CHAPTER SIX – MAKING TIES (AND CREEPY OATHS)

I flung the door to the Bee and Barb open with the force of a small hurricane. The crash as it smacked into the wall sent every heard turning in my direction and every eye flicking towards me, the expressions of the customers ranging from disapproving to bewildered to startled. I barely noticed them. Neither did I really hear Talen-Jei when he tentatively asked me if I wanted a drink or a bed for the night. I had already taken off running again, running towards the stairway that led to the rooms, because my eyes had flown straight to Marcurio's usual corner and found it empty.

Perhaps someone would have tried to stop me and question me had I not been in my Guild leathers. But my allegiance was virtually written all over me, and no one in their right mind interferes with Thieves Guild business. So I was met with no resistance on my way to the stairs other than a few tuts and raised eyebrows. I took the steps two at a time, and, reaching the top, sprinted at full speed towards Marcurio's room. He always booked the same one. He had to be there. He was going to be there. I would rip Mercer Frey limb from limb if he wasn't there. Granted, I planned to do that to Mercer anyway, but if Marcurio wasn't there, I would do it slowly.

Gods and Daedra, let him be there.

I skidded to a halt outside the door, raised one hand, and smacked on it so hard that pain jolted through my wrist. I barely noticed; I was already hammering on the door again, and the hinges were making shrill squeaks of complaint. In fact, I almost missed the strained-sounding voice mumbling 'Come in,' over my thumps.

A shaky gasp of relief burst from me, and my heartbeat slowed a little; I knew the voice, would have known it anywhere. I wrenched the door open, threw myself inside, and slammed it behind me.

Marcurio was seated on his bed, head bowed and hands clasped together in front of him. His eyes were shadowed by dark circles, and his hair was, for once, untied from the normal ponytail, hanging down his back in a mess of tangles. No fewer than five empty mead bottles littered the ground at his feet, accompanied by a handful of tankards. The remnants of a sixth bottle lay in a scattering of broken glass at the foot of the opposite wall. As if someone had thrown it in the grip of rage – or grief.

An odd tightness crept through my throat. 'Hey, pack mule,' I said softly.

His head jolted up as if pulled by a string, and he looked around to face me. I met his eyes, and what I saw… what I saw was something that I'll carry with me for the rest of my life. In the space of a single second, I saw those eyes change. When they first locked onto mine, they were empty. Hollow with despair. And in a heartbeat, they were full. Full with a kind of joy I'd never seen in anyone's eyes before.

And as he leaped to his feet and shouted my name, I stood there, stunned. I had witnessed a man rise from the depths of utter devastation to the height of elation in a moment, and it had happened because I had walked into the room.

Marcurio half-ran to me, his mouth open with shock, and opened his arms as if to embrace me. Then he stopped, dithered for a moment, and stuck out one hand instead. I glanced down at it, took it, and used it to pull him towards me so I could fling my arms around him.

'Bloody hell, Marc,' I mumbled into the fabric of his robes. 'I thought that bastard might've got you.'

There was a short silence before he replied, his voice faltering. 'He said you were dead.'

We stood there for some time. Just clinging to each other. Then I coughed, let him go, and stepped back. 'Let me guess. He is Mercer Frey?'

Marcurio nodded, swallowing. 'Your boss… he came to find me. He said – that woman you were hunting in the Sanctum – he said she shot you. Said he thought I should know.'

He glanced around, his eyes flicking between me and the bottles littering the floor. Abruptly, he snatched up a comb from the table beside his bed and set it to work on his hair with more than a little aggression. 'So what really happened? Why'd he lie? I daresay this was all some part of another of your bold, reckless plans? You intended to fake your death in order to spring on the enemy at the last moment and save the day?'

His voice was full of the usual glibness again, but I didn't miss that it shook ever so slightly. I smiled, shook my head, and dropped down to sit on the bed, gesturing for him to take a seat beside me. 'Put the comb down, mister apprentice wizard. I've seen you with Chaurus egg yolk in your hair, I don't mind a few knots.'

'I thought we agreed to never mention the Chaurus incident again,' he remarked, sinking down next to me. He lowered the hand that held the comb, but didn't let it go; he was gripping it so hard that his knuckles had turned white.

'Come on, mule,' I murmured, reaching across and carefully prying it free of his grip. 'Don't abuse your fingers.'

