Chapter 21:
Tamil leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs, face dour in light of her recent assignments, and her mind elsewhere as Arelius shuffled a stack of papers. It was an achingly beautiful day that made the elf wish to be outside, for the mild weather was reminiscent of her home in Balmora, where much of the year was moderate. Fall was fully set into motion now, the warmest days gone, and cooler air sweeping down off of the mountains, which was pleasant weather for daytime work, but night shifts were always nicer in summer when the touch of darkness was refreshing. Tamil also recalled that the change in seasons had once meant fewer contracts and greater boredom, for the Morag Tong was never as busy in fall as in summer, but those days were now a distant memory.
"I take it that you haven't found anything," Arelius stated, glancing up at her as he locked several papers inside of a drawer. "And I'm afraid that the latest news is equally unpromising. No one has any leads on whoever murdered that guard."
"There are rumors," Tamil offered. "I've heard that a Khajit beggar went missing several days ago, and after the last few murders, I'm sure that he isn't simply taking a trip. You should see how the beggars huddle together at night like frightened animals."
"You obviously think that the murders are connected to our guard in some way."
"And you don't?" Tamil challenged as she tapped fingers against the chair's arms, her nimble digits always looking for something to do.
"Of course I think that they're connected. If we were dealing with a common murderer, he wouldn't have taken blood from the beggars, and the guard was too close to the house for my comfort. I'm not ruling out the possibility of cultists or a rogue necromancer for the homeless—gods know that Traven's driving some of them to the brink of blood—but the other murder is far too suspicious. Whoever is keeping an eye on us, which is no mystery, is getting closer. The question is whether or not they're Dawn members, hired hands, or denizens of Oblivion."
"I still can't believe that Mehrunes Dagon is somewhere in this city," Tamil glowered.
"You're just grouchy that you haven't found your friend yet," Arelius subtly smiled.
"Don't remind me about that bastard. Those Dawn members are here somewhere," the elf darkly continued to frown, remembering the sting of poison in her gut. "And if I could only find them, I'm sure that I could link them to these murders. Blood's such a ritual element in daedric worship, and I've seen enough alters in Morrowind to know. It has to be them who're doing the killing, but they're keeping their hands hidden...was any blood taken from the guard?" Arelius folded arms over his desk and turned his calm eyes outside, where he could see a hawk flying across the rooftops.
"No," he stated. "The guard's murder was hasty, and the culprits fled, whereas the other bodies showed patience and precision; so I would say that his death was accidental. Lucretia hasn't picked up traces of anyone spying on us since then either, but she told me not to trust her magic. Someone's been countering her spells."
"Blight," Tamil cursed, her words followed by a knock at the door.
"Come in," Arelius called, and the door swung open to reveal Portia, fresh from a night of mental torment, her ponytail crooked, and her walk favoring the left side. "More visions?" Arelius guessed, and she nodded.
"You look like you slept in an ash storm," Tamil chimed in as the newcomer settled into a nearby chair.
"I'm not surprised," Portia replied. "Mehrunes was trying to capture me for most of the night. The bastard doesn't give up when he's set on something, and, to make matters worse, I'm fairly certain that he knows who his late night visitor is." Tamil leaned forward in her seat, eyes flashing with interest as Portia accepted Arelius's offer to access the wine cabinet to his left.
"Did you happen to discover Mehrunes' location?" Tamil asked.
"No," Portia sighed as she poured herself a glass and sat back down, the wine feeling marvelous as it swept down her throat, and the accompanying warmth softening the edge of a trying night as she observed Arelius's stoic expression. His countenance reflected concentration, and she wondered if her failed effort at gleaning Mehrunes' location had disappointed him. "He kept me from looking out the window," she elaborated. "So he must have known what I was after."
"He's made the connection then," Arelius digested. "Are you in immediate danger?" And you're hoping that I'm not, because it would limit my mobility, she thought, accepting the idea for what it was. Or perhaps she was being unfair after a hard night, for she'd seen Arelius risk his own safety to protect others before.
