Chapter 17:

Portia stepped into the room while lifting the hem of her white dress to prevent it from trailing on the floor. Considering her new role as a spy, Arelius and Lucretia had hired a tailor to craft her several appropriate evening outfits, for which she was indebted. Knowing that Arelius had money did not change her dislike of accepting charity, however necessary it was, and although she'd tried to simply use one of Lucretia's old dresses, the woman would have none of it. Apparently socialites like the ones whose midst she was entering would notice if she was wearing older clothing and then gossip about it. Lucretia did not want Portia to be embarrassed, even though the Blade hardly cared whether these people thought her a little unstylish or not.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she greeted several nobles as they acknowledged her presence. She was one of the earlier guests, which had been intentional on her part, for she wanted to study the room and choose a position of comfort and ease for her job. Meandering through the sparsely populated entry way, she was ushered into a dining room that spoke volumes about the manor's finances. A long, rectangular table cut down the room's center, and its darkly polished wood was set for thirty guests. Walking down the line of chairs, Portia eyed the silver platters of fruit that dotted the table, ivy neatly wound about the edges of the serving dishes, trailing from one dish to the next, and red petals tossed into the mix to amplify the already charming display.

Candelabras lit the immediate dining area, and single-candle stands lined the room's edges to lend an intimate and comfortable feel to the impending meal. There was something graceful and warm about the entire scene as Portia took in the tapestried walls and hurrying servers, but she also noted that numerous open doorways connected to the room, which meant that keeping an eye on everyone would be difficult. Judging by the smell of lilac and the gentle breeze sweeping in from the right side of the room, she concluded that the garden probably connected to the banquet hall. Such a setting usually proved amiable to a quick exit.

"Excuse me," she called to a server who was placing wine glasses at each setting. "Are there assigned seats, or am I free to choose?"

"You may sit where you like, ma'am," came the polite response.

"Thank you." Portia selected a seat toward one of the room's corners and waited for the other guests to arrive. It was a short wait, for people were already filing into the room for their meal, and Portia found herself squashed between a retired knight and a Sintav who possessed an annoyingly high pitched laugh for a male. The company was tolerable, and the appetizers amazing as she sampled some sort of crab dip on bread, but her eyes constantly flitted about the room, waiting for two men to arrive. She prayed that they hadn't canceled their attendance as the host and hostess entered the room, for the meal was about to commence, and she wasn't keen to stay and play a perfectly proper women for her own enjoyment.

"Lady Augustine!" the host exclaimed, his hands clapping together in delight. "I'm glad to see that you accepted our invitation. We owe you an evening for your service to the empire."

"It's a honor to be invited, sir," Portia replied. "I can't spend all of my time in the training yard."

"Indeed," the man laughed, and he took his place at the head of the table. "And here are our last guests. Please, my good fellows, have a seat." Portia turned her eyes as the indicated men more clearly stepped into the candlelight, and despite her relief at their arrival, a shadow of apprehension crossed her features as Cassius and Horace advanced down the table toward her location. The only open seats were directly across from her, and she instinctively knew that Cassius was staring at her as she lifted her wine glass for a servant to refill.

"We apologize for keeping you waiting," Horace was saying, and Portia heard him pull his chair out from the table. She did not look but rather felt attention as she took a sip of wine and leaned back in her chair to appear nonchalant. By the nine, she wished that her sword was here with her, but she only had a dirk, and that wouldn't be much help unless she gained a surprise hit on her opponent.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Augustine," Cassius smiled, his black eyes twinkling in the candlelight. She looked at him and gently inclined her head forward in respect, for this man, despite his threatening manner, had more than earned her regard by besting her in their first duel. He was relentless, aggressive, and confident with a sword, and she was willing to bet that he possessed more natural talent than herself.

"I trust that you are doing well, sir," Portia replied.

"There is no need for formality," he stated. "You may call me Cassius, and drop the 'sirs'. I should think that it's appropriate after being kicked in the stomach."

