A/N- This is the beginning of the first part- like I'm mentioned before, I'll be breaking the plot up into arcs and episodes. I've written the first part out entirely, but the rest of the chapters are still in editing process. I imagine that system will have some serious time gaps, but I can't imagine anyone caring too much.

Survival Races

By all the people that Léta asked, Sheila was considered ordinary. Proper. Bland. Even boring. She worked diligently on her small piece of land, and sold the produce in the city. She came into Whiterun everyday to pray for her family at the Temple. Went right back, worked some more, and then went inside her house, not to be seen again until the next day. Never any visitors, friends, lovers, or even a dog. She was so normal that it was strange.

"The poor girl is still grieving," her neighbor, an energetic and kind woman with a name so slippery that it left Léta's head as soon as she heard it.

"Yes, I heard about her father's suicide," she replied with false sympathy, failing to mention the fact that that suicide was exactly the reason she was here.

"Well… no, for her mother and brothers. It's been years, but she never let it go…"

"Why not for her father?" Léta carefully took the offered pastry, and took a small bite. Not bad, with an air of countryside cooking. "They didn't get along?"

"That man… don't tell anyone I said this, but he was as cruel as they came." she was eager enough to share her impression. "Oh, how many times I've seen bruises on Sheyla's face... she always said that a hoe got away from her for a second, but she wasn't fooling anyone. If anything, it's a blessing he decided to… to…"

The woman seemed shocked at her own venom, and stopped talking. "You be a dear, give these to her. She lives just over there, you can see the house from here. Oh, its so sweet of you to visit her, I'm sure she'd love to have some company." She suddenly paused, and looked at her with confusion. "You didn't say, who are you to her?"

"I'm an old friend of hers," Léta smiled charmingly, taking the platter of pastries. "Seems like it's been a lot longer than I expected, could even remember where her house was! Well, I'll get these to her safe and sound, don't you worry."

That seemed to be enough for the woman, and she let her go with a warm smile. As soon as she went back inside her house, however, Léta's pleasant smile disappeared, and she dug into the pile of cookies without any jags in her conscience.

Needless to say, there was only a quarter left by nighttime, when Léta finally entered Sheila's house.

The house didn't feel like it belonged to someone in grieving. The Depressed tended to either be forgetful, accidentally cluttering the place and not bothering to clean up, or be almost maniacally clean and tidy. This one was neither.

The dying embers in the hearth provided pleasant warmth in the hut. The dishes were washed, the cupboards were stocked with food and the smell of recently baked bread hung in the air. There were a few clothes hanging over the frame of the bed, though, and the armchair had a blanket thrown over its arm. Overall, the place looked… normal. Like somebody was living in their own comfort zone.

The woman herself was sleeping under the covers, her wheat blond hair weaving over the pillows. She didn't look as though she was bothered by nightmares, either…

Léta sat down in the armchair, placing the plate of pastries to the table next to her. She was in no rush, and those things were good.

She didn't have to wait long. After about ten minutes and one pastry, Léta noticed the change in Sheila's breathing and the way her arm started creeping under the pillow.

"You know, this is hardly the home of a closet killer," the Listener started conversationally. "Then again, this is as good disguise as any."

The girl froze like a discovered mouse.

"I'd take that hand of the dagger, Sheila. If I wanted to kill you, you wouldn't have woken up. Ever."

No response.

"So I wonder, how did you manage to drag his body up to hang from the mill? It was a very nice touch- a noose, his broken neck, a height he could only get to himself… no one bothers investigating suicides, after all…"

Sheila sat up. "How did you get in here?" she demanded in a raspy, quiet voice.

"Through the front door, of course." Léta snorted. "Want a pastry?"

"A… what?"

"I said a pastry. No? Suit yourself…"

"Who are you?"

"Finally! Onto business!" The assassin grinned. "I know you killed your father in cold blood-"

"You didn't answer my question." Sheila looked like she could decide whether it was safer to get up or to stay in the bed, frozen somewhere halfway between the two.

