From Talos, with Love

"With great power comes great responsibility. A shame they never mentioned a nocked arrow or a dagger dipped in poison, because I'm not taking responsibility for any of that."

Chapter 3—How shall we proceed?

8-8

16th of Sun's Dawn, 4E 200.

This would have been our first Heart's Day together. Knowing him, we'd have spent the day in his shack, in and out of our lovemaking sessions. But what I miss most of him is our talks. The tales of his adventures in the Ashlands. His time on Solstheim, in Raven Rock. His running commentary of House Redoran and their almost Altmeri levels of egocentrism.

I miss hearing him speak of Ralen, and how they'd get along like a house on fire. How they'd tease and prank their granma to no end, only for Ralen to play 'the elder brother' and turn my love in at the first sign of trouble.

I miss him speaking of him and Ralen doting on Llorayna and Sovali. How they'd stalked poor Sovali during her first date, how the boy was too afraid to come calling again. And how Llorayna spent the rest of that week getting them in trouble for it.

Quill dips into ink, tears left to fall as they please.

Regardless, I will not lie down and die. Not here, not now. I will be reunited with him, and he will never be given reason to suspect, let alone believe, his faith in me was misplaced.

This gilded cage will not break me.

I spill salt onto the parchment, shifting it around to dry the ink quickly. Once I'm satisfied, I close the book and stow it between the Alchemy theory tomes.

Alright, Reyda. Step one: gaining allies.

8-8

"No." I shake my head and my hands, refusing to even go there. "If you continue going outside with me like that, it'll look like this is a thieves' hideout. And there's no way I'm agreeing to that." I grab Scarlet's hand, dragging her back into my room and closing the door behind us.

I open the closet door, go through my outfits, and select a rich brown set. "Your orders are to remain at my side. And as you are, you stick out like an orc bard. So get changed, and we won't draw unneeded attention to ourselves."

She grumbles, but doesn't disagree, stripping down and changing while I fold up her thief's outfit and lay it on the foot of my bed.

With one little victory in my pocket, I head outside with Scarlet hot on my heels. The others take notice of her new look—the not so subtle frowns she gets rub me all the right ways.

Out in the courtyard, Sofie starts running around and squealing happily, glad to burn off her pent up energy any way she can. But I'm far more interested in the visibly uncomfortable redhead staying near the door. Poor, poor Scarlet fiddles with her gloves, likely nervous about the others' reaction.

So let's see how this plays out, Frey. You station five pawns, and given your admittance to preferring control of them over skill, it isn't impossible they aren't loyal to you—just that you have power over them. All I need is for them to open up, to loosen their tongues, and I can figure out what that is.

I've the time.

8-8

Fourteen pots now neatly lined up a stride from the fences to ensure no one gets…handsy with them. Nothing is planted, of course. No, planting before First Seed is a fool's errand. But what Fastred's granma taught me, is exactly what I intend to do to get a leg up—once I get what I need, that is.

Then again…I have quite a few ingredients left. And I saved the nirnroot seeds. Yup, that's what we're doing.

But let's see. I need to plan. I'll need viable ingredients for health and cure disease potions.

"Come, let's go inside and warm up," I say over my shoulder as I spy her reaction. She's still fidgeting, but she does nod—Solitude wasn't built in a day. Sofie complains, but she doesn't fight me.

I head back upstairs, into the alchemy alcove, and I start writing down ingredients I can grow right here.

Blue mountain flower, yellow mountain flower, purple mountain flower, red mountain flower, nightshade, lavender, dragon tongue, mora tapinella, elves ears, frost mirriam, wheat.

I make sure to sprinkle the salt over it, fold it when I'm satisfied it's dry, and hand it to Scarlet. "If he asks, these are all alchemical ingredients, but they all have other uses. Should he deem it needful, I will explain for each he is curious about."

