Chapter 21: Scorn and Hollow
Vicente stretched his body in a long arch as he rose from the stone slab in his quarters. It had been the first time all week since he had a proper piece of solitude in which to meditate. His feet hit the cold stone tile and he felt like a sharpened knife, a new zest in his step as he walked toward his dresser to prepare for the coming day. Despite no longer needing to sleep, the vampire found that maintaining a regular habit of quieting the mind did wonders for his mental clarity. Now, however, he was feeling a bit peckish, and the bottled blood sitting at his desk would simply not do. Not with all this newfound vigor. It was still well before sunrise and his teeth itched for a fresh hunt.
He opened the door of his quarters and found Antoinetta leaning against the far wall. Her eyes lit up eagerly as she approached him.
"You're up early," Vicente nodded toward the girl with a wary smile.
"Same is true for you," she chirped.
"I never truly sleep, Sister."
"Well, I know that actually," she beamed. "I was waiting for you."
"Oh?" Vicente raised a brow. "What for? Have you completed your contract?"
"Mmm," Antoineeta hummed and swiped a blonde lock behind her ear. She rocked back on her heels and gave a little shrug. "Not exactly."
"Then how may I serve you?"
"I was just thinking about my mark, this old man in Bleaker's Way. Is that really the only job for me?" She asked, her voice light and betraying a faint disappointment. "I mean, it seems so plain and easy."
Vicente crossed his arms and leaned backward against the stone wall. "I'm not sure I'm following your line of thought, Sister. Are those grounds for a complaint?"
"It's not a complaint. It's just that…" The girl rocked her head side to side and sighed as though searching deeply for the right words. "Can't I have something more challenging?"
He lowered his forehead into his palm and shook his head. "Antoinetta, we've discussed this."
The Breton woman scrunched her face and huffed. "I've been here for over a year now, and I'm still a lowly slayer. If I don't challenge myself, I'll never improve! I know I'm capable of more than frail, old men."
"There is more to a contract than the mark itself. Regardless of whether he's old or young, you must move with dexterity and finesse to remain out of suspicion."
"He's lame in one leg," she pouted. "I don't need to be a Khajiit acrobat to maneuver about him."
"And so?" Vicente shrugged. "I assume you have a proposal for me given that mischievous twinkle in your eyes."
Antoinetta grinned widely.
"Teinaava was telling me about a contract that Ocheeva mentioned to him in passing. The noble visiting his mother right here in Cheydinhal. Don't you think that would be perfect chance to demonstrate how much my skills have improved?"
"Certainly not," he replied flatly. "I have it under authority that he was an accomplished Defender of the Fighters Guild in his youth. That is a dangerous contract, my dear, hence why I had it reserved for someone of Teinaava's rank."
Antoinetta pouted again, and though Vicente was not without sympathy, he was unwilling to budge on this topic. Antoinetta showed much promise as an assassin. She was quick with her dagger and a bendy little creature that could fit into all sorts of nooks and crevices, but that did not place her on par with a professionally trained fighter.
Her enthusiasm held steady and she bounced up and down behind Vicente as he walked toward the main hall. "Please, Vicente? Please, please, please with cream and sugar."
"Antoinetta, my dear," he sighed, "with time and training I have no doubt you will surpass all of my expectations of you, but as of now you are simply not ready for such an assignment."
"But I know I can do it," she insisted, her shrill squeal loud enough to wake someone sleeping in the nearby living quarters. Vicente turned to face her and beckoned for her to lower her voice. She continued in a faint whisper. "If only you'd give me the chance to prove myself."
He gave her a sideways look. "Prove it to me by completing your contract as stated and then returning to me unharmed."
The rattling of the Sanctuary well grate alerted Vicente to the arrival of another assassin well before Antoinetta noticed that a figure had begun its descent down the ladder. Vicente flared his nostrils as the scent of old blood wafted through the air. He stiffened briefly, attempting to put words to the subtle familiarity of the odor.
Nim walked into the main hall from the bottom of the well entrance. She startled upon seeing the pair of assassins, not expecting anyone to be up when it was still the dark hours of morning. She took a few steps closer, waving cautiously so as not to seem like she was intruding on their conversation. In the light of the brazier, Vicente could see her clearly, hair flowing wildly around her and dark skin colored by patches of deep rusted blood. She was dressed in an outfit made for a man twice her size, her usual attire. Vicente had come to expect such an appearance from their newest member
"Good morning," Nim called out, accepting that there was no way she could skirt passed unseen given Vicente's keen senses.
"Nim! What a welcome return." His smile faltered as she stepped closer. The iron-rich aroma clung heavily to her despite the clean clothing. And then it hit him. Vicente froze, sniffing deeply into the air as he had picked up on an undeniable scent. His nerves tingled across his face. "Is that Lucien's shirt?"
"What? Don't be ridiculous," she waved him off and laughed as though he had just asked if she were wearing a shirt made of dragon scales. "We all know our Speaker owns nothing but a single pair of black robes." To someone with a less trained eye, her dismissive response would have appeared completely casual, but Vicente caught the subtle twitch below her left eye and felt a bubbling suspicion rise in his gut.
"Yes," he stammered out. "My mistake." He turned toward his Breton companion and palmed himself internally upon seeing the wide-eyed expression on her face as she looked Nim up and down with growing bitterness.
Nim shifted beneath Antoinetta's stare and quickly turned the conversation away. "What are the two of you up to at this hour anyway?"
