Chapter 14:

What a night.

Portia woke up in nothing but her underclothing as he rolled out of bed, her dress from the previous night neatly draped over a nearby chair. She had slept like the dead after hours of dancing, and there was also the fact that she wasn't wearing the chaos sphere. Such a restful night tempted her to never wear the earring to bed again, but she recognized a bad idea when she thought of one, and ignoring her connection to Mehrunes would only hurt her in the long run. At least she had an inkling of what he was up to when she wore the earring, and so she moved to the decanter and hooked the sphere back onto her left ear. It was brighter than usual, but she imagined that the prince might be seeking it, triggering its power.

She dressed in pants and a maroon tunic, choosing clothing that was durable for a day of teaching, for the boys practiced with real swords after initial training with wooden ones, and she had already had one decent tunic torn. She could still remember how ten pairs of young, male eyes widened when the rip exposed part of her bra, which had been rather comical, but she wouldn't want word of an incident like that getting around the palace. More people than ever would be able to put a face to her name after last night, and so gossip would not be so readily dismissed. Such a bother.

Portia's mind drifted back to the ball, and she mentally scanned over the list of people whom she'd consciously collected information on for Arelius. Most of them had seemed harmless enough, but she continually looped back to Cassius and Horace, who stood out as strangely compelling and even dangerous personalities—Cassius more so than Horace. The latter reminded her of a smooth talker who might cause trouble, but who was likely too busy burning his way through lovers to be involved in political upheaval. It was hard to gauge how influential such a minor but gifted nobleman was, and then there was his companion, and Portia again felt his hands on her, the left one pressing down on her right hip, applying pressure to her wound. Of course, Cassius couldn't have known what he'd been doing, but the coincidence still bothered Portia, igniting further suspicions against a man that she was already wary of.

When they had been dancing, she could have sworn that his eyes glinted with aggression, like a wolf closing in on its prey, but those had been fleeting expressions. More often was a curious look of satisfaction, and when he had pulled her close to his body for a pivot, she had found herself trapped in a gaze that seemed to burn across every inch of her body. The experience had been oddly captivating, demanding, and worrisome, yet she had not objected to his touch by the end of the dance. Yes, she had been relieved to leave him, but he had proven a capable dancer, and when she had scanned the room while turning, she could see that people were watching how the two moved so fluidly across the floor.

"Oh look! They even match."

And they had, which made Portia smile at the time, for she hadn't even realized that her light blue matched beautifully with his darker tunic. She wondered if Gilthan had been jealous, for when the elf had approached to retrieve her from her mysterious partner, he had seemed displeased and even a little put off by Cassius. Portia couldn't blame him, for she had arranged to take him as a date, not to end up being admired as she was with another man who treated Gilthan to the cold shoulder. Even when Gilthan had been bidding Cassius goodbye, the Imperial only had eyes for Portia, blatantly ignoring the elf in favor of lavishing Portia with attention that would have been flattering if the man hadn't emitted such dangerous vibes. Portia could even swear that he hadn't wanted to let her leave, which had disturbed her, for how could this man be so fixated on her when they'd only just met? And to add to her concerns, as she had walked away, she felt as if she were pulling away from a familiar presence—the same presence that had molded over her when they'd danced, making her feel almost at ease with someone who should have been a total stranger.

Portia was pondering the night as she made her way to Arelius's office to deliver a morning report before going to work, and sure enough, her superior stood by the window in his quarters, reading over a scroll in the fresh light of day. Portia had knocked, so he knew of her presence, but as always with Arelius, he did things in his own time, focusing on the more immediate problems before handling a routine report.

"Morning," he greeted her, finally setting the scroll aside and noticing that Portia was again wearing the chaos sphere. "The mages are hounding me to keep an eye on you at all times," he told her. Straight to business it is then, sir.

"I can think of a few colorful expressions that I'd like to tell them in response," she commented, a small smile tugging at her lips. Arelius mirrored the gesture and thanked the stars that his Blade was managing to maintain her spirits.

"They think that you're becoming more dangerous," he elaborated.

"Why? Have they had someone following me?" Arelius shook his head and took a seat at his desk, motioning for Portia to occupy the chair opposite him if she wished.

