Chapter 10: Demons

Sometimes, in these recollections of my life as a member of the Dark Brotherhood, I find that I jump around from moment to moment. I rarely think of things in the correct order, so I rarely tell them in the correct order. Perhaps many of my troubles have stemmed from the fact that I have a hard time putting my life in order—not just telling things in the right way, but actually in living them the right way.

It certainly felt like that as I was running through a white-out blizzard in the middle of the night, being chased by angry city guards for a murder I hadn't committed. I found it hard to be angry at them, though. After all, saying that I hadn't committed this particular murder was hardly comforting, given that I had committed many others. While I thought that all of them—save one—had been righteous acts of vengeance, I was fairly certain that argument wouldn't save me from a headsman's axe.

Or would they hang me? Was beheading just for noblemen? Really, I should have paid more attention to this sort of thing back when Cicero and Meena were training me, but no assassin ever expects to get caught. Bare minimum, we don't expect to get taken alive. The only assassin I knew of that had been captured and held for trial was Garnag, and they hadn't realized he was with the Brotherhood instead of just a common murderer. If they had, he would have been put to death right away instead of languishing in a cell for a decade.

By Sithis, I couldn't decide what was worse: being killed as an assassin, or being jailed for the rest of my life.

I realized that I was panicking—exactly what Hecate had always told me not to do in these situations. It wasn't something I was used to feeling. Normally, I was the hunter, not the hunted. I forced myself to stop in an alleyway to catch my breath. I was cold and tired and my mind was racing ahead of my body. I couldn't assume I was going to be caught; I had stayed ahead of the guard long enough that their catching up to me was unlikely.

As my breathing slowed and my heart stopped pounding quite so hard in my ears, I found that I couldn't hear the guards at all anymore. I had gotten far enough away that I was out of their search area. I breathed a sigh of relief that quickly turned into my teeth chattering together at high speed. My fingertips felt numb, even with the gloves I had stolen from the guard I had beaten up, and my lungs ached from sucking down so much freezing, damp air. My right wrist ached from the blow I had given the person in the demon mask; I was slightly worried that I might have broken it.

I might have been clear of the guards, but if I didn't get indoors soon, I was going to freeze to death. I wasn't a Nord, despite my classmates' occasional musings otherwise. My ancestors had come from far more gentle climes than frigid Skyrim, so I didn't possess the same resistance to freezing weather as the natives. At times like this, I genuinely regretted it.

Still, I had to balance my survival with not getting seen. I might be outside the patrol area, but a random guard wandering by would almost certainly wonder why I was wandering the streets in the middle of the night without a cloak or coat on. If they got close enough to see my face that would be too many questions that I didn't have answers for. Even if they didn't catch me close to the murder, they might decide to put two and two together and arrest me anyway. Stealth had to come before warmth.

It seemed to take forever to creep my way back to Proudspire Manor through the back alleys and side streets of Solitude. By the time I arrived, my shoulders and head were caked in frost and snow. My aching wrist had swollen up inside my stolen gloves and was throbbing in pain with every beat of my heart. My tailbone smarted from where Demon Mask had knocked me on my ass, and my ankle stung from where he had kicked me.

As I thought about the fight, tried to piece together everything I had done wrong—and the list was a long one—I thought about Demon Mask's unarmed abilities. He was sloppy with weapons, that was obvious in his knife work and his clumsy but powerful sword blows. I couldn't deny that he was a better unarmed combatant than I was. Fighting unarmed wasn't my strong suit, unfortunately; I was much better with weapons, especially blunt ones.

Nazir had told me to start building myself up for unarmed combat before I left Sanctuary and I had brushed it off. I simply hadn't been able to see the value in knowing how to fight without weapons. After all, it wasn't like I planned on beating anyone to death with my bare hands on contract; when I was on the job, I never had less than three weapons on me, and usually a lot more. I cursed myself a fool for not listening to Nazir. I promised myself that if I survived the night, I was going to start working on my unarmed training right away.

But first, I had to survive the night.

"Is someone there?" Jordis called out, her voice thin and reedy with worry. I could see the light of her lantern as she came up the hallway from her room. The point of her sword came around the corner first; I was just glad she hadn't attacked first and asked questions later.

"It's me," I called back as she came into view, wearing only a knee-length sleeping gown. I started to say something else, but doubled over in a horrible coughing fit before I could get the words out. My vision went red, then grey, before I could stop long enough to get a breath in.