"I'm discussing a contract with Vicente," Antoinetta replied with what Nim assumed was a grin, but the Breton's quivering lips and squinted eyes contorted her face into an awkward grimace.
"Anything erm, exciting?"
"No, just a feeble old man," she huffed with tangible irritation as she pushed her bottom lip forward into a pout.
"You and me both, Sister. There seems to be a strong hatred for them this season."
"At least your old man was in a fortress filled with trained mercenaries. My mark raises sheep and lives alone. And he has a lame leg."
"Our Speaker should be delivering more contracts to us soon, Antoinetta. I'm sure he will bring something more to your liking, but as we have discussed, you must finish the task at hand first. The Night Mother demands it."
Antoinetta's shoulders drooped in resignation. "Fine."
"Did you say Lucien's coming?" Nim asked, her tone while inquisitive betrayed an inkling of anxiety. Vicente nodded and watched her reaction closely. Antoinetta was doing much the same.
"Ocheeva and I were expecting him last night." His eyes followed the crinkle of her forehead and when she spied his scrutinizing stare, she dropped her expression to a flat, rigid slate. He raised a brow. "You didn't happen to see him on the road, did you?"
"No," came her clipped response. "There was something far more interesting that I was hoping to discuss with you though. I haven't plans to leave the Sanctuary until I meet with Ocheeva. You'll find me when you're done here?"
"Soon," he replied with a skeptical squint. "Don't go far."
It wasn't a long wait. The living quarters were dark and filled with the sounds of slumber, but with the aid of her night eye, Nim changed freely. She had just enough time to retrieve a clean set of robes from her trunk and stripped out of Lucien's clothing when she heard the door softly open and close behind her.
"Nimileth," Vicente whispered faintly from a few paces away. As Nim slipped her robe over her head, he spotted a thin reddened trail of scratches along her shoulder and finger shaped bruises encircling her bicep. He cleared his throat. "When you're ready."
Vicente and Nim made their way down to his quarters in silence, ignoring the withering glares that Antoinetta cast in the elf's direction as they passed her in the hall. Nim noticed how the vampire clenched his fist the whole way down. Once inside, she took a seat at his table and Vicente closed the door.
"Listen, there's something very important that I must talk to you about. I received a peculiar letter, and I think you may be just the one to help me. I have it here." Nim dug into her pocket and pulled out the folded parchment. "It's so strange. I found it on my-"
"You know what I'm going to ask you."
She looked up and met the vampires stern gaze. He stood beside her, leaning forward on his palms that rested flat on the table.
"Of course, I know what you're going to ask. You weren't exactly discreet, Vicente. And in front of Antoinetta of all people! Do you want her to dislike me even more?" She shook her head firmly and jabbed a finger down on the letter. "But that's the beside the point. Look, this letter arrived for me-"
"What did he do to you?" Vicente reached out and turned Nim's head to the side, inspecting her neck for more bruises. Nim pulled away slowly, stunned by the level of concern growing upon his face. He rolled the sleeve of her robe up in search of more marks and signs of injury, and dumbfounded, Nim let him.
"Show me what Lucien did to you," he growled. His normally pink eyes glowed bright crimson with fury and if she wasn't so taken aback by the earlier outburst of worry, she might have found herself scared by his feral appearance.
"What's gotten into you all of the sudden?" She asked, eyes wide and startled. Nim had never seen him so serious, so full to the brim with rage. If she knew anything about having parents, she might even consider his behavior paternal. But he was not her father, and she despised being treated like a child.
"He attacked you. I smelled the blood. I saw the scars. Nim," he spoke through gritted teeth and squeezed slightly on her wrist, "show them to me."
Nim took a deep breath and released it softly through pursed lips. "Vicente," she started, removing his hand gently from her arm. "I would like to have a conversation with you, but I will not do so when you insist upon snarling and trying to probe at me."
Nim attempted to pull away, but the Breton held firm. She furrowed her brows in irritation and let a blue light wash over her. Vicente soon recognized the dissipating aura of a strong healing spell and released her. She was trying to hide evidence of his assault!
"There," she stated firmly. "Now there's nothing left to see. Can we talk now?"
Vicente pounded his fist against the table. "Damn it, Nim! Why are you trying to protect him! You don't need to be scared. By Sithis, I'll carve his eyes out if that's what it takes for him to keep his bloody hands off-"
"Vicente!" Nim wanted to make it through this confrontation without shouting, but the Vampire was clearly out for blood and seemingly unreachable.
"Vicente," she lowered her voice and reached out for his hand only to be swatted away. She held his gaze for as long as she could, and he stared back with fierce intensity as though trying to pry the truth out through her pupils.
"Can you sit?" She asked, though the question was more of a plea. "I need to know that you will be calm if I am to tell you-" her voice cracked and she quickly cleared her throat, "what happened."
The falter of her voice was all he needed to hear to piece it together, and Nim knew what he had just realized from the staggered expression warping his face. Vicente's eyes widened and she withered beneath his wounded look. Suddenly, he understood.
"Don't tell me that it's true." His voice fell to barely a whisper. He stepped away from her and shook his head, slowly at first and then violently as he ran his fingers through the hair at his temples. "No. No, you must be joking, Nim. What in Oblivion were you thinking? After what I told you about his past, after everything he did to Lorise. Have you grown mad?"
"You don't know what happened. Let me explain it, please." She followed after the vampire as he paced the room, reaching out to grasp at the loose fabric of his shirt.
"I smell him on you," he snarled. "You reek."
Nim bit her lip until it pained her.
