The weekend passed in a whirl of giddy joy. Inigo was safe. My best friend had delved into the assassins' stronghold and emerged victorious, hale and unharmed, though I'd still still insisted on checking over every inch of him twice while he laughed about how it tickled.

In fact, not one of the Oculatus strike team had been more than superficially injured. Inigo said the taciturn group had muttered amongst themselves about the Daedra's own luck, but I knew better. I ran a thumb over the worn turquoise set in the centre of my Mara amulet. It had been far warmer when Inigo had returned it than could be accounted for by body heat alone, and the whole weekend I offered fervent prayers of thanks to the heavens, as well as both a large donation to the Temple of Mara and my whole Loredas to Mother Balu.

Inigo was safe, and the Dark Brotherhood was finished, in Skyrim, at least. Nothing could dampen my riotous happiness. Not Saerlund's absence in Riften, nor Maven's curling sneer; not Felix's refusal to be in my presence, nor the hordes that still seemed to flock wherever I went. Inigo was safe. Nothing else mattered.

I took the night off on Sundas. Lisette had friends in town, one of whom in particular she was very keen to impress, and so evening found Inigo and I relaxing in my apartment. It had been an extraordinarily eventful and emotional few weeks, and we both needed a little peace and calmness. Inigo sat on the bed reading with Meeko stretched out next to him, while I was at my desk, writing.

"I wonder how Lisette is getting on?" Inigo remarked, looking up from his book.

I set down my quill. "Judging by how it usually goes for her, I'd expect quite well." Inigo sniggered. "Did you see the woman she was after? She was already making such eyes at Lisette that I doubt she'll even make it through her set before she's dragged upstairs."

"Corpulus would not be very happy about that."

"With how well the Skeever's doing lately I'm sure he can wear the loss."

Inigo smirked, then stood up and stretched, yawning widely. He went to the kitchen and poured two goblets of wine. After taking a long draught from one he brought the other to my desk, and leaned over my shoulder to set it down in front of me.

"Thanks." I turned around and wrinkled my nose. "You still smell of smoke."

"It was a very large fire we set. I am sure it will wash out soon." He peered at my desk while sipping his wine. "What is this? You are writing a novel? Or does your report for Mister Viarmo need to be made out in triplicate?"

I flushed. "No. Letters. That long one's for Tobias," — I ignored Inigo's sniggering — "and this one's to Father. I thought he ought to know about the Dark Brotherhood. Well, he'll probably find out through his own networks, but I figured it would be polite to tell him myself, too."

Inigo suddenly stiffened. "Ah … wait, Kirilee. Before you write to your father there is something I must show you." I looked at him quizzically as he dug around in his pockets and handed me two pieces of paper. They, too, smelled faintly of smoke. "These were in the base. Captain Caecilius gave them to me afterwards. She did not say, but I think she meant them for you."

My brow furrowed as I took the crumpled pages, smoothing them on my desk before unfolding the first one. I blinked. It was in Father's hand.

To the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, Skyrim Chapter

I have no idea how this will reach your filthy organisation, but I have no doubt that it will, one way or another. I am writing to inform you of the consequences should you accept any contracts on a young Breton woman, slight of build, red-haired and green-eyed. A musician. She may be calling herself Kirilee, or may be going by another name. Should this girl die by misadventure or even in the most slightly suspicious circumstances while in the Province of Skyrim I will exhaust every one of my House's considerable resources to ensure that the Dark Brotherhood becomes nothing but a distant memory in that land. This is not a bargain or a warning but a statement of fact. Accept a contract on the girl — and I will know if you do — and you will end up as nothing more than a forgotten footnote in Skyrim's dubious history.

Lord Perival Dobraine III
The Sword of Glenumbra
Duke of Aldcroft

"I …" My voice shook. "I should have known." I let out a weak laugh, eyes still glued to the page on which I could see my father's elegant hand pressed in hard, could almost feel the tightly-coiled anger behind the neat underline. "Divines, I should have expected this. Remember? They even wrote that they had taken measures. I suppose this was one of them."

"You are … not angry? That your father meddled?"