"Considering that he probably knows where I am, I'd say that danger's closer than I'd like," she reasoned. "I heard about the guard, Arelius, and everyone here knows why someone dangerous would be lurking outside of your home. I was hoping that Mehrunes didn't know where I am, but I'm beginning to think that he's known the entire time."
"So why hasn't the arrogant prince tried anything?" Tamil questioned. "If he wants this sphere so badly, he's being awfully slow about reclaiming it."
"He doesn't know that we have it," Arelius clarified.
"But I thought that the sphere is what connects him and Portia? Surely he has to be aware of that now that he's discovered her secret identity." Tamil looked to Portia in question, and the elf's point was a valid one. Portia had considered the matter herself, and having someone with whom to discuss such questions made her glad that she'd confided in the dark elf. It had been an obligatory decision at first, for Tamil couldn't very well help locate Mehrunes if she didn't know what she was looking for, and so Portia had taken it upon herself to share more with her superior and comrade in arms. Of course, the whole of the matter was still edited, and Portia retained the right to do so under Arelius's respect for her privacy.
"He doesn't seem to know that I have the sphere," Portia stated.
"That would explain his delay in attacking," Arelius reasoned, and he watched as Portia's visage darkened, displeasure showing over the top of her wine glass as she took another sip. "The children have been sent away," he reassured her. "And Lucretia has been taking extra precautions."
"I'm sure," Portia blankly replied.
"If we're going to be here a while, I'm getting a glass too," Tamil relented, retrieving alcohol for herself as Portia's wine disappeared.
"He must be looking for the sphere," Portia darkly considered. "I've been wearing it, but the invisibility spell is very effective, so almost no one has seen it since I returned from Oblivion."
"And he may think that we've given it to the University," Tamil suggested. "As if we'd cater to the mages, but you understand where I'm coming from."
"Of course," Arelius followed. "We're at a stalemate until either we find them, or they find out where the sphere is, and until then, we won't be idle. Tamil, I want you to look into Lenicon. See if you can discover who else was likely in the Mythic Dawn with him during the first assassination attempt. There should be a list of suspects in the Legion Commander's office, and one of them might know something about our visitors."
"And what about Horace and Cassius?" Tamil questioned. "I should have information on them within a matter of days. Should I also pursue that?"
"No, Portia is handling them. Speaking of which, what have you found?"
"A friend at the university has been investigating Horace, and he found out that the man has been ordering unique items from an apothecary. A daedric heart and ogrim blood are expected in the next two weeks, and the first heart that Horace bought was purchased directly before I sensed Mehrunes in Tamriel. He's also been sneaking into the Arcane University for rendezvous with a necromancer, and Gilthan doesn't trust the man in the slightest."
"I'd like to meet this Gilthan at some point," Arelius mused. "He sounds like a useful fellow." Portia knew exactly where Arelius's mind was going, and she had to smile at his constant recruiting despite herself. The man couldn't let anyone with promising talent slip by unnoticed.
"I don't think that he's looking for a new career," she frankly told the scheming man.
"Neither were you at first," and he dismissed her objection with a small glance toward her right hip where her sword usually sat. Point taken, she mentally conceded, but outwardly she remained impassive. She knew that her silence was more than enough to tell Arelius to change topics, and with a satisfied smile, he did so. "Tamil, focus on trying to tie the Dawn to Horace if you can," he stated. "And I have a joint mission for the two of you this evening. There is a performance at the theater tonight, and Lucretia has supplied me with a list of those in attendance. Horace, Cassius, and Lenicon will be there, and so will you."
"Fantastic," Tamil sarcastically commented. "A formal evening out."
"How will we gain admittance?" Portia asked, amused by the dark elf's reluctance to be seen in a dress. The woman was touchy when it came to acting in a manner that didn't suit her natural inclinations, and while Portia wasn't fond of theater, sitting through an evening of drama was more attractive than spending the evening waiting for Mehrunes to call. She even knew the layout of the large staging area since she'd once been sent to deliver a delicate package during an intermission.
