Chapter 31: Facing Losses
Tamil was sick of Lenicon's bullshit excuses and demands. His problems were his own for allying himself with the Mythic Dawn, so why should the very people whom he'd tried to betray clear his name? It was a game that she knew well and despised, as was all too evident from the scowl marring her features as she leaned out over the edge of the roof. A chill wind played with her dark bangs, but she barely noticed it as she peered closely at the balcony below her. This was where they were supposed to meet, but then where was that damned aristocrat?
She waited for another hour, merely listening to the street traffic below, little as it was. The small balcony on the rear of the nobleman's house overlooked a narrow street that was only frequented by the occasional patrolling guardsman, for the servants that she'd expected to see were conspicuously absent. In fact, no one even left the house below her, and she knew for a fact that Lenicon's blond maid went for fresh vegetables almost every single day at about this time. It was a small deviation, but even that made Tamil suspicious.
Enough was enough.
Tamil's hands gripped the thin rope that she'd tied to the truss roof's spine, and then she tossed the remainder of the coil downward toward the balcony. Her body swung out over the edge, feet gripping the rope securely between two soles as she quickly lowered herself, her boots hitting the floor with a light thud as she dropped the last several feet. Thin cord was hard on the fingers, but it was also virtually impossible to see from below, and so she gently rubbed her digits together as she moved into the house. The front door would certainly have been easier, and she'd been invited to use that approach, but Tamil had wanted to examine Lenicon's behavior and mood before walking in unprepared.
A pointless precaution apparently, Tamil inwardly grumbled.
Inside the house, his bed was neatly made, and an outfit was laid out on the mattress as if he'd been planning to dress for the day, or maybe a servant had prepared it for him. Tamil could only speculate as she advanced to another door and cracked it open, looking into the room beyond to find it as equally empty as the bedroom. Where the hell was he?
Feeling more annoyed by the minute, Tamil was about to open a second door when she saw the puddle. It was a small pool of water that formed at a slope in the floor, a thin, liquid line running from it toward an open side room.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Master, would you like your morning refreshments now?" Tamil turned her head, listening to the slightly strained quality of the servant's voice, as if the woman was worried. When no answer came, the dark elf expected the servant to enter unbidden, for there was a clinging of metal that suggested a tray was being carried, but no, the servant remained outside, knocking once more before leaving. Was the door locked, or was Lenicon a very private man? Tamil didn't count on the latter as she stepped around the puddle and through the archway beyond.
White and red tiles—likely imported from Hammerfell. Tamil studied the room's décor as she moved further into what appeared to be a washing room. There was a large, stone tub of water at the room's center, more puddles strewn around it, and a white towel haphazardly thrown across its rim. Touching a finger to a splash along the tub's edge, Tamil noted that the water was cold, meaning that the servants should have emptied the bath by now. Otherwise, nothing seemed amiss, for the cabinets along the far wall were closed, and the rest of the room was orderly, but Tamil's nose still scrunched in consternation.
There was something here, something…wrong. The room was heavily performed, but there was another smell beneath the flowers, and one that she recognized well with her keen senses. It reminded her of her old guildhall's basement, where members who'd broken the Morag Tong's tenets were disposed of, for no matter how much incense was burned or how many times the floor was scrubbed, a certain smell always seemed to remain. Sometimes the bodies couldn't be disposed of for several days, and there was no redemption after that, not even with the damp smells of earth and spiced candles. Here, in this bathing room, it was flowers, pressed linens, and…
Tamil's face was cold as she moved around the tub, her eyes falling on three red dots that lay against the white of the floor. If she looked closer, there were several more on red tiles, but that only made six—six rubies that affected her goals, which weren't looking promising. She walked toward the standing cabinets and began opening them one by one, the first holding soap and lotion, the second towels, and the third…
Damn, fetching Mythic Dawn.
Tamil held onto the cabinet door with clenched fingers as she stared at the body, which for all intents and purposes, seemed perfectly unharmed. The throat wasn't slit, and Lenicon's eyes were even closed, his arms hanging limply across his knees from where his body had slid into a hunched, sitting position supported by the cabinet walls. Either he was playing hide-and-seek, or his killer was very proficient.
Hide and seek, Tamil moodily thought. Yeah, and my mother was a Scamp. Damn the man for his inconvenient timing.
She grabbed Lenicon by the hair and lifted his downturned face, revealing a deep bloodstain across his chest. A small tear in the clothing above his left breast told her everything that she needed to know as she dropped the head back into place. One quick jab to the heart, and Lenicon had been slain. One jab to the heart, and her most promising source of evidence had been torn from her grasp.
