-PART ONE-


Solitude was finally in sight.

After weeks at sea, with nothing but the dull monotony of endless steely-grey waves, the sight of land — any land — would have been welcome. But what met my eyes was far from any ordinary glimpse of sea-strewn cliffs or sandy beaches. I gasped and jumped to my feet from the coiled rope on which I had been sitting on the deck. I had read about the famous Solitude Arch, seen drawings, but nothing could have prepared me for the awe-inspiring majesty of the enormous stone archway jutting from the sea on one side and the land on the other, with the city of Solitude perched defiantly on top. It was just as spectacular, just as improbable, as I'd always been told. It didn't look like it should be allowed — how on Nirn had such a ridiculous structure of rock even formed? And what mad genius had decided to construct a city on top of it? It was crazy. Wonderful. I squinted, and thought I could perhaps make out the splashes of blue and red that would indicate the famous Blue Palace and Solitude Windmill respectively, though from this distance, it was equally likely to just be my imagination. The buildings looked so small that it was hard to believe people lived in them, rather than dolls. I marvelled. Living in Solitude must be like living in the sky.

The following hours passed in an almost painful combination of nervous excitement and draining tedium. Solitude and its harbour seemed to only inch closer, and after an hour or two of anxious pacing I had settled myself back on the coil of arm-thick rope, pack at my feet, lute case in my lap. I drummed an anxious tattoo with my fingers. We were so close! Surely it couldn't be much longer!

As the Wind's Pleasure passed underneath the enormous stone arch I looked upwards, and stretched my arms out as far as I could, imagining brushing the weathered rock with my fingertips. I thought of the people hundreds of feet above my head, entirely unaware of the ship directly beneath their feet. Did they ever think about the fact that they were walking in the sky? I hoped so. It would be a shame to waste such a special city on people who didn't appreciate it.

The arch was so huge, so wide, that for the minutes we spent underneath it we were cast into a strange, unnatural gloom. Every sound echoed strangely, making me feel disoriented and uncomfortable. Then we were back out into the summer sunshine once more. We were in Solitude Harbour, the meeting-place of three great waters: the Sea of Ghosts, the Karth River, and the sprawling marshes to the ship's left. The sailors, of course, would have said that the marshes weren't to the left. They were to port, or maybe starboard — I could never remember which was which — but as I wasn't talking to any sailors I defiantly thought of them as being on our left. I didn't understand why these ocean-going types had to come up with all these confusing names for things when there were perfectly serviceable words already.

Slowly, ever so slowly, far too slowly, the Wind's Pleasure drew into the docks and … docked, I supposed. The process of tying the ship fast — was there a nautical name for that, too? — also seemed to take far longer than it should have. While I waited I drank in the sight of the city of Solitude. My new home; for a time, at least. Though the walled upper city was still far above, the lower city stretched all the way down the hill from the cliffs where the arch joined the mainland, connecting the sea to the sky. The whole hillside was a patchwork of differently-coloured tiled roofs, many of the city's buildings precariously perched on the cliff-faces themselves. I wondered whether any of them ever slipped and fell into the harbour below.

I watched fishermen pouring their morning's catch into wooden boxes, calling to one another and haggling amicably with the merchants who had braved the docks for the privilege of having first pick of the ocean's bounty. I watched the loading and unloading of other larger merchant's vessels, like ours, some of which brought exotic wares from far-away provinces to sell in Skyrim, others of which would be carrying Skyrim's products to those same far-away ports. I tried to remember what Skyrim's main exports were, but was too excited and jittery to focus.

Eventually Elanna, the ship-mistress, hurried over to me. Not for the first time I was amazed by the grace with which she moved around the ship, despite her bulky musculature. Though she was only a few inches taller than me I would have wagered she weighed at least half as much again as I, and all of it muscle.

"We're ready, your Ladyship," she said. "You can disembark whenever you'd like."

"Thank you, Elanna. But really, from today I'm not 'your Ladyship' any more — just Kirilee."

Her lips crooked into a little half-smile. "Perhaps. But while Lord Perival's daughter is on this ship, she is, and always will be, her Ladyship."

I laughed, but inwardly felt a small flicker of anger. Even here, weeks of travel away from home, I still wasn't allowed to be my own person. Well, that would change the moment I stepped off that … gangplank? Was that what they called it?

