Chapter 25:

Quick. Quiet.

Tamil was inside the manor in a heartbeat, the door unlocked through expert experience, and her body invisible as she moved through the foyer. There were advantages to being born under the Shadow, and she used them now as she glided deeper into the house. There were still servants afoot, but they were finishing their chores for the evening and would soon leave, their perfunctory movements telling all as Tamil avoided one dusting in the sitting room.

Horace certainly had stylish and expensive taste, for his home was furnished with the latest, although Tamil's eyes picked out scratches and flaws in tables and bookshelves that suggested secondhand goods. Perhaps he wasn't as well off as he pretended, which would explain his draw toward dark promises. Eyeing a red rug that stretched beneath the dining room table, Tamil crept along its length and almost chortled as she noticed an elderly manservant glowering at a painting of a nearly nude female. The old man probably found Horace's activities appalling.

Downstairs first, then upstairs.

Tamil passed through the kitchen and toward a storage room, where the most incriminating evidence consisted of a half-eaten slice of pie. Apparently the staff took to snacking behind their master's back, and cataloging such details seemed pointless, but Tamil knew better than to overlook the most innocent facts. Hands ran along walls, looking for hidden passageways, and she lifted paintings to check for panels, for the common carried potential importance. Already, she was learning much of the house's character, and she was quick to notice that although the servants worked slower when alone, they did work, and they didn't talk when they passed one another, as if they were scared of drawing attention to themselves.

"Be careful!" one hissed when another nearly knocked a vase from a stand.

"No one's here," the other servant spat, equally quiet.

"You don't know that." Tamil listened and moved on, now guarded than before. She could sense the tension among the staff, and feel the coldness of the walls. This was not a cheerful residence, at least not as of late, and as she neared the basement, she paused at the doorway leading down, door cracked open. Someone was moving around down there, and being caught in the dark, tight corridors of the basement would either mean killing someone or being seen, both of which would be a disaster. No, she'd wait until the servant came upstairs, and until then, it was time to move on to the next room.

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

"How is everyone?" Portia asked, seating herself beside Gilthan, who was accompanied by another mage. The woman sat on the other side of the rectangular table, Horace next to her, and Cassius sitting beside Portia. The server stood overlooking the scene and began taking orders, but Portia was far more interested in the apparent displeasure of Cassius. Gods, but she couldn't let him grow irritated and leave, which she knew was a threat when he became bored or annoyed. Given his blatant interest in her, she was counting on her presence being enough to anchor him here, but there was never any guarantee with this man.

"We're doing fine, Portia," Gilthan beamed. "Especially since the wine has arrived. Goblets for everyone, sir," he motioned to the server. "This lovely Breton here is Flora, a battle mage. She's traveled extensively and loves discussing work, to my great displeasure." The Breton was very young, with a sweet, round face and full lips, and Portia was assuming that she'd been brought for Horace's attention. "Horace, how have..." Gilthan's voice trailed off as Portia turned toward Cassius, feeling his dark gaze upon her.

"Horace will be happy," she commented in daedric, causing Cassius's frown to melt into a smirk.

"He hasn't had much luck with women lately," the man replied, filling his glass and the one next to his for Portia.

"Not so much," she instructed, but he filled the goblet almost to the rim before passing the bottle down the table. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that you've been taking lessons from your friend." Portia touched the flower in her hair for emphasis, silky petals sliding across her fingers as Cassius continued to smirk, his eyes occasionally rolling toward Gilthan, who Portia sensed was watching them.

"Are you suggesting that I need prodded to be sweet?" he tauntingly asked, one elbow propped on the table as he lifted his goblet.

"There's nothing sweet about you," Portia gruffly informed him, her polite and proper exterior melting as it tended to do in this man's presence. Her comment made Cassius chuckle as he downed a glass in one fell swoop and reached for the bread at the table's center.

"That hurts, Sherkyn."

"Portia, would you like some bread?" Gilthan asked, golden features pleasantly situated into a warm smile. He was holding out a buttered roll for her, and she gladly accepted it, her stomach empty and begging for some comfort.

"Thank you," she spoke, taking a bite and smiling as she noted Gilthan's perplexed expression. "What?" she asked.

