And the moment that everyone has been waiting for!!!!!! I hope that it lives up to expectations, and thanks for all the reviews. I was so excited by how many came in for the last chapter, but I guess that's only natural since thing's are about to heat up between the two.
As always, enjoy!
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Chapter 13:
"I am ready when you are, my lord," Horace stated, standing in the doorway to Mehrunes' chambers. The prince sat reclined in a seat by the window, wine glass in hand, sipping at the liquid as he ran probing eyes over the streets outside. He seemed to do that often, as if there was somewhere that he wanted to go but could not for some reason, and Horace would never ask what it was. Instead, he stood waiting to be acknowledged, knowing that rushing Mehrunes was futile and might even annoy the prince. The daedra was clearly used to doing things at his own pace and choosing.
"Do you know of anyone that might be of use to us?" the man asked, turning his black eyes on Horace, who hated their abnormally piercing quality. The prince must had sensed his host's discomfort, for the edges of his lips barely twitched upward while he stood and smoothed the front of his tunic. It was a beautiful outfit consisting of an intricately woven, dark-blue top and black breeches with gold stitching, which the prince wore like he was a king. Well, he was a king in Oblivion, and the persona that was so naturally his own would suit him equally well for his false identity as a diplomat.
"There are several people attending tonight that you might interesting," Horace offered. "The Arch-Mage and several of his counsel will be there. If an artifact has arrived, they might well know of it, and there will also be a few nobles who are eyeing the vacant throne. They might cooperate if given incentives."
"Excellent," Mehrunes replied, pulling on tall, leather boots that reached his knees. "Let's go. I'm sick of wasting time."
"As you wish." Mehrunes took one last glance in the mirror before he pulled back his black hair, exposing the chaos sphere on his right ear. It glowed hotly with the promise of its mate, and the prince gently touched it, almost caressing it. Soon. But it would not do to be seen with his favorite possession tonight, and so, with a wave of his hand, the sphere vanished from sight. It was still there, for he'd never leave it, but no one would know of its presence, and with that, he eagerly began his search of the city.
**********
Portia almost couldn't believe that she was looking at herself, for it had been a long time since she'd worn a dress. The last had been before her accident in the Blades, and it had been even longer since she'd had her hair fixed. The fact that she looked so elegant and felt comfortable at the same time was testament to Lucretia's skill at dressing for an occasion, and the woman sure did know how to treat her guests royally.
"Thank you," Portia said, examining herself more closely. The dress was a very light blue, and like the current fashion, it reached the tip of her toes without touching the floor. The bottom was wide, making her look as if she flowed when she walked, and the top was snug, hugging her hips and opening into a V-neck that hinted at her cleavage. Golden flowers decorated the edges of the gown, and a gold cord accented her waist, which would have been plenty for Portia, but Lucretia had insisted that she look her best, and so came the jewelry. Sapphires, rich and dark, dangled about her neck, and matching earrings sat on a nearby table, waiting to accompany it. Lucretia had even helped pull her hair black back into an intricate twist that allowed everyone a view what the hostess had deemed "an amazing neck".
"You'll fit right in," Lucretia approved. "Which is exactly what is needed to do this job correctly." She was dressed in a red, velvet gown, and stood eyeing the orange globe hanging from Portia's left ear. "I must leave now, but I shall see you in a short while. Are you sure that you don't want to accompany me?"
"Gilthan will be here in a moment," Portia said. "But thank you all the same."
"Until later then." Portia remained staring at the chaos sphere after Lucretia left, for she only had a few moments to reach a final decision. Wearing it might not be the best move, for everyone at the ball would notice it since it clashed with her outfit, and if anyone from the Mythic Dawn slipped inside...better not, she decided, slowly pulling the earring free for the first time since she'd acquired it. She cradled it in her hand, deciding where to hide it, and finally opted for a decanter sitting atop the fireplace in her room. The silver jar was partly filled with water, and no one would think to look there for treasure. In such an odd place, the sphere would be safe until her return, and hopefully it was a pleasant mood that she returned in, but she had no idea how the evening would progress.
