CHAPTER SEVEN – GHOST OF A CHANCE (AND A FATHER)

It may surprise you to learn, Leo, that in all the time I'd spent doing jobs for the Guild and travelling Tamriel, I'd only ever been to a single Dwemer ruin. Teldryn and I had braved it together out of sheer curiosity, on a stormy day in norther Vvardenfell, and the place had left me with no great desire to repeat the experience. There was loot, to be sure, but tentative adventurers had already picked clean the upper levels, and the further in we went, the less either of us wanted to stay. The place was a city, wide and open, and yet it was still claustrophobic. The knowledge of just how much earth was over our heads, and how far away the sky and sun were…

It was a dead city. A place that had once thrummed with life and now lay cold and empty. I suppose nothing can make a place like that inviting.

And then there were the creatures. Some of them weren't even living things; they were the animunculi, steam-powered automatons built by the Dwemer in ages past to guard their halls. You can't kill a metal construct – you have to find a way to take it apart. One arrow won't do it, unless you can shoot out the soul gem that keeps it moving. Fire spells? Forget it. You might as well attack a mammoth with a bunch of deathbells.

But if I'd thought that having a statue hissing and clunking towards me, emotionless and unrelenting, would be the most unnerving thing the ruins had to throw at me, I was wrong. Because eventually, the immaculate brass and polished stone gave way to rough-cut rock and dim passageways overgrown with luminescent mushrooms. And it was in these tunnels that the Falmer lurked. Pale as the dead, hunched and eyeless, all clawlike hands and snarling voices. Stealth is painfully irrelevant against a blind creature, strange as it sounds. With no eyes, their ears and noses are all the sharper – and yes, you can keep your footsteps quiet, but how can you disguise your scent?

So as soon as we'd amassed enough shinies to make the trip worthwhile, Teldryn and I headed for the surface at a fast pace. 'Never doing that again,' I remarked, and he gave me a nod that said I don't blame you.

But to hunt down my father's murderer, I had to break that resolution. I didn't like it, but there was nothing to be done about it. Mercer had gone to Irkngthand, the ruin that contained the Eyes of the Falmer, and that meant that Brynjolf and my mother and I had to follow.

It was a relief to discover that facing a Dwemer ruin with two Nightingales at my side was not going to be like facing one with Teldryn. Fond as I was (and still am) of the guy, I can't deny that stealth wasn't his strong suit. I can't count the number of times that chitin armour of his alerted the Falmer to our presence. Brynjolf and my mother, though - they walked on silent feet and struck from the shadows. Besides, I had fought beside Brynjolf on Guild missions before, and with my mother in that museum in Markarth. And the two of them had been taught the same skills by my father. Which meant that the three of us worked together with almost as much fluidity as I'd worked with Marcurio.

Not all of it was easy, of course. There were three of us against a small army of Falmer, and my mother and I only had so many arrows, and not enough time to retrieve all the ones we'd fired. Mercer had set traps in his wake, and experienced thieves though we were, it was a struggle to keep clear of them all. And then there was the massive steam centurion, three times my height, with a nasty temper and an even nastier tendency to lauch boiling jets of steam at us.

'Couldn't you use some of that magic of yours, lass?' Brynjolf asked me, as we sat among the pieces of the centurion that lay littered on the ground after we finally brought it down, hurriedly patching our injuries. 'Freeze up the mechanisms, or something?'

'I'd love to, but I can't,' I said firmly, pausing to tip a healing potion down my throat before explaining. 'I was never any good with any kind of magic except fire. I can conjure ice to chill a drink, but not enough to make it actually worthwhile in combat.'

'Lightning would be more useful,' my mother remarked. 'It's a pity we couldn't take your new man along.'

Brynjolf chuckled and shook his head. 'New? The Guild's been taking bets it'd take them to get together for almost a full year. Delvin owes me ten Septims, I told him it'd be within three months.'

I ripped one of the nearby mushrooms up by the roots and threw it at him; I was already sincerely regretting letting slip that Marcurio and I had made it official. 'I cannot believe you're profiting from my love life.'

'Don't go claiming your coin too quickly, Brynjolf,' my mother warned him. 'This new boyfriend doesn't have parental approval yet.'

'You were trying to pair him off with me only yesterday!'

Even as we laughed, we couldn't escape the tension. Our amusement seemed to last only in short bursts. And it wasn't just the atmosphere of the ruin, it was the fact of why we were there. We couldn't forget it, no matter how much we tried to focus on each individual fight, or banter about my love life. My father's killer was one step ahead of us, somewhere in the shadows of this ruin, and every inch of my being screamed at me to find him.

