Chapter 51: Dancing Around the Problem

The night grew dense, closed in by low clouds and tall, thick evergreens as our coach ambled along the steep, winding road above Solitude that would take us to the Thalmor Embassy.

Hadvar enclosed my hand in his, wordlessly urging me closer, and I leaned on his shoulder, welcoming his warmth. It was nice to sit still and watch the world shift around us for once.

Just another play act, I reminded myself, trying to come to terms with my goals for the evening. Be who they expect; keep their minds at ease, I schooled. Smile. Be courteous and attentive. Let them think that you're only here as Hadvar's plus one. Give them no reason to suspect anything.

The journey was short; had the weather been agreeable, we might have walked. As the gatehouse swam into view, made rosy by pools of light that faded to nothingness where the lanterns' reach ebbed, snow finally began to fall, and settled on the frozen whiteness that already dusted every rock, arch, and bough.

Hadvar tucked me even closer – and I could not contain a shiver; my eyes glued to the looming border between Skyrim and what was technically part of the Aldmeri Dominion. Between us and the Embassy party were high, bricked walls, resolutely unscalable, topped with rows of thin, golden bars, pointed at the tips. The effect was distinguished and intimidating; much like its formidable inhabitants.

The gilt gate opened silently inward as the coach approached – by either a guard within the house or some automatic mechanism, for I saw nobody and we weren't hailed or stopped.

Too easy, I thought with another shudder – suddenly grateful for my bare arms, for it gave me a valid reason to feel and react, rather than suppress and stew. The coach rounded the courtyard and the Embassy proper took form through the gently drifting snow. Torches had been artfully placed in the courtyard to light the way for the guests, though struggled against the weather, issuing tiny, almost indignant hisses as the snow swirled by. The glow cast shimmering auras over both structure and courtyard, and the effect was striking; a wall of ethereal, agitated creatures of light and shadow.

The roof was very steep and interspersed by tall windows lit up from within, and the bricks were finely worked and evenly placed, more graceful than any fortress I had seen in Skyrim. It reeked of elitist defiance; almost determinably out of place, imagined by an elegant mind for elegant people – and placed on this mountaintop in the harshest of climates, to spite it. Spite us.

We are meant to be here. I had to take solace in that. Hadvar helped me down from the coach, and I caught movement that was neither light nor shadow ahead.

A Thalmor in full regalia stood before another guest at the base of a grand stair case.

Praefect Reidarsson plus one, I repeated. I lifted my chin; pushed my unease to the back of my mind; adopted a demure smile. My stomach fluttered with the excited butterflies of a pending performance. Show time.

There was a short delay in the form of the other guest. He was some official with the East Empire Trading Company, if his mutters were to be believed. It appeared that he had turned up to the party already drunk; a thick cloud smelling of rum followed his every sway. He was checking all the nooks and crannies of his high-class, fur-lined outfit for his invitation – and the search was accompanied by a constant stream of grumbles about his rank, status, and who was expecting him within. The Altmer checking invitations remained dispassionately immobile and silent.

Hadvar sent me a small smile; his invitation in the hand not entwined with mine. "Are you cold?" he asked softly.

Briefly, I felt the attention of the Altmer at the stairs flicker toward us.

I ignored the fresh attention as I shook my head. "Thank you – I'm fine."

"Enough, Razelan," a voice as smooth as silk came. "Step aside and let the lady through."

Hadvar gave my hand an encouraging squeeze. "That's us."

The Redguard man let us pass with a disdainful glower trained on Hadvar, though he said nothing as he bodily swayed. "Mm check the coach," he announced, turning abruptly to face a nearby pine tree.

I had to suppress my amusement – proper people attending proper parties did not giggle like children, no matter the circumstances.

Bright eyes scanned the slip of paper Hadvar handed the guard, and his focus rose to scrutinise my partner, and then me.

I caught the moment he recognised who I was – the barest arch of a slim, blonde eyebrow, and a slight tilt to the corner of his mouth, as though something about my appearance amused him. "Welcome to the Thalmor Embassy, Praefect Reidarrson," he greeted formally, oozing pretension. With a follow-up nod in my direction, he added, "and Miss Passero. You may both proceed, at your leisure," he waved us on. "Enjoy."

There was something mocking about his manner, but I let it roll off me with the snowflakes as we ascended the stairs. Altmer often made me feel as though they were laughing at me; it was just their way, and this Thalmor guard, I assured myself, was no different to Endarie at Raiments, or Melaran.

Beautiful embossed swirls decorated the iron doors, swung open by a tall, silent Thalmor soldier when Hadvar and I drew closer.