"I suppose it is," Portia smiled, appreciating the man's darker sense of humor. She was well aware of Horace observing her with interest as he snapped for a server's attention, and she hoped that she could avoid his leering stares for the night, but he seemed like a persistent man. Perhaps not when compared to his friend, but still...

"Having your hair down suits you," Cassius was saying.

"I would say that you're kind, Cassius, but I am still recovering from a bruise on my back." If he wanted to joke about their fight, then she would accommodate him, and it appeared to work as he chuckled and downed an entire glass of wine in one shot. So he was a drinker—probably with a high tolerance, and he didn't mind putting his elbows on the table when it was socially frowned upon. Portia studied everything about him as the first course appeared, even as her neighbors pulled her into lighter conversation, for she was suppose to get closer to Cassius and Horace in order to evaluate them and their possible contacts. She had to make them interested in her, and so she constantly returned to addressing them, all the while jotting ideas down on the inside of her head.

He hates small talk, she realized. Cassius looked bored with the woman beside him as she recounted a trip to the countryside, but Horace faked riveted interest very well. He excelled at weaving tales and making the mundane into an artful conversation, and although he tried to pull his companion into his conversations, Cassius was resistant. He seemed much more interested in eating and drinking, his focus shifting between his plate and Portia as she finished a conversation with the knight to her left. Even when she spoke with someone else, he seemed to be waiting to speak with her, as if she managed to be more interesting than the entirety of the party.

"Cassius," she began, and the man's dark eyes fastened on her. "Would you say that I'm talented with a blade?"

"Certainly," the diplomat bluntly replied.

"Then please tell this knight errant that I can defend myself." The knight laughed as Portia indignantly popped one grape after another into her mouth, his loud guffaw drawing attention to their conversation.

"I was merely telling the woman that I pride myself on defending a beautiful lady's honor," the knight explained to Cassius's stern gaze. "Perhaps I implied that you are a lady to be defended, but it was more a comment on your beauty, ma'am." Portia was about to reply when Cassius beat her to the punch.

"She'd be too much for you to handle," came his sharp comment.

"Excuse me?" the knight questioned, unaccustomed to Cassius's direct method of voicing his opinion.

"With a blade, of course," the diplomat continued, although his smirk suggested that he meant in other ways as well. The knight snorted in dismissal, which made Cassius set aside his wine and lean forward. "You knights with your code of honor toward women are rather outdated, if you ask me. This woman is dangerous with a sword, and so I would treat her as any other opponent should she face me." His words, although low and somewhat cold, flattered Portia, for here was a man who had bested her, and he was claiming that she was skilled enough to forgo special treatment. She did not like when male swordsman treated women as lesser and hence held back when fighting them.

"Are you saying that you'd kill a defeated woman like you would anyone else?" the knight demanded from Cassius, the air around them tightening. It wasn't threatening, but it was rather uncomfortable and made the people around them feel awkward. Already the hostess was watching them and contemplating intervention to keep the mood amiable.

"I'm saying that when someone chooses to fight me, they mark themselves as an enemy," Cassius was explaining. "If it's a woman, it makes no difference, especially when she's strong enough to hold her own." He offered Portia a slight nod, which she accepted with a raise of her glass. The knight had been put in his place, and she had this dark diplomat to thank for it.

"Your point is taken," the knight stiffly commented. "But you make yourself sound without honor, and without honor, you're little more than a common brute. Take dremora for instance." Portia noticed Cassius's jaw tighten, which made her think of intervening before even the hostess did. She recognized the predatory set of Cassius's body—so similar to some unplaced shadow in her mind—and knew that trouble was brewing. "I've fought dremora, and they'd kill a woman without thinking. Vile creatures, and ones that haven't the smallest trace of honor. I would never lower myself to their level."

"I find it hard to believe that you've bested a dremora," Cassius darkly replied, the knight completely oblivious to the man's dangerous undertone. "And they are not dishonorable for killing a woman if she is a combatant."

"I assure you that I've killed many dremora," the knight bragged.

