4E 200
In the months after becoming Listener, Hypatia started to read with Cicero's help. He was more than honored to volunteer his time to her; in Cicero's eyes, he was fulfilling his duty as Keeper. After all, the Listener was Mother's chosen—to serve this extension of Mother was to serve Mother herself.
Cicero passed some parchment to Hypatia. He had scribbled out a series of symbols in neat rows down the page. Hypatia recognized a few from her previous, short-lived lessons, but she could not pronounce anything.
"Allow Cicero to explain. These symbols are called letters," he said. "Each letter makes a sound, you see, and these sounds come together to form words. Easy, hmm?"
Hypatia quickly understood to associate these letters with varying sounds.
"This one! This one!" Cicero pointed to a swirl of black ink on the page. "This one makes a sound like 'ssss'."
And so, every evening for the next few months, Cicero gave Hypatia lessons. They started with the compendium he had bought her the month before. Hypatia pulled a shiny red gem from one of the boxes under her bed, comparing it to drawings on the page.
"Roo-bee", Hypatia sounded out, glancing to Cicero who clapped his hands excitedly.
"Yes!" he praised. "A red ruby!"
Together, they labeled the compartmented sections of each box in order to organize each stone by type.
Today, Cicero had promised Hypatia they would make a trip to Falkreath together. It was his intention to purchase quills, ink, loose parchment, and an empty journal so Hypatia could practice a bit of writing.
Outside the Sanctuary door, Hypatia leaned against a tree near the path, her arms relaxed at her side. She was waiting for Cicero to meet her and accompany her to Falkreath. There was a cool breeze coming from the North, gently blowing blonde strands across her face. Hypatia had always enjoyed the chill, found it calming even. She presumed this was due to her Nordic heritage.
"Listener!" called Cicero who trudged up the hill on the other side of the path. He was coming from the hidden Sanctuary door on the opposite side.
"Cicero apologizes for his tardiness!" he said, offering an awkward sort of bow. "I was with our Lady."
Hypatia understood that he spoke of the Night Mother.
"No need to apologize," she said. "I realize your work keeps you busy."
"Oh, it does! You understand. There is always something to be done. Cicero must mix the preservation oils, tend to the body, dust the coffin, occasionally change Mother's wrappings… so much work for poor Cicero. But I do it willingly, I do!" he grinned. "Unfortunately, there's been a bit of an… infestation," Cicero shuddered, face tightening in irritation.
"Infestation?" Hypatia repeated, as she led them down the dusty path toward Falkreath.
"Rats!" he shrieked.
Hypatia felt an uncomfortable need to spit. She despised rodents with a passion. When she was a child, a skeever had attacked her on her late father's farm. The creature had sunk disgusting teeth into her tiny leg, and the skin had swelled up, oozing green with infection. The wound eventually healed, but on her left calf Hypatia still had the scar to remember it by.
"Regrettably, rats are drawn to decaying matter, corpses included," Cicero frowned. "It was only a matter of time! Oh damndest, vile creatures!" he shook his head. "I found one gnawing on our Lady's foot! Thank Sithis she didn't lose another toe!"
Hypatia made a choking noise, imaging the rat eating the Night Mother's rotten toe. She still couldn't understand how Cicero stomached these revolting duties.
"Ah, but clever Cicero has found the means of their entry—a hole in the south wall. It was there that Cicero left poison and plugged it up! I can only hope this fixes the problem."
He scowled, shaking his head as if to shake off the awful thoughts. They continued their trek toward the town, and Hypatia changed the subject.
"I've finished the book you gave me to read," she said. (About a month ago Cicero had given Hypatia a copy of the book, Sithis.)
The jester exploded his hands together in an encouraging clap. "Listener, well done!" he praised. "And what thoughts does Hypatia have?"
"Truthfully, I found the book rather confusing," she told him. "The concept of Sithis—well the concept of religion in general is difficult to grasp," she told him honestly.
"Sithis is a part of Brotherhood tradition," he told her. "As you say, a difficult concept indeed, but understanding him is a worthwhile pursuit. Yes, it is! As the Listener, you have a responsibility to Brotherhood folklore. A responsibility to tradition!"
