Author's Notes: AN UPDATE?! LE GASP! Sorry for the wait! Like I said, I have to deal with this burdensome thing called LIFE and it keeps me from writing. Thank you all so much who are still reading! Reviewers especially, because you always get my butt in gear! XD I know this story can be dark and we're approaching more darkness too, so your support means a lot to me. I've said it a million times but it is hard to think of how these characters act to certain situations and why they do what they do. It's tough, especially when my personal opinion is the exact opposite of what I am trying to write. Phew! So, again, thank you. It means so much to me to know that it's appreciated! I love you all!
Now, this chapter may be a bit choppy, but that's mainly because of the distance between my writing. I would go some time after finishing a segment before coming back. I try not to reread my chapters too much because then I attack and it spreads my updates even more...ugh. So, that being said, forgive the grammatical errors! Please? XD It's also getting into the thick of things here, so a lot is reaching a plateau of sorts. It's difficult to jump from one person to the next, especially when all characters feel totally different emotions! GAH! XDXD
Love or Blood
Chapter Seventy: The Fourth Revelation
xxxx
The next morning I awoke to an utterly quiet room and cold blankets. Frowning, I turned on my side and quickly took notice of Lucien's absence. He was not in the bed or room. This puzzled me, as the assassin was always by my side or very near - doing his exercises, shaving, or something of that nature. With a little pout, I carefully rose from the mattress and proceeded to dress, making a point to move slowly and assess my body as I did so. I tended to feel at my poorest during the mornings, but thankfully as of late, my illness had begun to pass. I was beginning to feel better, even if by the smallest margin. And after such shared passion from the previous evening, I was in higher spirits.
Descending the stairs of the quiet inn, I was soon alerted to the smell of food being prepared, as its warm aroma drifted to my nose. I began to salivate and hastened my movements. I was hungry and assumed the assassin had already taken his meal and continued with the repairs around the building. However, I was quickly proven wrong as I rounded the corner.
Shuffling about behind the inn's counter, whistling a tune over the cookfire, stood the Dark Brotherhood Speaker I sought. Lucien noticed me fast and smirked, shifting eggs and meat about in a pan as he did so. The assassin looked so very much at home. I long knew now that Lucien took comfort at the Imperial Bridge Inn, but he seemed a touch lighter. The scene had so stunned me that I had almost entirely overlooked the absence of Davela and Berel. But they were indeed gone, and the assassin had taken the Dunmer woman's place...
"Good morning, my dear. Sleep well? Feel well?" The assassin greeted as he adding a small pad of lard to his concoction. I gave a curious nod and entered the room further, leaning against the counter to watch the man at work.
"I did, thank you...but what are you doing? Where is Davela and are you permitted to be back there?" Lucien nodded, stabbing a bit of still cooking meat from the pan and taking the steaming piece into his mouth. He savored the bite before reaching into his pocket and procuring a small letter, passing it along the counter and to me. "Found that with the Inn's keys this morning." He mumbled with food still concealed in his cheek. "A bit abrupt, I admit. Though it is not entirely unusual, given her circumstance."
I opened the brief letter, puzzled at the contents within. According to the note, the Dunmer and her son had left for the Imperial City at dawn. In the night a courier came with a proposal from a nobleman looking to purchase her land. Apparently, the offer was so good that she up and left without a word. I supposed that it was not surprising, given the state of her Inn and the lack of patrons, but I found it odd that she would leave the keys to the assassin. I knew they were familiars but to me, it felt strange that she trusted Lucien Lachance so easily...then again, I trusted the man as well, and I knew of his darker half, something Davela was completely ignorant to.
"She trusted the Inn in your care? I feel as though that is exceedingly poor judgment on her part." I teased, earning a stern look that made me smile. "Then again, you have been kind to her land and animals..." I trailed off in my musings as I refolded the parchment and slid it back to the assassin.
"And to her and her kin. Poor Davela. With no one else to aid her here on this crumbling little plot, can she be blamed for her quick decision?" Lucien smiled, the look warm and thoughtful as he posed his light inquiry. "What would you have done in her predicament, my dear? All alone on a farm with your son, would you trust a stranger with your meager possessions or miss an opportunity for a better life for you and your child?" I paused, curious as to how I truly would react had I been in the Dunmer's shoes.
"I suppose I...I do not know. I have never been in such a predicament. I have only ever had to care for myself." Lucien nodded, his lips pulled into an agreeing frown as he began to scrape food into two clay bowls on the counter. "Truly, the thought makes me uncomfortable. I cannot care for myself properly. Such responsibility is intimidating. I hope to never be in such a situation. And I also hope Davela is able to find better prospects...and find great happiness for herself and Berel."
Lucien placed the bowl of eggs and meat before me, soon rounding the counter to sit at my side. "Do not worry so for them, my dear. I assure you that they will be fine. They are together. What more is needed?"
"I do not know. You are right. I am no one to judge."
"Do pass your judgment, Abigale. I do so love how your mind works." The assassin grinned before nodding to our meal. "But eat as well. I have been up since...hmm, before dawn. I do not recall the exact time, only Sithis knows. But I have been preparing your food since I washed. Now, please, partake. I want to know if you like it. I want you to eat."
I only nodded to the assassin, no longer desiring to talk of Davela, as her predicament discontented me. Brushing away thoughts that made me uncomfortable had steadily become a skill that I was proficient in. As such, I utilized the talent and sought a change of topic. "Did you have another poorly dream last night, Lucien? What woke you so early?"
"Paranoia woke me, my dear. Such a burdensome thing." The Dark Brotherhood Speaker lamented, watching heatedly as I took my first bit of the meal he prepared. "It has been a plague recently. However, I think I have successfully removed it from myself...Now, how do you like it?"
Carefully sampling the assassin's concoction, I soon found myself mystified and conflicted. The eggs were a fluffy gold, the peppers and spices crisp and fresh, and the meat too was expertly cooked...and it was the meat I quickly focused upon. The blend of flavors heightened my senses to an almost animalistic nature as I began to deliberately fork chunks of gray and pink goodness. The surprisingly tender and oddly textured beef had me salivating terribly. It made my body feel happy. Although strongly flavored like copper or iron, I swooned.
"I think I love it. It is...it's so good. What is it?" I asked, mouth full and manners gone as I tucked further into my meal.