"Then they were only Churls," Cassius smugly replied. "But I'm betting that you're a liar."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Dremora are separated into ranks," Portia explained. "They refer to themselves as the 'kyn', and most ranks are an elaboration on that word. Churls are the weakest dremora, and the Valkynaz are the highest. They personally serve Mehrunes Dagon and are quite powerful." The knight didn't seem particularly interested in her small speech, but Cassius did. She found him watching her with a calm, contemplative expression, his interest clearly reflected in the way that the knight's boasts lost his attention.

"You are correct," he stated. "I'm curious as to where you learned your information."

"I've also read about the ranks somewhere before," the knight interrupted. "But what I remember most clearly is that the dremora are loyal to the prince of destruction, or whatever he fancies himself as. Their honor ends where his does, and I haven't heard anything about Dagon that makes him sound like a worthy fighter. All brute strength and barbarity. Oblivion is probably a world of mad dogs stabbing each other in the back for power."

"You speak in ignorance!" Cassius bitingly ground out. "Prizing power does not make someone a lesser fighter. You would not last five seconds in Oblivion, and it's not because someone would stab you in the back..." The man looked ready to explode, and he clearly wanted to say more, but Horace poured him wine and gave him a pointed look that only Portia caught. She didn't know what would happen if the anger in Cassius tensed form escaped his hold, and she didn't want to. Whatever had offended the man, she wanted to fix it as soon as possible, and possibly gain his favor in the process, although it seemed to her that she already had his respectful consideration.

"Oblivion is not as chaotic as you think," Portia stated, drawing numerous eyes toward her, for much of the table had already been eavesdropping on the not-so-subtle argument between the knight and Cassius. "I understand where you're coming from, sir, but Mehrunes Dagon rules his world on a principle that doesn't lead to chaos. It's called Doirtem, and I don't have an exact translation for it, but hopefully my explanation makes sense. The term refers to the belief that the strong rule the weak and enforce order so that they can work together as one force. In a way, you're right when you say that it relies on brute strength, for the word implies that the strong should dominate and control others, but it doesn't result in chaos, and really, it's not so different from what powerful rulers do here, merely harsher."

The table grew silent as people digested what Portia had shared, and for her part, she retreated to eating in order to brush off the awkwardness of her comments, for her words were not popular ones, however true. Let them think what they wanted. She was confident that she'd made the right choice in talking, for like many social blunders in these settings, people quickly returned to the mundane in order to overlook the fault and return to their pleasantries. After all, controversial subjects did not go well with this sort of mixed company, although in a smaller group, it would have been quite acceptable. Truly, the host looked interested in pursuing the topic, but not as interested as Cassius. Long after people began ignoring Portia, he could not look elsewhere.

"You must own some rather unique books," he told her.

"I like to read about possible opponents," she returned. "I don't like going into combat in ignorance. That's a dangerous hobby."

"Are you saying that you're planning on fighting the prince of destruction?" Cassius joked with an almost cruel twist to his amused lips.

"I might fight dremora," Portia corrected. "I already have once, and I found myself woefully unprepared. I won't be caught off guard again. As for Mehrunes Dagon," she mused, "I doubt that he's all brute force as has been suggested, but I'd still like to avoid him. He would crush me. I merely like to think that I could draw some blood before my death." She felt swallowed by Cassius's presence as she stared into his pupils, their blackness surrounding her.

"Would you join me for a walk, my lady?" he asked, and something told Portia to say no, but this was what she was here for, and backing down now was out of the question. She had already lost to this man in one area, and she would not be defeated in another.

"I would be delighted," she smiled, rising from her chair as the official part of the meal came to a close. Already, the host was taking people for a tour of his weapon collection, and Horace was heatedly discussing something with a nobleman in the room's corner while several women laughed over a joke in the entryway. It was a perfect time to disappear, and so Portia allowed her hand to be engulfed by Cassius's as he led her our into the moonlight of the garden. She did not understand why she allowed him to touch her in such a familiar fashion as she followed him, noting how his dark clothing, skin, and hair made him blend into the surrounding bushes and trees, small yellow flowers brushing against Portia's sandals as she walked. No one would see them here, on the stone bench where her guide paused and sat, taking her with him almost against her will, but he did not seem malicious as he stared at her. There was more curiosity than aggression, although it was tempered with the intensity that she expected from him.

