The College reopened on the second day of the new year. With a light heart and a cheerful smile, I joined the press of students milling about the entrance hall and common room, enjoying the feeling of belonging somewhere as I wound through the crowd, listening to my classmates exchanging holiday gossip and exclaiming over one another's new clothes and haircuts. Surrounded by so many taller people I was constantly bobbing on the balls of my feet trying to see, but was spared after a few minutes of searching by Ataf's voice calling, "Kirilee! Over here!" A few moments of ducking and weaving later and I'd found Ataf and Illdi together in a corner near Viarmo's office.

"Happy New Life!" I said to Illdi, who'd been back home for the holiday period. "Did you have a good Saturalia with your family?"

"Yes, it was lovely," she said. "It was so good to spend some time with my parents. I'd really been missing them."

She did look well, too; sunnier and brighter than I'd seen her in quite some time. I imagined the time with her family must have helped her heart heal after Aia.

"How are they?" Ataf asked. "I liked them both a lot, that one time they came to visit."

"Oh, they're doing wonderfully," Illdi said. "That new meadery, Honningbrew, has been so successful that they've negotiated a contract for almost all of our honey. Pa thinks we might even be able to expand in the spring, start up some new hives. It's so tremendously lucky. They were very worried about how the honey would sell, with the war. But it seems the Divines are watching over us."

"That's wonderful, Illdi. I'm so glad," I said.

"They loved the dress you gave me, by the way. I wore it for Saturalia and the whole village complimented me. Even Lord Rorik himself." She beamed, and I thought that she'd never looked more beautiful.

Ataf seemed to think so too. He coloured a little, and after a moment to presumably gather his courage stammered, "D-d'you think I could see it sometime, Illdi? While you're wearing it, I mean?"

Illdi blushed as well, the crimson much more obvious against her pale skin. "Oh! Um, sure, Ataf. If you'd like. I'd like that."

"That's — thanks," he said, sounding surprised.

He and Illdi stood for a few heartbeats in embarrassed silence, both seeming unsure of what to say, before he gave up and turned to me.

"Speaking of Saturalia, thanks for that book. It was, um … enlightening."

"You're welcome," I grinned, while Illdi said, "What book?" — but he pretended not to hear her.

"Oh! That reminds me!" I said. After rummaging in my bag for a few seconds I reemerged holding a small flat box, which I held out to Illdi. "Your Saturalia gift."

"You shouldn't have, Kirilee! You already got me that gown …"

"That was for your birthday. Open it!"

She lifted the lid of the box and gasped. Then, to my confusion and disappointment, her face fell.

"Don't you — don't you like it?" I said. "I had it made by this wonderful jeweller in Markarth; I thought, well, you're so good at the flute, and I noticed Master Ateia wore one just like it in gold, so it gave me the idea …"

"It's beautiful," she said softly, lifting the fine silver chain with its flute pendant from the box and holding it up to the light. "I love it. But … I can't really wear this."

"Why not?" I looked back and forth between Illdi and Ataf, feeling incredibly wrong-footed.

Ataf's eyebrows shot up. "Oh! Illdi, I don't think she knows." He turned to me. "That necklace Master Ateia wears is actually a mark of title. She's a Bard of the North, just like Master Six-Fingers — you'll have noticed her gold lute, right? So if Illdi wore one just the same, but in silver …"

"… Oh. I understand." I felt humiliated, and very stupid.

"Don't be sad, Kirilee," Illdi said. "It really is such a thoughtful gift. And — well, I can still wear it! Just … under my clothes. Or maybe just not at the College. Thank you. It means a lot to me."

"And … maybe you can wear it once you're a Bard of the North too?" I said hopefully. "What does that even mean?"

Illdi laughed. "Oh, no, I doubt that'll ever happen."

"Stop selling yourself short! You're a wonderful musician —"

"No, Kirilee, she's right," Ataf interrupted. "Illdi's very good, but it's a title that's incredibly rarely awarded. It's the highest musical commendation the College has, actually. There's also something to do with the jarls, I think … I don't really know the details. It's not exactly the sort of thing relevant to most of us."

I was about to question him further when Viarmo's office door swung open, making all three of us jump.

"Kirilee. Thought I heard your voice. A word?"

