A/N: And here is chapter two. This whole story is likely to be only three chapters long, so expect the next one to be the last.
Warnings for: spanking, bondage, light BDSM, mad dom Cicero, cannibalism, murder, the usual in other words.
Summary: It's off to Hag's End to retrieve Logrolf and let him go back to Markarth to his doom. However, where once this would have been an easy task of slaughtering everyone in their way and freeing him, recent Reach political developments mean this is no longer an option, forcing Cicero and Eola to use the diplomatic route. Fortunately, Eola's well-versed in what will win a Hagraven over...
Madanach was waiting for them in Understone Keep, court closed for the day, his young stepdaughters tucked up in bed with a story, just the fearsome King of the Reach sitting alone in the Keep's Night Garden, watching the stream flow past and listening to his court mage in the distance lecturing young Aicantar on the properties and purpose of various bits of Dwemer metal. Aside from the number of guards stationed around him, all keeping their distance, arms folded and glowering from under their Forsworn headdresses, he didn't look like anything other than an ageing Breton man in a circlet and fine clothing. Just an old man enjoying a free evening and wishing his wife were there.
Eola wasn't Liriel but she did her best to make up for it – by providing company anyway. The sexual services he'd have to do without until the Dragon-Queen's return – not that Cicero wouldn't have offered to help. Cicero liked men as well as women, Eola had long known that. Cicero's taste in men ran to cruel, ruthless and sadistic murderers who would use him and abuse him, Eola knew that too. It didn't bother her. Everyone had their little fetishes, didn't they?
"Reach-King, Reach-King, dearest, sweetest Reach-King!" Cicero trilled, bouncing into the room and skipping over to where Madanach was waiting, sliding on to the bench beside him and snuggling into Madanach's side, head on his shoulder and arms around his waist.
It was a mark of how long Liriel had been gone that Madanach didn't immediately start edging away from Cicero or threaten to cast Lightning Cloak on him again.
"Cicero," Madanach murmured, draping an arm around his shoulders. "If you keep the noise level down and don't fidget, I am willing to allow you some small measure of affection. But no groping, understand?"
"Yes sir," Cicero sighed happily, closing his eyes and grinning. Madanach ruffled Cicero's hair and glanced in the other direction, pleased to see his daughter arriving. Eola took the seat on her father's other side, resting her head on his other shoulder, his arm going around her without hesitation.
"Hello there, cariad," he murmured. "What've you been doing with yourself? You've been gone all afternoon and evening. The girls missed you, you know."
"I'll be sure and see them later," Eola promised. "Nepos had us helping out that Vigilant who's been poking around."
"Ah yes," Madanach said calmly. "The Vigilant. Tyranus, wasn't it?"
"It was," Eola grinned, not missing her father's use of the past tense, her own use of it answering his unspoken question. Madanach chuckled and gave them both a hug.
"I shall make the appropriate donations to Sithis," he promised. "What happened then? Was there any Daedra worship going on or was there a tragic accident? Or has he merely left the city without a word to anyone, having decided there's nothing going on here?"
Ah. Now this was where things got interesting. To tell her father or not?
"Molag Bal killed him and ate him!" Cicero giggled and Eola could cheerfully have throttled the little idiot. Didn't he realise this was not how you reported back events now Madanach was a legitimate ruler?
"What?" and now Madanach was looking at her, eyes boring into her as if to say why didn't you tell me earlier?
"There's an altar to Molag Bal in the house," Eola admitted. "From the look of it, someone's been performing rites on it recently – it was in an active state and it killed Tyranus."
"There is an active altar to Molag Bal in my city?" Madanach growled, still glaring at her. "Daughter, in case it wasn't manifestly clear before, this is the sort of thing you should be telling me about immediately!"
