Chapter 7: Thieves, Killers, and Other Upstanding Citizens
"How can you defend him?" I asked, real anger creeping up into my voice. "Ulfric Stormcloak is a murderer and a tyrant!"
"That's certainly one way to think of it," Professor Gemane mused, seeming to take no offense from my angry tone. "But that's the point of the exercise: thinking about the ways in which different people view different things."
I struggled to calm down as the teacher spoke. Honestly, it wasn't really Ulfric Stormcloak that I was mad at; the last few days had just been stressful, and they didn't look like they were going to get easier any time soon.
"So then we're just supposed to ignore the things he's done?" I asked, moderating my tone.
"You have to keep in mind," Professor Gemane said as he leaned against the edge of his desk, "that to some people, Ulfric Stormcloak is a hero. To others, he's the worst sort of villain. As a bard, you have to be able to judge a room instantly to figure out what the audience believes."
"Well, that's easy enough," Jorn said with a wave of his pale hand. "Just look at what colors the guards are wearing—Stormcloak blue or Imperial red, and you've got your answer."
"Is it really?" Gemane asked with a raised eyebrow. "You think that every tavern in Stormcloak territory drinks to the Bear of Eastmarch? Or that all of the ones in Imperial Skyrim hold up a glass for the health of Jarl Elisif?" He shook his head. "In a civil war, these things become complicated. Civil wars—if I may be allowed the small pun—are rarely civil."
"And that's why you wanted us to read up about 'The Age of Oppression'?" asked Aia with a smile. "It's a brilliant way to illustrate your lesson, sir." I groaned at the obvious flattery, but Gemane preened. Aia was always looking for a way to gain an advantage in the class; the professor was knowledgeable about his subjects, but he was a little too susceptible to having his ego stroked.
"Well, about 'The Age of Oppression' and 'The Age of Aggression,'" replied Professor Gemane. "No one knows which side wrote the tune—or if it was just adopted by some bard from an older song that's been lost—but both sides now use the same musical arrangement with different lyrics to support their chosen beliefs. It helps illustrate the essential point of this lecture."
"Which is what exactly?" I asked with a sharp note. This time, Professor Gemane did seem annoyed, looking at me down his sharp nose with a glare that could cut leather.
"That the two sides are more alike than they would like to admit," he said. "Being a bard means seeing a problem from many points of view, not just your own. I think this assignment will be most illuminating for you in particular, Master Aretino."
I ran through the dark streets of Solitude, following a girl who had very recently inflicted grievous harm on me. My face hurt from the cold wind whipping into it, and my head ached from being head-butted twice in one night. My stomach roiled and my muscles burned from exertion. She laughed as she ran, moving as lightly over snow and ice as a hart through the forest, carrying Finn's Lute over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes instead of one of the most valuable historical relics in the whole country.
I was furious. I was hurting.
I was having the time of my life.
At some point, I just stopped caring why I was chasing her. Finn's Lute didn't matter. I didn't know if we were going to start fighting again when I caught up to her. Nothing mattered but the chase, the freedom of running and of hunting. I smiled in the cold and dark, feeling for the first time the true joy in just cutting loose and giving it my all. I reveled in being just an animal on the prowl, chasing down my prey as my heart pumped like a war drum in my chest.
I whistled through my teeth, and Pavot appeared out of the night, running at my side. The ice wolf was never far from me, and I had made sure he was near Thane Erikur's house before beginning my break-in. I hadn't expected anything to go wrong, but it comforted me to know that a two-hundred-pound wolf was my backup. I glanced down at the ice wolf; his doggy grin made it clear that he was enjoying the chase just as much as I was. The time had come to end it, though, before she tired of being chased and decided to disappear again.
I gestured forward, pointing at the girl's back, and forked my fingers. Pavot chuffed once and then raced off down a side alley. We had drilled this maneuver a dozen times, but it was our first time using it in the field. I was occasionally struck by just how smart Babette's ice wolf was—and sometimes wondered if he wasn't smarter than I gave him credit for. As Pavot vanished into the darkness, I put on a burst of speed and started closing the gap between us.
Runa looked back over her shoulder at the sound of my hammering footsteps drawing near, cocking a devilish grin as she started pushing herself faster. I nodded to myself; I had expected her to be pacing herself. As we passed by a bin full of garbage, I stuck out my hand and scooped up a frozen piece of trash, then chucked it at Runa's elbow. The frozen ball cracked into the wall just beside her, making her slow down slightly and spin into a defensive posture.
