Despite the cold Felix and I fell asleep in each other's arms on the rooftop and were woken in the middle of the night by Meeko snuffling at our faces, wanting to be let into the warm apartment. Felix then shuffled home, while I climbed blearily into bed to snatch a few hours of sleep before I was due to report to Viarmo the next morning.

"Oh yes, this is excellent indeed," he said, thumbing through my report. "Especially what you write about the boys. Stay away from Sibbi — the boy's unstable as a skeever on skooma — but the others … Yes." He looked up from the report. "We need to capitalise on Laila's good opinion of you, and these young idiots thinking with what's between their legs instead of their ears. You're going to start worming your way into that rotten apple of a court."

I perched on the edge of the hard wooden chair. "Um, yes, sir. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you back there this weekend. Present yourself as wanting to perform for Laila on your own initiative. You're well known enough now that it won't be seen as improper, and it'll probably even flatter her ego."

"Yes, sir. And the men?"

"Accept one or two invitations. From what you've reported I'd say Laila's youngest, Saerlund, would be particularly good to invest in — you say he's for the Empire, yes?"

"Yes. It's been causing more and more friction with his family."

"Good. Try and make inroads with the other one too, if you can. But be careful, now; this is a more dangerous game than the one you've played so far."

I waved away his concerns. "Please, sir. Don't worry. I'm more than well trained in handling young men."

"Hmph. I suppose you would be."

It was in fact part of every young noblewoman's training in High Rock: how to flatter without going overboard, how to suggest without promising, how to appear eager enough to stroke the man's ego and self-importance without being so forward as to seem threatening to other men, women or his parents. I had never exactly relished such games, but they were an unavoidable part of the dance at court.

After my music-magic lesson, as I headed up the staircase for my flute class, I couldn't help wondering at the young men's invitations, however — how many had been offered to Kirilee the court-bard, and how many to Lilith Renoux? Were any to Kirilee Dobraine? Privately, I believed that Laila didn't have the political acumen to have questioned my background, and probably did think I was 'just a bard', though a more refined and educated one than she was perhaps used to. Viarmo had said the same.

Maven, however … To my chagrin, Viarmo had been able to tell me nothing, and I still had no idea what she actually knew of me. Did she buy the Lilith Renoux story, or had she dug deeper? At the soiree I hadn't been able to keep my eyes from flicking to her far too often over the course of the night, and more than once had to quickly look away to avoid meeting her frosty gaze.

Sighing, I forced myself back to the present. Master Ateia had just begun to talk, and I needed to pay attention. It was going to be increasingly difficult to keep up with my studies, not to mention my relationship with Felix, if I was not just spending a day each week in Whiterun, but another day or two in Riften for the foreseeable future. At least Inigo would be pleased.

Viarmo was right: Laila was very flattered by my request to perform for her. There was no soiree scheduled that night, so I was playing just for the family over their supper, which meant that to my overwhelming relief none of the Black-Briars were present.

After I had played a few tunes Laila invited me to sit down and join them. I had to admit to myself that my courtly table skills were a little rusty after so long dining only in taverns or my apartment, but I thought that was probably all to the better — it would not have done for me to seem too practiced.

"It's lovely to have company we can trust, for a change," Laila announced over pudding. She was a little tipsy, having indulged quite spectacularly in wine during the meal.

Anuriel sniffed and shot a look at the large glass of brandy with which Laila was gesturing. "My Jarl, perhaps it would be better not to —"

"Oh, tosh. Give over, Anuriel, Kirilee's a dear. No, it's those others we have to watch out for — Imperial rats, trying to scuttle their filthy way into my house — looking for weaknesses — well, we'll show them! Riften is strong! House Law-Giver will show no weakness!" She punctuated each sentence by banging on the table with one fist while slopping brandy out of the glass with the other.

Saerlund, who was seated on my right, suddenly looked nervous. He drew in on himself as though trying to make himself seem small and unassuming, but his mother didn't even glance in his direction. She just ranted on, red-faced, while Anuriel looked increasingly disapproving.

"What's she talking about?" I muttered to Saerlund.

"Assassins — spies — Mother sees them around every corner. There have been a few … undesirables caught over the past few months. Nobody is sure whether they were Brotherhood, or … others."

Harrald snorted loudly from across the table. "Trust you not to take things seriously, whelp. Or are you covering for your little friends?" He turned to me. "Snotty little Saerlund here would just love for them to succeed. Cares more about those dirty Imperial dogs than about his own family, don't he?"

"That's rich, coming from a man who'd have his own brother strung up, if he had his way," Saerlund shot back.