"No, I didn't… well, to put this bluntly, I'm from the Dark Brotherhood. And congrats! You have the potential to make the ranks." The tone was a bit sarcastic. Léta knew very well the reaction most people would get from hearing an invitation like that. Which was probably why Astrid had her moved to the abandoned shack so far from Riften- just so she would be taken seriously.

However, Sheila's face became speculative. She didn't respond, so Léta continued speaking.

"As I understand it, you hate this farm just as much, if not more than you hated your father. So I'm giving you a ticket out. An invitation to our family."

There it is- the look of disbelief that Léta expected. Except this time, she was waiting for a response. It took a long moment before the silence was broken again.

"If I were to… consider it…" Sheila started cautiously. "What would you have me do?"

Léta smiled. "There is a farm up along the road to Markarth. If you were to consider the invitation, find Cliffwatch and the woman named Marla. She lives there alone, in the middle of nowhere, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem. Kill her, and the contract is complete, and you are welcomed with open arms. Don't, and you will never hear from us again. That's it, no tricks or double floors."

"What has she done?" Shayla furrowed her eyebrows. "Who wants her dead?"

Léta just smiled, knowing this part well. Astrid taught her a lot more than she could have imagined. "If I tell you that, it will ruin the surprise. Ask her yourself, if you'd like. I'm going to leave now, but we will be watching. Ta."

She gracefully stood up from the chair and stepped into the thick shadows. Nocturnal's Cloak rolled over her instantly, better than any illusion spell she could have cast. The effect drew a small hitch in Sheila's breath.

"Oh, and do try the pastries. You have a talented neighbor."

"Don't do that," Léta grumbled quietly. Shadowmere snorted again. "I'm serious. I don't need you reproaching me as well. I got enough of that from those damned fools."

Another snort, louder and angrier.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes out. It was increasingly hard to keep her eyes open with the even strut of the horse. The woman was tempted to gallop some of the way, wake herself up a bit, but couldn't even bring herself to kick Shadowmere's sides well enough.

"I know. And I love them all, but they can be a bit overbearing. I'm not even that tired."

Low huff.

"You're right, what else is family for?" she laughed, short and quiet, but it was suddenly cut short. "Oh, hello…"

Shadowmere slowed down cautiously, and Léta strained her eyes to look farther up the road. The roads were just as "safe" during the night as they were during the daytime, but the one serious flaw was the limited visibility. As a criminal, she preferred the dark, but so did many other people. Luckily, the terrain around Whiterun was mainly flat and grassy, so she spotted them right away.

There were five riders, she managed to count. Moving towards her from the north of the road, right where she was heading. If it wasn't for the lack of a wagon, they could have simply been a caravan, but…

She stopped, and wondered if she should simply get off the road and let them pass. Dust-tailing them would look beyond suspicious, and she really didn't want to get into anything.

Shadowmere made an alarmed sound, and took a step backwards.

To hells with it! Léta was an accomplished thief and assassin, and she didn't stay alive and free for that long to start ignoring her intuition (and horse) now!

Turning the horse around but keeping her head tilted back to the riders, she sent the horse into a trot. It could have been her mind playing tricks on her, but the leader sped up slightly.

And arrow whistled two inches from her ear, leaving no more illusions. She kicked Shadowmere's sides, and the horse bolted from the spot, heading back, back south. This time the sound of a shouted order and the beating against the cobbled road was unmistakable. The hunt was for her.

"Show these bastards how fast a demon can run!" Léta breathed to Shadowmere. All traces of sleep were gone, adrenaline-induced clarity chased away the fog. She didn't care for explanations, solutions or reasons- it was just run, run, faster, faster.

The walls of the city came and went somewhere to the right, but she didn't even think about pausing and seeking safety in behind its gates. There was only one place in Nirn that she still considered safe, the one her instincts were rushing her towards- south to Riften.