"There's a flower in your hair," the elf laughed, running a hand over his head to smooth down his pale hair. "Gods above, Portia, I never thought that I'd see you wearing such a playful token. I like it." Portia smiled and nodded to Gilthan in appreciation as she noticed that the Breton and Horace were in deep conversation concerning current Imperial policies in the north. Thank you Akatosh, but the woman would give the diplomat's mind and eyes something to engage.

"You're welcome," Gilthan enigmatically stated when he noticed the direction of Portia's gaze, and then he turned eyes on Cassius. "I didn't realize that you speak daedric, sir. When did you acquire that talent?"

"It came quite naturally," Cassius smirked. "So naturally, in fact, that I no longer remember learning it." Gilthan poured more wine and considered the answer, his more serious mood apparent to Portia. Maybe it was the fact that this was his first official mission, but she wouldn't have thought that such a thing would sober him, for she'd fully expected a perky performance from him this evening. Instead, his fine, slender features were fairly reserved in expression, and his hands weren't wildly gesturing as he spoke.

"You must be very talented," Gilthan was telling Cassius, causing Portia to snap out of studying the elf's strange behavior.

"Yes, but there are others with equal skill. Portia's daedric is brilliant," Cassius commented.

"And self-taught as I understand. That's Portia for you, but I'm very interested in knowing whether you're a scholar or merely a 'student by accident', as the University calls it. And I mean no slander by that," Gilthan quickly added. "Please don't think that I'm being rude."

"Not at all," Cassius dismissed, appearing bored as he glanced toward an approaching waiter that carried a large tray. "I'm no professional scholar, but I do enjoy an occasional project. I'm actually working on something right now."

"And what would that be?" Flora asked. "Are you as educated on politics as your friend here?" Horace was looking at his best as he leaned back and lazily stretched, handsome face smiling at the young girl beside him.

"I'm a diplomat," Cassius shrugged. "But my project has nothing to do with that. It's a delicate matter that I'd prefer not to discuss. Maybe once it's finished. Then you'll know—everyone will." He smirked at Horace before the server announced their courses, plates going around the table, and another bottle of wine presented since the first was drained. The food looked divine, but smelled even better, and Portia figured that it better taste amazing for what she was paying.

"I'm in heaven," Gilthan joked as he dug into his meal. It was a sentiment that Portia inwardly agreed with as she took a bite of elderberry-glazed duck, flavor washing over her tongue while she noted the steak on a plate beside hers.

"No vegetables, Cassius?" she teased, again registering his sharp canines as he smiled. His hands moved expertly with the knife, slicing his meat and letting blood flow across his plate as the rare flesh was divided. It was far too bloody for Portia's taste.

"I'm more of a carnivore," Cassius replied. "Although I love..." He paused in cutting his food and looked to Horace in question. "The red things."

"Strawberries and apples," Horace said with a forcefully hidden frown, or what Portia thought was a frown, for the strained quality of the man's expression was obscured by the random splotches of shadow and light that fell across the table due to the arbor above.

"Yes," Cassius agreed. How the hell could he forget what strawberries and apples are called? Portia found the matter peculiar as Gilthan nudged her beneath the table.

"Sherkyn?" he quietly questioned.

"I'll explain later," she whispered while Cassius and Horace were talking.

"I know what it means," Gilthan frowned. "But it's only mentioned in one surviving copy of a book that I lent you." He actually frowned, which unsettled Portia as she returned to her food, Cassius now closely watching her blank face. He leaned closer toward her with a taunting tug to his lips, mouth nearly brushing her earlobe, and sending an unexpected jolt through her body.

"You haven't touched your wine," he teased.

"Because I remember the last one," she sharply replied.

"I didn't pick this one, so it's safe...and far less pleasing." So he was fully aware of the danger that he'd put her in before. Portia was tempted to glare at him, but the conversation was moving on, and she was swept along with it. So far, so good, except for the unexpected and irrational dislike that Cassius seemed to hold against Gilthan, which might have been expected from the arrogant man. What was more troubling was that the feeling was becoming increasingly mutual and apparent as the meal progressed. When Gilthan had said that he didn't like or trust Cassius, he hadn't been joking.

Nothing can ever be simple, Portia decided. For a mere dinner party, she felt pressured to keep a careful an eye on everyone, and the chaos sphere was kindling to life for unexplained reasons. By the Nine, where was this evening going?