I thanked the mer as we passed. If I wanted to gain anything tonight without incident, I had to keep an open mind. I would not give in to fear and prejudice. The Thalmor's eyes flickered over me but she remained motionless and no reply came. Perhaps she had been ordered to remain silent; a machine, opening the way.

It was much warmer inside the large, vaulted room. For a moment I was busy shedding my travelling cape at the coat room beside the bar. A harried-looking Bosmer accepted my burden; his eyes searching me nervously with a sliver of recognition before he handed Hadvar my ticket and hastened away.

"We're here," Hadvar let out a pleased sigh; his hand found the small of my back. "The journey wasn't too uncomfortable-?"

"No, of course not," I smiled graciously, recognising the signal for small talk; to set the minds of all the guests and servants observing us at ease. Drawing on my ready pool of nerves, I ducked close to Hadvar and pointed; eyes dancing over the high arches in wonder.

They were brimming with looping garlands of lush greenery, woven with summer flowers and strings of tiny, flickering lanterns. "Look Hadvar – tiger lillies, in Skyrim," I gushed quietly, focussed on the bright orange blooms instead of the eyes turned toward us; some shrewd, and others merely intrigued. "However did they survive the snow?"

"Some would wonder the same of you," I could hear the gentle smile playing on his lips.

I turned to face him, warmed by his attention and the tender appreciation behind it.

The stormy-grey lingered and softened; the hand on my back caressed. Raiments had delivered tonight; a long indigo skirt with soft, layered folds and an ivory bodice, bordered by just enough gold lace to be tasteful; an elvish design. Endarie had insisted in her haughty, unimpressed tones, that if we were able to ignore my want of height, I had an elvish figure; and was I not attending an Aldmeri party?

My arms had been goose-pimpled since I had slipped into the dress, but my cape, the fall of my hair against the back of my neck, and Hadvar's willing closeness, had deflected enough of the chill for the design to be tolerable during the brief time spent outdoors.

His hand rose to drift along my bare arm idly. "You are always so graceful, but tonight..." he murmured, then faltered. "I can't stop looking at you, amazed that I managed to earn this beautiful creature's affections."

"What can I say?" I whispered; wound my arms around his neck, drawing closer as my eyes flit over him. "I love a man in uniform," I teased.

It was taking a little getting used to; being so publicly together while others stared and wondered. It was nice, even if tonight it was in part for the benefit of our host, for there was no falseness, no caution to his adoring gaze and doting words. Hadvar had always been very hands-on in private – even before our dance on the bridge in Riverwood – but he had held back in the company of others, particularly when he was on duty. But, since he had arrived in Solitude – the way he looked at me, touched me at every opportunity, stole kisses between breaths when I least expected it – it was thrilling, and somehow made me more certain of myself. I couldn't explain it – and didn't want to waste time over-examining the feeling.

Hadvar's reply laugh was a rush of air and he glanced over my shoulder. "Beautiful, cheeky creature's affections," he amended. His hands fell to my waist and his eyes flit around the room. "Rulindil isn't here," he murmured, almost to himself.

I didn't care in that moment; my eyes roamed over Hadvar. He looked incredible, dressed in a formal type of Legion armour that was more rich material than steel. The tiny lanterns above us made the chainmail on his arms glimmer and caught the plates on his shoulders and chest, and warmed the claret cape strapped over his shoulders. The lights danced with the lines of the Imperial dragon embroidered in gold on one side – the only subtle reminder of his position; his allegiance. He wore no weapons – nobody approached the Embassy bearing arms – and the armour didn't facilitate a sword anyway. It must have been wholly ceremonial – but I was hardly an expert on such matters. Hadvar knew what he was doing – and it comforted me to know he wasn't prepared for battle. He was a picture of determination – no, of what the Empire represented, to me at least; order and diplomacy.

I leaned in closer, vaguely conscious of our audience. Well, I wanted to put the public skepticism about us to rest, didn't I?

"What's your meeting with the Third Emissary about?" I whispered along his ear.

Hadvar smiled, lowering his thoughtful eyes to the polished flagstones underfoot. His fingers flexed on my waist; a silent apology.

I ducked to check his expression. "Oh – I know that look. Classified?" I asked with a small laugh, trying to keep things light.

"Sort of," Hadvar wore a sorry smile. His eyes flit over me, growing more faraway by the second. "Can we...?" he swallowed; tried again. "Will you...dance with me?"

"I'd love to," my smile widened. I recalled our first dance fondly; the impromptu madness I had coaxed him into that had led to our first, tentative kiss.

Hadvar ushered me forward. I searched for a bard in the fringes – no, bards, for I heard two instruments once I paid attention to the music. A flute and – there. Tucked away at the far end of the room, under one of the decorated arches. I should have known who it was when I heard the flute. Dean Ateia, blonde hair wound high into a secure, elegant knot with her favoured jewel-encrusted, golden flute perched against her pursed lips. She played a sweet, lilting melody that glided underneath the bustle of conversation, accompanied by a younger student I didn't recognise bearing a drum. They paid no attention to the party guests, and I wondered if my former singing teacher realised I was here.