I shrugged. "For Father, this is hands-off. Look, he didn't even say who I am — that's incredibly restrained of him. And, well. I can't fault him for it, either. What parent wouldn't do everything in their power to protect their child, especially when she's far away from home? This is just an expression of his love for me. It's … sweet, really. And of course a political prudency. Imagine if his heir had been assassinated while in a foreign province! The fallout from that …" I shivered. "These are all things I really should have thought about before I left. Divines, I feel like I'm an age older than I was back then."

Inigo smiled. "You have certainly grown up before my eyes, my friend."

I smiled back. "And I have you to thank for much of that. Thanks, Inigo."

"It is nothing."

My forehead creased again. "But … there were assassins sent after me."

Inigo's smile faded, and he nodded towards the second piece of paper, his ears folding back. In the shock of seeing my own father's writing I had completely forgotten about it. My stomach clenched. I couldn't imagine this one would be as harmless a surprise.

Hands trembling, I unfurled the slip of curling paper, then immediately dropped it in shock.

Astrid.

Female Breton bard, long straight ginger hair, green eyes. Young — perhaps 20 or 21 — short, thin. Goes by Kirilee. Resides in Solitude. Often in the company of a purple-furred Khajiit.

Permanent solution not desirable but make it look convincing.

Maven.

I was shaking so hard I thought I might fall off my stool. The world spiralled around my head. I couldn't breathe. Maven. Maven. Maven had sent the assassins. Maven wanted me dead — or did she?

Inigo was crouching by my side, one arm around me, the other holding the goblet of wine to my lips. "Here. Drink."

I ignored it. "Inigo … it was Maven? But … but look. It says 'permanent solution not desirable'. So … she didn't want me killed? Why?"

Inigo shook his head. "I do not know. I have been trying to puzzle it out myself. Perhaps she feared to make an enemy of your family? Or perhaps she did not know how important you were, and thought it too big a risk? But why would she want you thinking assassins were after you? I do not understand it at all."

Not knowing what else to do, I sipped at the wine, and the spiced warmth slipping down my throat burned away the numbness and restored my strength. Inigo watched me anxiously.

"Don't worry," I said, forcing a smile. "I'm not fool enough to go marching down to Maven's doorstep this minute to try and exact justice. I'm not that stupid … any more." Inigo visibly relaxed. "I expect that's why you didn't tell me until after we'd left Riften?"

"I am sorry. I did not like to keep it from you. But … yes, I feared you doing something foolish. And I did not wish to take away your joy and laughter and replace it with … this. Not so soon." His ears and whiskers drooped in shame. I managed a more genuine smile this time, if a weak one.

"No, Inigo. You did the right thing. I'm not angry. I'd much rather find out about this now, when I have some … distance, and some time to think about what to do. Thank you."

"Are you all right?"

"I don't know. This is … an awful lot to take in. One of the most powerful women in Skyrim clearly sees me as an enemy, or a threat, or maybe just an annoyance …" I stared out the dark window, seeing nothing but my pale reflection staring back at me. I looked deep into my own eyes as I spoke. "… But on the other hand, I'm still alive, aren't I? I'm still here. And she hasn't actually stopped me from achieving anything I've wanted to. The assassins stopped ages ago, too, so either they stopped following the contract after Astrid … Astrid …"

My voice trailed off, and I saw the realisation settle into my own face. Then I started to laugh. I laughed and laughed, unable to stop, until Inigo shook my shoulders, clearly worried I was having hysterics.

"Kirilee. Kirilee! Snap out of it! Kirilee!"

I pulled myself back under control, still letting loose the occasional giggle, and wiped the tears from my eyes.

"Inigo, don't you see? Father promised that if the Brotherhood took a contract out on me that they'd be wiped from the face of Nirn — and that's exactly what happened. You became his vengeance incarnate. In the end the only 'considerable resource' Father had to employ was his daughter's best friend, who he's never even met."

Inigo blinked at me for a moment, stunned, then dissolved into laughter himself.

"Twin Moons, Kirilee, your father is a powerful man indeed! How many dukes can say their will was carried out to the letter without them having to do more than merely promise it would be done?"

I threw my arms around Inigo and hugged him tight. "I'm glad you're here, magical Khajiit-shaped vassal of my father's will."

"So am I, my friend. So am I."