"Davela had quite the good slice of young meat on hand. I could not let such a thing go to waste. It would have long spoiled before her return." Lucien admitted, eating in a much more civilized fashion than myself. "I am pleased that you enjoy it. I hoped that you would." We lapsed into silence due to my extreme appetite. Lucien eventually leaned back in his seat and watched me enjoy his labor, smiling all the while. Only when all was gone did I feel sheepish for having eaten so ravenously. Still, Lucien only beamed before coming in close, settling a hand on my bloated belly and planting a kiss to my brow. "I will always give you the best that I am able."
xxxx
Having thoroughly overserved myself hours prior, Lucien had offered me to lounge about as he readied our supplies and righted the inn for vacancy. I was all too happy to take him up on his most generous offer and did just as he proposed.
I sat outside on the old rock wall, watching the assassin walk to and fro, fussing with this or that. I basked in the warmth of the sun, enjoying the day in spite of my unsettled belly. Shadowmere stood dutifully by my side, only moving once Lucien emerged with more supplies for our journey. Although the ride back to Drakelowe was relatively short, I still looked forward to the time in the woods and the fresh air. I dreaded the witch herself, of course, but being with Lucien away from all the peoples of Nirn was peaceful. Soothing.
I watched the clouds overhead, following the path they floated as the wind pushed them about the blue of the sky, and I pondered many things. Mostly, I thought of acceptance. Soon the cure the Count desired would be delivered. It was my final teather to him. Once it was gone, our business was, in a way, concluded. Although Vicente had spoken fondly of the Count's renewed compassion and state, I knew better than to entertain any ideas of reconciliation. My time with the vampire Count of Skingrad, Janus Hassildor, the man I loved, was done. Now, I was to pursue a new status and charge. I was a servant no more. No, for now, I was the companion and lover of Lucien Lachance.
Presently, the assassin adjusted Shadowmere's tack as he muttered reproachingly to the mare who did not seem yet ready to leave the Imperial Bridge Inn. Having been with Lucien for what felt like an age, I had grown quite accustomed to his and the large black horse's behavior. I fully believed Shadowmere understood every spoken word Lucien uttered. Lucien too seemed to know whatever the mare tried to coney - or at least, he had a firm grasp of her inclinations. Their unity gave me hope for the promise of the Dark Brotherhood Speaker and myself. Lucien was nothing but loyal to those he deemed important. It was good for me.
Still, as I watched the mare yank her reins and whicker loudly at the assassin's dark look, I could not help but to stifle a small giggle behind my hand. And as bleak as it may have sounded in my mind - that I was with another only for the purpose of the relationship's benefits - it was not so. There was more to the currently unamused Lucien Lachance and myself now. It did not, could not, hold a candle to my affection towards the Count. However, there was something there. Small as it may be, it was genuine and blooming.
It, he, Lucien, gave me promise. Promise for better. Promise for love. It was a frightening acknowledgment. I was still very much at odds as to who the Imperial was in the night; it was but another thing I had to shun. I could not dwell any longer. I hoped with time my presence could inhibit Lucien's actions. Perhaps I could one day stop his activities all together...I doubted it. But the ultimatum was his unbridled continuation. It seemed I would lose either way. The difference was one option left me with the assassin himself, the man I had grown reluctant to part with.
I cared for him. I enjoyed him...I was beginning to love him.
At least, I believed myself to be...
"If you have nothing better to do than laugh at my misfortunes, do think to make yourself helpful, my dear." Lucien Lachance grunted, which only exacerbated my smile. The Dark Brotherhood Speaker was so cooly tempered unless troubled. Therefore, his sudden disposition was rather amusing.
"You told me to rest, I am only doing as you desired." I quipped, not bothering to hide my humor in the slightest. The assassin only grunted once more before continuing his work and mild struggle with the mare. He cursed, recovered, and tried to convince his mount that leaving was most beneficial. As to what, I knew not, nor could I have cared. Lucien Lachance and Shadowmere had an endearing relationship, the likes of which I had no desire to learn of further. Still, watching him charm his horse in similar ways he coerced me was as intriguing as it was comical and disturbing. "May I say that I find your current dispute fiendishly humorous?" I teased, watching on. "Shadowmere knows you shall win, eventually. Why does she refuse you so now?"
"Perhaps because she is quite like you? So very stubborn, even while knowing that I shall get all that I want in the end." He countered smoothly, his gaze a haughty challenge. "Whether it be your sweet, little self, warm affection or undying love. I win, my dear. Embrace all...much as Shadowmere has." Lucien sniggered, stroking the mare's black mane. His words made me turn a bright shade of pink. Still, I tried to show some cheek and semblance of defiance while, counterwise, agreeing. It was an odd game we liked to play.
"Indeed, it seems you always win...Losing to your charm is enticing, rogue."
The assassin smiled and soon sauntered over. All packed and ready, he offered me his hand. "But of course, I am irresistible. You know this."
I tutted at him, accepting his assistance and rising all the while. His coarse hands and skin's warmth was reassuring. Shamefully, I mulled over the truth of his words...but I would never let him know how vehemently my mind agreed. Instead, I opted for a bit more cheek while allowing my fingers to link with his own. "Oh, Lucien, you go too far and your ego is too big."
"My 'ego' is rightly proportional and sized for your pleasures. Saying otherwise would be quite the lie from you, Abigale." The Imperial teased as he led the way from the inn and to his mount. This time I stayed utterly silent but gifted Lucien with a rather embarrassingly enthusiastic nod. Both his implication and actual wording happened to be very much true. Therefore, it only benefitted myself to agree. His 'ego' would most assuredly only rise further with a tactful stroke...
Shadowmere, who still seemed a touch reluctant to go, gave no further struggle once I was settled upon her back, with a now adequately prideful Imperial soon seating himself in front. Lucien gave one last long look at the Inn before taking my hands. He kissed them both, his sights still set upon the building before looping my arms around his torso. The assassin then laid his fingers over my knuckles as he so liked to do before turning Shadowmere north in a slow trot.
I too looked back, though I did not know why. Still, I found it oddly peculiar that the little lamb no longer bleated, and that the pigs made not a sound. All were fully contented, in spite of the sow feed still left untouched in a barrel.
xxxx
We were deep into the woods once more, away from towns and people. Regardless of the impending visitation, I kept my cheek to Lucien's back and enjoyed the smell of him - or what little seeped through his clothes. The solace and comfort I now found in Lucien Lachance was quite remarkable given our initial meeting and...well, everything else about Lachance. However, the assassin was there for me. In my grief and happiness, Lucien was there, trying to assist me in any small way he could.
