The next day was uneventful. Issana bought some warmer clothes, prepped her pack, and Mercer spent most of the day scowling. He almost seemed as miserable as she was at the idea of trekking out into the tundra, which made her feel a little better. Misery loves company, after all.

Issana didn't look at him as they supped late that night. She stirred her soup absentmindedly, watching the steam rise in bored fascination.

"You've never travelled in the snow before, have you?"

Issana kept watching the steam. "No."

"Well, it's not easy."

Issana's gaze flicked lazily towards him, one eyebrow raised. "Really? I thought it was going to be like going down to the market for an apple."

Mercer glared at her. "Do you want some advice or not?"

No. But then again, frostbite wasn't exactly one of her priorities.

"Because it's better for us both if you make it to Snow Veil Sanctum alive," Mercer added.

"Oh, and here I was thinking you were sharing this out of the goodness of your heart."

"You're hilarious."

Issana set her spoon down. "Fine. Go on."

She tried to pay attention to him. She really did. But Mercer's grating, condescending tone as he talked about surviving in the snow almost instantly returned Issana's attention to her soup.

"The crevasses can be hundreds of—I'm sorry, am I boring you?"

"A little. Look, I'll just follow your lead, all right?"

Mercer's jaw clenched and unclenched a few times until at last he shook his head in exasperation. "Fine. But don't expect me to crawl out onto a frozen river to pull you out. If you do something stupid, I'm leaving you."

"I'll keep that in mind." Issana lifted a spoonful of soup to her mouth and burned her lips. "Ah! Damn it." She dropped the spoon back into the bowl.

"Careful there," came the voice of the innkeeper. "Soup's hot."

Issana squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "Yes, I noticed. Thank you."

The innkeeper appeared at her side. She was a middle-aged, slender woman with greying hair and a kind expression. "Can I get you anything to drink? Some cold water, perhaps? Goodness knows we have a lot of it."

"No, thank you."

The innkeeper turned to go. "Actually," Issana said, "you wouldn't happen to have any Honningbrew, would you?"

The woman shook her head. "Sold the last of my stock a few weeks ago. Did you hear that the place had a fire? Burned straight to the ground, it did. Terrible business."

Issana heard Mercer snort. She turned pointedly in her chair to face him. "Something funny?"

Mercer took a sip of his soup. "No, no. Do go on."

"We do have some of the newest Black-Briar," said the innkeeper.

Issana ignored Mercer's stifled laugh. "No, thank you. That swill makes me sick. Any wine?"

The innkeeper looked her up and down. "Nothing affordable, my dear. I'm sorry."

Issana thrust her hand into her belt pouch and pulled out one of the gleaming gemstones. She slapped it onto the table. "There. Now get me something worth that."

The innkeeper was momentarily taken aback, but she picked up the gem and dropped it into her pocket. "Of course."

She returned a moment later with a bottle of wine. "Black-Briar Reserve," she said, setting it on the table. "This bottle is last year's."

"Black-Briar? Again?" Issana grunted and rested her head in her hand. "Ugh, fine. Just leave it here."

The innkeeper gave her an insulted look and strode away. Issana reached out blindly and pulled the bottle towards her.

"Do you ever stop drinking?" said Mercer.

"When I'm asleep."

"Huh, of course." Mercer examined his soup and muttered something under his breath.

Issana flicked the cork out of the bottle from where it had been resting. "What was that?"

"I said, you have a problem."

Issana lifted the bottle to her lips and took a deep drink. "And so what if I do? Is it any of your business?"

"It is if you can't walk tomorrow."

Issana didn't put the bottle down. "I'll be fine." She took another swig.

"How many flasks do you have hidden in your pack?" Mercer sneered. "One per day?"

"Drop it."

"Do you need it to cope with the wealthy lifestyle you've got at the Guild?" He paused and gave her a mocking, knowing stare. "Is it because you're an orphan?"

Issana froze with the bottle halfway to her mouth. "Excuse me?"

Mercer shrugged. "I'm just asking." But the smug smile at the corner of his lips said it was anything but that.

Issana shoved her chair back roughly. "I don't need this." She gripped the wine tightly and stormed out of the inn.

The night was biting cold. She didn't have her hood or cloak and the snow was blowing hard, but she didn't care. You bastard, Mercer. You don't know anything about me. I'm… She kicked a snowbank angrily and felt some of it spray into her boot. She swore loudly.

"Now, now," said a soft voice behind her, "shouldn't a young lady like you use kinder language than that?"

