The two of them were as silent as Falkreath's graves on the cart ride to the Thalmor Embassy.
The freshly fallen snow groaned under their wheels and the wind nipped coldly at their noses. The driver looked as though Skyrim's glaciers had carved out the bags under his eyes. He spoke more to the horses than to them, though like a gentleman, he'd hoisted them aboard at the start of the journey.
Rayya felt as though she should be making small talk, exchanging pleasantries, doing something that might make her alias as an airy Forebear noblewoman more believable. But no words came to her lips and she sat there dumbly, unable to disguise the fear that lurched in her stomach with every jolt of the cart on the cobblestone road.
Carolinne held her hand beneath the warmth of their cloaks.
*.*.*
The snow crunched under their thin shoes as they stepped up the mostly-cleared path to the top of the hill. Rayya assumed that it had been cleared fairly recently, but already it had begun to snow again - thick, fluffy stuff that clung to every available surface, including the ends of Carolinne's eyelashes.
Rayya was wearing a pair of suede moccasins that laced up to her knees in an elaborate pattern of leather cords and were not in the least made for walking in the snow. Already, her toes were cold and she could feel the dampness of the ground soaking through the seams that held them together. Not for the first time that night, she wished that she had found some way to hide a pair of sturdy boots under her skirt. They were bound to require a quick getaway at the party's conclusion and she did not relish the thought of doing it practically barefoot in this weather.
From above, the lanterns of the embassy shone with warm welcome in the sun's waning light. She could hear the tinkling laughter of elves ahead and the soft strains of a lute from behind an open door.
Too late, she looked down and realized that she'd been squeezing Carolinne's hand until her knuckles were white. With a jerk, she let go. Carolinne flexed her fingers with some measure of relief, though she'd never betrayed the pain she must have been feeling on her face for a second.
"I'm sorry." Rayya whispered, the character she was supposed to be playing shattering around her in a thousand pieces.
Carolinne touched her on the small of her back and gave her a gentle smile.
"Are you excited, Abeni?" she asked, her tone the overly bubbly one of Lady Amarie.
But, Rayya noted from the lines around her mouth, her concern was genuine.
"I hear there's going to be some interesting guests about tonight." she went on, a sly gleam in her eye. "How are you feeling about meeting them?"
"Indeed." Rayya answered, her voice cracking as she struggled to sound like who she was not. "It is exciting. But I must confess that my nerves have the better of me presently. I fear I might embarrass myself."
For barely enough time to register, a flicker of worry darted across her face. For a moment, she looked so petulant, with her painted lips and a brush of color on her eyelids.
"If you're feeling ill, then perhaps it might be prudent of you to rest for a bit. There will be other parties, I'm sure."
Rayya cracked a smile.
"But suppose I miss an opportunity that will never come again? What will my parents say? No, I'll press on, though your concern is a dear comfort."
They slowed as they reached the front gate. An elf in golden armor stood watch with a list in hand. He narrowed his eyes as he gave them a once-over and only resumed his blandly pleasant expression once Carolinne had presented their invitation.
When he turned to open the door for them, Carolinne leaned in close, her voice a whisper as for the first time that night, she truly broke character.
"All you have to be is yourself."
*.*.*
By deft manipulation, Carolinne had managed to steer the Third Emissary far away from Rayya. Somehow, the two of them were on the other side of the room and had been conversing excitedly for some minutes already.
The Emissary was waving her hands about with surprising delicacy as she spoke, Carolinne smiling and nodding in return as she listened. At a small break in the conversation, she raised a hand to her mouth and laughed. Rayya had to wonder what they could possibly be talking about. What subjects would a Thalmor higher-up take an interest in?
And how was it all so easy for Carolinne?
Sparing a few moments, she watched her charm and flatter from a distance, fitting in with the glittering crowd as easily as one who hadn't been living on the road for months. In comparison, Rayya felt like something of a clod among kings, though Carolinne had assured her multiple times that it wasn't true.
Suddenly, the emissary turned around, nearly catching Rayya's eye and just about stopping her heart. But instead of looking at her, she waved over a nearby servant with a silver tray laden with half a dozen types of minuscule pastries, each more perfect than the last. When the servant presented it to Carolinne, a look of unabashed glee came over her face and her fingers twitched as she struggled to decide which one to pick up first. She was almost certainly restraining herself from eating half the plate. Rayya laughed through her nose and turned away.