He said nothing.

'Mercer lied,' I told him. 'That whole story we were told, about how the person we thought was probably my mother was a traitor who killed the last Guildmaster, and all that? It was a lie. Mercer's the traitor. He killed the Guildmaster. Who it turns out was my father, incidentally. And the traitor who isn't a traitor - we were right. She actually is my mother. Mercer tried to kill me – stabbed me and left me to bleed out – but my mother saved me. And then we had to hunt around for evidence that Mercer was a traitor, and I'm sorry it took so long but you've got to do a job properly, right? So when we found it, we brought it back, and now here I am. Hey.'

Marcurio's eyes narrowed. 'He stabbed you?'

'Yup. Right through the stomach. The scar's pretty fetching, if I do say so myself.'

His hands clenched into fists. 'And you were stupid enough to let your guard down around him? This is more proof if it was ever needed that you need me around. You can't even go a day without being impaled!'

I snorted. 'Didn't know you cared so much.'

'That's because you never listen!'

'Well, if you've got something to say, spit it out.'

'I have a great deal to say.' He leaped to his feet, pacing in a somewhat frenzied circle about the room. 'That bastard, Frey – I should have known he was lying, I should have drowned him in fire where he stood. I should have known you'd be too quick to just let yourself get shot –'

'Oh, I did get shot,' I corrected him. 'Then I got stabbed. And I'm still alive at the end of it. I'm good that way.'

Marcurio muttered a few curses of a kind even I won't repeat, and kicked one of the empty bottles so that it rolled the length of the room. 'I was going to leave,' he said. 'When Frey told me you were dead, I was going to leave. Just… get out of Riften and find some other place. There was nothing left for me here.'

I raised my eyebrows. 'Aside from several bottles of Honningbrew Mead.'

He shrugged and slumped back down on the bed beside me. 'I was angry.'

'So you thought it better to hit the bottle than to hit people? I guess that's fair.'

A slow, heavy sigh escaped him, and he was silent for some time.

'Tell me what happened,' he said at last. 'Everything. Your mother, and Mercer Frey, and you getting hurt, and where you've been… everything.'

And I did, because Marcurio and I always did share everything with each other. Our thoughts, our fears, our feelings, all of it. I told him about the dread I'd felt standing in front of the puzzle door. The shock of learning my father's identity. The terror of seeing a sword plunge down into my chest. And the tentative joy of what followed – meeting my mother, speaking with her, having her hold me close to her. Learning who she was.

Marcurio listened, a faint frown creasing his brow and his eyes fixed on my face. He didn't move, except as I told him about how Mercer had stabbed me, when his jaw clenched so tight it must have been painful.

'So,' he said at last, nodding slowly. 'You're actually half-Imperial.'

I stared at him – of all the things I'd been expecting him to say, that had been pretty far down on the list. 'Seriously? That's your biggest problem with all this?'

He blinked. 'Who said I thought it was a problem?'

'You don't mind?'

'I don't mind the grey skin, red eyes, pointy ears or vocabulary based around the words, sodding, Oblivion and oops, I pressed the button I obviously wasn't meant to press.' Marcurio shrugged. 'Why would I care about you having Imperial blood?'

'Good to know.' I grinned. 'And I even get a surname into the bargain now. Melyna Desidenius. What do you think?'

A smirk flickered across his face. 'I think that I'll stick with Mel. If I try shouting, 'watch out for that spike trap, Melyna Desidenius,' you'll be dead while I'm still on the Des. And anyway, you don't technically get the surname, do you? Your parents weren't married, so -'

'Who freaking cares?' I snapped. 'It's all I have from him. Apart from a sword. I've got a sword and a surname from my father, and thanks to Mercer bloody Frey, that's it.'

Marcurio looked at me for a moment, then gently touched my arm. 'I'm sorry, Mel. About your father. And that it took you so long to meet your mother.'

I swallowed and nodded. 'Thanks.'

'What's she like?'

I frowned, considering this. Three days isn't much time to get to know someone well enough to answer that kind of question.

'Quiet,' I said at last. 'And… sort of sad. Can't blame her. Also Gods-damn tough. Doesn't take any nonsense, scarily good at stealth and archery, and already pretty protective of me. I guess I can't blame her for that one either. I'm pretty much all she has left.' I shook my head. 'It's still hard to believe just how much Mercer took from her. And from my father. And from me.'