The fact that it would take hours of this galloping to simply bend around the Throat didn't occur to her. It didn't have to. Shadowmere was the fastest and most enduring horse in the world. The men would run out of steam long before she did.

She chanced a peek over her shoulder when she crossed the river.

The damned thugs were keeping up with her! They were galloping right after her, and once they crossed the bridge, a few of them broke off from the main group, spreading out farther. She cursed angrily; they were trying to corner her like one would a lonesome wolf. Not very well, they must not have expected the speed of her mount, but an attempt still showed some serious intent.

Reaching the first crossroads in their path, she breathed a hurried spell that sent a shadow decoy flying off away from her. Her concentration was shaken, though, and it would have fooled no one during the daytime. The clone was a colorless shadow that floated rather than mimicking a live horse and rider.

Faster, faster!

There were poisons and knives in her bag, but nothing else she could have used. All she had were her flimsy illusions and an infallible reputation of never getting caught. Except the one time, to Karliah's arrow-

Karliah… The Nightingale Hall… if she could only get to the…

There were no more arrows sent in her direction thanks to this pace. What buzzed past her this time was a bolt of ice that would have spooked any ordinary horse off the road. Shadowmere made a violent noise of discontent but only sped up, working to her limits.

A branch whipped Léta in the face like a hot flash, but she shrugged it off. Something had to be done. Soon. Even if Shadowmere could run cross-country without pausing, she was still human and would likey drop after an hour. A pause, somewhere to hide, to throw them off her scent…

Fort Amol loomed in the distance, like a black beacon. Bandit were known to shoot at passing riders without bias or distinction, no matter the number of opponents…

"Come on, come on, just a bit more…" her teeth clenched on her lip against the growing desperation. Her mouth tasted of copper coins, but the rest was lost to her.

She flew by the fort before anyone even managed to get their bearings. The thugs followed her with surprised glares, their bows in their hands, and then turned to look for the reason behind her flight.

More shouting. Someone cried out. A horse reared. The beating of hoofs got a tiny bit quieter. Or perhaps the drumming in her ears became louder…

Léta turned sharply in between the trees. The rocky terrain didn't give her much room to move, but with some dumb luck, she managed to blindly fly into a path between the boulders and rocks. Sending a feverish thanks to Nocturnal, she followed through, hoping that the trees would hide her from the moon's light.

When she was certain that the tail was left behind, she allowed Shadowmere to slow down a fraction. Once she had the ability to do so, leaned farther down, pressing her forehead to the animal's hide, and muttered another incantation. It became a little easier to breathe, and a surge of energy ran through her. Riding became a bit less painful. But another twenty minutes won, before the illusion would dispel, and she would just collapse onto the ground, easy picking for bears and riders.

She suddenly remembered Vipir's story. What would they call her after this? Léta the Desperate? Léta the Cowardly Rider That Ran Like Rabbit? Pfft, Brynjolf would laugh his head off…

Stupid, stupid thoughts! Get going!

Shadowmere and her were now running with renewed, imagined strength, bunny-trailing between trees. It was a dull relief to see birches getting mixed in with the pines. She managed to gain a lot of ground in these familiar forests. Nocturnal was merciful tonight, and the chase was won by the prey.

It took her long hours to trudge through the forests, slowing down and listening closely for any sounds that didn't belong here. But there was nothing. Just owls and foxes running their nightly hunts. Sometimes Léta's nerves would tense, and she'd be tempted to gallop until the very end, but she knew better than to be impatient…

Eventually, she came out on the western side of lake by Riften. It would have been extremely stupid to go into the city itself- those men knew who she was, there was no question of that. No one would bother to run after a random suspicious traveler for that long. And if they knew which horse to look for, they knew which stables she was seen at the most.

When she neared the landmark stone that stood over the Nightingale Hall, she got off Shadowmere, and paused to lean her forehead against the horse.

"Ride. I will call when it's all clear."

Shadowmere dropped a heavy sound, and then sped off into the night. Léta didn't watch her go- she had to get inside before someone could see her.