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

She was made for that dress. Mehrunes could see flashes of flesh as Portia crossed her legs, the action revealing a multitude of sheer, black layers as the dress fell into place, and when she tilted her head to speak with Gilthan he stared at the necklace dropping toward her cleavage. He again felt a wave of attraction come over his body as he watched this mortal, but no amount of bust or leg was more attractive than the hint of a scar running across the side of Portia's neck. She wasn't just any woman, and the marks of past battles made him wish to see her in combat again. He could picture her standing on a precipice in the Deadlands, lava flowing below her, and red, hot wind blowing her hair behind her like a banner. She had looked so wild and untamed when she'd escaped her prison and attacked him, leaving several dead dremora in her wake. Their blood had still clung to her hands and feet when he'd found her in his private chambers.

Mehrunes had the urge to reach out and run a sharp nail down the side of Portia's face if only to see the red of her blood rise to the surface. It had been some time since he'd seen her essence, and he was willing to bet that hers was a rich, thick red to match her spirit. He could sense chaos as his mouth drew toward her ear, and he absently wondered why she wore a necklace but no earrings since her ears were pierced. Yes, the power was there, swimming beneath the surface and waiting to be triggered. No wonder she had slain his servants.

"Does he speak daedric?" Mehrunes asked, referring to Gilthan.

"Not well," Portia replied. "Our words are our own." He smiled at the idea, gleefully watching as the elf cooly glanced at him, clearly wondering what was being said.

"I don't suppose that you'd favor a walk?" he taunted.

"No. Every time we go for a walk, I end up going home extremely late or bruised."

"When did I last bruise you?" Mehrunes continued to bait her.

"When you slammed me into a wall," Portia tartly reminded.

"My apologies, Sherkyn. You crossed a line—something that seems habitual for you." She gave him a questioning look before Gilthan pulled her back into conversation, breaking the bubble in which Mehrunes had held the woman. The elf was certainly an obnoxious interference, and Mehrunes briefly imagined Gilthan dangling in a cage above a corpse masher. Then the cage's bottom would drop out, and the problem would be solved.

Mehrunes could tell that the elf didn't like him, for Gilthan was far more carefree and joking with the others, and cold, stolen glances were constant whenever Mehrunes pulled Portia into private conversation. It was irritating, and not to mention suspicious. Portia might not trust a handsome Imperial that mocked her, but she concealed it well, and Mehrunes would have said the same for this elf had he not utilized closer scrutiny. How could the prince not sharpen his eyes when the Altmer kept making Portia laugh and drawing her aside, even reaching out to straighten the flower in her hair?

Damn, bloody mortal. The mage was suspicious, and people who bantered and joked so carelessly were either one of two things in Mehrunes' experience: total morons, or far more dangerous and powerful than they appeared, and in this case, he was willing to bet on the latter. Was it his imagination, or could he sense the elf channeling magicka? Oh, it wasn't enough for concern, but it suggested that a spell might be cast, even covertly, and Mehrunes hated when people tried to slip actions by him. Obviously the elf was close to Portia, but how close? And was he also a Blade?

"You're going to bend the knife if you grip it any harder," Horace urgently whispered, his mouth hidden by his goblet. Mehrunes released the knife that he'd unconsciously been squeezing and set it aside, eating bite after bite of meat as he watched Portia uncross her legs, again exposing a creamy patch of skin. Mehrunes wondered why mortals tendered to cover themselves so carefully when female dremora walked around scantily clad in their free time. Short, plated skirts girdled their waists while sleeveless tunics kept the essentials atop in place, and that was everyday wear unless they were sparring or on duty.

And female Xivilai? They went topless most of the time, making them tempting treats that he'd sometimes indulged in, but this skin before him now...Mehrunes looked up to find Gilthan's eyebrows arched, the elf clearly surprised by his interest in Portia's body. Well, it wasn't like the prince of destruction was a sexual recluse, but let the elf think whatever he wanted. It was true that, as a daedra, he was careful who he bedded lest one of his minions challenge him to a futile duel over honor and rights, but there were plenty of available females in Oblivion who were proud to share his bed. He wasn't a sex fiend like Molag Bal, but if the urge hit him, he took what was on hand without any qualms, especially during decades of boredom like recently.