So when we carefully, quietly pushed open that tall golden door to reveal the vast, cavernous chamber where the Eyes of the Falmer sat in the face of a statue taller than the Jarl's palace in Riften, and where Mercer perched on the carved neck, chiselling them free of their sockets… I felt no fear. Only satisfaction. And icy determination.

I opened my mouth to roar a challenge at him, but my mother grasped my arm and shook her head. 'Melyna,' she hissed. 'Element. Of. Surprise.'

I sighed and nodded. She was right.

'He's here and he hasn't seen us yet. Let's keep it that way.' She drew an arrow from her quiver; I could see her eyes drilling into the man who clung to the statue, studying the distance, ready to line up the shot. 'Brynjolf, watch the door.'

'Aye, lass.' Brynjolf's hands tightened around the hilts of his daggers. 'Nothing's getting by me.'

My mother turned back to me. 'Melyna – climb down that ledge and see if you can –'

'Karliah, when will you learn you can't get the drop on me?'

It was the first time since the Sanctum that I'd heard that voice, and a cold fury ran through me at the sound of it. It was thick with a sneer, just as it had been before he'd driven his sword through my chest, and my hand flew to my shoulder, fingers closing around an arrow –

But Mercer, standing bold as brass on the collar of the statue's robe, moved fast, too fast. His hand flashed up, and the unmistakable glow of magic sparked from his fingertips. I had a moment to be confused - since when was Mercer a mage? – but only a moment, because an instant later a shockwave slammed out across the cavern, ripping in half one of the vast pipes built across the ceiling with a hideous scraping and rending of metal, and fracturing the platform on which I and my fellow Nightingales stood.

I had stepped forwards when first entering the cavern, ready to throw myself at Mercer there and then. My mother might have stopped me, but it had still left me standing a pace and a half in front of her and Brynjolf. So when the platform split down the middle, it left me on one side, and them on the other.

I was the one, then, who went tumbling headfirst down the rocks, yelping with surprise as the ground gave way beneath me and my bow went flying from my hand. My mother shouted my name, her voice high-pitched from fright, but the fall lasted only a second. I scrambled to my feet, spitting out dirt, swinging my head around to look for my bow.

But a flash of movement from the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I turned to see Mercer running down the stairway built into the side of the statue. The great stone Snow Elf's hand clasped a book as wide as two horses standing nose-to-tail, and it was here that Mercer came to stand, his sword raised. I glanced up at my companions, and saw that there was no chance of them climbing down to me. The drop was too far and too steep. I was on my own.

I found I didn't mind that all that much.

I abandoned my efforts to find my bow, dumped my quiver to the ground, and pulled my father's sword from its sheath. Mercer's gaze flicked down towards it, and I saw his lip curl.

'Mercer Frey, you effing bastard,' I said, and it won't come as a surprise to you that I didn't actually say 'effing.'

'Eloquent,' he replied, giving his sword a twirl. 'You know, when Brynjolf brought you before me, I could feel a sudden shift in the wind. One look at your face was enough to know whose you were. My old friends turned enemies had come back to haunt me in the form of their daughter.' He laughed sourly. 'And at that moment, I knew it would end with one of us at the end of a blade.'

I strode forwards, and glanced down in surprise as my feet suddenly splashed into water. A glance upwards told me that the damaged pipe was now spewing water down into the cavern at an alarmingly fast pace.

'You're not sodding wrong,' I shouted over the sound of the cascade. 'And for the record? I had no idea who my parents were until Snow Veil Sanctum. I suspected, but I didn't know for sure. You thought my mother sent me to help her plans, but you were wrong.'

'You think I care - ?'

'So then my mother saved my life and I finally knew who she was. You'd already told me who my father was. The man you murdered. He was your friend, you godless s'wit. And you killed him. You killed my father.'

Mercer laughed again, but there was no mirth in it. I've never heard a bitterer sound. 'And there it is! There in your eyes, right there! That same glint that was always in your father's, every time he planned the impossible heist. Every time I told him it couldn't be done, and he went and pulled it off anyway. He always had to be right – and he was, in the end, wasn't he? You know what he said to me, when I faced him down in the Sanctum? 'It won't end with me, Mercer.' Right again. You always had to be right, didn't you, Gallus?'

He was looking directly into my eyes as he spoke, as if he thought my father's ghost was lurking somewhere inside me, hearing his words. A shiver ran through me.