Naelith, the captain, wandered over from where she had been supervising the unloading of the ship's cargo and put her arm around her wife. "You sure about this, milady? Your passage is already paid both ways. You've seen Solitude now, you sure you don't just want to come back home with us?"

"I'm sure," I said firmly, slinging my lute over my back and picking up my pack.

"Well, if you change your mind, we'll be here the next three days while we take on cargo and do some repairs. We'd be glad to have you on the return journey — nothing keeps a sailor from focusing on how hard he's being worked than some music. Even if yours is … a bit fancy, for the men's tastes."

"You're too kind," I said, though I didn't mean it.

I thanked the couple again, accepted their awkward bows, then strode off the Wind's Pleasure and into Skyrim. As I walked through the docks, wrinkling my nose slightly at the pervasive aroma of fish, I vowed to myself that it would be a long, long time before I set foot on that ship, or one like it, again. I certainly would not be back here within the three days, tail between my legs, admitting to Mother and Father and Naelith and Elanna and everyone back home that I had been wrong. When I went home it would be on my own terms, as a famous bard in my own right. Nobody would be able to say I was just another vapid Breton noblewoman, hitching an easy ride through life on the back of my family name. Nobody. I would show them all.

My irritation with the captain and mistress of the Wind's Pleasure burned out as I walked through the lower city. I stared in open glee at everything — the people, almost all of whom were so much taller than me that I felt like a child among crowds of adults; the little shops and houses squeezed together higgledy-piggledy into every available space; the trees and flowers, reminiscent of those at home yet somehow completely different — it all filled me with a bursting, tumbling joy and excitement. Perhaps what I loved most, though, was the anonymity. The crowds did not part as I moved through them, and I found myself smiling broadly as I had to wait for gaps in the foot traffic to squeeze through. Nobody looked twice at me, except perhaps in faint surprise that the small person pushing past them was not, in fact, a child; but a fully-grown woman. I revelled in it. Here I wasn't Kirilee Dobraine, daughter-heir of the Duke of Aldcroft. I was just another small, annoying, red-headed foreigner, getting in the way of people trying to do honest work.

After an hour or two of huffing and puffing I found myself in front of the gates to the upper city. The scarlet-clad guards looked me over, spotted the lute case on my back, then nodded once and pushed open the small sally-port. I stepped through, and my breath caught in my chest. It was beautiful. While the lower city was full of the hustle and bustle of a busy port town, the upper city almost felt like a completely different city altogether. The buildings here were stately and grand. No tiny shacks crowded between the imposing stone structures. Each house and store looked as though it had been carefully placed exactly where it stood, and everything stood exactly in its proper place. Plants and flowers still burst from unexpected corners, but most were confined to well-maintained flowerbeds. I smiled and breathed in the air. Solitude. I had arrived.

I walked slowly along the cobblestones. People hurried about, just as in the lower city, but in a more … stately manner, as though they had unconsciously adopted some of the gravitas of the place itself. I noticed the high stone wall enclosing the city meant I couldn't see out across the harbour or the sea at all, and felt my first twinge of sadness. Didn't these people want to feel like they lived in the sky?

I passed an inn, with the odd name of 'the Winking Skeever', then a shop called Radiant Raiment with such exquisite gowns displayed in the windows that I itched to have a look. I myself wore only a simple cotton dress, and I longed to feel the touch of silks once more. With great reluctance I forced myself to turn away, and keep going. First the Bards' College. Once I was admitted I could dally as much as I liked gazing at gowns. … Not that I was likely to be able to afford any at present, anyway. I had belatedly realised that I'd frittered away far too much of my coin on the journey from home, never before having had to think about whether or not I could afford something. Never mind. Once I had coin of my own — I should receive a stipend from the College, I expected, and would probably be able to earn more performing at inns — I would learn how to manage it.

Though I knew roughly where to go to find the College, I still had to stop to ask for directions several times. It was such a large, towering city with its large, towering walls and large, towering buildings that I got turned around over and over again. I felt very small in this huge city with its huge people, and smaller still at the mistrustful, unfriendly glances I seemed to receive when I asked its inhabitants whether they might point me towards the Bards' College. Then again, I might have imagined it all. The Nords had to quite literally look down their noses so far to see me that it may have only been my perspective that made them seem so aloof. I was heartened, at least, by the bards who seemed to be playing on every other corner I passed. This truly was a city that loved the arts. I could make this place my home.