The guests had moved on from us, content to chat amongst themselves. Good, I thought with satisfaction as Hadvar drew me around, settling a hand on my waist with a broad smile that lit up his handsome face. I returned it, then let my eyes roam. Now it was my turn to look at them.

I caught flashes of gold and silver, plush furs and velvets and soft, impractical silks, and recognised some of the faces assembled; Jarls, loyal to the Empire, minus Balgruuf – but then, there was Proventus Avenicci, talking to one of Jarl Elisef's housecarls. He must have come in Jarl Balgruuf's stead. Lady Vici was there of course; arm linked with Thane Bryling, and each held a delicate glass flute of sparkling liquid, half-filled with alcohol-saturated berries. They wore bored expressions, as was expected of high-ranking ladies at high-ranking events. Thane Erikur sat on the sidelines, pink-cheeked and tankard in hand, talking to a younger man on the arm of an older, haughty-looking Imperial woman I didn't know, who was regarding their exchange with viper-like eyes narrowed to slits. There were Altmer aplenty – but perhaps they were not all Thalmor, as not all wore the signature robes of their governing body. Some wore mages' robes, and others, fine, elegant dresses, much like my own.

Hadvar held me closer, drawing my attention back to him. "One dance," he murmured humbly.

Understanding, I nodded and settled against him with a grateful sigh. A single dance, for after it I doubted we would be at liberty to focus on each another for a time. I could give him that.

For another blissful minute, the world left us alone. I didn't want it to end after the night and then beautiful day we had shared, but as we swayed to the instrumental flute and drum number, my mind ticked over and fingers of worry formed to scratch at my throat. I shifted; pressed my forehead against Hadvar's chest plate and begged the thoughts to just wait. One more minute. His chest plate was unyielding and cold, and as good as it looked on him, I wished it was gone so I could feel him through the barrier.

Just dance, I pleaded.

But now the tickle had begun it was impossible to dismiss, and grew thicker as the seconds passed. The reality of where we were, what I hoped to do, caught up to me.

Giselle could be under this very building, begging for the pain to end, and you are dancing around her captors.

Yes, the Aldmeri Dominion was technically at peace with the Empire, and I could not blame an entire race for the actions of the few. But the Thalmor, those that governed, were relentless in their pursuits and they knew things; knew how to make people disappear, people like Giselle. And now we were willingly amongst them under somewhat false pretences. The doubt closed around my throat; had we walked into a trap? Had I put Hadvar in danger by coming here with him? Did the Thalmor know why I was here; know how Farkas, Lydia and I had taken out the three agents that had come to question me - the agents who had paralysed me when I had failed to comply?

You are becoming as paranoid as Delphine.

That wouldn't do – and somehow, it was thinking of Delphine and not wanting to be like her that helped ease the panic that would have otherwise choked me. If I gave in to fear, they would see, and I would fall under suspicion at once. I reinforced my hold on Hadvar; rested my head on his shoulder; breathed him in and listened to the music and the sound of his heart as it thumped away, slow and steady.

Hadvar hummed contentedly, and the sound further settled me. The weight of angst lifted until all I was left with was a tiny, lingering doubt over how I might accomplish my two goals.

"I'm being selfish, aren't I?" he confessed quietly, tilting his head toward mine. The hand at my back drifted down, then up again. "Trying to put off the inevitable," he murmured, thoughtful again.

I smiled against his neck; had I not been thinking along similar lines?

He sighed into the space between us. "Four of our scouts were captured outside of Windhelm, almost a week ago," he disclosed in a low, calm voice that did not fit what he was telling me. His voice was so soft and his motions so tender that any observing us would assume he was speaking of love, not war.

It was a simple matter to remain relaxed while he drew soothing lines up and down my back. "Will they be all right?" I whispered along the curve of his ear.

Silence fell and hung between us. In the far corner, the patter of drum beat stopped and the flute fluttered a few low and final notes, then ceased.

He enveloped me in his arms, squeezing briefly. "I don't know," he admitted, sighing into my hair. "I intend to find out tonight."

How might the Thalmor have such information? Why a meeting if people's lives were at stake – would not time be of the essence?

But, "Can I help?" was all I asked; unable to voice what I wanted to say, for fear of scattering his hope.

He shuddered. "You are helping. You're always helping me," he corrected, standing tall with a regretful smile. "Thank you. For – the dance," he belatedly added.