'You're insane,' I hissed.

'But I won!' Mercer snarled, gesturing viciously towards the now-blind statue behind him, and to the bag strapped to his belt that had to contain the Eyes of the Falmer. 'Gallus's dream heist, the one he never completed. And I finished it. I won. Because Gallus would never have dreamed of going after the Skeleton Key. He always care too much for honour, for loyalty. Fool that he was. He didn't have the courage.'

Right. The Skeleton Key. Nocturnal's Daedric Artefact, the key that connected her realm to our own, the key that opened all doors and unlocked hidden potential within the mind of a mortal. The key that Mercer had stolen. That was how he'd cast the spell. All Bretons had latent magical abilities, just like Dunmer; Mercer had used the Key to tap into his.

'No. My father had the sense not to mess with an immensely powerful Daedric artefact.'

'What right do you have to talk about sense, when you stand there in that armour?' Mercer cast a scornful eye over the three of us. 'Is Nocturnal so desperate that she took you back, Karliah? You and your half-breed whelp?'

My mother still had her bow loaded; now she raised it and aimed the arrow at Mercer's chest. 'Call my daughter that again and you're dead. Not that you won't die anyway.'

'Give us the damned Key, Mercer.' There was a rising heat in my voice, and I made no effort to check it. 'Maybe then I'll make it quick for you. Gods know that's more mercy than you showed my father.'

'Your father! Your damn father – is that all you care about?'

'No. I care a fair bit more about the people who are still alive. Like my mother, whose life you destroyed. And the Guild, my Guild, which you lied to and betrayed. And I'm pretty pissed at the whole stabbing thing. I can't let anyone stab me and get away with it, it'd give people ideas. Oh, and then there's the Daedric Prince who'd probably try to kill me somehow if I let you live.'

Mercer's lip curled. 'You think she cares? Let me tell you, she doesn't. Nocturnal doesn't care about you, the Key, or anything having to do with the Guild.'

'Then forget Nocturnal. At risk of sounding like I'm in a Gods-damn book, this is personal.'

'Revenge, is it? Have you learned nothing from our time with us?' He had started to pace back and forth, just as he'd done in Snow Veil Sanctum as he'd faced down my mother. 'When will you open your eyes and realise how little my actions differ from yours? Both of us lie, cheat and steal to further our own ends!'

I shrugged. 'Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I'm no hero. I'm a scruffy little kleptomaniac with more sass than sense. But there's still a difference between us. I know when to draw the line. I know that some things are just plain wrong. I've also got the brains not to piss off a Daedric Prince.'

'But what can she do about it? With the Key gone, she can barely exert any influence on Nirn. You three idiots are her only hope, and you'll die here in this cave. How can you not see the Skeleton Key as I do – an instrument of limitless wealth? Instead, you've chosen to fall over your own foolish code!'

A loud snort escaped me. 'Code? I don't have a code. I just go with what my gut tells me. And right now, my gut says that if anyone falls, it's gonna be you.'

Mercer's eyes narrowed to slits. 'Then the die is cast, and once again my blade will taste Nightingale blood.'

'Not likely!' my mother snapped, and the twang of her bowstring rang out, just audible to my sensitive ears over the roar of the water. I waited, breath caught in my throat, to see the shaft hit home – but Mercer raised one hand. A bluish shield of magic fanned out around his fingers, encircling his body and knocking the arrow aside.

'None of that, thank you, Karliah,' he said smoothly. 'I think this is between me and your loud-mouthed brat. I'll deal with you once I've disciplined your girl. And in the meantime, why don't you and Brynjolf get better acquainted?'

Another flash of magic. I whirled around in time to see it strike Brynjolf dead in the chest – and to see Brynjolf jerk unnaturally, then throw himself at my mother with daggers raised and glinting in the half-light. Thank the Gods for the lightning-fast reflexes that twenty-five years in the wilderness can give you, or she might have died there and then.

'What's happening?' Brynjolf's voice was - understandably - panicked. 'I can't stop myself…'

'Damn you, Mercer!' my mother snarled, and I couldn't have agreed with her more. 'Fight it, Brynjolf- he's taken control of you!'

'I'm sorry, lass. I – I can't – '

I whipped back around to face Mercer. He was grinning.

'Eff you,' I said flatly, and do you think I said eff?

His response to this was to lift one hand, curl his fingers around yet another spell, and blink out of sight. I hissed in frustration, and took a few steps forward, so that I was standing in the centre of the rapidly-growing pool. If he thought that invisibility would allow him to attack me from behind, he had another think coming.