"They sensed a powerful charge several days ago, and they're convinced that it came from the chaos sphere. They also mentioned that you might be portraying erratic behavior, and I can promise you that the comment made me want to say things very similar to what you would have." He leaned forward, arms folded over the top of his desk, face serious. "To think that the university is trying to pull one over me on—as if I know less about your behavior than they do."

"They obviously don't know how annoyingly astute you are," Portia dryly commented, and Arelius barked a short laugh.

"Obviously not," he echoed. "But it does show that they are not being very successful at spying on you. Either that or they have a reason to rush the situation and try and take the sphere from us." From the Blades, Portia noted, realizing that Arelius now considered the sphere to be an Imperial possession and not for the Arcane University.

"Are you baiting them along just in case we need them?" she asked, curious, and Arelius eyed her like a proud father.

"Exactly, and I realize that you're friendly with one of their mages, but I trust that you're being discreet."

"Naturally," and Portia took the seat that he'd offered. She was surprised when her superior gently leaned back with a satisfied slip of a smile and watched her crossing her legs.

"Did you have a good time last night?" he asked, and Portia was instantly on guard.

"Why?" she challenged.

"I'll take that as a yes," Arelius finished for her, clearly amused with himself. "You've always avoided work like that. You used to claim that it's less useful and enjoyable, but if you wouldn't object, I might have future assignments along the same lines as the ball." Portia scrunched her face and wondered how much Lucretia had been watching her and how much she'd already reported to her husband. The two were thick as thieves.

"It was better than I expected," she confessed, knowing that lying to Arelius was pointless, and she didn't know if that made her want to hit him or not. Although, hitting him was probably an idiotic idea, for he might be passing the prime of his life, but she was willing to bet that he could still school her. "As far as your men and women of interest go," she continued, getting to business, "You can ignore most of them. Duke Lenicon seems a bit too ambitious for his own good, but other than that, I'd focus your attentions on Cassius Matrino and Horace Pantrov."

"Lenicon was investigated several months back for conspiracy and murder, so I'm not surprised that you singled him out. The verdict was indecisive, but I'm sure that he's the one that let the first Dawn member into the palace." Portia snapped to attention in surprise, having never heard of this incident. "You weren't with us when this happened," Arelius clarified. "And it was the type of mess that I hate most—one that puts everyone into a panic. The first assassin failed, but he'd been given free access to the inner chambers, and there's no way that he knew those hallways like the back of his hand without some help."

"So you're already watching him, but what about Cassius and Horace?" Portia asked, proceeding to explain how unsettling Cassius was and her misgivings about Horace.

"Unfortunately I don't know anything about those two," Arelius confessed, "But that's why I asked you to look into them. It's interesting that you noticed Horace, because he seems to have also noticed you."

"What?"

"Lucretia noted that he asked some questions about you last night—not to her directly, but she was in the vicinity when he sent out a few feelers. They were innocent questions, but those are the kind to worry about most."

"I had no idea that he thought enough about me to ask questions," Portia darkly mused, now more concerned about the two diplomats than ever. Perhaps she should not wear the chaos sphere to work either, for she wasn't sure that she wanted to risk running into people who were taking notes on her. "Hopefully he was just being a playboy and scouting for a possible lay," she stated.

"Still, be careful. I have someone looking for openings to learn more about the two, but that will take direct contact and talking."

"That's the possible work that you might have for me?" Portia guessed.

"Yes," Arelius nodded. "And since Horace has taken an interest in you, you'd make an ideal candidate. Let's hope that he likes you." Portia didn't agree, but she could see how that would be beneficial, and then she remembered Cassius's intense interest in her.

"I think that it would be fairly easy to arrange getting closer to the two," she said. "Cassius openly said that he'd like to see me again, and unlike Horace, he made no effort to hide how interested he was. It makes no sense, sir."

"Two admirers in one night," Arelius said with a hint at teasing. "And you used to be considered the hopeless, eternal maiden of the Blades."

"Thanks for reminding me," Portia scoffed, standing and dismissing herself this time. "Let me know when you'd like me to move in, or am I operating on my own?"

"On your own for now. If you can arrange something before I do, you've permission to move at your own discretion."