As soon as I'd collected myself I raced straight to the College, the little slip of paper clenched tightly in my fist. At this time of evening the building was quiet and still. Just a few strains of lute and flute drifted from distant practice rooms into the gathering darkness of the entrance hall, but there was still a slit of light under Viarmo's office door. I knocked. I was shaking a little, and felt out of focus and jittery, as though I'd had too much coffee and not enough sleep.

The door opened. Viarmo's hair was puffed and fluffy, and his eyes were a little bloodshot. He frowned.

"Kirilee? What is it?"

I held out my hand and forced my fingers to relax around the note. My heart was thumping so hard I wondered whether Viarmo could hear it. "It's this. Inigo brought it back from Falkreath."

He took the note and unfurled it, and just as after Windhelm, it had almost been worth all the fear and tension and worry just to see the expression on Viarmo's face in that instant. Never before had I seen him betray so much emotion. His mouth fell open and he stared, slack-jawed, at the little piece of paper between his fingers. But it didn't stop there — his face shifted from complete shock to unbridled fury in a matter of seconds. For a few moments he seemed unable to speak, then when his eyes finally lifted to mine I saw in them such a furnace of anger that I was actually frightened of him, just for a second.

In another moment he had schooled his face to stillness once more, and when he spoke it was in a voice entirely flat and emotionless.

"Thank you for bringing this to me, Kirilee. Don't worry. It'll be dealt with."

There was such a tombstone-finality to those words that I left the College feeling as though all my fears had been lifted, and I wore a self-satisfied smirk as I gathered the forms to Recall home. Maven had no idea what she'd set in motion. I was very much looking forward to finding out myself.

Weeks passed, and nothing happened.

Oh, things happened, of course. Illdi turned twenty, and we threw her a party so uproarious that Sanguine himself would have been proud. In her blue gown, and with her dark hair piled by Taarie on top of her head in an elaborate Altmer updo, she looked so radiant that for the whole evening newcomers to the Skeever assumed she was the Lady Kirilee Dobraine. We all had far too much fun playing along, especially Ataf, who played the role of the secret Redguard prince who had been biding his time until he met a beautiful enough princess to carry back to his homeland. At midnight he literally swept Illdi from her feet and carried her out of the Skeever to wolf-whistles and applause.

Then that Loredas I went to Riften, where Maven Black-Briar still walked free.

Rain's Hand turned over into Second Seed. The first compositions from Master Gemane's class about 'The Princess Bard' started appearing, which I did my best to endure with good humour. They were disgustingly popular. To my dismay it wasn't long before I even heard Mikael performing one of the worst ones in the Bannered Mare. His throaty baritone bellowed about hair of flame/big leaf-green eyes/a pretty voice/which makes Daedra cry, and I rather wanted to cry myself. My only consolation was how low a mark Master Gemane would have awarded the awful thing for rhyming eyes with cry. When Mikael realised how much it embarrassed me he sang the six others he'd heard back to back too, and with Inigo's traitorous encouragement flatly refused to play anything else for the rest of the night.

The next day I went to Riften. Maven still walked free.

I attended my classes and practiced my music and magic and music-magic, and Maven still walked free. The Skeever did such a roaring trade that Corpulus had to hire more help, in the form of a waitress, in the form of Fironet. Maven still walked free. Minette landed her first ever lucky hit on Inigo while sparring, but Maven's luck seemed to be endless, how was it possible that she was still free? Elisif began inviting me to the Blue Palace at least weekly, making my time ever more limited, as I was also playing for Balgruuf in Whiterun every Fredas and dining with Laila in Riften every Loredas and doing my absolute utmost not to lose myself to furious outrage because every week Maven was there and despite everything Inigo and I had been through she still walked free.

And every Morndas I stormed into Viarmo's office and demanded the answers he wouldn't give me.

"It's complicated," he snapped. "Political."

"She tried to have me assassinated. I handed you proof. That seems pretty simple to me."

"That's because you —" He cut himself off, then shook his head. It wasn't the first time we'd had this confrontation. "It's complicated, Kirilee."

My hands balled into fists in my lap. "And yet you're still making me go there. Do you have any idea what it's like, to have to look her in the face every week and make pretty small talk?"