He withdrew his head, but left the door open.

"Probably assigning your new classes," Ataf said. "I didn't get a chance to tell you — I got moved up to intermediate lute! All thanks to your help, of course. And Illdi's been approved for private flute lessons with Master Ateia!" Ataf beamed, standing proud, and Illdi turned a vivid crimson again behind a shy but pleased smile.

"Congratulations to you both," I said. "Don't wait for me, I might be a while. I wouldn't be surprised if Viarmo were to spring a surprise music-magic lesson on me, even if it is only our first day back."

They both groaned sympathetically and waved goodbye. I, however, felt a stirring of excitement as I pulled the door shut behind me.

Viarmo began casting a series of protective wards around the edge of the room. I watched with interest, but didn't interrupt. It was a more complex and delicate magic than I'd ever seen before, though I thought I could just about make out the edges of how he was putting the spells together. When he had finished Viarmo gestured to the chair in front of his desk, then sat down himself, his expression grave.

He waved a hand in the air. "A shame about all this. If anyone senses the wards there might be some funny questions. Necessary, though."

"Why?"

"Because today I need to speak to you plainly, girl," he said, leaning across the desk and steepling his long fingers.

As he spoke, ball of leaden apprehension dropped into my belly. It seemed that while I had been wrapped in my blissful holiday season bubble, the situation in the province outside Solitude had deteriorated substantially. If the civil war had been smouldering like a bed of hot embers last year, something had now stoked it to a roaring blaze.

"Which means I need you cosying up to as many jarls as we can manage. You've got a good foothold in Riften, which we'll use. But I need more. I'm sure by now you've figured out what's at stake."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

"It's lucky you're making waves," Viarmo said, golden eyes glittering. "Makes for the perfect cover. The jarls will all be expecting that ambitious, supercilious, puffed-up old mer to want to maximise his reflected fame, send you out to them as much as possible."

My stomach lurched. Of course. Of course the persona of the vain idiot had been a deliberately-constructed disguise. I'd been a blind idiot myself not to see it sooner.

"Yes, people are rather willing to see what they want to believe, aren't they?" he said airily. By the slight upturn at one corner of his mouth I knew he'd noticed my stark, staring face, but he otherwise made no comment.

"Yes, sir," I said, trying to keep my voice level. I nearly succeeded.

"Anyway, you've got this weekend off, but next Loredas I need you in Morthal. Idgrod Ravencrone's requested you personally," he said, pointing to an unfolded letter on his desk, "which is too good an opportunity to pass up. They call the old crone batty, but don't be fooled. She's sharp as a knife. A mystic, too. Usually keeps to herself, and hasn't taken a stance in the war yet. Morthal's a shithole, but it's spitting distance from Solitude, so we need information. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," I said again, overwhelmed by the unexpected candour. This was not usually how these meetings went.

Somehow discussing it all in the open like this made everything I was doing, and being expected to do, much more … real. Caught up in all the cloak-and-dagger nonsense — the hidden notes, the vague assignments — I realised I'd been treating it almost as a game, relishing the thrill and the secrecy. Now, with everything baldly laid out in the weak morning sunlight, it hit me with the force of a warhammer that what I was engaged in was a long way from frivolous sport. There was a war on, and I was a spy. If caught, I would be tried and executed. I had no illusions that Viarmo, or whoever he reported to, would risk exposing themselves if I blundered. My weekend visits to the jarls put me in at least as much danger as the assassins did.

And yet … I didn't want to walk away. Couldn't imagine saying no to Viarmo, turning my back on the whole mess, and returning to a life of just music. I had a duty to my Empire, regardless of whether I was in High Rock or Skyrim. It was my responsibility to do what I could to quell the Stormcloak threat.

Perhaps more importantly though, much as I still wanted to deny it, a large part of me yearned and reached for the heady, thrilling sense of knowledge and power I felt from dealing in secrets; from piecing together what I heard and saw in a feasting-hall to learn far more than the gossipping nobles thought they were revealing. Unlike Danica's Diagnosis spell it felt … good. This was knowledge I'd earned. It felt like stretching myself into a shape that while new felt comfortable and familiar, as though I'd been born to it.