Something about the voice made Issana recoil as she turned around, and as she saw the speaker she knew her revulsion was well founded. It might have been a man, but he was so covered in black furs and rags that it was hard to tell. His face was hidden behind a stained piece of dark cloth and a tattered hood was cast over his eyes. He stank.

"Get away from me," Issana snarled.

He sidled towards her like a spider. "Do you speak to all beggars this way?"

Issana backed away. "Only unhelpful ones. Leave me alone."

"Unhelpful?" said the man. "Please, I can help you if you help me…"

Issana had to jump backwards as the man reached for her. "Don't touch me!" She took off down the road. The wine spilled out of the bottle with each step and sloshed over her hand until she finally slowed.

It was hard to tell where she was in the flurry of snow. The spilled wine was painfully cold in the wind and Issana buried the hand inside her clothes. She took the bottle in her other hand, wincing at the icy glass. Breathing was starting to hurt too. Freeze to death inside the city? That'd be brilliant. She grunted and threw the bottle hard at a stone wall, where it shattered in a spray of purple.

Damn. Where in Oblivion am I?

None of the alleyways around her looked familiar and it was late enough that no one was around. She stared at the purple stain on the wall for a long while, watching it drip down the stone.

"Waste of good wine, isn't it?"

Issana jumped with an involuntary gasp as she whirled around. The man was there again, a mere three feet from her, scuttling like a cockroach. Issana poised to run and realized she was in a corner. Left and right both led past the crazed beggar, only this time she could see the gleam of a knife in his right hand.

The man lunged. Issana kicked out and knocked him backwards, and immediately she spun and leaped straight up the wall. Her fingertips found purchase in the rough stone, agonizingly cold, and as the man raised the knife again she heaved herself up. The knife skittered off the rock and nearly nicked her ankle. Another pull and she felt her hands wrap over a ledge, then she grabbed a railing and scrambled over it. She fell hard into the snow on the other side.

"Where are you, my pretty?"

Issana leaped out of the snowbank. The man's voice wasn't coming from down below anymore. She couldn't see him through the thick snow but she could hear his murmurs getting nearer. "I know you're up here somewhere… Come out. I need you for my… ritual."

Issana stumbled backwards and fell into the snow again. Her hands were numb. She crawled, staring into the snowstorm until her head bumped hard against a wall.

"You won't get far," the man purred. "You're freezing. I know every street. You should come out, and save us both the trouble."

Issana still couldn't see him. The snow was getting worse. But at least it meant he couldn't see her, either. She fumbled at the wall until her hands found a door handle. Locked.

She raised her hands to her mouth and breathed on them to warm them, even just a bit. It worked. She reached into her belt for her lock picks.

"I'm going to find you," whispered the man's voice, muffled by the snow. A dark blur was moving slowly back and forth in the snow. Issana tore her eyes away and inserted the lockpick with frigid, trembling fingers. Her hand slipped and the lockpick vanished into the snow. She bit back a cry and tried again. The lock clicked faintly before her hand slipped off and thumped against the door. The impact stabbed through her forearm.

"I heard that," said the man. "I know you're there." The dark shape was becoming clearer. Issana bit her lip hard and wiggled the pick one last time. The lock turned. Issana gripped the handle and threw the door open, tumbling inside amidst a pile of snow. Without a second's hesitation she slammed her weight back into the door. It hit something with a loud thud and a grunt of pain from the other side; Issana held onto the handle as the man tried to force it from the outside. Her panicked eyes fell on the key hanging on a hook and the second she felt the pressure on the handle lessen for a moment she lunged for it, thrust it into the lock and turned it.

There was silence. All she could hear was the sound of her rapid breathing; all noise of the man had vanished. Issana didn't move, frozen, staring at the door and waiting for the moment when it would burst inward. But nothing happened.

The minutes drifted by. Still nothing.

Issana sagged back against the wall. She didn't know if the man had left completely or if he was still waiting outside in the snow, but at least for the moment she was safe in here.

Wherever here was…

She looked around. How had nobody heard the noise and come looking? Was the house abandoned? No, light was coming from a single candle on a table about five feet away. It had burned low and was nearly gone. But that was all. Were they just heavy sleepers?

There was another candle ahead of her, at the top of a staircase. It too was nearly spent. It sputtered forlornly in the gloom as if trying to stay alive, but even as Issana watched it gave one last wisp of flame and died.

Her best bet was to find a window and get onto the roof. From there she could easily get away without the crazed murderer seeing her. She fought to steady her breathing, then rose. With one careful step at a time, she started up the stairs.