By the time I finally found my way to the entrance of the College it was approaching late afternoon, and I was tired, hungry and footsore. I stopped and stared for a moment, a slow smile spreading across my face. It was a beautiful building: three stories high, built from intricately dressed stone, and every window stained glass. I knocked on the door, adjusted my lute on my back, and waited. Might they perhaps allow me to perform my audition the next morning, after a hot meal, a hotter bath, and a warm bed? I was sure I could still play well enough to be admitted today, but I wanted to properly impress, for which I would have preferred to be better rested.

After a few minutes of waiting the door was opened by a blonde-haired Nord girl, roughly my own age. She peered around the half-open door.

"Um, hello?" she said.

"Good afternoon. I'm here to audition for admittance to the College," I said, standing up straighter.

"Um. Okay. Wait here, I'll go get the Headmaster." The door shut with a firm click, and I was left to wait at the base of the short flight of steps. I ran quickly through my audition pieces in my head for the hundredth time. Yes, they would do. Even Master Ylbert said my command of the Alphonsina was unparalleled for my level of tuition, and Guillemande's Etudes were a staple of the lute canon across the whole continent, apparently. They should serve.

After a much longer wait than before, the door was opened again, this time all the way. The open doorway framed a reasonably old-looking Altmer man, thin and wiry as a whip. Despite the lines on his face his hair hadn't yet started to grey, and was instead a brilliant shade of gold. His clever, calculating eyes were also gold, but a deeper, amber-like colour, and with his pale-gold skin he appeared almost like a gleaming golden statue, illuminated by the late afternoon sun. He stood at the top of the steps, which meant that in combination with his height I felt as though I was little more than a small child, staring up at a giant.

"I am Headmaster Viarmo," he intoned. "I hear we have a new applicant? You should be aware that many apply, but we accept … very few." He looked me up and down slowly, and I could tell he was not impressed. I knew I looked like a commoner — but I also knew for a fact that Solitude's College admitted plenty of commoners. I lifted my chin proudly and met his eyes.

"Yes. My name is Kirilee, and I —"

"Kirilee who?"

I flushed. By the Divines. I couldn't believe I'd been so stupid. I had decided not to use my actual surname, of course, but hadn't thought to come up with a different surname to use instead.

"Just — just Kirilee," I replied defiantly, lifting my chin a little higher. It didn't matter. He'd hear me play, and then I'd be admitted, and none of this would matter. I was suddenly painfully aware of how straggly and windswept my hair was. Perhaps I should have spent the night at an inn after all, then come here the next morning, fresh-faced and well-groomed.

"Well, Just Kirilee," he said, his eyes lingering on my hair as I brushed it out of my face, "do you have any letters of introduction from your former Master or Masters?"

"… No." I couldn't bring a letter from Master Ylbert. It would have defeated the whole purpose of applying anonymously. He was one of the most well-known Masters of Lute in Tamriel — announcing I'd studied with him would be as good as shouting my true identity to all of Solitude. "But I have audition pieces prepared, I have the Alphon— "

Once more Headmaster Viarmo interrupted me. "No, no; I think I have a task befitting an aspiring bard of … your talents. I need you to go to Dead Men's Respite. From there you will retrieve the long-lost King Olaf's Verse, which we believe might be found there." He gave me a rather unpleasant smile.

I gaped at him. What?

"What?" I choked out.

"Yes, yes, Elisif has forbidden the Burning of King Olaf, a festival traditionally put on by the Bards' College. We need to change her mind. To convince her, I want to read King Olaf's Verse."

"But — I'm a musician — my audition —" I gripped my lute case's strap so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

The Headmaster was already turning to go back inside. "Come back when you've retrieved that verse, girl. Then we'll talk about an audition." He pulled the door shut behind him, and I was left alone in the dying sunlight once more.

I stared at the closed door.

That —

That could have gone a lot better.

After a few moments staring at the door I sank onto the stone steps leading up to the courtyard in front of the College, and pulled my lute around so it rested on my knees. I hugged the case tightly to myself, trying not to cry. How could he just … turn me away? I had no illusions about the absurd 'task' Headmaster Viarmo had set for me as my 'application'. Solitude was crawling with mercenaries and adventurers — I'd passed at least a dozen on my way through the city — and if this 'long lost' verse even existed I was sure they'd have hired some of them to go find it. Not a scared young Breton girl in a cotton dress clutching a lute case. No. He just didn't want to give me even the chance of an audition.