Perhaps it was the Breton in me, I thought wryly, and it truly was in my blood.

Then I wondered what Felix would think, were he ever to learn of this.

I realised that Viarmo was talking again, and dragged myself back to the present.

"… your studies this year. Giraud says your drumming has shot up, and he wants you moving to his advanced class. Everything else'll stay where it is. Suits you?"

"Yes, Headmaster." I'd have to find Ataf a thank you gift.

"He's also asked whether you're interested in enrolling in his history classes, or verse and songwriting. Says you seem to be rather neglecting your study of words."

I shook my head. "No, thank you. I've got more than enough on my plate as it is." The news that I would be away from Solitude more regularly on top of all my usual responsibilities had already sparked a small flutter of panic at how much work I had to do, and set me wondering when I would find time to eat, sleep, and — most importantly — kiss Felix.

Inigo was waiting in my apartment when I returned from that afternoon's riding lesson with Minette.

"You have a package," he said gleefully, pointing to where he had set it upon the bed.

I brushed windswept hair from my face. "And you're here just to tell me that? I can see it, it's right there."

"I wanted to see you open it! Opening packages is exciting. Or perhaps I could open it for you? I have the claws for it, after all …"

I laughed and left him to it while I changed out of my riding gear. "Just don't damage anything," I warned him.

"How is Minette's riding going?" Inigo asked, as I pulled on a pair of warm woollen breeches.

"Very well. She's a natural," I replied. "She has Felix's gift with animals, too. These days I swear Talara seems disappointed when she sees me coming without Minette."

"She is good with the sword as well," Inigo said. "Perhaps she will not even want the inn, by the time she is old enough. She may grow up to be an adventurer, instead."

"I hope not. Minette, killing? That's not a thought I relish." I rejoined Inigo on the bed, shoving Meeko out of the way so there was space for me to sit. "What was in the — ooh! It's from home! It must be my Saturalia gifts."

I opened the box, and Inigo and I both rummaged around in the cushioning crumpled paper. Suddenly Meeko was awake and alert as though he'd never been asleep, wagging his tail and waiting for us to throw balls of paper for him to chase. I obliged, while Inigo pulled from the paper a very ostentatious necklace, as well as stiffly-starched lace ruffs for both neck and wrists.

"These are very nice," he sniggered.

"Mother." I rolled my eyes. "She means well, but never had much taste, and always gives the gifts that she would like. I'll give them to Minette."

"May I keep the ruffles?"

"Sure. They'll probably look better on you than me, anyway."

At Inigo's urging I helped affix the ruff around his neck. He looked very silly, but preened as though he were the most fashionable Khajiit in Tamriel.

"And from Father — yes, books. On politics." I laughed. "No surprises there, from either of them. Oh, but there are letters, too — one from Mother and Father, and one from … Etienne."

Both Inigo and I became very still. I stared at the envelope in my hand, willing it not to tremble.

"… Well? Will you read it?" Inigo said at last.

"I … I suppose I'd better."

Inigo slitted the envelope open for me, and I slowly unfolded the sheet of paper within. The further I read, the higher my eyebrows climbed. Once I had reached the end, and Etienne's florid signature, I lifted wide eyes to Inigo.

"It is … good news?"

I blinked, and nodded slowly. "Yes. I … think so. Yes."

My eyes returned to the letter — the letter which showed a side of Etienne I'd never before seen. Or perhaps had just never noticed.

"It's more earnest and agreeable than Etienne's ever been with me in person," I said haltingly. "He writes about his greatly increased responsibilities, and how much he wants to prove to both our fathers that he's up to it — and his worries that he's not learning how to navigate life at court quickly enough. He's … he's scared, Inigo. He's asked me for advice. Advice!"

"And your fears that he is trying to hasten his inheritance?"

I shook my head. "He's very frank about being groomed to inherit if I don't come home, but he says that 'provisions are being made' for him if I do, and not to feel pressured. He … is clearly very anxious that I don't see him as usurping my place." I ran my fingertips over his last paragraph. "And … he says there are rumours reaching Camlorn of a new Breton bard making a flurry in Solitude, who he assumes must be me. It's really brave of me, he says. To be chasing the life I want rather than the one I was told I should be content with."