She recalled the previous conversation between Babette and Gabriella in which each argued for their own visions for the Brotherhood. Hypatia had stayed away from Sanctuary politics as much as possible. But now that she was Listener, she felt a duty to keep the Brotherhood's best interests in mind. Tradition hadn't served the Brotherhood well in the past, but progress as of late left a bad taste in her mouth.
"Not all traditions are good," she said. "If I can speak genuinely, I'm struggling to find the right balance between tradition and progress. If tradition served us so well, why did it lead us to such shambles?"
Cicero did not seem pleased with her honesty.
"Bah, you sound like that Astrid," he criticized. "Listener, I beg you do not fall victim to her vile manipulations! You are being naïve."
Oddly, his words stung. Hypatia knew her observations were made innocently, but it was clear Cicero felt threatened by her questions. Despite how she genuinely desired to find the path worth taking Hypatia internally shrugged. Debating policy was never her strong suit and she had no brawn for an argument with him.
Cicero was her only friend here. Perhaps the first friend she'd made in her entire life. There was no point in driving him away with this nonsense. So, she pushed her questions away, letting them fly away with the cold breeze.
Soon enough, the two of them came upon the town of Falkreath. They stepped up through the door of Gray Pine Goods, greeted by the smell of tobacco and dust. There were two men standing in the wooden room—Solaf, the shopkeeper and a patron wearing a tattered miner's shirt.
"I'm going to Solitude for the memorial parade," said a patron to Solaf. Solaf's eyes were wide with shock, but he shook his head as though amused.
"It's a shame," Solaf said. "But I can't say I didn't expect something like this to happen. Ulfric has been outspoken against the Empire for years. Even back when I served in the Stormcloaks, he had blunt opinions about Torygg."
Hypatia and Cicero stood in line behind the patron, watching as his demeanor shifted from solace to offense.
"So, what are you saying? Solaf, you don't plan to take up arms against Skyrim, do you?"
"Oh gods, no. No, not at all. I served under the Stormcloaks when it was only Ulfric's private militia. I don't believe this war will bring anything good," he said. "Most wars are pointless," he laughed and shook his head. "I lost my Ma in the Great War."
"Well, my condolences," the patron said. "War is a nasty business."
Hypatia lifted a hand, completely unaware of what they were talking about.
"Excuse me," she said, and both men turned toward her and Cicero. "What's happened?"
"A courier came by yesterday," Solaf explained. "High King Torygg was murdered."
Hypatia put a hand to her mouth, surprised by the news. Cicero nodded calmly beside her; forehead creased in a thoughtful frown.
"It was the Jarl of Windhelm, Ulfric Stormcloak. People say that he killed Torygg with his voice!" offered the patron. "Shouted him to death!"
"How is that possible?" asked Hypatia, confused. She'd killed a lot of people, but never had she heard of killing someone by shouting.
"It's an ancient Nord power," explained Solaf. "Ulfric learned this power from the Greybeards. I know this from my time in his service."
Hypatia considered this power for a moment. It sounded terrifying. Cicero stepped up past the patron.
"We're looking to purchase quills, ink, parchment, and an empty journal."
Solaf nodded, turned to his back shelves to gather the supplies, and laid them on the counter. Cicero pulled gold from his pouch, and offered it to Solaf.
"Glad to do business with you," he said.
Cicero was such a patient teacher. Constantly he sounded out words with her and helped her perfect her penmanship. His praise was like candy, and he loved encouraging her. These lessons were more than any person had done for Hypatia, and it touched her deeply. It was during this time that Cicero and Hypatia grew ever closer, drawn together like flowers and bees.
"Ooohhh, Listener!" Cicero's laugh resonated off the stone as he came dancing down the Sanctuary stairs one morning. Hypatia looked up from her breakfast and beamed. Gabriella, who was eating oats against the back wall, cringed in annoyance. The two of them had become quite the noisy pair.
"There's a song in Cicero's mind!" the jester laughed, rounding the table, and extending his hand for Hypatia to take. "Please, allow humble Cicero a dance!"
She was delighted to be drawn up from the chair and into his arms.
"What song are you thinking of?" she asked, giggling as he began to sway her side to side.
"Oh, a happy one!" he threw his head back laughing and Hypatia followed along dizzily. "Let Cicero sing for you!" he let out a melodious hum, throwing the Listener into a flamboyant, waltz-like dance.
Gabriella felt the desire to throw her wooden spoon at the pair. It was far too early for such shenanigans.
