Dear Rayya,

We had a magnificent Harvest's End this year. The entire city was done up with ribbons, streamers and bells, like in the old days. There was feasting in the marketplace and quite a stirring performance to thank the gods for this year's bounty. Oh, how I wish you'd been here to see it, in all its magnificence. You would have been thrilled, I'm sure. I thought of you as a girl about your age stepped out for a solo performance involving silk scarves.

Baba's foot is doing much better since the last time I wrote. He finally (stubborn thing that he is) agreed to see a proper healer about the loss of feeling in his toes. He sees him once a week now for treatment and the problem is much improved. And as a bonus, my hands don't cramp up on me nearly so much as they used to!

But I fear that I've been keeping some news from you, dear, with the worry that it wouldn't work out, should I say something too soon. Superstitious, I know. But I needn't fear telling it any longer. I don't think I could contain my excitement any longer, in fact.

Baba has finally bought a sizable share in the business of his employer. Legally, the majority of the shop belongs to him now. Business is improving and as it does, he hopes to buy the remainder soon. Believe me when I say that I could not be happier. Let's keep this between us, but I don't think he could either, save for seeing you again.

I want to thank you for shouldering this burden all these years, for caring for your parents are surely as we cared for you. I know it wasn't easy and that you gave up so much to give us back a life of comfort. I can't ever thank you enough for that, my daughter. So, thank you.

Please know that you are loved and always welcome to come home, wherever you end up. We spend every day awaiting your return.

Love, Mama

Rayya folded the letter and tucked it into her purse.

It was a gloriously lazy day. The sun had broken through the gloom and all of Falkreath sprang to life under it. The vast majority of the citizens seemed to be getting a head start on their spring cleaning. Rugs were being shaken out, clothes washed, windows being thrown open to let in the fresh air.

Rayya perched on a fence and watched, languidly.

Everything was as it should be. The hold - through famine and treachery - had survived. Though the world outside prepared for war, Falkreath was more or less at peace.

And she was more restless than she'd ever been.

Every morning, before the sun had quite broken the horizon, her morning jogs took her farther and farther from the bounds of civilization. She would race down the winding deer paths, spiraling deep into the ancient heart of the forest, her soul always begging her to go farther, though her mind knew well enough that she would have to turn around if she was not going to be late for the day's proceedings.

Her feet itched to be on the road again. Whenever a traveling bookseller came through, she'd buy a tome about a distant land and devour it in a series of days. She listened more eagerly to foreign dignitaries, ate up every little bit of news from outside the hold.

She knew inwardly, with the completion of her role in the overthrow of Siddgeir, that she had finished all she came here to do. That there would be no challenge greater, that any test that followed would only be treading known ground.

And her parents were safe.

She was free.

But in that freedom, so ripe with whirling dreams and wild ideas, she had no idea which direction to take.

She hopped off the fence and stretched her back. One more walk in the graveyard before court started up, she decided.

*.*.*

It began with the hunter's message at breakfast.

He was a man who lived alone in the wilderness and normally plied his trade on the shores of Lake Illinata. Rayya had met him once or twice before, on the road between holds and occasionally on one of the jarl's hunts. He lived off the land and came into town but seldom to trade his catch for needed supplies. He was known to be a quiet person and not one given to large shows of emotion.

This was not the case at breakfast.

He was heaving with exhaustion, his eyes wide with fear as the guards escorted him in.

"My jarl...!" he gasped, falling to his knees and bowing until his forehead touched the floor.

Whether this was an excessive display of formality or he was too exhausted to stand upright was unclear.

Before the jarl, a spoonful of porridge halfway up to his mouth, could greet him, the words tumbled out of the man's mouth.

"My lord...I was hunting up near Pinewatch before dawn when I saw smoke rising from the east. Too much of it to account for a woodsman's fire. So I followed it to its conclusion and my lord...Helgen is gone."

A dead silence fell over the room. Nenya opened her mouth to speak, but Dengeir spoke faster.

"Gone, sirrah?" he asked coolly, not an ounce of emotion on his face.

Rayya could see a vein twitching on the side of his balding pate. He was doing everything he could to keep a level head about him, to stop the rest of the court from panicking.

"Burned to rubble." the hunter said, a hollow look in his eyes. "The stones of the watchtower thrown about as though the hand of a daedric lord himself reached down from Oblivion..."