It was only a few seconds before I caught the distinctive sound of feet splashing through water behind me. I waited, sword raised, every muscle in my body taut and ready, until the splashes had almost reached me; then I spun around and lifted my blade into a block. Just in time; a half-second later Mercer flashed back into view, his blade crashing down in my direction. Our swords met with a clash that rebounded off the walls of the cave, and the force of his blow sent me stumbling back a pace. I didn't need to be told that I was at a disadvantage here – Mercer was taller, bulkier, stronger, more experienced. And he had the bloody Skeleton Key.

But I had a few tricks up my sleeve as well.

As Mercer lunged in again, I parried a second time. This time, though, I grounded myself firmly so that even with all his weight behind the blow, I only slid back a short way. He pushed against my blade until my arms were aching down to the very bones – and just as he seemed to think that he had me, I released my left hand's grip on my sword hilt and reached forward. Mercer's eyes widened – he knew what was coming – but he was too late to pull free of the blade-lock before my fire spell was searing its way through the air towards him.

Oh, he leaped away, of course, but not in time to stop my spell from striking home. He reeled back, snarling in pain like a wounded dog, a vicious red burn across his neck and half his face and his leathers smoking. The gold light of healing magic lit up his palm, but I gave him no time to cast the spell. I was the one on the offensive now, fire lancing from my fingertips and my father's sword gripped tight in my hand as I pressed forwards, slashing and jabbing at him as he stumbled back to escape the flames. He managed to break free long enough to cast another invisibility spell, but the trail of wet footprints his boots left on the stones gave him away. I followed him up the stairway, hurling firebolts in his direction. This, I knew, was the only way I was going to win – if I pressed him and pressed him until he panicked or tired or made a mistake.

He knew my tactic, naturally He was a thief, and no good thief is too stupid to work out a battle strategy. So he cast his invisibility spell again and again, his body fading away from view so that he could escape my barrage of flame. And I would have to strain my ears to catch the sound of him creeping up behind me, and I would have to counter the strike he sent at my back – always at my back, the coward. Once I mistimed it, didn't turn in time to parry, and his blade sliced through my leathers and bit into the flesh of my arm. But I leaped back in time to stop the sword from cutting too deep and sent another fire spell at him to drive him back before he could press the attack.

And so, gritting my teeth and doing my best to block out the pain, I fought on. Sword clashed against sword, the water level in the chamber grew steadily higher, and our duel kept moving, up the back of the statue, over its shoulders and down its arm, onto the book it clutched in its vast hand. Mercer had stopped trying to vanish and attack in secret; perhaps he'd realised I wasn't going to be taken down by that trick.

'Your father fought better than this, you know,' Mercer snarled, as we broke apart, pacing around each other slowly, both of us breathing in hard gasps. 'He was a finer swordsman than you could ever hope to be. It's a pity he turned his back to me, isn't it?'

He lunged again, and I brought up my blade to block. The impact sent me staggering again. Gods, this had to end soon. I was tiring much too quickly for comfort.

'So what you're saying is, you'd never have been able to kill him if you hadn't been a cowardly backstabbing traitor?'

His eyes were practically slits. 'I'm saying that if a fighter like him died at my hand, what chance do you think you have?'

I whirled to the side and slashed at his neck, a blow that nearly – so nearly – connected. 'It's a ghost of a chance, but so what? Ghosts can be pretty deadly.'

'Mongrel elves aren't,' he snapped.

'You know, Bretons were originally elf-human hybrids, and you're a Breton, so it's kind of hypocritical if you're going to mock me for being a half-blood.'

I sent another gout of flame at him. He sidestepped and made another swipe at my stomach, as if to open up the wound my mother had closed

'Gallus and I used to train together, you know,' he said. 'Plenty of my moves come from him. Ironic, isn't it, that you'll be bested by skills your own father gave me?'

I clenched my jaw and said nothing.

'For example.' Mercer drew back and stood a short distance from me, a half-smile playing across his features. 'He taught me that if one catches another's blade and flicks across and up in just the right way – '

He moved fast, inhumanly fast, too fast for me to see and definitely too fast for me to stop him. To this day I'm not entirely sure how it happened. One moment, my sword was firmly grasped in my hand. The next, Mercer had slipped his blade beneath it, twisted his hand in a deft flick, and wrenched the weapon from my grip.

I leaped back, eyes widening. The sword clattered onto the stone and skidded across the surface of the carved book, coming to a stop near the edge.

