I was surprised, when I arrived at the Skeever about a week before Saturalia, to see a stranger alongside Corpulus behind the bar. Perhaps a few years older than me, an obviously new set of clothes strained across his broad shoulders. He wore his dark hair in a topknot, and I thought his eyes were probably dark as well, but it was hard to tell as he kept them downcast. His tanned, thickly muscled forearms were knotted tightly in front of his deep chest. Corpulus introduced him as his younger son Felix, newly arrived from Skingrad to help with running the inn.

"I've been having trouble keeping up with all the work ever since Sorex … well, I could use an extra pair of hands about the place. Especially since this little lark" — he brightened, and slapped me on the shoulder — "has been enticing all those other inns' customers to the Skeever with her honeyed voice and silvered strings!"

I blushed. I had noticed the inn was increasingly cramped, but had attributed it to the cold and dreary weather driving people inside.

Strangely, Felix hadn't said a word this whole time, nor raised his eyes from the point on the bar to which he'd fixed them. I wished him welcome to the city, then retreated to unpack my lute as Corpulus began explaining to Felix the finer points of handling drunk customers.

I ruefully noticed that Minette was nowhere to be seen. This would be hard for her to stomach indeed. I'd hoped that the one small silver lining to Sorex's death would be that Minette would at least inherit the inn, as she so desperately wanted to. Of the middle Vinius child I knew little, except that he'd remained in Cyrodiil when the rest of the family had moved to Skyrim, owing to a promising apprenticeship. It seemed, however, that the apprenticeship had fallen through — or duty to the family business had required him to abandon it — or perhaps Corpulus was this against a woman running his inn. In any case, it didn't seem as though the Skeever would pass to his daughter after all. Poor Minette.

After settling my lute across my front I began to play. I chose a piece from Cyrodiil I'd recently mastered, wanting to help the newcomer feel a little more welcomed — it was easy to remember how overwhelming it had been when I had first arrived in Solitude myself, and how lonely and far from home I'd felt. Judging by his weathered appearance I suspected Felix had not been living a very cosmopolitan lifestyle, and thought he may be finding the change even more of a shock.

It was a tricky, complex piece and I kept my eyes down, needing to concentrate. At one point I glanced up, startled by a particularly loud shout from a patron, and was immediately caught by Felix's gaze. He was staring at me with such an avid intensity that I blushed again, and nearly fumbled a note. I was struck by his eyes — they were the colour of freshly-turned earth; a deep, rich brown. I quickly looked away.

After about an hour I took a break and settled in next to Inigo and Meeko with a goblet of wine. No sooner had I sat down, however, than I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder. It was Felix.

"That was beautiful," he said simply, meeting my eyes again. His voice was surprisingly soft and gentle for such a large man. He then dropped his gaze and hurried back to the bar. I felt a flush rising, and buried my face in my goblet. Inigo sniggered, but otherwise remained suspiciously silent.

For the rest of the night I played nothing but Cyrodiilic compositions. I also snuck glances at Felix more often than I really should have, and more often than not saw him staring back with that same quiet intensity. At one point I also noticed Inigo and Corpulus with their heads together, chuckling. I rolled my eyes and renewed my focus on my playing.

Caught up in my music, I played until later than usual, and was very tired by the time I strummed my last chord. Felix had disappeared somewhere with Corpulus — but as I packed away my lute, bade Inigo goodnight and Recalled home with Meeko, I couldn't stop thinking of his warm brown eyes and gentle voice.

The next morning I saw Felix again while on my way to the College. He was carrying two enormous sacks of flour from the market towards the Skeever. Each of them probably weighed about half as much as I did, yet he carried them as though they were no heavier than a pair of cushions. I smiled at him, trying to catch his eye as we passed each other, but he kept his gaze cast resolutely downwards.

After my morning's classes — voice with Master Ateia, which was good, and drum with Master Gemane, which was not — I had the fleeting desire to walk home rather than my usual Recall. Perhaps there were more supplies that needed delivering from the market?

I quashed the foolish impulse. Not only did I have music-magic and Restoration practice, both of which felt like an eternal game of catch-up, but in my last lute lesson Master Six-Fingers had started me on a new piece by the renowned Altmer composer Amaderil and … it had not gone well. Divines, had it not gone well. I needed to put in a lot of work, but I knew that it would be well worth it. Amaderil was known even in High Rock as one of history's greatest composers, and I had longed since I was a child to play his music. So I teleported home as usual and spent the afternoon working, and very definitely not thinking about the way Felix's arms and back had looked while carrying those sacks of flour.