I had been through much. Leaving Castle Skingrad, the events that spurred my parting with the Count, and the discovery of my parents' deaths left me in quite a state. I knew, sadly, that I was only further damaged by all. I could not adapt, unfortunately. Still, I hoped that knowing and acknowledging this shameful truth could help me one day heal. The hardy and bold assassin was as cunning as he was strong. I knew he would aid me, as he already had and continued to do so. Lucien helped me in his fashion. It was an odd and unconventional way, but it was a way that I responded positively to. I was thankful for his attempts and for all the progress I had made in self-healing, even if small.
"Do I offend?" Lucien eventually chuckled, tiring of me inhaling his clothes. In truth, I felt my sense of smell had heightened considerably since leaving the Inn. I supposed it was due to no longer smelling the livestock...
"Not at all. The exact opposite." I answered with a sigh. For a fleeting moment, I thought of another smell of cool soap and warm spice but pushed it away and reburied myself into the assassin's tunic. Again engulfing myself in heat, musk, sage, cedar and leather...always leather. "You smell wonderous."
"Good. My late and scrupulous washing has been appreciated." The assassin hummed. "How are you feeling, my dear? Well enough to continue our journey, I hope...?" I nodded at his back and quickly corrected the action.
"Y-yes. I believe I do. Feel better to continue riding, anyway."
"Good. I am itching to be done with this quest. The witch grates on my nerves...I desire her death. She would be a most pleasurable kill." Lucien mused aloud, causing me to wince and retract from him. His admission was startling and not. Still, it was unwelcome and I found myself faltering out an improper reaction. I could only stammered some before going completely quiet. "Oh, come now, Abigale. Do not tense so. She irks you as well. Perhaps after we acquire what we need, I may do away with her proper."
"Lucien, please..." I eventually swallowed, finding his cool indifference to my 'delicate sensibilities' and his words further worrisome. I missed the helpful Lucien facade already. I had hoped the Dark Brotherhood Speaker could have remained tame a little longer. "Do not hurt her. She makes us uncomfortable, yes, but she has been most helpful too." The small grunt the assassin emitted in response exacerbated my fears. "Y-you would not rid yourself of such a valuable resource, would you?" I again protested, hoping to appeal to Lucien Lachance's sense for business.
He grew contemplative and I found myself eager to hear his response and hoped for a morally decent one. Or, as decent as I could garner from the man I held. "I suppose you have a point. So long as she remains useful, there is no crucial need to end her. It would, however, be deliciously satisfying to do so." I sighed, relief washing over me as I pondered, briefly, how wrong it was for me to need to find relief in such a thing. I should not have to talk my companion out of murdering those he did not want to deal with...still, I had succeeded. It did bode well.
"How much longer until we reach Drakelowe?" I soon asked after a small bout of silence, all too eager to change the dark topic and rearrange my thoughts. "I admit, I am frightened. Will this visit be -"
"Intrusive?" Lucien cut me off in a huff, finding equal discomfort in our impending meeting. "I do not yet know. She took much from us during our last trip. I am unsure as to what she shall do this time if anything. She is not stupid, though I wish I could argue this. She is well aware that she angers me...it would be prudent for her to remain lax, as I am tense and very much done with this nonsense." He said, his voice growing darker as he proceeded. "I was a breath away from snapping her feeble neck after her outburst last time. Should she decide to run her mouth once more, I doubt my self-control. I am certain the witch knows this. Not even you will be stopping me should she overstep so again, my dear."
Swallowing hard, I remained utterly silent as we rode along. I closed my mind to Lucien's darkness once more, finding the prospect of our visit now more frightening than before.
xxxx
After more hours of travel, we finally stood at the now familiar little cottage once more. We dismounted Shadowmere and carefully made our way towards the door. Now rather late into the evening, Lucien had again donned his robes while gifting me his cloak. Both shrouded and antsy, we stood upon the threshold. The assassin knocked as politely as he was able upon the door. There was no time wasted in its opening and we were quickly greeted and ushered in by the witch, Melisande.
"Welcome, welcome!" She exclaimed, seeming much more exuberant now than she had during our last encounter. "Do sit down, make yourselves comfortable, please. I have something for you..." Lucien and I said nothing in response. I turned to sit as instructed, only to stop when the assassin's hand fell heavy upon my shoulder, stopping me from moving any further into the dirty, little cottage. I swallowed and stilled, remaining by his side.
Melisande rummaged through her cupboard for a moment before coming forth with two large vials, her smile wide and prideful. "The cure you seek is ready! I'm quite pleased with the results. The batch came out much larger than I'd expected; there is enough for several doses of the potion, but I thought two vials would suffice." She held the bottles out to us, brandishing them boldly. I felt my mouth grow dry as the gleam of the brew again caught the light and my gaze. It swirled and sparkled like liquid gemstones. I gulped, watching on as she then raised one bottle, neatly corked, higher. "And, unless I'm mistaken, I believe this dose is promised to someone..."
Her words hung in the air and my breath caught with them. A flash of another's face came to my mind once more, much like earlier in the day, mingled with his imaginary scent.
This was it. The cure for Vampirism. This is what the Count of Skingrad so longed to have - this was my purpose for being away from him. Oddly, I felt as though I had been awaiting its completion for eternity, and then I bleakly mused the Count's likewise mindset.
As I stared, mouth dry and posture foolishly rigid, I wondered more on the Count's motives and wants for the cure. I questioned whether or not he ever thought of taking the potion for himself and wondered what fate that could possibly gift us - if any. I knew better than to entertain any idea of him and I for too long now, though the banging of my heart against my ribs protested the logic. I wanted to be the one to deliver what he so desired. I wanted to be the one to bring him some semblance of peace.
And I, still so ashamedly, wanted to see him. I wanted to look at him. I wanted more.
The assassin stepped forward and collected the vials. He tucked them away in a small, softly lined satchel. I watched the bottles disappear behind the cloth lid, listening to the delicate flap and rustle of fabric as Lucien carefully secured the glass. "Good. Then it would seem our time together has reached its end. Your cooperation will not soon be forgotten." Lucien said dismissively as he then handed me the bag and turned. I took it, numbly, still rigid and out of sorts as I felt the contents weight. "Yet as eager as I am to leave your cabin, I must know if there happens to be any additional details or rituals one might need for the cures administration? We do not want all of our efforts to go to waste now, do we?"
"Do not worry, young man. All one must do is drink the potion. No fuss." The witch nodded at the bag, clasping her hands together. "Now, our work here is done. And I do believe that the both of you should be on your merry way." The assassin blinked at her abrupt dismissal but made no argument against it. Lucien then carefully took me by the arm and led me towards the door, no doubt sensing my rather dumbfounded state.