Karliah wasn't used to receiving guests, Léta knew, and usually, she wouldn't just barge into the sanctuary and make herself a target to the woman's bow, but this was a special case. She wasn't surprised to come nose-to-nose with an elegant glass arrow as soon as she straightened.

"Point that somewhere else, will you? I had a hard night…"

"Léta? What-" the Dunmer finally recognized her, and released the string, bringing the weapon down. "You look-"

"Like all of the Imperial armies just marched over me, siege machines and all?"

"I was going to say exhausted, but now that you mention it... What's wrong? You never come here unless called-"

Léta groaned, and walked over to the table where Karliah was sitting previous to her drop-in. Her hands and then lips found the bottle of wine. "Did you hear from Brynjolf recently? Has anything happened?"

"Brynjolf doesn't usually have keep me updated, so-"

"It couldn't have just been me, too much honor. I have to find a way into Riften tomorrow and see if anything is-"

"Will you tell me what's going on?" Karliah interrupted me, her voice now forcefully calm.

"Those bastards chased me since Whiterun," Léta barked. "They had a mage, too- no wonder they could keep up with me, an experienced enough wizard can make those horsies run for miles and miles without pause!"

"You were chased?"

"Yes!"

"By who?"

"I didn't exactly pause to chat. I started running as soon as they started firing."

"Did you get a look at them?"

Léta knew that she had to focus, but it was proving hard. She took another swing from the bottle for good measure, and tried again, with more sense. "There were five. All on horses. I saw them from afar, figured it was just a scouting group from one of the war camps, but scouts don't shoot arrows at travelers. Now if you don't mind, I need to-" she took a step, and the world swam. "…lie down?"

Black.

"Yes, a woman did pass through here," the woman chirped with barely contained excitement- so many visitors for the day! She couldn't wait to pass on the gossip to her friends. "Asked directions to Sheila's house, said she was an old friend!"

"Sheila?" The shorter hooded man asked questioningly.

"Missing," the taller replied before the woman could. "Disappeared four hours ago, the stable owner saw her leave."

"Looks like she was scared badly," the other mused.

"Why would she scare a woman into hiding?"

"I don't know. She knew something she wasn't supposed to, maybe."

"Then her status would be at "corpse" right now. Interestingly enough, Sheila's father died not too long ago. Suicide, strung by the neck in the mill. Our darling girl is on a recruitment drive."

The shorter man scoffed. "Please. You think the farm girl killed her father? You realize that mill is pretty high, right?"

"Sorry, ma'am," The taller man focused on the old woman again, who was listening to the conversation with her mouth open. "Thank you for your cooperation, we will leave you for the night."

"So the woman was a criminal? And I sent her right off to Sheila… oh, but she seemed so…"

"Sincere?" The taller man must have smiled, his tone was almost wistful for a moment. "She has that effect on people."

She tried to say something else, but they were already walking away, still talking between each other. She hurried to mouth a prayer to the Divines, went inside the house, and locked the door tightly behind her.

"-I thought you were keeping an eye on her."

"That's hard to do when she skips off into the sunset without a word of where she is going."

"I suppose there was no harm done. She will come around soon."

"Like she does each and every time. Yes, of course, how could I forget?"

"Please don't look at me like that. This is as much my fault as it is yours."

Pause.

"Yes, I know. The stubborn fool has been running herself into the ground, but she won't talk to me. Ever since Mercer, I've barely had two words from her, and you had even less. If this continues-"

"Stop buzzing," Léta finally groaned at the voices in the dark. "My head is going to split in half soon."

"Not surprising, that. Lass, what the hell did you get yourself into this time?"

"What did I just say?" The voice cut at her ears, each noise sending an unpleasant pulsation through her brain.

Someone's cold hand appeared on her forehead, and there was disapproving clack of the tongue.

