Chapter 23:

Horace stood behind the statue of Akatosh in the Arboretum, afternoon sun beating down on his neatly combed hair as he awaited Caranya's arrival. The extended wait was likely intentional, but if that was the necromancer's petty idea of revenge, he'd overlook it. Then again, he imagined that if she could, she'd zap him and transport the body to some shady basement for experimentation. Necromancers were often eccentric like that when it came to their art, and thinking over his recent experience, Horace could understand why Traven was so hellbent on eradicating the dark arts.

Caranya's raven hair and tall figure eventually came into view as the soft autumn wind played with nearby clusters of lavender. She appeared as slinky and confident as always, and Horace wondered if she would ever take him up on his offer. Not likely. Her pride would prevent any allowances, but the man could still imagine, even if the actualization of his thoughts would cause some concern. Dangerous women could either be exhilarating or a real curse depending on the circumstances.

"Your friend will be most pleased with what I've found, Horace," the darkly-colored Altmer purred. "It will be worth a reward, if I do say so myself."

"He'll decide," Horace replied. "And the man's hard to persuade, so I wouldn't hold my breathe. What are you here to tell me?" Caranya clasped her hands before her torso in a dainty mannerism that didn't quite suit her, and with a small frown, she narrowed her eyes at the Imperial.

"You might be more polite," she warned. "You may have dirt on me, but you've given me plenty of fuel to start a fire of my own." Horace shot her his best arrogant smile, his tone becoming condescending as he answered her.

"We both know that you wouldn't dare, necromancer, so stop playing and report."

"No artifacts have recently come into university possession," she relented, although in a bored tone that suggested she was only humoring him. "However, Traven has prepared to receive some sort of artifact that hasn't yet arrived. He mentioned it at one of the council meetings, although he wasn't very forthcoming with details. I'm sure that he's closely discussing the topic with certain mages, but let's just say that I'm not one of his favored confidants. I've also gathered that the artifact is an ornament of some kind, and an enchanted stand is set up for it in Traven's quarters."

"On second thought, I think that you'll be getting a fresh delivery soon," Horace stated. "Is that all?"

"Yes, and you can wipe that smug smile off of your face or I'll scratch it off." With a parting glare, she left him in the park, the Imperial pleased with what he could report, for she was his find, and if she did good work, it meant that he'd done good work. Mehrunes would reward him as well as her, and considering his track record thus far, he stood to gain much more from this venture than originally envisioned.

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

"Arelius knows about my problem," Portia confided in Gilthan as a servant opened the front door for them, the young man hurrying to offer them slippers since their boots were wet. "He's been a mentor to me for many years, and he's as concerned about Cassius and Horace as you are." She didn't tell him that she was a Blade, or that Arelius commanded the Blades within the city, but she could tell him this much so that he trusted the man. Perhaps telling him more wouldn't have mattered since he'd proven a true friend, but then again, the Blades were supposed to be secret, and until she knew what Arelius intended to tell the high elf, she had to be discreet.

"It sounds like this Arelius and I will get along splendidly," Gilthan cheerfully suggested. Portia hoped that they didn't get along overly well, but she kept the thought to herself as she smiled in reply.

"Just be warned: he always has his reasons."

"I heard that," the very man said as he stepped into the foyer. "You should let the man make his own decisions, Portia." But there was no bite behind his words, only an amused smile as he shook hands with the elf before him. "Arelius," he introduced himself.

"Gilthan Lorenlee, and it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm grateful that Portia has someone else looking out for her."

"She does get herself into tight situations now and then," Arelius agreed.

"Because I'm put in them against my will," Portia reminded him, a bit cross with her superior for making light of what he'd put her through. He merely inclined his head to briefly look at her with a touch of amusement as he led his company toward the sitting room where a servant was waiting with tea and light treats. Portia was sure that Lucretia wouldn't dream of inviting company over without having the servants prepare refreshments and snacks.

"I've been told that you're aware of Portia's current situation," Arelius stated, seating himself while Gilthan eagerly looked over a tray of pastries. "And you've apparently been very useful in helping her understand her situation."

"I do my best," Gilthan said, half-listening to a maid tell him that the little bun on the left of the tray was filled with jelly. "I don't like seeing the university take advantage of people, and I daresay that Traven has his eyes on fair Portia."

"He's asked Gilthan to spy on me," Portia glumly informed Arelius. "The Arch-mage wants to take the sphere as soon as he can."

"Power is very tempting," Gilthan sighed. "And he's a bit full of himself. Everyone in the guild knows it, even if they don't say it."

