30

.~~~.

Ysadette sat cross-legged on the stump. Her eyes shut tight, she tried to envision the Daedric rune inscribing itself on the ground in front of her. First, it was a small crackling she heard, barely discernible through the songbirds chirping away in the treetops. The insects chattering in the grassy clearing, too. But soon, the sound was joined by a smoky scent, as if a roaring campfire had flicked to life. It grew as she channeled her magicka into the rune. Sneakily, she opened one eye, and before shutting it again, spied the orange glow of the outer ring as it formed. Another round of deep breathing through the smoky air, another half-minute of waiting, and she knew that the inner ring had formed as well.

Ysa opened her eyes and stood up, peering down at the vigorously shining rune.

Perfect. She hopped off the stump and crouched behind it, smoothing the grass with her palm until she found a pebble to take.

Ulpo grabbed onto her from behind, his chin set on her shoulder, wide-eyed excitement brimming on his face. "D'oh, go ahead, girl!"

"Erm, you are sure this is a safe distance, aren't you, Mentor?"

"Of course!" he said, tapping her shoulders rhythmically. Then, his brow furrowed. "D'oh, I think so."

"I supposed I haven't any choice, then, do I?" she said, sighing. Hunkering down even lower for good measure, so low she couldn't see over the stump, Ysadette took a deep breath to brace herself, and tossed the stone into the air. It arched high, falling languidly and without any idea of what was coming. Assuming her fire rune had been properly cast, that is.

But the stone rolled harmlessly into the tall grass, coming to rest somewhere just out of sight.

As she peeked over the stump, her face was already hot with frustration. "Oh, phooey!" she said, pushing her fist into the ground. "I thought I had it this..."

A sweltering fireball exploded outward, a concurrent boom resonating in the air. The force of the blast threw Ysadette onto her back, Ulpo being caught underneath with a squeal. Dirt and stone launched in all directions, the other side of the stump burned and reduced to splinters. As she rolled off her Mentor and into the grass, flecks of wood and stone rained down from above.

For a moment, she remained on the ground, the ringing in her ears excruciating. Slowly, and with the taste of dirt on her tongue, Ysadette sat up and began to pick the debris from her hair. There on the ground where the rune had been was a smoldering crater – a testament to her irrefutable success.

"D'oh! Very good, girl!" Ulpo said, clapping his hands as he leaped to his feet. "Very good, indeed! Why, it seems like just yesterday you were having trouble casting a simple spout of flames, d'oh, yes!" Possessed by what seemed to be unheard music, Ulpo leaped to his feet and began to dance, swishing his rear back and forth as he bounced across the clearing, evidently more excited than she was.

As Ysadette watched him, she could only sit and wish she shared that excitement. It wasn't as if she took no pride in her accomplishment. Instead, it was because it had taken so long to reach what was still a delayed rune. Functional, but not perfect as it needed to be. It had taken her nearly a month, and it was a month of sparse successes and more failures than she had cared to count. As she slumped down on what was left of the stump, her thoughts drifted back to the night she had fled Anvil, Ulpo and Andard in tow. Of what she had done to keep them safe.

How close had she been to not being able to say that? Morar was only the second mage in her life she had crossed, and with what seemed to be little effort, he showed her how much she had yet to learn. Both his skill in every spell he had cast and his prompt dismissal of hers save the last had left Ysadette feeling like she scarcely escaped a hungry bear.

Ysa twisted her fingers together, pushing them into a tangled mess as she replayed every second of the fight once more. Every night, just as she was about to slip into what she had come to call rest, she heard it again. The snapping of lightning around her, causing her hair to stand on end as it cooked the nighttime air. Morar's jeers as he reveled in her desperation. The last neighs of her horse dying on the roadside.

Andard's tortured shrieking as he threw himself in harm's way for her sake. As she failed to keep him safe. That haunting sound, the mere thought of it had been enough to force her to curl into a shuddering ball the first few nights. It had made her miss entirely the sleep she needed, and long for the next night even more fiercely. She should've been stronger. She should've been better. But she wasn't, and it almost cost Andard his life.