I turned and watched the witch as we swept from her home, not another farewell spoken. Yet, Melisande smiled at me, soft and small, before putting on a pair of doeskin shoes. A rucksack tucked by her feet...
"I do believe that was the most pleasurable visit. Had she only ever been so curt, I would only say good things." Lucien chuckled as he carefully secured the vials to Shadowmere's saddle. I watched his movements with extreme diligence, worrying my lip as he gave the satchel a final tug. "You are withdrawn...more so than your norm." The assassin suddenly noted, turning to me shortly after. He stared, evaluating me, before inclining his head. "I know what you are thinking, my dear."
I quickly lifted my gaze to his, trying to appear indifferent. "What do you mean? I-I am not thinking anything," I answered foolishly, cursing my words once they left my lips. It would have been wiser to not argue. Arguing proved my difficulty with our current situation.
"No?" He drawled, continuing to watch me. I only shook my head, resuming my foolish display of defiance while we mounted Shadowmere. A small bout of silence ensued as we started out in an even trot eastwards. Once Lucien spoke again, his tone was unbothered, thoughtful even. "I do believe you are considering your options right now. Weighing all out in your mind. Thinking of the Count of Skingrad in particular, no doubt."
I tensed at the mention of the Count and quickly gave in. Deciding it would be better to have the unavoidable discussion now, especially with the assassin forced to face the front. I did not have to answer him directly. It gave me a greater feeling of control. "I...I am. I am sorry for it. I am sorry for denying it too." I sighed into the fabric of his robes, mindful not to let my mouth stray too close to the shroud he wore for murder. "Lucien, I am so...I-I don't exactly know what to feel now. I am confused and frightened. I feel...I feel almost obligated to return...Return the cure, I mean. I-I feel as though I am supposed to. It is what I promised to do..."
A long sigh escaped the Dark Brotherhood Speaker then, and it rose the little hairs on my nape. An icy chill seeped into my spine at the quiet. I wondered what I could say to recover my honesty. I wondered what the assassin was thinking. I had thought it wise to be truthful, as arguing got me nowhere and I was a poor liar. Still, I found myself swallowing hard and shrinking away from the man I held. I did not know how he would react but his silence was deafening and dangerous. "W-what do you think?" I eventually forced, my voice tight and unsure as I sought to break the stillness.
"What I think matters not. No. What matters is what you feel. So, a question, if I may?" The assassin finally spoke, still equally unbothered, almost as though commenting on the weather. "Abigale...do you enjoy living?" The icy chill I had felt moments prior worsened and froze me into a statue. My lip quivered at his back as I knew not what to say or do. His question left me stunned. Was it a threat of the Count? Or was this something more direct... "Your silence is rather reassuring, my dear. You see, you will not be visiting Janus Hassildor, I am afraid. I care far too much for you to put yourself in any form of harm's way. And should you decide to go...well, as I said, you would be harmed."
"A-any form of harm?" I stammered at his back, my eyes darting about the black forest. The Dark Brotherhood Speaker's threat was as direct as it was indirect. He left it up to me to interpret his meanings, and I could not bear the implications of either.
"Indeed. Do you remember your Count's promise? Now, I do not want to have to hurt you, my little beloved. However, if so required to make you see reason...I will, for your benefit, of course. Skingrad means your death. If you truly need a reminder, I am here for you."
"You are threatening me," I mumbled, my lips feeling cold as I did so, my words small and feeble. "Why?"
"Only to save you from but another more staggering promise, as you assuredly recall." Lucien placed his hand over mine and I flinched at the action. "Simply do not entertain foolish notions of loyalty to a man who is vastly undeserving and dangerous to you. You shall have nothing to fear as long as you remain true to yourself...and me."
"Y-you said you would not hurt me. You said you had no desire to -"
Shadowmere was then quickly brought to a halt. Lucien turned in the saddle to stare me down from over his shoulder, his black eyes aflame, the look burning. "To save you from death? Do not delude yourself. I would gladly mar and bloody your every tender inch." The assassin spat suddenly, causing me to recoil and shrink away, my stomach in knots. "Go beyond my threat. See through it. This is a kindness to you. A precaution, if you will. And you would see the reason and logic behind this were you not still so impossibly blinded by a dead man. And after all this time, too..." Lucien was still unnervingly angry as he again set us off. "It rots me, inside."
I felt the prickle of unshed tears at the corners of my eyes but did all I could to ignore the feeling. I had finally been on the receiving end of the assassin's temper. It was not as I expected it to be. I had seen his anger once when he tossed my possessions into a stream and proclaimed his odd love, but it paled in comparison to this. Lucien Lachance would not object to bloody violence should I bring up my true feelings towards the Count and the cure again. It hurt me. It hurt me so, as I now cared for the Dark Brotherhood Speaker.
As mutely as possible, I sniffled, trying to not let my weakness be known. Truth be told, I also felt terribly towards the assassin's hurt as well - whether or not it was a foolish thing to feel. I was again too caught in my own emotions. Of course it hurt him. And now, should he feel so inclined, he would objectify that hurt. Make it tangible and bring it to me.
I was afraid but I said nothing as we rode on further into the night. After more hours steadily passed, the assassin decided to again speak to me, his voice still thick with untapped anger. "We are going to Bravil." I swallowed hard, immediately feeling uncomfortable once more. I loathed Bravil. I had told the assassin this. I wondered why we were to travel there, and if the sole reason was to simply bring me more discomfort. However, as though sensing my thoughts, Lucien continued, gruffly. "I have my reasons for needed to travel there. Business. I understand you have no pleasant memories of the place. Unfortunately, that is of little consequence right now. I would have liked to simply travel to Skingrad and be rid of this foul brew, but you seem determined to make matters difficult."
Swallowing hard once more, I parted my lips to retort, only to seal them quickly as Lucien decided to continue. "I cannot trust you not to run off to Castle Skingrad in the dead of night. This pains me. So, you will be accompanying me while I finish some tasks. I do hope that this detour will aid you in clearing your mind and help your judgment. Perhaps the cure for vampirism is making you think irrationally. Perhaps you need time to reflect."
I thought on his words, abrasive and cool. Yet I managed a nod and a small response to accompany it. "Perhaps I do, yes. I...I am sorry. You are right...right to be angry too. Though I wish you were not."
"Don't waste your breath, Abigale. We are going to Bravil. Playing nice will not be getting you out of this."