'You'll get him,' Marcurio said firmly. 'You'll make him pay. And I'll be there standing watching and cheering.'

'Sounds like a plan to me. And the good news is, Brynjolf actually asked me to head over to Frey's place now. Raid his stuff, find out where he went.'

Marcurio looked at me quizzically. 'You delayed starting a vital Guild mission to track down your traitorous leader so that you could come and make sure I wasn't drinking myself to death?'

'Well, that wasn't what I was worried about, really. Mercer said something that made me think he might try to hurt you. You know, like he was trying up the loose ends, making sure no one who knew the truth was left alive.'

He shrugged. 'I was downstairs when he found me, and it was a busy day. I don't think even the Thieves Guild leader could get away with murdering someone in the middle of a packed tavern.'

'Oh, he could,' I told him through gritted teeth. 'He could get away with it. It just would have looked too suspicious to the rest of the Guild, is all. Mercer's a thief, he has subtlety. Killing you in front of witnesses would have rung alarm bells, made them wonder if something was up. Better to break your heart so you leave Riften or at least don't have it in you to stop him.'

Marcurio frowned at me. 'Break my heart, hmm? What makes you think I'd be that cut up about you dying?'

'Oh, I don't know. The messed-up hair and the mead bottles, maybe?'

'I can manage just fine without you!'

'Uh-huh. The fact that you've clearly not left the inn in days says otherwise.'

'Well, you're the one who almost got yourself killed after you left my sight!'

'So you admit that you like having me in your sight, do you?'

For a second, he glared at me. And then he stopped. He looked at me with his face utterly serious and said quietly, 'Yes. I like knowing that you're safe. And when Mercer told me that you were dead, it tore me apart.'

I stared. He gazed evenly, calmly back.

'From now on,' he said, 'be careful. I'm not always going to be around to cover your back for you. Just make sure that you always come back.'

I thought of my father. How he hadn't come back to my mother, and how they'd missed out on everything they could have had. I thought of how, for a few terrible minutes, I had been afraid that the same would happen to me, that I would lose my chance. I met those amber-ish brown eyes, studied the face I knew so well, and knew that it was time to stop. Stop snapping and sassing and throwing out sarcastic comments to avoid saying what I was really thinking.

Because what was the point, really? He knew what I was really thinking. I knew what he was really thinking. We both knew. We'd known for a long time.

So I gave him a small, shallow nod and said, 'I'll do my best, pack mule. But I don't know, maybe I'll need some encouragement. I'd have to have something important to come back to, for one thing.'

This was met by a cautious raising of eyebrows. 'Is that so? Don't you think I might need an equally important reason to want to be around when you get back?'

I flashed out a hand and seized the front of his robes, dragging him a little closer to me. 'That so?'

There was a short pause.

'Why are we still arguing?' Marcurio said faintly.

'No idea,' I admitted.

Then I yanked him in the rest of the way, and kissed him. Forcefully.

Roll your eyes all you like, Leo. I don't care. In that moment, I found it hard to care about anything much. I was barely even aware of him placing his hands on my arms and drawing me closer to him. I was aware of nothing but one simple, resounding thought: finally.

It lasted some time, I'm afraid. Probably long enough to embarrass you. And when it finally ended, Marcurio smiled broadly, pressed his forehead to mine, and murmured, 'That took you long enough.'

'Oh, shut up.' I chuckled quietly. 'You were the one who kept putting it off. Constant snarky comments whenever I wanted to say anything real –'

'Please. You've never said anything real in your life, Melyna Desidenius.'

I shook my head, still grinning. 'Well, let me say something real now. Or try to. And I'm no good at this kind of thing normally, so bear with me. Marcurio, I… well… the reason I came storming in here looking for you is because… I was afraid Mercer had killed you and believe it or not, it would have upset me if he had. A little.'

'Go on.' Marcurio leaned back slightly. Gods, that infuriating smirk was back on his face. 'This is entertaining.'

'Oh… screw you. Anyway, I… wouldn't want to lose you. There. That'll have to do. For now.'

The smirk widened. 'Oh, no, I'm not sure I've quite got the picture yet. I think I need more explanation.'

'You're an arsehole.'