Inigo let himself in shortly before suppertime. "Kirilee! I have brought chicken and tomatoes and some lovely fresh bread, I thought we could make some sandwiches — what is that?" he asked, peering over my shoulder.

I leaned back against Inigo and stretched; my back was sore and I had a bad crick in my neck.

"My new Amaderil. I've been annotating it. It's so complex that I need some extra reminders for phrasing and fingerings and the like. Master Six-Fingers is a monster."

Inigo picked up the sheet of paper, which was now so covered in both musical notation and my own markings and cramped handwriting as to have almost no white space left. "How do you make any sense of this? It is all incomprehensible to me … perhaps I should come to one of your lessons, heh."

"Practice, Inigo. And Master Six-Fingers putting the fear of the Divines into me. Or more accurately, the fear of Inge Six-Fingers."

Inigo sniggered, and set about slicing bread and tomatoes.

"You will not change before supper? We will not have much time after," he said five minutes later, while I was checking over a particularly tricky passage, and practicing my fingerings in the air.

"Oh — no, not til after we eat."

"Why not?"

"Well. I thought I might wear my special gown tonight — you know, the one I wore to the soiree in Riften? I wouldn't want to get food on it." My cheeks heated.

He shot me a very knowing look."Is that not a little … fancy for the Skeever? You do not normally dress so finely for a weekday evening …"

My blush intensified. "No. But, well … it seems like such a shame to have such a wonderful garment just languishing in my wardrobe, doesn't it? And … well, if Corpulus is right about my bringing in all this extra custom to the inn, then surely it's my duty to present myself as best I can?"

"Mmhmm … and this newfound zealousness for how you look in the inn would definitely have nothing to do with a certain young man who has just started gracing the Skeever with his presence, would it?"

"Certainly not," I snapped. "I'm just being professional."

Master Six-Fingers sent me home early from my lute lesson the next day, irritably muttering that there was no point wasting both our time when my mind was so clearly elsewhere. I felt abashed, but was glad of the extra practice time, especially as I needed to prepare for Restoration training the next day.

On my way out of the College Viarmo called to me from inside his office. Laila Law-Giver wanted dinner entertainment on Loredas, and this time she had not so much requested as demanded my presence. Viarmo huffed, clearly not enjoying being ordered around from the other side of the province.

"Would you mind?" he asked, sounding uncharacteristically apologetic.

I shrugged. "I don't mind. Tomorrow's my day in Whiterun, anyway."

Viarmo then looked me unblinkingly in the eyes. "Now, there's no official College business I need you to take care of on this trip, but I'd appreciate hearing of anything interesting you might notice during your travels. My niece is coming to visit, and I could always use new stories to tell her."

"Certainly, Headmaster. I'll keep an ear out for any gossip," I said. Then I headed home to practice and pack.

After a long afternoon's practice I didn't much feel like cooking, so I met Inigo at the Skeever for supper before my set, leaving a bowl of chopped chicken for a snoring Meeko to find when he woke up. I hoped there was something good in the pot tonight; I'd been so absorbed in my work that I had forgotten to eat lunch.

"Here we are!" Corpulus said, sliding two brimming bowls in front of us. "Vegetable stew, young Felix's first!"

I nodded appreciatively but had to stifle a gag after taking my first spoonful. It was far too salty, and overspiced, to boot; my tongue burned and my eyes watered.

"It's very … flavourful," I choked out. "Very unique. My … my compliments to Felix."

Inigo didn't even pretend, instead pushing his bowl away as soon as Corpulus had turned his back. Even though Felix was behind the bar I could see his cheeks redden from across the room.

"Meeko is lucky to have been spared this," Inigo muttered.

"Stop that!" I hissed. "It's only his third night. He'll learn."

"Perhaps you could teach him? Invite him over for a cosy little tete-a-tete? I can picture it now — he is stirring, and you reach out a hand to correct him … your fingers brush his over the wooden spoon …"

"Shut up," I said, crossing my arms.