"We've got it in hand!" Eola protested, pouting up at her father. "That's why we were so long, I had to set wards around it, get the whole thing calmed down and sealed off before it could hurt anyone else! I think it'll be all right for now, but I need it deconsecrating and moving. I was going to-"
"Keirine," Madanach growled. "Get yourself to Hag's End in the morning, tell Keirine everything and get her down here. There's nothing she doesn't know about Daedric artefacts. If anyone can shut down a shrine to Molag Bal and get it moved somewhere it won't cause any trouble, it's her."
"Yes Da, that's what I was going to do anyway," Eola said through gritted teeth. "I know we need a Matriarch handling this one! I just need you to-"
"Don't worry, I'll make sure the place is sealed off," Madanach sighed. "I'll have guards on it day and night – we can't have civilians getting involved. Last thing we need's a cult of Molag Bal in our city. You said someone had been using it, any idea who?"
"No," said Eola, hoping he couldn't see the smile on her lips. "And if you have the place under armed guard, we'll never know – they'll take one look at it, know the shrine's been found and compromised and run. No, you need the place looking like it's unguarded, like no one suspects a thing. Then when our cultist returns, let them go inside and seal up the door so they can't get out. I don't think it's a group, the place only has one bed and supplies for one person."
"A sting operation then," Madanach nodded, clearly approving of this plan. "Don't worry, m'inyeen. Leave it with me. You just go and find Keirine."
"Yes Da," said Eola, grinning as she exchanged looks with Cicero. This was all working out beautifully.
"Hello sister. You look weary. I have a little something to help with that, if you're interested."
The Breton woman in the Forsworn headdress looked up, her curiosity piqued although on seeing the little Skooma bottle in his hand, she just shook her head and prepared to move on. The short man behind her with the jester hat and Forsworn armour looked rather keener. Excellent, a customer. Cerendil the Bosmer Skooma dealer had been out here for hours hoping for a traveller to pass this way. He'd tried the road crews building the highway that was going to connect Karthwasten with the newly-incorporated township of Deepwood Vale in the north, but the Forsworn overseers had seen him off, fireballs persuading him to try his luck elsewhere. Honestly. For all the Forsworn had a reputation as party animals, they were on the whole remarkably intolerant of Skooma. The phrase 'legal in the Reach' had become a by-word for all sorts of immoral and unethical things most civilised societies had banned but which King Madanach had mysteriously failed to write any laws against, such as Daedra worship, cannibalism, necromancy, performing the Black Sacrament, belonging to the Dark Brotherhood, consensual blood drinking, infanticide where the child was less than nine days old and many other things. But Skooma, it appeared, was not one of them.
"Cicero," the woman sighed. "Leave it, we have a job to do."
"But Cicero has been walking for hours!" the little Forsworn jester who actually looked and sounded more like a Cyrodiil man than a Breton whined at her. "Cicero is tired!"
"He's a Skooma dealer!" the woman sighed irritably. "Come on, we've had this conversation before, Cicero. Namira teaches us that Skooma is only a temporary balm for this world's ills, a false feeling of belonging and acceptance. True love and fellowship can only be found with those who accept you as you are, and true sustenance only at Namira's table."
Cicero looked a little bit sad, but stepped away, preparing to follow after her. Cerendil mentally cursed at the loss of a customer, deciding there and then he'd had it with this bloody country, with the mist and the rain and the bloody mountain roads and bloody Forsworn with their bizarre cults that banned Skooma consumption while apparently allowing every other vice under the moons.
"Yes, sister," Cicero sighed dejectedly. He glanced up at her again, pouting. "Sister, Cicero is hungry now..."
That did get the woman's attention and she turned back to face Cerendil with a smile on her face that Cerendil didn't like one bit.
"Well now, Cicero," she purred, smiling sweetly as she approached. "It's a good thing we've got a meal in front of us, isn't it?"
Cicero's face lit up and he turned back to Cerendil, dagger sliding into his hand as that demented smile turned the Bosmer's way. Cerendil reached for his own dagger, suddenly having the sense that something had gone very very wrong but before he could do anything, Cicero had sprung forward. The last thing the Bosmer heard before he died was Cicero cackling as his knife sank into his chest.