"By the Eight," Jordis said as she dropped her sword and grabbed my shoulders. "Oh, Aventus! You're freezing! What happened?"

"I was robbed," I lied, hoping that the coughing and shivering would cover up how bad I felt about lying to Jordis. She wasn't very bright, but she had been a good friend to me these last few months. "After I left the college, I went to grab a drink before I came home. Someone hit me on the back of the head, knocked me out. They took my cloak and scarf. I woke up covered in snow. Fortunately, I wasn't carrying much coin on me…"

"Don't worry about your coin," Jordis chided as she grabbed my hands and started rubbing them between her own. "You could have died out in this weather without proper clothing." She looked me up and down. "Maybe they thought you were a Nord. Some of my cousins would think knocking someone out and leaving them in a snowbank was hilarious."

"I don't know," I croaked, my voice cutting out as I coughed harshly again.

"We have to get you warmed up," Jordis said, her face worried and her voice wavering. "Can you walk?"

"I got home, didn't I?" She laughed at that, but only a short, terse bark of laughter. She must have been really worried about me. Sweet Mother, I must have looked worse than I felt—and I felt like I was on death's door.

Jordis half-dragged, half-carried me up the stairs from Proudspire's back entrance. Pavot was waiting at the top of the stairs, whining and dancing back and forth in a way I had never seen before. Jordis shooed him off, but he didn't go far; he padded ahead of us to my room and put his paws on the footboard of my bed. Could he be worried about me?

My thoughts were muddy as Jordis stripped me to my smallclothes and tossed me under the blankets. I tried protesting, even pushing her away, but she was either way stronger than she looked or I had suddenly become very weak. I suspect that it was actually a combination of the two; Jordis was a housecarl after all, trained in swordplay and the wearing of heavy armor, and all of my strength had fled with the cold. She set to building a fire with quick, sure movements, but from the bed I was sure that her hands were shaking.

Once the fire was blazing, Jordis came back to check on me. She put a hand against my forehead, and in my half-frozen state it felt like a burning coal.

"The fire's not going to be enough," she muttered.

"Put Pavot in the bed with me," I muttered between coughs. "His body heat will keep me warm."

"I'm afraid he'll suffocate you," she retorted. "He's as big as you are, and you're too weak to push him off if he crawls on top of you."

She paused a moment, thinking it over in her unreadable fashion, then began pulling off her nightgown.

"Wait!" I protested as loudly as I could manage. "What are you doing?"

"You need body heat or you're going to die of hypothermia," she said calmly. "Pavot will suffocate you if he falls asleep and rolls over on you. So it has to be me." She covered her chest with one arm as she dropped the nightgown to the floor. "It's not like you're in any position to take advantage of me—and even if you were, I can take care of myself."

"But-" I started to protest, and then she started to pull her arm away from her breasts. I had seen naked women before, but I closed my eyes anyway. There was something about Jordis that made the idea of looking at her nude body feel wrong. She just seemed so damned innocent and guileless.

I opened my eyes again when I felt the blankets lift up and her warm body slide in beside mine. I looked toward her as she pressed herself against me, her eyes locking with mine. She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me in close.

"Don't be embarrassed," she said, even though she was blushing too. "It's just for a while, until the room warms up." She smiled, trying to reassure me. I felt extremely uncomfortable with this arrangement; at least I was too cold for the pleasant sensation of a woman pressed up against me to cause any reactions. I would have died of shame if I had gotten an erection from her closeness.

"Jordis…" I began, but started coughing. I tried to turn my head so that I wasn't coughing right into her face. She only pulled me closer and tucked my chin against her shoulder, letting my coughing and wheezing go past the side of her head.

"Aventus," she said gently once it had passed, "I think you got something gross in my hair."

I couldn't help it. I started laughing my head off then, even though it hurt to breathe. The coughing fit came back halfway through, but I kept laughing even as I was hacking. Even Jordis giggled along, though I could tell that she was still worried.

Wrapped in her warm, gentle embrace, I finally fell asleep sometime before dawn.

I remember nightmares.

I remember Rolff Stone-Fist, blood pouring down his chest from clumsy knife-wounds in his neck. He laughed at me, and with each laugh a fresh gout of crimson sprayed from the holes in his throat.

"You sent me to the Void, boy," he burbled, "and I'll be waiting for you when you get there."