"So, the bad news is that your eyes didn't make it-"

"Whaaa-t?" She panicked, but then light shone straight into her skull a second later, and she groaned, hurrying to shut them again. "You're a filthy liar, Brynjolf."

"You're burning up. Exactly how long did you go without sleep?

"I slept."

"For more than three hours at a time."

"Just leave me alone to die already…"

"That's not an option, lass. Get up."

"No."

"Hm. You know, I usually throw insolent and lazy children like you into the sewers. That clears their heads in record time."

Despite her earlier plea, the prospect of drowning in the sewers got her eyes properly open, and she even lifted a hand hand to smack that bastard's face. "I'm not a child."

"You sure act like one some time. You didn't answer my question, either- when was the last time you had proper sleep?"

"A week ago."

"I can tell when you're lying." He stared at her, long and hard, and she caved.

"Fine. A month."

"I'll take a wild guess and say you won't tell me why?"

She stuck her tongue at him like a petulant child. "You know I can't fall asleep without a lullaby."

"So you think stamina potions and illusions will suffice?"

"Can't sleep, the world needs saving." She joked. "What are you doing here, Brynjolf?" she quickly followed up to prevent further questioning on her sleeping habits.

"Karliah came into the Flagon yesterday, just as we were starting to get problems."

"Problems?" She pulled herself into a sitting position and looked around. They were still in the Nightingale Hall, on the bed that Karliah kept for her in cases like- well, this one. She was still fully clothed against the chill, though she was already used to sleeping underground and it didn't bother her too much.

"It wasn't just you that was attacked."

"Who else? Did anyone-"

"Everyone is fine," Brynjolf shrugged. "Rune got a nasty scare, but he got off easy. Vex got "caught" and then loose, Delvin came back last night with a black eye, won't say what happened. And last but not least, they even tried to get at Maven."

"What? Who the hell are they?"

"I have the entire guild working to figure it out, though there's no word yet. I figured you might be able to tell me something. "

"Would if I could." Léta stared at him for a long moment, contemplating. "It's not the first time someone attempted a coup on the Thieves Guild, but they must have a death wish if they're attacking Maven."

"Or they don't know exactly what they're dealing with. Which crosses out just about everyone in Skyrim with the exclusion of the Forsworn, and there is no reason those lunatics would try anything."

There was an uneasy silence. Brynjolf shook his head and turned away. "I'll get back to the guild, see if there is any news. You should stay here for a day or two just in case."

"Why do I get the porcelain dish treatment?"

"Because no one else in the Guild has been chased half-way across the province, and in such a number. Whoever they are, they are after your blood above all else. Besides, you're no use to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion again."

"The love and care in this room is overwhelming," she rolled her eyes. He gave her an encouraging smile, and started walking away. "Wait, could you get Delvin to send a message to- an associate of mine?"

"What's the message?"

She looked at Karliah, and the woman gestured to the writing desk. Léta picked herself up off the bedroll, and picked up the quill.

For a moment, she wondered what would be safe enough to put into writing.

"Brother,

The roads are dangerous right now, so I can't get home yet. Don't forget to make sure Sheila gets back alright, she's visiting old Marla in Cliffwatch. By the way, last I heard, Derril is heading for Winterhold, should you need his help on that project you've been writing about.

Mother sends her love,

Leah."

"Here," she blew on the ink gently before handing the paper to Brynjolf. "Just get it to Delvin, he'll know what to do with it."

"If I find out your secrets are bringing this on our head-" he sternly warned her.

"No, I don't think it has anything to do with the Brotherhood. Look, at least they're just passing through." She shrugged. "It could have been worse. I suggest just keeping our heads down. Maybe it will blow over."

"That's what I told everyone to do, but we're losing business. I wonder… maybe it's the Dragonborn's doing?"

"He's not the type," she shook her head definitely.

"What type is he, then?"

"He's more likely to challenge me to a duel and believe me when I start crying, but he wouldn't order an attack like that even if he could. Believe me, if this is the man holding the fate of the world in his hands, we're all doomed."