"Oh, please, you two!" she grumbled, turning to leave the room in a huff.
Hypatia gave herself away to Cicero's rhythm. Her cotton dress fluttered across her legs, fabric bouncing as the two of them twisted and turned crossways down the room.
Cicero pursed his lips in a long, cheerful whistle and twirled Hypatia like a ribbon.
As she spun, the corners of her eyes creased with joy, and she drew her mouth back in an adorable smile. Hypatia had never felt so dizzy and free.
It was then she saw the sparkle in Cicero's green eyes. He had a gloved hand placed on the small of her back and when he pulled her close, she realized how solid his chest was. He suddenly seemed strangely handsome. How had she never noticed before?
Hypatia soon came to realize her feelings for Cicero ran deeper than ordinary friendship. She admired his kindness and felt entranced by his enthusiasm. But deeper than both his kindness and enthusiasm, was his devotion to her well-being. Perhaps she was only naïve, but no other man (or woman for that matter) had shown such care toward her. This alone caused a great well of affection to flow from her body. It was like an uncontrollable fountain, or something akin to a disease.
Her head whipped around at every slight noise, hoping to hear Cicero's footsteps. She took the long way to the kitchen, passing by the Night Mother's chamber on the off-chance Cicero was heading that way too. She came up with any excuse to knock on his door—and he was so welcoming, so kind, so handsome, ushering her in with a clap of his hands.
"Listener!" he called, greeting her with an eccentric smile. "Tell dear Cicero, how goes your reading of Barenziah?"
"I finished!" she told him.
"Finished already!?" he exclaimed. "Oh, Listener! You must know how proud you make Cicero! Not only are you as deadly as nightshade and as beautiful as lavender… but you are as sharp as a knife- you truly are! Mother chose well! She did. She did!"
Hypatia blushed, feeling her body grow light. Cicero's compliments meant everything these days. He raised his arms in celebration of her achievement and ushered her into his bedroom.
"Take a seat, Listener!"
Hypatia plopped down on the edge of his bed, as Cicero ran a gloved finger along the leather spines aligning his bookshelf.
"Hmm, let's see," he thought aloud. "This one seems like a suitable choice."
From the shelves, he pulled a book with a dark blue cover and handed it to the seated Hypatia. Along the front, in blocky, black letters was the title: A Kiss, Sweet Mother.
"This one is about… heh…. the Night Mother," Cicero spoke with a dark emphasis, and Hypatia noticed the breathless way he said her name.
"Thank you—" Hypatia started to say, but Cicero interrupted her.
"This book describes the ritual that must be done in order to contact a member of the Dark Brotherhood!" he explained. "Are you familiar with the ritual?"
Hypatia glanced back down at the cover. "Well, I'm not entirely sure—" she was again interrupted by Cicero.
"Oh! OH! Just as Cicero suspected!"
He gave a frustrated sigh.
"We certainly can't depend on that Astrid to pass along vital Brotherhood secrets!" He scowled angrily. "Of course, it's not your fault, Listener. As Cicero said before, you can't be blamed for the mistakes of your superiors. That is why you have dear Cicero! He will teach you what you need to know!"
All Hypatia could do was nod. It didn't matter to her whether she was or was not aware of this so-called vital Brotherhood secret. Her true desire was to please Cicero, and so that meant quietly listening and allowing him to go on about the Brotherhood. He pulled another chair from against the wall, and sat in front of her.
"It is through this ritual that Mother hears the dark requests of our patrons. She then relays the contract to the Listener," Cicero poked her playfully in the arm. "That's you!"
Hypatia grinned.
"Oh, you are a lucky woman! How Cicero envies your responsibility."
"It's not a terrible amount of responsibility. We've only received one contract," she said. "Amaund Motierre."
"Oh, but there will be others," Cicero explained. "Don't worry about that! And when there is… I do hope the Listener tells Cicero a bit of what Mother says, hmm?"
He gave a deep sigh, looking across at her with puppy-like eyes.
"Oh, please, Listener? You will, won't you?"
Hypatia felt her heartbeat slow, gazing at Cicero's wide eyes with focus.
"It's just…" Cicero's voice began to tremble. "You can't imagine how I've longed to hear her voice."