"Ma'am?" a servant called through the door. "Your escort is here. Um, sir, you shouldn't be up here. She'll be down in...Well, I never!" Portia turned as her door was thrown wide open, and in walked Gilthan, strikingly handsome in a white outfit that made him look like the dashing mage that he was. His light hair was neatly combed, and his golden features broke out in a grin when he saw Portia, who was already smiling from listening to his harassment of the maid.
"Portia, you are stunning!" he exclaimed, seizing her hand and sweeping it upward toward his lips for a kiss.
"Good evening to you too, Gilthan," she smiled, unsure what it was about this elf that made her feel lighter than her circumstances. "Are you ready?"
"Of course, but I must warn you that Traven will be there, and he'll have his eye on you." Portia frowned, thinking, but Gilthan interrupted her. "He won't ruin our evening, I assure you. He can't do anything in public anyway. Just don't let him back you into a corner."
"It's not that," Portia confessed, pulling him further into the room. "I've been waiting to tell you this all day, but I couldn't send it in the letter." Gilthan grew serious as she related the change in Oblivion and her belief of where Mehrunes was, leaving the elf quiet and concerned.
"Don't seek him out with the sphere," he warned. "It might give away your location."
"I guessed as much," Portia replied. "And if I'm less attentive tonight, it's because I'm worried that the Mythic Dawn might have someone at the party, looking for me." Gilthan did not know that she was a Blade, and while Portia didn't object to telling him, she saw no reason to add to his mental musings. Blade business was secret, even to family and friends, and for good reasons, even if she trusted Gilthan. The risks of putting him in danger or causing a leak were too great.
"My lady, you've ruined the night already," Gilthan complained, breaking the tension. "But let's try to have some fun. I'll show you how this ball thing is supposed to be done, all right? I remember my first ball..." And he wound a story while Portia laughed at his easy candor, arm looped through his as they made their way to the palace. The lights and sound were apparent before the actually guests came into view, and as Portia stepped through the brightly lit archway that led into the ballroom, she felt as if she'd entered a fairytale. Laughter, food, drink, dancing, ladies and men in their finest, a white, vaulted ceiling that sparkled with the shifting of hundreds of magical, sparkling orbs that floated about the room—it was dazzling but bittersweet, for it was an illusion of a perfect world that did not exist. Portia could not forget why she was here.
"What do you think?" Gilthan asked as they showed their invitation to a guard and were ushered inside.
"It's lovely," Portia breathed, "But I'm glad that this isn't my life."
"And how can you say that?"
"You can't curse while swinging back some ale." Gilthan laughed as they moved into the crowd, the dancing contained to the center of the colonnaded room, and the orchestra at the far end. Refreshment tables dotted the edges of the dance floor, and people milled about speaking and greeting, dresses in every color brushing across the floor, and men discussing the dresses, and the occasional guard coming into view as they discreetly patrolled the party. Portia took it all in, both recognizing how pretty it was, but partly losing that fact in the piles of information that she was gathering. She was here to work as well as enjoy the experience, and so she spied, but while she saw to her duties, she returned each smile and greeting as required.
"Ah, you must be the new sword instructor," a man nodded in approval.
"She's a fighter?" a woman asked, surprised. "You'd never guess by looking at her."
"A killer on the field and the dance floor, perhaps."
"Greetings, ma'am. It's lovely to see you here." The lines went on and on, with Gilthan periodically leaning down toward her ear to make random, humorous observations on some of the guests, many of whom he knew one way or another. Apparently he'd accidently set one of the younger men over there on fire.
"Do you dance?" Gilthan asked her, eager to join in the mass of spinning bodies.
"Hmmm?" Portia asked, looking away from a large gathering to her left. "Oh, yes, but don't expect me to be the most graceful one out there." Before she could say anything else, Gilthan had swept her away, his feet turning and taking her with him. He was an excellent lead, so she had little difficulty in following him, and as the movements became easier, she began to indulge in the revelry about her. Still, every turn, she tried to get a closer view of the group that she had seen earlier.
"What's going on over there?" she asked.
"A new diplomat arrived from Morrowind," Gilthan explained. "And these people always swamp the latest visitor, especially when he's rich, handsome, and influential, or so I've been told."