"Portia, you haven't visited me in a while," Gilthan complained, smiling as he tapped her nose with one of his fingers. What a childish gesture. "Perhaps you'd like to come visit my summer home in Skingrad some time." Portia laughed, and Mehrunes bristled, not finding the elf's close proximity to her favorable in the least. The thief was his, and his mind didn't delve into the issue of why he was so annoyed by this elf or possessive of the woman beside him. It didn't matter when his anger began to rise. All that mattered was clarifying the issue and ensuring that what was his didn't wander off. Skingrad? Hell no. Portia was staying right here, in the capitol with him, and anything that threatened to move her beyond his reach would be removed—forcefully.

"Are you okay?" Flora asked Portia. "You look pale." Yes, she did look pale, a hand moving to her forehead for a moment before she settled back into her seat, muscles loosening from unanticipated tension. That's it, Mehrunes inwardly smiled. His spike in anger had affected her, and given a little more pushing, she would need to excuse herself so that she could concentrate on working his emotions out of her head. So he pushed, fueling his fire with the desire to see Gilthan spontaneously combust and Portia backed into a corner without a friend to help her. He would make her feel helpless.

"I'm sorry," Portia said, standing. "I'm going to step out for a moment. I'll be back." She exited their booth, lost among walls of ivy within seconds, and Mehrunes' eyes trailed after her.

"I hope that she's okay," Flora stated, looking to Gilthan in question.

"Perhaps I had better check on her," Mehrunes offered, faking worry as he too stood. Before anyone could protest, he was moving out into the aisle, grapes drooping overhead, and lanterns flickering. It wouldn't take long to find her, or so he assumed as he began walking, a strange, cooling sensation briefly touching his back. Magic? He turned in question, but Gilthan was only sharing a joke with Flora and Horace. His eyes narrowed before he continued, a dark shadow to his left telling him that Ruined Cloak was nearby.

"My lord," a voice whispered. "He's cast a revealing charm on you."

"What?" Mehrunes demanded, much louder than he'd intended.

"The chaos sphere, my lord," Ruined Cloak hastily continued. "He'll have detected it if his spell was accurate. It's too powerful an artifact to be dismissed as a mere enchantment." Fetching elf!

"Take him," Mehrunes ordered. "Don't kill him yet, but make sure that he never makes it home."

"Understood, my lord." Anger boiling, Mehrunes suddenly found it easier to locate Portia, sensing her up ahead behind a heavily flowering wall. The elf would pay for interfering with him, and if Gilthan was suspicious enough to cast such a spell, had he shared his concerns with Portia? If the game had been ruined because of... Mehrunes' fists tightened, itching for a weapon as he rounded the corner and began closing in on Portia.

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

Darkness and silence were Tamil's only companions in the gloom of Horace's basement. She had entered the lower part of the house once the servants left for the night, and now she stood before a small crate in a shadowed corner. The place was rather messy and lacked foodstuffs or tools, so she couldn't understand what a servant would be doing down here, but then again, perhaps it hadn't been a servant. The dank air descended on her as she expertly moved hands over the wooden surface before her. There were no torches, but nighteye served her well in these dark places. Glowing vision scanning the area, she was more than ready to open and search every crate in this place.

She lifted the lid of the box before her only to find empty serving bowls, and so it was onto the next. Rounding a pillar, she was examining an empty crate when her eyes drifted toward a trail of muddy footprints that led further into the dark. How would mud be here, in an aristocrat's basement? Intrigued, she moved forward, a dagger loosely held in one hand as she advanced on what looked like a dead end. No, it wasn't merely a dead end, for faint light invaded the darkness from a barely visible pathway cut into the stone. Who...?

"I heard something," a voice sounded, and Tamil immediately backtracked into the darkness. The light was drawing closer, and if she didn't move quickly, they'd see her, whoever they were. Calmly and quietly, she slunk toward the empty crate that she'd seen, and climbed inside, the lid shutting over her as the voices grew louder.

"One of the servants, probably."

"They've been ordered not to come here," the other protested. "We should check the house." Damn. Suddenly, finishing her mission was looking much more difficult, but this might be the only evidence that she needed. If only she could...

Raising the lid by a fraction, she attempted to peer out but was forced to retreat when a loud noise startled her. They'd gone upstairs, so maybe she could wait until they returned to their original location, and then she could leave. Hopefully Portia could keep Cassius and Horace away for a while longer.