I was breathing rapidly. My chest heaved. That Loredas the entire Black-Briar family had been at Mistveil Keep, Hemming seated at my right, Maven directly across the table. I'd managed to keep a tight rein on my emotions, but only just. By the end of the evening I'd been forcing myself to mentally work through the complicated Vivaldil fugue I was learning, as it was the only way I could think to keep myself from making a scene which would have served no purpose other than having me thrown in the dungeons, and ruining all my months of work in Riften.

It had been the fourth such Loredas in a row. My nerves were becoming taut and frayed as old lute-strings. I was very close to snapping.

Viarmo shut his eyes and breathed in then out, slowly and deeply. His eyes opened. "I know, kid. Do you think I'm enjoying this? It'll be taken care of. Just try and be patient. Please."

I blinked. I didn't think Viarmo had ever used the word 'please' with me before.

"I know this is hard," he continued, his voice slow and level. "I know the sacrifices you're making. I know. If I could pull you from Riften I would, trust me. But what you're doing is vital. We need you there, especially now Laila's softening on that boy, and he's in regular contact with Elisif. You saw him this weekend, right? They're still corresponding?"

"Yes, of course, it's in my report." I glared at him. I was too used to his smooth method of steering a conversation to get swept up in it this time. "But Maven —"

"Kirilee. Drop. It." His eyes blazed, and though his words were soft, they crashed into me like boulders. "As soon as there's progress, I'll let you know. Now get out your lute."

Day by day my tension mounted and day by day there was no change, until once again it was Loredas, and once again I had to go to Riften. Though I was loath to spend any more time there than was absolutely necessary, the previous week Inigo had learned that an old friend of his was to be in town that weekend — a real friend, rather than one invented by the Penitus Oculatus. As such, we travelled to the city in the afternoon, and I left Inigo happily ensconced in the Bee and Barb with a merry, round-faced old man named Florian who had known Inigo since he was a young cub. Meeko and I then went to find Saerlund. I hoped that a few hours in the company of my friend might help lift my mood.

Unfortunately, Saerlund himself didn't seem to be much happier than I was. Though he suggested we go for a walk he was moody and morose, and for once I didn't have the energy to try and cheer him up. We ended up leaning against a half-rotted railing near the marketplace, eating handfuls of sour new-season cherries and dropping the pits into the canal at our feet while Meeko tried to catch them as they fell.

"Did you finally finish your proposal, by the way?" I asked, throwing a whole cherry into the air for Meeko to jump for. Though Saerlund had been back home for several weeks now, he'd been holding off on presenting his findings from Solitude and Whiterun until he'd collated them into an impeccable report and plan for applying what he'd learned to Riften. I'd read over it the previous week and told him it was more than ready, but he'd pronounced it not yet good enough.

"I did. I showed Mother on Tirdas."

"How did it go?"

Saerlund's eyes tightened. "Well, at first. She actually listened, to my astonishment, and there were several points she thought had merit. Elisif's thing about sewers, for example. I left my proposal with her and she said she'd have a proper look at it."

I threw another cherry for Meeko. "By your face, I'm guessing she still hasn't?"

"Worse. I asked her about it later in the week. She said she'd had Maven over to review it with her." My stomach dropped. "Apparently Maven pronounced every one of my ideas some variant of too expensive or hopelessly naive. She told Mother I should stick to more appropriate projects, like the orphanage. That it was … it was cute I was trying so hard, but that my reach was exceeding my grasp." He squeezed his eyes shut and took a shuddering breath. Clearly he was working hard to control his emotions, and equally clearly it wasn't working. I didn't blame him. "Mother patted me on the head for being a good boy and handed me back my proposal. I threw it in the fire."

I gasped. "But — you worked so hard! Those weeks away, and the weeks putting it all together into something so cohesive … I know it must have been disappointing, but surely it would have been better to hold onto it, show it to her another time …"

"What, when Maven suddenly decides that actually, maybe she would rather like to go against her own interests after all?" he said bitterly.

"She won't have your mother or this city in her stranglehold forever," I replied, but my words felt hollow.

Saerlund laughed, a weak, thin sound with no humour in it.

"Do you really believe that?"

My stomach twisted. I'd been trying hard not to think of Maven, but in Riften it was as impossible as ignoring the stench of the canals — and like the canals, she was beginning to feel like a permanent part of the cityscape. Vile and inescapable, and impossible to dislodge.