"Yes, sir." Damn that man to Oblivion for his detailed memory, or so Portia cursed as she left Arelius's office. She had been teased mercilessly about being single one drinking night long ago, for her comrades had been trying to set her up with someone who she staunchly refused to meet given that she had been a new recruit and didn't want to appear distracted. It hadn't helped that she'd been attracted to her captain and focused on winning his good graces either, and she suspected that Arelius's humor stemmed more from that knowledge than the good humored taunts of her friends. Oh well. Life went on, and she had a job to do.

*************

The training yard was scattered with sparring partners, the boys having been matched to one another based on their abilities, and then left to battle with dull swords as Portia watched from the sidelines. Intervention was constant and reprimands swift and loud, just as she had once experienced, and she found that pressure to perform was serving most of the boys well, for it pushed their natural competitiveness toward progress. She thought herself a good teacher as she watched one of her pupils successfully block several attacks before advancing, smacking his opponent squarely on a lightly armored shoulder. The slower kid would be sporting a bruise within the hour, but serious accidents were extremely rare in such training exercises, and Portia was pleased that she'd avoided any incidents thus far. She did not want or need an angry mother in here berating her for negligence that would most certainly be undeserved criticism.

"Keep a firmer grip on your sword!" she ordered one boy, who would have already been disarmed if he were facing a stronger opponent. She continued to scan the fighting as her feet began strolling along the shaded walkway that enclosed the yard, which allowed her to gain a better perspective on the exercises. It was a normal habit for a teacher, and the day seemed perfectly average until another presence began to press against her own, subconsciously alerting her to company. It was as she rounded a corner that she saw him, leaning against the wall as casually as a man could, dark gaze fixed on the pair of fighters closest to him. In the shade of the walkway and positioned behind a pillar, it was small wonder that she had missed noticing him before, but now that she saw him, she stopped walking, her pupils all but forgotten.

What is he doing here?

As if he'd heard her thoughts, the man that she knew as Cassius turned his head to face her, his vision taking in her whole form with one swift sweep and inevitably freezing on her green irises. She wondered if he stared directly into her eyes because he knew how much it unsettled her, for some men liked the intimidation factor and went out of their way to dominate others.

"I told you that we'd meet again," Cassius greeted, Portia approaching him at a slow pace, determined to keep her controlled appearance despite how he affected her. She joined him, standing to his side as he leaned and she glanced at her students to ensure that no one was fooling around or getting themselves killed.

"I did not expect our meeting to be so soon," Portia stated as Cassius watched her. "But good morning to you all the same. What brings you to the training yard?" The man wore a red tunic and black breeches that she thought suited him better than blue as he shifted his position to straighten.

"I heard that you're a good teacher, so I came to see how well you handle a sword," Cassius told her, and she did not miss that he had a sword strapped to his waist. He followed her gaze down to the weapon and smirked. "Horace might not be one to take up your challenge, but I have never passed up a good fight."

"You enjoy combat?" Portia asked, comforted by the weight of her own sword against her hip, even if it caused her occasional pain. She did not want to feel unarmed and naked around this man.

"I don't deny it," Cassius replied, his posture relaxed despite the unspoken challenge in his words. He almost seemed to wish that she'd pull her sword free right this instant, but Portia would never be so rash. Her eyes swept over him, taking in and calculating what kind of fighter he'd be—strengths, weaknesses, style. However he fought, she was sure that he was the picture of confidence, just as he portrayed himself now.

"And do you think that you'll best me?" Portia questioned, and the words seemed to amuse him.

"I have years of experience on you," he stated, and despite being annoyed by his condescending tone, Portia kept a calm face.

"You should never be arrogant going to battle," she cautioned him. "It might cost you." Cassius chuckled and laid a hand on his sword.

"Then you accept my challenge," he said. "I did not expect less."

"You don't know me well enough to expect anything," Portia said, and Cassius tilted his head to the side, staring at her from an angle as strands of rich, black hair fell across his face. Again, the familiarity of him struck her as peculiar and natural at the same time.

"Of course you would accept my challenge," he asserted. "When you first saw me here, did you realize that your hand automatically shifted toward your weapon? Even now, you're sizing me up aren't you? And you have been since you saw me last night." He stepped closer, and Portia felt her surroundings clouded as they faced one another, the other's words washing over her and making her realize just how closely this man had been examining her. "You're a fighter," he stated. "A lady who spends more time dancing than fighting doesn't have callouses like yours, and I bet that you have a pretty collection of scars decorating that body beneath your tunic."