"Me too, Aventus," crooned Grelod the Kind, slithering up out of the darkness with a knife-hilt sticking out of her chest. She crawled on her hands and knees, gore dripping from her mouth. "Was it worth killing me? Knowing you're going to be damned for it?"

"I didn't kill you!" I protested, holding up my hands to ward off the specters of my past. Even as I did, though, I could see my hands were covered in blood—so much blood.

"What about me?" asked a thin, reedy voice from the darkness. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn't look away. The red-haired youth that came shambling from the black was not much older than me, more a boy than a man. A knife was lodged in his neck, and he struggled to speak around it. "You murdered me, Aventus."

"I made peace with that, Vigurl," I told him, backing away slowly. Even as I said it, I had a hard time believing it.

"Good for you," he growled, advancing on me. "I'm still dead."

As I backed away from the shades advancing on me, I bumped into something. I spun around, holding up my hands to ward off an attack, only to see a pretty young woman standing there. Her face was sad and her dress covered in blood. I didn't recognize her until she lifted up her hands—her own heart was cradled in them.

"I definitely didn't kill you," I insisted. "I tried to save you!"

"But you didn't save me," she retorted. "Isn't that the same thing in the end?" She began to squeeze the still-beating heart, crushing viscera and crimson from between her fingers. "And you'd have done it anyway if someone threw a septim at you first."

"I serve the Night Mother's vengeance!" I pleaded. I turned on the ghosts and screamed at them, shaking with shame and rage and righteousness. "None of you have any power over me! I know who I am!"

"Who are you then?" asked a voice that sounded hauntingly familiar, like an echo through water. I turned to face the questioner, my bravado fading as I saw the demon-masked killer step from the shadows. His enchanted blade was unsheathed and held casually in one hand, its blade resting on his shoulder like a bindle stick. "Do you even know?"

"Of course I do," I insisted. "I'm-"

His sudden lunge caught me by surprise, embedding the red-glowing blade in my heart with a single thrust. My words stopped in my throat as I choked on my own breath. I didn't feel any pain, only a spreading cold numbness. I had expected the blade to be hot from the color of the glow, but it was freezing cold.

"You're dead, Aventus Aretino," Demon Mask said, reaching up to grab his horrible visage with his free hand. Even before he pulled the mask away, I knew what I was going to see under it.

It was my own face, staring back at me.

I woke up with a start, my body aching but no longer freezing cold. In fact, I felt overly warm. I recognized the feeling from a few years back—a fever. I had stayed out in the cold too long then as well and almost died from it. I didn't feel quite as terrible as I had back then, though I felt far from well. I suppose a few years of good food, good living, and regular exercise went a long way. Still, spending most of a night in snow and freezing rain without a proper coat wasn't good for anyone.

Except maybe Nords, I guess. They didn't seem to care about it either way. The more I thought about it, I couldn't ever remember seeing a Nord sick with a cold or anything like it either…

I realized that my mind was wandering and shook my head to clear it. Probably a result of the fever and disorientation. I was pretty sure I was still in my own bed, but it felt smaller than I was used to. My right arm was pretty numb too, full of pins and needles as though I had slept on it wrong.

I looked to my right and froze like a deer catching sight of a hunter. Jordis was in bed with me, naked, and pinning my right arm, which had apparently wrapped around her shoulders at some point in the night. I stopped breathing as she shifted slightly, just enough to bring her naked torso back into full contact with mine. All conscious thought fled as the panic began to well back up in my chest.

It was long moments before I remembered that she had crawled into bed with me to keep me warm the night before. The panic subsided somewhat, taking with it the animal instinct to gnaw my arm off at the shoulder. She must have fallen asleep at some point, despite saying that she would only stay until the room was warmed up.

"Damn it, Jordis," I muttered at her peaceful, sleeping face. "Wake up."

She murmured in her sleep and shifted—moving closer to me and throwing an arm across my chest. I groaned and slapped my free hand across my eyes before reaching over and trying to shake her awake. All I managed to accomplish was making the blanket droop dangerously low. Jordis shifted again, scratching at her nose before dropping her arm across me again, only this time her hand was a lot closer to my waist.

Of course I would have a housecarl that slept like a log.

"Hello?" drifted up a voice from downstairs. I froze again, instinctively trying to become invisible in the face of an unknown intruder. Of course, I wouldn't be doing much blending with the shadows while lying in bed with a naked woman who was distressingly soft and curvy and why was I even thinking this way about Jordis? "Is anyone home? Your back door was hanging open."