'I'm aware.'

I made a noise that sounded like the bastard offspring of a snort and a moan of despair. 'Gods, Marc. Can't you ever make anything easy? I just bloody kissed you, what more do you want?'

'A great deal, but that can come later.'

'You're an enormous arsehole. Anyway, I… look, we've been together a bloody long time, and I reckon it's time we both accepted that we're sort of together together, and I, you know, sort of want that. And I've probably wanted that for a long time and been too stubborn to admit it. So… yeah.'

He shook his head; the smirk had finally softened into a smile, and the look in his eyes was… fond. 'I get it. And it's what I want too. It… it killed me, thinking you were dead. I never want to go through that again. So I guess I'll have to stick around and make sure you don't get yourself killed, won't I? Only sensible solution.'

'When you start talking sense, we know things are serious.'

Marcurio opened his mouth, probably to fling one of our usual sassy retorts at me, but whatever he had been going to say died on his lips. A frown came over his face; he was looking into my eyes with a strange, fierce intensity.

'I'm all for the passionate staring, Marc,' I said, 'but why exactly – '

'Your eyes,' he said, still staring. 'I never noticed before.'

Now it was my turn to frown. 'Noticed what?'

'You've got a…' He sucked on his lower lip for a few moments. 'You wouldn't know unless you really looked closely, but you've got a sort of ring of purple around your pupils. I didn't know Dunmer eyes could do that. I mean, I've seen humans with rings of brown in blue or green eyes, but never a Dark Elf.' A smile spread across his face. 'It's beautiful, actually.'

So I'd inherited it after all, whatever strange, rare trait had given my mother those eyes. All this time, my connection to her had been stamped on my own face. And I'd never known, never had a mirror clear enough to show me, never had anyone look deep enough into my eyes to see it. Until now. Until Marcurio.

'It isn't purple,' I murmured. My throat felt suddenly tight. 'It's indigo.'

Since I'd spent more time than Brynjolf would probably have thought appropriate finally confirming that Marcurio and I were an item, I determined that the business of breaking into Mercer's home would have to be over quickly. And, to my relief, it was simpler than anticipated. The guard at the gate gave us no trouble; one thing I'd learned growing up with Ahkari's caravan was how to lie convincingly. Don't get any stereotypes into your head, Leo – Khajiit aren't consummate liars by nature. It's just that when Khajiit do want to be consummate liars, they tend to be very, very good at it.

So I sent the guard packing quickly with some silver-tongued words about how Mercer needed to see him in Markarth, and that he should leave me looking after the house for him. Even got given the key into the bargain. A raid of the place revealed a secret passage, which didn't surprise me in the slightest, and a nice convenient desk containing papers where Mercer had written his plans. Thus armed, I said a temporary farewell to Marcurio – who went on his way muttering dark promises about what he'd do to me if I got myself killed hunting Mercer – and returned to the Cistern.

Neither Brynjolf nor my mother responded well to hearing my discovery: namely, that Mercer planned on finding and stealing the Eyes of the Falmer. Which, incidentally, are quite possibly the two most valuable gemstones in existence. And which my father planned to retrieve himself. Clearly, for Mercer, murdering one's best friend isn't enough. It's then necessary to spit on their memory and prove yourself their superior.

And this, Leo, is the part where things took something of a twist. When the story became about more than a shattered family and a Guild betrayed. I guess the great author of life decided that things weren't interesting and crazy enough already, and decided to throw in a Daedric Prince.

One word had been haunting me over the past few days, popping up again and again with no explanation attached. I'd heard it first in the Sanctum, then said several times by my mother, and written in my father's journal.

Did you forget the oath we took as Nightingales?

Enthir was the only person your father trusted with the secret of his Nightingale identity.

Mercer's actions represent the failure of the Nightingales.

Mercer is a Nightingale, an agent of Nocturnal. He may have broken his oath, but he still possesses his power.

And now, at last, as my mother led Brynjolf and me towards the door carved into the mountainside, it seemed that I was about to learn what that word meant.

The agent of Nocturnal part was pretty unambiguous, at least. But there was no denying that as my mother explained how we were here to seek the edge we needed to defeat Mercer, my insides were forming themselves into a thick knot. What I was feeling wasn't fear, exactly, more… trepidation. Or apprehension.

Fancy words. My father would be proud.