The injustice of it all welled up within me. Didn't he see my lute was a Montaigne? Didn't he know I had mastered the entirety of Perrien's Well-Tempered Lute by the time I was fifteen? Didn't he know who I was?

No, a small voice said from the back of my mind, he didn't, and wasn't that the whole point? Didn't you insist you'd be admitted to the College, rise in fame, make a name for yourself without anyone knowing who you were and where you came from? Well, you're getting your wish.

I dashed furious tears from my eyes. Yes, that had been the point. But I hadn't imagined I wouldn't even be allowed to audition.

Now what? I stared glumly out into the street. My whole plan — such as it was — had hinged on my being admitted into the College, and working my way up from there, with the resources and status afforded me by my membership. But … well. That plan was out. What could I do instead?

You could go home, that same small voice said. Go back to the Wind's Pleasure and sail back to Aldcroft. Go home, resume your responsibilities, make your parents proud. Give up on this foolish idea. Who are you trying to prove something to, anyway?

I stood up sharply, startling a pigeon that had been pecking at the ground nearby. No. I would not go home. I'd barely even made a proper attempt yet! So, the College had rejected me. I'd just have to spend some time as an independent bard, build up my name that way, then reapply later, once I was well-known enough that they would have to at least consider my audition. I had worked so hard to get here. I was hardly going to give up at the first hurdle. Skyrim would accept me, whether it wanted to or not.

I swung my lute around so it rested on my back again, picked up my bag, chose a direction at random and began to walk. I would need to find an inn.


The sun slipped away as I wandered through the city, feeling lethargic and despondent. It had all gone so wrong, so quickly. Rather than spending my first night in Solitude as a student at the Bards' College, my path forward secure and comfortable, I was just … a girl with a lute and a flute and a handful of change in her purse. Did I even have enough coin to pay for a room in an inn for the night? A chill ran through me. Surely I must. But then again, the purse of coins I'd brought with me from home had seemed like an enormous extravagance, and yet it had all but evaporated in only a month, most of which had been spent at sea. I admitted to myself that I was woefully underprepared for life in a foreign city on my own. By the Divines, I didn't even know such obvious things as how much a night in an inn actually cost! Would I even be able to tell if an innkeeper was trying to fleece me? Probably not, I thought gloomily, while examining the beautiful stone buildings I was passing. I would just have to hope I found somewhere reputable, with an honest innkeep.

The thought of speaking to more hard-faced Nords twisted my stomach, so I instead stopped a passing child to ask for advice. She looked to be about ten or eleven, and possibly Imperial, I thought, which meant that she was roughly my own height. It felt very nice to look someone directly in the eyes again, even if those eyes were currently slightly narrowed in the near-permanent suspicion of those approaching adolescence.

"What?"

"I was hoping for your help," I said, wondering whether she could see the desperation on my face. "I'm looking for an inn. A … nice one. One with a good innkeeper, and nice people."

She sniffed. "Is that it? That's easy. Follow me." She spun around and strode away in the opposite direction to which I'd been walking, her brown curls bobbing around her shoulders.

I hurried after her, and fished out a coin. "Here —" I said, pressing it into her hand, "for your trouble."

She held the coin up to her eye level, examining it as though she'd never seen such a thing before. Sniffing again, she handed it back. "I'm no urchin. Keep your money, lady. You look like you need it."

I felt my cheeks warm. Surely I didn't look so bad as all that?

"Who are you, then?" I said, then realising it could have come across quite rudely, "I mean, what's your name?"

"Minette. Minette Vinius. What's yours?"

"Kirilee," I said. "Minette's a pretty name."

"So's Kirilee. Where're you from?"

"Daggerfall." My lips stumbled a little over the lie.

"I'm from Skingrad. But I've been in Solitude longer'n I ever was there, so I reckon by now I'm actually from Solitude, probably." She thought fiercely for a moment. "I reckon anyone who's in Solitude for long enough is eventually from Solitude. Do you have any pets? I like dogs."

The girl's questions were relentless, but I did my best to satisfy them as we walked through the gradually darkening city; thinking quickly to come up with answers about my family and my home that weren't too far from the truth, but also wouldn't give too much away. Well done, Kirilee, I thought to myself as Minette jabbered on about her collection of — did she say ales? No, surely not. I must have misheard, and she had actually said something like pails, or snails. You wasted a whole month on that ship daydreaming about your new life in Skyrim, and now you have to come up with a convincing backstory while being interrogated by a ten-year-old. Well done, indeed.