"And the shirt!" Vicente threw his hands against his face and groaned bitterly. "Oh, now I understand it."
"Understand what? You don't know what happened." Desperation clung to her voice as she pleaded with him to listen.
"Exactly how else am I supposed to interpret this? You come covered in our Speaker's blood and then you claim he didn't attack you."
"I never said that," she stated firmly.
"But then you refuse to show me the wounds he inflicted on you. You covered it. You hid them." Each word was spat like a twisting blade in her gut. "Why in the Sithis' name were you wearing his shirt, Nim? Why?"
She took a small breath to regain her composure, thinking of the right place to start. Vicente's unprecedented rage had left her unusually timid and she stammered a bit before speaking. "He offered it to me because, um, he had cut mine away. We were in the forest when he-"
"I just want to hear you admit it, damn it! I don't want a Godsforsaken play by play of your liaison."
"Admit what, Vicente? Let me finish," she begged.
"You don't know Lucien like I do. You don't know what he's capable of, but now look, you've opened the door for him. He's sunk his claws in, he's pulling you toward him, and you're lying to me to protect him. To think he's already gotten to you. I can't-"
Nim's defenses flared at the notion that Lucien had somehow seduced her, that he had any crumb of influence over her because of what happened last night. She ground her teeth and shot Vicente a scathing glower.
"Okay, I'll admit it," she snapped at him, throwing her hands up into the air. "We slept together. Is that what you wanted to hear? He fucked me."
Vicente scrunched his face and glared at Nim with eyes full of fiery disdain, a look so menacing that only a dead man could possess it.
"Words cannot describe how incredibly disappointed I am to hear this from you." Though he spoke low and muted, Nim could feel the scorn in his voice as though it burned her. He looked down at her, eyes blazing, and Nim couldn't tell whether they were more disgusted or more angered.
"Vicente, I don't know what to tell you. He caught me off guard as I was returning to the Sanctuary. He-"
"What on Nirn does that even mean? How? You were supposed to be on a contract. Did you go to him? Is this an affair you've been having behind everyone's back? Did he -"
"He was following me," she finally spat out. "I only realized when I was nearing the gates to Cheydinhal, but he could have been trailing me all the way from Anvil. I- I attacked him, not knowing it was a Brother of course, and I tried to run, but he was faster. Stronger too. He took me down with a poisoned blade and by the Gods, if he were truly someone sent after me, I would have been killed."
"He what?" Vicente had stopped pacing his room and stared at Nim, completely nonplussed. His sudden turn to shock stirred another flare of anger within Nim. If only he had let her say her piece in the first place, this whole quarrel would have been avoided!
"He followed me. Me, Vicente. Lucien. Followed. Me!" She jabbed herself in the chest so Vicente would have no doubts as to who she was referring to.
His face contorted in confusion. "But I don't understand how he went from attacking you to taking you to bed."
"I will finish now, and you will listen." Nim plopped herself into the chair at the table and motioned for Vicente to join. "After sensing that I was being stalked, I attacked. He retaliated. I was already pinned on the ground with a blade at my throat before I could see that it was him. Bloody mudcrab started laughing at me as though it were all a joke! We had cut each other up badly, and both of us were losing blood fast. I had shot him with one of my hunting arrows. They're tipped with a poison of drain fatigue, and he struck me with a knife enchanted with a silence spell. We would have bled out right there in the forest if he didn't take me to Fort Farragut. I spent some hours tending to him and brewing a potion to dispel my silence so I could him. My clothing was ruined. He offered me a clean set. And then he asked me to stay for a bit longer. At first, I denied, but then…"
Vicente raised a brow at the Bosmer's guilty expression. "Then?"
"He offered me wine."
Vicente groaned and palmed his forehead. "Sithis' balls, Nim. Wine? That's all it took?"
"Not just any wine," she corrected quickly and raised a finger into the air. "Argonian Bloodwine, okay. You can't get it outside of Blackmarsh unless you have a direct connection to a supplier. And the year! Dear gods it must have cost a small fortune."
"Oh, not any wine, no. Let's just fuck anyone in possession of a classy vintage, shall we?"
"Well, damn I was surprised he had good taste in something besides daggers!"
"You're a foolish child, Nimileth. Gods, how naïve can you be?" Vicente slammed his palms against the table, causing Nim to jump a few inches in her seat. "What did you think his intentions were? You think Lucien would be such a connoisseur if he didn't know wine was such a pathetic weakness of yours?"
Vicente watched as Nim's face fell slack. He could see her nostrils flaring and suddenly grew aware of how harsh his tone and how cruel his words were. The recognition, however, did little to quiet his rage.
"Well, I see where we stand then," Nim stated and abruptly bolted up from her chair with a loud screech. By now, they must have awoken half the sanctuary with their slamming and yelling. "I had no idea you felt so strongly about my drinking habits."
"And then what?"
"No, why should I tell you more when you'll only insult me?" She turned toward the door, shoving her letter in her pocket, but Vicente quickly ran forward and blocked her path. She forgot how fast he was for a 300-year old man. He stretched an arm out to keep her from reaching for the handles.
"And. Then. What," he seethed
Nim stared intently at the door with pursed lips before turning her glare to Vicente.
"And then I was drunk, and he told me he didn't want me to walk back to the Sanctuary. He blocked me from leaving just like you're doing right now."
She watched as Vicente's eyes widened. Suddenly, he didn't look as angry, rather a little ashamed. She too was not as angry with him and exhaled a deep breath. Nim knew why Vicente mistrusted the Speaker so. His reasoning to her had been well justified, and she knew he only wanted to keep her safe too. And what had she done? Thrown herself right into Lucien's trap.