"Lucretia will handle the details," Arelius was saying. "Once inside, how you operate is up to you. Good luck, Blades."
**************
The Theater was packed with ladies in gowns and men in neatly tailored tunics as Portia made her way through the crowd. With a forged invitation in hand, she accompanied the throng of individuals filing toward their seats, and she had to wonder how Lucretia had wrangled her a seat on such a busy night. It was the premier of "A Rose Lost", and the excitement surrounding the play was mounting, even reaching the highest strata of society, if the presence of a council member was any indication. Part of Portia wanted to berate the man for playing games while lives were endangered, but she couldn't when she spent extended hours in the palace training grounds or library for a similar reason.
"I've found my man," a voice mentioned in passing, and Portia watched as Tamil navigated through the foyer toward a man with speckled hair and a small gut. The Dunmer female was transformed by a blue gown and arranged hair courtesy of Lucretia, but her step retained its precise, stalking glide as she honed in on her prey. Perhaps she would accost her man now, or merely keep an eye on him until an opportunity to steal him away during the play. Either way, he was not going to have a pleasant evening.
Now to find 'my men'.
Portia's seat was on the floor, which was at a disadvantage for viewing the balcony seats, but at least she was in the back where a general view was possible. She walked down the main aisle and listened to the laughter and anticipating conversation around her, several people recognizing and motioning toward her in greeting. Where was Cassius? She focused on sight, causing the sounds around her to dull into a droning buzz, and her body feeling isolated from the rest of the audience as she turned in a circle. Something—perhaps a flutter of a hand or light off of a gold necklace—drew her eyes toward the left and to one of the long, crimson curtains between the balconies above, whereupon her vision ran up its length, passed the dragon embroidered on its surface, and landed on several men leaning against the railing of their booth.
Horace, she recognized, picking the man out by his posture more than detailed characteristics. She was sure that Cassius was nearby then, and deciding to stage a run in, she returned to the foyer and located the stairs leading upward. The stairwell was all but empty due to the performance's impending start, and as she traveled unnoticed, she heard the sound of music through the wall. The orchestra had begun the play's introduction, and while the mounting hum of instruments was likely to mask her activities, Portia moved faster, the swish of her dress's fabric negated.
Not this one, she decided, counting the balcony doors as she passed them. Five, six...She paused before the seventh door, composing herself as she gently gripped the handle and opened the way inside unannounced. Her feet stepped through the doorway, loose strands of long, brown hair tickling her neck as they dangled from the bun atop her head, and one of the balcony's occupants swiveling to examine her. She immediately froze in mock surprise.
"My apologies," she urgently whispered. "I thought that my seat was in here." With a hasty curtsy, she spun to leave, but the rest of the men, who numbered about four, and a servant boy were now looking at her.
"Lady Augustine?" a voice questioned, tone hushed so as to not annoy others in the audience. Of course, the benefit of a private balcony was the ability to converse without appearing rude, but muted tones were still expected.
"Oh, hello, sir," Portia replied to Horace. "I made a mistake, and I should be getting to my own seat now." She again turned to leave when another voice halted her.
"There's no need for that," Cassius's distinctly commanding tone stated without the cautious quiet of his companions. "There's an empty seat right here, and we would be delighted if you joined us, Portia." She hesitated in order to make her supposed mistake more believable as Cassius whispered something to Horace, which caused the man to stand and move, leaving a vacant seat beside the more imposing of the two. The only open seat on the whole balcony, and it was between Cassius and the wall. Portia had the urge to ask him if the restrictive quarters were intentional, but she accepted the seat at his beckoning anyway.
"Thank you," she said, sitting down and noticing how close the seats were situated. Her thigh was grazing his.