"Thank you, sirrah." Dengeir said curtly, turning away for an instant to cough.

He turned to the guards who had brought him in.

"Find him a spare bed in the barracks and a warm meal. I will decide his reward when our scouts return. Rayya..."

He put down his spoon and massaged his temples, for a moment, looking much older than his years.

"Get that scouting party together and lead them to Helgen. I want survivors and answers, if there are any of either to be found. Understood?"

"Yessir." she said quickly, getting up from the bench and bowing at the waist before exiting the room.

*.*.*

Four days later, a woodcutter from Half-Moon Mill came blundering in in the night to report on the dragon that he had witnessed flying over the eaves of his mill. He was not dismissed outright, but he was not quite taken seriously either.

The rumors spread like wildfire in his wake.

An old woman, her face distorted with terror, shouted in the streets that it was Alduin, come to bring about the end times. Her family hushed her and pulled her inside, but the damage was already done.

The whispers in the streets grew louder.

When Rayya closed her eyes at night, she saw the jaws of Satakal sinking into the flesh of his own heart.

*.*.*

It had been a good morning jog. The trees had whipped past her in a comforting blur and the ground flew by under her feet. She was covered in sweat despite the chill of the morning and for the time being, worrying thoughts of dragons and the end times had been driven from her mind. For a moment, she leaned against the trunk of a pine tree, listening to the sounds of the birds in its branches and the larger animals chittering below. And then, the sudden desire to see more coming upon her, she heaved herself up onto the lowest branch and began to climb.

It was hard, delicate work but she kept on, the ground falling away behind her, the faint sunlight peeking through the canopy growing stronger as she ascended. Then, her legs locked around the slender trunk, she burst through the forest cover and into the sunlight above.

All around, the forest, like a thick, green blanket over the land, swayed in the morning breeze. She could see the sun rising over the misty lake and a tiny fisherman, down far below, setting out for the morning's catch.

And then something else caught her eye. A little ways to the west, there was a flash of light. And then it was a pillar of flame, ascending into the sky, its energy vanishing into the stratosphere.

It was gone as quickly as it had come and left not the barest trace of its appearance behind, save for the image seared into the retinas of her eyes.

She scrambled back down to the ground and began to run.

*.*.*

She arrived in court late and quite a bit more disheveled than decorum normally demanded. The jarl gave her an odd look as she sidled up next to him. He was midway through deciding the fate of a livestock thief and as she opened her mouth to interrupt, it happened.

The earthquake knocked Rayya off balance with its suddenness. There was a deep, rumbling roar coming from all around, a rush of air in her ears, what could almost be though of as words and then-

It was over. The court and its witnesses stood in stunned silence, the only evidence of the event, the empty goblet that had fallen from a serving table and was now rolling slowly across the floor.

*.*.*

Maintaining the appearance of normality was the first and foremost priority. The thief's case was settled as soon as things quieted down in the longhouse. The handful of other disputes in line for judgement proceeded as though nothing unusual had happened. Guard patrols did not deviate from their daily rounds and business as usual carried on in the shops of the village's craftsmen.

But that night at dinner, things were far from usual. Every person of consequence within the village had been gathered to discuss the events of the day and the moves that should be taken next.

They argued incessantly over the meaning of the pillar of light that Rayya had seen, coming to no solid conclusions at all. They agreed that the earthquake was the doing of the Greybeards' voices and pieced together that the word they had said was dov-vah-kiin. This conversation spun off into even wilder theories that only grew in fervency and imagination as the night wore on.

Rayya had formally checked out of the discussion long before it reached that point. She sipped her wine, ate her meat and languidly sopped up every last bit of the juices with a piece of bread.

Outside, it had begun to rain. The sound was soothing as it rattled on the eaves of the longhouse. She imagined that the flowers of the graveyard would be especially brilliant in the morning mist. Her ears closed to the fervor around her, she relaxed for the first time that day.

All the tension came rushing back when she heard the door slam in the hall and the sounds of a heated argument in the throne room. The dinner guests stopped their conversation and looked about worriedly.

With a sigh, Rayya excused herself and rose from her seat. She decided that she would stride in neither too fast nor too slow and handle the problem as quietly as possible.