"Lucien wouldn't let me return to the Sanctuary and physically restrained me when I tried to leave. I knew what he wanted. Hell, I'd be lying to you if I said I didn't have the doubt when he invited me for wine. So, I gave in to him. I thought maybe he'd leave me alone if I made it easy, that maybe he'd grow bored with me just like he did with the Aventina and Antoinetta."
Vicente had moved away from the door and relaxed his shoulders, a sullen frown darkening his face.
"Nim," he let out an exasperated sigh. "Forgive my outburst, please. I didn't realize-"
She shook her head. "Don't apologize to me. I'd rather you look at me with anger and disgust than with pity. It was foolish. I know that, Vicente. I shouldn't have stayed as long as I did. I understand why you feel the way you do, but I was only doing what I thought was best in the moment."
"And now?" He asked. "What do you think now?"
"I'm unsure, but I didn't mean to hurt you in anyway."
"Of course not," Vicente replied and slumped down into the nearest chair. "But you're alright? You're unharmed? Nim, I can protect you. You needn't be afraid. I can speak with him."
"No," Nim shook her head again. "I'm fine, and it's done. Vicente, be disappointed in me if you must, but it wasn't like what happened with Lorise."
The room lay in silence as Vicente studied her face. It dropped slightly as she worried the corner of her mouth.
"I understand now," he said softly.
"Vicente-"
"Leave me, please, Nim. I need space to collect my thoughts."
"I'm sorry."
"Please."
She left after that, closing the door gently behind her before darting away. Vicente drummed his fingers on the table as he thought of what he could possibly do beside watch her spiral away from him as Lucien dragged her into his fort like another treasure to lay claim to. Vicente couldn't remember the last time he felt so useless. If he thought he was hungry for blood before, he was ravenous now.
Nim paced back and forth in the training room, still smoldering from the fight with Vicente. Eventually, she decided that waiting around for Ocheeva to wake up so she could receive the reward from her contract was not worth the risk of running into Lucien should he arrive shortly. She left for the chapel, grateful to find it empty, where she offered silent prayer to Dibella and asked the divine to forgive the wicked acts she had committed in the recent hours. Afterwards, she scurried off to Newlands Lodge in the shopping district of Cheydinhal, eager for a bath and a hot breakfast. She would simply have to return after she visited Bruma, and Nim forced herself to stop wishing that she had gone that route in the first place. Dwelling did nothing to make the future brighter, and if she didn't have the hope of a promising future to strive for, what did she have?
After paying, Nim made her way to the inn's bath and without meaning to, she fell asleep in the tub as the warm water lulled her mind into hazy dream. She awoke to pale light shining in through the window and cold water engulfing her pruned body. She hadn't had much sleep the night before and the heaviness in her limbs reminded her of that fact with each movement. She groaned and dried herself before heading down to the bar to purchase dried goods for her days travel.
"Hey," a woman's voice spoke up from beside her. Nim turned to find Lorise dressed in a plain linen dress. She carried a canvas sack overflowing with the green leaves of various vegetables.
"Hi," Nim responded nervously. "What are you doing here?" She swiped her wet hair over her shoulder, revealing a darkened spot of damp fabric on the front of her robes. She hadn't run into her Dark Brothers and Sisters often while travelling the surface world, and the sight of them in such mundane settings left her particularly uneasy.
"I live here," Lorise said with a playful smile. "You don't. What's your excuse?"
She shrugged nonchalantly and leaned an arm against the counter top as she spun a pretty lie. "Just needed some supplies for the road. I'm collecting lavender and ginseng in these parts before the weather gets too cold and the leaves wither away. They grow better in the Nibenay Basin than anywhere else in Cyrodiil. Foxglove too, but it's rather late in the season to harvest nectar. There are several tributaries of the Niben Bay where it's still plenty abundant along the water banks, like the Reed River just south of town. I might try my luck there this afternoon, time willing."
Lorise raised her brows in pleasant surprise as the small Bosmer prattled on about the health benefits of fresh ginseng.
"Wow, that was impressive! You would have had me fooled had I not known better. How did you come up with that so fast?"
Nim cocked her head. "Nothing I said was false. All of those plants are found in the Nibenay Basin and I did collect some lavender yesterday."
The older woman grinned with admiration. "Who would have thought alchemists would have such detailed alibis? Now are you leaving town or staying in?
"Leaving town," Nim admitted.
"Oh? What ingredients will you collect next?" Lorise asked with a wicked smirk. Nim paused briefly to accept her sack of fruits and bread from the Dunmer publican and then turned to face her fellow bosmer. Lorise placed a hand on her hip and pointed at the sack of groceries that Nim was slipping into her pack with a disappointed frown. "Don't tell me that's your breakfast."
"It's supposed to be," she replied, suddenly conscious of her sugary meal.
"No, absolutely not. Apples, apples, apples. What are you, a horse? Come, have a proper breakfast with me." Lorise raised her bag and shook it gently in the air. "I just restocked my pantry."
Nim shifted on her foot as the woman's teal eyes sparkled back at her and then slung her bag over her shoulder. "Okay," Nim replied nonchalantly as though she and Lorise met for brunch on a regular basis. She followed the woman out into the morning air.
Having breakfast with the Grand Champion of the Arena while in the Sanctuary was often unavoidable, and the surrealness of the situation had only just begun to wear off on Nim. And now here she was, invited her for a meal at the Grand Champion's private residence… well, how could anyone say no?