"Brother? I don't have a brother. Just some snivelling skeever who hangs around the Keep, not realising he's not fit to lick the dirt from any true Nord's boots!"

I took a sip of wine and watched the brothers argue. The whole meal I had delicately fanned the flames of hatred between them, carefully flattering each in turn while subtly playing them against one another even more. Not that they needed much encouragement to snipe. There was an enormous rift between Jarl Laila's two sons and while they both claimed it was over Saerlund's support of the Empire, I could tell it ran far deeper. A festering hatred hung between the two brothers, vile and palpable as the stench of Riften's canals. It was hardly surprising, with two such different men: Harrald was a vulgar brute who liked nothing more than swinging a sword all day and a bottle of mead all night, while Saerlund was much more soft and bookish.

Of course, this rivalry was perfect for my own purposes. They very clearly vied for my attention, and by the time pudding had been cleared away I had accepted both an invitation for a drink with Harrald after the meal and a ride on horseback the next morning with Saerlund. I was sure that I'd be able to learn a great deal from the two young men if I managed to get them alone.

Ten minutes with Harrald proved me right. Even had I tried I could not have stopped the torrent of words he spewed at me in the Bee and Barb. He loathed Saerlund, and would indeed go so far as to have him executed were he ever to become Jarl — which he almost certainly would, as he kept boasting. The common people of Riften he clearly thought very little of, as well as, to his credit, the Black-Briars. He had enough sense not to speak out against Maven herself, but would have loved to duel Hemming, and it grated at him no end that they were all such frequent visitors to the Keep.

All in all it was a very … enlightening, if not particularly pleasant evening. Harrald didn't ask me a single question about myself, which while professionally convenient was also personally insulting. What a pig of a man, I thought, swirling my wine in my goblet while Harrald boasted about some duel or other he'd won. I hoped I'd have a better time with Saerlund; I didn't imagine it could be much worse.

Harrald thought otherwise, of course. "Try not to die of boredom with Snotty Saerlund tomorrow," he said after I had wished him goodnight. "You're way too polite. Mother wouldn't care if you said no to him."

"It's very kind of you to say, but my headmaster really does expect me to maintain certain standards of professional courtesy." I smiled, and laid a brief hand upon his. "At least I'll have memories of tonight to entertain me during the ride. I had a lovely time."

Harrald preened, then belched, smelling of mead.

Divines, these Nords are so easy to manipulate, I thought as I climbed the stairs to my room, having dodged a farewell kiss. They wouldn't last a day in High Rock.

An instant later I stumbled, appalled with myself. Had I really just thought that? Mara's mercy, what was wrong with me?

Shame burned in my stomach, not just at how easily I was able to twist Harrald around my little finger, but at how few compunctions I'd had about doing so. It was easy to tell myself I was doing it to help the Empire, and that it was merely necessary work — but deep down, I couldn't deny that it was partly just because I could, because I hadn't played the Great Game in so long, and because it seemed that even the most mediocre player in the courts of High Rock could run rings around most of Skyrim. But Divines, part of the reason I'd left home in the first place was to be out of all that! I had hated the endless scheming and politicking back in High Rock!

Standing there in the pitch-black of the Bee and Barb's staircase, though, I couldn't lie to myself. Toying with Harrald, and earlier both Harrald and Saerlund, had felt … good. And so easy.

Viarmo had been right, I thought with a start; my life back home had prepared me well for this type of work. It seemed that he'd always been able to see a version of myself I had hoped didn't exist.

I didn't think it was a version of myself Felix would like.

Despite my apprehension, my ride with Saerlund the next morning was actually very pleasant. He rather reminded me of Etienne: earnest and forthright; softly spoken but committed to standing up for what he believed in, even if it cost him everything. As we rode along the bank of Lake Honrich I was surprised to find myself genuinely enjoying the outing, though I never forgot my true purpose in this little horseback jaunt. Just as during the previous evening with his brother, I flattered and chattered, letting Saerlund fill in plenty of blanks to be later jotted down for Viarmo.

"You know, Harrald doesn't actually care about the war one way or the other," Saerlund said suddenly, after we had passed a patrolling group of Stormcloak soldiers on our way back to the city.

"Really?"

He nodded, reining his horse in to ride level with Talara, careful to leave time for Meeko to get out of the way. "He couldn't give a toss about Ulfric or the Stormcloaks. He just wants to keep Mother happy enough to make sure he inherits." His voice was bitter. I could feel the years of pent-up resentment behind his words.

"I'm sorry Saerlund," I said softly. "I know how hard everything must be for you, particularly now, with the war driving such a wedge between you and your family."