Just as she looked toward the noise, Pavot came barreling out of an alleyway ahead of her. The ice wolf was faster than both of us on our best day, and he crashed into her with the force of a runaway wagon. She only had time to gasp before Pavot put her on the ground, the lute spilling out of her hand and into a snowbank. I gritted my teeth at the sight, but I would have to worry about it later. For now, it was wrapped in oilcloth and unlikely to be anything more than slightly scuffed.
In the seconds it took me to catch up to them, Pavot had wrestled Runa onto her back, where she still thrashed, one hand groping for a belt knife. I calmly stepped on her wrist before bending down to disarm her, tossing the knife aside into the alley's muck.
"I'd relax if I were you," I told her. "Pavot here can get a little jumpy when his prey struggles." The ice wolf growled low in his throat and bared his teeth to back up my words, leaving me to wonder again just how much he understood of what I said.
"Okay, okay," Runa said, seeming more amused than worried. "I guess you win."
"You think this is a game?" I asked in frustration as I went to collect the lute and make certain that it wasn't damaged.
"Of course it's a game," she grinned. "You just take things too seriously." She paused, biting her lip in a way that would have been more distracting if I weren't still furious with her. "I suppose that hasn't changed since the last time I saw you. I remember you being a very serious boy."
"It's not that I was too serious. You were just never serious enough," I returned, squatting down next to her in the snow. I wasn't worried about Runa catching her death of cold even though she was half-pushed into a pile of icy slush; she might be a thief, but she was still a Nord. "You always took too many risks. Do you remember that first day you talked to me?"
"I brought you sausages and bread," she said with a smile.
"And kept some of it for yourself," I pointed out. "You acted like you could never get caught."
"You say that I took too many risks, but you were the one who ran away in the end," Runa replied, her smile turning sad. "When Grelod got killed, we knew you kept your promise… but then you never came back. Samuel said you must have died up in Windhelm. He thought the Brotherhood might have killed you or something."
"Why would the Brotherhood take my contract but kill me too?" I asked in confusion.
"Who knows why the Dark Brotherhood does anything?" she shrugged. "Truth is, I never thought you were dead. I figured you must have just decided you didn't want to be around us anymore and got some soft-hearted adults to take you in."
"Runa…" I started to say. "It wasn't like that. I was going to come back, but…"
"But what?" she asked, her tone angry now. "Did you forget the way?"
"I saved all of you from Grelod!" I half-shouted at her. "I almost died doing it!"
"Saved us?" Runa replied. "You might have gotten old Grelod killed, but it didn't save us."
"What do you mean?" I asked, my blood turning colder than the Solitude night.
"Get your mutt off me, buy me a mead, and I'll tell you the whole story," she said. Pavot snarled at her for being called a mutt, but my hand on the scruff of his neck quieted him down.
"I've got to stash the lute first," I told her, not willing to give her another chance to steal it from me, "but I want to hear the story." I thought for a moment before continuing. "Meet me tonight at the Winking Skeever, just after sunset."
She nodded sullenly, starting to stand as Pavot took his weight off of her. Pavot suddenly leaned forward again, forcing her back into the snow and locking eyes with her. She held up her hands in a posture of surrender, but didn't take her hazel eyes away from the wolf's blue ones. Something invisible seemed to pass between them, and the wolf finally backed off a few steps to let her stand up.
Runa eyed the bag with the lute in it, and I shifted it onto my shoulder to make it clear she wasn't taking it again. She smiled, put the toe of her boot under the dagger I had taken from her and kicked it into the air, where she caught it without looking. She sheathed the knife without taking her eyes off of me.
"See you tonight, Aventus," she purred, backing away from me. "It's a date."
As she vanished into the dark night, I couldn't help but wonder how she had left me feeling like she had gotten the upper hand again, even though I had what we had been fighting over.
I spent an hour doubling back through the streets of Solitude until I was certain I hadn't been followed. Once I was absolutely sure no one could have tracked me through the dark and snow of the Skyrim night, I crept through back alleys until I reached Proudspire Manor and silently let myself in through the side door. This time, I was ready for the intense dark in the basement; I had put a lantern and striker right next to the door before leaving.
