I suppose at some point, I must have come to think of Cheydinhal as my home.

Relief made my shoulders slump the moment we passed through the gates. Relief my journey was at an end, of course. I was saddle sore and chafed and weary. But I was also glad to be coming home, to my little whitewashed house that smelled like pine timber and dried herbs, curtains dancing in the breeze and a kettle whistling over the hearth. It meant, for some precious time, I had normality again. For a few days, I almost did.

I remembered what mum had said, when she handed me the key – make the best of it. Perhaps, just perhaps, I could pretend to have a normal life. Deliver the damn potions every week, put all memories of madness and blood out of my head…

I shook my head, laughing under my breath. Who was I trying to fool?

Nothing had changed here, yet everything had. The mutt, for example. I forced myself to work around him, scolding him when he got underfoot of my potion making, finding myself absent-mindedly petting him in spite of myself. I couldn't bring myself to resent him. Whatever his origins, he was earnest and loyal to me, moreso than anyone I'd known. Moreso, perhaps, than my own mother.

Maybe that was what she wanted to give me then, what she felt she couldn't in life. Loyalty.

"Keeping busy, poppet?"

I rolled my eyes and scoffed without turning, one hand filling in my ledger for the day's sales, the other scratching between the hound's ears as he crooned. "No, I'm giving myself wrist cramps for fun. What do you need?"

"Am I not permitted to visit my favourite alchemist?" He entered, casting a brow at the hound who stood to greet him, undoubtedly looking for more focused attention. "You haven't been to the Sanctuary since we left."

"I have no need to be." I bit my tongue as my quill spattered, splotches of ink blotting along the parchment. "I leave my potions in the basement of the house. I'm sure someone can grab it from there." Even that was closer than comfortable, for me. Hearing that strange door seem to breathe, the eerie red glow, the scene engraved on it.

"Slay her. Sacrifice her to me, as I did my own children centuries ago. Show me your loyalty, my daughter."

"After all, even I'm not so cruel to me children as her!"

Voices, memories battled for dominance in my head at the thought. I grit my teeth to push them away, scrawling another set of numbers in my ledger.

"You know what I mean." Lucien's voice dripped with sarcasm as he approached, placing a hand over my shoulder onto the table so he could hover, loom. "You know, pet, defiance has its charms, but it does become wearisome eventually."

"Where's the fun if I don't make you work for it?" I grinned up at him, mirthless and bitter. These attempts at playing pretend, at normalcy these past days left me increasingly irritated, quick to snap even at him. Especially at him. "If you can't be bothered to drag your carcass here to get in my bed, you don't deserve to get into it. I won't be coming for you."

In contrast, he must have been in a good mood. A smirk crawled onto his lips. "I beg to differ, my dear."

I scoffed, letting the quill drop from my hand so I could stand and turn, forcing him back from me as the chair was pushed back with a scrape of wood on wood. "You're as bad as the dog, trying to sniff between my legs. I should send you both out to the stables, where you belong." I pointed to the mutt, who gave a piteous whine.

His smirk tightened. I was mocking, but only myself, in truth. We both knew who gave orders here. His gaze strayed to the hound, who gave a piteous whine. "Have you named him yet?"

"No." I glanced between them both, then gave a venomous smirk of my own. "I should name him after you. Yes – I think that's fitting, don't you?" Seeming to understand he was being spoken of the hound bounded over for more petting, rolling his head back and forth under my hand. "I'll call him Luke."

At that, the hound – now named Luke – gave a pleased woof. I grinned grimly at him, then back to Lucien in satisfaction.

"How very flattering." Whatever humour had been in his smile had fled even as it remained fixed on his lips, eyes dark. I was loathe to admit it, but that was enough to intimidate me. I shrank, glaring.

"Lucien, I'm in no mood. I'm exhausted."

"Yes. I couldn't help but notice you've been distracted, since I found you at that shrine."

I spat back. "Can you blame me?"

"Oh, I think I can find fault." He threw something – a book – onto the table. I stared, the blood draining from my face. Myths of Sheogorath – my copy of it, I was certain. How had he found it? Why did he have it?

His voice grew low. I knew now why he'd approached so casually, why he'd let me have my barbs – he was bringing my guard down. "I cannot force you to understand the Dread Father, or our ways. I can only hope that will come to you in time, if I am patient."

I swallowed hard, taking an unconscious step back towards my table, my hand landing on the book. "It won't."

He shook his head, lip curling. "We'll see. But this," he gestured to the book, unadorned and seeming to normal under my hand. "Will not be tolerated, Dust. You have a duty to the Brotherhood as our healer and alchemist, and you will not be allowed to shirk it to pursue some harebrained worship of the god of madness."

"I was curious," I snapped back. "They helped me in the swamps, sheltered me. I was a scholar before you ripped me away from my life, and believe it or not, but I still enjoy scholarly pursuits. It's a book, Lucien, not a forbidden tome of – of mad spells!" Could he see the truth? The spark of excitement Sheogorath's voice had lit in me, the faint hope that sputtered back and forth since Leyawiin? I knew I couldn't pursue it, but gods, I wanted to. To have something to cling to, beyond what my mother had chosen. Beyond what she'd left behind for me to salvage.

He made a face of disgust, lip raised to show teeth, eyes closed as his head shook. "Then join the Mages Guild, if you must. It would be good for appearances, to have you a part of them. Any alchemist in the city would be. Find other ways to occupy yourself, but not this."

"Why not this? What do you care?"

His eyes flashed. "I didn't drag you out of Oblivion only for you to dive back in."

I swallowed, remembering. The sheer height, dizzying, swaying and rumbling from the tower, leaping to the safety of his arms. Him holding me back, firm but gentle, as I reached towards what remained of my mother. My gaze flickered away – submission.

We remained silent for a few moments, perhaps both of us lost in our recollections. I put on tea for something to do with my hands, any excuse to keep from having to speak to him. When I offered him a mug he took it from my hand, then placed it down on the table, gaze never leaving my face.

He kissed me.

I wanted to turn away. I wanted to swear and spit at him, slap him like he once had me. I wanted to submit to him, to pin him to the nearest wall and ravish him, to flee and never look back. I hated him, and perhaps – the thought terrified me, but perhaps I loved him, too.

In the end I only met it passively, parting with a trembling sigh.

"Little wonder I was once asked to kill you." Some flicker of his smirk returned, a hand moving into my hair, leaving me shivering. Prickles – of fear, of anger, or enjoyment? – ran down the nape of my neck. "You're infuriating, pet."

"Not half as much as you are," was my weak retort. He snickered, hand moving to the small of my back. I let my brow rest against his chest, inhaling the scent of him – soap and musk and witch-hazel, his aftershave. "Lucien – "

"Enough. We can argue later." I gasped as he lifted me off my feet, scooping me to carry me in his arms. I glared half-heartedly up at him, lips pursed. The hound – Luke – snuffled at my now vulnerable feet.

"You do know I have work to do, don't you?"

"And yet you find time to read inane myths." He only smirked at my glare, head tilting, his tied hair falling over his shoulder. "Later, pet. I'm sure we can find a way to occupy time for the moment, at least."

"Why don't you go bed someone else? Antoinetta, maybe. She practically worships you."

"Who says I haven't already?"

I resisted the urge to try and kick him in the face as he laughed, all the way up to my bed.