Scarlet narrows her eyes, but shrugs and likely decides this isn't her problem. The note goes into her pouch. With that, we head into the room to sit by the fire and warm up. Hmm. Maybe I can ask for some apples. They aren't in season, but apple cider is yummy, and I could use the seeds.

8-8

It's three days later that another delivery is made. Once again, around midnight. Only this time, it's a satchel-full of the ingredients I requested, along with the already requested ingredients for the potions he needs.

Why Frey makes these deliveries himself is a bit of a mystery. Though more curious is how none of these men ever leave the manor. Still, not my problem.

It's almost sunrise before I'm done with the potions. Per the norm, I tell Scarlet I'm done, and I head out into the courtyard to catch some fresh air. There's just something about not being surrounded by potential murders that sets me at ease.

My future garden seems paltry. Snow covers everything, but that's just fine for the first few. I conjure my dagger, the rush of air and crackle of magicka almost an explosion in the stillness of the early morning, and start shoveling snow out of my way. I'll have to be far more careful with the others, but mountain flowers thrive in the harshest conditions, a little snow won't bother them.

Hmm. There are fourteen pots. I'll need the most for wheat—both for ale and flour. So, I figure one for each color of mountain flower. If properly cared for, they should produce enough flowers to pluck once a week. But then, I'll need more health potions than the rest. Better make it two for blue.

Hmm. Maybe in my next thank-you order, I'll ask for blisterwort? Could be useful to have some regenerate health potions in stock.

Gouging out a proper hole, I set the first blue mountain flower and cover it with dirt and snow. As the sun melts the snow, it'll water my babies, so there's nothing to worry about.

"By order of the Jarl, stop right there!" The shouting sounds like it's coming from a ways off. The morning being quiet as it is, it carries a little too well. Still, it has nothing to do with me. So I gouge another hole into snow and dirt, partly burying another blue flower branch.

"She went into the cemetery!" Onto the next pot, I gouge another hole and partly bury another stem. Movement catches my eye. I turn, mostly out of curiosity.

Bright red eyes, wide with an almost wild madness, like a cornered beast. Ashen face, taut and looking around for any options left to her. It's the thief's outfit that really upsets me though. How brainless does a Dumner have to be to wear such an obvious thief's garb, and then go around at this hour. It won't matter if she's innocent, her existence is crime enough in Skyrim.

"S'wit," I grumble. Her gaze finds mine, and the bright red smeared over her face tells me she's already had a bad run in with the guards. There's an arrow in her left arm as well. They're not interested in filling their dungeon, it seems. They want her dead.

"Get in here. Hurry." She doesn't hesitate, vaulting up and over the yards-high fencing, and into the courtyard. I motion to the pots, and she ducks behind one of them. Only, she leaves a trail of her blood within my domain. That makes this more my problem than anything.

Footsteps grow loud from both directions. The guards approach too swift to properly cover much of anything. Little choice, then.

I loosen my focus on the dagger as I run towards the fence, conjuring it again and stabbing myself through my left palm. I cry out, backing away, leaving far more obvious footsteps as I loosen my focus again so my dagger fades from this plane.

Scarlet comes running, covering the rest of the tracks, and meeting me in the middle of the courtyard. It isn't a moment later that the guards are all falling over themselves at the gate.

"What is it? What's happened?!"

"He came out of nowhere! Had an arrow in his arm, asking for help! When I got close, he stabbed me and made off with my necklace!" I clutch my injured hand. They came from both directions of the alley, so they'll believe the thief 'must have' gone up the wall and out the city.

"Must've gone up the wall!" The wall's too high for them to climb, so they dash down the alley, all in the same direction. They'll spend the rest of the day trying to figure out why this Dunmer leaves no tracks in the snow. Poor bastards.

I head for the door, letting Scarlet do her weird knocking thing so the man inside will know to open it. "Inside. Now." The thief peeks out, finding none of the guards around, and follows us in.

8-8

My motions are quick and graceless, but I'm careful not to get my blood into, onto, or near anything. The last thing I need is blood contaminating everything.