I've said before, Leo, how absolutely terrible I am at being a Dunmer. If I'd been brought up as a Dark Elf, maybe things would have been different. But I was Khajiit-raised, and while the Khajiit have stories of the Daedric Princes like any other race in Tamriel, while they teach their children to respect and fear the Daedra, they don't make them quite so integral to their culture as the Dunmer do. Every page of Dunmer history is steeped in Daedric influence. It was one of the things that had made me feel so confused and lost in Morrowind. And so, ever since, any mention of the Daedra reminded me of the people who'd called me outlander, of the uncomfortable feeling of not belonging.

So it was with some reluctance that I followed my mother inside the passage leading into the cliffside. I wanted to help her, don't get me wrong. And I definitely wanted to end Mercer. But the methods we'd been using until now – stealth and subterfuge – were things I knew and understood. Their success depended on my skill and nothing more.

Daedric princes… this was a whole new ball game.

A quick glance at Brynjolf told me that he felt the same. We were thieves. Scum of the undercity, rulers of a world that dealt in lies and lockpicks. This ancient hall, with its tattered flags bearing the same symbol that adorned the hilt of my father's sword… it was uncharted territory to us. Yet my mother clearly knew the place well, and the glances she sent around her were nostalgic, not bewildered.

I'll admit, gaining a fancy new set of armour did a little to quell my doubts. When my mother indicated for me to lay my hands on one of the three stones emblazoned with the Nightingale emblem, the armour melted onto my body with an odd sensation, as if it were a liquid that someone had poured over me, and was solidifying into my shape. Though it was clearly some kind of metal, the plates moved silently without the slightest sound of scraping, and, the boots made no noise when I set down my feet.

'Snazzy,' I remarked, twisting the cape and throwing it over one shoulder to keep it from impeding my movement.

My mother stared at me for a few moments. 'I lead my daughter into the ancient headquarters of a secret Daedric order, present her with armour that only three mortals alive have a right to wear, and the first thing she has to say about it is snazzy.'

'Hey, I never got whatever kind of scholarly education my father did. And I'm not even speaking my first language, remember. Snazzy doesn't even have a direct translation in Ta'agra, so I think I should get credit where it's due for even knowing the word.'

I couldn't see my mother's face behind her mask, but I'm almost certain she smiled. 'I give you credit, Melyna. Now, to the matter at hand.' She indicated the metal gate a short way away from where we were standing. 'Beyond this gate is the first step in becoming a Nightingale.'

A huff escaped me. 'We become Nightingales too, huh? Saw that one coming.'

'Well, I didn't.' Brynjolf folded his arms. 'I appreciate the armour, lass, but becoming a Nightingale? That was never discussed.'

'To hold any hope of defeating Mercer, we must have Nocturnal at our backs,' my mother said, her voice firm. 'We need the power she can offer us. If she's to accept you as one of your own, an arrangement must be struck.'

'What sort of arrangement?' Brynjolf demanded. 'I need to know the terms. And I'm pretty sure Melyna wants to know them too.'

My mother glanced at me, and I shrugged. 'I wouldn't complain if you spilled the beans on that front, no.'

She nodded slowly. 'Well, perhaps it'll be some comfort to you, Brynjolf, if I point out that I'm not involving you in anything so dangerous that I'm keeping my daughter out of it.'

Brynjolf relaxed a little at that, and I think maybe I did too. I'd had so little time to get to know my mother, and yet I was already certain that she was determined to protect me. We were yet to work out all the intricacies of a mother-daughter relationship, but we both seemed to agree on the parent-protecting-the-child front. If she was bringing me into this, it meant she trusted me to cope with it, that she didn't think it would put me in too much danger.

And… I trusted her. I trusted her not to get me mixed up in anything that I'd regret being part of.

'But since you ask, the terms are quite simple,' my mother went on. 'Nocturnal will allow you to become a Nightingale, and use your abilities for whatever you wish. You'll both be aware that she's the Daedric Prince of luck. Her favour – and the power that comes with it – is a blessing to any thief. Especially to a thief hunting down a traitor and murderer.' She lowered her gaze for a moment, and I saw her draw in a breath before continuing. 'And in return, both in life and in death, you must serve her as a guardian of the Twilight Sepulchre.'

'A guardian of the what now?'