As I stripped out of my armor and changed into plain clothes again, I could feel worry creeping into my bones. The fact that Runa knew my name and face was beginning to hit home, like a cold snake coiled in the pit of my stomach. No one had ever known the whole truth of me before, and revealing my face to an outsider—even a member of the Thieves Guild—was a serious risk for an assassin. I didn't think that she would reveal my secret… but what if she did? What if I was wrong about her?
I slunk through the corridors of the manor to my room, bringing Pavot along with me for mutual warmth. Even though I was sore and bone-tired, I made sure that all of my gear was safely hidden away before anything else. After all of my reckless behavior chasing after Finn's Lute, I was beginning to revert to a more cautious outlook on things. The lute itself I put into an old clothes chest at the foot of my bed, dropping some linens over it, and then locking the chest. It wouldn't keep out someone who knew it was there—but the whole point was that no one should know where it was now.
With everything safely stowed away, I finally shrugged off my shirt and trousers, collapsing into bed with a relieved sigh. I barely managed to get a blanket pulled up over my shoulders before passing out.
When I woke up, Pavot was curled up against me, his doggy breath chuffing into my face as his feet occasionally kicked with the force of some sort of dream. It was still night out, and the windows betrayed no hint of light from outside. I half opened my eyes, listening to the room while keeping my breathing level. Something had woken me up.
I wasn't alone in the room.
I quietly moved my free hand—the other was trapped under the ice wolf's weight—toward my pillow. I kept a spare knife under my pillow in Proudspire Manor and back at the Bards College. If I had learned anything from Cicero, it's that you could never have too many knives. As my hand touched the hilt, the floorboards creaked ever-so-lightly. A tiny sliver of moonlight peaked through the window, casting the room in a grey half-light. I could barely make out the shape of a figure out of the corner of my heavy-lidded eyes.
Part of me began to panic at the sight. Too many of my nightmares had begun just this same way—alone in a room, with someone moving around at the edges of my sight. It wasn't until they came closer that I could see Rolff Stone-Fist or Grelod the Kind or Vigurl Deep-Water, snarling for vengeance against me. I suppressed the fear and concentrated on the reality of the knife in my hand. In my dreams, I was always helpless. No, this was real.
I waited until the figure shifted its weight again, then sat up in one swift motion and threw the dagger at it as hard as I could. I rolled away from Pavot and came up to my feet, grabbing for another knife. The figure thrashed on the ground, kicking and jerking as the knife I had thrown claimed its life. I found my face twisting into an ugly smile. I didn't enjoy killing for its own sake as much as some of my brothers and sisters—but there was a part of me that did enjoy it.. I leaned down, groping for the lantern I kept on my nightstand.
As I lit the lantern, my smile disappeared and the breath stopped in my throat. Laying there in a pool of spreading blood was Dagny, her eyes hollow and unseeing. My knife was stuck in her pale throat, just as it had been in Vigurl's. I started shaking my head, trying to deny what I was seeing. I looked toward the bed, only to find that Pavot was nowhere in sight. Instead, Nelkir was standing there, a bloody long sword in one hand, its tip resting on the ground. In his other hand, he held a severed human head by the hair. It was Runa's, her mouth open in a frozen scream of terror.
"Happy birthday, Aventus," he said, black blood welling up from his mouth as he spoke and running down his chin to stain his fine clothes.
Before I could begin screaming, I woke up.
I stumbled through the next morning like a draugr, half-dead and grumbling. Jordis was concerned about my health to the point of checking me for fever every few minutes during breakfast, but I was finally able to convince her that I had just slept poorly.
"I can't imagine why," she said with a shake of the head as she cleared the dishes. "Your bed looks so comfortable." She got a dreamy look on her face as she began to immerse the dishes in water. "So comfortable…"
"The bed isn't the problem," I muttered. "Bad dreams."
"You're pushing yourself too hard at school," Jordis said sagely. "My youngest brother had the same problem. Only he was a soldier, not a bard. He would work himself half to death worrying about his training drills, about what his sergeant thought about him, about his uniform being clean enough. All sorts of things. And when he had leave, he would come home and barely be able to sleep from all the worrying."
"What happened with your brother?" I asked, finally starting to wake up a little. "Did he get over worrying so much?"
"You could say that," Jordis responded with a sad smile. "He was killed in battle by the Forsworn." I started to open my mouth to apologize, but she waved it off. "It was a few years ago." She started wiping plates, turning away from me. "It really helped me to understand something, though."
"What's that?" I asked.