Sighing at his spite, I found a level of courage. The assassin was hurt - in his way - and was acting out on his feelings. The reminder that Lucien too felt anything helped me to speak. "I did not expect it to. Please, Lucien, I-I know that you...I..." I sighed. I wanted to explain myself to the assassin. I wanted him to know my reasoning for why I thought the way I did. "You tell me often how you do not feel the things that I do. This is one of those things. I am sorry. I know it is an irrational thought. I want it to go away from me just as desperately as you do...but it is hard. I want to be honest with you, as you are with me. I am sorry I offended you...I thought the truth was kinder than a lie..."
"Well, although I do appreciate your truth, I am not understanding of it. Nor will I pretend to be." Lucien let out a long breath before rolling his shoulders and continuing. "I grow weary but am far too angry to sleep. We shall ride until dawn. Brace yourself."
xxxx
It was early morning by the time we reached the Green Road. I had grown so tired that my eyes ached at the dawn. I had considered pleading to Lucien multiple times in the night for us to set up camp but knew better than to try. The assassin was angry and rode on with purpose. Knowing that he had been up so early the previous day worried me, but still, I said nothing.
Because of our combined weariness and the straining of all my muscles after a hard ride on Shadowmere, I looked upon the city of Bravil for the first time in my life with relief and want.
Shadowmere went to the stables and in a haze of weariness and aches, I shambled alongside the assassin. Entering and exiting the city of Bravil was an unnerving task. I longed to never have to do such a thing again, but I had no say in my current situation.
The city's walls were a tall stone, and one could swear that the structure was held together only by mold and mud. A deep gorge separated the town from the mainland, the water a lapping, frothy green that always smelt of the sewage that collected on the jutting rocks below. The only access for travelers into the city itself happened to be a rickety, rot-laden rope bridge. The wooden slats were rarely changed, the damp from the sea wearing them soft and far too pliable. The rope itself was frayed and slick, dotted black from fungus and grime. All had a constant film of dew and muck, making the already precarious bridge even more foreboding.
With Lucien's assuring hands and aid, we carefully began the venture into town. Crossing Bravil's rickety bridge was still frightening, even with the assassin holding me. The gaps between the wooden slats were perilous things. Without Lucien's support, I doubted my safe crossing. My limbs feeling as though they were without bones only strengthened this idea. However, even between the fatigue and eathy slime, we made our way securely to the gate without incident and were quickly permitted entry.
Bravil always smelled. The scent itself was heavy, a combination of sewage, rot, mold and bodily odors - all mingling oddly with the sweet smell of flowers and cleaner air that whispered beyond the town. Its buildings were slapdash and made of decaying boards and rusted nails, all slowly crumbling in on themselves, save a few more upscale residences.
We trudged through the town, where the ground always seemed to be wet. Mud and dust caked poor paths and foundations. But one could always opt for higher ground, as numerous makeshift bridges created entirely of wooden planks and twine linked the rooftops of the many buildings of the city together, creating another route for the townspeople by the townspeople. However, it seemed mainly to be used by more unsavory folk as they transported skooma throughout the town. From up above, they were left to their own whims and devises, as the guards were not in the habit of putting themselves at risk to chase them down in such perilous conditions. I knew this well and could not blame them.
Soon the assassin and I made our way to the town's 'nicest' inn, the Silverhome on the Water. Lucien was quick to pay extra for a room with a double bed and we dragged ourselves up the stairs to it. Once settled, we undressed fast. Lucien placed his hands upon me and muttered a soft healing incantation for the aching in my bones. I could have argued that I was fully able to do such a thing myself, but decided against it. Both he and I knew that I would not do such magic with him near, simply for the fact that I did not want to appear as weak as I was. So, I only thanked him as we settled into bed and slept away the day.
XXXX
The Count of Skingrad sat alone in his room. He remained hunched over his work, his head in hands, documents completed and orderly. Yes, all was orderly and flowing smoothly. Everything moved steadily and according to plan. Thus, Janus Hassildor was left partly puzzled, partly indifferent, as streaks of red rolled down his pallid face. He closed his eyes as the red mingled with his black lashes, his vision obsolete in any case, and sighed long and deeply. Janus was tired. So tired. His bed seemed a welcome thought, for he was so impossibly weak, but the weariness that plagued him was not the sort to be soothed away by rest. No, this was an exhaustion that crept into his bones and held him, seeping into his very soul as it gripped him in its icy clutches.
And so he sat, no longer knowing what to do or think. The idea of movement seemed a distant prospect. Surely dust would gather on his velvets and furs before he could regain himself or proper awareness.
Janus Hassildor was gone in his mind, lost in a bog of woeful deeds and actions. Awful thoughts, pitiful notions, all positively maudlin. He thought on all he did, all the lies he told to both others and himself. As a diplomat, as a ruler and leader, he was good and just. Perhaps too strict at times, but the Count of Skingrad always had his peoples best interests at heart. However, Janus Hassildor the man was a prisoner of his own self-loathing. He doubted himself. He doubted his morals and all he held, for he was adept in making poor choices and hurting those he cared for most. When he thought he was right, he was often proven wrong and knew not how to tend or mend the problems that plagued his heart.
Then there was his other inner half...his darker, ravenous half. The vampire.
Janus' disease was a cumbersome one. However, the good he could do with the powers that came with the ailment outweighed the bad. Mostly. As of late, he pondered this fact that he had often considered a truth. Still, with all he had done wrong as a vampire, the Count could not wholly blame the disease. No, for the poor choices he made were choices he made. Every man had impulses, whether or not he chose to act upon them were the morals that defined him. Vampirism cursed one with fits of hunger and darkness that could bring a blush to any miscreant's cheek. But again, it was all about control and how much a man could stand. Janus had long since curbed his desires and focused all his ravenous energy into something altogether different.
He learned to channel the wild blood within him and create, rather than destroy. His magic, his home, his people - they all blossomed. Janus could view things from a perspective the average mortal could not, and thusly made greater decisions for all. He was in control. He was master of himself. He was the Count of Skingrad and would always do the best he could...or so he had thought. Until he failed.
Janus held his vampirism accountable for many of the woes he currently faced, but there were numerous mistakes that had little to do with the disease itself.
Rona.
The Count's turbulent marriage was a bittersweet thing to reflect upon. The Count and Countess had formed an odd unity based upon their companionship. They were with each other because they cared enough for the other's wellbeing. The loved in an almost platonic way, but it was true and strong. They grew reliant on the other's presence - Janus more so, apparently. When it felt as though Nirn was in an uproar, they had one another. Even if that other slurred insults, did not wish to speak, or wanted only to be held and comforted.