Sweet Mother, could I not catch a break? I must have not latched it completely last night and Jordis was too worried about me to have checked it. Also, the voice was very familiar; my head was thick from fever but I could have sworn it was-

My eyes widened and I began to scrabble ineffectually at Jordis as I realized who was coming up the stairs. I couldn't let her catch me in bed with a naked woman. I shook my slumbering housecarl with all the force I could muster—which admittedly wasn't very much. Still, how could Jordis be so wary that she always caught me sneaking in at night but sleep so heavily that I couldn't slap her awake?

"Aventus," Dagny called again, "are you home?" I could hear her footsteps approaching closer as I became even more frantic to get free. "Jordis? Anyone?"

"Hmmm?" Jordis finally murmured. I didn't know if it was Dagny being in the house or my repeated attempts to shake her awake that finally got her to open her eyes, but she looked at me blearily. "Aventus? What are you doing in my bed?"

"You're in my bed, gods damn it," I whispered.

"Oh," she responded, still clearly not completely awake. "I suppose that makes sense. It's so comfortable…" She started to close her eyes again, nodding her head as though she were going to fall back asleep. I hissed at her again between my teeth—only to start coughing and hacking.

I turned my head away from her so that I wasn't coughing right into her face. The noise apparently was sharp enough to make her startle back awake again, and she rolled over to face me. When I turned to look at her, she was sitting up on one elbow, her strawberry blonde hair falling into her face as she looked at me with worry. I had always thought that Jordis was pretty—maybe not as beautiful as her cousin, Jarl Elisif the Fair, but pretty nonetheless.

At that moment, caught in the wan sunlight of the early morning and staring at me with compassionate eyes, she was breathtaking. It wasn't just my actual inability to take whole breaths either. She was absolutely gorgeous. I couldn't help staring for a moment before doubling over again with another coughing fit.

"Hello?" Dagny called again, from the hallway this time. "I can hear someone cough-"

She came around the corner into the doorway just then, stopping in mid-sentence. She was wearing a plain winter dress, blue and white, and her hair was up in a bun wrapped in a scarf. She was holding a wicker basket in one hand; had she been picking snowberries? Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of Jordis and me in bed together, then her expression went flat. I had seen that look on her face before in court; it was the blank face she put on when dealing with unpleasantness.

"Dagny," I pleaded, "it's not what it-" I couldn't finish the sentence for another coughing fit, doubling up on myself as pain spasms tore through my diaphragm.

Dagny calmly sat her basket down on my dresser and pulled her gloves off, tossing them down beside it. She came across the room like a stalking cat, her facial expression never changing. As she reached out for me, I couldn't help flinching from the slap I was expecting. I was shocked when she laid her cool, smooth hand on my forehead. I groaned with the wonderful feeling before coughing feebly again.

"Not what it looks like?" she asked, raising up one eyebrow in a quirk. "It looks like you've got a fever and a wracking cough, and your housecarl was keeping you warm. I'd guess you came in last night with hypothermia and she saved your stupid, short-sighted, self-centered life. Is that about right?"

I could only nod, my eyes widening. Dagny sat down on the bed and leaned in to wrap her arms around me.

"Aventus," she asked, "do I look like the sort of person who makes judgments based on appearances?"

"I-"

"Don't answer that," she interrupted, leaning away. "It was a rhetorical question." She looked over at Jordis, who was sitting up now, holding the blanket against her bare chest with one hand. "Jordis, dear, go get dressed and bring cold cloths. Now that the hypothermia has passed, we have to control the fever."

Jordis nodded and stood up, awkwardly dragging one of the sheets along with her to act as a makeshift dress while she walked back to her own room.

"And Jordis?" Dagny said without looking back at her. "You don't have to be naked for heat transfer in cases of hypothermia. You just have to get the victim out of their cold clothes. The idea you have to have skin contact is a myth. Just for future reference."

I could swear that Jordis turned redder than her hair as she scurried out of the room, looking for clothes.

About an hour later, my room had become an efficient if makeshift hospital, catering to a patient body of one. Jordis was dressed in heavy winter layers as she had to keep running in and out of the house to get ice and snow for Dagny, who changed out my cold compresses every few minutes. I also think that Jordis was just embarrassed about the whole thing and wanted to be as covered up as possible around Dagny.

Once my fever had come a little bit under control, Dagny gave Jordis a short list of herbs to pick up from the local apothecary and then sent her out.