Before she could make a move to do so, a sopping wet woman appeared in the doorway of the feast hall, small of stature, but the might of her anger filling the room with presence. Her hair clung to the back of her neck. Her dress was torn and dragged on the ground as she walked. Her teeth were clenched and her fists were balled at her sides.

"I've come a long way." she panted, taking several steps straight for the jarl. "And I demand to see"-

"My lord, forgive me." the door guard cut in as he made his appearance at the entrance. "She pushed past me. I'll escort her out straightaway."

"No!" she squawked, jerking away from him. "You will take me to see my betrothed, at which point this mess will be sorted out."

"Order!" the jarl bellowed, rising to his feet.

The murmurs of the crowd grew louder.

"I said, ORDER!"

The room quieted down. The last whispers were shushed by a glare from the jarl.

"Lady…" he said gently, looking like a tired father making a futile attempt to control a band of unruly children. "Who is your betrothed?"

She was pale and shivering and somehow much more pathetic than she had initially appeared.

"Jarl Siddgeir." she whispered.

The murmurs resumed with renewed volume.

"I said, order!" the jarl snapped, banging the table with his fist. "When were you promised to Siddgeir?"

"A...A year ago. We'd exchanged a few letters and he negotiated with my parents - that's Lord and Lady Pouvoir of Wayrest - for an alliance between our houses. I was to wed him last month but, well…"

She shuddered, holding herself.

"My train was waylaid by brigands. They…killed everyone - the servants, the guards. They were going to sell me for ransom, but I suspect they chose to keep me instead because I can do this."

She reached into her purse (it was secured around her waist with a belt of what appeared to be boat cord) and withdrew a rough brown pebble. There was a flash of greenish light from inside her clenched fist and when she opened her palm, there was a nugget of gold in its place.

"I see." Dengeir mumbled, the lines of worry on his forehead deepening. "But...you escaped?"

She shook her head, flicking water droplets on the diners seated closest to where she was standing.

"No. A detachment of Imperial soldiers cleared out the hideout and took everyone within prisoner, myself included. They...laughed when I told them who I was. The extent of my gold-making operation had grown so much that they could not believe that I was anything but a particularly industrious counterfeiter."

"Imperial dogs." someone muttered. A rumble of assent went around the room.

"We were…" she went on, more color draining from her face and her eyes growing dull. "Taken to Helgen. In a cart, with a band of war prisoners. We were to be executed."

A hush descended upon the crowd. Jarl Dengeir leaned forward in his seat. Rayya bit the inside of her bottom lip. She was hanging on to her every word.

The woman squeezed her eyes shut as though to better see what was happening in her mind.

"When my name was called, in a mocking tone, I knelt on the chopping block and made my peace with the Divines. But just as the axe was about to fall…"

Her eyes flicked open.

"A dragon came down from the sky and destroyed the town."

The uproar in the feast hall was immediate and brutal. Some accused her of lying, some screamed their assent that the dragon was real. She clutched at her chest, a look of terror on her face as she staggered backward. Rayya stepped forward, blocking the worst the crowd had to offer from her view.

"SILENCE!" the jarl bellowed, rising to his feet. "This is not the first dragon sighting reported! We have known this was coming and are putting plans into practice to protect against this eventuality. Are you heroes or cowards? We will hear the rest of what the lady has to say. Please."

Rayya stepped aside and the woman stepped forward again, doing a small, terrified curtsy before she continued.

"I...I managed to escape in the hubbub and made my way here. I-I have no dowry or household but if I could just see Siddgeir and get a message to Wayrest then perhaps we could…"

"My lady..." Dengeir said, a sad smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Rayya could see that he was trying to break the news as softly as he could. The woman was shaking like a leaf and it seemed, her nerves had been shot quite some time ago.

"Siddgeir was overthrown and exiled last month."

It was as though all the energy drained out of her. She fell to her knees shivering, tears pouring down her face.

"Hey…" Rayya said, offering her a hand. "Why don't we have Tekla draw a bath and in the mor"-

She threw back her head and screamed.

The sound shook the walls and shattered the glasses on the table. Rayya's ears rang and wine dripped down the tablecloth.

The room exploded in confusion and condemnation.

"RAYYA!" Dengeir bellowed over the panicked noise. "Take her to Nenya's room! Bar the door! Don't"-

Rayya seized her arm and hauled her to her feet.