Perhaps she had survived, but it didn't feel as if she had won. With a few waves of his hand, Morar had dashed her pride to pieces. She knew now that every moment spent resting and not improving was a moment that someone could skulk up the campsite and…

Ysa forced out the shallow breath simmering in her chest and tried to think of anything else. Anything at all. Whatever it took, she wouldn't let the same thing happen again. Never. She'd rather die than be made helpless.

A thick patch of bushes behind Ysadette stirred, making her shoot to her feet, spells in hand and ready to fire before she could discern the face that appeared.

Andard brushed his hair back with one hand and looked her with a raised eyebrow. "Ah, should I come back later?" he asked, glancing at her hands.

Ysa smothered the embers in her palms and shook her head. "No, I apologize for being so jumpy," she said, forcing a smile, hoping that it didn't look as fake as it felt. "What is it?"

Andard stepped out of the bushes, dusting his hands on his trousers as he approached. As he walked, he looked over to the crater and made a peculiar expression, huffing something less than a chuckle. "Well, if you aren't busy with anything..."

Ysa looked back at the campsite, at Ulpo, who was still dancing about in circles, oblivious to the world around him. When he neared his tent, he dove inside, disappearing behind the flaps. A moment later, his rumbling snore filled the air.

So much for another lesson, she thought, turning back to Andard. "I had planned on doing other things, but I believe I can work you in for...er," she paused and rolled her eyes back and forth, leaning with them. "A minute or so."

"Then I'm in luck, it seems," Andard said, strutting over to the bushes to hold them back. Bowing like a proper gentleman despite lacking a shirt, being covered in dirt and scrapes, neither his hair nor the scruffy beard he had been growing having been brushed in a day, he motioned for her to follow. "This will only take a minute or so. If we move quickly, that is."

Ysadette looked at the campsite another time, her fingers already twitching, wanting to engage in another anxious fight with each other. She needed to keep studying, learning more spells, and refining the ones she already knew.

If anyone found them, it wouldn't be…

"Please, Detta," Andard said in a falsely whining tone as he tugged at her hand. "You've been spending so much time on your lessons, I barely have you all to myself anymore. It'll be for just a little bit, and I'll let you get back to being a bookworm, I promise."

It wasn't like Andard to be so pushy, Ysa thought, so it must've been important. Perhaps she could take a few minutes to clear her head. Just a few, and then she would make up the lost time with double the lessons if Ulpo were feeling up to the task. "What do you mean, 'barely?'" she asked, hopping through the gap between the bushes. "You usually have me to yourself all night, don't you?"

"Well, yes," he said, allowing the twigs and branches to swing back as he followed after her. "However, if my memory serves me correctly, the one being the most vocal is you, and none of what's being said is the sort of thing that needs repeating."

Ysa clamped her mouth shut, her face flushing hotly. "Er, you don't suppose Ulpo understands Bretic, do you?"

"Gods, I hope not," Andard said, nudging her with his shoulder. "For your sake, that is. Now, come on, let's hurry before he wakes up and starts doing...whatever it is he's going to do next. I think you're going to like what I've done."

He took her by the hand, and although he tried to keep himself from looking straight at her, Ysadette could see the edge of his lips turning up into a smile. He was up to something, that much she could tell. Andard had always worn his thoughts plainly on his face, so it had to be purposeful that he avoided her attempts at drawing his direct attention. As he led her through the woods, underneath the shady trees, and through the warm sunlight peeking between the leaves, Ysa couldn't think of his poorly hidden grin. She could only stare and recoil at the burn mark on his cheek and the scar on his shoulder.

Remnants of her failures, unfairly worn on his skin and not on hers. Not once had he spoken to her about what happened that night. It was his silence toward the topic, though, that kept the wounds fresh in her heart. Perhaps he avoided it because, like her, he knew there was only one truth and only one person to blame. Instead, as time passed, bringing them into the blistering month of Sun's Height, Andard pretended as if they were simply a grand adventure. It was witty gallantry and not desperate fleeing for their lives. It was another one of his "expeditions," not spending their days surviving off the land instead of turning – day by day – the perfect fantasy they both shared into reality.

And it was a mystery why he hadn't up and left her in the woods with Ulpo. She surely deserved that much. Probably worse.