"I wouldn't want you to miss part of the first act," Cassius replied, lifting her hand and placing a kiss on the back of it. She tilted her head in a formal reply and retracted her hand as he settled back into his chair. She did not miss the curious expression with which Horace was watching them, but she ignored it in favor of watching the actors and actresses take the stage in their exaggerated finery. Their gaudy sparkles and billowing folds fell on blind eyes as she wondered what she could accomplish this evening, but if nothing else, she would have names, for she recognized the other three men around her.
"Would you care for a drink?" Cassius quietly asked, leaning close to her ear. His elbow was propped on the chair arm between them, his eyes pitch black and face shadowed in the dim lighting of the balcony. Most of the candles had been extinguished as magical orbs lit the stage below, drawing all eyes forward except hers. She found Cassius's intense stare much more consuming than the silly antics of the characters below, and for some reason, she couldn't help but notice how silky his black hair looked in the soft lighting.
"I'm fine for now," she told him. "We haven't even been here for ten minutes, and you're already having refreshments," she then added, planning to bandy sharper words with the man since he seemed to enjoy it, but even as the words left her mouth, she was surprised by how natural and comfortable they felt.
"Alcohol is the only thing that's going to get me through this damn play," Cassius gruffly replied, his bluntness making Portia smile. The curve of her lips wasn't obvious, but he must have caught the movement all the same, for he smirked at her obvious appreciation for his comment.
"I'm not much for plays either," she confessed. "I've seen a few that I like. The Horror of Castle Xyr was entertaining, but something like this is too romanticized and delicate. It doesn't do life justice and practically makes a mockery of female sensibilities. Look at that woman. She'll run from the ogre and let the knight fight it."
"Yes, we both know how you feel about that," Cassius intoned, nearly causing Portia to jump when she realized how close his face was to hers. She could see that his irises were indeed solid black, completely lacking any fainter lines or specks of color, and the longer she stared into them, the more she sensed a strange, lurking power behind their shining surface. She looked elsewhere to prevent herself from becoming lost in his gaze, and so her eyes traveled over the curves of his face and the white teeth behind his smirk, making her realize that his incisors were unnaturally sharp. Her musings nearly made her miss his next comment.
"Tell me about the play that you like," he told her.
"It's about a necromancer who murders visitors to her castle while pretending to be innocent until she's outwitted by a guard." Cassius grinned in Horace's direction, but the other man was too busy with his cognac to notice.
"It sounds like a play that my friend would enjoy," Cassius said, and Portia had the distinct feeling that she had just missed a private joke. It was the first time that she'd seen anything even remotely close to some type of camaraderie between the diplomats, but with Cassius's sense of humor, perhaps the comment reflected a cruel joke rather than friendliness.
"I apologize again for interrupting your company," she whispered, drawing his attention back to her. "I hope that no one minds."
"They won't say anything," Cassius snorted, as if amused by the suggestion. "And as for the apology, how could I send away such a beautiful lady? You'll keep me sane throughout this torture." He had never called her beautiful before, and Portia nearly missed his words until he continued to sink that stare of his into her body. She was suddenly very aware of her slightly exposed cleavage and how her leg touched his, for she'd received very little male attention throughout her life. Oh, there had been talk of possible marriage plans when she was a mere girl, but they'd crumbled as she'd grown and become focused on work and fighting. Blades had teased her about that, for guards were mostly male, and her status as one had seemed to lessen her feminine qualities in most minds.
"That's your second glass, Cassius," she commented as he held up his empty goblet for a servant to refill.
"It's not for me," he replied, smugly smiling as he held out the red liquid toward her. "I had this specially ordered for tonight. Please, try some. Kator na lem."
"It's sweet?" she translated, reaching for the glass while part of her wanted to refuse. He could have done something to the drink, but that was nonsense considering their public location and the fact that he'd just taken a sip from it. One glass wouldn't affect her, and so she took the stem in her hand and swirled the liquid once or twice. "Is it common in Morrowind for an unrelated man and woman to share a glass?" she asked, for it was an unusual practice in the capitol.