It had now been five weeks since Inigo's return from the Dark Brotherhood base. My enduring optimism that Riften could be fixed, that Maven could be brought to justice, was cracking as surely as my own strength. If not even the attempted assassination of a duke's daughter was enough, what would be?

"Kirilee?" Saerlund said. I realised I'd been silent for a long time. "This is the part where you tell me not to get discouraged, and say something like, change has to start with someone. Or a metaphor about planting seeds. That sort of thing."

I stared straight ahead, my gaze fixed on one of the many beggars I'd given alms to on more than a dozen occasions. She was a thin middle-aged Argonian woman who had the glassy, unfocused eyes and limp slouch of one in a skooma-dream. Before I'd first visited Riften I'd never even seen someone using skooma. Now I could recognise its symptoms at a moment's glance.

"She hired assassins, Saerlund." My voice was little more than a whisper I half-hoped would be lost on the breeze. "For me."

Saerlund startled so hard he scattered his cherries all over the ground. "She what? Who? Maven? Are you certain?"

I nodded. "I saw the letter with my own eyes. The Dark Brotherhood. It's been five weeks now since we handed the letter to the authorities, and as you can see, nothing's been done, even though V— very important people are apparently working on it." The aching tension and agitation of the past weeks had disappeared, to be replaced by a cold numbness. "Maybe you're right. Maybe trying to stand against her is a lost cause."

"Gods, Kirilee, I'm so sorry." His hands twisted at his front. "That's truly so terrible. I can't imagine why …"

I shrugged. "Politics, probably. Well, business, given it's Maven."

"I … I wish I had some words of comfort for you. But I feel like I'm hardly even surprised. I've known the Black-Briars a long time, and they're a law unto themselves." Saerlund's voice was just as glum and empty of hope as my own. "And while I wish I could say that an attempted assassination would be enough that even she'd have to answer for it … well. The evidence so far is quite to the contrary."

A jolt in my stomach. "What do you mean? She's done this before?"

"No — well, not that I know of, though it's not as though I'd be privy to such things. No, I'm referring to Sibbi. You know, when he stabbed that innkeeper last year? Surely you knew about that, I heard it all went down in Solitude, but I suppose there are a number of inns and —"

The blood drained from my face so quickly I felt dizzy. My vision blurred around the edges. Saerlund was still talking, twisting his hands and looking agitated, but I couldn't make out his words. All I could hear was the blood thumping in my own ears, and an ever-loudening shrill keening.

It was Sibbi. Sibbi killed Sorex. Sibbi stabbed my friend in the gut, robbing Corpulus of a son, and Minette and Felix of a brother.

Sibbi Black-Briar committed murder, and spent less than a month in jail for it. No wonder Maven wasn't in jail herself. They really were untouchable by the law.

Something inside me snapped. The blood rushed back into my face, accompanied by a roar of searing rage in my belly. My eyes lifted to a large, elegant manor house, the best-kept and most expensively decorated in the city. As if of their own accord my feet started taking me towards it.

"Kirilee? Where are you going? What's wrong?"

I shook off Saerlund's hand and walked faster. Nothing existed but that manor and the fury burning so hot within me that I expected at any moment to burst into flames.

"Kirilee —"

"Let go, Saerlund." My voice was a snarl I barely recognised as my own.

"But what —"

"Let go!"

Saerlund trotted after me like an anxious puppy, stammering questions and protests I ignored. At my feet Meeko kept pace, whining. My heart pounded. My breathing was ragged. It was Sibbi. It was Sibbi. Sibbi killed Sorex.

After a few minutes, or half an hour, or maybe a lifetime, I was in front of Black-Briar Manor's front door. It was more elaborately carved than even the Keep's own, and made of heavy, expensive teak. My hand moved to the latch.

"Kirilee, what are you doing?" Saerlund grabbed my shoulder and spun me round to face him. His eyes widened as they landed on my face, and he took a step backwards. "Kirilee, please. You're frightening me. Was … Was it what I said about the innkeeper? I'm sorry if that took you by surprise, I really did think you'd already know, everyone does, but — can we talk about this, please? Let's … let's go to the inn, find Inigo, and all have a drink together to cool down. We can talk about it. Please."

"What's there to talk about? That monster murdered my friend, and got off with just a slap on the wrist. How is that right, Saerlund?"