After leisurely strolling through the woods, him humming a tune and with a bounce in his step, the scent of the pond a short way from their camp began to thicken. The sounds of the waves gently lapping on the shore and the rushing river on the other end combined to sing along with the birds in the trees as they drew nearer. It reminded Ysadette of the docks in Anvil and of the mornings she spent on the beach, watching the sunrise before she was needed at the Chapel of Dibella.

But today, it wasn't only a rocky shore and misty waters that awaited her. Ysadette took note of the new object idling on the water's edge. Atop it was a stitched together cover of leaves and branches, clearly made by Andard himself as he guided her towards it.

"Is this what you brought me down here for?" Ysa asked as he let go of her hand.

"In part, yes," Andard said. He paused for a moment to glance at her, and with a widened grin, he yanked the cover off. With his arms spread wide, he stepped back, presenting with a flair of showmanship an amalgamation of even more branches and twine. "So, what do you think?"

Ysa approached his peculiar creation, realizing what it was only after she watched him climb into it. "You built a boat?"

"Looks good, doesn't it?" he said, his chest puffed out proudly. "It took me a few attempts to get things just right, but I figured it out."

"And the other attempts?" she asked. "Where are they?"

"Firewood, my dear Detta." Andard leaped out of the boat again. "And the ashes scattered. If I couldn't see her sail, her parts could at least give us a fire to cook our food with once they dried."

"It's wonderful," she said, leaning back on her heels, stealing a glance over her shoulder in the direction of the camp. "Really, I had no idea you were so resourceful."

When Ysadette turned back to him, she found that his head was bowed, one hand extended to her.

"Madam," he said in a stuffy tone. "If you would be so kind as to accompany me on the maiden voyage of the..." He paused and rolled his jaw around in circles. "The Golden Queen, I would be honored beyond measure."

Ysadette looked toward the camp again, then to Andard's patiently – soon to be impatiently – waiting hand.

A few minutes surely couldn't hurt. "I suppose I can't deny such a cordial offer," she said, sighing as she stepped into the boat. She went to the front and sat down, her back turned to him. "But please, stop it with that act. You sound like an oaf."

Andard laughed before getting behind the boat to push. With a few grunts and a few false starts, he found his footing, and The Golden Queen set sail into the murky waters of their private pond. To hasten their gentle journey, Andard took the oars and began to row. Tiny dragonflies buzzed around them as they drifted further away from the shore, and Ysa watched as fish swam beneath the surface, curious of this disruptive new occupant in their home. She figured she was confused, too.

"Ah, that pond smell never gets old, does it?" Andard said, inhaling loudly through his nose. "You know, I actually prefer it more than I did the ocean smell on the docks back home. Not quite as pungent, and it's much quieter."

"Uh-huh," Ysa said.

"It's a great fishing spot, too. Back on the beach in Anvil, all I could ever catch were those damned mudcrabs."

"Mm-hm."

"And you know that I love boiled mudcrab legs as much as anyone else, especially when you're doing the cooking, but the taste does get old after a while."

"If you say so."

It was in the stretching period of silence that followed her short responses when Ysa knew Andard was becoming frustrated. But what else could she do?

"You know, Detta," he said, rowing a bit harder than before, "unless you happen to know personally the Fool's troupe of imaginary friends, it takes two to make conversation."

"I know it does," she said, sighing until she felt she had no air left in her lungs. "But I can't..."

Andard waited a few moments, even stopping his rowing to listen to her. "You can't what?"

"Nothing. I'm fine." Ysa glanced over her shoulder, expecting him to start rowing again. Instead, she was met with a rare sight – a skeptical look in his passive eyes. "You can stop gawking at me like that. I told you that I'm fine and I meant it."

"Detta, there isn't anyone else out here to talk to."

"So?"

"So, I want to talk to you," he said, the sound of his shrug louder than it reasonably should've been. "And I want you to talk to me. Otherwise, you'll soon have two madmen to deal with instead of one."

Ysadette wished she could stand up and walk away, but the unfortunate fact that she had nowhere to go other than into the water kept her from trying. She should've known he planned to trap her, and she shouldn't have played right into it. "Be honest with me, then. You don't blame me for what happened, do you? For ruining both our lives?"

Silence. She dreaded it but wasn't surprised.