"Only when the two are comfortable with one another," Cassius replied. I'll see what Tamil has to say about that.
"And what makes you think that I'm comfortable with you, sir?" she pressed, noting how Cassius smirked at her question.
"You took the glass, my lady." Very few called her 'my lady', and it seemed to her that she had been called that by someone else recently, but she couldn't think straight with the smell of alcohol beneath her nostrils, and a handsome diplomat daring her to drink. Her lips touched the lip of the glass, and the wine poured over her tongue in an odd blend of spice and honey, the taste pleasing as she allowed herself to drink half of the unknown substance.
"I am walking home unaccompanied," she said, holding out the rest of the glass for him. She could already feel the alcohol in her system, and it was much stronger than she'd anticipated. "I'd better not drink too much."
"But the night is young," Cassius countered, taking the glass way from her. "And I would be rude to send you home alone in the dark now that I know you have no escort, Sherkyn."
"Sherkyn?" Portia questioned, feeling the wine warm her body, and for some reason, the chaos sphere was beginning to burn as Cassius's breath tickled her ear.
"It's a daedric term reserved for certain women," he explained. "Female dremora are trained warriors who spend most of their time raising children and defending cities and homes while males war and hunt. If a female is respected and skilled, she is called Sherkyn. It's Oblivion's equivalent of calling someone a lady, and the term is better suited to you since you are also a fighter." Portia could feel Cassius staring at her profile as her head turned back toward the stage to oversee a monologue, and she would be lying if she said that she wasn't flattered by such a talented fighter's praise.
"I don't believe Oblivion or its master would appreciate me being compared to the denizens of that world," she let pass, thinking of how enraged Mehrunes would probably be at a term of respect being applied to her.
"Oh, I think that he'd find the title most suiting," Cassius replied, voice low and stern. "Surely you've read enough about Oblivion to know that its master admires courage and audacity, both of which you possess." Portia returned her gaze to him with a veil over her face.
"And does admiration for an opponent outweigh a prince's wrath?" she questioned.
"Sometimes it might," Cassius enigmatically replied. They lapsed into silence as the orchestra struck up a melancholy tune, and the music actually found a place in Portia's appreciation as she listened to the moving crescendo of strings, flutes in the background, trilling out a tearful farewell. "I can't stand another minute of this," Cassius whispered. "Come with me."
"Excuse me?" Portia asked, stunned by his hand wrapping around hers, one of his fingers moving to her lips to cut off her loud protest. Already, others were looking at them, and Portia reprimanded herself for a lack of discretion. Somehow this diplomat always managed to put her in awkward situations.
"We won't be missed," Cassius promised, pulling her to her feet and guiding her toward the door. If she forcefully resisted him now, she would make a scene and break the trust that Cassius assumed he held over her. Perhaps this would be the perfect opportunity to question him more thoroughly and gain some answers, and thank the gods for her foresight to bring extra weapons. Who knew whether or not she was being watched as they exited the theater, two silent people treading the streets of a city still scattered with early night wanderers. Where was Cassius taking her?
**************
"This is better," Mehrunes announced, sitting on a crate in the open night air. The Arena towered above them, the stands now quiet, and the training platforms surrounding the circular building vacant. It was on one such stone rectangle that Mehrunes watched as Portia positioned herself on the crate next to him, her green dress hiding her feet as they dangled. The moon was hidden behind passing clouds, and so it was difficult to discern her features in the dark, but he could sense that she was comfortable. The enchanted wine was probably helping, for the rare vintage tended to have that affect on new drinkers.
"An interesting place to escape to," the woman commented.
"You said that you prefer a starker image of life, and here it is," Mehrunes replied. "It could be better, but I suppose that most people do not like fighting in the dark. It's an acquired comfort." His eyes traveled up the stone walls before them, the dark outlines of bats swooping through the air around the Arena's upper levels, and crickets playing music in the background.