"Ahh, now you are as red as poor Mister Felix! You truly are a match made in Aetherius!"

"Shut. Up."

As during the previous two nights, Felix's eyes lifted from their permanently-downcast state only while I was playing. Even when I wasn't watching I could feel his gaze on me, and it was hard not to feel self-conscious. I stuck to safe pieces, ones I knew back to front and had no risk of fumbling. Nevertheless it was something of a relief when I finally put down my lute for the night.

After packing up and bidding Inigo a slightly frosty goodnight I stopped by the bar.

"Corpulus — I'm just letting you know, I'll be away for a few days. I'm in Whiterun tomorrow, and then I have an engagement in Riften."

Felix's eyes instantly snapped up, his expression unreadable.

"No problem, larkling. See you when you get back."

"Thanks, Corpulus. Goodnight — and goodnight, Felix."

Felix didn't say anything through the whole exchange, and only nodded in response, but I could feel his stare following me all the way out of the room.

Though his gaze was cut off by the door closing behind me, thoughts of the enigmatic middle Vinius followed me even further: all the way through the back rooms of the inn and into the alleyway from where I usually Recalled home. In fact, I was so distracted that twice my painstaking assembly of the forms for Recall was interrupted by intrusive wonderings, or flashes of the way Felix's eyes had looked as he'd watched me from under his lashes. I shook my head and closed my own eyes. I needed to concentrate.

My third attempt was interrupted by rough hands seizing my wrists and neck.

I flinched hard, but with my head still full of magical forms my reflexes were slow. By the time I properly realised what was happening my wrists were pinned together by one gloved hand, while another had pushed me by my neck until I was backed up against the wall of the Skeever. Icy fear flooded me as the dim light of the moon illuminated dark, form-fitting armour and cold eyes glinting with malice from behind a cowl. The Dark Brotherhood had found me once more.

Instinctively I struggled, panicking — but at the first hint of movement the pressure on my neck increased and I stopped still.

"None of that, now," said a satiny voice. "You behave, and none of this will be any worse than it has to be. Otherwise, I can make things very interesting indeed. Got it?"

I gurgled in assent. My mind was completely empty, filled with nothing but a terrified keening and the stars reflected in the assassin's eyes.

"No cat or dog to protect you, this time," he said, his voice a blade along silk. "Just a frightened little mouse, all alone in the dark. Finally."

I trembled uncontrollably. My throat hurt. My wrists hurt. My lute case was digging into my spine. The sensations arrived distantly, all else eclipsed by the simple truth of the assassin's words: this time, I was alone. There was nobody to help me. And with my wrists so neatly pinioned there wasn't a single spell I could cast to help myself, even had I the necessary focus to draw one pitiful form to mind.

This time, I was going to die.

The assassin drew closer with silent footsteps, maintaining an even pressure on my neck. A whimper escaped my lips. I couldn't look away from his glassy, star-strewn gaze; coldly indifferent and utterly empty, like a portal into Oblivion itself. He was so close I could feel his breath on my lashes. Tears spilled onto my cheeks.

"Scared, little mouse? You should be. Galithor and Julia were my family. Now, I may have my orders … but nobody said I couldn't have a little fun first. A little pay—"

I screamed.

While the assassin had been talking, one thought had finally broken through the void of terror: get help. And so I had been gasping in little gulps of air, filling my lungs — lungs which had been trained for years to use air as forcefully and efficiently as possible. As soon as I had enough air I let loose with an intensity even Master Ateia would have been proud of.

The assassin reflexively clapped his hands to his ears, doubling over at the sudden piercing screech exploding inches from his eardrums. I scrabbled away from the wall. Trying to put as much distance between myself and the man as possible, I threw myself back towards the door into the Skeever, drawing in an even bigger breath as I did so.

"Help!" I shrieked, as loudly as I could. "Help! Somebody! Help! Please!"

Loud thumping noises came from inside the inn — someone, or someones, thundering down the stairs. The assassin rounded on me with a snarl and daggers drawn. His gaze then flickered to the inn, and after a moment's hesitation he darted away into the darkness. By the time the door burst open and Corpulus, Felix and Inigo had spilled out into the alleyway nothing was left of him but his last hissed words, still echoing in my ears:

Scurry away then, little mouse. Your luck will run out eventually.