"If I hadn't taken Ulpo in, we could still be living in Anvil," she continued, finding the urge to slouch and retreat too much to ignore. "You could be in your shop right now. You could be working off that debt you got yourself in. I could be in the Chapel. The city wouldn't be missing one healer, and neither of us would be out in the middle of nowhere, spending every day trying to hide and survive." As Ysadette continued, she could hear the pathetic shudder in her voice, growing as she forced herself through each word. In his persistence silence, the sound of his pained cries from that night occupied her thoughts, a chill racing up and down her spine. She pulled at her collar and wiped the scant tears gathering on her eyes before they could fall.

"And you wouldn't have nearly been killed that night. You wouldn't have had to kill that guardsman, either. And I…"

The boat rocked as Andard shuffled closer to her. He didn't stop until he was so close she thought she could feel his breath.

If anything, she would've preferred he get up and leave her there in the middle of the pond, alone. She deserved it and far, far worse. Every death that happened that night, every wound on them both, was because of her actions.

"I'm sorry," Ysa whispered, fearing that if she spoke louder, she wouldn't be able to speak at all. "I suppose I really made a mess of things, didn't I?"

He pulled her into his arms before she could say anything else, his closeness making the pain of failure worse. Andard, though, in a strange sort of serenity, set his chin on her shoulder. After a long exhale, he kissed her on the neck. "Want to get married?" he asked, his tone so casual it was as if he were asking her what she wanted for dinner that night.

Ysa gasped and elbowed her way out of his embrace. She backed herself against the front of the boat, frozen in shock. "What did you just say?"

Andard, wearing a mischievous grin, shrugged at her. "I asked you to marry me," he said. "I've been scheming how to get you to the right place, but I keep having my plans ruined by chance. I planned to ask you at the cove that day the Fool nearly rattled the city apart, but you ran off before I could say anything. I had it all set up, too! After that plan fell through, I was at a loss of what to do. Especially after we had to leave home. I suppose I started feeling impatient, so I decided to try again out here. Before anything else goes awry."

"But all of this," Ysa said, gesturing widely with her arms, "it's all my fault! I've ruined everything! The only reason we're out here in the first place is because of me! You have every right to be angry with me, so why aren't you?"

"That's where you're wrong," he said, jabbing his finger at her. "I knew what I was getting into when I chose to come along with you. If I'm going to be angry with anyone, it definitely wouldn't be you."

"I want you to be honest with me! Stop treating me like a child and just tell me that you're angry!"

"I am being honest," he said, moving closer to her. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't frustrated about what's happened, but I'm trying to think of the positive things in our new lives."

"Like what?"

Andard sat back, smiling. "I can share things like today with you. You know, about two years ago when I was on my way home from scavenging a shipwreck not too far from Anvil, I realized something. Adventuring by yourself isn't what some would have you believe. You get to see so many beautiful sights by yourself, yes, but that's just the problem. Only you get to see them. You can't share those moments with anybody, but you still have to suffer through the worst of it by your lonesome. I suppose from then on, I started seeing it for what it was. It's lonely, it's a bit unnerving, and you have no one to count on besides yourself when things don't go as planned. From the right perspective, that's how life itself is, too, isn't it?"

"And out of every woman on Nirn – perhapsOblivion, too – your first choice is me?"

"Why wouldn't you be?" he said, his face looking nearly as puzzled as she felt at the returned question. "I'd be a madman to rival your Mentor if I let you get away."

As if her mind needed another reason to reel. Ysa sputtered instead of speaking, every word falling from her lips in the least graceful manner possible. She could compile a list of reasons why what he was proposing was an awful idea. She'd go as far as to circle the important ones for him, but the expression he was wearing – that damnable, oafish grin – told her that he'd look at it as if it were a blank sheet of paper. Instead, she did the next thing that came to her mind.

First, she stood up. A good start, she thought, as her quaking legs made the action difficult.

"Detta, what's the matter?" Andard asked. "Do you see something?"

Next, she placed her foot on the edge of the boat and looked deeply into the water, at her puffy-faced, red-splotched reflection. With that image in mind, she took a deep breath. They weren't far from shore. It would only take a moment. Then she could…

Well, she would figure that out later.

"Detta!" he shouted, grabbing the back of her shirt the very second she moved.