"I see," Arelius mused. "Then you are not against helping us despite the university's plans." Gilthan swallowed a bite of pastry, using a napkin to wipe cream away from his face as he glanced at Portia.

"Who exactly is 'us'?" he questioned, making Arelius smile.

"You were right to involve this one, Portia," he commended. "Why don't you see if Lucretia needs help with anything while Gilthan and I talk?" Portia rose against her will, knowing that she was duty-bound to listen to Arelius, but desperately wanting to remain and listen to the conversation. Who knew what he was going to tell Gilthan.

"Must I?" she challenged, causing Arelius to nod, but with a warm look that told her she'd hear all about this later. Yeah right. He'd omit something, or otherwise he wouldn't be sending her out of the room. "I warned you, Gilthan," she added as she shut the door behind her, inwardly debating if she was warring over this order for nothing or if she had caved too easily. She didn't want Arelius to think that she was still passionate about following his directions or so blindly supportive of the empire, although she wouldn't lie and say that the urge to act was gone. Her actions weren't for the empire, so was it selfish preservation that compelled her? Perhaps, but Kvatch's death toll bothered her, and the implication of what would happen if Mehrunes won dogged her steps.

No, she wanted this to be for something more than herself, but to go about her job solely on someone else's terms made her cringe. The idea could even ignite her anger if she dwelled on it, but her feet kept moving away from Gilthan and Arelius. The elder Blade conceded to her in some ways, but he would never let certain issues drop, and that made her wonder what he had planned for Gilthan. If he endangered her friend as he'd done to her...Her train of thought was severed as she found Lucretia in a sunny side room, a book opened on the woman's lap.

"Sometimes I don't know how you've tolerated him for years," Portia dryly commented as she took a seat by the window, eyes casually sweeping over the streets outside.

"I knew what he was like before I married him," Lucretia replied, book lowering as she took a sip of a richly scented drink that Portia didn't recognize. There was a hint of mint, and maybe some cinnamon, and the smell soothed her as she examined the thick callouses on her hands. In a matter of weeks, her palms had transformed back into how they'd looked when she'd been on active duty, and she had her teaching position to thank for that. In a way, the hard patches of skin were comforting in their familiarity and certainty of skill, but they also gave away her profession to anyone who bothered looking. How did Tamil always keep her hands so smooth?

"How are the children?" Portia asked.

"Enjoying the countryside," Lucretia gently smiled. "The grandparents have taken them to Cheydinhal for a few days, and the boys have always loved being out in nature. I'm sure they'll come home with several ruined pairs of pants." Portia smiled and wondered what it would be like to have a family and such responsibility on her shoulders. The idea wasn't very appealing, and the thought of pregnancy stretching her hip scar repulsed her. She had enough on her plate as it was.

"I'm sorry that you had to send them away," she apologized. "I didn't mean to endanger your family."

"Have you see the number of cases that Arelius has been involved in?" Lucretia calmly replied, rejecting the apology. "He has enough enemies for ten men, and we've always managed to live our lives in relative peace. Danger is no stranger here." The woman seemed so strong when Portia compared herself to Arelius's wife. Did the woman ever have a weak moment? It was hard to imagine, and Portia wondered if, like herself, Lucretia sometimes put on a front until strength became natural. Sometimes, if one pretended to be brave long enough, it actually became something real.

"You haven't had a restless night in a long time," Lucretia noted. "Perhaps the clouds are clearing a bit."

"Just because I no longer scream doesn't mean that I sleep well," Portia sighed.

"No, but it does mean that you're handling it better," Lucretia encouraged.

"Perhaps," Portia allowed, but she wasn't sure that coping was the best idea. Lately, the sphere had been less troublesome, even when Mehrunes called on her. Whereas it had once forced her against her will, she now found herself almost guiding its power, using it to resist the prince even as it bound her too him. She could even feel Mehrunes right now if she triggered the power that enveloped her body, intuitively knowing that he was restless. Mostly she avoided opening a connection, yet the ease with which she was beginning to approach the matter was a new development that she didn't understand. The sphere felt less foreign when its warmth spread over her body, almost like it was a natural, unthreatening part of her, which disturbed her greatly.

Last night, she'd been sleeping when she heard a noise outside her door, and almost instantly her senses had shot to life. Jerking upward in bed, she'd waited, the chaos sphere glowing hotly against her skin as her emotions triggered it, and she hadn't even been trying to harness its power. The ease was not something that she took lightly, and so she kept it at bay as often as possible, also fearing that it would give her away to Mehrunes Dagon. The connections she'd been sharing with him lately were increasingly odd and poignant, like last night when she'd been with Cassius, speaking of which...