She begun to wonder if Cicero desired to be the Listener. Leaning in, Hypatia placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Of course, Cicero," she said innocently. "I promise to tell you everything the Night Mother says."
"Oh, thank you," he gave a breathless sigh. "What a kind, sweet Listener you are!"
He suddenly scrunched his face as if in pain. "Oh, Listener. Can I confess something?"
"Absolutely," she reassured him.
"Sometimes, for a moment, just a moment, I think I can hear her," he admitted. "Oh! I know it's not her, simply my mind playing tricks… But, nevertheless, I do hear her."
"Maybe it truly is her?" Hypatia guessed hopefully.
But Cicero shook his head seriously, a somber glint in his eyes. He was confessing to delusions. A weight of sympathy sank through Hypatia's bones. She held pity instead of fear; her compassion outweighed her sense of self-preservation. At the time, she was too naïve to understand how dangerous hallucinations could be.
"Do you hear her now?" she asked.
"No, not now. But earlier... I- I know it's not really her…" his voice trailed off and Hypatia watched him bury his face in his hands. He seemed embarrassed at the confession. A sorrowful pain struck her through the chest. What could be said to ease him?
Cicero kept his head down silently that night, and Hypatia turned the first page of her new book.
He was older than her, she concluded, by maybe 15… perhaps even 20 years, but Hypatia appreciated his aged face with its laugh lines and deep grooves—the consequences of his exuberant emoting. She found herself attracted to him despite his age. These lines were the proof of a long and exciting life, carved into his face like the ridges of jewels, and Hypatia was filled with a sudden desire to know all things about his past.
What was his first memory? Where did he grow up? Had he ever been in love? He'd been sane, once, she supposed.
Her assumption was proven true many nights later when she noticed a leather book on a shelf against his bedroom wall. She picked it up without thinking, peered at the cover, and quickly realized this was something of a more personal nature. It read: Cicero's Journal: Volume I.
"Oh, excuse me," she said, immediately replacing the journal.
Cicero looked up from the blade he was sharpening. "Oh, you found Cicero's journals?" He gave her a weird sort of giggle. "The Listener is welcome to read them."
"Only if you're sure," she said.
"Oh, Listener. I'm sure. You've become a dear friend to me. Cicero's trusts you completely," he went back to his blade.
Hypatia's heart jumped. It felt oddly intimate to be allowed into such a private space of his.
She took the journal and moved to sit at a nearby table. Cicero continued to sharpen his dagger as she turned open the first page.
It took about a week to finish all the volumes. His journals chronicled his time in Cheydinhal. It was then that she understood why finding the Listener had been so important to him. Once she was finished, she felt a new desire, something she hadn't felt before… for anyone.
She wanted to kiss him.
"There were more journals… way before my time in the Brotherhood, but Cicero lost them," he told her. "I struggle to remember where they are now. Perhaps Cicero left them in the Bruma Sanctuary."
Hypatia let her eyes fall. So, she had been right in her assumptions. Cicero had not always been… well, the way he was. Not to say she didn't appreciate who he was (after all, there was something oddly compelling about the jester persona), but she felt rather sad for him, knowing that he had once been a different man. He seemed so vulnerable now. Something deep stirred within her, a combination of sympathy and a desire to soothe.
"What do you remember from those days?" she asked.
He laughed. "Oh it was glorious at first, when I was occupied in the Bruma Sanctuary! Ha! We were never quite "in our prime", so to say, but it was fun—and we sent so many souls to the void. The Sanctuary was… just elegant... for a time. We weren't huddled under a stupid rock! We were in a chamber—an architectural wonder. A true Sanctuary!"
He glanced to the cave in near the back wall. "Oh, but then I was forced to relocate to Cheydinhal. Yes, in Cheydinhal, I was greeted warmly," he told her. "Cicero had strong friendships, and plentiful compensation, but the war brought… devastation. This is when dear Cicero assumed his duties as Keeper. I've sheathed my knife ever since. The thrill of the kill became a thing of Cicero's past, it did. My new responsibility was to the Night Mother! The others continued their contracts. Oh, Cicero watched them come and go. Eventually nobody returned, and Mother stayed silent. I spent eight years waiting in service to our Mother, performing my duties as Keeper. Oh, I tried to Listen. I tried very hard. Yet, try as I might, I was not the Listener."