Her leap having been thrown off-balance by his intervention, Ysadette flopped into the water face first, flailing her arms around as the chilly water swallowed her whole. A sharp current pulling down swirled right beside her, bubbles brushing against her skin as they raced upward. Before she could think to follow their lead, an arm wrapped around her, yanking her toward the refracted sunlight above. As she broke through to the open air, coughing out the mouthful of water she had accidentally taken in, she went limp in Andard's grasp as he paddled toward the shore.

As she watched behind, Ysadette saw The Golden Queen overturned, drifting woefully down until the mists and water overtook her. Her maiden voyage had ended in tragedy.

Andard, however, swam onward in persistent silence, finally hauling Ysadette out of the water and onto the sandy bank. His breath ragged, he loosened his grip and set her aside as he sank to his knees. For a few moments more, he focused only on controlling his breathing, coughing into his shoulder until he seemed to find composure. Letting out a quiet groan, he rolled over and laid flat on the ground to stare up at the sky.

Ysa brought her knees up to her chest and buried her face. Utterly brilliant, she thought. Now what have you done?

"Er," Andard said, the suddenness of his voice startling her. "Forgive me for being at a bit of a loss, but what sort of answer should I take that as?"

Slowly, Ysa uncovered her face and looked over her shoulder at him. He was still flat on his back, but his head was raised and his soaked hair pushed back so she could see his eyes. It was the simple, almost casual disregard for nearly every terrible thing she had put him through she saw in them, not condemnation. The same oafish determination always brimming, he cracked a smile at her.

What sort of answer did she mean for that to be taken as? She thought perhaps she would swim back to shore, and that would be the end of that conversation. But now that she sent The Golden Queen to the depths, soaked them both, and left herself stuck on the shore with nowhere else to run beside through the woods, Ysa didn't know what else to say. There probably wasn't much else, she guessed, so she joined him in lying on the shore. Around them, the soothing forest sounds played, focusing her on the sound of her own heartbeat as it quickened.

From the right perspective. Perhaps that was all she needed to find the right words. Maybe they were all that mattered. She couldn't have imagined their life as it was now, but it was real. And it was theirs, so long as she decided to share it. As if he knew already, Andard took her hand, his eyes darting away for a fleeting moment, then back with palpable courage.

She drew nearer to press her lips against his, drifting back again so she could say the only thing she was sure of. "I love you. I really, really do."

"How beautifully put," he said, his grin tranquil. "Then, is that a yes?"

"Yes," she said, returning his smile with one of her own as best as she was able, this time not forcing a fake. "That's a yes."

"Well, I suppose we ought to make it official, shouldn't we?" he said, thrusting the hand opposite of her into his trouser pocket. Wriggling back and forth, his tongue stuck out between his teeth, he continued searching until he found his surprise. He thrust his arm skyward, letting something fall and dangle above them both.

Glistening in the sunlight, a deeper blue than the sky itself, was a sapphire hanging from a silver chain. Ysadette sat up and reached out to take it, first bumping it with her fingertips before he pushed it into her palms. "It's so pretty, but where did you..."

"You don't remember?" Andard said, folding his hands behind his head, his smirk turned cocky. "I'd never spend that much coin on something I didn't think was worth it."

Ysa cupped the necklace in her hands, rubbing the stone with her thumb as it shined cheerily at her. "Then, the debt you owed to Lady Aressia…"

Andard's smile vanished and he sat up stiffly. "Er, let's not worry about that right now."

"Oh, you really are determined to get me into trouble one of these days, aren't you?" Ysa said, stifling a small laugh. "Fine, I suppose we can't become any worse criminals than we already are, now can we?"

"No, my dear," he said, putting his arm around her, "we likely can't. And besides, you're better at finding trouble that I am."

"But if we ever have the chance..."

"I know, I know, we'll make things right," he said, squeezing her shoulder. "I swear on my great grandmother's grave. Now, go on already."

Ysa smirked at him as she looked at the necklace one more time before fastening it around her neck. The feeling would certainly take some getting used to, but the coolness of the stone against her skin was strangely comforting.

As if a piece of him was right there with her, holding her close, no matter what.

.~~~.