Today, when Cassius had pinned her to that wall, she'd thought that the sphere would flare to life, but it hadn't. Gods, but he'd been close, and something about his intensity had swam through her veins and suffocated her ability to call on the sphere, a strange pull binding her to him in that moment and making her feel remarkably immobile and warm. The feeling had been similar to what the sphere did, but this had not felt threatening after her initial shock, the warmth infusing her whole person and making her wonder if the sphere really had remained dormant or so consumed her body that she couldn't tell where it began and she ended. Cassius had somehow been thrown into the mix yet remained distinctly separate from it.

There was also the way that the man's wrath had melted into something else bordering admiration as he held her against the stone, his dark eyes gleaming in a manner that had morphed from concentration to a near leer. The memory still played itself out in her mind as she waited for Gilthan and Arelius to call her, the female Blade pondering the significance of Cassius's ability to draw her back to him again and again despite his tendencies.

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

Gilthan sat working on his third pastry as Arelius finished speaking, the high elf taking his time to digest the presented information before finally deciding that four pastries would be one too many.

"So Portia has been working for you the entire time," he said, simplifying Arelius's comments. "I should have guess as much. I admit that I had my suspicions since the day Traven told me to assure her that the sphere wouldn't harm her."

"Are you interested in helping us?" Arelius asked. "The empire could use the service of someone as resourceful and daring as yourself." Gilthan chuckled and wiped a few crumbs from his robe's sleeves while remembering Portia's warning and wondering how many times Arelius had conned her into doing something.

"I'm not so concerned about the empire in general," he stated. "However, I would like to see Portia get out of this alive, and life under the rule of Mehrunes Dagon doesn't appeal to me. He'd probably be Traven times twenty. So there you have it," he agreed. "I'll see what I can do to help. I've never played by rules anyway, and if you need anything, you can send Portia to tell me."

"Actually, I have something that I'd like you to agree to before you leave today." The man didn't waste time, did he? "I'd like you to keep an eye on Portia." Gilthan opened his mouth to protest, but Arelius held up a hand to calm his indignation. "Not in that sense," he corrected. "I am busy, and my other close operative is hunting down information on aristocratic Dawn members. There are other Blades, but they are not directly involved in this, and certainly not skilled enough to handle the pressure. What I need is someone to watch Portia's back when no one else can. It's a bit of a personal request, but I feel responsible for the woman's welfare as her superior."

"Well, when you put it like that," Gilthan began, collecting himself, "I would be honored to help protect her. If she ever finds out that you asked me to do so though, she'll have an...unpleasant response."

"Why do you think that I sent her out of the room?" Arelius joked. "She considers me a meddler, even if she is fond of me, so I can't get as close to her as you can. And I know for a fact that Cassius has been showing a lot of interest in her, to the point where I am wondering what he wants with her. Your continued investigating will be appreciated, and if you could make yourself available to assist her in any way possible, it would not be forgotten. Now that you know what she is doing, you can be more involved." Gilthan adopted a serious expression and nodded, his eyes closing in thought before he opened them and broke into a broad smile.

"I'm at your disposal," he promised. "And I don't suppose that I could..."

"One of the servant will wrap some pastries for you," Arelius smiled, finding the elf an odd one indeed.

"Many thanks," Gilthan beamed. "Now where has our pretty Blade gone? Portia!" He stood and exited the room ahead of Arelius, Portia quickly appearing from another room to join them. "I've had a most delightful time with Arelius here, and I must go now, but I'll be free to help you with any missions that you undertake."

"Um..." Portia looked at Arelius, who merely gave her a bank stare. "Thanks, Gilthan," she said. "We'll talk later. Are you sure that you can't stay longer?"

"I could," he said, sounding disappointed. "But my boss is expecting me for help with one of his projects. He's running so many at once that nothing gets done if I'm not around to help." For some reason, she felt that Gilthan was trying very hard not to laugh, but she couldn't understand why. "Don't worry," he whispered. "Arelius didn't say anything too harsh." Then, louder, "Good day!"

"Your friend is one of a kind," Arelius commented as the high elf put on his still damp shoes and headed for the door, pastries in hand. "And very concerned for your safety." Portia could tell that Arelius was eyeing her in question, trying to discern whether there was something between her and the elf, but she wouldn't give away anything.

"He's very considerate," she stated. "And what exactly did you tell him?"

"Nothing that's secret," Arelius assured. "I merely told him about our work so that he can be more helpful in the future." Portia clearly didn't believe him, but Arelius dismissed himself to attend to more important matters, his subordinate glaring at his back the entire time. It was good to have a few light moments in the midst of their demanding work, and with his back to her, he smiled, wondering how badly she wanted to throw something at him right now.