'Nocturnal's temple in Skyrim.'

A frown furrowed my brow. 'And is this a permanent arrangement? Are we giving our souls to a Daedric Prince for… you know, eternity?'

'You two are. Mine's already promised to her. Though…' A sigh escaped her. 'She no longer considers me her agent. I'm not entirely certain where that leaves me.'

This, of course, sent a dozen more questions leaping up inside my mind, waving their hands for attention, but I pushed them away and asked only the most important. 'So what does that mean? After we die, we're in some temple until the end of time, doing… what, exactly?'

She shook her head. 'It isn't forever. A Nightingale serves Nocturnal in the Sepulchre until the Lady believes you've defended the temple long enough for her to feel you've paid her back for the favour she gave you in life. Then we pass to Nocturnal's realm. The Evergloam.'

'Sounds tempting.'

'Actually, it is. It's not so much a separate realm. It's all around us. Every shadow. Every blackest night.' There was an odd, wistful tone in her voice now. 'The Nightingale who goes to Evergloam becomes one with the shadows. We watch over the thieves of Tamriel, all who serve Nocturnal, and we give them our aid. It's the kind of freedom a living thief can only dream of.'

'And that's where my father is?'

She bit her lip. 'I don't know, Melyna. I can't explain why. Not until after you've taken the Oath. I know I'm keeping a great deal from you, but... Nocturnal expects secrecy from her agents. I've already angered her one. If I try her patience further…' She shook her head slightly. 'It's not my life I'm afraid for.'

'Well, If it means the end of Mercer, you can count me in,' Brynjolf said firmly. 'Mel?'

'I'm in.' I barely thought about it, mostly because it didn't need thinking about. My father had taken this Oath. My mother had. It seemed somehow right that I should follow in their footsteps. If I had misgivings, they came from my old instinct to walk free. As an honorary Khajiit, I had never had anything to tie me down; the wilderness of Skyrim had been open to me. Loyal as I was to the Guild, I'd always had the knowledge that I could sneak away if I needed to, brush the dust of Riften from my boots. I'd never, really, been tied down to anything before.

But things were changing now, weren't they? Hours earlier, I'd made things official with Marcurio. We were together; that tied me to him. And here, right in front of me, was my mother. Some ties you can't break, and blood is one of them. I was bound to her. I'd always be her daughter, no matter where I went or what I chose to do.

My life was changing. I was putting down roots, making ties. Why try to fight it?

'Good.' I didn't miss the trace of relief in my mother's voice. As if she'd been afraid I'd refuse. 'After I open the gate, stand on the western circle. It's where I stood, when I took my Oath. Brynjolf, you take the east.'

This made little sense at first, but I understood when she led us further through the passageway, and into a vast, cavernous chamber built around some kind of underground lake. A walkway led over the water to a round stone platform, then branched out into a three-pronged fork, each separate path with a smaller circle at the end. I took a moment to remind myself that the western circle would be the left-hand one – don't judge me, Leo, I was never the best at navigation – and took up my place there, as I'd been bidden.

We waited. And then my mother lifted her head, spread out her arms, and called out, clear and strident, into the cool air of the chamber. 'I call upon you, Lady Nocturnal, Queen of Murk and Empress of Shadow… hear my voice!'

That's a lot of fancy titles, I remarked to myself. Which is probably not the most respectful thing to think while an honest-to-Gods Daedric Prince manifests right in front of you, but there you are.

If you're wondering, Leo, how Nocturnal appears on Nirn when she can't be bothered to take on the full-blown human form, she seems to favour the fetching form of an orb of purple and white mist. Add a wind from nowhere, and the coldest voice you've heard in your entire life, and you'll have a pretty good impression.

'Ah, Karliah. I was wondering when I'd hear from you again. Lose something, did we?'

The mighty Lady Nocturnal did nothing to endear herself to me with that first sentence.

Yeah, bitch, she lost my father and she lost all her friends and she lost her daughter, I snarled silently, while my mother sank onto one knee and reeled off some declaration of her righteous purpose and so on. I expect this kind of mortal stuff is beyond your comprehension, but you might show a bit of sympathy.

Once I'd stopped my mental ranting, I became aware that Nocturnal was speaking again. 'You're already mine, Karliah. Your terms were struck long ago. What could you possibly offer me now?'