Ysadette inhaled until her lungs were at their fullest, then exhaled. She slowly loosened her grip on her necklace and the tension pent up in her muscles with it. Still feeling the needling of worry in her chest, she repeated the action. Again, and once more after that, she found a small amount of solace in the back of the cart. The incessant neighing of the horse, Chunkyhoof, and the ensuing, irritated curses from the driver, Barro, had become oddly soothing on the journey, although only due to familiarity. They were two of the trio of lives that kept her mind sharp during the long hours spent watching their surroundings with her magically enhanced vision. Between the bumps in the road, she eased back into the seat of the rickety cart, the wood hard, yet offering some vague sense of comfort.

Yet an almost perpetual adrenaline rush kept her heart from being calm. So long as they were on the road, Ysadette knew that it would be a mistake to lower her guard. Last time she had allowed herself a moment of rest, allowed herself to hesitate in a moment that demanded action, three innocent lives we lost.

She would not – and could not – allow anything of the sort to happen again. She couldn't bear to have more blood on her hands.

Across from her, tucked into the corner of the cart with his back facing her, her cloak draped over his spindly form, Ulpo was fast asleep. Rather, he had fallen snugly into his fitful cycles of muttering and giggling at what were likely dreams too disjointed to understand for anyone with even a sliver of sanity left. In the past, she would've tried to move him to a more comfortable position, or one she considered safer, and kept him as close to her side as possible.

Now? She had almost come to crave the meager distance between them, the guilt she felt at that admission be damned. This way, he was calm. Quiet. After having encountered the other Ulpo – the one with an otherworldly scowl carved into his stone-gray face – on the cart the night they had left Chorrol, she had begun to find his closeness smothering. With that memory followed the gradual rise of dread within her, heavy and cold, as ever. This time, though, she knew from what corner of her exhausted mind it has slithered out from.

"After what you've been through because of me," Ulpo had said that night as they stood on the hill, flashes of lightning splitting the clouds above. "You deserve to know what's been happening."

Ysadette had allowed the words to repeat in her head since the moment Ulpo relapsed into his mad self, forcing her to return to the impatiently waiting Barro. Then she would listen to the entire conversation that followed his begrudging acknowledgment of her pain, the chill racing up her spine and the turning of her stomach never fading. She still had more questions, of course. She didn't imagine Ulpo would tell her everything, whether he had the time to or not.

Which he hadn't.

He had only been given a short time to speak candidly with her. Then his demeanor again became that of a man whose mind had long succumbed to severely advanced age and its trappings. What he told her, though, was far more than enough to go on. It was enough for her to fashion a sure path going forward, something she had begun to believe she wouldn't have the luxury of. Even with time enough behind them to do so, the details hadn't become muddy. They had crystallized beyond what she considered comfortable, giving her time to wallow in the horrors he had revealed.

Somehow, with scarcely more than a handful of honest sentences exchanged between them, she had grown to fear the other Ulpo. They had spoken for nearly half an hour, him giving her whatever information he deemed "necessary," but not a word further. Otherwise, he would snap at her and demand she stop wasting time. Several of the answers she had longed for, risked her life for,had been given to her. And yet they hadn't set her at ease, hadn't given her the pride of a mystery unraveled.

They had left her terrified. Terrified of him. Her Mentor, her Grandfather, or whoever he truly was deep inside, and what lurked just beneath his madness.

No, she feared the cause of it, and that her suspicions about his affliction had been confirmed. She feared the Game that she had been made an unwilling pawn in, the same one Peryite had warned her of.

"Should you find success," Peryite had said, wearing the rat-body for their entire conversation, "are you prepared to face the consequences of what you've done to reach it? What of the little you still hold dear are you willing to sacrifice?"

At the time, Ysadette had known he was playing with her. Or goading her into making a move she didn't want to make. Daedric Princes have always have been fond of theatrics and testing their wit, she had learned. Sometimes with other Princes, even. Only now did she understand that every word he had spoken, every second he spent entertaining her before lifting the curse, he had spent it trying to warn her. She was sure of that now.

But still, of what exactly was he warning her? What did he know that she didn't?

"I don't mean to find fault with you," Suleh had said that day they arrived in Chorrol, "but have you ever wondered if what you're doing is best for him?"

Suleh had been right to worry, Ysa decided, trying in vain to chase out the tension rebuilding in her shoulders. Knowing what she did now, knowing the rules that she must play by or risk a complete loss, what option was there that could be considered "best" anymore? Rather, was there even one she could consider good? And if she found victory, what would it cost?