Rangeir Thrice-Blooded, commander of the Reach's hidden Stormcloak camp, was feeling inordinately pleased with himself. Sure, things had been going badly, with Ulfric dead, the war given up, many of his troops having slunk off home to their families and the ever present threat of those black magic wielding barbarian witches hunting them down and finishing them off. But Rangeir knew how to keep up his men's spirits and keep them moving, always one step ahead of the Forsworn. And now one had walked right into their camp, alone, unguarded and from that fancy rope necklace and her shiny scaled armour, one of the leaders perhaps.
"Let me go," she hissed, struggling in the arms of two of his men. They'd managed to get her sword off her, a fancy Elven piece with a fire enchantment on it, but Rangeir knew that didn't mean a lot what with their magic. Still, they'd got her hands behind her back too, bound and forced to her knees. "I promise you, when my father hears about this...!"
"Your father, witch-girl?" Rangeir laughed. "He won't be doing a damn thing. No one's out here, witch. No one but us... and now you. No one to help you, no one to even know what happened. Your father can't help you now."
She glared up at him, one eye already lost to a sword-stroke but the other filled with hate. Good. She'd really hate him after this. But the men hadn't seen a woman in too long, and morale had been slipping. Time to have a little fun.
"Turn her round and put her over that rock," he snapped. The men grinned, doing as he asked while all sharing glances. The Reachwoman kept on shouting abuse even as they pinned her down and pulled back the skirts of her armour, exposing that exquisite backside of hers. Maybe he'd have to share her around, but he was definitely getting first go. He'd just finished loosening his trouser stays when the poison arrow went straight through his throat.
His fellow Stormcloaks all looked up, shouting as they reached for their weapons, and three more arrows fired out in quick succession from an as yet unseen archer, all dropping a man instantly. Just two of them left, both with their backs to their captive, watching the undergrowth with swords in hand.
The red-haired Forsworn warrior in the jester hat sprang out of nowhere, knife slaughtering one man before he even knew he was there, then he'd turned on the other. Swords clashed, both cursed at the other, but there could only be one outcome. The Stormcloak died as the jester's sword took his head off and then there was just the two of them, one tied-up Reachwoman lying prone across a rock and one jester whose dark eyes were watching her, mouth faintly amused.
"Gonna untie me then, Cicero?" Eola purred, watching him circle round her.
"Eventually," Cicero purred, one hand reaching to caress her bottom. "But you have the nicest arse in Tamriel, Cicero wanted to admire it for a bit." Without warning, he raised a gloved hand and smacked her buttocks hard.
Eola gasped, trying to get her hands free, but those Stormcloaks had done a good job with the knots. She was tied, helpless and entirely at Cicero's mercy.
Exactly the way she liked it.
"What are you going to do?" she whispered, already feeling arousal in her loins. Cicero just chuckled.
"What would you like me to do?" he purred, raising his hand and spanking her again, eliciting another cry from her lips.
"Untie me," she whispered. "Get my hands free, I need to – oh gods." He'd spanked her again, laughing as he did so.
"Cicero thinks otherwise," he purred. "Cicero thinks you like being tied up and helpless. Cicero thinks you like being on display for just anyone who walks past. Cicero thinks you came up with this plan hoping he wouldn't get there in time, hoping you'd end up being pinned down and fucked repeatedly by those big Nord cocks. Cicero thinks you need filling."
Eola bit back a whimper as he spoke, that sultry voice of his dropping into its lower register. It wasn't something he did very often, but when he did, it was to make a point.
"Oh gods," she whispered and then he spanked her again.
"Cicero will keep doing this until Eola admits what she wants," Cicero said, dark little chuckle as he spoke, hand smacking into her buttocks again. "Until Eola admits she's a filthy little hussy in need of a good fucking, hmm?"
"Please," Eola gasped, writhing on the rock, not sure what she wanted more, him to stop spanking her and start putting that cock of his to use, or to keep on spanking her. Either was fine with her... but her cunt was on fire and she really would like to come soon if it was all the same with him.
