A/N: Ok, I'll be honest: I thought I'd already posted this one, since I'm almost done with chapter 8XD Haha, oh well. Enjoy, and I look forwards to your reviews. Oh, and Tawarthion is another of my Dragonborn characters (I have two:)). May your blade always strike true. (Fighter's Guild, maybe? (The greeting))

Chapter 7: Life Goes On (I'll be Right Here Waiting for You)

Babette had called because she had been so eager for me to try out a new poison she had made. She babbled on excitedly about its effects, a fairly slow-working poison, better to use in food, but one with 'marvellous effects', to quote Babette. It slowly did ice damage while simultaneously driving the victim crazy – something about it being a strong hallucinogenic with Skooma and Moon Sugar being the main ingredients for that particular effect. I looked skeptically at the bottle, and asked her if she had any antidotes for even half the poisons she made.

Babette had clicked her tongue at me, and impatiently explained that she didn't need to have any because she knew how to cure it. Then she had given me a menacingly toothy grin and told me she had shared all of her important information with me. I had shaken my head and wandered through the Sanctuary looking for Nazir. He gave me three contracts scattered throughout the breadth of Skyrim. I would be gone for almost five months, even with a horse. I gathered as much info about my targets as I could. I ate with the remaining members, and wished Cicero would join us. I didn't say anything, though, and I suspected Babette knew what I was thinking when I looked at her and she smiled gently at me.

Nazir had made a sharp remark about Babette getting soft, and vampire and Redguard debated and shared insults until they both burst out laughing. I drowned myself in my sixth or eighth tankard of mead, and slammed it down on the table reasonably good-naturedly. Nazir and Babette both stared at me for a moment. "Try not to be too loud," I said, my way of saying good night, then stood and trudged up the stairs a little unsurely before I collapsed onto my bed. Thank the Night Mother, I thought, as Babette and Nazir agreed to sit somewhere else.

I rubbed my temples in the washroom the next morning. Why did I always drink too much mead? If an enemy wanted to best me, they only needed to get me drunk and wait for morning. I was almost useless past the throbbing. I dunked my head in the cool water, and blew bubbles after a while. When I came up again, I felt a little better.

I wrung the water out of my hair a final time as I padded barefoot down the passage, my boots tucked under my arm, armor already donned. I found a sleepy Babette and asked her to plait my hair quickly. She grumbled about 'daywalkers' but plaited my hair in record time while I pulled on my boots. I could only assume she had used her vampire powers, and was already making herself comfortable on the stone slab. I frowned at her, but smiled after a few seconds: only a vampire could be like this. I returned to my bed, strapping on my daggers, quiver and slung my bow on my back. I kept my hood and cowl down for now. There was one person I had to say goodbye to, one person I wanted to see before I left. I let my feet find the path, and knocked softly on the door. "Cicero?" I called, stepping in.

The Night Mother's coffin was closed again, but I somehow doubted it was locked. "Cicero?" I called again, coming deeper into the room. For the first time I noticed a narrow corridor to another room.
"Listener?" Cicero answered, appearing from around a corner. He was wiping his hands on a cloth. He grinned brightly, bouncing on the spot. "Cicero was making breakfast! Would the great and honorable Listener join humble Cicero?"
I half-grinned, unable to really look him in the eye. I was undecided. I needed to get on the road as soon as possible. "I wish I could, but –"
"Cicero understands the Listener has important duties to –"
"Keeper!" I interrupted. Cicero blinked. "Enough. Listen," I stopped when Cicero sniggered. I joined in briefly, realizing where he found irony. "I'm leaving today, on a few contracts and I won't be back for… well, a while." I felt sheepish, having blurted it all out at once. Cicero had put the cloth down on a table, nodding vigorously all the while. It's a wonder that jester's cap doesn't fall off, I thought absently.