"Tell me you at least know a healing spell," I say over my shoulder. But I get no response. Turning to her, her face is pale, almost turning white. The cut is mostly under her eyebrow. That should cover it somewhat, but that's a concern after we make sure she survives. After all, it's the arrow in her arm that worries me.

"What's your name, s'wit."

"Stop calling me that."

"If the shoe fits," I mutter, turning my attention back to making the potions to save her life. Her snort tells me she's not amused. "You know they hate Dunmeri. And you go out thieving. If that isn't slack-witted, nothing is."

Grumbles and half-formed complaints are all I get. Still, it shows she's conscious, that's a start.

"So what's your name." Satisfied with the first regenerate health potion, I stopper it and set it aside to cool.

"Vilvyni." Life wanes in her voice. I might have to risk giving her the potion still hot. "My name…is Vilvyni Drothan. From Blacklight."

"Well, here's what we're going to do, Vilvyni the s'wit." I poke her between the eyebrows to annoy her further. She narrows her eyes and flares her nostrils. "We're going to give the potions a minute to cool. When that happens, you're going to drink two of them to keep you on this plane. Then we're going to do something about that arrow."

A sigh and a sullen head-bob are all I get.

"Do you want me to explain what I'm going to do? You may well be happier not knowing."

"Just do it." Hmm. Either she trusts me, or she understands it'll have to happen anyway. Let's assume the latter, and see if we can't shift it towards the former in time.

I grab the first vial, testing its temperature. "It's still a bit on the warm side. But I'd rather you drink it when it's less effective than to wait and take risks." A mute pop, the unstopped vial's neck presses against her lips.

Little gulps, mute as they are moody, are punctuated by a drawn out, disgusted groan and her forced shut eyes. The second vial soon follows, unstopped and pressed to her lips. That should deal with keeping her from bleeding out.

A defeated sigh escapes her, tinged with a groan—either disgust from the taste or self-loathing. Maybe both. Probably both.

She shivers and smacks her lips like she tastes something bitter. Hmm. I know I kept my blood out of the potions. Risk of infection, perhaps. But the regenerate health should mitigate that, if only somewhat. I don't have the ingredients for cure disease, so she'll have to make do.

"Right. I'm going to make two more potions. And these'll need to work at full strength."

"I thought…you said…"

"I'd rather be paranoid, if you don't mind." I press my uninjured palm against her forehead, feeling her warmth. Not hot, not feverish, but warm enough to confirm life. "I'm not going to pour anything down an unconscious patient's throat. So you need to stay awake. Tell me about life in Blacklight."

"I…don't remember…don't 'member much. Mama use…mama used to tell tales of it, 'fore the Red Year."

So her mother was over two hundred years old. Vilvyni's of the younger batch. That means she'll have at least one more sibling she's aware of. And they'd have been raised and trained to kill her parents' worst enemies. Interesting, and definitely something I can use, if need be.

I get back to my potionmaking. She'll need another health regen, and a health potion for when I remove the arrow.

"Your siblings. What of their fate?"

"Dovyn…he's a few years…years older. He's an…an ass." And therefore very much alive. Noted. "We were…were doin' the…the job toge…together. Guards were…were on us…almost from the…the start."

"He told you to run while he distracted them," I muse, a smile in my tone. Cylben would have done the same, and cursed his sisters for getting injured to boot.

"Yeah." They love each other. I can tell just from the smile in her tone. But it just isn't in siblings to not be snippy to each other from time to time—no one you spend that much time with is free from it.

She continues tripping over her words and haltingly telling me of their tales. I listen with half an ear as I make the potions and set them aside to cool. But I block her out almost entirely as I focus on making two last health potions for me.

I missed the veins and arteries, more by luck than anything, but I'm going to have a nasty scar for this.