The house at the end of the residential road stood tall and ivy covered with the casual elegance that much of Cheydinhal possessed. After they entered and began a brief tour, it took a long time for Nim to decide what word could describe the feeling of Lorise's home. Modest did not say enough. The walls were mostly bare save a few wall sconces and mounted blades. Ceramic pots of desiccated flowers sat above the hearth with an assortment of well-used candles.
It shouldn't have been at all surprising given what Nim knew of Lorise from conversation, but she couldn't help thinking that an Arena Grand Champion should be living in a much more glamorous estate. There should be statues and lavish silk tapestries. Mounted minotaur heads and bear pelts galore. Everything about the house seemed to serve some practical purpose, and there was little in way of décor. It was plain and minimalist, the bareness of someone who had once had everything taken away and had since decided that nothing would ever be taken from them again.
"How do you like your eggs?" Lorise called from the second-floor landing. Nim glanced up from the rack of swords on the wall.
"Scrambled?" Her voice pitched to a high note.
The woman chuckled. "Are you asking me a question?"
"Scrambled," Nim repeated again with certainty. "Say, aren't all Grand Champions supposed to have a portrait commissioned as part of their reward."
"Aye," Lorise replied. "I had one painted."
Nim glanced around the walls of the second floor as she ascended the stairs. "Where is it?"
"Oh," Lorise drawled. "Up in the attic somewhere."
"The Attic? How come?"
"Would you like a portrait of yourself hanging in your house?"
"No," Nim replied grimly. "I suppose I wouldn't. I can hardly stand a mirror most days. But then again, I've done nothing worthy of a portrait anyway. Perhaps I'd feel differently if I had."
"Eh," Lorise shrugged dismissively. "It's not a particularly good work either. I know I should be grateful, but the portraitist took a few too many creative liberties to my liking. Like my breasts, much too large. They were sagging watermelons, and I wasn't even wearing something form fitting! I was in armor for Gods' sake." She shook her head in earnest disappointment as she mumbled something below her breath that Nim could not quite make out. "Normally Rythe Lythandas would be the hired portraitist, but he was unavailable. Apparently, he's been missing for some time now."
"He is? That's a travesty! His paintings of the Great Forest are known to be the finest depictions of the Cyrodiilic landscape." Nim walked toward the kitchen and leaned against the wall as she watched Lorise fry eggs. "And even his earlier work from when he was still living in Morrowind are breath-taking. He doesn't get enough credit for those. It's like the foliage comes alive every time I pass it in my foyer."
"You own some of his work?" Lorise asked, the surprise clear as day in her voice, and Nim wanted to pinch herself. Rythe Lythandas was the most famous painter in all of Cyrodiil. Every one of his paintings shone with a brilliance that rivaled Masser and Secunda in full. His work was coveted by the rich and noble, and Nim was neither.
"Er, yes. I found them in the basement of the home I moved into. Must have been forgotten."
"Well lucky for you, but who would be foolish enough to part with those!"
"My thoughts exactly," Nim replied as calmly as she could manage.
"He lives in Cheydinhal too, did you know?"
Nim shook her head.
"Or he did at least. His poor wife. I thought to pay her visit and offer my help, but I haven't the brains to be a private investigator, I'm afraid. I suppose I am an artist too in some ways. I paint in blood and I like sculpting things, flesh mostly. I don't do well with puzzles however."
Lorise set down two plates of eggs, sweet potato, and fried sausage. She reached up toward the rack of hanging spice bundles and pried off a few sprigs of dry elves ear before crushing them in her palm and sprinkling them over the plate. "Grab those mugs, will you?" she grinned. "Let's sit on the balcony,"
The two women found their seats across from one another as they ate their breakfast and sipped from the piping mugs of coffee. They sat together without speaking for several minutes, listening only to the songs of the morning birds and the rustle of soft breeze through the willows along the riverbank. The town awoke slowly on the streets below them and in the distance, doors creaked open and feet fell heavy against the stone paths.
Nim looked over at Lorise who was sat with her legs crossed and elbows resting on the table as she blew steam off the rim of her mug. Her hair fell with carefree grace around her shoulders, shimmering like polished obsidian. Few knew how to appreciate companionable silence without letting an awkwardness build, but Lorise held a wordless smile like warm honey, and Nim was thankful.
After several more minutes of quiet people-watching, Nim had shown her full appreciation for her hosts meal by finishing everything on her plate and containing her burps.
"I don't get many visitors," Lorise sighed softly, her eyes fixed on a mother and daughter walking toward the book store. "Except Vicente and Antoinetta, but even she comes less often these days."
"I find it hard to believe that you don't have suitors and lords crawling up the ivy to win your favor."
The woman chuckled and looked over at Nim curiously. "I think your idea of what my life is like is quite different from the reality. But anyway," she waved her hand flippantly, "new contract, right? Who is it this time? Is it that noble visiting his mother in town? Teinaava was telling me about it the other day."
"I haven't picked one up actually," Nim confessed, twisting her cup back and forth in her palms. "I've other business that I've grown lax in. I should see to it before making more commitments."
"How responsible of you," Lorise teased gently, and Nim appreciated that she did not attempt to pry into her life outside of the Sanctuary. Lorise continued, resting her head in her hand as she leaned on the table. "Vicente said Lucien was in this morning. He overhead him speaking with Ocheeva. He has something special lined up for you it seems. Probably best not delay."