"That there's no point worrying about things," she said, finally looking back at me with red-rimmed eyes, "because you're either worrying about things you can control, or about things you can't control. The things you can control, there's no reason to worry about as long as you're doing your best. And the things you can't control… Well, you can't do anything about them, so there's no point upsetting yourself."
"You're saying that people shouldn't try their hardest then?" I said, trying to understand her.
"Of course not," she said with what was almost a sharp look. "Everyone should always try their best. I'm just saying that when you're not training, or planning, or doing, you shouldn't get yourself all twisted up." She paused, then shook her strawberry-blond locks in frustration. "Maybe I'm just being stupid. Wouldn't be the first time."
"I don't think so," I told her. "I think you're actually a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for, Jordis." She smiled a little at that, but it was a smile that said she thought I was just humoring her. "It's just hard for some people to learn how to relax that much, I guess." That was an understatement, really. Most of the assassins I knew were wound tighter than steel wire; Garnag was the exception.
"Will you be back for dinner?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Probably not," I said with some real regret. I had to make a point to spend more time with Jordis; she was a kind person, and I liked that. "I have some things to do tonight, and then I have to get back to school for class tomorrow."
She nodded, and impulsively I hugged her. It was an awkward gesture, since I wasn't used to touching people, but she seemed happy that I had tried. She embraced me back and told me to be careful.
Sadly, it's the one piece of advice I've never been good at following.
As soon as I was out the door, I walked around back to the patio at the rear of Proudspire Manor. I normally enjoyed the sea breeze that came up off the cliffs below Solitude, but it was a chill wind today and I shivered in the sudden cold. Pavot was lounging on the patio, curled up against a stone bench, and I stooped to scratch him behind the ears. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't recall letting him out this morning. I shrugged it off, supposing that Jordis must have been thoughtful enough to do it for me; it was just like her.
"She's not going to see you today either," came a voice from behind me. I forced myself to not jump at the sound, but it was very difficult. I hadn't heard anyone moving, and I certainly hadn't seen anyone. Pavot growled deep in his throat but didn't move from his spot as I stood to look at my unexpected guest.
Standing no more than ten feet from me was Nelkir. How had he gotten onto the patio without me seeing him? I could see some snow dusting the cuffs of his trousers, which meant that he must have leapt across—like Frothar and I had done one day—but he had done it without drawing my notice at all. I cursed myself for being so distracted and sloppy; civilian life would get me killed yet.
"Good morning, Nelkir," I said as though his appearance were the most natural thing in the world. "I take it you mean Dagny?"
"You take it correctly," he said, mocking my polite tone. I could feel my cheeks begin to burn at his snide response. "By the gods, she's certainly done a number on you. She'll have you saying 'milord' and 'milady' before you know it, and holding your pinkie finger out while you drink tea."
"I don't like tea," I said automatically.
"You will by the time she's done with you," he laughed. "Be thankful for a day of freedom!"
"Is Dagny still not feeling well?" I asked, trying to keep my voice civil.
"If by 'not feeling well,' you mean 'bleeding like a stuck pig,' then yes," he chuckled. Nelkir walked up to me and clapped me on the shoulder with a smile that looked out of place on his pale, drawn face. "That means it's just you and me today."
"I beg your pardon?" I said, genuinely confused. I was also somewhat uneasy about Nelkir touching me; I didn't like being touched by strangers at the best of times, and something about Nelkir's fake-cheerful shoulder slapping put me off. His hand was far too warm for the weather, almost like there was a fever burning inside his thin frame. I wondered, not for the first time, if Nelkir was sick.
"If you're going to be dating my sister," he proclaimed, snaking his arm around my shoulders and walking me away from Pavot, "then you and I are going to have to become friends."
"Nelkir," I started with a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach, "I'm glad that you want to be friends, but I was really planning on spending the day with Dagny."
"And she can't make it," he reiterated as though talking to a slightly slow child, "so you have plenty of time to come drinking with me." At my look of surprise, he laughed and pulled out a coin purse. "No fear, I'm buying. I know that a student has a limited budget for fun, so the drinks are on me today." He leaned in conspiratorially and lowered his voice as though someone might overhear, cupping his hands around his mouth melodramatically. "Actually, my father is paying for drinks, but don't tell Frothar or he'll get all in a huff about it." He laughed wildly again.
"Are you sure you aren't already drunk?" I asked with growing amusement.
"Not 'already,' Aventus," he insisted, then leaned so close his breath tickled my cheek. "More like 'still.'"