What would it cost Ulpo?

"You know better than I do that there are dangerous things out there," Andard had warned all that time ago. "I wouldn't want you getting wrapped up in a mess you aren't able to run from."

Ysadette's hands grew cold and her palms began to sweat as fear crawled at a lumbering pace through her veins, urging her to take hold of her necklace again. She didn't have a choice in the matter anymore, but with the knowledge of Ulpo's affliction gained earlier than expected, she now had another mystery to solve, that of the cure. Only this one was far more daunting than the first.

This one, unlike the first, seemed nigh-unsolvable. Despite the warning she had been given, for all her efforts to avoid the worst, Ysadette knew that she was caught up in an unjust Game too complex and too great for her alone to win.

And yet, she was alone.

"Excuse me, miss?" Barro called out from the front of the cart before shushing Chunkyhoof and bringing the slow, plodding pace to a halt. "We're coming up on the city! You've never seen it before, have you?"

He paused for a moment, awaiting an answer to a question he'd already asked her more than twice before.

"Come on up here, if you want!" he continued. "This is the best view of the place you're gonna get!"

Ysa let go of her necklace and gripped the seat of the cart A moment of respite, given to her by what had become the source of her irritation for most of the trip. Breathe, she thought, following her own advice as she began to climb through the cart, careful not to disturb her fragile peace with any further pessimism. There's still time. There's still a way to win, as long as I'm alive.

There was still the Arcane University, and the sooner she arrived in the Imperial City, the sooner she would find what she needed.

Ysadette stepped lightly over the wall dividing the front seat from the back and dropped down next to Barro. He sneaked a glance at her, she noticed, and his expression was nothing short of pleased. "Well, miss," he said, tugging at the reins, puffing out his chest, "it's been a long, slow ride, but we're finally here. Welcome to the Imperial City."

Barro continued to speak, but his words faded, barely registering in her ears as Ysadette found herself enraptured by the view from the crest of the hill. Below, sitting deep in the middle of the Nibenay Valley, awaited far more than she had imagined the city to be for her entire life. Lake Rumare – reflected orange and yellow in the sun – was dotted by departing ships heading south. Still more ships, enough to fill an armada or maybe more, bobbed in the harbor, a crescent enclosing them in a manner vaguely reminiscent of the comparatively little port in Anvil.

At the bottom of the hill, a twisting flow of travelers – some in well-furnished carts only suitable for nobles, others on loaded-down horseback, and even more of the destitute variety on foot – were traveling straight on, across the Talos Bridge. Their combined presence had a rumbling like thunder. Ysadette had never seen such a massive bridge, and she marveled at it, at the statue of Saint Caelum looming over the midway point. She imagined it would take longer to cross over than it would if she walked from one end of Anvil to the other. And still, more visitors to the city were arriving, coming from the east and west, converging at the town at the mouth of the bridge and joining the sea of uncountable, eager masses. Yet, for all its splendor, the Talos Bridge was but a humble sight compared to what awaited on the other end.

Sitting on the island in the middle of Lake Rumare, more grand and ethereal than Ysadette could've ever dreamed, a monument to the world by virtue of its majesty, was the Imperial City, the beating heart of the Empire itself. Its pearlescent walls stretched as far and wide as she could see, almost as if they aimed to encompass the world itself, gather the furthest corners under the banner of the Empire. Like arms reaching to the heavens, and to the Divines in their lofty places, spires climbed up from the city. Yet all paled in comparison to the greatest of the towers – the White-Gold Tower standing in the center of the Imperial City. Even squinting, she was only barely able to see the tip, the sun cradled on its apex.

Somehow, even at such an incredible distance, she could sense the magic within the White-Gold Tower. Swirling. Pulsing. It wasn't like the magicka in the air, and she knew it wouldn't bend to her will no matter how hard she tried. It was ferocious. It was boundless, infinite in depth, and far beyond her own comprehension, perhaps beyond anybody's. And still, like tiny pins it probed at her fingertips, daring her to draw from it. Like an old friend that she couldn't quite recall the name of, it tugged at what felt like her very soul, begging her to stop and listen to their voice.

Remember.