"Your defense of Oblivion was not welcomed by the other guests," he stated.

"No, it wasn't," she agreed. "But they shouldn't make false claims about something just because they dislike it. That never changes the facts, and since Mehrunes is the enemy of the empire, people should bother to know the truth about him." Cassius made a thoughtful sound from within his throat and stared into the distance.

"Still, your viewpoint is unexpected," he finally said. "Where did you learn about Doirtem? I have never heard it mentioned in any book, and I pride myself on knowing such things. I too find Oblivion to be...of interest." Portia had no idea that his eyes were running over her body as she crossed her legs, her white gown making her appear luminous in the night, whereas he was almost invisible. They sat together looking like polar opposites, yet an odd sense of connection lulled Portia into complacency concerning their private and isolated encounter. It felt like they had done this before, although she was sure that they hadn't.

"Not all books are readily available to the general public," Portia told him. "But they're there if people only looked."

"And your interest is enough to make you look?" Cassius questioned. There was an edge to his voice that made Portia feel as though he were baiting her, but that made no sense. "Surely you don't think that your chances of fighting Mehrunes Dagon are that great."

"No," she admitted with a small chuckle. "I'm not paranoid, if that's what you're implying. Like you, I simply find the topic interesting. At first, I thought exactly as that knight does. I even hated Oblivion and Mehrunes, but I forced myself to read about him anyway, and the more I read, the more I realized that there is more to his world than I want to admit. No matter how much he..." Portia shook her head with a humorless smile. "I suppose that a healthy dose of respect for your enemy is a good idea."

"Of course." She had not been looking at Cassius, but somehow she knew that he was about to touch her even before she felt his fingertips against her neck. He was brushing hair over her shoulder, exposing her pale skin to the moonlight, and his hand trailed over her collar bone in a chillingly controlled movement that made her freeze. "So fragile," he mused.

"What do you mean?" Portia asked.

"The human body is so fragile. Take your neck for instance. One snap and everything could be over." Portia shuddered and lifted a hand, catching his wrist and stilling his movement back toward her neck. "I did not mean to make you uncomfortable," he chuckled, but Portia knew that he was lying. Her hold loosened and his fingers brushed across her jugular. "I am merely marveling at how someone in such an exposed position can talk of her enemy without fear, but then again, you're not fearless. You're just very resilient."

"No one is fearless."

"True, my lady, very true. You are wise to respect Oblivion and its power." Laughter somewhere to their right alerted them to approaching company, and Portia took the opportunity to stand.

"It is late," she observed.

"Not so late that you cannot spare me a moment," Cassius countered. He slowly stood and moved closer to her, employing all of his menacing influence. "I was not expecting you to be here, but I'm glad that you surprised me. You've made the evening better."

"Flattery does not suit you like if does your friend," Portia dryly commented, becoming more defensive by the second. He was closing in on her.

"I am not a flatterer. I am merely stating the truth, which you seem to have so much interest in—a strange disposition for someone as secretive as yourself." Portia didn't understand his meaning as he offered her his arm, which she looped her own through. She didn't want to, but something about his compelling nature led her to boldly lock bodies with him, as if daring him to prove her suspicions concerning his dangerous intentions true. He was not displeased as she set the walking pace and led him this time.

"I had a lovely evening, Cassius," Portia said. "I'm sure that I'll see you again, and perhaps by then my bruises will have healed."

"Eager to acquire more?" he teased.

"Don't be so sure of yourself. That was the knight's greatest fault, and it doesn't suit you. Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, my lady, and I do not underestimate you." He kissed her hand with a smirk that she felt against her skin. It was like in her dream, only real, and with a suppressed shudder, Portia's ghostly white figure made a straight path for her bedroom. She had almost enjoyed the man's company for those brief moments where their shared opinions had been pitted against the rest of the crowd, but that had been fleeting and wasn't strong enough to upset her unease. There was something about that man that drew her closer despite her desire to stay away from him.