It was time to get back to the task at hand.
The distraction freed Rayya to move about the room with ease, without the Emissary's watchful eyes on her. She picked up a glass of wine from the tray of a passing servant and resumed making her way through the partygoers. A word of conversation here, a coy smile there, a surreptitious sip to avoid talking for too long and a flutter of the eyelashes as she strove to not be too obvious about checking the faces of every Redguard in attendance.
A good half of the guests were high-ranking Nords. She recognized Jarl Idgrod from Morthal and a handful of thanes from Jarl Elisif's court. She had met them all but briefly several years ago on a trip with Jarl Dengeir to the Blue Palace and made, she hoped, precious little impression on them. Nevertheless, she deftly avoided their line of vision as she made her careful dance across the room.
The rest were a mixture of smiling Thalmor operatives nibbling hors'dourves as though the blood on their hands was not thick enough to taste, a smattering of Imperial officers in gold-trimmed armor and finally, a small contingent of wealthy Redguard merchants.
The latter were the only ones who mattered. She focused on them and only them as she slipped through the crowd, swimming from one knot of conversation to the next, rarely staying long enough to introduce herself before moving on to the next target.
A woman with dreadlocks past her shoulders was chatting amiably with a Thalmor officer. She saw her from the back, in a green silk gown, a glass of amber wine in her hand. Holding her breath, Rayya tapped her on the shoulder.
The woman spun around with a look of surprise, the wine sloshing in her glass. She was much younger than Iman of House Suda was supposed to be. Her face was as smooth as a baby's bottom.
"Forgive me." Rayya said, curtsying as she smiled sweetly. "I had mistaken you for someone else."
She nodded and turned away.
There was no one else left to check.
Rayya was sweating. She could feel the dampness seeping into the fabric of her gown. The warmth of so many bodies and the air of so many circular conversations pressed in around her like a physical presence.
This was what Malborn told us, she tried to reassure herself. That she rarely comes out of her room. That odds are likely I'll have to come to her.
She wiped her brow and set her wine glass down on the bar. Malborn, their kitchen spy, looked up curiously with his black eyes, the only outward sign of his anxiety being the steady drum of his fingers on the counter. She caught his eye and wordlessly made the sign they'd agreed upon.
It took a bit longer to draw Carolinne's attention. She didn't think she had seen her at first, but then she flashed the proper hand signal in return and a rush of relief flooded her system. Rayya steeled herself for what they were about to do, excitement and terror rushing through her blood in equal measure.
Across the room, Carolinne finished off the buttery little pastry in her hand and licked her fingers. Out of long habit, she almost wiped them on her skirt but remembered where she was at the last moment. The Emissary, her long, severe face cracking a smile, offered her a handkerchief. Carolinne refused politely and as though by magic, produced her own out of thin air.
For a little while longer, they continued to talk.
Rayya imagined her warping the threads of the conversation this way and that, pushing it to the desired outcome so subtly that no one would be the wiser. She could make them believe anything. She could change reality itself.
"Everyone!" Carolinne cried out above the sound of the crowd, clapping her hands to draw attention.
Conversation quieted down to a murmur and all eyes shifted to her.
"I've come a long way to be here tonight, among you fine people!"
One of the merchants, already quite drunk, cheered and pumped his fist into the air. Carolinne pointed at him with both pointer fingers and winked.
"And Emissary Elenwen has decreed that I should honor you with a song from my homeland!"
She turned to the lute player who had been mostly ignored that evening as he plucked out notes in a lonesome corner. Bending close to his ear, she said something that Rayya couldn't quite hear and the musician nodded excitedly, standing up straighter than he had all night.
All remaining murmurs was silenced as a somber, haunting melody, rife with impossible longing, poured from the strings of his lute. Carolinne stood beside him, tapping her foot to the rhythm, her body swaying as she stood. And then, she opened her mouth.
Rayya had never properly heard her sing before. She'd heard humming, whistling, the songs she'd sing in the bath when she thought no one could hear her, but nothing like this.
She was not prepared.