"Being alone like that… it must have been horrible," she cautiously suggested.
"Indeed. Cicero waited a long time… alone. Awful solitude. Then the voices began… I can't recall how it started."
"Was it the voice of the jester?" Hypatia asked.
"Not exclusively. But, he was there, and Cicero was ever so grateful," he said. "The man was inspiring— even in his hour of death he laughed and laughed and laughed! Filling Cicero's ears with joyous mirth!"
Cicero continued, "I desired to make that mirth a part of me. It felt as if the jester reached across the void and into my head. But then it wasn't safe anymore. Forgive me, Listener. For Cicero's memory fails him," he admitted. "I value these journals, for I've forgotten so much," he seethed. "Oh, damndest Cicero! Such a foolish man. I could never be the Listener."
Hypatia wouldn't ask him to continue, though she longed to know more about the ways of Bruma and the Cheydinhal Sanctuary.
Likewise, she held another deeper curiosity about the years he spent alone there. Something about his loneliness pulled at her insides. The image of Cicero's begging face, pleading with the Night Mother to speak.
What was the torture of solitude like? It was evidently what brought on his auditory hallucinations. She wondered if those years of silence was the primary cause. What of the laughter? He had adopted this jester persona from his last contract. His last task before his ultimate task— his obligation to the Night Mother. She glanced around his bedroom. She felt nothing but pity for the man. Cicero had tossed his dagger onto the bed. He had only a simple straw pillow and one tattered blanket. Her heart ached for him.
The next week, Hypatia had received another contract—the emperor's cousin, Vittoria Vici. Her mission was to travel to Solitude with Veezara and publicly execute the blushing bride. The contract was accomplished quickly (with an arrow from a secluded spot on the wall), and Hypatia effortlessly snuck away in the chaotic aftermath. This was just as Nazir taught her—just one of his many lessons—use chaos to your advantage. A distraction goes a long way for a stealthy escape.
Together, Veezara and Hypatia ran the perimeter of the city walls. They came to a stop along the back edge, their carriage was waiting just further down on the lower side of the city. Hypatia could see it just below the walls, the staircase which lead outside the city was merely feet away.
In the corner of her eye, she spotted a glare bouncing off a metal helmet—no wait about a dozen metal helmets. Before she had a chance to warn Veezara, he grabbed her arm. Evidently, he had seen those guards too. There was nowhere to go but through the open window of a nearby building. Veezara flung them both inside.
"Get down," he demanded. Hypatia silently obeyed, kneeling behind a dark oak bed in what appeared to be a nobleman's bedroom. Outside, she heard the metal clank of guards marching past the window and toward the crime scene.
Hypatia scanned the room. It was certainly a rich man's bedroom because of the sheer volume of expensive-looking items. The room was packed with unlit candles, large red curtains, a golden chandelier, beautiful vases, rugs, artwork, and dark oak furniture. On top of the bed, behind which she hid, was a comfortable looking set of pillows and blankets. This had caught her eye.
It was probably less than a minute before Veezara peered out the window
"Let's go," he hissed.
Hypatia stood up fast, quickly throwing the nobleman's blanket over her back like a cape and grabbing two pillows beneath her arms.
"By Sithis, what are you doing?" Veezara asked, as Hypatia joined him in escaping back through the window, bolting full speed toward the staircase leading out of the city.
Their carriage waited inconspicuously for them. Hypatia leapt onto the back of the wooden wagon, while Veezara ran forward to unhitch the horse before climbing into the driver's seat, flicking the reigns as the horse sped forward.
Hypatia was worried Veezara might scold her for taking the extra seconds to steal a blanket, but he said nothing, merely laughing as he often did as his adrenaline subsided in the aftermath of the kill.
After returning home, Hypatia arranged herself in Cicero's room. He was currently engaged with the Night Mother in her chambers. He sure spent an awful amount of free time in there. Since starting A Kiss, Sweet Mother Hypatia had begun to contemplate their Lady more and more. Especially in the aftermath of reading his journals, Hypatia had only grown more confused regarding Cicero's evangelic devotion to the Night Mother. The relationship felt rather one sided to her.
His story had struck her as sad, and it felt like the Night Mother had abandoned him. She did not understand religion, and certainly knew nothing about Sithis or his bride, so perhaps this was simply a way of comfort for Cicero.