"Who said anything about the fate of the world?" Brynjolf snorted. "I've seen a dragon, it swooped over Riften about a fortnight ago."

"Really?" she looked at him with curiosity. "And?

"Nothing. Spewed fire at the walls, torched one of the guards, and the rest chased it off with a ballista. These things are doing no more damage here than a hungry wolf pack so far."

"You're wrong," Karliah, who was mainly silent up to now, spoke up. "Riften has walls and ballistae, but what about the villages, farms and breweries? I've noticed more than a dozen flaming caravans along the road while traveling."

"Aye," he allowed. "But it's still hardly apocalyptic."

"Does it matter?" The chill was beginning to seep in, and Léta shivered. "It either ends or it doesn't. Why do we care?"

"For the most part, we don't. But if there's no world, we can't exactly enjoy its wealth, right?"

It was hours later when Karliah returned from her scouting, tired, frustrated, and empty-handed. She found Léta sitting at her table, her hands hovering on the sides of the flame. Five blue butterflies were peacefully making their rounds in the air.

"I take it you didn't find anything?"

"No." Karliah sat into the chair opposite of her, her eyes following the little illusions.

"This is the first thing that Master Davis taught me how to do," Léta mused. "It took me three weeks to figure out how to make them move properly. Before that, they were just floating without fluttering their wings or fluttering their wings without moving."

One of the butterflies flew off it trajectory, and landed on Karliah's fingers.

"It's a funny thing. They're not actually real. Just thin air. Without me projecting the image, they don't exist."

"I can feel it on my skin," Karliah responded with slight surprise, bringing the butterfly up to her eye level. The insect looked just like any other, though the faint glow to it gave away its nature.

"That's because I'm not acting on thin air. I'm inside your head, tricking your, and my own brain into thinking they are real. You can't create something out of nothing, my instructor taught me." Her voice was calm and concentrated- the exercise focused her attention.

"You attended the college first, right?"

"Of course. They don't let you dissect brains just anywhere," she smiled. Her fingers flexed, and the butterflies turned purple. Then red. Gold. Green. Rainbow.

Karliah couldn't help a small laugh. "How long were you there for?"

"Three years. I was eighteen when I applied. One year of theory, another of small, useless gesturing. But into my third, I began experimenting on my own. They don't tell you half the uses for illusions, you know. They forget to mention the fact that you can make someone act like a chicken for three days straight if you mess up the formula, for example.

"Personal experience?"

"Personal mistake. Juri never did forgive me for that one." Léta was smiling wistfully. "You know, sometimes I wish I stayed in the college."

"Well, I, for one, am glad you left. Though I never did ask why, did I?"

"No one ever did. It was simple enough- I've had more talent at picking pockets and locks than I did at casting spells. My instructors didn't like it- they never managed to catch me red-handed though." Léta made a vague gesture with her hand. "Eventually, it became obvious I had no future as a mage, though. Too unpredictable, some of them said. I was inclined to agree."

"So you sought the guild out?"

"No, no. One of my teachers asked me to travel to Riften to deliver some sort of artifact to the Jarl's court wizard. Brynjolf saw me at the markets, approached me, and offered a deal. How he managed to see a thief in a mage's traveling garb, I don't know, really. Anyway, I figured he was just a shady merchant who wanted to get rid of competition."

"And you said yes?"

"Ha! I said "Hell no, who do you take me for?" And the kicker came when he replied with "Someone with something in her pocket that she's looking for an excuse not to return." Again, I have no idea how he knew, but he had me there. Heh, I felt guilty for months after. Then I found out Delvin pushed the stupid amulet to Wylandriah anyway, she just forgot that she wasn't supposed to pay for it…" Léta was grinning wistfully, remembering the silly beginning. Then her face fell slightly again. "I don't risk coming around Winterhold now, just in case. Didn't even send a letter to tell them I wasn't coming back. They probably think I got eaten by a bear or some hardheaded bandit on the road back… sometimes, I think- well, what about you?"