I tried to smile but his melancholy made me ache, so I just nodded and took his hand as we retreated to the side of the floor. "Tell me if you think of anything I can do," I insisted quietly.

Hadvar let out a small laugh to the curved ceiling. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to kill the mood. Should we get a drink-?"

"Hey," I tugged, urging him to me as I settled against a column. "I want to be with you," I reminded, resolved to claim his focus, for just a moment longer. "I don't care that we are at a party," I whispered, wrinkling my nose for good measure.

His eyes found mine and stared, searching. The gloom tempered gradually and a more settled look took its place. "True," he ducked closer; arched an arm to settle above me. "I'd much rather be at the inn, having our own party;" a coarse whisper.

He's back.

With a thrill of warmth, I giggled. "Endarie will blacklist me if I ruin another dress!" I exclaimed in a hush.

"We can't have that," Hadvar's smile was gradual but genuine as he leaned down. "I'll be more careful with this one," he murmured, detangling our hands to loop an arm around my waist. "Slower," he added quietly; pressed his forehead to my temple. "Hours, if that's what it takes," his breath, then his mouth, brushed my neck.

I closed my eyes, allowing desire to sweep through me even as my cheeks burned. He was working hard to distract me, perhaps distract us both – and he was so good at it.

"Praefect Reidarsson," I whispered unsteadily.

"Mm?" he hummed; mouth occupied.

"We're – at the Thalmor Embassy," I reminded him breathily.

Warm air huffed against my neck. "I am aware of our location, Lady Dragonborn," he eased up with a wide, confident smile, bumping his forehead against mine briefly, affectionately. "To be continued," he promised in a low growl.

Gods, he was intoxicating, and I couldn't find any words; all I managed was to bite my bottom lip to suppress how I wished to react as I gazed at him, mute with longing.

"And now you're teasing me," he narrowed his eyes, brushing his thumb across my lip fleetingly. "I'm supposed to be working;" a quiet sigh.

My teeth released as incredulity bubbled. "I'm teasing you?" I accused.

With a good-natured laugh – oh yes, he was aware of the effect he had on me – he motioned toward a girl holding a tray of drinks. "A truce, then – or I might never make it to my meeting."

His meeting. It was the reminder I needed but didn't want. With a feigned, weary sigh to the ceiling – Kynareth, give me strength – I relented and let him guide me toward the closest servant bearing goblets, flutes and tankards.

Before we reached her, a tall figure dressed in a sheath of gold and black stepped into our path.

"Praefect Reidarsson. To be Tribune, soon, if the whispers travelling from Castle Dour are correct," Ambassador Elenwen greeted with a dangerous, amused smile as she extended her hand. "I was astonished to hear that Tullius could spare you."

Hadvar's hand tensed before he released me, but his smile was all warmth as he took hers. "Ambassador, it's wonderful to see you again. The General sends his apologies, and me in his place – obviously," he explained; his tone adopting an authority I had only heard snatches of before. "I have been briefed and given the authority to speak on-"

"All business as usual, Hadvar," she released his fingers with a weary roll to her eyes. "Do try to enjoy yourself a little," Elenwen's piercing, amber eyes honed on me, saw through me, "particularly since you have brought such pleasant company with you," she tilted her head, almost imperceptibly. "Celeste Passero," she murmured, "I don't believe we have had the pleasure?"

She held her hand out in the same manner she had to Hadvar. With a mental shove to push away an errant thought – this is the woman who oversees what happens to Giselle – I adopted the shy smile I had ordered myself to show them. "I believe you are correct, Ambassador," I lowered my eyes demurely, shook her hand, as I would have done with any other dignitary.

"Lovely," Elenwen seemed satisfied by something and casually beckoned the serving girl we had been making for before she had intercepted us. "How fortunate you were able to spare time out of your schedule to accompany your fiancee tonight. You are always welcome here as member of your most noble household," she reached for two drinks; passed one each to Hadvar and I. "When you are not too busy shouting at dragons, of course," her eyes glittered; her voice oozed with arrogance. "I've always said it is a shame your father did not bring you amongst us sooner."

She had? And – father – really? I could not picture him in this room, though as one of the High King's Thanes, he must have attended a number of events here.

"That is probably my fault," I reached for something appropriate with a small laugh. "My studies consumed my attentions, until..."

Hadvar's arm resettled around my back; a gentle squeeze of caution as he took a sip from his tankard.

The Ambassador made a sound of discontent. "There is no need to hold your tongue, dear. This insufferable civil conflict has disrupted my duties, as well," she gathered a delicate golden flute for herself from the tray, and then shooed the servant away with an idle wave of her hand. "Had the dragon in Helgen bit Stormcloak's head from his shoulders, it would have done us a service," she murmured darkly.