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

She could feel Cassius at her back, and imagine his obsidian depths boring into her, but she kept her eyes closed in concentration. Mehrunes was angry about something, and his wrath hit her in crippling surges, causing blood to seep from her wound and make her head spin. He was close to locking onto her location, and if she didn't find a way to overcome his drive, she would lose herself to her spirit form, and she couldn't risk that now. Tamil could die if she didn't buy the dark elf enough time, and the others would think her weak and incapable of working.

Come on, Portia.

Cassius was getting closer, and for a moment, she almost mistook him for Mehrunes Dagon himself, the very idea making her sweat as her fingers dug into the vines behind her. She was leaning against the wall, flower buds tickling her neck, and Cassius drawing ever closer. Was he angry with her? She shook her head, trying to think clearly, for the vibes assaulting her seemed to come from everywhere—even him, and the sphere was glowing so hotly against her that it was a wonder that the invisibility spell still held.

"Lady Augustine?" She didn't respond, even as she felt him step in front of her. "Portia," Cassius insisted. "Open your eyes." She did so, finding his voice compelling as the tension around her eased. Mehrunes' mood had passed, and she was left in this deserted corridor with a man who possessed influence and command to be envied.

"I just needed some space and air," Portia lamely explained. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine, Sherkyn," Cassius countered. He was close again, overbearing as he stood there before her, and she wondered why her body felt lighter. Part of her had drifted into the spirit world, and it was only slowly returning—a process that would be faster if she weren't so dazed. What was wrong with her? She'd been using the sphere's own power to repel Mehrunes for days, and simply by being caught off guard, she was floundering for control. It was another reminder that she was no master of the powers encircling her.

"You're not giving me space," Portia lowly noted.

"No, I suppose I'm not," Cassius smiled, one hand coming up to rest against the arbor. "But I too needed some air. I don't do social chatter very well."

"That's a lie," Portia argued. "It's the topic that needs to suite you." Cassius chuckled and placed the other hand on the wall, effectively blocking Portia's possible paths of escape. "Cassius..." she warned, voice growing colder. She wasn't in the mood for his games—not when she could still feel herself loosely detached. Calling on the sphere to force that part of herself back into balance might work, but she didn't want to risk using the sphere more than necessary. It was too dangerous an artifact to dispose of at will, and she remembered Gilthan's stories of what had happened to other mortals attempting to use it.

"How many scars do you have?" Cassius asked, a finger moving toward the back of her neck to trace a thin, white line.

"More than I'd like. Now move."

"No." His fingers kept touching her skin, feeling soothing as they brushed back and forth, and his eyes appeared even deeper now, making her want to stare into them. Portia didn't understand why such a desire struck her as she felt him shift closer, his front nearly touching hers. What troubled her most was that she wasn't kneeing him in the crouch by now, for that was what she'd have done under normal circumstances, but right now, she was only considering it. How the hell did his hand move to her waist and she'd never even noticed?

"How many men have gotten this close to you?" Cassius mockingly asked, his smile cruel.

"None that survived," Portia replied with less bite than intended. The sphere...it was so warm, but not uncomfortable, and if she stared into his eyes long enough, was that a spark of orange that she'd seen? This was too much like the alley incident, and she'd vowed to never be so docile with Cassius again, but here she was...

"I once thought that breaking someone like you would be so easy," Cassius mused, mesmerizing Portia as she felt the spirit half of her grow more dominate, causing the edges of her vision to blacken, but she could still see this man's eyes. "I saw woman after woman, and none of them seemed very substantial, but I was wrong."

"I bet that hurts your pride to admit," Portia voiced, sounding distant to her own ears, "We should get back to the others." She didn't lean forward; she was sure that she hadn't when she reflected on this moment hours later, but she still felt her lips touch his. It was the strangest feeling, as if the spirit were being kissed and not her physical body, but that would mean that Mehrunes was kissing her. No, Cassius was here now, but as her vision cleared, it didn't look as if he'd moved either. In fact, he was stepping away from her, and her lips were dry. He hadn't kissed her, and if he had, his face wouldn't be so blank instead of smug. Then how...?