When Rona became pregnant, the Count knew the truest of joys. For that small amount of time, they felt genuine romantic love. It was a beautiful thing, something the Count had never known before. But once the two became vampires, and Rona lost the baby shortly after, the Count still could not hold the disease accountable, for it was Rona who chose not to feed herself and their unborn. The Count had never hated as passionately as he had with the loss of his child. If not for Rona's following coma, he wondered what he would have done to his wife, but he contemplated harming her on a regular basis, though he knew how terrible it was to do.
Soon that anger melted into confusion, guilt, and heartache as Rona remained unmoving in the Chamber of Fate beneath his Castle. The Count did not know what to do to wake his wife, the very woman who had begged him to kill her in a fit of hysteria before succumbing to her deathlike sleep. No, Janus was stunned and frightened. He was alone, so very alone and after having suffered such a tremendous loss, the Count could only cling to his unmoving wife and beg her to wake for him, and that is exactly what he did.
He promised her the world if she woke. He threatened repercussion if she would not. He had bribed and begged and beseeched but all was in vain. Soon, the cold reality of true loneliness settled into him. Janus Hassildor, Count of Skingrad, had lost his unborn child and his wife. He lost contact with those he was close with, to protect both them and himself and his wife. He was plagued with vampirism and had to confine himself in his manor for as long as he lived...for as long as he existed. Forever.
He was alone. So very alone and hurt. An animal wounded and isolated. Time had abated some of the pains but not all. Janus ached and questioned reality. He lived in a state of seclusion and pain. He would remain so forever.
And that was the very fear that still lingered within him to this present day, as he sat hunched and weeping. Soon Rona would be gone. His last link to all that once was. It was not perfect by any means, but it was his life. It was as he had existed so long ago. A lifetime ago.
Rona would be free, as she had so wished it...he could join her...
But Janus did not want to.
He loved Rona - in a sense - but they had truly parted so very long ago, as did most of his affections for his wife. Only her body lingered, his memento, which left him so very ashamed to now admit. His beautiful Rona would be free, but Janus would remain. For himself, for his people, he would prevail...even if alone.
It was as he deserved.
The Count's mind traveled to Abigale Lynn, and a new bout of mournful sobs escaped him. His brutality, his expectancy...oh, how he took all of her for granted. He had fallen... Still, he could see her face, the nervous smile, and blush of her cheek, just as he could see his cold wife and remember her youthful honeyed gaze and wash of freckles whenever he closed his eyes. He hurt women. Why? Janus did not mean to, but such a thing rang as a childish excuse in his mind. He only wanted to love and be loved. Did he even know how to properly do such a thing? Was it within him? Did he deserve it?
Perhaps not, he resigned. His thoughts were wrong. He loved a young woman - a literal girl. He loved her with a strength that bordered obsession - that was obsession. He wanted her to be his forever. To love her forever. For a moment, she had loved him. At least, he hoped she did. But, as was his way, he ruined all. Janus was the epitome of cruelty and so he frightened his little love away. She was now with another and it tore him asunder to remain idle. Janus, however, would do nothing. No longer would he intervene and ruin her life. No longer would he cling and feel her, like a spectral parasite. It was wrong of him to wait for his wife's end as he sought solace in another woman's emotions, and in his memories.
The Count tore himself away from his work, dragging a weary hand down his face, mindlessly smearing red along the length of his neck. He found his feet moving, winding mindlessly down to the Chamber in which his wife lay. Janus sat, held the hand of his wife and relinquished his magical connections to Abigale Lynn. He loved his little friend so, but it was wrong of him to cling. To watch and feel. To placate his own emotions...no longer. He was to be alone. It was time.
It hurt him physically to do it, but the connection severed, a literal snapping to his soul and darkness as Abigale Lynn slipped from his magic. Janus squeezed his wife's hand tightly. This was the last thing she could be there for him with, and he was grateful for her presence. He bent and kissed the temple of his wife, smoothing her hair; so brittle it broke some at the softened caress. Then, Janus remained still, wanting to be stone himself, much like the walls of the Chamber they remained together in. For truly, he was trapped. Alone and inside of himself. He felt he had no one but the woman he whispered apologies to.
And, if he had been remotely crueler, he could keep his wife now that he had let his Abigale Lynn go, but Janus was not so. He would be alone. He would not cling. He would give both the women he loved and cared for peace. He would do as they wished.
Janus wept more, applying a small squeeze to his wife's hand as he apologized aloud to both women. He could do no more than that. He hoped it would be enough. He hoped it was a start of repentance.
He loved them both. He would never forget that.
xxxx
We slept until evening, the sound of rain beating the floorboards by the inn's window rousing us both simultaneously. Lucien audibly groaned before rising, walking completely nude across the room to close the shutters. He tried to secure the window itself of course, but the glass would not budge. It was stuck open, letting in the pouring rain and evening chill.
Lucien swore once he finished stopping the water the best he could, and patted along the damped wood and back to my side. I thought us lucky that the room was so large and the rain did not touch us. The assassin, however, felt in no way similar and groused over the 'bargain' he had received.
I shifted some, making ready for Lucien to come back to bed, but was surprised when he instead began to dress. I frowned and propped myself up on my elbows, sleep still clouding my mind as I mindlessly watched the assassin pull on a clean tunic. Eventually, I sat up further and found my voice. "You are leaving now?" I mumbled, a strange arcid taste in my mouth as I remembered Lucien's mention of business that needed to be done in Bravil...
"Yes. Now is as good a time as any. Dark, dreary and rainy - it does provide adequate cover. Although, such a thing is hardly needed in this miserable, little place." The assassin offered freely, letting me know without a shadow of a doubt that the 'work' to be done in Bravil was anything but wholesome. Of course, I had not expected it to be. "No one bats a lash to darker, questionable behaviors here. The town is rife with foulness. Distraction... Worry not for me. And I implore you to stay in this room until my return, please. This is not the place to wander alone. Even I must take precautions." The assassin said pointedly, patting the scabbard on his hip. I wanted to protest that the Dark Brotherhood Speaker was always armed to the teeth, as though he was readying himself for war, but said nothing as he flicked his black hood up and over his head. "I shall return before dawn. The sooner my business is concluded, the sooner we may leave."
I gave a weak nod as the assassin approached me, all in black as he planted a small kiss to my forehead. There he lingered for a moment, his lips upon my skin before raising his mouth some towards my hair. I remained quiet, unsure of what to say and allowed Lucien to speak again for me. "Do you feel any better with rest?" He inquired softly, coupling his words with a gentle hand to my cheek.
Swallowing hard and remembering our earlier argument and Lucien's anger, I was happy to know that his temper had abated a bit. However, I was still very torn over how to feel about it at all.