Nim was tempted to ask whether the Speaker had left the Sanctuary or not, but she couldn't think of a way to say so without arising suspicion or pointing the conversation in Lucien's direction. It was plenty obvious from their previous conversations that Lorise was aware of the building tension between the Eliminator and the Speaker. Nim didn't want to give the older Bosmer more reason to bring him into the conversation. Thankfully, Lorise continued.
"I imagine you'll be making Assassin after this. And then what, I wonder?"
"What do you mean," Nim asked. "What else?"
A sudden chill crept up Nim's leg as she tried to answer the question herself. What else? Would she become an Executioner like Vicente and Ocheeva? She imagined herself reading through all of the gruesome desires scrawled upon those little letters that detailed how someone would die. She thought of Mathieu hunched over in tears as he whispered yet another foreboding warning against her ear, and her stomach knotted. She thought of the Gray Cowl in her pack, it's secret daedric magic leaching into her blood and staining it with forbidden knowledge. Why could she not bring herself to push the awful power away like she claimed she would? And now, how far would she climb in the ranks of the Dark Brotherhood if she let herself drift off into those darkened waters? To Silencer? To Speaker? What else, she shuddered.
Despite the picturesque setting and the warm satisfaction of a fine meal settling in her belly, Nim began to grow queasy. In fact, perhaps it was the beauty surrounding her that left Nim feeling so out of place and sick to her stomach. She watched the sparkling water ripple below the touch of a falling oak leaf and felt as though she were polluting the very air around them.
"What's wrong?" Lorise asked with a calm concern. "Are you feeling ill? Dervara told me those sausages were fresh."
"Oh, it's not my stomach," Nim quickly corrected. "I'm just a bit tired that's all."
"Mmhm," the older Bosmer hummed skeptically and Nim was reminded all of the suspicious squints that Vicente had given her earlier that morning. Lorise frowned at the girl's darkening appearance. "Is something bothering you?"
Remembering the letter in her pocket and her unanswered questions from Vicente, Nim nodded. "Well, yes I suppose there is. I really wanted to speak to Vicente about it today, but he seems rather… preoccupied."
Lorise tensed at the mention of Vicente and tucked her bottom lip beneath her front teeth. She gave a strained squint, as though thinking deeply on whether or not speak. "Is it-" the woman began and quickly shut her mouth. The uneasy expression made Nim inexplicably nervous.
"What's that," Nim asked, before becoming quickly aware that the older woman was desperately trying to bite her tongue. Nim suddenly found herself tempted to throw herself off the balcony and make a run for the Blue Road as she anticipated Lorises's next words.
"Is it about what happened with Lucien?" Lorise whispered, and immediately regretted the question once she saw the thin, bloodless line forming on Nim's mouth. "Oh no, I'm so sorry. I misread the situation completely," she apologized with a profoundly guilty expression. "I thought that was what you were referring to. I shouldn't have said anything."
"Vicente told you about it?" Nim said with venom on her tongue as she looked away, feeling her face flush warm and pink.
"He did," Lorise replied with a soft squeak and Nim scoffed despite willing herself to suppress the urge.
"We only spoke what, three hours ago?" The young elf pinched the bridge of her nose and attempted to calm the rising irritation in her chest as she gazed skyward. "Did he send you to find me? What else does he want to know that I haven't told him?"
"No, I ran into you by complete accident. Don't be mad at him, please. He came to find me early this morning and he looked so upset. I had to pry it out of him. He isn't the kind to gossip with someone else's secrets, but he tells me everything. I'm his soulmate."
The look on Nim's face made no attempt to hide her displeasure. She should have known word would find its way out of Vicente's quarters, and sighed in resignation.
"Are you upset with me too," she asked, which drew a wide-eyed expression from Lorise who shook her head quickly. "I just can't handle another argument this morning so I'd rather just by on my way if that is the case."
"Why would I be mad? I don't know what happened last night, and you certainly don't need to apologize to me about it."
Her response did a little to improve Nim's mood. Nim took another sip of her now lukewarm coffee and crossed her arms over her chest, resting them in her lap.
"Vicente is blowing this out of proportion, isn't he," she asked, a faint hopefulness in her voice. Lorise's honest shrug was not the reply she had wanted.
"I think he makes valid points, but Vicente is too intense sometimes," Lorise began. "He feels everything too strongly."
"Side-effect of vampirism?"
"No, side-effect of being Vicente."
"I know he was just looking out for me."
"He'll be fine," Lorise assured her. "He is hurting but only because he feels he should have stopped it from happening somehow. That's just what he gets for feeling it's his Godsgiven responsibility to protect everyone."
Nim stared down at her empty plate with pinched brows. "I didn't think he would react so strongly. I don't mean to sound cold, and I'm grateful he cares for me, but I don't see how it's any of his business."
"Don't worry yourself about it, Nim," Lorise gripped her friend's wrist reassuringly. "He will be fine, but listen, are you alright? I don't want to make the same assumptions as Vicente."
"So then don't. It's simple." The curtness of her reply was not lost on Lorise, and the older woman chewed the inside of her lip as she wondered how to proceed.
"You don't… regret what happened?"
Nim shook her head firmly, the exasperation plain in the roll of her eyes. "To regret it is to admit that I've done something wrong. I'm fine, really. And look," she clapped her hands together and then spread them before her dramatically, "I've swept it from my mind."
"I worry about you," Lorise said softly, taking in the small Bosmer's hard expression. "There is such thing as being too proud. We're all mortal and even if you know some advanced spell to make yourself disappear from view, that doesn't make you invincible."