Several hours later I was huddled in my bed, my face buried in Meeko's fur, my body pressed against his broad back. Inigo snored softly in a bedroll on the floor. He had insisted on it, after what had happened. When he'd said he would sleep at my apartment I had noticed Corpulus and Felix exchange a look, and had felt a hot flush of shame knowing that Felix would undoubtedly now think me a silly, panicky little girl. The alternative, however — telling them it had been an assassin who had attacked me, rather than a simple cutpurse — would have opened doors I wanted to keep closed.

Regardless of what the Viniuses might have thought, I was extraordinarily glad of Inigo's offer. I didn't want to be alone in the dark.

Even with Inigo's comforting presence just a few feet away, I couldn't sleep. My imagination kept conjuring images of black and red-clad figures slipping through the door, or the trapdoor up to the roof garden; men and women in tight leather armour with cold, empty eyes against whom I was helpless. The assassin in the alleyway had shattered my comfortable illusion of safety. I knew now that not only had they not given up, but that I was far more powerless against them than I'd realised. Intellectually I had known that I relied on Inigo and Meeko to keep me safe, but never before had I truly felt what it was like to be completely alone, and completely defenceless.

I clutched Meeko's fur tightly, trembling. What could I do? I couldn't have Inigo and Meeko with me every minute of the day. How could I possibly stand against the most feared organisation in all of Tamriel, all by myself? And why was I being pursued so relentlessly? Who, who had sent them?

A sudden thought struck me, causing me to stiffen against Meeko's back. The timing of this attack … It had been months since the last one. Could it be coincidence that the next attack had occurred not long after I had written home, both relaying my suspicions about Etienne to Father and contacting Etienne himself?

I pushed my face back into Meeko's fur and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to banish the awful suspicion. I didn't want to, couldn't let myself believe that my very own cousin could be behind my bruised neck and still-whirling terror. But I had to admit that all signs seemed to point towards it … and also that I didn't actually know him all that well. I would never have thought Etienne capable of such a thing, but Skyrim had taught me that there were far darker depths to the hearts of Men and Mer than I'd ever thought possible.

Meeko snuffled in his sleep as I drew him more tightly to myself, weeping. What did it even matter, though, whether it was Etienne or not? I couldn't do anything about it regardless. Father clearly didn't believe me, and it would make little difference who was responsible when a dagger slid between my ribs.

I was helpless. Powerless. Just a lost little girl-child who relied on better and stronger friends.

Mother Mara, give me strength, I silently begged. Give me strength. Or guidance. Something, please. How can I face this with love? How can I survive with nothing to arm me but kindness?

There was no answer. And so I cried softly into Meeko's fur, clutching him like a child clutches a favourite toy, until sleep eventually claimed me.

I struggled to focus during my training with Danica the next day. Every few minutes I'd glance over my shoulder to where Inigo and Meeko were lounging in the weak winter sunshine. Inigo would smile and nod when I caught his eye, and I would return to my work, reassured — until a few minutes later, when the fear and uncertainty would grow overwhelming enough that I would once again be too distracted to concentrate. It was hardly ideal, as Danica had started me relearning my spell to heal others, and I really needed to apply myself.

"What has gotten into you today? You're jumpy as a jack-rabbit!" Danica exclaimed in exasperation, after the dozenth such occurrence. "If your friends are so distracting that you keep needing to check up on them, perhaps I should send them away."

My breath caught and I instantly broke into a sweat, despite the cold winter air. "No — please — don't —"

Danica peered at me. "What's the matter, dear? Something's not right. Why are you so frightened?"

I stared back, my tired, bloodshot eyes wide with barely-controlled fear and anxiety. Suddenly, I didn't care whether knowing about the assassins might make her suspicious. I needed to share this burden with someone more than just Inigo, and my heart reached out towards the calm, kind, unflappable priestess. It was her job to listen to people and help set their minds at ease, wasn't it?

I opened my mouth. My lower lip trembled, and tears prickled in my eyes. It was so hard to let secrets free.

"Come, dear," she said, taking me by the arm. "I'll make some tea, and we can talk. Bring Inigo and Meeko, if you wish."

"… Okay. And it's — it's okay. They can stay." I waved to Inigo then followed Danica inside the temple and into her office.