"I hope you don't mind me ordering your housecarl around," she said once Jordis was gone.

"I just hope she doesn't mind," I said, my voice raspy. "I don't give Jordis a lot of orders. She's more like a big sister to me than a servant." As I said it out loud, I was somewhat surprised to realize that I really meant it; in the last few months, Jordis had been a good friend to me and I had gotten more attached to her than I had expected to.

"I feel kind of the same way about Irileth, honestly," she replied, patting my forehead with a cool, damp cloth. "When I was little, I would call her 'auntie' all the time. Housecarls might start as servants, but the good ones are family too."

"I'm not used to having that," I admitted.

"What?" she asked. "Servants or family?"

"Neither," I responded. "My mother—my real mother, I mean—died when I was nine or ten. She was the only family I knew, and she… worked a lot, so I hardly ever saw her. I was sent to an orphanage after she died. Diana only adopted me a few years ago, so I'm still getting used to having a real family." I coughed weakly and Dangy leaned in to wipe at my mouth with the cloth.

"I figured you were from a poor family," she said. Her tone made it sound like she wasn't trying to be judgmental, but I still felt like a scrawny, dirt-covered orphan when she said it. "Your manners were terrible when we met."

"How are they now, princess?" I asked her.

"Better," she replied magnanimously. "Far from perfect, but better."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be some rich prince for you," I groused, turning away from her.

"Don't be sullen," Dagny scolded, touching my chin. "It's unbecoming." She leaned down and kissed the corner of my mouth. Her lips were cool and soothing against my face, but the place they touched tingled and warmed when she pulled away.

"Don't kiss me," I told her. "You'll get sick."

"Pneumonia is only contagious if you're already weak," she responded immediately, then leaned in and kissed me again. I was too weak to protest so I just did my best to enjoy it. Honestly, enjoying Dagny kissing me wasn't hard.

"How do you know so much about healing?" I asked when she finally pulled away.

"Almost every Nord woman needs to learn about herbs and curing sickness," she said. "It's considered a standard part of our education. Unless we decide to become warriors, of course—and it's still useful even then." She paused, looking down at her hands. "My mother was supposed to be really good at it. She died when I was very little, though. I don't remember her at all, though Frothar says he does a bit."

"I'm sorry," I said, reaching out to take her hand.

"At least you knew your mother," she said with a sad smile. "I wish I could have."

"What about Nelkir's mother?" I asked. "Did you know her?"

Dagny's smile faded and she shook her head.

"I never met her," she replied after a long pause. "She and Father weren't married. I think he was lonely after Mother died, so he starting seeing someone. He never talks about her. If it hadn't been for Nelkir being so nosy about it, I'm not sure he would have even told us that that we didn't all have the same mother."

"Does it ever bother you?" I asked, genuinely curious. My only siblings were adopted, so I didn't have the same sense of family that most people did.

"That Nelkir has a different mother?" she asked. I nodded and she continued, "No, not at all. I know it bothers Nelkir sometimes, though. He says things like we're not really related, and how do we know Balgruuf is even really his father, things like that." She sighed and shook her head. "He can be so difficult sometimes, but I love him anyway. I just wish he could go back to being the sweet little boy he was before we left Whiterun."

"You'll go back someday," I promised, squeezing her hand. "Diana will..."

"Will what?" she asked, locking eyes with me. "She's refused to fight, even if she claims to be on our side. My father is worrying himself sick about it. He's constantly scheming to build up the forces to take back our home, even though General Tullius refuses to help. Why won't your mother fight for us?"

"I don't know," I admitted. Hecate's refusal to take the field against Ulfric Stormcloak was a point of contention between us; I honestly didn't know why she hadn't just snuck into his palace and slit his throat already. "I think it has something to do with the False Dragonborn."

"You mean Lydia," Dagny responded flatly.

"She was Diana's—my mother's—housecarl," I pointed out. "I don't know what happened between them, but I know it wasn't pleasant. I think my mother still regrets whatever it was. They were close at one point—best friends."

"Housecarls can become like family," Dagny allowed. "It's a little harder for Father, though."

"Why's that?" I asked.

"Because Lydia isn't just 'like' family for us," she said. "She is family." I sat up in surprise, looking at Dagny with wide eyes. "She's my cousin. The daughter of my father's younger brother. Lydia was like a big sister to me growing up."