I found myself liking Minette. Her bold confidence and easy companionship greatly helped soothe my frayed emotions, and I hoped I would run into her again. Though in a city this size I doubted it, and it was with a slight reluctance that I anticipated parting from her as we pulled up in front of a large inn: the Winking Skeever, the inn I had passed earlier in the day just inside the upper city's gates.

"This is the Skeever. Best inn in the city," she said, beaming at it with apparent pride.

"Thank you, Minette. I appreciated your help, and company — oh, are you going in too?" I asked, puzzled, as she pushed open the door and started to step through.

She gave me a withering look. "Course I am. My Papa's the innkeeper. Coming?" She slipped through the door, and I followed a pace behind, shaking my head and feeling like I'd been tricked somehow — though I hadn't ever asked Minette what her parents did, I realised. Perhaps she really had said ales.

The Winking Skeever was a large, warmly-lit inn in the style I'd seen in Camlorn, on those occasions that Mother had allowed me to peer inside one. The building was perhaps three stories tall, and much of what would have been the ceilings for both the ground and first floors had been knocked out, so that the common room into which the front door opened felt open and spacious and inviting. I glanced upwards, and noted that the first floor wrapped around in a sort of balcony. I supposed the guest rooms would probably be on the upper stories.

It was early enough that the common room itself had only a smattering of patrons, whose voices echoed in a way which made the room feel much fuller than it was. There was also a bard. My heart twisted painfully as I heard the strains of a lute, and my eyes traced the music to its source. A lean, blonde-haired Breton woman, several years older and several inches taller than me, sat in the back corner of the room, playing lazily while reclining in a wooden chair. My breath caught for a moment as her eyes flicked first to Minette's, then my face — but she didn't seem to recognise me, and I relaxed again. Calm down, I told myself sternly. The number of people likely to recognise you in this province is vanishingly small. If you panic every time a Breton looks your way you'll give yourself a heart sickness.

"That's Lisette," Minette said, catching the direction of my gaze. "She's nice, and pretty good. You can meet her later. Come meet Papa first. And — oh." She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes as a broad, muscly ox of a man approached. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, but based on his curling brown hair and the enormous scowl on Minette's face, I would have bet the rest of my purse that this man was probably her older brother.

"What's this, Minette? Dragged in another lost songbird off the streets?" The man gave me a friendly nod. "No offence meant, of course. To you, anyway."

"This," said Minette, her scowl deepening, "is Sorex. Sorex, this is Kirilee. Leave us alone, I'm taking her to talk to Papa." I gave Sorex an apologetic shrug as Minette pushed past him and dragged me by one hand towards the bar. He grinned crookedly in response and chuckled, then returned to his sweeping.

The man behind the bar was a middle-aged Imperial, sandy-haired and friendly-faced. Though his hair was lighter than his children's I could see their features reflected and matured in his own, and when he smiled at me, it was Sorex's smile I saw.

"Who's this you've brought with you, Minette? Another of your projects?"

"This is Kirilee, Papa. She's new in Solitude and wants to be a bard."

I blinked at her in shock. "How did you know that? I never told you …"

Minette gave me another withering look. I had the sense she probably wore it very frequently. "You've got a lute, and you were wandering around near the College looking for an inn. I'm not stupid." She turned back to her father. "She's nice. I like her."

The innkeeper considered me. "Is that so, now. Wouldn't take you on at the College, miss?"

"They … wouldn't let me audition." I flushed scarlet. Was I going to have to air my shame for every person I met? I refused to acknowledge the sympathetic looks of the innkeep and his children. I was not someone to be pitied. "How much is a room for the night? And a meal. I can pay," I said, more abruptly than I had intended. I pulled out my purse, and blushed even harder when I noticed the innkeeper's eye lingering on its rather depressing flatness.

"Tell you what," he said with a crooked grin. "Do me a little audition, here and now. If you're good enough, Lisette here can have the night off, you can play for the inn instead, and I'll give you your room and board for free in exchange. Sound fair?"

I tried hard, but couldn't disguise the relief that washed over me at his words. "Sounds fair." Minette clapped delightedly.