Lucky for me, I only need two small vials, so they cool within minutes. I take the first and drink it, unwrapping my injured hand as a shiver of disgust runs through me—those things taste vile. Vile in a vial. Must be some Aedric joke. Or maybe Daedric. I can imagine Sheogorath being over the moons with the whimsy of that little wordplay.

"Mama tol' us…tol' us to run…and she brought…brought the ruins down…down atop o' them." Hmm. I must have missed something important. Shit. Will have to ask about that later. Note to self: mother's dead. That means the father died long ago. No Dunmer would allow his love be harmed while he yet breaths.

"I'm sorry to hear that." I pour the second vial onto my wounds, half the vial for each side. The burning pain almost knocks me out. The stars in my vision aren't helping much either.

With a deep breath, I ball my uninjured hand into a tight fist to hopefully regain some control—I figure just getting this over with is the better option.

The health potion flask unstops with an audible pop. The regen health soon follows. I conjure my dagger and carefully cut off the arrowhead, before pouring the regen health onto and around the area of wound nearest it. The rest is poured into Vilvyni, the sounds of her disgusted groan telling me she is just as unimpressed with this one.

One swift pull, and the arrow dislodges. Her blood squirts all over her leathers, my dress and jacket, and into my mouth. Great. Now we have blood magicks to contend with. She better not be a were or vampire.

I grab the regen health flask and pour it directly into the wound, tying the area with my bloodied rag. The rest of the flask pours down her throat all the same.

Too tired to deal with the implications just now. So fuck it.

"Make sure Frey knows all details," I say, my nose pointing to Scarlet though my eyes are out of focus for some reason. "There are implications he'll need to know of. Ask him to come tonight. I'll discuss everything I know enough of, but I don't know the politics of Riften. That's why he needs to be here himself."

I grab the health potion flask, spilling the last of its contents onto Vilvyni's brow, wrap an arm around her and we stumble off to bed together. This day just needs to end.

8-8

"Reyda." I jerk awake, already looking around to assess how fucked I am. I'm in my bed, in my room, with Sofie snoring beside me. There's a weight I'm not accustomed to, right atop me. Looking down, I find the sleeping form of Vilvyni, her face at perfect peace as she slumbers on my chest.

"Frey's here. He's talking to the boys downstairs," Scarlet informs me. I look at her, wondering at the respect lining her eyes. I nod, but don't much feel like moving. Frey isn't that important.

Footsteps dash up the stairs. That isn't Frey. That would be…uh…Dovyn? Vilvyni's overprotective brother. Well. Just her brother. I'm pretty sure all Dunmeri brothers are one strain of overprotective or another.

The doors slam open, and an irate Dunmer stands in the doorway, his eyes fearful and face taut.

I place my middle and index fingers against her neck, feeling her pulse steady and strong. "She's fine. Just resting."

Slow, steady footsteps come up the creaking stairs. Dovyn looks nervous, no doubt remembering some instruction or other. Oh, no. I need your loyalty, so what say we undermine whatever rules I can rightly say I didn't hear that apply to you, specifically.

"Come see for yourself," I say, patting the bed beside me. His eyes dart back and forth, weighing risk and reward. His upbringing and love for his sister will easily tip the scales to my side.

I run my finger through Vilvyni's hair, grateful she didn't do the usual bandit shaving thing—I never quite understood why they'd shave the sides of their heads to mark themselves as bandits. Maybe it's to confuse people? To make them notice nothing but the standard signs and make it impossible to differentiate between them?

Whatever.

"Mmmm." Vilvyni moans, no doubt wanting nothing more than to get her much needed rest. That's all Dovyn needs, he sits beside me in a half a heartbeat, already checking his sister's state. His eyes take in the bloodied rag tied to her upper arm, the dried blood on my hand on her face.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Dovyn says, trying to mask the tremble in his voice. He knows she was badly injured.

"What'd I say 'bout wakin' me in the middle of the night?" Oh, yeah. These two are thick as thieves.

"How much you enjoy it. Obviously."