"Your friend? Oh Gods, I'm so sorry. It's not fair, it's not. But what's there to do about it? It's awful, and unfair, but … what's there to do?" he repeated. "That's just … how things are."

I wrenched open the door. "Not any more."

"What … what are you going to do?"

"I don't know." All I knew was that I couldn't stand by for one minute longer, watching and waiting for nothing to happen. Not any more.

"Please, Kirilee. Wait here. I'll, ah, I'll go get Inigo. He'll know what to do. Please. Wait here, I'll be right back."

Saerlund set off at a dead sprint towards the Bee and Barb. As soon as he'd gone I dismissed him as unimportant, and my attention returned to the open door. I stepped through. The inferno within me compressed into a white-hot focused core, like I'd swallowed a star.

"Stay, Meeko," I said. He cocked his head and whined reproachfully, but obeyed.

I padded through the thickly carpeted corridors. I'd never been in Black-Briar Manor before, but Sibbi had on more than one occasion given me precise directions to his chambers, should I ever wish to come calling in the middle of the night. My mouth twisted into an ugly sneer as I stopped in front of the door I knew would be his and reached for the latch. This wasn't the kind of visit he'd been hoping for, but perhaps it was about time things stopped going Sibbi Black-Briar's way.

I opened the door and entered.

"For fuck's sake, I told you to knock — wait, what are you doing here?"

Sibbi rose from the armchair in which he'd been lounging. A folio of some sort lay discarded on the floor at his feet, and his fingers still held the piece of dried fruit he'd just plucked from the bowl beside him. His lips quirked into a hungry smile.

"Come to your senses at last, finally? Can't say it hasn't taken you long enough," he said, popping the fruit into his mouth and shrugging off his ugly velvet doublet. "Shut the door."

He dropped the doublet onto the armchair, and began undoing the laces of his shirt.

After a few seconds he looked up again. "Didn't you hear me, bitch? I said, shut the fucking door."

Hatred burning in my eyes, I simply stared at him. I said nothing.

His leer slid away to be replaced by a snarl more quickly than I'd have believed possible, had I not seen his volatile temper in action several times before. He strode towards me.

"I said —"

"Stop."

Sibbi stopped.

My will held him tightly, one hand upraised, his face still twisted into a repulsive rictus. I didn't know how I'd managed it without my flute and I didn't care.

"You're a murderer." My voice shook. "A monster."

Sibbi's will battered against my own. I barely noticed. It was a weak, pitiful thing; the frail resolve of a bully who had his whole life been allowed to take everything he'd ever wanted without consequence.

"You killed my friend."

His eyes glinted. I couldn't read them, and I didn't much want to.

"You don't even care, do you? Are you even capable of remorse? Have you spared half a thought for the family you stole him from, and what you've done to them?"

He didn't reply, of course. Couldn't. I didn't want to hear what he'd have to say, knew him well enough now that I didn't need to.

The fury within me compressed further. I'd never felt such anger, such hatred. I couldn't control my breathing. My skin burned fever-hot.

"No. You haven't spared a thought for anyone except yourself in years. The only thing you cared about was whether you'd have to deal with the aftermath — but I'll wager you already knew you wouldn't. I can't imagine this was the first time Mother dearest pulled you out of the fire, just like she always does. None of you ever have to answer for anything, do you?"

My thoughts swirled, my emotions heaved. Illdi. Talen-Jei. Saerlund. Sorex. Myself. The dozens of others I didn't know about, but had surely hurt and suffered and lost at the hands of the Black-Briars.

Had Sorex even been Sibbi's first kill? My heart pounded harder.

"Nobody even questions it." I spat the words. "Ever since I first got here all I've heard is that nobody ever crosses the Black-Briars, unless they want to end up in the canals. That you're all untouchable, and all anyone can do is stay out of your way. I was so sure they were wrong. That nobody's that far above the law, not really. Nothing like this would ever happen in High Rock — but we're not in High Rock any more, are we? The rules are different here."

My own words echoed at me from the dark corners of my consciousness, spoken to Inigo after the most harrowing night of my life.

I'm glad she's dead.

Some people don't deserve the gift of life.

I held Sibbi's eyes with my own. "The rules are different. And so are the solutions. Maybe that's the lesson Skyrim's been trying to teach me all along."