"Thank you. I appreciate that. It's not just the war, of course — Harrald and I have never exactly gotten along very well — but it definitely is made much worse, especially now that Mother …" He trailed off, and sat stiffly on his horse, staring straight ahead. "They're all paranoid we'll be thrown out of the city, lose our place in Riften society. If only they'd listen to me!"

"What do you think your mother should be doing?"

"Declaring for the Empire, of course. We swore an oath. And never mind that Ulfric speaks nothing but lies, and cares only about one thing: Ulfric. His cause may be just, but the man himself is a lie. All he holds in his heart is lust for the throne. But Mother's been taken in by all his pretty talk, and can't see that following him will lead to nothing but ruin for our house." He lapsed into silence, and we rode the rest of the way back to the city without speaking.

I turned over Saerlund's words in my head. Harrald didn't even care about the war? To be frank, the man was so self-involved that it wouldn't have surprised me … Then again, he'd certainly seemed fervent in his admiration of the Stormcloaks and his hatred of the Empire. I supposed it wasn't really my place to make a judgment one way or the other, in any case. I'd pass on my observations to Viarmo, and someone else would make that assessment.

We arrived back at Riften around lunchtime. Saerlund was a perfect gentleman, helping me dismount, then taking my hand and kissing it.

"I thank you for your time, Lady Bard," he said very formally. "I hope to see you again. You have been — well, you've been the most interesting and pleasant company I've had in months, to tell the truth. And I'm grateful to you for suffering through my bitter tirades. I know it must have made for very tiresome conversation, and I promise that next time we will speak only of you." He swept into a low bow.

I felt a small stab of guilt as I returned the compliments and promised to make time for him when I was next in Riften. He was … kind. I hadn't expected him to be kind.

Afterwards I visited the Temple of Mara and spoke for a little while with a beaming Mother Balu, who demanded I tell her all about how my own matter of the heart had finally been settled. Though I was enjoying our time together I didn't linger any longer than politeness dictated, being desperate to get back to Solitude. Inigo stayed behind; I would summon him home later.

"I am so glad you are so good at magic, my friend," he said, bobbing on his feet in excitement. "I have come to like Solitude very much, but it is very nice to be able to spend time in wonderful Riften whenever I like, now that you have a Mark here!"

"Stay out of trouble," I said, hugging him goodbye before casting the spell that would send me to Solitude, and to Felix.

As soon as I rematerialised in my garden I raced straight to the Skeever and threw myself into Felix's arms. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world. I was so small, and he was so large, that he completely enveloped me whenever we embraced — my whole world became his warm skin, strong arms and beating heart. I was so glad to see him again, and judging by his smile, he felt exactly the same way.

The rest of the day we spent in my apartment, the cold winter's weather encouraging us to stay indoors in the delicious warmth. We cooked a hearty chicken soup, read together, I played for him a little, and we talked. He asked about Riften, and I told him about playing for the Jarl's family, and about her two sons wanting to spend time with me. I felt him stiffen in my arms.

"Oh, no — it's not like that," I hastily said. "I have absolutely no interest in either of them. Especially Harrald. Mara's mercy, the man is an absolute pig. But I couldn't refuse their invitations without being hopelessly rude. I was a guest — a visiting bard — of much lower social standing. I had to say yes, especially as I don't have any formal romantic attachment myself. It's just part of the job." I took his hand and rubbed my thumb over his palm. "Viarmo would have been very upset with me, too, had I turned them down. It might even have reflected poorly on the College itself. It was just work. I promise."

"Well … if you say so." He still wasn't exactly happy, but didn't object further. His hand closed on my thumb before he shifted to fully face me, then pressed me into the bed with a long, deep kiss.

My stomach twisted with the largest pang of guilt yet. It wasn't a lie; not really. Everything I had said was true, and the more I thought about it the more I'd realised that this was something I couldn't tell Felix the full extent of, not yet.

I still felt awful. I wanted to trust him. I wanted to tell him everything. Why was it so hard to do what Inigo suggested, and just say it?

A few days after I had returned from Riften Felix approached me after my set, looking both very nervous and very excited.

"Kirilee. Larkling. Can I — can I ask you for something?"

"Mm?" I looked up from where I was packing up my lute, squatting rather inelegantly in the dim back corner of the common room. I was distracted, still mentally running over my last piece.

He took a deep breath. "I'd like your father's name and address."

I froze. Oh no.

"Why?"

Felix drew me up by the hand, then enclosed both of mine in his, pulling me close.