They a held a moment of eye contact. Lorise stared with a small, crooked grin and Nim looked on harshly but not nearly as harshly as she wanted.
"Please speak plainly, Lorise. If there is something you wish to tell me than say it."
"You did it because you thought he would lose interest afterward, didn't you?"
Nim nodded and scratched at her cheek. "Vicente had told me about Lucien and the women he's been with. He said Lucien grew bored after the chase was over. You know, once they put out or whatever. He didn't say it so crassly, but I understood."
"Oh Vicente," Lorise sighed. "So old and wise yet somehow equally as dense. A marvel, he is. Lucien didn't grow bored with Antoinetta because they slept together. He grew tired of her because she's suffocating."
"Ah," Nim frowned. "I see."
"That's not what he sees in you."
"And what would you know of how he sees me then?" Nim leaned back against the chair with a stifled coolness mellowing the harshness of her features, and Lorise swallowed a smile that began to form at the pique in the small elf's voice.
"Vicente says it something pure. Like an untapped potential, and our Speaker wants it all to himself to sculpt and shape as he so desires. He's possessive like that, and I don't think you've driven him away. I think it only gets worse from here, Sister. You've just given him a taste."
"Well I gave him more than a taste, that's for sure," Nim admitted dryly.
Lorise raised a brow purely on reflex. She didn't know whether or not to smirk at that comment, but the corners of her mouth twitched involuntarily. "So it was like that, huh."
Nim's face reddened again and she looked over the balcony rail to avoid giving anything more away. "You can use your imagination."
"And after, did he snuggle up to you? Did he wrap his arms around you and whisper sweet nothings of the Void and Sithis into your ear?"
Nim gave a casual shrug. "I suppose yes, though I'd hardly consider it romantic. He spoke of how he would have liked to kill me on the day we met. Quite charming, isn't he?"
"Ah, murder and bloodshed," Lorise said with a grimace twisting upon her face. "That is the pinnacle of romance."
Nim found herself chuckling at the woman's expression and the laughter did well to relive the tension coiling inside her. "I thought you were into that kind of thing."
"Vicente may be a vampire and I may be a professional gladiator, but even we know how to separate bloodshed from romance. Passion has many forms and the two ought not to be mixed lest you find yourself in a dangerous ambiguity."
"I think I've had a good lesson in that." Nim finished the rest of her cold coffee and stared at the brown granules that remained in the bottom of her cup. "That's not really why I've been bothered," she said faintly. "I wanted to talk to Vicente about something serious. Something personal that's come into my life recently. I think he may be the only one that could explain it to me."
"Serious?" Lorise's eyes widened to perfect circles. "How serious?"
"Well, I'm unsure. I really don't know what to make of it. I received a letter at my house with a map to a… fortress I've come to inherit."
"So, you received an inheritance? That's not too abnormal."
"I'm an orphan," Nim said, stressing the word. "I have no record of any family. And that's not the strangest part either. The man who wrote it claims to be a follower of SIthis."
Lorise raised her brows. "Family is not always bound by blood. Perhaps it is a member of the Dark Brotherhood and they have chosen you to continue their legacy."
"He made mention of my grandfather," Nim said with a clear nervousness in her voice.
"Do you have it with you?"
Nim pulled out the letter and slid it over to Lorise. She unfolded it with the map side facing upward and her peach-toned skin paled as she scrutinized the black ink of the drawing. It felt like several minutes passed between them as Lorise's eyes prowled back and forth across the paper, taking in all the landmarks and distinctive features surrounding the marked lair. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and hoarse as though all the water in her mouth had evaporated.
"This can't be." Lorise's face grew dark with a mix of horror and disbelief.
"What?"
"I've been here, Nim," she croaked out. "I've seen this map before."
Nim cocked her head, the muscles of her forehead twitching as she struggled to form an appropriate expression. "You found a similar copy in your travels? So, you know of this 'Deepscorn Hollow?'"
"Yes," Lorise swallowed. "My father gave the same map to me the night our farm was raided. I'm sure of it."
Nim shifted forward in her seat, her face growing a little wild around the eyes. "Your father was Greywnyn?"
"Who?" Lorise looked up with mouth agape and a lifted brow. She looked more pained than worried now. More confused than shocked.
Nim gestured at the letter. "The name of the man who wrote to me. Look on the other side."
Lorise flipped the note over and read through the message. She pursed her lips tightly until the skin around them lost color and her eyes flickered back and forth across the words.
"I don't understand this. I don't understand," she murmured. "Vero is my father's name."
"Your father?" Nim's eyes shot open so wide that all of her iris was visible. "Could it be the same one?"
Lorise stuttered for a minute and dropped the letter to the table, pushing it away as though it had stung her. "How many could have the same connection to this location. I don't understand any of this."
"Did your father ever speak of the Crimson Scars," Nim pressed despite the growing discomfort in Lorise's posture. "Does this seem likely at all?"
To her surprise, Lorise nodded.
"My Father wasn't a good man. He was good to us. He was always good to us, but he also led us to ruin. In his earlier years he ran with a group of mercenaries. I don't know what trouble they got into, but it followed him wherever we went."
"The Crimson Scars sound like more than simple swords for hire."
"How can I be certain of what band of outlaws he ran with," Lorise said and her voice was hard though Nim knew it was not directed at her. "It's been well over three decades since he's been alive. He and my mother were always on the run from somebody he had wronged in his past. They made the mistake of settling down in my mother's hometown in Greenshade when she fell pregnant with my younger sister, Callista. They came for us there. Burned down our farm. Killed my mother and my father. My sister and I escaped with nothing." Lorise shook her head and gave Nim a grim look. "But so what? That explains nothing."