I lifted my eyes to Inigo's, blinking hard. "He only asks for my blessing to do the same."

Inigo's face broke into a broad smile. "This is wonderful!"

"Yes … This person, radiating from this letter … it's a completely different Etienne to the one I judged him to be. This is someone mature, forthright and intelligent … a young man rising to the challenges he's facing with courage. I think perhaps … I've … misjudged him," I admitted.

"I agree," Inigo said gently. "It is very good that you have been so pleasantly surprised — but my friend, you have a tendency to judge people far too harshly. We have spoken of this before. You set an unrealistically high standard for both yourself and others."

"I know. You're right." I hung my head. "I'll … I'll try and do better. I promise."

"I know you will," Inigo said, drawing me into a hug. The letter fell from my fingers as I held him fiercely back.

I took a deep breath when we broke apart. "Starting with this. Maybe it's time I trusted that Father does know what he's doing."

Inigo smiled, his eyes laughing, but didn't reply.

"And — that means I can trust that Etienne probably has nothing to do with the assassins after all."

I breathed out slowly. Until that moment I hadn't realised just how great a burden it had been to think it might have been otherwise. I felt as though I'd set down something very heavy.

"It is a good thing to believe, my friend. I am glad your family does not want you dead."

The warmth that had flared in my heart was suddenly extinguished in an icy shock of fear and dread.

"But if it's not Etienne — then who?"

The next week passed quickly, my days once again filled to the brim with study and practice. Though regretful of the limited time I now had with Felix, I was glad to resume my lessons with both Master Ateia and Master Six-Fingers. Both loved the folio of Breton compositions I'd prepared for them, and Master Six-Fingers even made me promise to write home for more works to add to the College library.

The Elsweyr pieces she was far less interested in, however. I had been eager to demonstrate for her those I'd been working on since Saturalia, but she snapped at me not to bother with 'that sappy rubbish' and to get on with my Amaderil instead. After my lesson I sought out Jorn, and handed him an I.O.U. note for a crate of mead.

"She's not a deep-down romantic after all," I said gloomily. "You win."

My weekly training with Danica resumed as well. It felt as though all my previous practice and knowledge had leaked out of my head over the holidays, but thankfully Danica was predisposed to be in a forgiving mood, especially after my snowberry bush Saturalia gift. She offered me a handful of berries from the little shrub, which had already doubled in size. They were as plump and tart-sweet as I'd ever had, and I marvelled again at her skill with all living things.

The next day was the Loredas I was due to visit Morthal. Inigo and I prepared to leave soon after lunch, to ensure we would have enough time to battle through the miserable winter weather and clean up before my performance for the Jarl.

"Mayhap I could come along?" Felix suggested, while we ate at the Skeever before leaving. "It's my day off, I was hoping to spend it with you …"

I laughed. "Look out the window. Don't tell me you want to spend hours on an open carriage in that."

"It would still be time together. We're both always working, it feels like a shame to waste today."

"This is work, Felix. I wouldn't be setting foot anywhere near that Divines-forsaken city if I didn't have to. Trust me, you don't want to come. And I'll be Recalling home, anyway."

"But … Inigo's going with you."

"That's different. He's only really coming to protect me on the road. He'd much rather stay here too." Inigo nodded fervently. "And besides, the spell works on him. I don't know whether it would on you."

Felix's mouth twisted into a frown as he cut up his meatloaf. "All right, then."

My voice softened. "I'd rather be here with you too. But this is the life of a bard, you know?"

He still looked put out, but was somewhat mollified by an extra long, extra passionate kiss, which Inigo had to interrupt by tapping me on the shoulder, saying we would miss our carriage.

"Felix does not seem to like you going away," Inigo said as we hurried to the carriage stop, both of us already soaked and freezing.

"He'll just have to get used to it, if we keep seeing each other," I breathlessly replied. "Like I said, that's the life of a bard. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

The trip to Morthal was wet and miserable, driving sleet cutting through both our not-as-weatherproof-as-we'd-hoped clothing and my warmth cantrip as we huddled together in a corner of the carriage. I felt particularly terrible for Inigo and Meeko, who couldn't change out of wet fur like I could out of wet clothes, but most of all I worried for my lute. I wedged it as far under the seat as I could, and hoped that the new case I'd bought from Bran Deveraux, Solitude's best luthier, was as good as he'd promised.