Without a backward glance, Tamil opened the door so that the servants would enter, and then she was gone, cursing under her breath the entire way.
************
Arelius sat rigid in his seat, brow creased as he listened to Tamil finish her story, his mind already racing to modify their plans and rectify the loss. News of Lenicon's murder would be all over the town within the next few hours, and while he was more concerned about the death of his source, he could tell that Tamil was bristling over their enemy's potential gloating. He personally didn't care if the enemies were gloating or not, so long as the Mythic Dawn was on their knees by the end of this, and so, with a cleared head, he studied the situation, Tamil leaning against the window frame with a cross expression.
"There's nothing to be done about it, Tamil," Arelius voiced. "It will be your turn to gloat before long." His branch of the Blades had only failed in their duties once before, and it had cost the emperor his life. Such a spectacular wreck would not happen again.
"Before long..." Tamil repeated, sounding much less enthused. "I can still be pissed, sir."
"Well, there is that," he decided, his normal amusement over her irked words lost as he studied the ring sitting before him on his desk. Their situation certainly wasn't what he would have favored, for there was no denying that the Mythic Dawn forever seemed to be a step ahead of them, and now the mages were giving him difficulties. The entire mission was on a knife's edge, and much would depend on his judgment, making Arelius weigh every decision and order that left his lips. He thanked the gods that he'd had the foresight to prepare a hiding place for Portia, but many of his moves would only bear their fruit or failure later. Fortunately for his peace of mind, years of service had trained him not to dwell on possible failings, for there was no room for doubt in this business.
"Sir," Tamil began, always more formal when serious. "What are we going to do about Horace and Cassius? We both know that they're involved in this, and if you'd allow me to test my sewer theory..."
"Not yet," Arelius dismissed, making Tamil's jaw tighten before her face morphed into acceptance. "Don't worry. You'll get your chance, and I do agree with your thoughts on the mud, but if there are two or more of those bastards in that basement, I'd rather fight them on our own terms." He couldn't risk losing Tamil right now, not when the enemy had shown himself capable of besting the elf on two occasions. No, if she died, his hands would be tied. The sneaky dunmer was worth more than other operatives given her history, although much about his associate was a mystery. He'd only been given the barest details, and so she'd earned his trust all on her own.
"You mean draw them out of hiding?" Tamil asked, interest peaked. Arelius had known that his words would grab her attention.
"Exactly."
"Do you have a plan? Of course you do," she corrected herself, propping hands across her knees as she moved to sit on the windowsill. She had that wicked glint in her eyes that told Arelius that she'd risk life and limb to redeem her combat standing.
"It's a risky plan, but one that will work if we're careful," he explained. "The problem is that it requires Portia. I'm sure that the mages aren't the only ones to notice her absence." Tamil smiled for the first time that day, but it was a cold smile.
"Our enemies will be anxious," Tamil voiced for both of them. "I bet Mehrunes doesn't like not knowing where his sphere is." Arelius silently agreed, having suspected that the Mythic Dawn had been trailing Portia for weeks. People watching the house, Cassius seeking out Portia whenever he could—things added up.
"But the mages need to be dealt with before we can use Portia against the Dawn," Arelius continued. "We can work on the plan details once Portia is free to return to public life."
"I take it that you've already drawn up a rather detailed plan as it is," Tamil stated. "And will my assistance be needed?"
"Both of us will be actively involved. I'd hate to send greener Blades into the situation that I've planned."
"Dangerous then," Tamil said, sounding quite pleased. "May I know one more thing in advance?" she pressed.
"Ask away," Arelius invited.
"Are we taking prisoners?"
"Yes, but we only need one." Tamil seemed satisfied, and Arelius wondered if her bend towards conflict had propelled her into her career or developed after she'd started down that path. She wasn't a callous woman, but she was rather indifferent toward death.
"Sometimes I miss the cut and dry approach," Tamil shared, her frustrations making her prone to tart comments.
"Yes, but you know very well that we can't simply take Cassius and Horace into custody."
"I know," Tamil grumbled. "There are rules to how we operate."
"Not just that," Arelius clarified. "What would we do with the two diplomats once we captured them? Without concrete evidence, the legion commander won't hold them for us, and I've nowhere else to put them that's secure. I won't order their deaths without evidence either, which might be a convenient ethic to overlook this once, but we still don't know where Mehrunes Dagon is. I'd prefer forcing them to talk rather than shedding their blood."
"And killing them wouldn't protect Portia," Tamil admittedly muttered. "Fine. So we need them alive, and we need proof to use against them, but what are you going to do about the mages?"