Had every mage that came to the city felt this? Is this why the Arcane University had sprung up here and nowhere else? After taking in the sight of the Tower encircled, the hundreds of faces and lives clamoring at the as they passed underneath the shadows of the Imperial City, the sinking feeling in Ysa's chest let her know she couldn't have been further from home.

This place was nothing like Anvil. The kindly people that knew her name and her face, trusted her to knit their wounds, and even those that avoided her presence were like foggy memories of a past life. It was a different world altogether she had been coldly shoved into, and one without direction.

"Er, ma'am?" Barro said, one hand settled on Ysadette's shoulder as if keeping her steady. "Are you feeling sick? You're lookin' a bit paler than usual."

"No, I'm..." She shook her head. "I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed, actually. There is so much to take in. I'm afraid I don't even know where to begin."

For a moment longer, they rode quietly, the clopping of Chunkyhoof like a ticking clock.

"That'll be up to you, I suppose," Barro said, shrugging. "We've, uh still got a bit of riding left before I let you off. Take a few minutes while we're out of the way, think about where you're headed before we get there."

"You come to the city often. Do you have suggestions?"

Ysa caught sight Barro's face scrunching up out of the corner of her eye. "Some who arrive at this time of day prefer to wait out the night in that town at this side of the bridge," he said, gesturing. "Weye is its name. Been there forever, as I understand it. But it'll be a snowball's chance in the Deadlands that you find a vacancy at any of the inns. Some of the more impatient types prefer to take their chances at crossing before sundown, but if you decide to do that…"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Go on."

"Well, let's just say I wouldn't be surprised if you're still crossing the bridge come morning. The guards can't be persuaded to be quick about things when the moons are out and nights are cold, see?"

As if she had any choice in the matter. She'd have to try crossing immediately, no matter what that meant. "There are just so many people here," she said, tracing over the legion of heads until she began feeling horribly nauseous.

"That there are, miss, that there are. You're not in the countryside of little Chorrol anymore. You could spend years in this city, meet a different person every day, and you'd still have hundreds more you haven't. But if you ask me, that's a good thing. City isn't safe like it used to be. People aren't always what they seem. Not since Red Ring back in '75, if you know what I mean."

"Thalmor, then."

Barro nodded. "Don't be surprised if the place is crawling with 'em nowadays. I tell all the people that ride with me to avoid the Justiciars at all costs and be careful to not get too close to that headquarters of theirs in Green Emperor Way if you know what's good for you. People tend to go missing around there, and oftentimes, they aren't heard from again. The Dominion's got Titus Mede's ear these days. His stones, too, if you can believe it."

"I certainly can..." she trailed off, sensing another rant incoming, and taking the opportunity to turn her attention elsewhere. As Ysadette traced over the landscape again – her vision sharpened with magic – she searched for any other discernible way. Nothing she could see, of course, unless she decided to scale the walls. Then, something she didn't see before caught her eye.

A thickening pillar of smoke, rising from the east side of the city, opposite of where they were coming from.

"Barro, do you see that?" she asked, pointing. "That smoke there. Is that normal?"

Barro, his eyes squinted heavily, leaned forward. Mumbling a few curses under his breath as he flopped back, Ysadette assumed she already had her answer. "No, it isn't, miss. Looks like it's coming from the Arena District, but what in Mara's name could be…"

A shadow fell over Barro's face – the knowing sort – that carried an ill-fitting grimness. Not bothering to finish his thought and instead opting for an uncharacteristic silence, he whipped the reins, causing Chunkyhoof to trot. "Bastards just couldn't..." he sputtered. "Ain't worth all this..."

Ysadette twisted around to look at Ulpo, who was only then waking up. He raised his head, smiled obliviously at her for a moment, and returned to sleep. Whispering a thankful prayer to the Divines for giving her the reassurance that the other Ulpo wasn't preparing to burst forth again, she returned her attention to the uneven road ahead. As the cart quickly descended the hill, that sinister cloud hanging over the city and mingling with the afternoon sky, Ysa found her hand returning once again to her necklace.

From one disaster, she thought, and into another.

Aaaaaannnddddd...we're back. Took me long enough, huh? Now that things have been reworked, I think things going forward will pan out a little better. So, welcome back everybody. And Merry Christmas, too, since I doubt I'll have another chapter ready in the next few days.

*jingle-jingle-jingles back into writing dungeon*