"Dovahkiin..." a lordling from another hold hissed under his breath as he crept forward and snatched a handful of her skirt.

Rayya cracked his knuckle and gave him an icy glare as she pried his hand from its grip.

"Come with me." she whispered in her ear, blocking the wave of grabby onlookers with her body. "Up the stairs."

They scrambled up the stairs together and Rayya slammed the door behind them, locking the bar securely into place. Safe for the moment, she let out the breath she'd been holding and relaxed. A moment later, she lit the lantern on the bedside table with a deft flick of the flint by its side.

The room was tiny. There was room enough for both of them to stand and nothing more. The woman sank down onto the bed, her hands clapped over her mouth, her body wracked with shivers. Rayya felt as though she were witnessing a moment that her charge would rather have kept private.

She turned around and let her sob without any eyes on her for a time. There was the loud honk of a nose being blown and after that, the sniffles began to subside.

Rayya turned around. The woman was wiping her tears with a handkerchief as sopping wet as her dress. It wasn't a terribly successful venture. Rayya popped open the chest at the foot of Nenya's bed and dug out a clean pillow case that would serve as a better alternative. It was accepted it gratefully and she blew her nose again, with even more vigor.

"What's your name?" Rayya asked, smiling sweetly.

She was digging through Nenya's clothes, trying to find something that looked as though it wouldn't drown the girl in fabric. It was a losing prospect, but she had to try.

"C-Carolinne." she stuttered through chattering teeth, looking up at her with puffy, red eyes.

"Ah, here we go."

She pulled out a quilted jacket and a pair of linen pants. The legs and sleeves were much too long, but at least it was a style that could be rolled up. She offered them to her with a flourish.

"Here. I'm sure Nenya won't mind. I'll just get rid of those…old…"

She trailed off as Carolinne hugged her tattered skirt tightly, bunching it up to her chest as she curled up into a ball on the bed. In the lantern light, she saw the glint of gold in its filthy hem. It dawned on her then, with the certainty of one who has little in the way of things from home herself, that the ruined dress was the last thing remaining to her from Wayrest.

"Hey…" she said gently, leaning down and putting a hand on her damp shoulder. "I'll see to it that your old clothes get washed and returned to you tomorrow. I guarantee it. Agreed?"

Carolinne eased herself up to sitting position and nodded, the tiniest of smiles curling the corners of her lips.

*.*.*

In the early morning hours, while their guest still slept, the core members of the court convened in secret.

They huddled around the dinner table, its old wood stripped of its wine-stained tablecloth, mugs of soothing lavender tea in their hands. Most of the mess from the previous night had been cleared away and the room put back into order, though several of the wall hangings were still crooked.

Dengeir rubbed his temples. An missive had been sent to the apothecary for his headache tonic, but the medicine had not yet arrived.

"We are all agreed, then?" he asked, looking about the table with stern eyes. "The girl goes to High Hrothgar as soon as she is able."

Nenya and Thadgeir murmured their assent. Rayya remained silent, her fists clenching under the table at the thought of deciding upon Carolinne's future without her present to state an opinion.

"But she will need an escort." Nenya piped up, as she stirred a spoonful of honey into her tea.

"Hmm, yes." Dengeir mumbled. "The road are dangerous. Even more so with a dragon...or more...about. But a contingent of guards would make her an obvious target. And besides, I'm not sure if I can spare the men. We'll need new types of fortifications, training, a plan of action, should a dragon come here."

"Perhaps a mercenary?"

"And where would we find one who wouldn't slit her throat and run off with the payment at the first opportunity?"

"What if I were to go?"

All heads snapped towards Rayya in tandem. She felt as though a mage light had suddenly been shot in her direction, its brightness turned up in full.

"Siddgeir is no longer a threat." she went on, her voice gaining confidence as she spoke. "The war front is quiet for the moment. And two travelers are much less of a target than a group. What say you?"

Dengeir closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. When he exhaled, the tension in his shoulders had relaxed somewhat.

"When you took your oath before me, I told you that you may be free of it when the time came for you to move on. Is this what you wish?"

Rayya nodded firmly.

"I do."

Dengeir's face crinkled into a sad smile.

"Then I send you into the world with my blessing and wish you luck on your journey."

*.*.*

Carolinne herself was moderately cleaner after the bath, though no amount of scrubbing could remove every stain from her dress. She insisted on wearing it everywhere, though it frequently caused her to be mistaken for a pauper from a distance.