Cicero was swaying closer, arms behind his back with his legs stock-straight. "Humble Cicero wishes the Listener luck and happy kills, though he knows your skill is… da-da dada! Unmatched!"
I rolled my eyes, smirking to the side. I wished for a moment I was a little taller to not look up at him so much. "Come with me," I suddenly blurted, clapping a hand to my mouth as soon as I said it. Cicero gave me a strange look. Might as well continue, since I had started it. "The closest is less than a week's ride away, and you could take my horse back to the Sanctuary…" I stopped, turning my gaze to the floor, and feeling like an idiot. Had I not promised myself years ago that I would do my best to not care about someone else?
"Cicero would love to accompany the Listener! Keeper and Listener, on the hunt!" he looked wistful. I almost thought he'd say yes. "But Cicero is Keeper, and he must keep the Night Mother," he cautiously laid his hands lightly on my arms, something I usually wouldn't allow, something he had noticed even in the short time we had known each other. "But Cicero will be right here, waiting for his honored Listener to return. Cicero swears it on his life to the Listener! Oh, he hopes to die a horrid death if he fails you, Listener Alysa! Just promise humble Keeper Cicero one thing." He held up one finger, brows raised for effect.

I nodded, my face smooth despite my desire to roll my eyes and smirk. "Of course."
"Come back." Cicero grinned, his steel-grey eyes gleaming as he let me go and backed away, then bowed. "Hunt well, O mighty Listener! May the Night Mother watch over you!"
Warmth blossomed in my heart. "And over you, Keeper," I backed away as he had, unwilling to look away just yet. Cicero just stood there, head cocked to one side with his hands once again folded behind his back when I finally turned. It was going to be a long time on the road.

Cicero spent the next week thinking about Listener Alysa, and how she had asked Cicero to hunt with her! Oh, what a surprise it had been! Cicero wanted to go – he really did – but Mother was still his responsibility. The Keeper kept – and Cicero was Keeper. He thinks Alysa feels the same about him, the way she had kept staring at him…. "Oh, sweet Mother, watch over your Listener and bring her back to the Sanctuary – she is the One, after all, and it would – and I say this humbly – please your dear Cicero, too, Mother." Cicero steps back, carefully looking for a spot he missed. "All finished, Mother. All clean!" Cicero clapped, giggling and dancing for his Unholy Matron.

Ah, for the Old Ways he lived!

Little less than a week later I arrived at Half-Moon Mill, around late afternoon. I greeted the man I presumed was Hern, and after introductions and confirmation he was Hern, I asked for a place to stay for the night. He had pursed his lips, but finally agreed. His wife came out of the house shortly after, watching me suspiciously the whole time the vampire helped me settle my steed. I breathed deep, concentrating on what I was doing. Babette made wonderful practice to keep my heart beat evenly, and she had pointed out every minor change in my initial training sessions with her. I couldn't afford to give away my knowledge of his true nature.

These vampires were obviously well-fed to walk in the daylight for even short periods of time, and I wondered how exactly they managed it, considering even one vampire could struggle to keep itself out of trouble. I would have to wait for late night, early morning: vampires trying to live like people would sleep around then, I presumed. What a delicious kill, I thought, half-smiling to myself. An awkward dinner followed, and I could tell the vampires were having a hard time forcing themselves to eat the food. I pretended not to notice, instead showering the couple with compliments about Hert's wonderful cooking skills – she really was quite good, despite being a vampire. She was still wary of me, so flattery wasn't going to get me through it, but it seemed to have softened Hern to me.

They set up a spot for me on a couch, and both got into their bed a short while later. I deepened my breathing, focusing on slowing myself down as Babette had taught me. I probably wouldn't sleep much tonight, but I planned on a late night or early morning kill. Both, quickly and quietly. I didn't need a she-vampire chasing me across Skyrim. I dozed for several hours, then I decided it was time. I slowly sat up, swinging my legs over the side and held my head in my hands as if I was just waking up, in case one or both were watching me. I listened to their breathing, but it was gentle, deep. Babette could do that so easily it was eerie… I was glad there was a vampire in my Family. I looked over my shoulder. They held each other in their sleep. And so shall they in death and the Void, I thought. I rose silently, fluidly drawing my daggers as I stalked closer. Whichever one I killed first would alert the other… and coincidentally Hern was closest. Sithis take you.

The second I cut his throat Hert was awake, and before she could latch her claws around my neck she too found her throat cut, a dagger in her heart, too. I was covered in blood. The sheets, the bed and even some of the floor was pooling in blood. They had more than enough victims to go out during the day. I was glad I hadn't worn my armor, though the plain tunic was beyond ruined.
I went outside to the trough with soap and my armor and stripped down, quickly scrubbing the blood off of me and dressed, shivering once in the cold. "I'm glad I'm a Nord," I muttered, and gathered my things from inside. It would be might soon, and I might as well get going: Morthal was a good ride away, and I wasn't planning on cutting across the country just yet.