Morthal itself was just as wet and miserable as the preceding ride, though elevated even further to true suffering by the half-frozen mud and puddles I couldn't seem to avoid, no matter how hard I tried.

"Seriously. Why does this place even exist?" I growled to Inigo, after having sunk to my ankles in freezing mud for the half-dozenth time.

He helped me out, my boots pulling from the mud with loud squelches. "There are many different kinds of tastes in this world, my friend."

"Bad tastes."

Meeko threw himself into the mud, then immediately jumped back out, yelping at the cold. He shook himself, spattering both Inigo and I with even more mud than we already wore. I wrinkled my nose.

"See? Not even the dog likes it."

By the time we arrived at the inn I was in a thoroughly bad mood, and wanted nothing more than to warm both myself and my lute by the roaring fire before my performance. Lurbuk was singing, too, and I was looking forward to settling in with a mug of hot spiced wine and enjoying the show. No sooner had I emerged from the bathing-room, however, than I was accosted by Jonna, the innkeeper.

"Please, milady," she said, eyes pleading. "Won't you play, even just for a song or two? You don't know what it's like, listening to that damn Orc day in, day out. I'll pay you whatever you ask."

"Fine," I sighed, and regretfully convinced Lurbuk to take a short break by buying him a drink, then warmed up my fingers and strings by playing them instead. I still insisted on the wine, though.

The sun was just sinking into the Druadachs when I presented myself at Highmoon Hall. I was led through the broad wood-panelled corridors by a taciturn guard, and deposited at the entrance of a small dining-chamber. To my surprise, it was empty of all save Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone herself, who was regarding me with piercing coal-dark eyes. Apparently it was to be a private performance, then? I curtsied, and began to unpack my lute.

"Don't bother, girl."

My head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

"I said, don't bother."

I slowly stood from my crouch, regarding her warily. She was a small woman for a Nord; quite old, and with her dark hair and feather-trimmed robe she rather reminded me of her namesake bird. It was her gaze that captured me, however: deep and powerful, rich with the wisdom of age and … something more. I remembered Viarmo had named her a mystic.

"I don't understand, my Jarl. You don't wish for me to perform for you after all?"

She flapped a hand. "I never did. Never could stand music. I sent to Viarmo so I'd have an excuse to bring you here without suspicion."

Startled, I said, "What do you mean?"

Her eyes bored into me. When she spoke it was quite unlike her previous clipped, snappish cadence. Instead her voice was deep and slow; sonorous, with the solemnity and finality of a ringing funereal bell.

"The Divines reveal things to me at times. I wished to see for myself this little Chosen of Mara, on whose shoulders so much rests, and give her my counsel.

"Dark times are ahead. Though you do not know it yet, child, yours is a great and terrible burden to carry. Your path will be difficult. More difficult than you can imagine; almost more difficult than you can bear. But bear it you must, and bear it you will. When the path becomes too much for you to walk, and you are tempted to try and tread a different one, remember this: You have the strength and will to see it through to the end. Remember your Lady's blessings, find your strength in love, and you will prevail."

I stood stock-still, completely stunned. After a moment she shook her head. "You may go," she said, her voice returned to normal.

"Y-yes, my Jarl," I stammered. My mind was numb.

"One more thing," she called after me, my hand on the latch. "You can tell your headmaster I stand where I always have: here in Morthal. This is not the time to fight amongst ourselves. All of Skyrim's strength will be needed to face what's soon to come."

Not even enough composure remaining to me for an answer, I fled.

Though the sun had barely set, and I had promised Jonna another hour, I was so unnerved that I immediately collected Inigo and Meeko and Recalled us home. Even as I lay in bed later, sleep eluding me, I could still hear Jarl Idgrod's words reverberating in my head. They were an echo of those Mara herself had said to me in Riften, weeks and weeks ago.

What in Oblivion did fate have in store for me?

And how had Jarl Idgrod known my true purpose in visiting?

When I arrived in Viarmo's office on Morndas morning for my spell-song lesson I asked him to ward the room. One of his eyebrows twitched, but he acquiesced without question. After we had taken our seats, I relayed Jarl Idgrod's words to him — though leaving out the parts about gods and destiny, of course.