"Please what?" Cicero asked, delivering another slap, still grinning, damn him.
"Please sir," Eola whispered. "Please fuck me. Please, I need it, please..."
Cicero laughed, spanking her once more before peeling his glove off and sliding a finger into her cunt.
"So I see," he purred. "You didn't hold out for long, did you?" Another finger joined the first and then his thumb was rubbing at her arse before jabbing inside, holding her in a pincer grip and Eola was almost sobbing now, whimpering as he held her down with his thumb in her arse while his fingers probed inside her cunt.
"Yes, yes, please," Eola sobbed, thrusting back against him, trying to grind herself to orgasm on his fingers. She was almost there, nearly had it, nearly... then his hand was gone and he'd grabbed her hair with his other one, bending over her to whisper in her ear.
"You are Cicero's," he growled. "Not anyone else's. Not free to offer yourself to anyone who'll have you. Cicero's. Only Cicero's! No one else's!"
Anyone else might have heard only the possessiveness and missed the plaintive question underlying it. The tiny note of please don't leave me. Don't leave poor Cicero alone again.
"Yours," Eola breathed. "Always."
"Always," Cicero whispered back and then he was inside her, not gentle, not remotely gentle, fucking her hard and fast, a hand snaking round to find her clit and Eola closed her eyes, letting the pleasure came her, crying out his name, knowing she was there, right there, about to come and then she was coming, gasping and crying out, not aware of anything but Cicero inside her, fingers on her and then he was coming too, gasping and moaning and hot warmth from him trickling down her thigh. Finally he collapsed on top of her, cock sliding out of her as his erection died. A few quick dagger cuts and her hands were free, but she still couldn't move due to Cicero being sprawled on top of her.
"Cicero is sorry, sweetling," Cicero murmured. "But you did look very appealing. And your bottom is the finest in Tamriel."
"Why thank you," Eola laughed, feeling rather pleasantly contented after all that. "May I say how nice yours is too?"
Cicero giggled, kissing her again and rolling off her, collapsing in a heap on the grass. "Many have complimented sweet Cicero on his lovely backside before now, my dove. But it is always nice to hear it again." He tilted his head, looking hopefully up at her as she settled on the grass next to him. "Next time, sweetling, can it be me tied up and used for pleasure? I've been a very bad boy, you know. You should spank me more often. Otherwise naughty Cicero gets unruly and undisciplined and does terrible things like stab Vigilants of Stendarr and take shameless advantage of the Reach-King's daughter."
Eola had to laugh at that. "Sweetie, I packed my strap-on and oils especially. Don't worry, you want cock, I've got it."
Cicero squealed and next thing she knew he was snuggling her.
"Cicero does love you, you know," he sighed happily. "You're so very good at accommodating his... needs."
"Well, we all have needs, don't we?" Eola murmured, snuggling him back. "And talking of which, we've got six dead Stormcloaks to harvest." She produced the small wooden bowl wrapped in cloth and covered in frost runes that already contained the eyes of Vigilant Tyranus and that Bosmer they'd run into, not to mention the eyes of that Thalmor patrol they'd found earlier. "Go on, Cicero, fill her up with some nice Nord eyeballs."
Cicero squeaked, took the bowl and set off with his dagger, flicking eyeballs out of sockets with a satisfying pop.
"Sister," he called over. "Why are we doing this again?"
Eola settled back against the rock, attention moving on to their forthcoming visit to Keirine. "Because sweetie, when asking a Hag for a favour, it's always a good idea to bring a gift."