My chest shakes, failing at keeping the laughter in. Vilvyni shifts, peering up at me, unable to mask her confusion as she tries piecing all this together. When she recognizes me, her eyes go wide and her whole body tenses, no doubt preparing for the worst.

"Be at peace," I murmur, running my fingers through her hair, and cursing at the knots I find there. She nods, but narrows her eyes all the same. "We'll discuss this later. I believe Frey needs a word with me."

As if on cue, Frey walks in to the room, his face blank but anger in his eyes.

"I assume you've been informed of the situation," I begin, not waiting for him to mouth of. "Let me highlight what little I know, and how this may affect the situation. The guards will be looking for a necklace of mine, and they seek these two without fail. What's more, they were confused at finding me there. Luckily, Scarlet wore fine robes. They won't associate this place with thieves, not from anything that transpired today. However, there's a chance they'll come back, asking questions. I have a plan, but I don't know Riften politics to predict how the guards will react. So, how do you want to handle this?"

Frey narrows his eyes, tilting his head slightly. "Tell me your plan."

"If they come asking questions, I pose as a Dunmerii noblewoman." Vilvyni tenses, but doesn't speak. "I know more about their politics and traditions. I can pass for a lowborn of their House without fail. If you are asked, you claim I am the wife-to-be of a business associate and have housed me here during bridal training, per his request."

Frey frowns.

"This works to your advantage. Because you'd be forbidden to speak his name, as would I. Dunmeri tradition. I would need a handmaiden, preferably Khajit or Argonian. And two chap'thil, which these two could fulfill, if they never speak. In fact, only those intimately aware of Dunmeri customs would even guess which House we're from. So never saying of which House is quite customary. If you don't know, it's none of your business."

The frown eases, but Frey isn't sold as yet. "I'm not getting you any slaves."

"Not asking you to. If Scarlet and these two would be assigned to me, no one would question a thing. They'd assume my muthsera bought Scarlet for me in Morrowind and assigned his own chap'thiil to guard me in addition to my own. And this way, you have three of your people around me at all times, even if you need me to leave the manor for any reason. And no, I'm not asking to leave. I'd rather not have to deal with people."

Frey crosses his arms, the look in his eyes tells me his gears are churning. "Has anyone else seen you?"

"Maramal and Dinya Balu. The priests from the Temple of Mara. They are already aware I'm connected to the Dunmer, and that I know enough to sniff out her heritage with barely any words exchanged."

"These two have a bounty on their heads."

"Do they?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow. "And how many mer are hold guards? How many of them would know to tell one Dunmer from another?"

His eyes widen considerably.

"All I need to do, is dress them as nobility, do up their hair as my House would demand of their station, and ensure they only carry blades in keeping with our norms. As long as they do not speak in public, which their station would forbid with my muthsera away, no one will dare question it."

"Then you know nothing of Riften."

"I already admitted that. But let me rephrase. My station and expectations placed upon me, means I am honor bound to make them regret it."

His eyes dart back and forth. "I'm not getting you elven blades."

"If I teach them Bound Dagger, it will translate to the same thing. It does mean they'll be forbidden to have another blade on them, but they won't need it. And I assume you both know at least one Destruction Spell?"

Dovyn smirks, his eyes filled with a dark joy that tells me they both know it, and look forward to using it.

"Good. Then they will do just fine. All I will need is a few outfits for Dovyn. Luckily, the jackets I have here should work well enough, and the boots will match our collective look. So I'll only need some pants for him. Or a sewing kit so I can make them myself."

Vilvyni shakes with laughter, even as she relaxes completely into my warmth.

"We'll see." Frey walks off, but not before I see a lining of wonder in his eyes. Has he noticed the slivers of respect I steal under his nose? Does he see the already waning loyalty of his people? Or is it as simple as him knowing he never really had it to begin with?

8-8

"What are the responsibilities of chap'thiil?" I ask, stabbing the needle into the fabric and jerking it out the other side.