The longer she thought about it, the more she doubted whether she'd been kissed at all, but the tingling sensation remained as her body became whole and balanced once again. The trace memory danced beyond her grasp, but she was sure that the sudden and forceful touching of flesh had felt...demanding, possessive?

The sphere was warm.

Her lips were warm.

"Cassius?"

"They'll be concerned that something happened to us, Sherkyn," he teased. "Don't be slow." Perhaps she had kissed him in her dazed state, but asking him would mean mortification. So she returned to the table and pretended that nothing had transpired between her and Cassius, the dark man being polite and somewhat conversational as she found herself in the most surreal of situations. Horace led the social interaction with talk on current events, and Gilthan made the occasional jest, but the reality was so much starker.

Gilthan and Cassius danced around offending each other, even if the elf smiled throughout their exchanges, and Portia broke the tension by making side comments to both. Certainly Gilthan's behavior had her alert, for although he appeared jovial as always to the others, she knew him better than that. He was serious beneath the ready smile, and when their eyes met, he told her more than words could.

"I need to speak with you as soon as possible," he whispered in her ear at one point. She subtly nodded before feeling a gentle touch across her neck. Was Cassius tracing her scar again? She turned, annoyed that he'd be so blatant in public, but he was sitting with hands on the table, a smirk playing about his mouth. Again, she imagined the kiss, and still could not reach a decision on its depth or reality, but she had larger problems, for the evening was winding down sooner than expected. She estimated that they'd been out of the manor for about an hour and a half, which should have been enough time to Tamil to complete her task, but if it hadn't, there'd be blood to pay for it.

Keep it going a while longer, she told herself, but it was futile. Gilthan was anxious to speak with her, and whatever he had to say was undoubtedly important. Tamil had to be finished by now, for she was quick and efficient, probably gloating over some newfound lead at this very moment. Would Cassius and Horace even stay longer? The conversation was dwindling, and Flora was already yawning with the wine heavy in her system. Someone was going to need to escort the poor woman home.

"Horace, don't you have somewhere to be in the morning?" Cassius asked, staring across the table as his friend propped up the mage.

"That I do, Cassius," Horace quickly assented. "Perhaps it would be better to return home and prepare for work. I'm afraid that I have mountains of paperwork for an upcoming trip to Skyrim. The Nords are displeased with a new tax." Portia didn't believe him for a moment, but the story could be true, and Gilthan urgently nudged her beneath the table.

"Yes, let's call it a night," the high elf agreed. "And it was a delightful meal!" Everyone stood, but Gilthan was forced to help Flora, and for good reason. Portia had discussed Horace with the elf, and both knew that it'd be better if one of them took the woman back to the University rather than leaving her with the diplomats. "One foot than the other," Gilthan encouraged with a chuckle. "Next time, we're capping you at three drinks."

"You need to take her home," Portia stated while they walked toward the exit, Horace and Cassius ahead of them. "I'll come see you in the morning." Then, softer and closer to his ear. "I need to report and see if we were successful."

"I understand, but I only need one minute to..."

"Portia," Cassius called over his shoulder, pausing to walk beside her, and casting a quick smile at Gilthan. "Thank you for inviting us. I always enjoy spending time with you." She thanked him as they exited through the enchanted archway and stepped back onto the streets, the night sky overshadowed with thick clouds that did not completely obscure the twinkling stars behind them. The stars were always so brilliant in this land, but not nearly as bright here as they were in the countryside where street lamps were lacking.

"You like the night," Cassius guessed, watching her look at the sky.

"Some things can only be appreciated in the dark," Portia explained.

"How very true." Taking her hand, he kissed it and began talking about the stars above his homeland, and Portia remained to hear him out. With a subtle nod, she told Gilthan to get Flora home, and the elf frowned, mouthing the words, "Be careful", before doing as told. He probably wouldn't have done so had Flora not begun to ramble about butterflies and lions, and he couldn't very well stand there like he was keeping an eye on Cassius.

"Tomorrow, Gilthan," Portia called after him.

"Tomorrow," he grudgingly agreed, and then disappeared down a darkened street, Flora wobbling on his arm. Portia wondered what had upset him so during their meal, but she wouldn't have the opportunity to ask him until later.

Later.

When darkness crept ever closer, was later ever guaranteed?

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Okay, so another chapter is up, and really fast! So show some love, people. lol.