Danica brewed a pot of her own special herbal tea blend, and though she swore it had no special alchemical properties, I felt myself relax as soon as the curling, aromatic steam brushed my nostrils. I inhaled deeply, and began to talk. I told her about all three attacks, but especially the last one, and the feelings of utter helplessness and terror it had inspired in me.

"That sounds … awful, dear," Danica said. Her face was tight, drawn; her earth-stained fingers clenched her mug. "I can't imagine what it must have been like, to go through such a thing, and so young …"

"I've … I've never been so frightened," I confessed. "I've been in awful, terrifying situations before, since arriving in Skyrim, but death has never felt so close or … or inevitable. It's never been so painfully clear just how much I can't protect myself. I can't think about anything else. What happens the next time I'm attacked, without Inigo and Meeko there to save me?"

There was a long silence while we sipped our tea. Danica's normally pale-blue eyes were conflicted and uncertain, as though a storm raged within her.

"I don't know what to do," I said.

"I … I wish I could help you, my child …"

My heart clenched. "You can't?"

"I …"

"Can't you … can't you say something to help me feel better? Pass on some sage words of wisdom? Please, Danica. I need … I need to not be so frightened. If not even you can …" I left the sentence hanging, unshed tears once more blurring my vision.

Danica didn't speak for a long time. I stared into the depths of my mug, breathing deeply, trying to still my quaking fear. When Danica had offered to listen to my troubles I had known a small moment of hope, but now …

Eventually Danica cleared her throat, and I looked up from my tea to see her eyes were as the sky once more, regarding me with a gaze as clear and open as the assassin's had been dark and empty.

"What do you know of the offensive capabilities of the Restoration school, dear?"

I was startled by the unexpected question. "Um. Not much. I know there are some spells that are good against undead? But the assassins are mortal, and besides, I couldn't cast anything with my hands bound. Otherwise I could have at least grabbed my flute, or maybe Recalled … but that takes too long to cast anyway, probably, but, um, in any case I don't really … do offensive spells. They feel … wrong." I realised I was babbling, but Danica didn't interrupt, instead waiting until I had talked myself out with a very serious expression on her face.

She leaned forward on her chair. "Child, what I am about to tell you is a closely-guarded secret. The only reason I am sharing this with you is because you yourself are also a servant of the Divines, and I know you to have a pure soul and a good heart. I trust you will not misuse this knowledge."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"I can see that you are on the brink. Normally I would counsel you to learn to master your fear, but in this instance … your fear is not unfounded, and you need more than empty reassurances. There is a spell. A dangerous spell; but a spell which can save your life when all else has failed. To be used only when all else has failed. Do I have your word, before I teach it to you, that you will only use it in the direst of circumstances, and only to save a life?"

"Yes. Of course. But I don't —"

"Hush. Listen closely now. We have spoken before about Restoration being the channeling of life energy, yes? Well, rather than channeling energy in, we can instead channel energy out."

"What! But I never knew …"

"No. It is not widely known. As I said, this is powerful, dangerous knowledge, typically only granted to Master healers. Not because it is difficult; but because it is far, far too easy. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I do," I said, my eyes wide.

"Good. Come back tonight, and I will teach you. This is not a spell to be taught in the light of day, or with others about. And also," — her sombre stare dissolved into a mischievous smile — "this spell is built from the healing spell we are working on today. So, you will need to properly apply yourself for the rest of the day, hm?"

My own tension and fear loosened at Danica's teasing words, and I couldn't help but laugh with her. I also had to admit that the prospect of learning a spell with which to arm myself helped very much in soothing my frayed nerves, and I threw myself into the remainder of the day's study with a furious determination. Danica had said I needed to master the base spell first, so I pushed myself as hard as I could, and by late afternoon had fixed my fundamentals to Danica's satisfaction. She let me go with a warm smile and a wash of healing energy to take away my headache, and told me to rest for a few hours before returning in the evening.

"Huh," I said to Inigo, as we headed towards the Bannered Mare. "I guess you can heal away a headache. I should've thought to ask Danica whether it's left out of student-level healing spells on purpose. Or maybe you have to be casting it on someone else?"

Inigo laughed. "You are sounding very much better! I had not thought to hear you musing about headaches today. What did Mother Danica say to set your mind at ease?"