She had changed, and yet she hadn't. She was tougher, more capable of handling his orders, and more cynical by far, but she still sought his approval. It was something that he'd expected would have long since vanished since she'd become more critical of him, and he'd assumed that it had, but sometimes, when she reported, he could see the close way that she watched his responses. There was also the fact that she was here, working for him again despite her former desire to shun her prior existence, and she was as apt a pupil as ever. It would soon be time to cut the mentoring cord with Portia, but she wasn't ready to accept more duties yet, and until she was, Gilthan was a small step. Arelius would get the two to work on a mission together, which would in turn show Portia that she could be comfortable doing more than solo work. She had the potential and experience to be one of the best, and she would be.

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

Mehrunes Dagon was restless as he picked through a bowl of strawberries, searching for the largest and juiciest of the morsels as he waited for Horace to arrive. The red fruit really was quite good, and although he was only in Tamriel to further his plans, he'd found tasting different foods to be a somewhat enjoyable distraction. He'd always loved to drink, especially after battle, and his realm had wonderfully strong brews, but food was another matter entirely. As an immortal daedric prince, he didn't even require replenishment, and besides that, Oblivion's bitter crops were mostly to feed animals for their meat—not for leisurely, culinary delight. The idea of food for pleasure was totally foreign to him unless in reference to reveling in digesting a particularly difficult beast, but here, among mortals, he found himself prone to sampling and snacking. It reminded him of Sanguine with his love of wine cheese, which was a comparison that momentarily disgusted him.

"Would you like some more, my lord?" Ruined Cloak asked. The cloaked man stood near the door, unwavering as Mehrunes lounged. "The servants have been sent home for the night, but I might be of service."

"Don't bother," Mehrunes dismissed.

"Yes, my lord." The man was quite the respectful and obedient servant—his fervent desire to serve and kill the prince's enemies bordering on what Mehrunes derided as blind devotion. The enthusiasm of these Dawn members with their praise of an assumed new order sprang from somewhere that he couldn't fathom. Still, Ruined Cloak merited attention, and the killer might even be capable of besting more powerful dremora in combat, which would make him particularly valuable except for the man's utter belief in Mehrunes' intentions. When the servant realized that Mehrunes was not interested in ruling and reordering Tamriel, but in giving the empire the most violent shock of the age, what would happen to that devotion?

"Horace is here," Ruined Cloak stated, and Mehrunes absently nodded. Where had that human diplomat been all day? He hated to be kept waiting.

"My lord?" Horace's voice sounded through the door.

"Enter," Mehrunes ordered, anxious to hear what news the slippery man bore.

"The chaos sphere is not at the University, but Traven is preparing to receive a powerful artifact, and our lovely lady friend is convinced that the Arch-mage knows more than he lets on. The council has been discussing the matter of securing something for several weeks, but it's hushed. She'll let us know if and when the said artifact arrives."

"Perfect," Mehrunes nodded. "Then there are only two options left. Either the Blades have the sphere, or Portia's hidden it somewhere."

"Since she is living with the man who supposedly runs the city's Blades, I'd say the former," Horace voiced, watching Mehrunes lean into his chair.

"Arelius is a prime target," Ruined Cloak agreed. "And if he's smart, the guard's murder will have already tipped him off to our interest in him. Perhaps...forgive such a blind guess, my lord, but it's possible that he's known of the Dawn operating in the city for some time due to our arrival. I've told you of the incident on the ship, and there was nothing on the vessel to attract a thief of such skill as the dark elf whom I fought."

"Then let us find a weak link in Arelius's household," Mehrunes darkly contemplated, irked by the necessity for sneaking rather than slicing. "We need someone who can inform us of the house's activities and daytime schedule, and dumb enough to tell us. I don't want to attack prematurely and find out that the Blades have the sphere elsewhere. Blood might cause them to move it, and I haven't the time or patience to chase it to another city." Horace leaned against the doorway and gazed upon Mehrunes in speculation, the prince catching the subtle stare as the young man prepared to speak. "Yes?" he darkly anticipated.

"This Portia Augustine...you truly believe that she's keeping the sphere close to her, but for what purpose?"

"Foolish question," Ruined Cloak commented, earning a glare from Horace. "The Blades do not have headquarters like normal Imperial servants, and even the government has little idea of who they are. They would keep the sphere in personal holdings, not the palace or somewhere where another person might stumble upon it. If Arelius is the leader, then it will be with him, and Portia is with him. Think before you speak, Imperial."