"Leave that to me," Arelius ordered. "You don't want to get involved with Ocato." He could only imagine the relational disaster that would erupt between Blades and the Elder Council if someone like Tamil confronted or worked with Ocato. The man would likely refuse all assistance, as he dealt harshly with anyone who forewent the respect that he demanded.
"I guess I'll get back to spying then," Tamil blankly stated. "Although there aren't many exciting leads." She was thinking about the sewers, and Arelius knew it by the reserve in her demeanor.
"Tamil," he said, face stern like a threatening father's. "I trust that you'll obey me even though I don't keep tabs on you." The dark elf quickly straightened and tilted her head forward with respect. "We've had this discussion before, and I don't want to have it again."
"You can trust me, sir," she quickly vowed, and Arelius chose not to respond as he stood and held a ring between his fingers. "What's that? If you don't mind me asking, you keep looking at it." Arelius sighed and tucked the ring into his pocket.
"It could be the undoing of my hopes for Portia," he allowed, and did not elaborate further as he marched toward the door, implicitly telling Tamil that it was her time to leave. She followed behind him as he contemplated the disappointing results of his quest to make Portia comfortable with a partner. Of course, he could always omit telling her what he'd learned about the ring, but she would never forgive him for that. She had been too close to the elf to not feel entitled to knowledge of the man's demise, and to withhold such information seemed dishonorable. She had a right to know, and postponing would not change her reaction.
"Sir?" Tamil quietly asked. "The elf's not coming back, is he?"
"No, Tamil, he's not."
*****************
It had been days since she'd seen sunlight, and the dark was starting to grind Portia down. She twirled her sword through the air and practiced swipes, but her heart wasn't in the movements, for the stale air and depressing atmosphere were under her skin, and the longer the day grew, the more she prayed that Arelius would come visit her. He'd come bearing food several days ago, but he never stayed for long, and only came well past nightfall, when she sometimes snuck outside to sit in the shadows of a headstone.
Damn the darkness and damn the University.
Portia set her sword aside and sat down, wondering if the darkness was the only reason for her recently depressed mood. She thought that inaction had something to do with her anxious need to draw a sword and fight invisible enemies, but the tomb was also starkly lonely and silent but for Mehrunes few appearances. He hadn't manifested himself like before, but she could feel him on the edges of her being, his attention constantly gliding over her once the sun set, and she was quite glad for the distance given his attempt to kiss her. Sometimes he whispered a few words, but they didn't seem directed at her, as if she were merely eavesdropping on a conversation, and perhaps she was, for she'd decided that he hadn't lied to her: using the sphere had been bringing them closer in the long run.
"Bastard," Portia breathed. "Kissing me, acting like he owns me, and...kissing me." She wanted to claim that he was hurting her, but he hadn't done that in a long time, at least not physically. "And now I'm talking to myself. Congratulations, Portia. You're really desperate to get out of this place." A few months ago, all she'd done was sit around and mentally rot, but that wasn't now. "It never will be again," she promised herself.
Leaning into the wall, she remembered Mehrunes kissing her and the taste of his blood in her mouth. His urge to touch her was puzzling, but more puzzling in that it reminded her of someone else, and the comparison made her squirm. It had felt familiar when they'd bantered, although they'd never done so in such a conversational manner before, and his lips on hers had only startled her, not repulsed her. She'd bitten down on instinct, but the way that Mehrunes cornered and mocked her while gently running fingers over her skin...the contrast of smooth and harsh was so much like...like Cassius.
"What the hell," Portia mused aloud, retrieving more memories, like her brief stunned spell with Cassius where she'd imagined that Mehrunes was kissing her. But why the hell would Mehrunes want to kiss her? Cassius had obviously been interested in her from the start, and she had to admit that she was attracted to him in her own way, but Mehrunes was...Mehrunes. He wanted to hurt her, didn't he? Oh, it's one of his games, Portia! She berated herself for thinking otherwise, and yet, was Cassius not also fond of games and challenging her? Such similar, untamed men.
"No," Portia denied, but unsure of what exactly she opposed. The idea hadn't even fully formed in her mind when she'd rejected it, the very suggestion nonsensical and disturbing. She was frowning and felt a headache coming when the tomb door lurched, stone grinding against stone as someone pushed open the stone slab.
"It's just me," Arelius announced, putting her fears to rest as he descended the stairs, armored body imposing in the near darkness. Portia rose, dusting herself off as she nodded in greeting and lit a few more candles to brighten their meeting.
"Please tell me that I can leave this place," she hopefully begged.
"Soon," he promised. "Ocato has agreed to reinforce my will this time, although the man's hardly generous. I'm merely waiting for his official orders to be delivered to the University, and then you're free."