No matter, Hypatia knowingly doused the lanterns, hiding in the shadows of Cicero's bedroom. It was nearly an hour before she finally heard his footsteps shuffle down the corridor. She bit her lip, heart zipping like a dragonfly. Cicero let a jolly melody float alongside him as the door creaked open.
Hypatia held her breath, holding back a thrill of exhilaration. She was excited by the idea of Cicero finding her. A game of hide and seek, almost akin to the hunt of stalking a victim. Cicero fumbled forward through the shadows, finding a box of matches on the table, and moved, back turned from her, to light the lamp by his bed.
As he lit the wick and brought light to the room, Hypatia jumped, crying out: "Surprise!"
Cicero spun around in a stance; knife raised to attack.
"Listener!" he gasped, sounding almost offended. "Please, be careful! Cicero almost killed you!" He sheathed the dagger.
"The Keeper? A match for the Listener? Do you think?" she teased, though she was certain Cicero would destroy her in a true fight.
She dumped herself at the edge of his bed, giggling excitedly.
"Heh, Listener? What is this?" he laughed, gesturing toward the fluffy, red blankets which were certainly not his own. Hypatia picked up a pillow, it was soft and decorative, she tossed it toward Cicero who easily caught it.
"A gift for you," she smiled, and Cicero laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight.
"Oh, Listener! How did Hypatia do such a thing?"
"I brought this back from Solitude."
Cicero flushed. "The Listener has stolen pillows and blankets? For Cicero?"
"Come have a seat," she gave a few pats on the cotton, and Cicero sat down beside her, raising his legs to stretch out on the bed.
"Oh, wait. Boots off the bed, they're dirty," she commanded, and Cicero immediately obeyed, swinging his legs off the bed, and smiling sheepishly.
"Oh, my apologies, great Listener," he gave a nervous laugh.
Hypatia moved to the floor, kneeling in front of him so she could pull off his boots. "Please don't apologize," she asked him. "I just want you to be comfortable and clean."
Cicero relaxed as Hypatia put a hand on his leg, gently tugging his shoe and sliding it from his foot. Her fingers felt like feathers, and they brushed against the top of his foot in a soft little massage. The sensation wasn't altogether unpleasant, but when she traced her fingers along the bottom of his foot, he reeled back reflexively.
"Oh! Ha!" he chortled, face flushing red. "Oh, sorry. Cicero is a bit ticklish," he confessed.
Hypatia felt thrilled to learn such an intimate detail about him.
"I'm sorry," she grinned. "I'll be more careful!"
She removed his other boot, and set them aside, before climbing back onto the bed with him. They now sat side by side.
"Oh, Listener," he took her hand softly. "What a thoughtful gift."
"Cicero," her voice was almost a whisper. "I want to tell you something. I've really enjoyed spending time with you these past few months." Her voice trailed off as Cicero gazed at her with his kind eyes.
In those eyes she saw a meadow, although there was a deep ravine between her and the grass. How she longed for the other side, but she did not know how to bridge the gap.
"Hypatia," Cicero comforted her, he sensed her anxiety. "Is everything okay, Listener?"
"I-I just- I need you to know," she squeezed his hand, stumbling on her words as she often did when nervous. "Cicero… I have, um, feelings," she confessed.
Cicero looked rather shocked, but he returned her squeeze affectionately.
"Feelings for me?" he asked sensitively.
Hypatia did not know why, but she cast her eyes down, embarrassed. She had never admitted something like this to anyone. Well, she had never had feelings like this before.
"Yes. Feelings for you," she said.
"I understand," Cicero said, hesitantly placing a hand on her back as if asking permission to touch her. Hypatia leaned forward, and that was the consent Cicero considered necessary as he pulled her into a protective hug.
"I think I've fallen in love with you," Hypatia told him. "I can't help it. You're just so kind to me. I know you're older than me, but I don't mind. I find you so handsome," she said.
"Oh, sweet Listener," he placed a hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair tenderly. It sent chills down Hypatia's spine. By all that there was, nothing had ever felt so good. It was almost paternal, and Hypatia sank into his chest.
"Cicero will keep you from harm," he cooed. "And I promise to protect you always. Cicero is yours now and forever."