"How do you know so much already?" Portia asked, truly curious.
"I've been eavesdropping on the couple next to us," he grinned, a twinkle in his eye. Portia shook her head and then laughed as Gilthan flamboyantly dipped her at the end of the song. The music stilled, and her laughter carried across the area around her, drawing several quick glances from the surrounding people, plus gossip from an older group of women. No doubt they thought that they were witnessing a budding romance, but the real reason for the laughter was that Portia had nearly knocked Gilthan over by throwing her weight in the wrong direction when they came up from the dip.
"I'm going to grab some wine and say hello to a few people," he told her. "I hope that you don't mind. I don't want to get a reputation as a bad date."
"Not at all. I'll survive," Portia assured him, for she had taken an interest in this new diplomat. She had to make sure that she met him, because if he was the man that she thought it was, he was on her list to investigate. She made her way over to the small crowd, gently excusing herself as she moved for a closer view of the two men at the center of attention, and pausing when she was near them. One was an Imperial, tall with classic black hair and brown eyes, and he gestured and spoke sweetly to the people around them, beginning his introduction of the man to his right, and it was that man that drew Portia's attention the most.
He wasn't necessarily an Imperial, but he came close with his rich, raven colored hair and tall, strong physique that was slighter than a Nord's but not thin like an elf's. He was handsome, she decided, with slender, tanned features and an air of command that she felt even though he was not looking at her. Something about him struck her as familiar, but she could not describe the quality that she found so alluring and even a bit worrisome. Either way, she did not think that this was a man to fool, for each person to whom he was introduced was met by a piercing stared that left certain women blushing and others shying away. This was a man who knew how to control those around him, and that made him someone whom Arelius would be interested in.
"This is Lady Westerin," the typical Imperial was saying.
"Yes, a pleasure, sir," she greeted the darker one. "And I must ask: are the rumors about Red Mountain being cleansed true?" Portia found herself moving a bit closer as the man answered, his voice deep and steady. It was the type of voice that could lull you into sleep with its rhythmic qualities.
"It's been returned to its former state for some time," he was saying, one hand brushing a stray strand of black hair back over his head.
"How interesting!" the woman smiled, clearly impressed by the man. "I also hear that there are few Imperial women in the courts there, so I suggest you get your fill while you're here, sir. I trust that I will be seeing..."
"Lady Augustine!" Portia's attention was snatched from the conversation as a man that was part of the group recognized her. The older gentleman smiled pleasantly at her as he helped himself to another pastry (which he didn't need if his bulging waistline was any indication). "My son's progress has been remarkable thanks to your instruction. Here, have you met our newest guest? And I don't think that you've met Horace Pantrov either. Horace, dear boy!" Portia suddenly found numerous eyes shifting toward her, and one set in particular moved over her with an unsettling force that felt almost physical, but she did not turn toward that individual, however tempting. Rather, she took her time and politely focused on the man to whom she was being introduced.
"Horace, this is Lady Portia Augustine, the sword instructor," the nobleman beside her was saying. "She's simply amazing. You wouldn't believe how skilled she is, and the boys pick up her lessons like nothing you've ever seen!"
"Good evening," Horace greeted, giving Portia a slight bow of his head, and Portia curtsied in response.
"A pleasure to meet you, sir," she responded, using the most complacent, feminine voice that she could muster. She was, after all, here to blend in and watch, not be questioned for bold behavior. "I've heard good things about your work in the palace," she continued, but her smile slipped when the man's eyes dipped down to her bust line, and so she couldn't resist letting a subtle reprimand slide from her lips. "You're said to have impeccable manners." The man's eyes rapidly shot up to her face, and he gave her a smile like oil on water.
"It depends on the occasion, ma'am. Allow me to introduce you to Cassius Matrino, my friend from Morrowind, and a prominent diplomat in that land." Now she could not avoid looking at the man's guest, and as her green eyes met black, a spark shot through her that warned of danger, but she could find no reason for it. The pure depth of the man's eyes startled her, and the longer she stared into them, the more she felt as if she were being pulled away from herself. It was a sensation that was familiar, yet she did not let it show. With a straight face, she curtsied and gave the man a small smile in greeting.