Vilvyni and Dovyn share a look, shrugging to show they aren't sure.

"Do you know of the winolalvios?"

"The promise-anticipation?" Vilvyni asks, suspicion in her eyes and tone. I nod. "Isn't that when a bride-to-be is essentially kidnapped and her husband-to-be has to find her?"

"Well. Traditionally it's that she's sent away both for bridal training and to test her and her beloved's resolve to be together. Though I'm sure it comes over as you described." No point in stringing pearls to swine. "The point is, during this time I would be in charge of training my and my muthsera's chap'thil. And in turn, it would be your duty to ensure three things which would be reported to my muthsera the second he arrives."

They share a look, confused.

"First. No man is permitted to touch me. Ever. In fact, only the closest of female relatives and female friends are allowed to touch me during this time. And even then, only in exceptional circumstances. The only one allowed to touch me regularly, is my chap'thiil."

Vilvyni grins.

"Second. I should only ever speak to a man should there be no other option. The sole exception is my muthsera's chap'thiil, but then only in private, and only with my chap'thiil present."

Dovyn nods, obviously agreeing with the precaution.

"And third. That I accommodate my keeper as though he were my muthsera, as long as it doesn't break the first two rules."

"What if someone touches you?" Dovyn asks, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"What do you think?" He grins, liking the sound of that. "Now, as for your behavior in public. Chap'thil of my House are known as maliatdahrdragi. Soft-speakers. Because you are in fact nightblades, trained to execute our will and guard us from both the shadows and in plain sight. So, you only ever whisper in public."

"I'm lovin' this." Vilvyni's grin couldn't possibly be wider or cheesier.

"I don't have the Illusion school theory or spellbooks you'll need. We'll have to figure that out as we go. But I have Conjuration and Mysticism spellbooks, and some Mysticism theory." The ache in my chest almost becomes too much. This aligns a little too well, so my heart all but begs me to believe Cylben set this up himself. Logic, of course, tells me this is the furthest from reality it can be, but heart's view brings me comfort.

"So here's how we'll do this. You two are forbidden to bear any non-mer weapon. So, you need to work on Bound Dagger and Bound Bow." I hand one to Dovyn, and the other to Vilvyni—it doesn't matter who gets which, they need to learn both. "I won't give you another spell until you can conjure them without thinking about it."

"What about me?" Scarlet asks, no doubt feeling left out.

Good.

"That depends on you. If you agree to be a part of all this, I'll teach you what I can. But know that loyalty is earned, not bartered for."

Scarlet's eyes simmer with yearning, like she's found something she's long sought after. The look is gone as quickly as it appears, but it doesn't matter. I saw it, and I'll be careful to stoke that flame.

"Of course. Tell me what to do."

"I'm going to need nirnroot for the garden. You should find it easily enough along the lakeside. But no stealing. At all. Either you buy or you find, and by that I mean that even if a guard sees you take it, nothing will happen."

Scarlet jumps to her feet, walking out of the room without so much as glancing back.

"And me! And me! What about me?" Sofie demands, pouting and all. It's a shame her eyes glow with every positive emotion within her. She knows I'd never leave her out.

"Hmm? What about you?" I tease, getting a disappointed groan from her. "Are you saying you want to train like we train?"

"Of course!"

I laugh, quite enjoying her enthusiasm. "Well, alright. But only if you give this your all."

"Yay!" Sofie announces, running around like her tail's on fire.

"Not so fat, little missy. This isn't going to be all fun and games. It'll take a lot of studying and even more practice. On top of that, you'll need to learn Alchemy, and you'll need to help me in the garden."

"Aww. Do I have to?"

"If you want to play with the big kids, you play by big kid rules."

"You'll teach me to fight?"

"Archery and daggers, yes."

"What about spells? I mean, you already taught me Soul Trap."

"You taught her…?" Dovyn and Vilvyni share a look, unsure what to make of that.