Viarmo blinked, then laughed aloud. "I should've known," he said. "That sly old bat. But you didn't need the room warded just for that, surely?"

I took a deep breath, and finally gave voice to the thorny question building in me for weeks that had been pushed into prominence by my visit to Morthal.

"What if she's not the only one? Inigo told me that the reason you probably enlisted me for this kind of work in the first place is because Bretons, and Breton bards, have a reputation for … this. If that's true, then surely the other jarls must also suspect …?"

A slow, devious smile spread across Viarmo's face. "I was wondering when you'd ask," he said. "The simple answer is yes, and no."

"I don't understand, sir."

"First, regardless of what goes on in other provinces, this bardic College is known to be politically neutral. A convenient lie, of course, which has taken decades of work to solidify. But solid it is. So, any whispers about your true intentions — which you can bet your ass there are, by the way, as a newly arrived, very obviously noble Breton —" he paused for a moment to offer a pitying smile at my dismayed expression, "will be with the assumption that you're gathering information relevant to the interests of whoever's pulling your strings back in High Rock. Which means anyone smart enough'll be guarding their tongues about — or trying to manipulate you into hearing — a totally different set of issues than those which actually matter."

I stared at him. By the Divines. I had very, very badly underestimated this man.

"I've also made doubly sure nobody would suspect there was anything more between us than a grudging master-student relationship, haven't you noticed?" His smile widened, and his eyes were brilliant gleaming pools I was almost afraid to look into. "Honestly, Nythriel is the greatest gift Auri-el could ever have sent me. After she's done her rounds, who could ever even think of proud, vain, idiotic Viarmo taking into his confidence a young girl who's caused him so much shame?"

My mouth fell open. No. This couldn't be.

"Oh, there is one other thing you should know, now we're talking about it," he added, tapping his chin. "Obviously the jarls all immediately activated their own information networks — such that they are," he scoffed. "Everyone wanted to know just who was this newly-arrived secret young noble, causing such a stir. I made sure they believed another convenient lie. Anyone who bothered to poke around thinks you're Lilith Renoux, of a very minor fictitious house from the Kingdom of Northpoint. Your homeland's politics and societal relationships are such a gods-damned mess that it wasn't hard to invent something plausible."

He leaned across the desk, fixing me with his huge golden eyes. I wanted to look away, but couldn't.

"Don't worry. Nobody who doesn't need to know will find out that you're actually Kirilee Dobraine, Duke Perival Dobraine's daughter and heir."

It was as though I'd been struck by lightning. My ears rang, and everything seemed to be reaching my senses from very far away. Even through the raging torrent of emotion I couldn't help but be impressed at Viarmo's brilliance; at how perfectly and completely I had been manipulated. This was what came of practicing the art of subterfuge over a handful of centuries, I thought in a daze.

I looked up and saw satisfaction in Viarmo's eyes, mingling with — was I imagining it? — a little sympathy.

"Try not to lose all of that innocence and naiveté along the way, kid," he said gently. "The world would be lesser if you became all hard edges. But do learn from this."

Then he clapped his hands, making me jump, the wards evaporated, and we began our lesson. Well, the official lesson — nothing I learned of music-magic that morning could compare to the lesson I had just been so thoroughly taught.

I really shouldn't have been surprised, I thought. As I listlessly worked through forms with the cunning genius who was my headmaster, I realised how hopelessly foolish and naive it had been of me to assume that just because I was far from home I could completely begin anew. Mara's mercy, I hadn't even used a different given name!

"Cheer up, kid," Viarmo said, after about half an hour of morose spellcasting. "Not much gets past me, these days. And it's not all bad news. I can see the appeal in reinventing yourself, but why d'you think I picked you for this job? And why d'you think you're so good at it? You're the sum of your past selves. Don't discard them wholesale, use them."

I lifted my hands from my lute and considered his words. They were uncannily similar to those Inigo had said to me after Orphan Rock. Viarmo watched me, unblinking, waiting for something.

Then it hit me. Why d'you think you're so good at it?

"Sir, I think … I think in a way, I already am."

He nodded and smiled. "Good girl. Don't forget that."