Although I had vowed that telling the assassin the truth was kinder and more strategic than a lie, I decided to forgo the promise. I did not want whatever Lucien Lachance was about to set out to do influenced by his anger towards me. "I...I do. A little...Do you?"
I felt the scratch of Lucien's cheek upon my brow as the assassin smiled against my skin. He leaned up further to plant his lips to the crown of my head. Another small kiss, this time lingering even longer, it was a welcome sign, I thought. "I do now, my dear." He sighed, his warm breath ruffling through my hair, the sound labored and laced with something hidden. "But I do hope that you still heed me. I meant my words, Abigale. I truly did. I will do anything to keep you from harm, even if that means I am to hurt you myself..." Again, I said nothing and only offered a stiff nod in reply. I expected this. "I know that you may think that such a thing is hypocritical or counterproductive. I assure you, my dear, it is not. It is, however, the kindest thing I can offer you. I am your protector and thusly shall do all within my power to keep you from others...think of all that implies. Do find comfort in my dedication."
The assassin then withdrew from me and righted himself, offering me the warmest of smiles. It was an odd thing and it made my skin prickle at the sincerity of the look. Lucien was very smart and cunning, but this did not feel to be fabricated. No, he truly believed that he was doing me a kindness. His threat of harm to keep me from another who wanted to harm me...I could have argued over how warped the logic was, or perhaps the issue of 'logic' being absent in his offering...but, I did nothing, as was my way. Instead, I tried to mirror his expression and gave the most twitchy and tight-lipped smile that had perhaps ever graced Nirn.
The look caused the assassin to chuckle and ruffle my hair before he turned to leave me. "Be well, my dear. Do not fret so. You have nothing to fear so long as you see sense. Now rest. Recline. Lounge." Lucien insisted as he made his way towards the door. "I shall have a meal sent up within the hour for you. Eat and rest. You need your rest."
XXXX
Lucien Lachance carefully made his way through the winding alleyways of Bravil. He stepped lightly over makeshift sewers, rotted drains and dirty, weary beggars - beggars who quickly looked away or shuffled further into the mud as the hooded man passed them by. The poor would go out of their way to not notice the black-shrouded men and women who frequented the particularly filthy routes of Bravil's underbelly. No, for they had learned long ago the hard way to be wise.
There was an understanding between the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood that had been established long ago. Beggars and thieves went hand-in-hand, and so were made by their most generous protectors to not be a bother to the assassin's guild. They were to stay out of the dark man's way - and they took the order quite literally, too. For that reason, none dared venture in the other's path. Beggars sank into the mud, whores were quick to find a client, and any other member or association of the Thieves Guild was keen to turn their head and ignore. Therefore, the squalor was a prime place for those of murder to find their routes.
Still, Lucien Lachance was a particular member who could not abide the smell of sewage and grime, and thusly made his way around all paths with haste. Eventually, the Imperial rounded a final corner that led to a ramshackle building that vaguely resembled a pub. Inside was not much in the way of a reprieve from the exteriors dilapidation, but the space still served its purpose well.
The assassin made his way further into the deary and dimly lit structure. In one corner stood three Orcs and two Bretons, all of whom were gambling on a game of cards - a game that was assured to be won by the Breton who had an ace tucked in his sleeve...
In another corner sat several elves, all drinking merrily while thoroughly enjoying the one Nordic woman in their company. The Mer were having quite the heated discussion despite the merriment, as all fought jovially over who was to have what part of their very made-up and expensive blonde companion.
After his quick assessment of the inhabitants, Lucien approached the counter, run by an old Argonian who hardly spoke a lick of Cyrodiilic. The Dark Brotherhood Speaker often assumed the Argonian only knew the name of the drinks he sold. And, of course, how to count coin.
Ordering a watery ale that he had no true interest in, the assassin sat directly next to another figure. A Bosmer. One who was cloaked in a finely embellished dark robe, his hood back, revealing sandy-blonde hair, his stature small. "What kept you?" Asked the mer Lucien had joined, a sly smile Lucien mimicked flitting across his features. "You know how greatly I appreciate punctuality."
"Forgive me, Brother. I was unsure if you knew whether or not I was in town. Of course, I had planned a routine visit, just not so soon."
"Late or not, your arrival has been quite the talk of Bravil. Such a thing can be troubling, Lucien." The sandy-blonde Mer said, taking a sip of his ale, his expression contemplative. "However, fortunately, it was not so much your arrival that had caused a stir, but the Breton woman you are traveling with. She turned quite the many heads in the time it took you to trudge your sorry self to the Inn. I, unfortunately, was not gifted a glimpse of her. And now all this is just talk, I am afraid, but I knew it was a Dibellan by gossip alone. So, I took the hint and tried my luck. Here we are."
"How fortunate for us both. Me, in particular. Bravil is as lovely as ever this time of year. Ah, yes, how lucky a boy I am." Lucien replied with a weighted amount of snark, gesturing to the establishment, causing the Bosmer at his side to chuckle.
"Most of us would argue that your entire existence is based on luck, Lachance. If I was you, I would not take such a gift for granted."
The Dark Brotherhood Speaker sniggered before taking a sip of his watery ale, regretting it as soon as it passed his lips. "Oh, I do not. Quite the contrary, I bask in it." Lucien carefully pushed his mug out of his own reach to keep from repeating the mistake of a mindless swig. "Now, do forgive me, Ungolim, but I fear that I am pressed for time -"
"I understand," The Bosmer interjected, turning in his seat to face the Imperial, his fingers intertwining in his lap. "You are lugging around most precious cargo. However...the cargo in question is something I have been needing to discuss with you once more...Surely you can spare a moment more?" Ungolim's voice trailed, his eyes keen and sharp as they searched his Brother's features before he continued speaking, his voice dipping considerably. "This girl you are with, this Sybil...as much as you wish it, I cannot grant you full custody of her. You see, our ties with Skingrad are crucial, yet tentative. Should the Count want her back, I would not pose any resistance to his desires."
The assassin, despite hearing a similar thing before, felt his stomach churn in a foreign and most unpleasant way. He suckled the inside of his cheek, glancing curiously about the tavern, hoping to appear unfazed. "Even in spite of all the usefulness a Dibellan could bring us?" Lucien inquired, brow quirked.
"The word here is 'could'. As of yet, the girl is no more than a commission - of sorts. So long as the Count holds little interest and is unstable, by all means, do as you wish with her. However, I cannot stress to you enough how swift of a return is required should he come to call."