The law couldn't touch the Black-Briars. But I could.

Hadn't I always said that it was my responsibility to help and protect those less fortunate than myself, by any means necessary? Hadn't Inigo shown me, time and again, that sometimes the only way to protect was with violence? Father had done his best to shelter me from the ugliness of the world, but Skyrim had opened my eyes. Sometimes there were no pretty solutions. Viarmo was right: sometimes working for the greater good meant making an ugly choice.

Sibbi Black-Briar was an animal who needed to be put down, and I had the means to do it. I could make sure he never hurt anyone again.

Sibbi must have seen something of the decision I'd just made in my face, for his eyes suddenly turned fearful, and he reminded me of nothing more than an overgrown schoolboy facing an unexpected punishment. My breathing quickened. The forms slid easily into the fore of my mind, and I pushed away Danica's voice reminding me I'd made a promise. This was for her, too — what if she was the next one to offend Sibbi, perhaps by insisting he not vandalise her holy tree? No. It was necessary.

"I'm sorry, Sibbi," I said. "It's the only way."

Sibbi's eyes squeezed shut and his struggles against my magical restraints grew more frantic. The first syllable of the spell pressed against my teeth. I saw a stain spreading across the front of Sibbi's breeches, and smelled the hot, sharp stench of urine.

"Kist," I hissed, and let the first form free.

Sibbi's back arched, and a trickle of blood ran from his nose. I heard a strangled whimper. He had stopped struggling.

His eyes opened. They were filled with tears.

Please, they seemed to say. Please.

Suddenly the spell evaporated, its forms crowded from my mind by a panoply of voices and faces. Jarl Idgrod telling me to find my strength in love. Mother Balu saying I had a good heart, which would see me safely through. Illdi and Ataf, their fingers intertwined, their love a heady cloud around them. Minette's dark eyes. Corpulus' crooked smile. My father's voice; my mother's touch. And Inigo: Inigo's love, Inigo's unfaltering trust and belief in me, and my character, and my strength.

You are so kind, he'd said. You are still kind, no matter how much hardship and horror you have seen. Not many people could remain so. It is what I love most about you.

Looking into Sibbi's terrified, tear-filled eyes, I imagined I could see myself reflected there. Was this the Kirilee Inigo loved? Was this the Kirilee Mara had chosen as Her champion of love?

My resolve faltered, then broke.

I released my hold on Sibbi and fell limp and boneless to the thickly carpeted floor, even as a trio of guards burst through the open doorway with blades drawn. Within moments I was surrounded, my hands held behind my back, while an irate, blubbering Sibbi related the whole story to a stony-faced guard. He held a pillow clamped against his groin as he spoke.

Now that the situation had been defused all three guards seemed suddenly nervous and uncertain. I didn't blame them; being caught between a foreign high noble and the Black-Briars was an unenviable position for anyone to be in.

"Er," said the one holding my wrists, from behind my shoulder, "milady, I don't mean —"

"I won't be any trouble," I said softly. My head hung, a curtain of hair hiding my face; my shame.

A few dark spots formed on the carpet where my tears landed. A second later Meeko's head appeared in my limited field of vision, and as he looked up at me with his soft, nut-brown eyes my tears fell thick and fast.

"Oh. Er, good. I'll, ah, let your wrists free then, and you'll come with me to the, er … jail? I'm sorry, milady, just til this gets sorted out, you understand …"

I nodded, not looking up. When he released my arms they fell to my sides. Meeko pushed his head under my hand, and my fingers tightened in his fur.

The guard put a hand on my shoulder and steered me gently towards the door. Though I didn't look, I could hear the other two trying to calm Sibbi down. He must have noticed me leaving, for as the guard shut the door behind me I heard him spit, "You'll pay for this, whore."

I ignored him. I felt numb, and very cold.

Lurking in the shadowed corridor outside was a figure, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. I lifted my eyes. It was Saerlund, white-faced and clearly terrified.

"I'm sorry, Kirilee," he said in a great rush. "I'm so sorry."

My head dropped, and my hair veiled me once again from view. I said nothing as the guard led me through the manor and out into the warm sunshine I could no longer feel.

I wasn't sorry Saerlund had called the guards on me. I'd nearly killed someone in cold blood. I deserved everything which was coming my way, and more.