Everything seemed suddenly still, though the water from the broken pipe was still pouring down from the roof. I looked at my fallen weapon, and back at Mercer, and realised that he thought he had won. And maybe he had. I was unarmed. I could run for my sword, try to retrieve it – but I'd be completely exposing myself to him. There was no way I would make it in time. I had my fire magic, yes, but something told me that Mercer would just storm right through it, risk the pain for the sake of ending this here and now. I had nothing.

Unless.

I sucked in a slow, shaky breath and reached for the spark of magic within me. Please work. Oh, Gods above, and Nocturnal, if you're listening, please let this work. Just this once. Please.

And as I finished thinking that panicky little prayer, the world slammed back into movement. Mercer charged me, head down like a bull, sword levelled at my chest. I closed my eyes, spread out my fingers, and reached –

My fingers flooded with cold, and I knew that Mercer had been wrong. I had won.

Frost shot forth from my hands, not aimed at Mercer, but at the stone floor between us. The blue-white crystals spread out over the surface – only for a second. Just a single heartbeat before the spell faltered and died. I always was a disaster with ice magic. But that thin coating of frost was enough. Enough to send Mercer's feet sliding out from under him as he ran at me, enough to send him crashing to the ground.

Enough to buy me time to leap the distance between myself and my sword, and snatch it up. Enough for me to whirl around and race towards my enemy, still stumbling to his feet. Enough to kick his weapon from his hand as he tried to rise, and to grasp his wrist in my left hand, and to pull him up so that his chest was open, exposed, vulnerable.

I didn't hesitate. I didn't even consider hesitating. My hand flashed forward and punched my blade into his flesh.

He stiffened, his body suddenly as rigid as if I'd cast another ice spell, strong enough to freeze him solid. His fingers curled inwards, grasping at the air. Planting my feet solidly as I could, I threw all my weight behind my sword arm, driving the blade deeper, deeper, until at last he cried out, a choking, guttering sound, charged with pain and fear.

Only then did I look down at his face.

'That's for my father, you son of a bitch!' I roared.

For a few breathless moments, he stared at me, eyes stretched wide, mouth hanging open, a few bubbles of blood welling up in his mouth. I met that frantic, agonised gaze, and I felt no regret. Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have mourned the man he once was, the Guildmaster I had respected. But there was nothing but cold triumph in me as I withdrew my blade and let him slump to the floor. First to his knees, then onto his front, his sword slipping through his fingers and clattering onto the stone.

The water was still crashing down into the chamber, faster and louder with every passing second. But I was still able to catch the words Mercer gasped out, his voice faint and fading, spitting blood onto the floor as he spoke.

'Shadows… take me…'

Then a few more heaving gasps, and silence. No steady fading away, just a sudden stop to his breathing. I'd seen men die before, I'd killed plenty, but there was something different about this. Never before had I killed someone I'd known, and looked up to.

I felt no grief, though. He didn't deserve my grief.

So I kicked his body onto its back with one foot, unfastened the satchel in which he'd placed the Eyes of the Falmer, and slung it over my body. Then I knelt beside him and, after digging through a few pockets, closed my hand around a cool, thin object which seemed to vibrate softly at my touch. I pulled it free and lifted it up to the light – a small bronze key, with a green stone set at the end.

'I've got it!' I shouted, spinning around. 'I've got the Key –'

And I stopped, my voice dying in my throat. Because on the platform build against the door to the chamber, my mother was lying slumped against one wall, her hands pressed against her side. Even from a distance, I could see the splash of red across her armour.

I shoved the key into one of my carrying pouches, and cupped my hands around my mouth. 'What happened?'

'I couldn't stop it.' Brynjolf gave a small, desperate shake of his head. 'I'm sorry, lass – '

'I'll live.' My mother's voice was shaky, but firm. 'I have healing potions. For now, we just need to focus on getting out of here.'

As if to remind her that this would be no easy task, the entire cavern jolted beneath our feet. I stumbled, waving my arms inelegantly to steady myself, and glanced up. More of the pipes had split open, and there were dark cracks running through the rock ceiling.

I looked down at Mercer's limp form. 'You bloody idiot,' I growled, and kicked him unceremoniously into the pool.

'This place is coming down!' My mother grasped the wall and hauled herself to her feet, one had still clasping her wound. 'Melyna – you have the Key and the eyes?'

'Yup.'