How did this man come to such accurate conclusions with having barely spoken to her?

"Those hands have shed blood, I'm sure," he continued, and Portia was almost mesmerized by this point. "Do you know how hard it is for people to look me in the eyes and not back down? But you aren't shying away, so where does the unbreakable will come from?" His hand was rising, coming closer to her face. "Don't you think it's beautiful?" his deep voice purred. "Two wills locked together in deadly combat, struggling for dominance even when one knows that defeat is inevitable..." Portia had an uneasy feeling that he was talking about her at a level that she did not appreciate, and as his fingers almost drew close enough to touch her cheek, she broke his spell.

"You'd be dead," she said, pleased when he seemed to snap out of whatever thought had been consuming him. She was holding his wrist, feeling his warm skin against hers as she stared him down.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"I could have killed you countless times while you were talking," and Cassius looked down to see that her other hand was holding a dagger against his abdomen, the point poking a small hole in his tunic. "Care to reevaluate your chances of winning?" The burst of laughter that followed her words filled her ears and drew the students' attention to the foreign diplomat.

"Perhaps I underestimated you," Cassius allowed. "But the true test is only starting." Portia knew that this man would be a difficult opponent, and more than that, she sensed that she was entering treacherous territory, but she could not be stopped. A burning desire to teach this man a lesson had begun to build within her, and for some inexplicable reason, the way that his presence seemed to consume her only added to her urge to accept his challenge. She had to do this or she'd be forced to endure his insufferable smugness, and even without that, his arrogance alone made her want to feed him his words with the point of her blade.

"Students!" she called. "You're dismissed for the day. Pack up your gear and head home." Something in her sharp tone set them to work faster than usual, and she pointedly ignored Cassius to supervise their cleanup as she waited for her duel to begin.

"They respect you," the man behind her noted, stepping down onto the grass as the last of the students vacated the grounds. He had already drawn his sword, and now he held it up in the sunlight, examining its design. It was easily five inches longer than Portia's blade, but she did not mind, for she had taken down opponents with larger weapons before. "Tell me," Mehrunes continued. "Did they respect you as soon as you came, or did you need to frighten them first?" With an expert turn of his wrist, his sword made a graceful arch through the air.

"I did not scare them," Portia told him, not yet drawing her sword, but standing and watching Cassius play. "Fear is not a tool that I use to teach. I prefer that they respect me for my skill, and a few displays were sufficient for that." This man, Cassius, digested her words with the outward guise of a man but the thought process of a destructive daedric prince, and as he listened, Mehrunes decided that Portia might be a very interesting woman to talk to. Their opinions would no doubt clash, but she was a person to back up her thoughts with logic, and he would delight in twisting that, perhaps making her see his views as correct when he broke her. Each snap of a bone would show her how useful fear was, but he did understand her desire to be respected for skill, for he prided himself on battle talent, and that was what made his dremora bow more than anything else. Hmmm. It was pleasant to speak with someone who shared some ideological affinity with him after hours with a snake like Horace.

"I see," Mehrunes mused. "I've always found fear to be a useful tool, but you're right. It has its limits." He let his sword point touch the ground, grazing the grass as he eyed Portia drawing her own weapon. "Do you have any preferences for how we do this?" he asked, admiring how easily she swung her sword into a fighting stance. It was a graceful movement, and she obviously had experience with the particular sword that she was using.

"If you bleed on my yard," she said. "You clean it up, and we stop only when one of us has clearly lost." Mehrunes hoisted his weapon upward with a smile.

"I can live with that. No other conditions?" Portia shook her head, now solely concentrated on battle, her face transformed into a serious mask. "Good. I prefer 'anything goes'." Portia barely had time to blink before her enemy launched himself at her, his sword swinging on the offensive. The ferocity of his attack was staggering, and as she lifted her own sword to catch the edge of his blade, turning her weapon at an angle to deflect the blow, her hand shook from the impact. Gods, but he was strong—stronger than she had guessed, for her hand was almost numb from the effort at deflecting blow after blow, his sword expertly and ceaselessly driving toward her body. If she made a mistake, it would be almost impossible for him to halt his attack with the momentum that he put into each swing and jab, meaning that this duel could quickly become deadly.

What was he aiming at?

