"No."
"…You respond hastily. Take a minute to reconsi—"
"I said no," I stomped my foot on the last word for effect, but I think all it did was make me look like a child throwing a tantrum.
He was glowering at me, but I remained firm. He clearly wasn't used to being interrupted, and he didn't like it.
"Grisvar the Unlucky is rightly named," he recapitulated his brief explanation. "He is also a thief and a snitch. For my plan to be executed, Grisvar must be eliminated whether you do it or not. If you kill him, you live to see another day; if not, your body will rot in these mines along with his. Those are my terms. Take them or leave them."
I stared at the ground, brow furrowed and good hand clenched. I couldn't look into those cold, calculating eyes of him and have them tell me I had no choice.
"Are you tired?" he asked suddenly, and the question was baffling enough to me to make me relax a little. My fist unclenched.
I opened my mouth to lie and say no, but paused, realizing with shocking clarity that I actually wasn't tired. I was angry, but now I wasn't even that anymore. I just wanted…
What do I want?
"No," I said, and he tilted his head at the confused tone I answered in.
"I see…" A thoughtful silence. "You're no stranger to killing. Why hesitate to kill one measly criminal if it will save your own life?"
We are not the Dark Brotherhood. Vex's, Brynjolf's, Delvin's, Niruin's - everyone who had ever taught me anything in the guild – their voices echoed in my head.
"Grisvar isn't my enemy," I shrugged. "I have no reason to kill him."
"Except it will save your life. A part of me thinks that you're just being stubborn. Grisvar won't be missed by anyone. You're just lashing out at what you can because you feel helpless. Yes?"
"No," I ground out through gritted teeth, but, in all honesty, that was just me being stubborn again.
"Flailing around blindly isn't going to help you," he ignored my response completely. "If you want to gain a foothold, choose to escape. Choose to kill Grisvar. I'm offering you a hand. An alliance. Choose to take it."
"Is it really a choice when the only other option is death?"
"There's always a choice. But my patience is wearing thin, elf."
"…I don't even have a weapon."
"Not a problem."
The shiv glinted in the air when he tossed it, and I caught it deftly, pleased that I hadn't lost my touch. But the feeling was fleeting.
"You're just… giving this to me?" I said skeptically.
"Even if you were in top condition, which, I feel I must remind you that you're most definitely not, you would still be no match for me," he said with a confidence backed by decades of experience. I frowned.
"Isn't there anything else I can do to pr—"
"Enough," he stood up, and I finally experienced the full force of his intimidation. He was over six feet tall, a good head taller than I was, and broad of shoulder. His glare was enough to send chills down my spine. I took a step back before I could stop myself. "I have a schedule to keep and you've pondered away enough of my time. I admit that you're more interesting company than I've kept in years, especially in comparison to this motley crew here and those cursed Silverbloods, but you're of no real significance to me. You will kill Grisvar the Unlucky, or I can assure you that that tiny shiv will not help you in the slightest when Borkul tears the both of you apart limb by limb. Am I making myself clear?"
I stared down at the flimsy piece of metal, the less sharp end hastily wrapped in dirty cloth.
"Crystal," I muttered, and left once again.
Maybe I can just hide somewhere, I thought. Hide somewhere until his time runs out and then follow them as they escape.
I knew as soon as the tail of that thought ended that it wouldn't work. There wasn't anywhere to hide here. Not for the first time, I wished that I had Vex's talent or Mercer's brains. He could see a thousand different possibilities where most could see but two. He would have been able to figure out a way out of this easily.
But no. I'm just a lackey, here to do someone else's bidding as always.
The job was swift, but inevitably messy. Grisvar's strangled gurgles as he choked on the blood that spurted from the shiv jammed into his throat were soft but echoed throughout the mines. No one came to help him. When I was sure he was dead, my rags, face, and arms were splattered with crimson.
Kasha the Unlucky.
Kasha Lightfoot.
When I returned to the main chamber and the fire pit, wiping my hands as best I could, a crowd had already gathered. Madanach was emerging from his private tunnel, eyes gleaming.
"What's going on, Madanach?" Uraccen said. "You wouldn't have old Grisvar killed unless you didn't need him anymore."
Madanach looked disgustingly pleased with himself as he prepared to speak.
My, how bitter I've become, I thought, taking up a place beside the King in Rags, planting a still-bloody hand on my hip.
"My brothers, we have been here long enough. It's time to leave Cidhna Mine and continue our fight against the Nords. Through this gate, just beside my quarters, is a tunnel. A tunnel that leads right through the old Dwarven ruins of Markarth, into the city. Well, what do you say, my brothers?"
There was nothing to be said. A raucous cheer went up from the ragged group of prisoners, the loudest among them Borkul the Beast who began to usher the rest through the passageway. Madanach watched, smirking delightedly. I wondered how long he had waited to get back in the action. At that moment, a thought occurred to me.
"Where are the guards?" I asked.
"Let's just say they're a little busy with some activity on the surface," he grinned. "However, rest assured, they'll come to check on me soon, so I suggest we leave."
Borkul directed the last prisoner through the gate. "Madanach," he said.
The King in Rags nodded at him and then glanced at me once again, taking in my blood splattered figure. He smiled again. It was victorious, but it was softer, too. Almost kind.
"I say you've earned yourself an early pardon," he said. "Let's go."