'Then let's get out of here. Brynjolf – '

My mentor was grappling with the chamber door, and a cold pulse of dread ran through me when his tugs had no effect. 'No luck there, lass. Something must have fallen on the other side of the door, because it isn't moving!'

I wrenched the Key from my pocket. 'This opens all doors, right?'

'It unlocks all doors!' my mother shouted. 'The door's blocked, not locked!'

'But Mercer was able to push down an entire tower earlier. Surely we could –'

'Mercer had years to attune himself to the Key and figure out how to access its power. It's not something that can be mastered in five minutes.'

The water was lapping at the edges of the stone book now. I drew back, wrapping my arms around my chest. 'Would this be a good time to mention that I can't swim?'

My mother had pulled down her hood and mask, and I saw her eyes widen in horror. 'You can't swim?'

'I was raised by Khajiit! Khajiit hate water! Where in the name of Dibella's flaming knickers was I supposed to learn how to swim?'

I'm not sure I want to describe what followed in too much detail, Leo. I don't think I could do it justice, anyway. There aren't words to describe the kind of animal fear that steals through you as you watch water rising, slowly, unrelentingly, heartlessly rising. As you're forced to flounder in it, thrashing desperately and grasping at rocks and walls to keep yourself from sinking, panicking no matter how much your companions tell you not to. As you hunt, your efforts growing ever more frantic, for a way out, and find none. And still find none.

The cut in my arm left a thin red trail through the water as I kicked out unsteadily towards my mother. She looked at me for a moment, then reached out and took hold of my hand. I closed my fingers around her and held on tight. There were only a few metres of air left above us now.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'I should never have brought you into this.'

I shook my head. 'I brought myself into it. I came looking for you, it's how I ended up with the Guild. I chose this, and I'd chose it again.'

'I don't know if the Key can ever be retrieved.' She bit her lip. 'Even if Nocturnal ever gained new Nightingales, how could any of them ever find the Key here?'

'Not to worry,' I said, forcing some enthusiasm into my voice. 'She just needs to make sure the next trinity is made up of Argonians. They breathe underwater, right?'

She let out a short, sad-sounding laugh.

I slipped my free hand into my pocket, gripping the Key tightly. All these deaths – my father's, Mercer's, and now the three of us – all for this sodding thing. And it couldn't even do anything to get us out of this.

It was still vibrating every so softly. I closed my eyes, focusing on that tiny movement. Surely, surely, there was some way I could use this Key. Nocturnal had caused my birth, tugged the strings of fate to lead me to this. She wouldn't leave me to die, not when she'd brought me into existence so that I could return the Key to her. That wasn't how the Daedra worked, abandoning servants before their tasks were done.

Help us, I thought, squeezing my eyes as tightly shut as they'd go. The water was lapping at my chin now, and I knew it would soon be over my head. Give us a way out. Anything. I can't die here. I promised Marcurio –

The cave shook again, to its very foundations, and there was a sudden, sharp crash of rock. Brynjolf cried out, and I snapped my eyes open in time to see a pile of boulders break free of the ceiling and splash down into the water – leaving a passage open behind them.

Brynjolf shouted again, with triumph this time, and struck out for that beautiful opening. My mother and I followed, staying close to each other, her reaching out to balance me as I floundered forward. The water closed over my head but only for a moment, just for a single heartbeat before I broke through it and into the air beyond. And at last we were there, and Brynjolf was helping us up, and we were stumbling through the tunnel - trailing water and blood but alive.

We sat in silence in that cave for several minutes, unfastening our armour and splashing healing brews onto our wounds. The gash in my arm mended quickly, leaving nothing but a thin scar and a faint tingling sensation, but the stab wound below my mother's ribs was more of a danger. Her armour had fended off the worst of it, but Brynjolf's dagger had gone deep; an hair's breadth deeper, and he'd have hit something vital. The skin had knitted back together, thanks to several potions, but I didn't want to think about how much blood she'd lost.

Not until the wound was bound and more or less tended to did all three of us sit back and let out sighs of relief.

'I can't believe it's over,' my mother said quietly. 'Twenty five years in exile, and just like that… it's done.'

I shrugged 'I wouldn't call it 'just like that.' I mean, Mercer nearly killed me, Bryn nearly killed you, and then that flood nearly killed all three of us. It's not as if it was a walk in the park.'

Brynjolf snorted. 'Tell me it gets easier from here on in.'

My mother inclined her head a little. 'I hope so. All that remains is to ensure the safe return of the Skeleton Key.'