Her voice spilled from her throat as though it had come from another plane of existence. Rayya stood, enraptured as she sang, the sound washing over her like waves, trapping her as surely as it trapped the guests held in its spell.
It was a lay about a bride leaving home for a future she knew nothing of. She felt the longing in her words, the loneliness, the loss. Her eyes were brimming with tears as she sang.
Malborn tapped her shoulder from behind the bar and with a startled jerk, the spell was broken. Wishing nothing more in her life than being able to hear the end, she looked back as she slipped through the kitchen door.
For a shining moment, Carolinne was framed perfectly by the door frame, the crowd with their enraptured faces, the way the lights all seemed to be pointing at her. Her arms outstretched, she threw her head back and...
Malborn closed the door swiftly and turned the key in the lock. His hands were shaking as he returned the key to his belt.
Rayya followed him cautiously inside, trying to conceal her disappointment and focus on the mission ahead.
"I'm sorry." he whispered, pulling out a long, crooked knife of Orcish make from behind a wheel of cheese on the pantry shelf. "It was the best I could do."
Rayya put a hand on his trembling shoulder and took the knife with her free hand.
"Thank you." she said, smiling though her own fear was returning in full force. "You've been very brave."
Malborn gave her a half-hearted smile in return.
"I try. It's...the third door down. She should be in there. Though I uh...I haven't seen her since breakfast. All the other guests are outside - I know that for sure - so it should be empty, save for...her."
He squeezed the bridge of his nose and wrinkled up his face before relaxing again.
"Do...do what you need to do."
"I will."
She squeezed his shoulder and let go. He nodded dazedly and backed away, swiftly taking his place back at the bar. For a fraction of a second, she heard the last notes of Carolinne's song wafting through the open door.
She tested the balance of the knife in her hand and found it to be better than expected. After flipping it in the air a few times, she tucked it into the laces that bound her shoes to her feet and smoothed her skirt over.
Her skin was rippling with goosebumps despite the crackling fire in the oven.
She put her ear to the door and hearing no footsteps, threw it open.
The air was still and chill in the empty hallway.
*.*.*
She could see light through the crack of the third door down.
For what felt like hours, she stood there, staring at it, watching its pale flicker across the gleaming floor tiles.
She tried to imagine what the woman behind the door was thinking, in these moments that she did not yet know were her last.
But the only thing she could feel was the cold, hard ball of emptiness in her chest that drained all else, like a void inside her.
Her hand was on the door knob. When had she put it there?
Slowly, with excruciating finesse, she turned it. The woman on the other side had to have heard her by now.
And like that, it was open, with nothing more than a quiet squeak.
A Redguard woman was staring at her, her eyes wide with fright, a pen between her ink-stained fingers. She was beautiful, or might have been, had she lived a gentler life. Her hands were rough and callused and on the thin strip of skin revealed by her rolled up sleeves were the rings of aging burn scars that marked the arms of a cook.
The left side of her mouth drooped unnaturally. On that same side of her face were three ragged scars, of the exact size and shape that the Alik'r warrior had first described, so many weeks ago.
Rayya closed the door behind her.
"Excuse me." the woman snapped, her eyebrows plunging downwards, her eyes blazing with the reflected light of the lantern. "The party isn't in here. This is a private room."
"Oh, I'm well aware." Rayya said coolly, the ball in her chest tightening as she took a single step forward. "Iman, of House Suda."
She leapt to her feet, kicking her chair away in her haste. Her pen rolled across the floor, dripping its ink on the carpet.
"Who are you?" she gasped. "What...what do you want?"
And what of your brother? Would you not revenge him?
"I-I have nothing."
She was advancing on her.
And what of the grief that killed your Iya? Did you not care for her?
"I'm not worth a-any..."
She was nearly against the wall. There was nowhere else she could possibly go. If she screamed, there was no one who could come fast enough to save her.
And the livelihood they took from your family? Would you not have them pay every coin back in blood?
She was crying.
Tears prickled at Rayya's own eyes, but she blinked them away. The ball tightened like a fist in her chest, threatening to squeeze her heart to ribbons.
"Why?" she breathed.
It was all she could do to stop her voice from cracking.