Those rumors I heard about the Dragonborn being a Bosmer woman… they were lies. I saw the real Dragonborn in action two weeks after Half-Moon Mill, half-an-hour's ride south of Rorikstead. He was an Altmer, and a skilled Destruction mage, too. Festus might have liked him.

I had been just off the road to avoid Penitus Oculatus agents. They were a little more active on the roads for some reason, and they knew what to look for where the Dark Brotherhood was concerned… I'd have to be more careful. I had been minding my own business when I heard a roar; the kind I could only imagine was that of a dragon. I maneuvered my steed a little further out of the brush I was in to see the beast circling in the sky, shouting faint words followed by fire coming from its mouth. I'd never seen anything so big before….

The Altmer was fearless in his attack – Destruction magic flying from his hands and meeting the dragon squarely while a Nord companion fired her bow at the creature, guards doing the same. At least I had the sense to dump my pack in the brush before dismounting to help: I might not have been a true fighter, but I'll be damned if I let a dragon go by unconquered!

My horse charged wildly towards the dragon, and it swooped down. I threw myself down, rolling out of the way as my horse was lifted, screaming as talons gouged its sides. I gasped: the dragon tore my horse apart and set it alight. I was vaguely aware that my horse wasn't quite as well looked-after as I had promised it to be. The dragon was coming back, and crash landed; the earth shaking as the bloodied creature ploughed to a halt. Then the Altmer shouted strange words, three of them, by the sound of it, and the dragon roared at him. I stood, drawing my daggers and running for the head. The Altmer was too far for the guards or his companion to save him. I was the closest. He was flung to the ground, the dragon's massive green head hovering over the elf on the ground, ready to kill. I jumped, stabbing both daggers into the beast's neck, just as its mouth opened and the Altmer shouted, "Fus, ro DAH!"

The dragon's head snapped back, and I felt a faint force blow me backwards, wrenching my daggers free. The dragon then started burning. I scrambled away, torn between watching it burn and watching something flow into the Dragonborn, lying on the ground in his steel armor, his back arched and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. It continued until the dragon was burned to the bone, a few larger scales on the ground. The Nord woman jogged closer as the Dragonborn pushed himself to his elbows. "Tar! Are you alright?" she called.
Tar? Maybe a nickname? I thought, scrunching my face beneath my hood and cowl. I looked over to where my horse lay in burnt and bloody pieces. Damn.
"Yes, Uthgerd, I'm alright," the Dragonborn replied, standing and dusting himself. I hadn't yet seen his face properly. When he turned to me, I was glad for my cowl because my jaw slacked. He had at least five long scars over his face: three diagonally to his left down over his lips, and another one from under his right eye over his nose, and a short one just above that one on his left cheek. I had never seen anything quite like it before; that he had survived was a miracle. "Thank you, Stranger. That was perfect timing you had, and skill. I'm sorry about your horse," he looked over to the parts.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. "It's not your fault: you didn't call the dragon."
The elf grinned a little wryly. "Dragons find me wherever I go: it's part of being Dovahkiin. Dragonborn," he added when I drew my brows together. I nodded slowly, my eyes still on his scars. He had a tattoo or paint marking over his left eye in red, too, but I barely noticed it past the scars and long autumn-colored hair. He touched his mouth, covering the scars for long enough to allow me to make eye contact with him. "I'll be back," I said, wiping my blades on the grass and quickly running to get my pack. Might as well spend the night in Rorikstead, and start cutting across the country in the morning. Sithis knew it would take even longer to finish my contracts now. Night Mother, if it's in your power, a blessing from you to speed my journey would be welcome, and very appreciated, I thought, shouldering my pack after I shifted my bow and quiver to my hip.

I walked back to find the elf talking heartily with the guards, lifting their spirits as he explained his ability to Shout. I suddenly realized the words he and the dragon had spoken were some of the Words of Power everyone seemed to be experts on lately. When he saw me come closer he dipped his head, his golden eyes shining. "I'm Tawarthion," he said, holding out a gloved hand.
I took it, nodding. "Alysa Ice-Wrath," I replied coolly.
The Nord woman just looked me over. "My companion is Uthgerd the Unbroken," Tawarthion said. Uthgerd nodded curtly, extending a hand.
"Good to meet you," I said. Curiosity got the better of me, so asked about the Bosmer Dragonborn as we walked to Rorikstead, Tawarthion and Uthgerd leading their horses. The Altmer had laughed, saying he'd heard about her but that was about as far as it had gone. She wasn't really Dragonborn, as far as he knew. He was amiable, really. But I somehow suspected he was just as capable of cruel anger as well. His bearing was just that of a kind of assured power, like that of one who had seen much and rarely – if ever – lost a fight.