I couldn't help myself. Despite his unwanted closeness and my previous worries about him, something about Nelkir's demeanor made it impossible to stay annoyed at him when he was cheerful. I burst out laughing, feeling a weight lift from me. It felt good to just let go, and within a few moments both of us were laughing our fool heads off in the middle of a gathering snowfall. White flakes clung to Nelkir's dark locks, giving him an air of softness he didn't normally possess.
"Fine then," I finally conceded, wiping the tears of laughter from my eyes. "You can buy me a drink—one drink!" I insisted. "It's barely noon yet."
"Aventus," Nelkir said with a smile, throwing his arm around my shoulders again, "it's already evening somewhere in the world. Don't be so provincial!"
I can't tell you where the day went. One drink turned into two drinks, and two drinks turned into I-don't-know-how-many. Nelkir ran me from one tavern to the next, buying drinks for the few people who had meandered in so early in the day, leading rousing toasts to the Empire, and rushing off again before I had time to do more than gulp down my mead. I've never cared for the taste of mead. But once you've had a few of them, you don't care so much about the taste.
We chatted about life in Solitude, about what Whiterun had been like before the Stormcloaks came, we sang "The Age of Aggression" more times than I can count, and we got into at least one brawl that I think we won. Everything was a blur after the first hour, except for the occasional moments of terrible sobriety brought on by the stinging cold and whipping snow whenever we stepped out of one tavern to go looking for the next one.
"We drink to our youth," we howled together in the streets, "for the days come and gone! For the age of aggression is just about done!" We were off-key and probably mangled the words a few times, but we didn't care. "We'll drive out the Stormcloaks and restore what we own! With our blood and our steel, we will take back our homes!" As we passed by random strangers, they would harmonize with us for a line or two before laughing and waving us on our way.
Under all of the sullenness, the bad humor, the angry looks, I was beginning to discover a Nelkir that I don't think Frothar or Dagny ever saw. He was a carouser and a heavy drinker, but he was spreading goodwill for the Empire everywhere he went, as surely as any bard I'd ever seen. We never left a tavern without the patrons lifting a mug in Jarl Elisif's name, and usually with them proclaiming her the High Queen of Skyrim. We never left a tavern without the staff smiling at Nelkir's generosity and the customers slapping him on the back as we left. Even when we got into a fight, the losers were laughing it up by the time we all hauled ourselves off the ground and back to the bar for another round.
Nelkir spread good cheer wherever he went, and by the end of the day, he had none left for himself.
Our last stop was the Winking Skeever. It had taken every ounce of willpower I had to keep from forgetting about my meeting with Runa, so I kept steering us to other places. I figured if we hit the Skeever last, then at least I would pass out in the place I needed to be. I wasn't thinking especially clearly by this point; if I had been in my right mind, I never would have considered losing consciousness in a place where I was meeting a potential enemy.
As we sat at a corner table together, Nelkir still drinking and me nursing a mug of hot tea, I could see his good mood slipping away by inches. His face had turned pensive and brooding, his dark eyes seeming to disappear into the shadows cast by the tavern's dim lights.
"What's wrong?" I asked him, feeling the tea beginning to restore my wits if not my equilibrium.
"Nothing," he said sullenly. "Everything." He took a deep drink from his mug and slammed it back on the table, drawing nervous looks from the serving maids. "You know what the worst thing about a good day is, Aventus?" he asked. I shook my head. "It ends. It always ends." He knocked the empty mug over with one finger, watching the few remaining drops spatter on the table.
"My mother said that good days are our strength for when we have bad ones," I told him.
"Doesn't sound like Diana," he said glumly. "She mostly talks in insults."
"My real mother," I replied. That was something she had said, long ago. I hadn't thought about it in years. "You don't like Diana then?"
"She gets away with too much," he said bitterly. "If I tried half the things she does with Balgruuf, he'd have me disowned and exiled."
"I guess being the Dragonborn goes a long way," I said, not being willing to argue about it. Diana wasn't perfect, that much I could agree with—but I was too hopelessly in love with her to be able to acknowledge more than that.
"That's the world for you," Nelkir said, standing up shakily. "Special people get to walk all over the rest of us."
"I think you're special, Nelkir," I said before I could stop myself. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, which was only heightened by his gale of harsh laughter.