I squatted on the floor and flicked the clasps open on my lute case. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the inn's bard — Lisette — set down her own lute and drift over, looking interested.

"Hallo," she said. "Just in from High Ro— surely that's not a Montaigne?"

The innkeeper cocked an eyebrow at her. "Hrm?"

"It is," I said to Lisette, then to the innkeeper, "Montaigne was a rather well-known Breton luthier."

"Well-known! Legendary, more like! One of the greatest luthiers to ever live!"

"He was no Gaercroft," I said distractedly, running my fingers over the strings, then beginning to adjust the tuning pegs. "I'm impressed you recognised my instrument, actually. Everyone seems to forget about Montaigne, when they're talking about the greats."

Lisette was still staring at my lute as though she couldn't believe what she was seeing. "Where on Nirn did you get one?"

Divines take it. Of course one of the first people I should meet would recognise my lute as noteworthy. This was, for once, a problem I had actually anticipated, but I had seen no way around it. I would not leave my lute behind and bring an inferior but more inconspicuous instrument. I could as easily have left behind my own arm.

"It was a gift, for my sixteenth birthday." That much was true. "I have … a rather wealthy grandmother," I added, in response to Lisette's continued stare of disbelief. That was also true — though the two were wholly unrelated.

"Do you realise how lucky you are?"

"Yes," I said, again with perfect honesty, and stood up. I had finished tuning. It was time to play.

I let a simple chord ring out through the room, which was slightly less empty now as patrons began to trickle in for the evening. Yes. The acoustics in here were as good as I'd hoped. After positioning myself underneath the overhanging balcony, so as to better reflect my sound throughout the room, I began to play.

I played Alphonsina, just as I had been planning to play at the College. It felt fitting — and besides, I wanted to stretch my wings, so to speak. I was tired of being underestimated and looked down upon the whole day. It was time to soar.

The inn's conversations died out one by one, and within a minute of launching into the piece I had the room's undivided attention. Good. Let them see what I could do; let them carry tales of the skill of the bard whom the College hadn't even deigned to audition. My right hand danced across the strings while my left danced up and down the fretboard. Soon I was completely submerged in my music, all anger and hurt and worry wiped clean from my mind, and all that existed was me and my lute and the interweaving contrapuntal strains of Rielle's Alphonsina.

The final notes died away. There were a few seconds of silence, then a rather tepid round of applause. I blinked, disoriented. Where was I? Oh yes, the inn in Solitude. I needed to impress the innkeeper to win a room for the night and the opportunity to perform. I looked around the room until I found his eyes. Based on his expression … I would have my room.

After I had put away my lute and been sat down at the bar, the innkeeper introduced himself as Corpulus Vinius.

"Beautiful music," he said, for at least the dozenth time. "Never heard anything like it. College doesn't know what it's missing." He poured me a goblet of what I assumed was wine, though it didn't smell like any wine I'd had before. I sniffed it cautiously.

"It's spiced wine," Sorex offered from next to his father. "Evette San makes it herself, some kind of secret recipe. It's good. Solitude specialty." He smiled at me shyly from under his lashes.

I took a sip, and made an appreciative noise. It was better than good, it was marvellous. I took another long draught. To Oblivion with being ladylike. I'd earned a good drink.

"Beautiful," Corpulus said again. "Well, the College's loss is my gain. Any night you like you're welcome to play here. Room, board, and I can probably toss a few coins your way, too. More than a few, if you start to bring in more business for the inn."

I flushed, a little embarrassed, but more than a little pleased. "That's very kind of you, but won't Lisette —"

"Oh, don't worry your head about me," Lisette herself said, slipping onto the barstool next to mine. "I appreciate the steady work here, but I'm more than happy for the occasional night off. Or more than occasional, if I'm honest with you. Play any night you like. I've still got the days. If I want them back, I'll tell you." I stumbled over my words trying to properly express my thanks, but she just patted me companionably on the arm. "Don't worry your head about it," she repeated. "You've got talent, and I've got friends and hobbies. It would be a shame to let either of those languish." She then wandered off with her mug of mead, calling a cheery hello to one of said friends who had just appeared through the door.

"See," Minette said, who had watched the entire exchange while leaning against the bar, "I told you she's nice."

"You did. Thank you, Minette. I think meeting you was probably the best thing that happened to me today."

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Course it was. Welcome to Solitude, Miss Kirilee."

And I finally felt that I was.