Deepwood Vale, crowning glory of the Reach under the House of Madanach. Nord Dragon Cult ruin turned Forsworn base and now the newest officially incorporated town in the Druadach Kingdom of the Reach. Due to the heavy taxation on non-Legion troops fielded by local rulers, the Forsworn had undergone much reclassification in recent months, which was why small encampments such as Blind Cliff Cave and Bleakwind Bluff were now small religious hermitages, home to priestesses of the old gods and their acolytes, and if said acolytes had weapons to protect their mistress from beasts, bandits and dragons, that certainly did not make them part of Madanach's standing army, certainly not. Lost Valley and Broken Tower had been left as the official border guard camps but Hag Rock Redoubt was now Hag Rock Monastery to the Old Gods, Karthspire Camp was likewise Karthspire Monastic Community, built on the slopes of the Reach's sacred Karthspire mountain itself, and Red Eagle Redoubt was now the Red Eagle Heritage Centre, dedicated to the preservation and study of traditional Reach culture now that the Nords weren't oppressing them all the time. Deepwood Vale however was a bit too big, prosperous and well-populated to pass off as anything other than a small town, so an official town it had become, with the town guard barracks and lock-up in the main redoubt and the vale beyond now home to many small stone buildings, with slate roofs and shuttered windows, some still under construction with tents belonging to Nord and Khajiit construction workers pitched around them, but many now ready and inhabited. There were two small farmsteads on the edge of the Vale, a few mines and quarries up in the mountains sheltering the town, a smithy in the centre of town (FireBlade Arcane Smithy and Enchanting Specialists), a general store run by a pair of Argonian migrants from Windhelm, Shahvee and Scouts-Many-Marshes, a large magical supplies and alchemy store called Atheron's Alchemy as run by Suvaris Atheron and her family, also lately inhabitants of Windhelm. The town square, just inside the ruins at the far end, was dominated by a huge elk's skull mounted on a ribcage which glowed red and would give the blessings of the old gods to any that prayed at it but while it was the dominant religious feature, it wasn't the only one. Off to the left of it was a small chapel to the Reclamations, the only one of its kind outside Morrowind, and on the other side, there was another chapel to the Aedra, with altars to Dibella, Mara, Zenithar, Julianos and Akatosh inside. The rest of the town square was home to market stalls, one selling freshly hunted meat and pelts, another selling jewellery, one run by Orcs from Mor Khazgur bringing goods to trade, and one for the Khajiit caravaners, allowed in the Reach's cities and towns. There were a number of small cottages that were home to various Forsworn families and then there was the town's other focal feature, the Flaming Spriggan inn and jenever distillery, hub of the town's social life.
Eola walked past all this, acknowledging the salutes from the guards, greeting the town's children with a smile, but otherwise paying the place very little attention. She'd been here before enough times to not be staring at it in awe any more.
Cicero on the other hand was still very easily impressed and was gazing around, cooing at the sight of the ReachGuard on patrol, and Reach natives mixing easily with their new Dunmer and Argonian fellow citizens, an affection born partly out of working together to help overthrow Ulfric during the war and partly because the Dunmer and Argonians were unquestionably Not Nords. The few Nords that were there, miners, quarrymen and builders here on temporary contracts, weren't exactly badly treated by the townsfolk, but weren't exactly loved either.
Still, for as long as her father was alive, none of it was Eola's problem. Smiling and waving to people as she passed, Eola made for the top of the town, to the reason it had been founded in the first place. Through into Old Deepwood, up its winding stairs, ReachGuard seeing the torc and letting her and Cicero past, and right at the far end of town, its chief attraction loomed. Hag's End Magical Research Institute, as run by Matriarch Keirine of the Forsworn. Part fee-paying magical college, part research and development centre for Reach magic in general and Madanach's army in particular, Hag's End's motto wasn't actually 'if Winterhold won't teach it, we will', but it might as well be. It had long been Keirine's training coven, and with most of her trainees newly-ascended to Matriarchy and sent off to replace those that had sadly met their end during Madanach's rise to kingship, Keirine had decided to widen her horizons. So now she was in charge of the second-biggest magical training institution in Skyrim and the Reach.
When Eola and Cicero finally found Keirine, the Hagraven was tending to her pet Frostbite spider, Madoc.