She was venturing toward Delphine's suspicions, and I had to wonder if the mer was baiting me. I huffed an unimpressed laugh, becoming the person I wanted her to think I was. "I have encountered enough dragons since then to know that they think only of fire and food," I lied. "I doubt they have noticed their lunch is fighting a war."

"Quite," Ambassador Elenwen conceded, frowning over my shoulder, distracted. I felt the presence of others approach and settle close by; Hadvar glanced back with open interest.

"Oh, Ondolemar," Elenwen drawled in reproof as her smirk lifted. "You will cause a riot in my ballroom," she arched a thin eyebrow.

"You are capable of that without my assistance, Elenwen," a smooth, arrogant voice cut through the air.

In the action of turning back to face our host, Hadvar's arm tightened urgently around me. "If you will excuse us, Ambassador. I must get to my meeting with the Third-"

"Oh, come now Hadvar, Rulindil is going no where," she motioned toward the newcomer. "Allow me to introduce you to Second Emissary Ondolemar," she purred.

Hadvar tensed; shaking with restraint. I could not place his sudden panic, and brushed my hand over his shoulder in consolation as I turned to face this Ondolemar. Whoever the Second Emissary was, we could handle him.

"Naturally, there is no need to introduce either of you to his guest," she added smugly.

Oh.

Feminine eyes as blue as my own widened as they took in the sight of me; her lips parted and her knuckles, gripping the Second Emissary's arm, turned white.

"Celeste?" she whispered in disbelief.

Hadvar held me tightly; he was all that kept me from falling to the ground in a defeated heap. "Giselle," I managed quietly, suppressing the anger and relief that struggled through my veins.

Dressed in delicate mauve silk with her hair smoothed straight and tucked into a coil at the back of her neck, she looked like the prim Giselle I had thought I'd always known. "I...did not expect to see you here," I murmured around my tongue, suddenly thick in my own mouth.

"Or I you," her voice trembled as she flashed Ondolemar a hasty glance, her eyes brimming with betrayal.

The Second Emissary chuckled. "Do not pout, my dear, it is not becoming," he dismissed; liquid gold flickered to Hadvar, set between high cheekbones as sharp as a blade. "Praefect Reidarsson, I presume?" he addressed formally. "I have heard much of your exploits."

He passed me his tankard to shake Ondolemar's hand without having to let go of me. "Second Emissary," he greeted tightly. I glanced up to him; a sudden thought popping into existence. Had he known about...? Surely not. No. No, he would have told me this, classified or not. Her appearance was a surprise to him.

Ondolemar released Hadvar's hand with a chuckle. "At ease, soldier. The addition of one more Passero to our party should make little difference to you. As Rulindil will attest, Giselle has been instrumental in securing the information you have come for tonight," he collected drinks from an approaching servant; idly passed my sister a goblet.

I knew I should pay more attention to what he was saying, but I could not tear my eyes from my sister. I had expected to be dragging her out of this building in the rags of a Stormcloak cuirass, dotted with injuries, and...here she was. Clean.

Her hand shook as she lifted the silver goblet to her lips.

Elegant.

With a pleading look to the ceiling, she took a long drink.

Unharmed.

For assisting Ulfric Stormcloak and his people in their escape after the murder of the High King, you are sentenced to death by beheading.

Questions formed and scattered in my mind as the Ambassador's suave tones cut through the mounting tension. "Yes but perhaps a little warning next time would be in order, Ondolemar. Half of the people in this room have not been made aware of Miss Passero's true allegiance."

"And it is my intention to put those minds at ease, once and for all, tonight," Ondolemar purred. My eyes shot to his hand as long fingertips stroked my sister's arm, and she closed her eyes; visibly relaxing. "Giselle is a good girl," he said reasonably. "She deserves to be recognised for her services to this province, as much as her sister does," he motioned toward me with the same arm.

It took all of what remained of my will to keep from recoiling. Was he serious? Had the world gone mad – had I gone mad? I had spoken to Giselle – she worked for, believed in Stormcloak; was devoted to him.

"It is lucky for us that we managed to liberate Miss Passero from the fiends who stole her out of the Empire's custody," Ondolemar was saying in a tone that dared us to question him.

Did the Second Emissary really want Skyrim – want us to believe she was on the side of the Empire? Did they expect us to swallow that she had been paralysed and stolen by someone else, only to be rescued by the Thalmor?

Hadvar's unfaltering grip tugged at the corners of my mind – his tension, strangely enough, was all that grounded me, for I could not abandon him to my internalising, or react in a way that would put his life at risk. With a thud to my chest, I reached for an excuse to take him away from this – whatever it was. Reunion. Confrontation. Cruel joke.