The second floor was just as abandoned as the first - just a few candles giving their last breaths and nothing more. She could hardly see as one by one the candles failed.

And then she heard it.

It sounded like a whisper, but as she listened she realized it was a voice coming from behind a door. A chant, though she couldn't make out the words. And what was that unholy stench? She crept towards the staircase as quietly as she could. She needed to get to the roof, even if it meant getting closer to whoever was doing the chanting. A floorboard creaked beneath her foot and she froze, but the voice carried on without notice.

One stair.

Another.

Another.

She was halfway up the stairs when a chill crawled across her spine.

"Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother, send your child unto me…"

The Black Sacrament.

She hadn't just stumbled into anyone's house. This was that house, where the boy was trying to call on the Dark Brotherhood.

"For the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear…"

The chant faded momentarily. "I know you're there."

His voice was soft, flat, and had an undertone that set the hair on the back of Issana's neck on end.

"Come up."

I think I'll stay right here.

The sound of a door opening came from the upper floor and spilled red light onto the walls. "Come up," said the boy again.

Up meant coming face to face with a boy who was trying to summon a murder cult. Down meant a murderer on the streets.

Only one of them was trying to kill her, though. She took a deep breath and strode up the stairs.

The smell hit her first. Cloying, sweet, with a nasty hint of old meat mixed in, it seemed to have pervaded the whole floor in eye-watering intensity. Issana turned at the top of the stairs towards the source of the light and saw an open door, through which glowed blood-red candles.

Standing in the doorway was the boy. He was exactly like she'd seen through the window. No more than ten years old, he was thin, pale, almost lifeless, with dark eyes that looked almost like sockets. His black hair was tangled and his hands were covered with blood.

"I knew you'd come."

Issana caught a glimpse over Aventus' shoulder and saw a ring of candles. The wooden floor within the ring was smeared and stained with blood and lined with glistening bones. In the centre was - Issana looked away, fighting with her body not to gag - a rotting human heart. "Me?" she said.

"Yes. The Dark Brotherhood always answers."

Issana covered her nose against the smell. "I-I'm not… I don't think I'm what you think I am."

"Of course you are," Aventus murmured. His voice was little more than a whisper. "I prayed, and the Night Mother sent you to me. Even if you don't know it yet."

Issana pressed her hand to her mouth as the smell grew even more overwhelming. "I should…" She paused to keep from gagging again. "I should go."

"Yes," said Aventus. "Go and kill Grelod for me. And tell her, as she's bleeding on the floor, who did it."

Issana stopped mid-turn and the smell hit her again. "Grelod?" she echoed. "Honorhall Orphanage?"

Aventus nodded.

"Aventus…" Issana said. "I know how horrible Grelod is. Believe me, I know. But the Black Sacrament? This is… this is bad. You don't want to bring the Dark Brotherhood into this."

"Yes, I do," said Aventus. "And I've done it. You're here now. And you'll kill Grelod for me. Beat her. Stab her. Make her bleed. Make her beg." A hungry light had come into his sunken eyes.

"When were you at Honorhall? I don't remember you."

Aventus smiled. Several of his teeth were missing. "Not long enough for Grelod to break me. I escaped. And now she'll pay."

"Aventus," Issana began hesitantly. "I'm not going to kill anyone, not even Grelod."

Aventus stared at her in silence, unblinking. His eyes were cold, unsettling. "She already broke you." He turned and walked back into the bloodstained room. Sinking to his knees, he began to chant again. "Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother…"

Issana backed away. One of the neighbouring rooms had its door open and a window onto the roof. Aventus didn't pay her anymore attention. She pushed open the window, wincing at the snow-filled wind, and forced herself onto the roof. A short hop put her on the next house's roof, and once she'd gone three or four houses away from Aventus she slid down a sloped roof into a snowbank. The snow filled her shirt and boots but she didn't stop to feel it. She broke into a run, going in the direction she knew the inn lay.

She reached the inn with no sign of the black-clothed killer. Breathing a sigh of relief she pushed the door open and stepped into the warmth.

The innkeeper glanced up in surprise from her cleaning. "My goodness!" she exclaimed, looking Issana over. "You look dreadful."

Issana could feel the snow melting into ice water all throughout her clothes. "I feel worse." She dropped into a chair by the still-hot embers of the hearth and groaned. "And come dawn I'll be out in that horrible weather again."

"Yes, well," the innkeeper said with a chuckle, "I hope you have better clothes than those. Freezing's a nasty way to go."

Issana gave her a withering glare and sent her scurrying away. Issana's head sank forwards into her hands. This is going to be awful.