We checked into the inn at Rorikstead, and I changed out of my armor after I had been given warm clothes to wear. Apparently we were heroes for defeating the dragon. An interesting sensation, to be honest. Tawarthion had invited me to dine with him and his companion, and I was pleasantly surprised that he wasn't as aristocratic as I had thought he was. He was still an elf, and an Altmer on top of it. I found him in mage's robes when I left my room, tucked away in a dark corner of the inn, and Uthgerd was nowhere to be seen. I padded over after I ordered a tankard of mead, and we spoke about dragons for a long time before the conversation turned to magic. "I heard Destruction trainers are stingy with teaching, and skeptical of different ways of doing things. They're set in their ways of doing it," I touched my chin instinctively, but there wasn't a cowl to pull up.
Tawarthion frowned. "I've never experienced that before. Who told you that?"
I thought of how Festus had described himself. "A rather grumpy but very skilled uncle of mine," I replied, smirking into my tankard. I usually ordered the cheapest mead to save on travel costs and my health, but I had been indulged this time. Uthgerd sat down on the other side of the elf, sighing happily as she sipped what smelled like ale. Tawarthion was swirling a wine in a goblet. Elves and their wines… I thought.

Tawarthion nodded thoughtfully about my comment. "How did you get those scars?" I asked, ignoring the Nord woman's glare and the mage's mildly surprised look.
"It's a long story, and not a particularly pleasant one."
Fine, then, I thought when I realized that was all he was going to say. I was about to ask another question when a courier came in, calling for attention. "Is a Tawarthion here?" he asked, holding a letter and looking around. The Altmer stood and walked closer. "Yes, that's me," he said, taking the letter and handing the courier a few coins.
"Lisette sends her regards," the courier finished, then left. When the elf turned, his face was bright and beaming as he stared at the handwriting on the front and back.
"Oh, for all your years you're a love-struck fool, Tar," Uthgerd play-chided, grinning as she chuckled.
Tar rolled his eyes when he joined us again. "I'm really not that old, but love-struck I am."
"How old is 'not that old'?" I asked, raising a brow.
"Well, I'm two-hundred and fifty-three in Sun's Dusk, which is…" he thought for a moment.
"Next month," Uthgerd added. I nodded: the year was going quickly.
"No, not that old at all," I drawled sarcastically. Tar sniggered, staring at the envelope. The door opened, and Uthgerd narrowed her eyes at whomever had walked in. I turned my head slightly, then stiffened. Two Penitus Oculatus agents had just walked in, boisterous and looking to get drunk. If they thought to search belongings they would find me. The worst was that I didn't even have my daggers in easy-to-each places – one was strapped to my boot, the other in my pack, with the rest of my daedric things.
"Not a fan of the Empire either," Tar said softly, a hard note in his voice when he looked up.
"Not in the slightest," I replied, divining the end of my mead in the depths of the tankard.
"I'll drink to that," Uthgerd said. We raised our tankards and goblet in silent toast, and I wondered why an Altmer would dislike the Empire. After all, they owned it by now. So I asked.