Lucien took a deep inhale from his nostrils, nodding slowly, feeling bitter but swallowing his distaste down with a resolute nod. Lead formed in his sour belly, but the Dark Brotherhood Speaker would do nothing. He would say nothing in a counter of his Listener's orders... "As you so wish it, Brother. I would never go against your command."
"I understand your affinity for the lady. I too have a great interest in all she could do for us. And should the Count relieve her fully, we would keep her. We would have her sent to Skyrim for evaluation as well. She would be granted vast titles and priveledges as a Sybil. And now imagine: should a Sybil of Dibella come to blossom under the care of the Dark Brotherhood... It would be more than lucrative. We would be granted access to any kingdoms or holds she wished to 'grace' with her presence. Not to mention the general influence she would assuredly have. We would be her secret shadow and benefit from all. We could guide her to our desired location. She would be our own personal marionette."
"I know. She could be a great benefit for us...as long as we provide her with protection and tend to her needs. I do hope that I would be the one to personally preside over her...?" Lucien mused in question, feeling a strange tightness in his chest at the thought of pulling Abigale Lynn around to gain access and information. He supposed as long as the young woman remained ignorant, it was no great crime. He would keep her ignorant. It was as she asked, after all...
"Can you think of anyone better? Of course, you would be her protector." Ungolim smiled, brandishing his own beverage, unknowingly reliving much of Lucien's inner tension. "Perhaps we could solidify your bonds with her further. By legal matters or some such nonsense...Marriage seems the most conceivable. It would explain your constant presence."
At this, the assassin chuckled and shook his head, scratching at the stubble on his chin with an almost nervous, giddy air. He thought of the premonition given to him by the witch and could not help but to smile. "Good luck having her agree to such a thing. Surprisingly she is not an enthusiast in regards to marital commitment. You would think it caused her physical anguish. She would assuredly need much persuasion...and she would not be all too pleased with me, should such a thing occur."
"She would get over it. All would be for formality, in any case. She could comfort herself with that. Or, you could simply convince her to do as you desire...keep her alive and loyal, as you would treat any of our underlings. She is to be considered one now, at any rate."
Lucien knitted his brows, watching Ungolim sample his drink with scrutiny. "Are you implying we extend an invitation to her? By whom?"
"It was done some time ago, actually. She is to be seen not as a Sibling, but a Daughter. You know we consider the Count as our Step Sibling, yes?" Lucien gave a grunt in agreement, never caring to dwell on such a fact. "Well, she is his property. As such, she is under his care and ours. We have two under Castle Skingrad that are untouchable - her and an Argonian. They are Daughters of the Count, in our way. The invitation was done by Vicente, as per the Count's request some time ago now."
"Ah...So all of that goes away should the Count dismiss her proper?"
The Bosmer nodded, placing several coins on the counter before polishing off his ale. "Yes, which is why, unless she desires our line of work - she'll agree to your proposal. Provided the Count does away with her for good."
Lucien hummed in thought as he too paid for his drink. "I do not relish being the one to tell her this..." He confessed, watching the heated card game in the corner reach the cusp of violence.
Ungolim's sharp eye followed his own, a pitiless smile twisting along his mouth as he reclined, his finger tapping his lower lip. "She need not know unless the time comes..."
xxxx
I sat quietly in our room, awaiting the assassin's return. I was still unsure of how I should behave upon Lucien's arrival, as I knew he was most likely being a scourge upon Nirn. However, I resigned myself to simply be. I never truly knew how to act and most of my existence was questioning my role as a person as a whole, so I thought it best not to dwell and pretend all was right.
Utilizing my favored proficiency, I wondered how I could best amuse myself while Lucien was away. In truth, I loathed Bravil and merely acknowledging the fact of residing in the miserable county made me very uncomfortable. I needed not to think about any of my surroundings while not being inside my own mind. It was a tricky balance and I knew not what to do.
Our rented room was devoid of literature and I soon found my only source of entertainment to be watching the rain trickle through the shutters Lucien had closed. Water pooled neatly in little puddles along the water-stained boards. I was tempted to clean the mess but knew such a thing to be foolish, as the water would continue to drip. I also considered attempting to somehow block the water better with spare linens...but again thought better of it. I did not want to get into trouble for using a cloth that was not my own.
And so I did nothing. I let the water flow. I watched it spread. I listened to its trickle and observed quietly as it began to seep into the cracks.
Thump! Thump!
I jumped nearly out of my skin and turned sharply to the door someone had just knocked upon. My heart hammered as I caught my breath. It was Lucien, I presumed...but the assassin never knocked.
I remained still. I wondered who it was standing beyond my door. However, feeling perhaps foolishly panicked, I said nothing, nor did I move. My gaze fell to the small gap beneath the door. I could easily see the shadow of someone standing right outside of the room, and the vision made me gulp. Still, I did not move.
My palms began to sweat as I stared at the shadow. This was not Lucien...who was this?
I then jumped once again as a white envelope was slipped under the door. I blinked, confused. My name was neatly scrawled on the parchment.
My visitor did not knock again, nor did he try to jiggle the latch or call to me. Instead, I heard movement in the hall as the shadow turned and left. Again I only watched the paper now, as though I awaited it to come to life with little teeth to nip at my heels.
The hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end long after the shadow had gone. Hesitantly, I forced myself to move forward. I bent and picked up the small paper, examining it some before hastily backing from the door. I stepped into puddles, water soaking through my stockings as I scrambled back.
Once I retreated far enough back into the room where I felt safer, I again examined the note. It was, by all accounts, very unassuming. There was nothing notable about the paper other than the tight yet elegant scrawl of my name. My mind flicked to the Count's signature. Hasty, fine, and bold. This was not done in his hand. I then considered Lucien, but the assassin's handwriting was so neat and flawless that I found it unforgettable. This was neither men, and it left me so very puzzled.
I sensed no magic from the parchment, nor was there any incriminating signet or seal. All was so very plain that I had trouble digesting the randomness of it all.
Shifting on my very damp stockings, I considered waiting for Lucien's return. I could, by all accounts, give him the letter...but why had I received it in the first place? Who would write to me?
A sudden thought crossed my mind. I thought of the Stewardess, Hal-Liurz. Could she have written to me? Did she need me? What if something was wrong with the Count?
In a flurry of panic that surpassed the unexpected courier, I tore open the letter. Upon it were very few words. So little...
The blood of Tertia stains His hands.
Author's Notes: Awwww my poor Abbeh! I am often asked WHY I put her through such nonsense...well, it wouldn't be too much of a story without complexities, right? XD Thanks for reading! I can't wait to finish the next chapter! *squeals* Which...is probably gonna need a bunch of warnings...as a warning. XD