Veria pushed her steed halfway to Helgen before she was forced to slow in favor of the poor creature's health. Much to her dismay, Brynjolf finally had a chance to ride alongside her.
"Your stamina is impressive," he panted with a smile. "That horse is no match for you." When she didn't respond he cleared his throat and adjusted his grip on the reins. He returned his voice to a business-like cadence. "Helgen isn't far off. I say we'll reach Markarth by sunrise tomorrow."
Veria grunted in agreement and they continued on in silence. Bryjolf seemed to finally notice her cold disposition and let her be for the next few hours. He didn't speak again until they were passing through Falkreath.
"Let's let the horses rest a moment," he said, slowing his mount. He hopped to the ground and secured the reins just outside the inn, and Veria followed suit. He said, "Say, Wisp-"
"Why must you always mock me, Brynjolf?" She snapped. "If you respect me at all, call me by my name."
Brynjolf cracked a half-smile at her frustration but raised his hands in defeat. "Wraith, then...I was just going to ask...do you believe the tale that Markarth was made by some ancient race?"
Veria sighed and tightened the reins around the post. "That's what they say," she said absently. "The architecture there supports the theory, I suppose."
He touched his chin thoughtfully. "No doubt there are plenty of old artifacts there. Plenty of collectors will pay a handsome price for such things."
"I know a few places there that might have something good. We'll take stock of the place when we get there."
Veria suddenly felt him pat her arm once. "Look there," he muttered.
She followed his gaze to the door of the inn. It took her moment to realize he was directing her attention to a small symbol carved haphazardly into the threshold. It was a circle inside which was carved a square divided into smaller horizontal slices.
"That's what we call a Shadowmark..." Brynjolf said quietly. "It's a little code we use...this symbol means there's something valuable inside." He patted her on the shoulder. "I'll be but a moment."
Before Veria could protest he was already slipping inside. She waited no more than five minutes before he slipped casually back out to his horse.
He calmly untied the reins but Veria could tell he had just made a pick and was looking to get out of there as fast as he could. She casually followed suit and they left Falkreath without so much as a glance their way. When they were a safe distance a way she looked toward him. "So? Any luck?"
Brynjolf pulled something shiny out of his side pouch and tossed it to her. She turned over the object in her hand as the horse plodded on. It was a silver amulet with a large emerald fixed in the center. Arcane patterns surrounded the edge and the whole thing felt slightly warmer than it should against her skin.
"This thing is enchanted," she muttered.
"I have a friend over at the College of Winterhold who can appraise it for us. The craftsmanship of the silver alone is worth enough to feed the whole guild for a month, I'd say."
She tossed the amulet back to him and he secured it safely inside his pack, wrapped in some inconspicuous cloth. "Who knew a simple innkeeper would have such a thing?" he continued.
"Falkreath is full of its eerie little secrets," Veria said. "This whole area sets my teeth on edge. Let's continue and stop in the Reach instead."
She flicked the reins and trotted ahead, and Brynjolf followed without comment.
Conversation was scarce the rest of the journey. Veria let the forests slide by without so much as a glance toward them. She kept her gaze focused on the road, and remained so until they emerged into the mists of the Reach. Brynjolf, who she could feel watching her closely, noticed her nerves slowly unwind as Falkreath fell further and further behind. He didn't speak until they were halfway through the mountains, and then it was all business.
"So, lass, what's your plan? What do you need me to do?" She shot him a harsh but quizzical look, and responded "It's your job. If you want me out of the way, just say so."
Veria turned back toward the road and deliberated on her response for a moment. Finally she said, "What do you know about the Praxem estate?"
"Scouts only gave us the tip about the place recently," he said soberly. "I've never seen the place myself, but it's apparently owned by some nobleman who owns half the mines in Skyrim and some in Cyrodiil. Fancies himself a jewel collector."
"Why has no one taken it until now?"
Bedrel scratched his neck and continued, "The man's home is apparently carved right into the highest cliffs in Markarth. Getting to it without getting noticed by the guards he employs is a feat itself. We can't quite know what we'll find once we get inside, either."
Veria was mulling over all the facts when Brynjolf suddenly stopped his horse.
"Bryjolf what's-"
"Shh!" He tilted his head to catch the faint sound of a pulsating chime.
He hopped off his horse and trotted over to a nearby stream. He glanced this way and that before spotting a flowing fern-like plant growing in the mud.
Veria rolled her eyes. "Nirnroot? We're stopping for a cut of Nirnroot?"
"Hey now," Brynjolf drew his dagger and began to pry the plant from the earth. "Don't judge a man by the plants he fancies." He lifted the herb from the dirt, and it immediately fell silent. As he packed it gently into his side pack and turned back to the horses, he caught Veria glancing backward down the road to Falkreath.
"Looking for something?" He said. She frowned and flicked the reins in response. Brynjolf alighted and followed suit before she could trot too far. "What is it about Falkreath that unsettles you so much?"
Veria clenched her teeth. Bold bastard, isn't he... she thought. "What is it about Nirnroot that gets you so excited?" She spat back.
He chuckled in response and said, "I myself don't find them very attractive...I overheard Maven's daughter asking about where to find some Nirnroot to replenish her mentor's stocks. I thought maybe I could assist."