I drew it from my pocket, holding it up to the light. 'And sometimes tells me that while it might not be quite as difficult as surviving drowning in a creepy cavern, that's still not going to be as simple as it sounds.'

She smiled wryly. 'I'm afraid so.'

'Go on, then. Shatter my dreams and tell me just how much hell we have to go through this time.'

'I don't know,' she admitted. 'Not for certain. When the Skeleton Key was stolen, our access to the inner sanctum was removed. The only way to bring it back will be through the Pilgrim's Path. It's a passage of some kind, leading to the sanctum – but it wasn't built for the Nightingales. It was created to test those who wished to serve Nocturnal in other ways. And as a consequence… I have no idea what'll be facing us.'

My eyebrows shot up my forehead. 'Us?'

She bit her lip. 'I always thought I'd be too afraid to go to the Sanctum – to see Nocturnal face to face. Not after my failure to protect the Key. Falling in love with Gallus… for so many years, I've told myself that it was wrong. A distraction that caused his death and allowed the Key to be taken. But meeting you, coming to know you – I think I was mistaken. If being with Gallus made you, how could it be wrong? You're my daughter. I can't let you face this on your own.'

I folded my arms. 'That's very touching and everything. Seriously, it is. But it would seem to have escaped your notice that you just lost about enough blood to fill every mead tankard in the Ragged Flagon.'

'Nonsense. I'll be fine.'

As if to prove her point, she rose to her feet, staggered, and promptly sat down again.

I raised my eyebrows still further. 'I rest my case.'

Her only response was to let out a long, heavy sigh and bow her head.

I gazed at her for a few moments, then stood and crossed the cave, kneeling in front of her. 'Hey. I'll be fine. I just killed the guy armed with a powerful Daedric artefact. This'll be easy.'

'I have every faith that you can do this,' she murmured. 'Still… you'll forgive a mother worrying for her daughter's safety. And I can't help but be angry with myself for being so relieved to avoid going.'

Brynjolf coughed quietly. 'Mel, lass – I hate to say it, but I don't reckon I can go with you. I need to get back to the Guild, tell them what happened. If I don't head back to keep order, things'll fall apart there quickly.'

'Fine. That's fine. Really.' And, oddly enough, it was. It didn't daunt me at all, the thought of facing this final stretch of the journey alone. Perhaps it was because of that moment in the cavern, when I'd most needed help and it had come to me. Maybe I'd found a way to access the Key's power after all, or maybe Nocturnal had exerted what little of her power she could in order to protect her Nightingales. Whatever the cause, I felt protected. I felt safe.

I straightened up, tapped my father's sword to make sure it was still there, and reached for the strap that bound my quiver, only to realise that it was gone. Of course – I'd cast it off before fighting Mercer, after my bow had fallen from my hand. And now my favourite weapon was probably buried under a cave full of water.

'Well, shit,' I muttered.

My mother frowned at me, but after a second her expression shifted from disapproval to concern. 'Your bow…'

'Dropped it when I fell off that platform. Didn't have time to find it before the place started filling up with water.'

She nodded slowly, and pulled her own weapon down from her back. 'Then take this with you.'

I'd normally never hesitate when being offered a shiny and powerful new weapon. But this time I did, my hand hovering in the air, before reaching out and closing my fingers around the cool, damp leather binding the grip. I'd seen my mother use this bow as if it were an extension of her own body, taking out Falmer from an impossible distance. This weapon had seen her through twenty five years alone. I knew that parting with it could not be easy.

Then again, seeing her daughter walk off into trouble alone without proper weapons would probably be even less easy.

'Thanks,' I said, and I hope she knew just how much I meant it.

'I've had that almost my entire life,' she told me. 'It belonged to my mother, and her father before her, both of them Nightingales. It's never let me down, and I hope it brings you the same luck.'

I grinned. 'You know, I'm not sure I really believed in luck 'til recently. Shows what I know.'

I slung the bow over my back, followed by the quiver, and drew in a breath. 'Right. Time to get moving.'

My mother stepped forwards and – gingerly, what with that recent wound – put her arms around me. 'Stay safe, Melyna. Eyes open. Walk with the shadows.'

And so we parted ways, heading out of the passageway and into the open air. My map was sodden and ruined in several places, but my leather pouch had protected it just enough for my mother to be able to mark out the position of the Twilight Sepulchre. And I headed towards it, turning southwest towards Falkreath, while my companions travelled straight south in the direction of Riften.