Iman twitched as though she'd been slapped. For a scant few seconds, she looked at her, as a rabbit regards the fox who has backed it into a corner.
"I…don't…know…" she sputtered out, tears pouring down her cheeks. "I…I was young and lost and t-there was so much I didn't understand and, a-and"-
Rayya sighed. Her head ached. Only then did she realize that she'd been gritting her jaw.
She felt as though her skin had been scraped raw by the fury of an Alik'r sandstorm. She felt empty, as though food had not passed her lips for days on end. Hand it over, she heard a man say, his knife flashing in the light of the setting sun.
She closed her eyes and reached for it.
Her fingers curled around the hilt. She saw the blade in her mind's eye, silver and perfect. She smelled the freshness of the vines as they curled around her wrist, as they reached into her soul, part and parcel of it.
She opened her eyes and the room shone with light. The blade gleamed in her hand, as real as it had always been in her dreams, thrumming with power to the soles of her feet.
Iman backed into the wall, her knees nearly giving out from under her, her face streaked with tears.
Rayya advanced, her stance relaxed, her sword arm flexible, but not unyielding.
A moment before it would have been too late, she saw the knife jabbing toward the space between her ribs. Utterly without thought, she seized her by the wrist and squeezed until the knife fell from her hand, hitting the carpet with a muffled thump. With a single kick, it shot away under the bed, as good as gone forever.
Iman fell to her knees sobbing, her chest heaving with sad little hiccups. Rayya wove her fingers through her hair and jerked her head upright so that she was looking her in the eyes. The blade fit under her throat as though it had been made to fit.
"I-I'm s-sorry." she blubbered, squeezing her eyes shut against the glow of the blade at her throat. "I'm s-so...s-sorry."
It was so easy.
One little cut and it would all be over. A slight touch of pressure and the shame that had followed her would be gone. The barest movement and the hole in her chest would again be filled.
Would it really?
One cut would not bring them back. A single death could not ever pay for the lives that had fallen that night or all the nights that followed. Its weight was nothing compared to the suffering of those left behind.
The blade wavered in her hand, flickering in and out of existence. Iman shivered, her eyes still closed.
Come on, a voice begged from the back of her skull. There are no witnesses. If you leave the body now, no one will find it until you are well away...
She was gritting her teeth again. Her head was pounding.
Vengeance was the easiest thing in the world.
But Justice - true Justice - the hardest.
Her soul recoiled at the thought. Her stomach turned at the peril she'd be facing.
But who would she be if she did not do it?
"Stand." she said.
Iman opened her eyes, her bottom lip quivering. When she stared at her dumbly instead of standing, she took the blade from her throat and jerked her to her feet by the roots of her hair. She cried out, her knees nearly buckling under her again.
"Now walk me to the door and open it."
She took a tentative step towards the door, her hands outstretched, the sword at the level of her ear.
"The book." she gasped as they passed by the desk. "Please...don't make me leave the book."
From the corner of her eye, Rayya spied it, its pages yellowed, a great inkblot marring the delicate cursive inside.
"Take it." she answered softly. "But if you try something..."
She moved the blade closer to her throat.
Iman gulped and with shaking hands, gathered up the tome and cradled it like a child in her arms.
Iman going first, her feet unsteady as Rayya nudged her forward, they stepped out.
A Khajiit woman with bloodshot eyes, her hand on the kitchen doorknob, spun around with a start as they entered. A bowl of a powdery white substance dropped from her hands and shattered, sending its dust everywhere. With a hiss, she clawed the door open and slammed it behind her.
Rayya lunged forward, sinking her blade up to the hilt in the stone of the wall. It cut as easily as a thought - one side, then the next, then the top. With a grunt, she kicked the wall outward.
She could hear footsteps pounding on glazed tile.
Iman screamed as she shoved her through the hole and she fell, face first onto the pile of rubble below. Rayya jumped after her, grabbing her by the collar with her free hand and hauling her to her feet before she could collect herself.
The cold bit at her bare skin. The snow was falling thicker. The lanterns seemed dimmed by it, their light consumed by the onslaught of swirling flakes.
She dragged her through the last stretch of courtyard, the snow nearly up to their knees. Iron bars were their last barrier to freedom.