After checking nobody was within earshot, I lowered my voice. "She's going to teach me a spell tonight. Some kind of secret offensive Restoration spell which she says can save my life in extreme circumstances."

"I thought you did not like offensive magic?"

"I don't. But, well, after last night …" I stopped, hugging myself. Under my fingers I could feel the scar from my long-healed arrow wound through my sleeve. For a moment my eyes lingered on Meeko, who was splashing in one of the city's shallow waterways; joyous and carefree.

"I'm sick of feeling scared, Inigo," I said, my voice little more than a whisper. "If I never have to use it I'll be glad, but … I'm sick of feeling scared."

Inigo's expression was unreadable. "I understand," he said. "Come, let us go have some supper. You did not have lunch; you must be very hungry."

As we ate our three-bean soup in the cosy warmth of the Bannered Mare I had to admit to myself that I was a little apprehensive. A spell to take away life energy, rather than give it … I found it a rather grim prospect. On the other hand, Danica was one of the wisest people I knew, with an unshakeable moral conviction as strong and deep as the roots of a great tree. If she thought it was good and proper for me to learn this spell then surely it must be all right? She was a true and faithful servant of the Divines, and presumably wouldn't pass on anything to me without believing it was the right thing to do. In fact, perhaps this had been Mara's own answer to my plea the night before.

More than anything else, though, my words to Inigo had been the simple and desperate truth. Danica's offer had taken my fear away. I did not want it back.

Strains of Mikael's lute drifted over the inn's murmured conversations as I spooned my soup in silence, watching him play. It wasn't much of a distraction, unfortunately. He was fumbling his way through a piece I had heard Lisette play many a time at the Skeever, and doing a far worse job of it than she ever had.

I felt a sudden lurch in my stomach. Lisette would at that very moment probably be playing at the Skeever herself; perhaps even the very same piece. Would Felix be turning that bottomless stare on her, in my absence? Would he be thinking of me at all? I scowled at my soup, thinking that it was stupid of me to hope that he might. After all, I had no reason to think that my … noticing him was in any way reciprocated. He'd barely spoken a handful of words to me, nor paid me any attention at all when I wasn't playing. And then there had been the scene behind the inn the previous night. … He probably just liked the music.

I met Danica in the temple an hour after sunset. She locked the door of her office behind us, after checking that the temple's acolytes — most newly arrived since the planting of the young Gildergreen — had all left for their own suppers.

"You're ready?" Danica said, deathly serious. "You have considered carefully the implications and the consequences of learning this magic? This knowledge is a great and heavy responsibility."

My back straightened, and I met her eyes with as much confidence and surety as I could muster. "Yes. I'm ready. I … accept the responsibility. I will make sure I'm equal to it."

"I know you will, dear. I would rather it were not necessary … but, well. Kynareth's winds blow as they will. Here." She handed me a small slip of paper.

I gasped. "This is … so simple. The forms … I've never seen them before, but they're —"

"Nearly identical for those we use to heal others, yes," Danica said placidly. "These changes, here and here, redirect the energy to flow outwards, rather than in. And instead of the usual method, where we pull energy from our environment and push it into the subject …"

"… We pull from the subject and push into the environment," I said with a thrill of horror. I traced my fingers over the three curling shapes, then the letters above them. "These syllables above the forms — this is a verbal spell?"

"It is. And, as I said, a dangerous one. Without the somatic buffering it is very easy for you to hurt yourself in the casting. But on the other hand, it means you can cast it even with your hands bound."

"This is perfect," I breathed. "Perfect, but … more than a little terrifying."

"I'm glad you think so," Danica said. "As I said this morning, it is a spell to cast only in the very direst of circumstances. The spell rips life energy from the subject in one concentrated burst, even unto the point of death. There is no way of controlling it — and no way to practice, obviously. If you cast this spell, you are doing so with the knowledge that you may in every likelihood be condemning Man, Mer or beast to a swift and unstoppable death. Be very sure that it is a consequence you accept."

I nodded mutely.

"Good. You've memorised the spell?" I nodded again, and Danica took back the slip of paper. "I will see this burned. Do not ever write it down, or speak it to another."

"Yes, Danica. I understand. And … thank you."

Danica sighed heavily. "I cannot say that you are welcome, child. I pray to the Goddess you will never need it. Nevertheless … Kynareth's winds blow as they will. We can only bow before them."