Tar sighed, leaning back in his chair as he turned the envelope in his long fingers, stretching his long legs under the table. Cicero might have been tall next to me, but this mage had me almost dwarfed. "I used to stand with the Empire, and especially the Thalmor, before I learned about the wars and skirmishes and raids on defenseless villages and towns, and unnecessary killings in the name of pleasure. By the Nine, I even defended the Thalmor's honor until a few years ago; they could put an end to all violence – or at least that's what they told us on Sommerset Isle," he noticed my eyes narrowing. "My kind has suffered as much at the hands of Men, as Men have suffered at the hands of Mer, Alysa. I digress," he paused, his golden eyes meeting mine again. It was eerie, really; the color. Unnatural. "The Thalmor waged the Great War after taking Valenwood, and it finally ended with the White-Gold Concordat, as you know. Things went well and I was proud to be Altmer, proud to be of a nation that could lay claim to all of Tamriel as easily as we had. But then I heard whispers in the dark from what my kin perceive to be lesser Mer, from Men and Beast races as well. Talos was banned, and at first it wasn't really enforced. But then it changed: people's homes were raided, shrines destroyed and families separated. Then I heard about people who disappeared in the night, never to be seen or heard from again. I knew only an Altmer mage could steal someone like that, and Thalmor agents confirmed it in their dealings with others. The more I heard, the more was revealed to me, and especially so since I left for Skyrim. I decided it was enough," he looked out over the inn. "Not that I fully agree with Ulfric Stormcloak either, mind you. Skyrim doesn't just belong to the Nords: she belongs to all who call her home. But if he can win the war, and drive out the Thalmor, it can become a very real possibility to end the Aldemeri Dominion, to end the fear all people feel," he finished, straightening and stretching.
I nodded: he sounded like an idealistic poet. "Well-said. If ever you find yourself looking for another occupation, I think being a bard would suit you well," I finished my mead.
Tawarthion laughed, his eyes crinkling. "Well, that's actually why I came to Skyrim in the first place," his smile softened, and he looked thoroughly love-struck. Do I look like that when I think of Cicero? I wondered.

"Oh, gods!" Uthgerd teased. "I need more ale. Mead for you, Alysa?" I nodded as she stood. "Wine, Tar?" he waved a hand as he smiled; I could have sworn his cheeks colored slightly. "I've heard this story one too many times. You're on your own with this one, girl!" Uthgerd laughed, the soft lines in her face giving away her true age.
Tawarthion chuckled. "Aye, that she has," he shifted in his seat, watching the Nord woman walk away.
"Lisette?" I questioned. He knew I was asking about the story's topic.
He nodded. "I heard about the Bard's College in Solitude, and thought I'd like to study there. I thought I might make a name for myself, even if I only wrote the verses. I was staying at the Winking Skeever when I met Lisette."
I watched him as he fiddled with the letter again, his gaze soft and kind. Very different to when he had been fighting the dragon.

"Hey! Watch yourself, boy!" Uthgerd snapped from the bar. Tar's expression hardened immediately, sitting straighter. One of the Penitus Oculatus agents had grabbed her arm for questioning. She wrenched herself free, and backed away, turning once she was sure she was out of their reach. I scowled. Damn those bastards! "Have any of you seen anyone traveling in red and black armor, a cowl and hood covering this person's face? Or perhaps red and black robes with a black hand print on the front?" one called. I took a deep breath. I didn't stand too much of a chance if they turned me in. "No," Tar said, standing and taking a few steps forwards. The elf was tall; tall was intimidating, even without the armor. "There has been no-one passing through Rorikstead with that description."
He was defending me? Interesting. The agent scowled at the Altmer, slowly pacing closer. "You sure about that, Elf?"
Tar drew himself a little taller, a few steps closer. I could have sworn the two were now nose-to-nose. "Very sure," Tawarthion said, his voice low. He murmured something to the agent, who paled and looked fearfully at him. "I think you and your companion had best be on your way," he continued a little louder, unmoving.
The agent scowled, backing away. "We'd best get moving. Our targets don't rest," he finally said, backing away and the other man looked confused but joined his companion as they hurriedly left.

The entire inn stared at me: they had all seen my armor. Tar glanced around once, then returned. The noise continued shortly after. "Whatever you've done, Alysa, you can't stay more than one night. Which way were you headed?" he asked.
Might as well be halfway honest, "Morthal, I have a contract to fulfill after I meet with my client," I half-lied. I wasn't meeting a client, but I sure was fulfilling a contract. Tar frowned, displeased by my vague and yet apt answer. "By the way, do you know where Volunruud is?" I asked.
"I do," Uthgerd said, frowning herself. "Do you have a map?"
I nodded, pulling it out from a small bag I kept with me. She marked the ruin. Might as well find out: Astrid will have to send me sometime and I might as well have the information already. "What contracts do you fulfill?" the Dragonborn asked me.
"I get things done for people. If they want something badly enough, they will find me and I will do what needs to be done - whatever it is. It pays well and I'm happy doing what I love," I answered. It wasn't untrue. Uthgerd pursed her lips and Tawarthion sighed after they exchanged a glance. "Then travel with us; we're headed to Dawnstar, anyway, and your horse is unfortunately dead. With us, you could travel faster."
I scowled at him. A trusting assassin was a dead assassin, and he had nothing to gain and everything to lose if he took me with him. "What's in it for you?" I asked.
"Nothing. But I owe you a horse and a favor for your assistance in helping to kill the dragon today. We leave at first light, if you're interested."
I took that as my cue to leave. "Hm. I'll think about it," I conceded. Bed was calling, then. Damn the Empire and those Penitus Oculatus agents…. And dragons.