"Well. It makes for an interesting game of tag." I don't fight the smug satisfaction welling up in me from having figured out how to train her while making it as fun as possible, and the smirk lets them know as much.

8-8

The sun's just about setting when Scarlet returns. She finds us in the newly dubbed nursery, beside our bedroom, sorting through all the plants we need to grow indoors before planting them come spring.

"Got your nirnroot." Even as she speaks, her eyes scan the room, trying to figure out what we're up to.

The cobwebs have all been banished, as they deserve. The old crates are now stacked along one wall, giving us more than enough room to work and are covered with old bowls and goblets filled with dirt. More importantly, the rest of the rather expansive room is completely empty, giving us room to train.

"Perfect." I beam for her, giving her a moment to let it sink in that I appreciate what she did, before accepting it from her and setting it in my satchel to plant later. Scarlet blushes, but a little smile peaks out all the same. She was an orphan, huh. "After dinner, we'll work you in for Bound Dagger."

"Thanks." She eyes my hand, furrowing her brow at the gloves I'm wearing.

"It isn't healed as yet, but it no longer pains me."

She looks away, biting her lip as if she isn't sure how to respond to that.

I walk right up to her, well within her personal bubble, and I palm her cheek with my injured hand. She cups my hand, though she's careful not to hurt me. Tears well up in the corners of her eyes—there's something about me that strikes a chord within her.

Perhaps my willingness to bleed for people I barely know? Or is it how I offer to teach her things? I'm not sure; more observation will be needed to figure her out.

I smile for her, both with lips and eyes. She tries to smile as well, though hers is more drawn. Tears well up in her eyes. Why is she so emotional about this?

Curious, I hug her.

She's slow to hug me back, but when she does, she takes two fistfuls of my jacket. Her shoulders shiver, but that quickly turns to trembling. She doesn't make a sound, even when her tears cascade down my cheek and neck.

She stiffens and pulls back, shaking her head and is clearly about to say something stupid and walk off.

I pull her back into my warmth before she gets the chance, murmuring into her ear, "It's alright. Just let it out."

The next thing I know, I'm sitting on the ground with Scarlet in my arms and her face buried in my chest, her sobs echoing off every surface. When I find out who cut her this deeply, they're dead.

8-8

"I'm fine." Scarlet's claim is repeated for the thousandth time since her breakdown. I didn't believe her the first time, and I certainly haven't changed my mind. Instead of worrying about that, I dig out the spellbook for Bound dagger, offering it to her with a warm smile.

"Dovyn, Vilvyni." The siblings nod, knowing it's time for them to get down to training as well. They take a seat by the fire, conjuring daggers to practice the spell and slashing the air to get a feel for it. "You can change your grip on them. But be quick and don't lose focus for a moment."

Dovyn shifts his dagger around, only for it to fade from this plane.

"Here. Watch." I conjure my dagger. As it solidifies in my hand, I shift it around, keeping constant physical contact with it. "At first you need to touch it for it to maintain form. After a while?" I flip the dagger into the air, catching it by the tip and flicking it into the fire. The clatter announces it hit the back of the fireplace, but no sound follows, showing it never hit the ground.

The siblings share a look, amused and intrigued. They'll probably spend the rest of the evening throwing those poor daggers into the flames.

Sofie lays on her belly, idly kicking her feet back and forth as she reads Herbalist's Guide to Skyrim, to start her out. I don't doubt she'll have questions—if not, I'll start quizzing her whenever we're gardening.

That takes care of them. So, let's get down to my studying. I fish out the spellbook for Telekinesis, lie on the bed and get to reading.

I really need to learn Bound Bow—I still haven't gotten around to it. Well, either way, focusing on this can't hurt.

8-8

"Where is she?! Get her! Get her down here, now!"

I look to Dovyn. He nods, rushing out the room to see what's going on, almost flying down the stairs. "Serjo!"