It was a warm evening – or what passes for warm in Skyrim – so my leathers dried out a little as I made my way through the pine forests. I had reached the verge of the Whiterun plains by the time it became too dark to journey on; I had no tent, so instead I clambered up into a tree, strapping myself to the trunk with my belt. It was an uncomfortable place to sleep, but after the day I'd had, it would have taken a troupe of bards bellowing Ragnar the Red into my earhole to keep me awake.

Dawn came; I tested my mother's bow by shooting a woodpigeon before coaxing a fire out of some snow-damp wood to cook it. I ate as I walked, glad for the openness of the plains letting the sun fall straight onto me. Walk with the shadows, my mother had said, but walking in sunlight was a far better way to dry your still-sodden leather jacket.

The Whiterun tundra is a long distance to travel by foot. But I had been raised by a Khajiit caravan; walking long distances had never been a struggle for me. The moon was inching its way above the mountains by the time I stood outside the Twilight Sepulchre, but I had made it within the day.

At first, the Sepulchre seemed to be nothing more than yet another of the many rocky passages carved into Skyrim's hills and mountains, but turning only a single corner brought me out into a vast hall, as tall and wide as the Cistern. I'd seen enough caverns the previous day to last me a lifetime, but there was no denying that there was something about this place that demanded respect. There was a power here, a kind of energy that thrummed within the very ground I walked on. I doubt anyone could have entered there without knowing they had stepped inside a Daedric-touched place.

It was as I thought that, I remember, that I looked to see the spirit standing in front of me.

Instantly, I was glad that the coldness outside had driven me to pull up my hood and mask against the wind as night drew closer; I'd never yet encountered a ghost of any kind within an ancient crypt and found it friendly, and I might need all the protection I could get. Yet it made no move to attack as I inched closer, simply standing and watching, its blue form flickering so that at times it was barely visible.

'Before I move any closer,' I shouted, 'are you going to give me any trouble? Because honestly, I've had a shitty couple of days, I slept in a tree last night, and if I have to start fighting again now, we might as well get it over with.'

A soft, slightly bemused chuckle came from the spirit's direction, and it took a few steps towards me. The movement was my answer, because as it drew nearer I realised that it the armour it wore - spectral, but recognisable – was a ghostly copy of my own. This was no malevolent entity; it was the ghost of a fellow Nightingale.

'I don't believe I know you, but I sense that you're one of us.' There was something distinctly ethereal about his voice – it echoed oddly in the air in a way no living mortal's voice would. 'In which case, no. There's no need for any hostility between us.'

I let out a short huff of relief. 'Frigging good to hear.'

The spirit's eyes were invisible behind his ghostly mask, but I knew that he was examining me carefully. 'Who are you?'

'You first,' I said, folding my arms.

A sigh came from him. 'The last of the Nightingale sentinels, I'm afraid. I've defended the Sepulchre alone for what feels like an eternity.'

'Last?' I repeated. 'Thought all Nightingales who copped it were meant to end up here. Until they went to… that Evergloam place.'

'That's correct. A few of my fellow sentinels are indeed within the walls of the Sepulchre, but…' Another sigh, heavier this time. 'They no longer remember their purpose, or their former identities. They were… friends of mine, when I lived. My teachers and brother and sister Nightingales. Now they are lost, and only I remain.'

I frowned. 'How'd that happen? What made them change?'

'I did.' He turned his head away, his shoulders bowing. 'I'm to blame for what's happened here. I was blinded, blinded by dark treachery masquerading as friendship.' His voice grew bitter. 'I could have prevented all of this. If I had just been more vigilant, then – then Mercer wouldn't have lured me to my fate and stolen the Skeleton Key.'

I stood motionless, my mouth half open and my eyes wide.

The spirit, receiving no response to his little speech, raised his head and looked at me. 'Nightingale? Are you all right?'

My fingers, to my frustration, were trembling ever so slightly as I pushed down my mask and hood, shaking my hair free and making sure that I was standing in the light so that he could see my face. His gasp echoed through the chamber, and he stumbled back a step as if his surprise had punched him in the gut.

'Yeah,' I said faintly. 'Yeah, I'm fine. Only… I think I just worked out that you're my father.'

Hmm. Seems that normally, in fiction, the parent is the one to stun the child with the revelation of their shared blood, Darth Vader-style. I must say I rather enjoyed turning the tables. XD

So, Mercer is dealt with, Mel is meeting the father she's heard so much about, and this story, I'm afraid, is winding to a close. There'll probably be only one chapter left to come - and I'll do my best to make sure it's a good one. Thanks so much for reading!