Portia knew that she had to do something, for she was losing ground quickly, and she would not be able to play the defensive forever. She stared into Mehrunes' pitch black eyes and found an aggressive and determined will there that was tempered with passion. Whoever this man was, he loved fighting, and if he wanted a fight, he was going to get one.

"Not bad," Portia stated, feeling her muscles tighten with determination. She could not lose to this man, and as the game seemed to become less and less of a game, she grew harder until her face was an emotionless slab of marble where only green eyes betrayed her wrath.

"I'm not impressed," Mehrunes spat while putting his full weight into the next downward slash in order to break her crumbling defense.

Try this, Portia grimly thought, and as his blade came straight for her head, she dropped to her back and kicked outward with both feet. Her soles rammed into Mehrunes' gut as she raised her sword above her head, the flat of her blade resting against her palms, and the weapon successfully blocking Mehrunes' attack. The force of his move was thankfully weakened as his body fell backwards from her violent kick, or else she might have been incapable of holding her sword against his, but as was, Mehrunes hit the ground with a loud thump and grunt.

"Fetcher," he hissed as Portia scrambled to her feet and moved to place her blade against his throat to end the duel, but Mehrunes had not released his blade in falling, and he recovered much faster than Portia anticipated. Everything about him seemed inhumanly fast and forceful, and so, as she moved to claim victory, his sword unexpectedly swung at her side from his fallen position, and she barely blocked it, moving one of her feet to stomp on his arm and so force the weapon from his grasp. Her boot met flesh and caused Mehrunes to grimace, but his pain quickly twisted into a vicious snarl as he seized her ankle with his free hand and yanked it out from under her.

"Damn!" Portia lost her balance and fell, hitting the ground with such force that her vision momentarily blackened. Where was...?

"You lose," Mehrunes stated, and then she felt the touch of metal against her throat. He was crouched over her, one of his knees planted firmly on her chest to prevent her from moving, and his sword arm stretched backward to hold his blade's tip a mere hairsbreadth from her jugular. If she breathed too deeply or swallowed, she was sure that it would draw blood, but she couldn't find the spit to swallow anyway as she stared upward at his tensed and hard features. There was a feral quality about him that bordered on bloodlust, and she could only stare and went on staring for what felt like hours. He didn't utter a word, only focusing on her throat until she was sure that he honestly intended to kill her. A light breeze blew dark air across his handsome features, and still his gaze did not waver.

"Lady Augustine?" a timid voice called. Mehrunes quickly pulled off of her, sheathed his sword, and offered her a hand. She reluctantly accepted it and tried to ignore the smug look spreading across his features as she turned to address the servant that stood at the yard's far edge.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Your presence has been requested by a gentleman as the gates, ma'am."

"Thank you. Tell him that I'll be along shortly." It was probably Arelius, and she had never been so glad to hear from him in her life. She sheathed her sword and faced Mehrunes, finding him much calmer than he had been moments before.

"You're talented," he told her, face blankly regarding her. "No one has ever knocked me to the ground before, but..." Now his smile returned. "This round belongs to me." He sounded like he had expected as much, and it annoyed Portia to no end, but then he inclined his head to her in the smallest of gestures. "You are most definitely a worthy opponent," and there was something bordering real respect in his voice. How could there not be when so few, even among the dremora, would openly pursue a duel with him, let alone catch him off guard with a kick?

"Perhaps next time will belong to me," Portia offered. "You're a strong fighter, but if you'll excuse me, I must be going."

"Of course," Mehrunes said, again seemingly reluctant to let her depart. "I would not mind sparring with you again." Portia was less enthused after the bloodlust that she had seen in his eyes, but she would not back down, especially since she had now witnessed and studied his fighting style.

"You know where to find me," she told him. "Until another time, Cassius." Mehrunes nodded and allowed her to leave, impressed that she had handled herself so well, for he had been sorely tempted to draw some blood just to see her eyes light up with fear. Yet she had remained outwardly calm as he held his point against her throat, contemplating how easy it would be to kill her, but finding in that moment that such a quick end was wasteful. He wanted to fight her again, push her further, see if she had it in her to draw his blood. She already had once, and as she refused to glance back at him in her departure, he smirked. Oh yes, she was worthy of having challenged him all that time ago in Oblivion. If someone had to steal from him, he was pleased that it had been her.