Her inner turmoil was a harder thing to fix. A week passed after her arrival and there were still deep hollows under her eyes, as well as a tremble in her hands. She slept like the dead and nothing could rouse her until she had gotten a good ten hours of sleep daily. Her appetite was not something that she appeared to have any type of control over. On some days she gorged herself and drank until she ended up back in bed with a hangover. Other days passed her by with her being too sick to stomach much of anything.

When she was feeling well enough to stroll through town, people looked at her with fear and awe and crowds made a wide berth around her. Rayya could see the hurt on her face whenever this happened, though she was trying with all her strength to hide it. In moments like these, she'd distract her with a funny story or point out a place in town where something interesting had happened.

Once, she took her down to the graveyard to show her the flowers. They ran into Runil there and got to talking - about life and death, beauty and decay. She spent a long time kneeling in silent prayer before the Shrine of Arkay and when she was finished, left behind the pebble of counterfeit gold as an offering, regretting aloud that she had nothing better to remember her lost servants by. Rayya reassured her that they had almost certainly reached the Far Shores, or wherever it was that Bretons went and that they were probably proud of how far she'd come.

Carolinne looked at her as though she were about to cry after that, though she was smiling wider than Rayya had ever seen her do since her arrival.

The day after that, she was formally summoned to stand before the jarl's throne.

"In two days' time, you will set out for High Hrothgar." Dengeir intoned stonily.

Carolinne listened, saying nothing, not moving a single muscle in her body. Her face was blank, betraying nothing.

"There," he went on, "they may determine whether you are Dragonborn and how to proceed from that point onward. Unfortunately, our funds were depleted by my nephew's mismanagement and there is little I can give you to speed the way, but Rayya has volunteered to accompany you. I hope you find the arrangement satisfactory."

Rayya grinned from her post at the jarl's side.

Weakly, Carolinne smiled back.

"As a final boon, I grant you the title of Thane of my court. It will give you some clout in the other courts of Skyrim, should you have need of it. To that end, I present to you the Blade of Falkreath."

Rayya stepped forward and handed her the dagger that had been custom made in her honor. Its guard was carved with the stag emblem of Falkreath, its antlers woven into intricate knots. She nodded her thanks, seemingly lost for words.

"Wind guide you on you journey." he said softly, rising from his throne. "May you find more answers there than you have here."

*.*.*

There was a small feast in Carolinne's honor on the big day and a large portion of the town came to see them off.

However, Carolinne had woken up feeling ill and hadn't been able to stomach most of it. She put on a brave face as she waved at the crowd, but Rayya could see the suffering locked away behind her forced smile as clear as day.

Dengeir gave them a final blessing. Rayya said her goodbyes, paying special attention to Runil and Zaria with misty-eyed hugs.

And with that, they were off.

They walked in silence for some time, until Falkreath slipped into memory behind them and only the sounds of the woods could be heard. When they were well out of earshot, Rayya leaned over conspiratorially.

"Where we go from here is up to you." she whispered, her lips brushing Carolinne's ear.

Carolinne's eyes widened. She skidded to a halt on the stone path.

"W-What?"

"For instance…" Rayya went on, shrugging nonchalantly. "Should you decide that you'd rather return home, I would do everything in my power to make it so."

"Hoo…" Carolinne breathed out, putting a hand to her forehead.

She put her head down and started walking again, her forehead wrinkled in concentration. Rayya strolled behind, her thumbs tucked into her belt.

Several minutes of silence punctuated only by the sound of birdsong passed.

"I…want to find out." she said at last.

Her voice was small and trembling.

"I'm…afraid of what I'll find, but if I don't lay the matter to rest now, it's going to haunt me. Does that make any sense?"

She turned around and looked at her with eyes as wide as the first night she'd stormed into the jarl's longhouse.

Rayya smiled gently.

"Of course it does."

Carolinne softened and gave her the first real smile of the day.

*.*.*

How they had both gotten up the stairs in one piece was a mystery to Rayya. They stumbled drunkenly into their room at the Winking Skeever and all but collapsed on the bed together.

It was a fine bed, the grandest one they'd seen in quite some time, with thick wool blankets and plush pillows.

"Ooooh." Carolinne moaned, messing up the blankets as she made herself comfortable. "Lucky you. It's your turn in the bed tonight."