"That's right, Madoc," Keirine crooned. "You bleed that goat dry, sweetie. Who knows, maybe if you're lucky or if someone's been a particularly naughty boy, we might even have man-flesh. I've heard stories one of those Nord builders has been misbehaving. Maybe we can get sufficient evidence to get him arrested one day, hmm? Teach him to not whistle at Reach girls, yes my pretty? Yessss!"
"Auntie?" Eola called, hoping she wasn't disturbing anything. "Auntie, it's me! Me and Cicero, we came to see you."
Matriarch Keirine looked up, cold blue eyes instead of the usual Hagraven black scanning the room, eyebrows raised.
"Eola? Is that you?" Keirine actually smiled, revealing yellowing, jagged, pointy teeth. It was a frankly terrifying sight but it had never bothered Eola. Namira despised attractive people and it took a lot to put off one of her priestesses.
"Auntie!" Eola laughed, skipping forward to give her favourite Matriarch a cuddle. "How are you? Look, Cicero and I brought you some eyeballs! Cicero, bring them."
Cicero, having spent the last decade doting on a mummified female corpse and calling it mother, was also not easily put off and quite comfortable being charming to a Hagraven.
"Hello, Lady Keirine," Cicero chirped, presenting the bowl of eyeballs lovingly collected from all the victims they'd claimed on the way up. "Look, Cicero harvested them specially for you!"
Keirine cackled in delight, taking the bowl off him and indicating for them to follow as she headed for her study.
"Bless you, dear boy, that's very thoughtful," Keirine laughed. "Come, come, both of you, come and talk. You don't visit nearly often enough. Come and tell an old woman what's going on in the world. I don't hear nearly enough gossip these days."
Keirine almost certainly had reports from all over the Reach as to what was happening, regular visits from her former trainees and whatever she saw in her own divinations, but Eola humoured her. Always paid to keep the Hags sweet.
"So how is my lovely niece and her sweet young man then?" Keirine purred, settling into her throne and motioning for Cicero and Eola to sit down. "Healthy, I trust? Happy? Not letting my brother drive you insane, I hope."
It wasn't exactly common knowledge outside the Reach that Madanach even had a twin sister, much less one who was a Hagraven, but nevertheless brother and sister they were.
"He tries, we find ways of surviving him," Eola laughed, squeezing Cicero's hand. "As for Cicero and I, we're doing just fine."
"Glad to hear it, cariad," Keirine said, seeming pleased. She reached for a chest near her throne and stored the eyeballs in there to defrost. She removed another bowl, and the cover came off to reveal a bowl full of Orc fingers.
"One of the Mor Khazgur lot had a tragic accident the other day," Keirine explained. "No, child, it really was a tragic accident, he had too much to drink at the Flaming Spriggan, took a wrong turn, ended up in one of the quarries and a rock fell on his head after he started playing with the equipment. His friends and some of the Khajiit workers saw the whole thing. The chief of Mor Khazgur says good riddance to him, he was a waste of space anyway, so we got to keep the body. Want some? Good eatings on an Orc."
"Er..." Eola began. She'd never actually told Keirine about the Namira worship but she had a feeling Keirine already knew, a feeling confirmed when Keirine glared at her, looking just like Madanach at that moment.
"For Sithis' sake, girl, you may have managed to keep it from your father but you do not fool me. I know what you are, I know you've fed on the flesh of the dead before now and I'm sure you don't wait until they drop dead of natural causes either. If you're not hungry, don't eat, but don't turn down good flesh on my account – see, your lover doesn't need persuading!"
Cicero had helped himself and was now chewing on a green index finger, looking quite happy.
"Thank you, Lady Keirine!" he chirped. "You're always so hospitable."
"Thank you, child," Keirine said, beaming at him. "Always such a polite boy. Now, Eola, are you going to eat? You are too thin and too pale, you need to eat, keep your strength up."
What she'd need her strength for, Eola didn't ask but she wasn't going to turn down free food. So she ate with the rest of them and the three sat in companionable silence for a bit. Finally Keirine wiped her face clean and faced them expectantly.