"Sir," she said. "I hope that you enjoy your stay here." Her voice seemed to have triggered a reaction in him, for as their eyes met a second time, his countenance noticeably changed. It was subtle—a faint curl of his lip that oddly enough, almost looked like the beginnings of a snarl, but more than that, his stare drove a hole straight through Portia's chest, for his eyes burned with an anger that she could not fathom, almost as if she had done him some terrible, unforgivable wrong. It was nonsensical, she knew, but that blaze was solely directed at her. It would have even made her shudder if she hadn't already steeled her nerves to deal with this stranger, and so she held herself steady, not knowing if she refused to break the stare because she wouldn't be cowed or if his personality commanded her utmost attention. Why did she feel that she knew this man?
"Lady Augustine," Cassius allowed, stance returning to its polite demeanor, but Portia felt the embers smoldering within him, and as he reached out and took her hand, she wanted nothing more than to rip it away from him. He planted a kiss on her skin, his lips warm on her flesh, and when he straightened, he appeared completely at ease to the point where she almost questioned whether he had appeared angry at all.
"Have we met before?" Portia asked, convinced that they had.
"I don't believe so," he replied in that hypnotic voice. "I am certain that I'd never forget a face like yours." Portia pulled her hand away from him and was ready to find Gilthan when Horace spoke to her.
"How good are you with a blade?" he asked her.
"Stop by the yard sometime and find out," she challenged. He nodded with a smile and lifted his glass of wine in a salute to her.
"A worthy opponent then, and I trust that you will forgive my earlier forwardness." This was a man with a silver tongue for sure, for his smile was so endearing, and his words so suiting that Portia almost wanted to accept that he was as decent a man as they came, if not a bit of playboy, but she told herself to be careful. Neither of these men sat well with her, even if she had no reason to suspect them of anything. Sometimes it was enough to simply get a feel for someone, and that could speak a million words about what that person might or might not do. Still, chances were that they were completely harmless to the empire, if not the people directly around them.
"If you will excuse me gentleman," she said. "My date is probably searching for me." As if on cue, Gilthan came bounding over to her, a glass of wine for her in his hand.
"For you, beautiful," he said, and Portia happily accepted the gift. "In return for my long delay. I hope that you weren't bored to tears. Ah, Horace Pantrov," he said, attention shifting. "We meet again, and you look more relaxed this time."
"Yes," Horace shrugged. "I do not have pressing business today." Portia wondered where the two had met, and as Gilthan swept her back onto the dance floor, he explained everything. A daedra heart? Portia stole glances at the Imperial as she was passed between several men, Gilthan always reclaiming her after he was done flirting with someone else. She definitely did not trust Horace or his friend, whoever he was.
*************
It was her. Mehrunes Dagon was almost certain that he recognized the voice of the woman being introduced to Horace, and he mulled over the possibility as the two spoke. The woman was certainly beautiful in her light blue and sapphires, and the slope of her neck drew his male mind toward her body, Mehrunes paying special attention to every detail of this female. He wanted to know if he was incredibly fortunate or imagining things, for it was hard to tell since he had last seen the thief splattered with blood and otherwise filthy from being held in the dungeons. He hunted for some telling sign—something that would make or break his suspicions, and so intent was he on studying the line of her jaw, that he nearly missed being introduced to the very object of his interest.
"Sir," and she curtsied, putting herself in a position that would have made it so simple for him to reach out and snap her neck, but he did not. Mehrunes watched as she straightened, and her eyes struck his like flint, an immediate spark surging through him. Perhaps it was the determination in her forest green irises, but he recognized the same spirited nature that had sustained her during Oblivion's torture sessions, and now that this thief faced him head on, there was no denying that he knew her. It was her.
For a moment, he could not speak lest he completely give himself away, for he was sure that some aggressive comment or otherwise dominating behavior would be exposed if he had to interact with her before regaining control of himself. But it would be so simple to grab and shake her, carry her outside where he could force her to talk with his persuasive methods, and oh, would he ever be persuasive. Blood—sweet and filled with the victory of his vengeance—would run through his hands, making her his as he'd said he would, and teaching her the lesson that she so rightly deserved. His rage was showing, he knew, for he had never been good at concealing it, and because of that, he half expected this woman to run, but she did not.