He had fought against her; magic versus steel. He'd torn the Jagged Crown from her grasp and outed her before she could kill him and Dathies, and all the soldiers they had fought through Korvanjund with. And she had murdered Ralof, his friend.

And – it was bigger than her. The Dominion had not only stolen Giselle from the Empire, but had been keeping her and her secrets to themselves for the past weeks. Was it enough to shatter the tenuous truce between the two factions? Unlikely. But to Hadvar – Giselle's appearance on the arm of a Thalmor officer – whether she was spy or defector – mocked everything he was fighting to uphold.

Underneath the buzzing between my ears, Dean Ateia's flute struck up another lilting tune, kept in time by the pitter-patter of the quieter hand drum. I blinked back tears as the music encircled my heart and gripped relentlessly, threatening to set my emotions loose. Deep within me, my soul stirred; impatient by my inaction.

Yes – I had to get Hadvar away from here, away from them. This was bad.

"We would have lost more than a pretty face, had she been lost to us," the Second Emissary continued in a haughty, yet jovial tone.

"A relief, to be sure," Elenwen murmured thoughtfully.

The air was thick with deception, and I could listen no more. Be the bard, not the Companion, Thane, or dragon, I pleaded.

"You will have to excuse us, Ambassador," I gripped Hadvar's arm; my voice polite, if not too flat as my eyes settled on Elenwen. "I promised my fiancee a dance before his meeting, and when music beckons," I tilted my head; took his drink and placed both down on the nearest horizontal surface. Be the bard. "I must answer its call."

"Do what you must," Elenwen recovered, smug once more. Her eyes spoke volumes; little fool, the liquid amber jeered.

I couldn't feel my feet yet somehow I walked us away, repressing the urge to look over my shoulder to the two highest-ranking Thalmor in Skyrim and my sister.

Hadvar said nothing, turning me around once we reached the opposite end of the dance floor, close to where Dean Ateia and the younger bard were performing. Had he not stopped, I might have continued walking us into the wall. He settled me against him; his hand gripped mine tightly and brought it up to rest between us.

We swayed. Still, he said nothing, and I silently begged him to speak, to say, do, something, anything. When I looked up, feeling separated from myself, I found blankness, betrayed by a glimmer of resentment in his depths.

I knew the look was not intended for me, but it took me aback nonetheless. "You can't think that I knew-?"

"No," he cut in hurriedly; his eyes widened, flashing with frustration. He wrapped himself around me, our feet shuffling just enough to keep moving; keep up the pretence. "No," he repeated, quieter; his lips on my ear. "Celeste, we cannot speak here," his arms tightened, shielding us from the world.

My own theories were on the tip of my tongue, but I bit them back as I slammed my eyes shut. "I know," I whispered regretfully. Whatever Giselle's appearance meant, she was not in any position to be saved. I would have to focus on unearthing information about the rise of Alduin, and Hadvar on retrieving the location of the Legion scouts.

He hesitated, then I felt him nod. With a deep, shuddering breath, he eased back, his eyes more focussed. "I understand if you want to go. Perhaps I can meet you at the inn, after I've made my report at Castle Dour-"

I shook my head; made myself smile. "I won't leave you here on your own."

Hadvar's hand rose to my cheek; he lowered his head to mine. "Thank the Divines," he hushed; a possessive declaration that sent a bolt of adrenaline through me. "Because I cannot bear saying good bye here."

My lips found his, soft but determined; in need of saving from this bombshell, and he seemed to understand at once. I leaned against him, uncaring of who noticed – if she can bed Stormcloak for three years and walk in here on the arm of the Second Emissary, then I can damn well kiss the man I am betrothed to.

Giselle's appearance would have wrecked me had I been here alone pretending to be Lady Vici. My reaction would have certainly gotten me, and possibly others, killed. Hadvar had saved me – again. I let myself feel my gratitude – let it spill out of me and into our kiss.

We were moving – turning with the music – my back met a wall of stone. A brief check between breaths – Hadvar had steered us off the dance floor and into the shadows of an arch. Across the room, I caught sight of Giselle, speaking to the Second Emissary with a knot in her brow.

Hadvar drew me back, his thumb on my chin; his eyes met mine. "Please. Look at me," he urged softly.

I nodded hastily, breathless. He was my rock; the only certainty in this room. I wanted nothing more than to look at him until the Divines took me. His lips brushed over mine again, warm and gentle, searching, guiding me back from the brink of distress.

When he eased back and stared down at me, bewildered, he huffed an overwhelmed laugh. "Wow," he cleared his throat; his voice gravelly. "I'll have to remember how well that works."

With an incredulous, quiet laugh of my own, I met his eyes, glowing with praise. Gods, I loved him in that moment.

"Praefect – the party atmosphere has gotten the better of you," a curt voice brushed against our bubble. "Are you here on business or pleasure?"