"So. You did not come all the way here to complain about my brother. Speak, child. You need something. What is it?"
"It's complicated," Eola began, but Cicero had a way of making the complicated quite quite simple.
"We are in trouble with Molag Bal, Lady Keirine," said Cicero, blushing a bit but still grinning. "We found an altar of his in Markarth, but it had been desecrated. Now we are in trouble if we do not find the one responsible and deal with him."
"The Hated One," Keirine breathed, her attention caught. "There is an altar to him in my brother's city and you only tell me now! Is it active? Of course it is, were it inactive you would no doubt not be here expecting me to deal with it. Ssss, this is bad. But at the same time... intriguing. I could use a Daedric altar, even one for the Hated One. Mephala, Azura and Boethiah will only do so much, and the Dunmer complain if we start experimenting with their shrines. I am tempted to tell them to move on, see how many other towns not presently half-buried in ash will put up with open Daedra worship going on in public. But Madanach tells me that is inhospitable." She rolled her eyes then turned to Eola. "So this shrine. Presumably the Lord of Domination spoke to you. What did he want, and will doing this render the shrine inactive again? Cicero mentioned a desecration, do you need my help to track down the perpetrator?"
"No need, we know who it was," Eola said, feeling rather optimistic about this. "He's a priest of Boethiah by the name of Logrolf the Wilful. Molag Bal said he was here."
Keirine cackled, flexing her claws. "Him! Of course it's him, I knew he was hiding something. My sources revealed he knew of some source of power in the Reach, something that could be... useful. Something hidden in Markarth, but we didn't know where and without any concrete information on what it was, Madanach refused to let me search the city for it. And now he does know what it is, he comes running to me begging me to sort the problem out for him. As he has always done since he was a boy. He does know of this, I take it?"
"Yeah, we told him," Eola said. "He said to come tell you." She repressed a smile at the tutting that elicited from Keirine who just shook her head and muttered 'knew it!' before motioning for Eola to go on.
"So, er, we're here. And we need Logrolf releasing. Please?"
That did have Keirine sitting up, intrigued. "Releasing? Whatever for? Do you not want to take him back to Markarth to sacrifice to Molag Bal?"
"Oh don't worry, sweet Matriarch," Cicero purred, bouncing excitedly on the stone bench. "Molag Bal seems to think he will go back there on his own if we let him go. Then Eola and Cicero are going to follow and STAB HIM!"
Oh gods. Eola shook her head, really wondering if Cicero should be allowed around people sometimes. Fortunately, Keirine was not normal people.
"Now that's the spirit," she cackled. "Well, you may as well have him, he's been less than helpful to me and I'm running out of reasons to detain him. The only thing I have him on is Boethiah worship and that's not only legal, she's got a shrine in our Market Square. However, I do have one thing to ask."
And here it came. The price. Eola steeled herself for it.
"The shrine. I want it. When you have sacrificed Logrolf and Molag Bal is sufficiently distracted, that shrine is coming with me," Keirine growled, in a way that suggested that she was quite likely to turn up in Markarth anyway and make off with it if she had to. Personally, Eola didn't think there were likely to be any problems with this whatsoever.
"It's all yours. If I can have Logrolf's body for... training purposes."
"Training?" Keirine laughed, knowing Eola was lying but choosing not to call her on it – not yet anyway. "You have trainees in your Sanctuary? I had no idea, I thought them all veteran murderers. But still, I will have no need of it. If your father agrees, Logrolf's body is yours."
Eola was absolutely certain she'd have no difficulty talking Madanach into letting her take the corpse away when she and Cicero were done. Talking Keirine, the First Matriarch of the Forsworn, into helping, that had been the difficult bit. Eola was just fortunate that when it came right down to it, she wasn't just her father's daughter. She was Keirine's niece through and through.
A/N: And next chapter, Cicero and Eola interview Logrolf who apparently really isn't very good at taking hints and behaves exactly as predicted, leading to more bloody fun with our lovable pair of murderers.