To her credit, she remained firm, even as Horace was questioningly eyeing his master's obvious lack of control. This did not look good, but Mehrunes did not care. He would die to make an example of this woman right in the middle of this party for all to see. Strange, that she barely flinched as he reached for her hand, for he could sense her concern, even if her face betrayed nothing. The pulse in her wrist quickened as he brought the limb to his lips, and two of his nails lightly trailed over one throbbing vein, teasingly, knowing that pain would be so easy to inflict. His body touched hers for the first time in over a month, although he was unsure of why he made the gentle gesture when he was so angry.
No, he knew why. Looking into her eyes flared his bloodlust, for they made him remember the indignant rage that he had seen in their depths before she tore his ear, and if could distract himself for but a moment, he would regain enough control to not throttle her right this instant. Very admirable, human, he admitted as he lowered her hand and she continued to hold his gaze. She was as brave as he had suspected, and the same self-possessed strength as before sustained her as she calmly turned away from him. The action pleased Mehrunes, for it was clear that this would not be an easy woman to intimidate, and her control almost impressed him. Perhaps she had even been worthy to steal from a daedric prince, and if she had been a dremora, he would have already promoted her to highest ranks for displaying such audacity and will.
Portia Augustine, Mehrunes mused, the name implanting itself in his mind, and she is looking for her date. The anger within him was barely contained as he watched her laugh at the elf that had joined her. An Altmer—part of an arrogant, magic-wielding race that wouldn't know a good ax if they saw one. He wanted to snort at her choice of companion, but kept his opinion silent as he very blatantly watched her, for he could not do otherwise. She was here, barely five feet away from him, and she had no idea who he was, which made it very tempting to trick her into accompanying him somewhere. Once alone, he could tear and rip, and—hell, but to let her walk away from him right now was taking more self-control than he would have given himself credit for, and he could not stop staring as her hips sauntered back onto the dance floor.
That was his prey out there being passed from man to man like she hadn't a care in the world and was free for the taking. The anger briefly boiled anew at the thought of her being so happy, for she had no right to be happy, and since she dared to be so, he would take it from her. But the anger again cooled as he studied her, almost feeling familiar with the vibes that she sent through the air, but that was impossible. He had no reason to feel as if her presence were familiar, and he was more concerned with the fact that she wasn't wearing the chaos sphere. If she had lost or entrusted it to the Arcane University, it would be more difficult to reclaim.
"You seem to have an interest in the teacher," Horace commented, trying to interest Mehrunes in the people around them to no avail. "She is here almost every morning if you've some reason to approach her," he continued, but he didn't see anything special in the woman. Surely, if the prince wanted to sate certain desires, there were better choices.
"Do you know anything about her?" Mehrunes asked, eyes taking in every turn and step of the female Imperial as she moved. Once or twice, her eyes landed on him, but she stubbornly refused to meet his gaze for more than a few seconds. As if her dance partners were more important! Stay calm as a prince should, but Mehrunes could not stand being treated as if he were a secondary object of interest. He felt as if his anger should be radiating with such force that it could physically affect her, causing her to either flee in terror or at least pay attention to him. Infuriating woman!
"If you continue to glare at her, people are going to wonder if the two of you have a history," Horace quietly warned.
"Let them think whatever they want, mortal," Mehrunes countered, but he relaxed his stare. "Find out everything that you can about her. She knows far more than she gives away."
"As you wish," Horace obediently answered, although he did not see the point in this. "There are several men that I'd like you to meet, if you're interested..."
"They can wait," Mehrunes cut him off. He caught Portia watching him as she laughed at another of the elf's comments, and she did not turn away as quickly as she might have. Their eyes lingered on one another, and Mehrunes could take it no longer. He couldn't play spectator as the one person that he wanted to destroy most in this world gallivanted like a girl, although she was hardly a girl. No, that woman had sharp eyes, for he saw how she watched everyone around her, and the way that her hand shifted toward her waist whenever someone unexpectedly bumped into her...did she have a knife tucked into that beautiful dress?