"It's quiet now," Portia observed. "I've never been here at night like this, and during the day, all you hear is the clash of weapons and cheering." Finding that the cool night air suited him, Mehrunes imagined returning to the Deadlands and the heat of lava. There, the sounds of battle were almost endless if he wandered to the eastern section of the palace, for that was where the warriors trained and tested one another.
"The sound of strife is far more agreeable than an orchestra," Mehrunes allowed to pass his lips, and he wondered if the level of combat in this arena matched that of his dremora. Doubtful, and what an insulting thing to even consider. "Wouldn't you agree?"
"I prefer the peace of night," Portia replied. "But since you obviously disagree, what exactly are we doing out here in the dark, Cassius? The others will wonder where we've gone, and I would prefer not to be regarded as a slut." Mehrunes chuckled and stood, hands reaching for one of the training weapons so commonly left out on these grounds. His fingers found a long dagger with a slender blade, and he twirled it between his fingers with ease, Portia's eyes following every sweep of the deadly metal.
"I don't have a reputation for being romantic, Sherkyn," he told her. "So I hardly think that people will call you a whore for leaving the theater with me."
"This from a man who runs with Horace Pantrov," Portia sharply replied, and Mehrunes inwardly smirked at her quick response. She certainly did not hold her opinions in his presence, but maybe that was because she'd found him to be an open listener. After all, he did not condemn her interest in such topics as Oblivion, and he loved that no amount of disapproval would have given her pause in her pursuits. She was smart enough to study her opponents, but that only made him further question her motivations for agreeing to his request that they leave the theater.
His own motivations were clear enough, for he'd requested her company in order to escape the extreme tediousness of the play, and the opportunity to lure her into private conversation was irresistible. He saw so little of this woman who'd bested him, and every time they met, he was reminded of why he was reluctant to end his chase. Even now, with her soft skin almost glowing in what little moonlight escape the cloudy blankets above, he wanted to both hurt and preserve her—rights that he retained solely for himself, for she was his to handle as he saw fit.
"Where exactly are you from in Morrowind, Cassius?"
"The central region," he answered, the mountainous landscape of Red Mountain more similar to his homeland than any other place in Morrowind. "And where do you hail from, Sherkyn?" Portia actually laughed as she stood and strolled beyond him toward the edge of the platform, Mehrunes watching her back as he continued to play with the dagger. Her penchant for exposing herself to death at his hands never failed to rouse his predatory instincts.
"You hate small talk, so I'll ignore your question," she dismissed. Too true, he agreed.
"Tell me, Portia," he began. "Do you always wander off with strange men in the dead of night and expose your back to them?" His mocking tone would not go unnoticed, and he anticipated her sarcastic reply with a smile, knowing that she wouldn't take an insult laying down. She was such a fighter, and more than decent company for an evening. If she hadn't come along, he'd probably be in the manor right now, waiting to see what Ruined Cloak reported, or perhaps going out to a tavern for a drink.
"Cassius," Portia stated, voice stern. "Do you honestly think that I'm unarmed?"
"Of course not." Oh, if he had known how strong she was when she'd come to Oblivion, he wouldn't have carelessly tossed her into the dungeon. No, he would have reserved her interrogation for himself.
"If you tried anything, you'd regret it," she continued, her challenge kindling his aggressive spirit, even though it was completely unintentional on her part. He truly counted himself lucky to be pitting himself against her, but then again, he had the luxury of playing around since he held the upper hand.
"Sherkyn, I would never dream of killing you from behind," he told her. "I have nothing against unfair advantages. I often use them to reach my goals, but I prefer not kill from behind since my opponent cannot see the final blow coming." The cloud cover gradually shifted and allowed a full view of the moon's growing roundness, reminding Mehrunes of the coming time when he would leave this world. Its light also flowed over Portia, whose green eyes captured the ghostly white orb above and reflected it back at Mehrunes as he turned in her direction. Such steady, cautious eyes, and yet there was a hint of distance to them that made him wonder what she was thinking.