Cicero kept to himself while the Listener was gone. He giggled. Cicero kept to himself! Oh, a good one, a good one! Cicero sniggered. "Tra-la-la, tra-la-lee," he sang, leaving his chambers for the company of someone else. I am human, after all. What he heard next, Cicero didn't like in the slightest. No, sweet Mother, not at all. "That fool can't barge in and take command as he pleases with his pet corpse while he toys with one of my best assassins!" Astrid fumed.

Oh, unholy Night Mother, stay humble Cicero's blade. He walked into the main room. That pretender was talking to Veezara, Alysa's green friend. "And then he says she's the Listener? It's preposterous! Unthinkable! I swear he's twisting her! He'll be the reason I lose Alysa!"
"Cicero thinks you should be quiet now," Cicero said, hand on his long ebony dagger.
Astrid the Pretender pulled a face at Cicero. Horrid woman… Cicero should kill her… but then he would fail his Listener! "Listen, fool: stay away from Alysa, and don't you dare start with that 'Listener' crap again –"
"You dare defy the Old Ways again? You dare deny the Listener the respect she deserves? You dare DEFY THE NIGHT MOTHER AND HER WISHES?! YOU DARE BLASPHEME?!" Cicero shouted. Oh, I am furious: this Keeper's blood boils for all the blasphemies the pretender-harlot speaks! Cicero should cut her down, make her beg and bleed….
"You stay away from my wife, little man!"
"Astrid's lapdog has no say here," Cicero hissed. "You defy the Night Mother's wishes for a Listener and, AND the contract she gives our Listener?"
"Astrid, Cicero, Arnbjorn, wait, we –" the Argonian starts.
"Listener? Contract? Astrid, what is all this?" Festus asks, and Cicero suddenly feels calmer. He knows it's magic, but he still wants Astrid dead.
"Festus. According to the jester… Alysa is the… Listener," the pretender drawled, spat out. Oh, Cicero would carve her up so well… she'd scream for days.
"Alysa is the Listener? What does she say about it?" Festus continues. Cicero hopes he'll talk sense into the pretender-harlot. "Astrid!"
"She says she is, and that there's a client inside Volunruud," she admitted finally.
Festus sighed angrily, but was still calm. Arnbjorn growled and Festus cast a spell on him. "Be quiet you loud wolf! Have you so little faith in what Alysa says, Astrid? She's never lied to you before, what does she gain from it now? If the Night Mother spoke, then you're wasting time debating the matter! When did this happen, and where is Alysa?"
"The Listener is out on little contracts," Cicero hissed softly, glaring at Astrid. Oh, he knew just where to cut and stab to make her scream and cry and beg and bleed… and Cicero would love every moment, every single drop of blood would be exquisite… just perfect to appease the Night Mother for the blasphemy!
"Alysa's gone?" Festus asked. Cicero nods, not glancing away from the pretender. "When did she leave? When will she be back?"
The woman sighed angrily, pouting. Cicero would cut her lips off first. "The Night Mother spoke almost one-and-a-half months ago, and Alysa left about then, too. If she follows her usual travel mannerisms, she should be nearing or in Morthal. Then she'll pass Volunruud and ride for Windhelm to Anga's Mill."
"Damn you, Astrid! She has proven herself over and over again! I don't suppose you told her where Volunruud is, and by the time she gets back five months will have passed! Five months!" Festus barely spoke louder than normal, but even Cicero felt a little intimidated. "I hope that girl uses her head the way she usually does and finds out where that barrow is and talks to the client! When she returns, you damn well send her on every contract the Night Mother gives her, and the one that client gives her! Now, you've upset a very dangerous mage, and I'm tired and hungry – and Cicero, you're coming with me. Help an old man get down the stairs to the dining room."

Festus walked past Astrid, a little stooped and Cicero followed, glaring at the pretender a little while longer. "If looks could kill, she'd have been dead a hundred times over, Keeper," Festus said quietly. Cicero nodded. He's still too angry for words. Even the un-child looked concerned. Oh well. Cicero would have to wait before he killed Astrid. But kill her he would: and he would enjoy it.