It was true. The story related little to the contents of the letter, but Nim urged her to continue. "And so you sought out the Deepscorn Hollow when you left?"
"Not until many years later," she shook her head "I burned the map into my memory, because I knew the chances of keeping it were slim. I ended up using it for tinder to start a fire as we took shelter from the rain. My sister and I were running from everything. Bandits, slavers, wild animals, the forest itself. I found myself in Cyrodiil only six years ago, and I finally sought out the lair down on the beaches of the Topal Bay, but there was nothing there. It was an abandoned dungeon, very similar to the looks of the Sanctuary here in Cheydinhal now that I think about. There was nothing inside of it but empty rooms and jails cells and a horrid statue that was shattered to pieces. It had been looted some time ago. I remember being so heartbroken when I found that there was nothing of value there. Nothing that could help me."
"Nothing," Nim repeated. A hollow ache churned in her gut.
"Well there was a book," Lorise confessed. Her eyes flickered with promise for only a moment, "a journal of sorts. I still have it. I could never read much of it because it was so waterlogged when I found and until now I've all but forgotten about it. It's been years since I've touched it. I'm fairly certain it's ruined.
Nim leapt at the brief sliver of hope. "May I see it," she asked and did her best to contain the enthusiasm that fluttered in her throat.
Lorise shifted cautiously in her seat before standing and making for the door. She returned shortly with a brown leather-bound journal marred by blooms of mold. Lorise found her seat and began to turn the cover.
"Don't open it," Nim said quickly as she saw the warped pages stretch with one another and threaten to tear. They must have sealed together when dampened. "A page may rip."
"How else will we read it," Lorise frowned.
"I don't suppose we will. Not today at least, but It may be salvageable with the proper tools."
"Can you restore something so water damaged," Lorise asked earnestly.
"Me?" Nim shook her head, but she knew of master archivists at the University who worked with much older tomes in much worse conditions. "Absolutely not, but I know someone who can. May I take it with me?"
"It might not even be useful," Lorise said and passed the journal across the table.
Nim fingered the grooves and warps of the bindgins. "Does this mean we are kin by blood," she asked without looking up.
"I think I would know if a birthed a child from my loins," the older woman snorted.
"Obviously. I didn't mean it like that, but Greywyn referred to Vero as my grandfather. You said you have a sister."
"Yes. Grandfather," Lorise repeated, a faraway look settling in her eyes. "What could that mean?"
"Well it means your father had a child, and that child-"
"No, Nimileth, I know what a grandfather is, but I only have one sister. It wouldn't add up. She would have been so young. It-" she grimaced as though tasting something foul, "It can't be."
"And why not?"
"The last time we were together was when we were being sold to a group of slavers on the border of Valenwood and Elsweyr. We were destined for Morrowind and separated soon after. Last I heard from her, she was working at a brothel in Suran. No mention of a child. The timing, the location. I don't see how it could be. She wasn't there when I looked for her, and nobody could tell me where she went. I haven't been able to find her since."
"Oh," Nim said and her voice was a whisper thin she barely heard it.
"I told you my life wasn't always so luxurious." Lorise smiled despite the heaviness of her eyes.
"Well, the mistress of my orphanage always told me I was the daughter of a whore."
"Yes, well so is a good portion of the population. You're hardly a minority."
"Perhaps there were siblings you didn't know of," Nim suggested. Lorise shrugged.
"I suppose my father could have had other children before he met my mother."
A long pause of silence spanned between the next set of exchanged words. The wind rustled the long, bending willow branches, and a distant childish laughter ricocheted off the stone of the tall houses. It was an echoing quiet, louder than the background noise. It sounded of reopened wounds and the loss that seeped from them.
Nim spoke again with controlled softness, not wanting to intrude upon the shared silence. "Vicente would know, wouldn't he? About the Crimson Scars. He's been in the Dark Brotherhood for two centuries. He must have heard of them. Maybe he knows of a man named Vero or Greywyn who splintered off to form their own faction."
Lorise turned her head toward the rest of Cheydinhal and watched as her neighbors returned from the market with baskets full of fresh produce. The little girl skipped behind her mother's skirt clutching a new book in her spindly arms.
"Perhaps he would," she said, "and what would that tell you? That they existed? That they killed in the name of Sithis? What else do you hope to learn?"
"Anything," Nim replied, an eagerness in her voice that Lorise had never heard before. "Don't you want to learn about your father?"
Lorise shook her head. "He's dead. He gave me life and then ten lifetimes of pain to follow it. What does his past matter to my existence now?"
"That was awfully insensitive of me," Nim said apologetically.
"No," Lorise replied with a small shake of her head. She stretched her arm across the table and motioned for Nim's hand. "If this letter is true then it means I still have relatives in this world. I should be nothing but grateful." She squeezed and stared intently at the hand held between her palms. "You do look like her though, my sister. Have I ever told you that?"
"You have," Nim admitted. "Except the hair."
"Right, different shades of red."
"I've always thought my hair more brown than red."
"Well," Lorise shrugged, "you have her eyes, same as my mother. A mix of brown and green like the trees of western Valenwood in the peak of summer, so dark and lush they look black in passing."
"You might be looking a little too hard now."
Lorise chuckled soft and sincere despite the bitter melancholy in her mouth.
"Maybe," she replied.