"I've given your comment some thought," she spoke, her subdued words carrying through the mostly silent night air. "And I believe that you're right. Mehrunes Dagon would not disapprove of me being called Sherkyn. Sometimes I want to classify him as a mere vindictive demon, but that's a simplification. He's far more than the destruction that he sometimes causes, and it's true that he admires a challenging enemy, even if the admiration ultimately leads him to murder."
"It doesn't always end in murder," Mehrunes corrected, voice mellow and dagger stilling as he walked to stand beside Portia, both looking out over the pathway encircling the Arena. "Perhaps you've never come across the story, but there was once another thief. He stole a special razor from one of the prince's shrines, and Mehrunes Dagon sent his men to kill the thief, but the man was slippery and continually escaped. It enraged the prince and made him want to torture the man, but when he finally caught his prey, the thief asked to fight the prince so that he could die with dignity. It was a request that a warrior appreciated, and so they fought and the thief died, but I wouldn't call that murder. When someone challenges a daedric prince, death isn't always a given, but when neither opponent will fold, it is often inevitable."
"You have a strong grasp of Mehrunes' lore," Portia commented. "I've never come across that story, but I see your point, and I admit that I have personal reasons for not always wanting to accept that Mehrunes is in fact more warrior than brute. He actually seems to be well-respected among his kind, and his realm is so orderly that it surprised me at first. I expected corpses to be hung from every wall, but..." Her voice trailed off, and Mehrunes could tell that she didn't want to reveal too much about her past. "Pardon my rambling," she apologized. "Sometimes I get carried away with a topic, and I haven't found many people who understand my interest in Oblivion."
"I don't mind," Mehrunes replied. "And I am curious as to what personal reasons you have to hate Mehrunes Dagon." Portia's hair caught a gentle breeze, making loose strands blow across Mehrunes' face, and bringing with them the faint smell of scented oil—no doubt rubbed into the woman's hair to make it glisten for the theater. He could feel her life energy from standing so close to her, and the proximity oddly calmed him tonight. He had once felt this way when her spirit accompanied him through the halls of Oblivion, his mood curious, comfortable, and a bit cruel in wanting to rattle his company's senses. If he closed his eyes, he would be able to pretend that the unknown being was merely hanging about as he lounged in his palace quarters, but the illusion faded when Portia began speaking. Her tongue worked to find the right words in daedric, and the softened tones of his language made Mehrunes completely forget his original intention in bringing her out here: to search her for the chaos sphere yet again.
"Hate is a strong word, and I don't hate Mehrunes. I just...He hurt me," Portia's voiced confronted him.
"How?" Mehrunes pressed, stepping closer to her intoxicating presence. He could kill or do whatever he wished with her when he was so close, and she was talking about being hurt by him, which held his interest. Her level, matter-of-fact voice did not for a moment fool him as to the emotion that must be hidden beneath the surface, for her wound still bled as it always would.
"I'm in no mood to discuss it," Portia stiffly dismissed. "Suffice it to say that the prince and I are not on good terms." Mehrunes wanted to continue talking about this and hear her take on his hunt for her, but her stony expression told him that persuasion would not work. Such a shame that he couldn't force her, but maybe he could jolt her solid front, just to make her less confident, and so he reached out with his power, brushing against her skin and causing her to stiffen.
"Are you cold?" he asked.
"No, why?"
"You seem uncomfortable," he observed with a hidden smirk while his power washed over her, searching for any trace of the chaos sphere. He could almost hear it calling him, but its summons was different than before, and he was half-distracted when Portia's energy met his own. Was it her energy? It carried her signature, yet it was far too powerful for a human, and it was tainted with chaos. Perhaps her passage through Oblivion had done more to her than he'd imagined, and the scent of his realm on her sent a ripple of electricity through him as he tentatively explored the strange patterns woven about her. How interesting, and a bit alluring as his energy glided over her body. He hadn't noticed her abnormal amount of energy before now, but everyday the connection between her and the elements of his existence grew stronger, alerting him to things of which he'd previously been ignorant.