"Me." Karliah raised an eyebrow.

"You. How did you end up with the guild?"

"It was a very long time ago. I joined just a few years after Mercer did."

There was a slight tension in the Imperial's forehead, and the butterflies blinked. Her voice, however, was still normal. "So a ve-e-ery long time ago."

"Joke all you want, but those were the best years of my life. It was before the Nightingales, before-"

"Mercer killed your lover and betrayed the guild and forced you into exile… yeah. Tell me about it."

The butterflies turned an angry red color, and their wings started beating faster.

"Something has been bothering you since then, hasn't it?" Karliah asked cautiously.

"Why would you think that?"

"You've been tiptoeing around everyone at the guild, and I'm going to guess the Brotherhood is no different for you. Brynjolf said you're avoiding him."

Léta pressed her lips into a tight line. "The guilt trip isn't going to work, you know."

"I know," Karliah's cool was always enviable, but it only frustrated the girl further. "I just don't see why you can't trust Brynjolf. He's taught you, he became a Nightingale with you, and he cares for you. I might be none of my business, but-"

"You're right." The butterflies popped like tiny soap bubbles. "It isn't any of your business. Though thanks for reminding me of something. I wanted to ask for a while, but do you think Mercer did what he did because he was jealous?"

"Jealous." The Dunmer repeated in monotone. "I assume you're not speaking of my archery skills. Why would you think so?"

"When I first delivered your name to him, he described you almost… fondly. Well, underneath the alarm and malice, anyway."

"You think he was jealous, so he stole a priceless and vital artifact, doomed the Guild, killed Gallus, framed me for it, and spent the next twenty years living lavishly off of the Guild's resources?"

Léta bit her lip. "I didn't say I thought that was the real reason. Mercer was a greedy bastard above all else, but... don't stare at me like that, it was just a thought."

"That silver tongue of yours might get you out of most trouble, but I've known men that could sell sin to saints. You're hardly more impressive," Karliah smiled calmly. "I'll have to admit, though, you're skilled at leading off the subject."

"I picked the school of Illusion for a reason," Léta shrugged, neither denying nor agreeing to anything.

There was silence. The Imperial whispered her spell, this time summoning tiny little crows. They resumed the same circle around the candle, drops of ink in a swirl pool.

"I trusted him." Léta finally said. "I trusted that bastard even against my better judgment. I trusted him not to slit my throat when he asked me to demonstrate my skills against him, I trusted him when he watched my back in Snow Veil Sanctum, and hell, I even trusted him when there was an arrow sticking out of my chest and I was helpless on the floor of that damned crypt. I was willing to put my life into his hands even though he was a thief and a criminal, even though he never showed even the slightest hint of trust or sentiment in return, and despite all questionable rumors about him. And in the end, all he told me was that I should have known better."

"You are not the only one he had fooled, Léta," Karliah replied gently.

"I know. And I know I have no right to feel so betrayed in comparison to the rest of the guild- and especially not to you. But it doesn't change anything." Léta took her hands away from the table before the Dunmer's reached them. The crows kept on spinning. "Karliah, I want to ask you something, and please don't give me any of the sugary bullshit people are trying to feed to me."

"I'll try."

"Is there anyone in this world you can trust?"

"No." Karliah replied simply. "Everyone will betray you one way or another. It's like gambling- sooner or later, all luck will fail. But that doesn't mean you can't win yourself a fortune before that happens."

Léta smirked bitterly and with disbelief, looked up from the crows, and stared straight through the other woman's red eyes. "You've thought about this before."

"Twenty five years of hiding is a long time. Even for me."

She got up, meaning to go and get some food from the cupboards. When she glanced back, Léta was still sitting in her spot, but the candle was extinguished and the crows were gone. She was resting her forehead on her arms, and for a moment, Karliah imagined small tremors that went through the girl's body.

But no- when Léta rose again, not a second later, her face was dry, and her eyes only tired.