"Doesn't seem safe."
Brynolf cocked an eyebrow. "Hm?"
"To be sweet on a Blackbriar, I mean."
He suddenly laughed so loud that Veria nearly fell of her horse in surprise. "No, no," he said hurriedly through chuckles. "Maven would have my head in an instant. I just thought it would be a good idea to be on the good side of as many Blackbriars as possible."
"I don't recall ever meeting Maven's daughter."
"Little Ingun doesn't care for her family's...business. She's cooped up in that alchemist's shop every day...now that I think of it, she might not take too kindly to a member of the Thieve's Guild offering her assistance..."
Veria couldn't help but jab at him, "Interesting you didn't think of that before diving off your horse for that root."
Brynjolf chuckled awkwardly. "Now, lass..."
"You fancy her." He tried to protest but she continued, "Don't worry. I'll break the news to Maven as soon as we get back."
He laughed but couldn't quell a panicked reaction, "Don't go joking about that now, lass! Maven would really have my head if she even thought-"
Veria's mouth crooked slightly into a single snicker.
A mischievous smile suddenly crossed Brynjolf's face. "Was that a laugh, lass?" She merely shrugged in response. "How about that. The Wraith can laugh."
Veria rolled her eyes and pressed on. "We'll be there soon," she said.
Markarth was exactly the same as it was the last time Veria visited. The first thing they did after securing their horses in the stables was take a casual walk around the city, each eating a share of bread as they went. No one noticed them or their wandering eyes prying every corner for signs of valuables. They had worked their way to some of the highest roads when Brynjolf paused.
"Temple of Dibella," he said, glancing over a pair of large brass doors. "Could be a thing or two in there."
"They have some statues, but nothing incredibly valuable."
He raised an eyebrow at her and said, "You've been inside before?"
Veria rolled her eyes and pressed on. "C'mon," she said. "We have a job to do."
The Praxem estate was built upon the cliffs and it took quite a bit of climbing to even get a good look at it. In the tallest tower accessible by the city roads, Brynolf and Veria peered at it through squinted eyes. They studied as much as they could, and determined that it would be best to go in at night. As they discussed possible approaches, Veria insisted that she do the job entirely on her own, and Brynjolf did not press her. He listened quietly as she formed a plan, interrupting only a few times to give suggestions.
Before she knew it, the sun was setting. She adjusted the hood of her cloak around her face and said, "I'm off. Don't follow me." He responded with a crooked smile and a playful wave. She rolled her eyes and left him alone in the tower.
The job was finished before the moons reached their apex. Veria left Markarth through the front gates and rounded back, approaching from the north. She scaled a few cliffs and leaped across crevasses to be able to approach the estate from the safest angle. She slipped inside through an unlocked window and immediately began the burglary. She pocketed anything and everything that looked valuable, starting with a large collection of jewels being displayed in a glass case. The lock was masterfully crafted but took her only a few minutes to crack. Gold, silver, emeralds, rubies; all manner of ornate jewelries were stuffed swiftly into her pouch.
When every pocket was brimming, she took her leave through a sewage drain. She was too burdened by her haul and didn't want to risk climbing down the mountain, so she crawled through the drains until it dumped her into a stream heading downhill not far from the estate. Stinking to the heavens but otherwise in good spirits, she picked her way down the mountain, stopping once to rinse herself and the jewels in a freezing pond. Despite this precaution, Brynjolf grimaced at her when she finally arrived at the stables just before sunrise.
"By the Nine, lass," he jabbed. "Were you recently raised from the dead?"
She shot him a single scowl and mounted her horse. "Let's go," she said quietly. Brynjolf perfectly understood the small note of urgency in her voice, and rode after her without a word. When they were halfway back to Whiterun Hold, she steered them suddenly off the path and to a hidden clearing in the rocks. A river swelled nearby, forming a small lake. She removed her bags and pouches and set them on the ground. She opened them for the first time in hours and took stock of her haul.
Veria heard Brynjolf release a long whistle. "I'm impressed, lass," he said. "Looks like quite a haul." She quickly resealed the bags without any comment, but he continued, "You really are an asset to the Guild, after all."
"Was it really so hard to believe?" She grumbled.
He shook his head at her stubbornness. He wondered what made her so cold. "Well," he said, clearing his throat. "You stink to the heavens. We should take a moment to rest and wash up."
Veria's grip stiffened, and she tightened the buckles of the pouches in her hands. "You rest over there," she pointed to a boulder not far from where they sat. "I'll wash."
At the edge of the pond she began removing her leather armor. She glanced back to Brynjolf sitting against the boulder, casually watching the sky above her head. He noticed her scowling venomously at him. "What?" He said.
"Other side," she spat with a jab of her finger.
"Oh, oh," he said, as if he didn't realize her qualm. "Of course." He shifted until his back was against the other side of the boulder, and he was completely out of sight. Veria sighed in annoyance, and suddenly felt exhausted.
What he was doing was obvious, and if it were a different time, she might have taken advantage of his interest. She grumbled in annoyance. I've been nothing but cold to him, she thought. Precisely to avoid this kind of thing. She sunk into the cold water seconds after stripping her final garment. What a bother.