ground clacking against my leathers. The sobs won't stop. Perhaps they'll never stop. I didn't want them to. I thought I've shed all the tears I could, but that was wrong. And it is that wrongness that I am deemed weak.

'No more outbursts,' Rindiel said at my back.

I looked up at him, blurry through the tears. 'Why didn't you stop me?'

'It's better to let a fire rage and put it out when it's down to a few smoldering specks.' He approached.

With the rag in his hands, he eased it into the water, a motion that was almost loving, and brought it my cheek. 'This is your only chance to honor them.'

The way he moved, the softness in his eyes and his touch, and how he lowered his guard in this place. He did it around me. It all confused me. He took up my trembling hands and the warmth of his soothed mine. I never noticed that he still bared his tribe's sigils. He dipped them in the water and worked the dried blood from my nails slowly as to make sure he got all of it.

'Why did you do it?' I asked. 'The truth.'

'You know the truth.'

'I only know the truth you allowed Elren to believe. But I know there's more to it. The death of your family was because of something more than the loss of the old ways.'

'People define reality by what they accept as true. A perception created by such vague concepts are susceptible to mirages. Like you, Elren is shaped by his beliefs. By what I've shown him.' He dipped my hands in the bucket again. 'Elren detested me because he knows what I did to our tribe. He viewed the world based on that reality.'

'Are you saying there is another motive behind it? I always felt there was something more to your betrayal—something Elren saw that I was missing.'

Rindiel snared me with his glare. 'Elren loved you, Leila Lockharte. You would hold me to my sins, but he loved you even so.'

'Elren couldn't love me,' I said peering back into the bloody water. 'There was never a day when it was okay too. Never a time when we can open our hearts to each other. It wasn't I who rejected him, but he who rejected me. There's just too much violence there.'

'You don't see past your own perceptions. And you refuse to. Which makes it kind of ironic, right?' Rindiel stood. 'You are truly an unkind person, Black Raven.'