With a cry, she sank her blade into the fence and cut. The metal melted, red-hot under her touch. Without a sound, the bars fell into the snow as though they had never been there at all.
The blade flickered in her hand and went out.
She could hear shouts in the distance and the clang of armor.
Iman opened her mouth to scream and Rayya slapped a hand over it the moment before she could.
Her chest heaving, she dragged her out into the night.
*.*.*
Arrows whistled around her as she fled. A bolt of lightening from one of the mages nearly struck her before she made it into the woods, the struggles of her prisoner dragging her down.
"Over HERE!" Iman screamed the second her hand slipped from her face.
Teeth sank into her hand, but she held firm. An arrow grazed her cheek, but she kept on moving.
They were catching up.
She could see the light of their torches, hear their shouts growing ever nearer.
She imagined her father's hem, flapping in the dark as he hurried through burning streets, her close behind. Nothing existed outside the hem. There were no people crying for help, no panicked masses, no lightening in the distance, no city falling to pieces around them. It was hers to focus on the hem, to hold tight to Baba and kept moving. There was no hope unless she moved.
A rumble shook the earth beneath her feet, momentarily halting her. Iman screamed again, clawing at her arm, struggling to break free. She stomped hard on her foot, but Rayya felt nothing but the cold of the ground.
In the rumble, she could hear words.
Startled cries rang out from the forest as the sky opened up as though Oblivion itself had come to Tamriel again. Thunder boomed and lightening flashed. Jagged shards of ice rained down like a shower of knives.
Rayya flung Iman over her shoulder and in the confusion, ran.
*.*.*
She dumped her prisoner unceremoniously at the cave they'd chosen as their meeting place, tore off her shoe and stuffed it in her protesting mouth. Iman shrieked behind her gag as she bound her hands with the cord from her other shoe and belted her ankles together with her own sturdy girdle.
She sat, cross-legged on the icy stone floor, the knife in her lap.
And waited.
She did not dare to light a fire, though her feet were bare and the wind tore through the thin fabric of the dress. There were blankets stashed in the cave, healing ointments and half-frozen food that she could not bring herself to eat. Iman glared at her as she wrapped her in blankets, as she tended the scrapes she'd gotten when she'd thrown her out of the embassy.
She curled up against the wind, the blankets poor defense against the chill that was seeping into her soul.
*.*.*
She nearly killed Carolinne in the early hours of the morning.
All she had seen was the hood and the glint of gold that betrayed a Thalmor inquisitor. With a cry, she had lunged, the orcish knife in her hand. Carolinne had lurched away, the oversized hood falling to her shoulders to reveal her wild eyes and snarled hair.
And then they had both laughed uproariously, hugging and crying.
In the midst of it, Carolinne had touched the wound on her cheek, now covered with the oily ointment.
"Did I do that?" she gasped between breaths. "The storm was a bit much..."
"Oh, no! No..." Rayya said between bouts of laughter. "A persistent archer. Nothing more."
Her breathing steadying at last, she reached up to take hold of her hand. It was warm against her cheek, blazing hot compared to the chill of the night. Carolinne's hand moved around to the back of her neck and Rayya shifted to hold her closer. And then their noses were touching, her lips brushed hers and the air they breathed was the same.
When Carolinne let her go at last, her eyes were shining with their old spark.
"You would not believe the night I had." she croaked, her voice hoarse. "Oh gods, everything went wrong that could have, really. This old elf wouldn't leave me alone, I had to duck under the rack in the torture chamber, they caught Malborn to draw me out of hiding and then once I convinced them to let him go, our only escape was right through a frost troll's - hello..."
She stopped short at the entrance to the cave, her eyebrows rising at the sight of Iman glaring darkly at her.
"Lady Pouvoir," Rayya said, making a grand hand gesture, unable to suppress her smile. "This is Lady Iman, of House Suda. She'll be travelling with us for a bit. I hope you don't mind."
"Ah..ha-ha." she laughed, putting her hand over her mouth. "Oh gods, no. Not at all. I...uh...should be pleased to make her acquaintance. Exceedingly so."
She threw her arms around Rayya's neck and hugged her tight.
"I'm glad." she whispered, not letting go until the sun peeked over the horizon.