Then this really does need my attention. I grab three health potions, a cure disease, and a regenerate health from the alcove, carefully stuff them into my satchel, and head down. In the meeting room, by the back door, a man lies on the table. His left arm is almost severed mid-bicep, and his legs look pincushiony, filled with arrows. His face is a rictus of pain, covered in blood. And yet, he doesn't make a sound.

"Scarlet, get me my other potions. Sofie, get me a bottle of ale from the cellar." They scamper off, leaving me with…this.

I unstop the first two bottles, a regen and a health, and pour each in turn into his mouth. He doesn't question or hesitate, drinking them both. Well. He's losing more blood from his arm, so best to start there.

Scarlet comes with the potions, setting them on the table for me. This is just going to be a nightmare…and a regular thing.

It's almost an hour and sixteen potions later that I declare I've done all I can. The man, a Nord in his late teens, is wrapped up like he's about to be interred, each rag bloodier than the last.

His pale complexion tells me just how much blood he's lost, and frankly I doubt he'll ever use that arm again. Still, he'll live to tell the tale. He'd better. Because I'm going to be bitching for weeks about him wiping out my entire potion stash!

With my bit done, I take the ale, unstop it, and drink straight from the bottle. The men that brought him here stand about, awed and slack-jawed. If only I had the patience for them.

"Dovyn, light the hearth down here. Scarlet, set a chair near it. Sofie, you need to keep an eye on him. Get the mannequins to help him to the chair, and be sure to order them around while I'm washing up."

"Send someone for soup?" She seems quite proud to be given such an important task. Honestly, she's taking all this far too well. I'll need to ask about that.

"That's a good idea. But don't offer it to him before he asks. And no ale until he's eaten. Our patient needs to stay warm. So order them to get him a few pelts while they're at it."

"Aye, Serjo. You just leave everything to me." Sofie walks up to the biggest brute of the bunch, and punches his thigh, already ordering him to do something. I snort, amused with my little tyke.

"Serjo," Vilvyni calls from the doorway. Her eyes smile, heedless of the late hour. "Come. You need to wash up."

8-8

I find myself in the courtyard, tending to my garden. I didn't get a wink of sleep, of course. It's hard to unsee a man's insides.

"I'd take a healthy step back, if I were you," Scarlet warns one of our guests. I'm not sure why the men spent the night, nor am I sure I understand why they insist on lending a hand out here—they're all in civilian wear, so I don't have to worry about much of anything.

Naturally, I have my people out here with me, glaring at everything that moves. Especially Dovyn—I swear, if anyone even appears threatening, he'll be the one to cut them down.

Curiously, Dovyn's taken to only glaring or conjuring a dagger to warn them. He seems to be taking his new role seriously.

"Maran priests," Vilvyni murmurs, her hot breath kissing my ear to show how close she is. I look to the gate, finding Maramal and Dinya Balu, the pair looking most curious at the collection of people in the courtyard.

"Alright, boys!" Sofie's voice rings out in the courtyard, grabbing everyone's attention. "Breakfast! Haul your sorry behinds inside, or you go without!"

There's some grumbling.

"Hey! Don't make me get Serjo involved!" I laugh, loving how she's handling the rabble. They don't fight her this time, heading inside even as they grumble and complain about it.

With that handled, I turn my full attention to the priests. "Three blessings upon you, Priests of Mara."

"Blessing of Mara upon you, my daughter," they say in concert. Only she continues. "What…was that about?"

I sigh, shaking my head. "They brought a friend of theirs in last night. Bear attack, from the look of it. They must think they owe me for saving his life."

"You're a healer?" Dinyu asks, her eyes wide.

"Alchemist, actually," I correct.

"Serjo! Come on, breakfast'll get cold!"

"Serjo?" Dinyu asks, narrowing her eyes this time. "You don't act like a noble."

"I don't act like much of a Nord, either," I tease, smirking and bowing. I head in without another word.

8-8

End Chapter 3

8-8

A/N: Sigh. Alright. I seriously need to talk to my muse. Like, seriously.