"Because," he said, "I've — I've been thinking. Especially after what you said about — about not being formally romantically attached. I want you to be. To me. I want to write to your father, and ask for his permission to begin formally courting you." His eyes shone. "I've saved up some gold, enough for a message-bird! I have it already written, it could be there in just a few days. … Well? What do you think?"

Oh, no. Not this. Anything but this.

"Don't bother." My own voice was small and flat. "Father will never say yes." I stared at my feet, unable to meet his eyes.

The stunned pause lasted for several long, painful heartbeats. Felix dropped my hands, and they swung limply to my sides.

"But … why?" I couldn't look at him. I didn't want to see his face, couldn't bear to see the expression it now wore. The hurt and confusion were clear in his voice nonetheless. "I don't understand. Is there … someone else? Or is — is Breton tradition different? Did I insult you with that request, somehow? I'm sorry, if I did — should I do things differently? … Why would your father say no?"

I took a deep breath and steeled myself. It was time. It was the worst possible time. If only I'd found the courage to speak these truths sooner. If only a Mara amulet had burned against my breast, reminding me to be brave.

"Because," I said, "my father's name is Lord Perival Dobraine the Third, the Duke of Aldcroft." I swallowed. "And he would never consent to his only child and heir being courted by … by a commoner."

Felix went very still and quiet. I began to tremble, still too afraid to look up from the ground. My eyes prickled. Felix's voice then broke the silence, quivering with emotion.

"What am I, then? Just a — a passing dalliance? Some kind of exotic distraction to pass the boredom? Were you curious to experience what it was like with the common folk?" The hurt and anger in his words cut through me like a knife.

"No — no — no no no — I'm not — you're not — what I feel for you is real, is true, I want you, I don't care —"

"Why, then," — his voice rose in anger — "didn't you say anything? How could you let me believe — let me make a fool of myself — think I had a chance — how could I have been so gods-damned stupid?!" His words rang through the inn, and several conversations broke off sharply.

I shook my head, tears dripping from the tip of my nose and splashing onto my dress. "It's … complicated," I whispered. "I — I wanted to tell you. I was going to. I just … hadn't figured out how, yet."

Felix scoffed. "Well, you certainly have impeccable timing." He dropped his head into his hands, and ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. "This is … I need to go."

Then he stomped out of the inn, slamming the door on his way out. He did not kiss me goodbye.

I clutched myself, trying to hold the pain in with arms clamped across my breast. Illdi and Ataf were hurrying towards me from where they had been sitting together in a corner, looking anxious. Avoiding their eyes, I grabbed my lute and Recalled home.

As soon as I materialised in my rooftop garden I fell bonelessly to the ground. I sobbed and sobbed, barely even noticing the piercing winter cold.

I was such a fool. Such a Divines-cursed idiot. It was all ruined, and it was all my fault. I should have listened to Inigo. I should have, and now it was too late, and it was all my fault.

-The Journal of Inigo the Brave, Morning Star 29 4E202-

Journal, Kirilee is gone! I have spent all day searching the city and she is not anywhere! Mr Corpulus asked me to check on her this morning — he said she and Felix had a row last night, and he wanted to be sure she was okay. (He chuckled that Felix was off sulking.) I did not ask what they had fought about but I think I can guess very easily, yes? So I went to find her and tell her all would be well. But I could not! She was not at the College. She was not at home. She was not at any of the shops. I thought perhaps she had taken Meeko walking to clear her head, but the hours passed and she did not return. The little bards at the College said she had not come to her lessons. I asked Mr Viarmo, but he had not sent her away on a job.

It got to night-time, and I began to worry very much. Where was she? I searched her apartment, but nothing was gone and everything seemed as it normally did. She did not arrive to play in the Skeever tonight either. Felix was trying very hard to look as though he did not care she was not there but it was not a very good act. He eventually asked me where she was, and I told him I did not know. She had vanished. He looked very upset. I told him not to worry, but I am very worried myself. Perhaps she has been kidnapped? Or another assassin? But no, she can protect herself better now, and would have summoned me to her side if she were in danger.

I think she has instead done something very foolish, and disappeared from the city herself because she is ashamed. But why would she not bring her best friend Inigo? Or at least tell me where she is going? In fact, why did Meeko not come to find me and give warning? Bah.

I must sleep now but tomorrow I shall ask at the exits to the city and see if anyone has seen her leaving. Although if she has used her fancy teleporty magic nobody will have seen anything! Perhaps Mr Viarmo could … smell the magic, if she used it? I do not know. I only know that I am very, very worried. Where is she? Is she safe? I must find her. I have already lost my brother, I cannot lose my sister too.

— Inigo.