"You'd best remember that this is my home that you're staying in," Horace cooly reminded the man opposite him. "And I was merely considering all angles before jumping to conclusions, servant." Mehrunes wondered if the two wouldn't eventually try to kill one another, but no, as amusing as that would be, they wouldn't try anything while he was there, and Ruined Cloak was very controlled.

"Enough," he ordered. "Look for a safe way into that house."

"Yes, my lord," both men responded, Ruined Cloak's bow always a bit lower than Horace's. Only when the diplomat was feeling particularly flattering did he ever bend like that or kneel, and on the one occasion where he had kneeled, Mehrunes could have sworn that he heard the man's pride cracking. "Have you anything else to share, Horace?" he asked.

"Not much, although I was speaking with some of the men whom you met at the theater, and it seems that Lenicon was seen being pulled aside by a dark elf after the show. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't care, but it is very rare to see a dark elf at the theater. Very few procure seats among the aristocracy, and no one recognized the woman." Mehrunes' eyes shifted to Ruined Cloak's cowl, and although the man appeared impassive, he knew that his servant was itching to know more. Apparently this elf was the only person to ever fight and escape from him alive. How many people had died at the dark figure's hands? He'd asked once, and been told 34 ½, the half for a man with only one arm.

"Lenicon will be handled," Mehrunes assured with a slight smile at Ruined Cloak. "Now leave me. Work begins in the morning, and no one dies without my permission. Lenicon has time yet to explain himself."

"With some persuasion?" Ruined Cloak asked, hopeful.

"Perhaps. Horace will find out more first."

"My lord." And the two left him in peace to debate where his mission was heading. It would be fairly easy to trace Lenicon's activities due to Horace's prolific social connections, and since the University was now removed as a suspect, their energies could be more focused. The sphere was probably somewhere in Arelius's house, but finding it could prove nigh impossible without caution, which killed Mehrunes to admit, but there were things to occupy him until the time came to strike—things like a certain woman whose fleeting spirit teased him almost nightly. Scarcely did he channel his powers before he could feel her floating beyond him, just out of reach, and the harder he reached, the more she seemed to pull away. How she accomplished that was a mystery beyond his understanding, for he'd controlled much of their interaction until recently.

She's growing more accustomed to the chaos that is somehow inside of her. And it was inside of her, probably buried so deep from her strange transportation to his realm that she could barely understand or direct it. He sensed that dormant power, which stirred with his coaxing, and yet she seemed so reluctant to explore it. When he was with her as Cassius, he could smell the chaos about her, but she never harnessed it, seemingly ignorant until he pressured her. If only he could make her angry enough to amplify it, for then he'd get a closer look, and the power had such an affinity with his own that he wondered if perhaps she hadn't worn the chaos sphere.

No, he firmly denied, anger boiling at the thought of such blatant defiance. Mortals could not handle the power that he'd captured in the spheres, and the few that had tried had met quick, explosive ends that had, on one occasion, even wiped out an entire village. The old sage who'd helped construct the spheres had wisely feared his own creation, so if Portia were actually wearing and not just carrying the object, the effects on her would be fatal. But what if...? No, there was simply no way that she could survive. But maybe if she'd worn it for only a short time, she'd be affected but not dead. It was something he'd often considered, for it would help explain her continued ties to him—that, or it could be an ongoing sign that the sphere was with her. And somehow I can't directly feel it when I'm close to her? Mehrunes snorted in disbelief and went to his bed.

Oh, how he would love to have her firmly within his grasp and subject to his questions and will. The idea swirled through his mind as did his power as he searched for her. Even if it was futile, he liked trying, and within seconds, he'd found her, tendrils briefly touching her as she slept. He smiled as he sensed her deep sleep, her spirit barely stirring as he drew closer to her intoxicating presence, and her calm echoing throughout the abstract space in which they both dwelled. If he could just get a little closer...

Damn. She moved quickly, but not before she directed her attention to him, their spirits locking and crossing for a few seconds before he lost her. But her touch remained. He could feel her lingering presence settle over him as he relaxed on the bed and allowed her respite for the time being. It was difficult for her to avoid him, and he was sure that she'd be helpless to stop him if he were angry, but he couldn't bother with anger when he was excited about zeroing in on her. The time was coming when he'd reveal himself, and it wouldn't be much longer. Then he would see how brave she truly was, and something told him that he wouldn't be disappointed. Bloody depths of pain, but she would have made an astounding dremora, and as their conversation on Sherkyn rekindled in his memories, he couldn't help but feel that hers was the spirit of his own kind trapped in a human body.