"I'm so sorry," I said. "I didn't know."

"No reason for you to," Dagny responded. "Most of the people in court know, of course, but they're far too well-mannered to bring up the fact that Jarl Balgruuf's own niece is the lieutenant of the man that killed his king. Everyone has relatives on both sides of the war, after all. It's hard not to in a civil war."

"You'll see Whiterun again someday," I promised. "I'll convince Diana somehow."

"I hope you can, Aventus," she said gently. "Don't tell my brothers, but I miss home too. I love Solitude—the fashions, the people…"

"The food?" I teased, drawing a laugh from her.

"At least you can get a decent sweetroll here," she allowed. "But Whiterun will always be home."

"I was there a few months back," I said in a sudden and unexpected burst of honesty.

"What?" she said in surprise. "How?"

"You can't tell your father about this," I insisted. When she nodded, I paused, thinking about how to tell her something comforting without revealing too much of the real circumstances of my visit. "Diana has… allies. Some of her friends move around in Stormcloak territory and keep an eye on things. I begged her to go with them once, and she allowed it."

"The Dragonborn has her own network of spies?" Dagny asked, her eyes wide and her face turning up in a broad smile. "Why hasn't she passed on any of the information to the Imperial forces?"

"Her… friends… aren't very many in number," I said. "If she started using that information, the Stormcloaks would figure it out pretty fast—and then they'd all be exposed to danger. She can't afford to exploit her sources until it's time to push back."

"Do you think it'll happen soon?" Dagny asked. Her face was so sincere, so hopeful for a change, that I couldn't bear the idea of disappointing her.

"I don't know," I said truthfully. "But I know that there are preparations underway. The Empire can still win this. The Stormcloaks haven't won yet."

Dagny threw her arms around me and began to shake slightly. I thought she might be crying, but I didn't want to ask; it would be rude, after all, and Dagny had taught me at least a little about manners. After a little while, she pulled away from me and leaned back. If she had been crying, I couldn't tell at all; her face was perfectly composed again.

"Can you tell me what Whiterun was like when you were there?" she asked very politely. I nodded and pulled myself up into a sitting position. As the blanket slipped off my bare chest, I suddenly realized that I had been naked this whole time—under a blanket, but still naked.

"Um," I muttered. "Can I have a minute to get dressed first?"

"I don't see why you should bother," Dagny said, leaning in to kiss me again. "I'm not offended." I wasn't sure if it was the fever or I was blushing, but my face felt hot and flushed at her words.

"I'm a little embarrassed," I admitted.

"Don't be," she responded. "You're sick and it's my job to take care of you."

"Your job?" I asked dumbly.

"Well, if we're going to be dating, then I guess we're supposed to take care of each other," she responded. "And you have a responsibility to take care of yourself too. You can't worry me like this from now on—I'll get wrinkles."

"I'll do my best," I told her, leaning up to kiss her. This time, I didn't feel embarrassed at all when the blanket slid down to my hips.

When we finally broke apart, she reached down and pulled the blanket up a little bit to make me slightly more decent. I was pleased to see that she was blushing a bit herself. It was nice to see her "ice princess" façade cracking, even a little bit.

"Now," she said in her best commanding voice, "tell me about Whiterun."

"Well, I grew up in Windhelm," I started. "I only tell you this so that you'll know what I mean when I say that the Stormcloaks try to turn every place into Windhelm all over again. But they haven't broken Whiterun's spirit…"

While my cough hadn't gone away completely, and I had to stop every few minutes for water or to catch my breath, I spent the next several hours just telling Dagny every detail I could remember from my brief trip to Whiterun a few months back. She had a faint, distant smile, as though she were visiting home again in her own mind, even if only for a little while.

Still, despite my happiness, I couldn't help feeling haunted by the night before. Demon Mask was still very much in my thoughts, and the awful fever dreams I'd had about him. In my nightmare, I had seen my own face under that awful mask. What did it mean? Did I think that the two of us might not be that different?

If I reported this to the Dark Brotherhood, I knew what their response would be. They would try to recruit him, just like they had with the Butcher in Windhelm. That had gone disastrously—almost ending with Hecate dead—but she would try the same thing again if I told her about another killer here. The Brotherhood had given her a new lease on life, and she couldn't help herself from offering the same second chance to others—whether they deserved it or not.

No, I had to handle this on my own, without the Brotherhood.

I might not have to do it alone, though…

…to be continued…