With unashamed ease, Hadvar rose, his hand slipping into mine as he turned. "Must the two always be mutually exclusive, Brelas?" his eyes sparkled as he threw me a warm, amused glance. "Is it time?"

Before us was a Bosmer woman wearing a low-cut, off-the-shoulder dress; the same style all the serving girls were in. Her arms were crossed and one impatient eyebrow was raised, though she smirked at Hadvar with an ease that ruffled something deep within me.

"It was time six minutes ago," she replied pointedly. "Come on. It's not wise to keep Master Rulindil waiting."

"Lead the way," Hadvar motioned with a cheeky grin. The servant narrowed her eyes and stepped past, making for a door beyond the alcove we had taken refuge in.

Her hand landed on the handle, but she frowned when she noticed Hadvar's hand still entwined with mine. "Oh," she realised, glancing up. "He said nothing about you. Sorry," she actually sounded it as she waved toward the ballroom. "You can wait for him here."

Hadvar's hold on my hand tightened, but I met the Bosmer's eyes steadily. "Nothing about me?" I wove with a confused blink. "Surely you jest?"

The Bosmer shrugged a slim shoulder. "I can schedule you an appointment, if you wish?"

I arched an eyebrow at her. "The Dragonborn needs to make appointments?"

"Brelas," Hadvar warned through a laugh. "It's all right. You don't want to obstruct our Lady Dragonborn from her duty. Your master will understand."

With a world-weary sigh, the woman relented. "As you like. What would I know, I just work here."

As we stepped through the door, I cast a final glance over my shoulder and found my sister. Our eyes met; hers wide and curious, and for a heartbeat we stared at one another until Brelas closed the door between us.

"Reidarsson, very good," Rulindil stood in the doorway to his office, flicking a nod of dismissal to the Bosmer.

"Third Emissary," Hadvar greeted with a tight salute.

"At ease," his dark eyes swerved to me. "And, what have we here? One Miss Passero, on the arm of the officer, as the tales would tell," he smiled, as a fox might to a rabbit. "Have you joined the Imperial Legion, or are darker forces at work?" he mocked.

"My apologies, Third Emissary," my eyelashes fluttered as I lowered my head. I had been playing the timid, lovesick girl all night; I could continue it here. "I see my fiancee so infrequently that I was reluctant to leave his side."

"A noble cause," there was a quiet snort from the Altmer. "But nevertheless," he tilted his head, inspecting me. "The information I am about to discuss with your fiancee is on a need-to-know basis," he motioned toward the entryway to the Solar. "You will be quite comfortable here, and once Reidarrson and I are done," he sent me another wicked smile, "perhaps you and I might have a little talk."

I glanced to Hadvar and frowned; he nodded toward the entryway encouragingly. "Go on, love. We won't be long."

If you push the matter, it will arouse suspicion. With a forlorn nod, I clasped his hand in mine briefly, then released him. "I miss you," I mouthed.

Hadvar flashed me a half-smile as Rulindil closed the door to his office with a quiet, "Ugh."

Closing my eyes, I let out a puff of air to the ceiling. Okay, so I hadn't been able to join in the meeting – but the Third Emissary wanted me to stay, to talk. This could still work for me – or, well, for Delphine really.

I turned, scanning the entryway. The Solar was tall and airy, much like the ballroom minus the garlands on the high stone arches. Clay pots were positioned in many of the corners growing neat, verdant ferns. In the centre was a large staircase that led both up and down, flanked by elaborately carved stone railings. Hanging high at the centre was a delicate, polished chandelier, brimming with tiny flickering candles.

Settling onto a bench seat around a small table laid with a platter of thick bread, grapes and cheese wedges and several full champagne flutes – I selected one, turning the smooth neck of the glass in my fingertips, and ran over what I could and couldn't tell Rulindil about Delphine Comtois.

When he had said talk, I had understood, though I could not let him know it. I had no doubts that he meant to ask me about the Blade. I could not play dumb here; not if I wanted to draw any information from him about the rise of the dragons, if the Dominion was indeed connected to Alduin's rising, but as much as I didn't like the woman, I could not betray her location and seal her fate. Perhaps, if I was cooperative and forthcoming enough, I could even absolve Farkas, Lydia and I of any suspicion regarding the whereabouts of the three agents who had come for me.

I was so wound in my own musings that I didn't hear the footfalls on the step; didn't catch the signs of approach.

A hand grasped my shoulder, and my heart leapt in fear.

"Heard they were bringing you in, Sel," a greeting was rumbled, close to my ear. "And don't you look good enough to eat?"

I startled, spinning to face a Nord man, my eyes wide with Fus rising instinctively in my throat.