Both to save money and ensure that Carolinne was never left alone, they had made a policy of renting a single room at every inn they visited. It was rare to get one that had more than one narrow bed and so, they'd switch off on who got to sleep in it. It had been Carolinne's turn last, when they had stopped for the night in Dragon Bridge on the way to Solitude.

"So I guess I'll just…"

She sat up clumsily and made to curl up on the rug below.

"Wait!"

Rayya grabbed her wrist before she could slide to the floor. Carolinne turned around to look at her blearily.

"We could…ah…"

The words were so hard to form.

"Um…possibly…share it? It's…certainly…big enough."

She felt her cheeks growing hot and wished she'd never said anything.

Carolinne smiled sleepily.

"Yes…" she murmured, flopping back down beside her and snuggling close. "That seems like an excellent idea."

*.*.*

Rayya opened her eyes to morning sunlight streaming through the window and the sounds of the market below coming to life after a quiet night. Carolinne was nuzzled into her side, her nose buried in her ribs, her arm flung across her waist.

With relief, she noted that they were still wearing their nightclothes and that their finery from the night before was neatly hung up on a hook in the wall. She had a vague recollection of going to great lengths to convince a sleepy Carolinne to change before falling unconscious on the bed. Though, she noted as she raised her hand to scratch her head, it seemed that she had forgotten to take her jewelry off before falling asleep herself. There were indents in her skin where her bracelets pressed into her as she slept.

And then, with a jolt of anxiety, she remembered the party.

Her heart rate sped up and her breath hitched in her throat.

A reckoning was coming and she still had no idea what she was going to do. The crimes of the one she pursued were punishable by death and deserved far more. Thousands of lost and ruined lives cried out for vengeance in her mind, her father's the loudest among them.

But as far as she knew, the perpetrator was herself an ordinary woman, lacking even a tenth of the martial prowess that Rayya possessed.

Could she storm into her room, look her in eyes and cut her down so easily?

She didn't know.

Rayya wrapped her arm around Carolinne's back and examined the patterns of sunlight on the ceiling. For a time, enshrouded in the warmth of her embrace and the weight of the fine blanket, the worries of the coming day faded from her mind. Her eyes closed as sleep claimed her again and nothing else mattered in the world, save for the slow sound of the breathing of the one who held her.

Notes:

Since I couldn't find a way to squeeze it in without massively derailing things (after all, this story isn't really about Carolinne), here's the part of her escape that Carolinne didn't want to talk about.

After she fled from Helgen, she stopped in Riverwood for a few days of rest and the second she felt well enough to travel, headed for Falkreath, on a set of bad directions from a person who had no business whatsoever in giving them. This result of this being that she took a detour close to the Western Watchtower, where Mirmulnir had made his lair. Sensing something different about her, he decided to stalk her for sport.

He chased her for days, deep into the forests of Falkreath, running her ragged and driving her to near insanity. She had run entirely out of options and was just about to give in, when she happened to run into a pair of traveling giants.

As part of her innate skill with her voice, she enjoys studying languages from time to time, Giantish being among them. The dialect of Skyrim giants is different from that of their High Rock brethren, but she managed to get the gist of the situation through to them.

It was the giants that threw boulders at Mirmulnir and succeeded at knocking him out of the sky. Before he was able to retaliate, they laid into him with their clubs. Carolinne threw rocks (it had to have caused a little damage, at least. And besides, it felt reallygood to hit him after everything he'd done).

With his death came the shock of absorbing her first dragon soul. The giants fled in terror at the sight of flames enshrouding her and she fainted not long after. It was the sound of the Greybeards' summons that awoke her a little while later.

Scared of what was happening to her and choosing to pretend that it hadn't for the time being, she pressed on, dead set on reaching Falkreath by nightfall.

Her accidental use of the thu'um was due to Mirmulnir's memories seeping into her own in a moment when she had little control over her emotions. It was as much a shock to her as it was to everyone else.

Carolinne is honestly kind of terrifying, in how much she can accomplish with a silver tongue and a limited set of skills that have no obvious purpose in combat. If you happen to be the type of person (or dragon) to draw down her ire, rest assured that she will find a way to get even with you eventually, no matter how many strings she has to pull to do it.

And that's why we're glad she's on Rayya's side.