"On second thought," Portia said, staring at him with hawklike, prying eyes. "Perhaps it's a bit chill for staying out. I had best be going home." He dropped his energy, and Portia admirable appeared unmoved as he offered her his arm.
"Then I shall escort you," he replied.
"I would refuse, but I don't think that it'd do any good," Portia said, and he heard the smile in her voice. Why was she less shaken by his power than before? "But you don't know where I live either." She took his arm, and they walked, Mehrunes perfectly aware of the fact that she was leading them in the wrong direction and wondering why she chose to do so. She was being careful with how much he knew about her, and yet she'd already given so much away. With a smile, he felt her pull them to a halt.
"This is far enough," Portia announced. "Good night, Cassius."
"Not yet," he refused. "Have lunch with me tomorrow. Horace will be busy with a meeting, and boredom tends to make me reckless."
"Alright," Portia agreed. "Until tomorrow then."
"Goodnight, Sherkyn." And they parted ways, Mehrunes more fixated than ever on Portia's strange relationship to him and his plane of existence.
************
"An interesting evening out, my lord?" Horace conversationally asked when the prince returned. The Imperial sat in a chair, a servant setting a platter of rolls and jam beside him. He hadn't seen the prince since Portia had accompanied the man out of the theater during the first act, which left Horace to answer certain questions about his 'friend'. Really, the very idea of him and Mehrunes being close companions made his eyes roll.
"I'm never going with you to one of those plays again," Mehrunes grunted. "The playwright of that shit should be tied in a sack and thrown from a bridge." Horace frowned as he prepared a roll for himself, crumbs falling across his expensive tunic and annoying him.
"Your exit made Lenicon wonder how serious you are about the cause. He agreed to see whether or not any of his old associates know about an artifact being taken into the palace, but he thinks that—and I quote—that you're an idiot who needs to take the Dawn more seriously. He also advises that you keep your pants up around Portia Augustine since she's known for being independent and connected to authorities."
"They think that I'm chasing woman?" Mehrunes asked shortly. "And an idiot. I'll remember that he said that for later. Did I miss anything else? I don't suppose that anyone was foolish enough that you had to kill the servant."
"The boy was chosen because he's deaf, so no harm done there. And you only missed an invitation for dinner from a lovely, young Breton. Your more exotic appearance has drawn attention from certain ladies, but I told her that you've already found someone to keep you occupied." Horace left the unspoken question hanging in the air, and Mehrunes glared at the man. For a prince of destruction, the Imperial thought that Mehrunes was a bit impulsive and unfocused when it came to his stay here. Now, it wasn't that the prince was slacking. No, their work was progressing nicely, and Mehrunes made sure that it did, delegating and pursuing his interests with ease, but whenever that woman showed up, he tended to push other business aside. Couldn't he have just beaten the woman to a pulp and brought her back here for questioning? Okay, so their timetable wouldn't allow such blatant activities, but it would be so much faster in getting Horace his reward and this unwanted guest out of his house.
"Don't question how I spend my time, mortal," Mehrunes gruffly warned him, dark eyes flashing dangerously.
"Of course not, my lord," Horace replied. "I merely find it insulting that Portia Augustine walks with such freedom while we look for what she took." Mehrunes shot Horace a wicked smirk that made the young aristocrat nervous, for it was the look of a cruel master, and one whom he had to be careful not to anger. No matter how annoyed he felt, he had to humble himself or face the consequences.
"She's not carefree, Imperial. Far from it, and I tighten the screw a little more every time we meet." Grabbing a roll for himself, the prince headed for the stairs, Ruined Cloak already appearing from the shadows as his lord approached. "Don't meddle in my personal affairs, Horace," he advised. "You've done remarkably well so far, and there's too much work to be done for you to be concerned over a few hours."
"Yes, my lord." Sometimes Mehrunes wished that he'd brought a few dremora with him instead of having to deal with humans.