"No, I'm not," he cackled. "Nor are you, Aventus Aretino—not compared to luminaries like Jarl Balgruuf the Greater or Diana Dragonborn. In a century, you and I will be dust and they'll be legends." He paused for a moment, leaning against the table with both hands as though holding himself steady in a stormy sea. "You'd think that people who shined so brightly would give off more light to those around them, but we just get to live in the shadows of their greatness."
"Do you need help getting home?" I offered, half-standing before he waved me off.
"I'm not going home," he slurred. "If I go home, Dagny will ask me if I've seen you, and I don't feel like lying to her at the moment."
"Why would Dagny ask…" I trailed off, furrowing my brow in confusion. I looked up at him, my stomach churning suddenly with realization. "You lied to me." It wasn't a question. "Dagny wasn't sick at all. She was waiting at home for me this whole time."
"Yes," he admitted, "but didn't you have fun today?"
Nelkir laughed as he walked toward the door. My fury came boiling up out of me and I stood, intent on following him out into the street. I wasn't sure what I intended to do once I caught him, but before I could close the distance, someone stepped into my path.
"I'm not running that late, am I?" asked Runa, pulling her hood back from her eyes and shaking snow from her boots as she walked into the Winking Skeever. "You look pissed."
Nelkir paused just outside the door to the tavern, looking back at me with wicked amusement on his face.
"Maybe you don't care that much about missing out on a day with my sister after all," he jibed as I tried uselessly to push past Runa. She looked back the dark-haired boy in confusion.
"Who the hell is this guy?" she asked. "And why does his sister care what you do?"
"She doesn't know about Dagny?" Nelkir asked in mockery. "Well, well, well. Which one is the 'other woman,' I wonder? Aventus Aretino, a two-timer. I never would have guessed."
"Gods damn you, Nelkir," I finally hissed in frustration. Runa finally stopped holding me back, but by the time I disentangled myself from her, and got outside Nelkir had already vanished into the night. I could hear him belting out the lines of "The Age of Aggression" as he disappeared into the snow.
"We're the children of Skyrim and we fight all our lives!" his voice echoed back to me, fading as he got farther away. "And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us…"
I paused in the street, dizzy and feeling the beginnings of a hangover creeping in. I had been drunk—drunker than I had ever been before—most of the day, but trying to sober up for much of the last hour. I had no idea if the headache and nausea were symptoms of starting a hangover or just being so upset at Nelkir that I could chew iron bars and spit nails. Dagny was going to be so angry at me; I didn't even know if I could point the blame at Nelkir without making her even angrier. She would probably believe me, but then she would be angry at me for believing Nelkir and angry at Nelkir for tricking me, and she would just wind up twice as angry.
"If I'd known you had a prior engagement," Runa drawled behind me, "I would have shown up fashionably late."
"It was nothing," I said without looking back at her. I kept staring into the snowy Solitude night, as though if I stared hard enough, Nelkir would suddenly reappear.
"It didn't sound like nothing," she replied. "It sounded like you're dating that guy's sister and he thinks you're cheating on her with me." She pressed up against my back in such a way that I couldn't tell if she was trying to be sensuous or just trying to steal my coin purse. "Not that we're anywhere near that yet, mind you. And what's an assassin doing with a girlfriend any-"
Before she could finish, I whirled around and pushed her against the wall of the tavern. I'd had enough of people winding me up, thinking that they were so much cleverer than me.
"You shouldn't call me an assassin in public," I whispered into her ear. "And assassins do as they damn well please. 'Nothing is forbidden.'" It felt good to quote Nazir; it made me feel a little more confident.
The fear in her eyes brought me back to myself a little. I couldn't deny that it felt good to see genuine worry on Runa's face after all she had done to me yesterday, but this was someone I had once called a friend. What sort of person did it make me to treat her so? Not the sort of person I wanted to be. Cicero would have been proud of me, I suddenly thought, and that realization made me back away from her suddenly in shame.
"I'm sorry," I said, rubbing my hands across my face. "It's been a long day."
"Apology accepted," Runa said, though her tone told me that she was accepting more from fear of what would happen if she didn't than because she thought I was sincere. She shook herself once and seemed to recover some of her street-tough demeanor. "You'll probably wind up apologizing a lot more than that before the night is through, even for things that aren't really your fault." She gestured toward the tavern door.
"Let me guess," I said as I walked into the Winking Skeever. "Drinks are on me?"
"A lot of drinks," she agreed heartily, following me in out of the cold.
I groaned inside. It had been a long weekend, and it didn't look like the next week was going to be any easier.
…to be continued…