The amusement in his warm, brown eyes stilled the Shout, and my eyes narrowed in indignation. Sel? Okay. Another one who thought I was my sister. I glanced to the closed door to Rulindil's office hastily, then back to this newcomer. I had time to play this out. What can you tell me about her activities?

"What do you want?" I feigned a yawn, eyeing the man up and down. "I was enjoying myself." Forties, or thereabouts. Large shoulders, thick red hair and long, scruffy sideburns. Drab commons and a dagger strapped to his belt – the first weapon I'd seen since coming to the Embassy. Some kind of...servant? Why was he armed? How did he know Giselle?

"Relax, princess," he chuckled, moving around the coffee table to stand in front of me. "You here to help with our thief?" he offered his hand.

Princess? With a tut, I glanced away as a small smile played on my lips and my heart thumped noisily in my ears. The words slipped out of me, adopting my sister's signature sneer a little too easily. "My business here is none of yours."

"Bah, no games tonight, Sel," he took my hand, tugging me to my feet. "Come on," he pleaded. "Rulindil is riding me to get everything out of our guest. Perhaps he would be more willing to speak with a bit of," the man leered, drawing me flush against him, "gentle persuasion."

He'd kindled my suspicions with Sel, and I turned my head away.

"Get off," I pushed with an indignant huff. Is there a man in Skyrim that my sister doesn't have a history with? "I'll give you five minutes to convince me this guest is worth my time."

It earned me nothing more than a hearty chuckle and a low, mocking bow from the older man. "I'll fill you in on the way," he drawled.

Oh. I had to follow him now, didn't I? As I turned, my mind screamed and panicked; what are you doing? Rulindil could come looking for me at any moment. And Hadvar – Hadvar! – what would he do if he stepped out of the Third Emissary's office and I wasn't where they had left me?

Five minutes, I repeated with a steeling breath. Learn what you can, make some excuse, and come back.

The Nord led the way down the stairs into a cellar. "He's got a wicked tongue, this one," he murmured, pulling a latch near the back wall. A section slid aside to reveal a dark stone tunnel. The man grabbed a torch from above a wine rack, then stepped within.

"Don't they all?" I murmured, feigning boredom.

He smirked back at me wickedly. "Until they meet you."

Right. What exactly did this man expect Giselle to do? I stared at him, expressionless. "Four minutes."

With a huff, he continued on, lighting our way to another set of stairs. "He's given me a name – Esbern – and something about the Rayway. Either he's pining for that sewer he calls home, or we can assume he's holed up in Riften," he said with evident disdain. "But, nothing on the dragons, and nothing of the woman's whereabouts, either. That's where you come in, princess," with a flourish, he opened another door which led into what was unmistakably a prison. Cells lined the walls, and a workbench, clogged with papers and notebooks, was wedged against the outside of the nearest cell.

"Wakey wakey Etienne!" he called out, banging the torch against a set of bars; sparks showered the enclosed space. "You've got a visitor!"

I stared down on the defeated man in the cage. Young, Breton, shackled to the wall, bare chest covered in bruises and thin trails of dried blood. Slowly, with a pained wince, he glanced up through a mop of greasy, blonde hair. "I've told you everything I know, Gissur," he groaned. "Can't you just let me die?"

"Ah, where would be the fun in that?" with a jangle, he – Gissur, I took note – produced a ring of keys and unlocked Etienne's cage. "This is how it's going to work," he crouched down to the shackled man's eye level. "You're going to tell the lady the truth," he drawled, "or she will make you tell the truth."

The young prisoner's eyes widened as they flickered over me in confusion. "I've told them everything," he insisted. "I can't tell you what I don't know."

I opened my mouth to spin a retort, but another cut in before I could.

"We will see about that."

It sounded like my voice, but it wasn't. I spun around in terror to see my sister leaning on the door arch to the prison; her arms crossed. She glanced toward me, passing a wordless message; stay out of this, then she stepped in and glided toward the cell; swift and graceful; mauve silk fluttering as she moved.

Gissur chuckled, low and menacing. "Trust me son, this is no delicate flower come to exchange pleasantries. I've watched her turn a man three times your size inside-out."

With his focus still on the prisoner, he hadn't realised there were now two of us – he had thought I had spoken.

Continuing unaware, he gripped Etienne's chin roughly. "You had better give her what she wants the first time she asks for it."

I paled, mute with shock. No amount of talking could fix this. What to do? Fus and run? Then what – go where? I was deep underground – and below the Thalmor Embassy!

"And you," Giselle strode into the cell without stopping. She flicked her wrists, and ethereal daggers appeared in a silent whoosh of purple. The moment they materialised, she gripped the hilts nimbly and plunged both blades into Gissur's spine. "You are a thorn in my side no longer," she whispered.