My mother held out her hands, indicating Brynjolf and I, standing on our circles. 'I have two others who are willing to transact the Oath; to serve you both in life and in death.'

I sensed, suddenly – though there was no shift in the mist-orb that indicated it – that Nocturnal's attention had shifted to me. 'And one of them is your own blood.'

'She is my daughter, your Grace.' My mother's figure had grown tense. 'Mine and Gallus's.'

'How interesting. So this girl is the product of your distraction from your duties.'

'Woman,' I snapped.

There was a pin-drop silence. The feeling that I was being examined intensified.

'I mean, I'm twenty five,' I said, shrugging. 'Definitely a woman, not a girl. Name of Melyna Desidenius, if you're interested.'

'She's young, my Lady.' My mother spoke quickly, as if she didn't want to give Nocturnal too much time to dwell on my impertinence. 'But she – she has potential – '

The disembodied voice cut across her. 'This, I know. Mercer Frey may have removed much of my ability to intervene in your world, but I still possess my power to watch. And I have watched your daughter, Karliah. She has inherited her parents' skill, certainly. But what of her loyalty? Does she understand what is asked of her? Or will she, like her mother, fail to see danger when it stands in front of her? Will she let her vigilance drop when it is most needed, as her father did? Will she –'

'She's going to kill Mercer Frey,' I said shortly. 'And from what I can tell, you need someone to kill him as much as we need your help killing him. So I think the fact that I'm after his blood should be enough for you.'

I saw my mother glance in my direction, and though her face was invisible behind the mask, I had a feeling that she was more than a little worried about my speaking so impudently to a Daedric Prince.

Nocturnal's invisible gaze was still scorching into me. 'And what makes you so certain I have such need of your aid, mortal?'

'Partly what you said just then, about Mercer taking away your ability to act on Nirn, or whatever.' I folded my arms. 'And partly because… it just makes sense. I might not have got on board with the whole Daedra culture when I lived in Morrowind, but I still learned some things. And one thing I learned is that Daedra only have mortal servants when it benefits them. Mortal followers – they're something different. They just worship, they don't give you anything, exactly. But agents? Agents act for you when you can't act yourself. Agents fight your battles. Agents… they're something you need. You wouldn't have this Nightingale Order at all if you didn't get something back from it.'

I gazed into the maelstrom of mist with as much calmness as I could muster. 'So… my guess is, after twenty five years with one agent dead, one exiled, and one a traitor, you need us. A Daedric Prince, going a quarter century with no way to enact their will on Nirn? Not good at all. You can't afford to turn us away. If you do, it could be another twenty five years before anyone takes our places – or it could be never. We need you, or we don't catch Mercer, and Gods only know what that'll do to our Guild. And you need us, or maybe your influence dries up for good.'

The wind whipped against the walls of the chamber. I stood waiting, head raised, chin up. And at last, the cold smooth voice came again.

'My, my, Karliah. Your child is a canny one.'

I let out a breath I hadn't been aware I'd been holding. Daedra are unpredictable, Teldryn had once told me. Sometimes you can never tell what'll anger them and what'll impress them. I'd taken a gamble on impressing Nocturnal - and it seemed I'd won.

'I think she's her father's daughter, your Grace,' my mother said softly.

'Indeed.' The intensity of the Prince's unseen gaze faded a little; it was as if she'd drawn back, and was weighing all three of us up from a distance. 'Her father's wisdom may have failed him when I needed it to serve me most, but his mind was sharp, his skills honed to perfection. And you, Karliah – you served me well for many years. Perhaps your girl – a child of two Nightingales – shall correct her parents' mistakes. What do you say, Melyna?'

Closing my eyes, I turned the question over in my mind. I thought of what path my life might have taken if Mercer hadn't turned traitor, if my father hadn't died. I would have been raised in the Guild, by my Nightingale parents, and no doubt, some day, I would have ended up standing here in this hall, taking this Oath. They would have brought me up preparing for it.

They hadn't had that chance. I'd been raised away from the Guild and had never heard the name Nightingale until days ago. And yet I'd still ended up here. As if… as if it had been meant to happen. I'd never been fond of the idea of fate, but… it was the only word I could use to describe this.

I breathed in deeply. 'I think this is what I was born to be.'