Although Cicero did not confess feelings back, Hypatia felt an undeniable warmth in his voice. She closed her eyes, feeling like a baby in his arms—it was oddly pleasant feeling this vulnerable.
"How goes your reading of A Kiss, Sweet Mother?" Cicero asked her the next evening. The two were drinking mead together at the table in his bedroom.
"It's going well," she smiled, finishing off her bottle as Cicero passed her another. "I'm not all the way finished, but I'm almost there."
"Oh! Excellent! Excellent!" he sang. "Mother will certainly be pleased with your progress!"
There it was again. Cicero couldn't go one conversation without mentioning the Night Mother. Hypatia was beginning to feel rather strange about the amount of times he brought her up in conversation.
No matter, Hypatia gave an awkward giggle, and Cicero swung his upper body in a happy, little dance.
"Oh, Listener!" he said. "What a smart and capable woman you are! I knew Mother chose right when she chose you! Such an intelligent, beautiful Listener!"
Hypatia blushed, and took another drink, feeling her body grow as light as bubbles. Despite the mentions of the Night Mother, it was wondrous to hear Cicero compliment her so.
"Of course, the Night Mother knows what she's doing! Stupid Cicero never should have doubted her!"
Hypatia was a bit shocked to hear him say it. "You doubted her?" She considered the years he spent with no voice and no signs. "I suppose she gave you no reason to have faith," she said understandingly.
But Cicero did not take it understandingly. His face turned unexpectedly serious, and the room's mood shifted.
"What!? No!" he sounded outraged. "Of course, Cicero had faith. Cicero respects our matron above all. No! Cicero never doubted her."
Hypatia drunkenly messed with the fraying hem of her shirt. "Oh!" she was taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. "I didn't mean… It's just… you said you—"
"No, no, no, no! Cicero said no such thing. You've misunderstood. Of course, you would. You've been brought up by that harlot, Astrid!" he said callously. "Cicero's sole responsibility is to the Night Mother. She is my matron, as is she yours. To imply that Cicero doubted her is just…. blasphemous!"
She sat there, completely dumbfounded. Not knowing what Astrid had to do with any of this. He was dragging Hypatia into his vendetta against Astrid. Even though Hypatia hadn't brought her up at all. It seemed to Cicero you could only be for one. If it wasn't the Night Mother, then it had to be Astrid. And if it was Astrid, then you were an enemy. Cicero ripped off his hat anxiously wringing it in his hands.
"I'm sorry. I must go," he said.
Hypatia watched as Cicero lurched anxiously out of his own bedroom.
There was an unpleasant sludge in the pit of Hypatia's stomach. Maybe she'd said too much again, as she had on their way to Falkreath last week. She sat up from her chair and followed Cicero, stumbling, down the hallway.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Listener, please," he waved her away, almost frightened. "Mother needs me," he said and rounded the corner heading straight to the Night Mother's chambers.
Hypatia continued after him. She wasn't angry at him. (No! Never!) Instead, she was concerned. She hadn't meant to offend him but obviously her words had upset him. A tightness squeezed her chest as her body heat rose. Did this have to do with her confession last night? Was he pushing her away because of that?
"Cicero, I apologize," she called, as Cicero reached the door to the Night Mother's chamber and quickly slipped inside.
Hypatia hesitated. She hadn't been in there since she'd first heard the Night Mother's voice. The memory of her decaying corpse caused unease. Would Cicero consider it an offense if she entered along with him? Would he accuse her again of defiling his Lady's sanctity? She took a breath, knocking on the door. "Cicero, what is wrong?" she called to him.
Suddenly, the wooden door swung open, and Cicero towered over her in the doorway, eyes protruding dangerously, and jaw clenched. He heaved in deep angry breaths, holding the door open with shaky hands. Hypatia opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't manage to form words. Cicero had never seemed so intimidating. His lips flattened, pressed together in clear displeasure.
"Listener," he seethed. "Understand this. Though you, being Listener, rank high in Cicero's heart, there will always be one who ranks higher. My sole duty—my first duty— is to Mother. Cicero cannot tolerate her disrespect. You would be wise to decide who your loyalty lies with—the Night Mother or Astrid," he spat the name with hatred.
Just as soon as Hypatia formed the beginning of her apology, Cicero slammed the door in her face, leaving her drunk and confused in the hall. It was then, Hypatia realized there were some things she could never tell him.