"What exactly are the official orders?" Portia asked, sitting on a crate while Arelius remained standing, posture perfect.
"The mages will be under direct orders not to bother you, and breaking the law will result in Imperial intervention in University affairs." Portia grinned, a light laugh breaking the tomb's bleakness.
"Oh, Traven will love that," she rejoiced, but she quickly noticed that Arelius wasn't smiling. "There's something else, isn't there?" she warily asked, knowing that despite his usual demeanor, Arelius wasn't without a sense of humor. There was more business to discuss if he wasn't even smiling. There was always more business.
"I found this on the street," he calmly stated, face betraying nothing as he extended a closed fist to her, the fingers uncurling to drop a small, silver ring into her waiting palm. Portia stared at the ring, confused, for it seemed familiar, yet she could not place where she'd seen it before. Arelius gave her a few moments before speaking, Portia's heart already dropping at his deceptively detached tone. "Someone from the University was able to identify it," he said. "And there's no question of who it belonged to."
"Belonged?" Portia questioned, eyes widening in understanding. "What do you mean, belonged?"
"I'm sorry, Portia." And he was. She could tell, and there might even have been a spark of regret in the depths of his eyes, but words weren't enough for Portia. She wrapped a fist around the ring as tears formed at the back of her eyes, her throat tight as she turned a glare on Arelius.
"You shouldn't have involved him," she stated, hard, but not as angry as she would have liked. She could imagine the blood on her hands again, dead eyes staring at her with a frozen expression that begged for her to explain why. But there was no answer, at least none that Portia could stomach delivering, and now she felt the bile rising in the back of her throat, revulsion much stronger than sadness as she quickly leaned behind a pillar and emptied her stomach. Arelius never said a word as she remained doubled over, tears streaming down her face as she realized that she'd lost the closest friend she'd had in years.
"Did you find his body?" she asked.
"No," Arelius replied. "But don't rest your hopes on that."
"Why?" Portia bitterly asked. "Because it would be cruel to myself?" She spun, facing him. "You convinced me to work with him, and now he's dead. I told you that I didn't want..." Her voice trailed off as she wiped her tears away. "Don't tell me; now you're going to say something like it wasn't my fault."
"It wasn't." Portia breathed deeply, acid-stained breath burning her throat as she closed her eyes, and she tried to blame Arelius for this, but she couldn't. He had only done what he thought best, as always, and she was the one who'd originally drawn Gilthan into this mess. She'd been the one to seek his advice and invite him to the ball and dinner. It had been her who'd mentioned him to Arelius, knowing that the man would want to use Gilthan. She could imagine the elf beaming at her over some random joke, but the jokes were gone, and Arelius wasn't doing anything, only allowing her to vent over the truth that he'd exposed himself through by delivering.
"You have to know what this is doing to me," she hissed.
"Yes," he said. "But that is only something that you can work out. Don't allow yourself to be defeated a second time, Portia. It wasn't you who killed him, but our enemies, and to drag yourself along the earth for their sake would be more than regrettable. You'd be allowing them to break you without even facing them."
"Please get out," Portia said. "I don't know how many times you practiced what you would tell me, but I need to be alone."
"As you wish." Arelius turned to leave, his role in this tragedy suspended while Portia dealt with her own emotions. Somewhere in her grief, she felt a kernel of tenderness that seemed to emanate from the ring in her hand, but it was overshadowed by sorrow. Gilthan was gone, and she hadn't even said goodbye. It was enough to make anyone cry, and she wondered if the elf had blamed her as his blood ran.
He wasn't like that, Portia. Then she remembered his letter, the one that had told her that he accepted the risks and wanted to help her. Gilthan, with his smiling face, who'd she'd worried about since that night, who'd she'd brushed aside because Cassius was talking to her...
"Thank you, sir," she softly spoke when she heard Arelius near the top of the stairs. "Thank you for telling me." She held the ring, grateful that at least she'd known how Gilthan felt about the matter. With the other man, she'd never known his thoughts, and he'd died in surprise, the 'why' never answered and hanging above her head. She wondered if Gilthan had been able to answer 'why' for his own case, and somewhere amid the tears that continued to fall, anger began to grow.
What had happened to Gilthan was partly her fault, partly Arelius's, but mostly the killer's. Had Arelius chosen his words to funnel her emotions in that direction? She didn't think that it mattered as her feelings grew.
"Mehrunes," Portia hissed. She couldn't bring Gilthan back, but she could justify his sacrifice by defeating his killer.
Sorry for taking a long time to update, but school's been hectic. I hope to update more frequently than this, and thanks for the reviews yet again.