You'll live in fear, thief.
Mehrunes began walking on an uncontrollable crash course toward her dancing form. One moment she was with a man old enough to be her grandfather, and the next she was unwittingly faced with a daedric prince.
"I'm cutting in," Mehrunes told the older man, and he did not even ask permission, but swept Portia into a dancing position with him, his hand landing none too gently on her waist before he reminded himself that she did not know who he was. That might be best for the time being, so even though he wanted nothing more than to reveal himself and watch her eyes light up with fear, he would bide his time. She obviously lived in the capitol and wasn't going anywhere.
"Hello again, Cassius," she said, body tense in his hold. His hand was resting on her right hip, and if he pressed a little, he could imagine the feel of the scar, his symbol, beneath the dress. Applying pressure, he was pleased to see that she did not flinch at the pain that the action must have been causing, and he soon relented, not wanting to make her more wary of him than she already was. Time was on his side now. "You have been watching me for some time," she told him. "I did not think that my dancing was that spectacular," she tried to joke, easing into his hands now that they were moving like any other couple on the floor.
"I find your ladyship to be most captivating," he told her, sounding as casual as he could given the circumstances, and he pulled her closer to his body.
"I hope that you're not as terrible a flatterer as your friend over there," she warned, and now she seemed much more at ease. Perhaps because his anger had receded and he was being gentler with her, although there was a strength to his grip that would prevent her from leaving his grasp if she tried.
"Horace and I do not have much in common," Mehrunes confided. "Although we appreciate some of the same values." Portia nodded and smiled as he pulled her into a quick spin, and with a touch of sarcastic contemplation, Mehrunes realized that he was no longer bored. The earlier mingling had been interesting at times, but not engaging like this. To have ignorant but worthy prey in his hands to dispose of as he pleased was gratifying in a way that made him anticipate the next stage of the hunt. Poor Portia had no idea that she was dancing with her death.
"So what brings you to Morrowind?" she asked, trying to divert the intensity that his silence placed her under. The way her eyes hardened themselves whenever they locked gazes clued Mehrunes into the studious and cautionary way that she was handling him. She wasn't stupid—that was certain, but then again, he hadn't expected her to be.
"It has been a long time since I came home," he told her. "I thought it time to see the Imperial city again."
"So you are stationed a great distance away?"
"Yes." You have no idea, woman.
"And is your trip living up to expectations?"
"In more ways than you can imagine," Mehrunes smiled. He twirled her one last time, and offered her a small nod of his head as he decided that prolonging this game of cat and mouse might actually be worthwhile. He could not resist kissing her hand one more time either—just to feel the pulse in her wrist, letting him know that she was alive and his to kill. "I take my leave," he told her. "But I'm pleased to have finally met you." Formally, that is.
"Perhaps we shall meet again," she innocently offered.
"I'm quite sure that we shall," Mehrunes replied with a secretive smirk that caused Portia to inwardly waver, but to him, her face only took on a slightly more serious expression.
"Perhaps," she replied, and as that Altmer approached and wrapped an arm around her waist, Mehrunes did not want to leave. He did not want to see her so easily escape his seeking grasp, but she was away, and he was to meet Horace's contacts. It was strange, how as she drew further and further into the crowd, he almost tangibly felt her vanish from his senses, and there was Horace, eager to speak with him, and puzzled over his master's interest in the woman.
"I hope that you are not bored, Lord Cassius," Horace said, eyes seeking out Portia's retreating form.
"Not in the least," Mehrunes mused with an odd expression. "It has been more eventful than I anticipated. And now, where are these nobles that you think will be useful?"
"There, my lord," and Horace smiled as several women looked over Mehrunes' human body, clearly interested in this more exotic looking Imperial. "I daresay that you might have a choice tonight, if anyone catches your fancy." Oh, someone had, but she would not be his entertainment tonight, and neither would these women—at least not in the same way that he would use Portia. The night wore on, and he continued to look for her, but she was gone, never one to stay late at parties when she had to rise early.