'And you are right.' Perhaps I'm imagining that Nocturnal's voice grew louder, but I seem to remember that it did, until the stones seemed to tremble at her words. 'I saw Mercer's treachery brewing, Karliah, even when you did not. And while I was still able to act in your world, I pulled the strings of luck to ensure that even if I lost all three of my Nightingales – as I did – I would have another waiting. A child with the talent of the two who, though they were bound for failure, had remained loyal.'

It took me a moment to realise that my mouth was hanging a little way open, and something told me that my mother's was too. 'Are you saying…' She stopped, shook her head as if trying to shake the confusion from it, and tried again. 'My lady, are you saying that you ensured that Melyna was conceived?'

'My last act on Nirn before the Skeleton Key was stolen.' The swirling of the mist grew stronger and faster. 'And it seems my precaution paid off. Here is the child, grown strong and trained in the art of the shadows, and filled with thoughts of vengeance towards the one who betrayed me.' There was an unmistakable tone of satisfaction in Nocturnal's voice. 'She shall be the instrument of my revenge.'

I took a step forward, so that I was standing on the edge of my circle. 'Damn right I will.'

'Then the conditions are acceptable. You may proceed.'

My mother bowed her head, placing one hand over her heart. 'Lady Nocturnal, we accept your terms. We dedicate ourselves to you both as your avengers and your sentinels. We will honour our agreement in this life and the next, until your conditions have been met.'

'Very well.' A short silence; then three shafts of translucent purple light blinked into being, one surrounding each of us. 'I name your initiates Nightingales. And I restore your status to the same, Karliah.'

The light faded, as did the sound of the wind and the mist-orb hovering over the central circle. 'And in future, I suggest you refrain from disappointing me again.'

All three of us stood motionless for a few moments, once all trace of the Prince's presence had gone from the cavern. Then, feeling the silence was too complete for comfort, I huffed loudly. 'What a bitch.'

My mother made a sound that suggested she was struggling to keep herself from laughing, and pressed a hand to her forehead. 'Yes, well, please don't call her that to her face.'

'So,' Brynjolf said loudly, hurrying down the walkway towards the largest platform. 'Now we've got the armour, we've had a Daedric Prince lecture us, and we've found out Mel here's some kind of… Daedra-touched chosen one. Now what?'

'Now, we find fast horses and set out to find Mercer.' My mother pushed back her hood and pulled down her mask, revealing a face set with steely determination. 'And on the way, I'll explain the last piece of the puzzle to you.'

'Would this be an explanation for the whole… Skeleton Key thing?' I guessed.

'Exactly.' She beckoned for us to follow her towards the tunnel that led to the outside world. 'And Brynjolf has some business to discuss with you, too.'

'Hold on,' I said. 'This whole thing with Nocturnal pulling the strings of luck or whatever it was to make sure I was born. Does that… bother you at all?'

She raised her eyebrows. 'Does it trouble you?'

'Not really. I'm alive, it's a fact, doesn't matter what caused it. I just wondered if you… I mean, Nocturnal basically picked me to replace you.'

My mother stopped walking and turned to face me. 'Melyna. For twenty five years, I've been running from the Guild and from the memory of what Mercer did. I never slept in the same place twice. I barely spoke to another living creature. It would be an understatement to say that it was hard to stop running and face my past. While I was setting my trap for Mercer – Honningbrew, Goldenglow, Gulum-Ei, the Sanctum – I wondered again and again if I had the strength to do it. I wondered whether my love for Gallus and my hatred for Mercer would be enough to see me through.'

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. 'And every time I doubted myself, I remembered that you were out there somewhere. My daughter. My flesh and blood. I wondered what kind of woman you'd grown into, and I ached to know whether or not you were happy. I told myself I'd never know if I didn't face up to what I was running from. You kept me going, Melyna. And now I've found you, now I know the answers to my questions… I know that you are worth the last twenty five years.'

She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, I noticed that they were wet.

'So, no. It doesn't make any difference to me that Nocturnal caused your birth. I don't care why she decided to bring you into existence. I'm simply glad she did.'

Why do my chapters always turn out longer than intended? Why? I apologise if it's taking a while to get to the action - but next chapter, I'll launch you right into it. This I promise. Mel will be meeting two people she very much wants to come face to face with... And I will enjoy writing those meetings.

Thanks for reading!