Nessa pulled open her sock drawer and ploughed through the collection of socks and stockings until she reached the bottom. Her fingers seized on the precious piece of folded parchment and gently tugged it out. She stared at it once again, still hardly daring to believe what she was holding in her hand. Settling onto her bed she took a long swig of mead and examined the message. The shadow mark seal was still intact.
This was the moment, she supposed, that her naïve fantasies would be dashed. Dread and hope gathered in equal parts. For this one brief instant, she would imagine that he cared for her, that they could somehow gulf the wide divide of distance and fate to be together, that… that he even wanted it.
She laughed at herself and shook her head. "I'm no princess and my life is certainly no fairy tale. Not unless fairies and princesses take up murdering for a hobby." The fantasy burst like a soap bubble and she found her hand was shaking as she picked the message up off the bed. Bringing it to her lips, she kissed it, kissing away her ridiculous infatuation for her former mentor. Then she opened the note and read it.
My Sweet Lass—
Nessa drew a deep gasping breath and her mouth dropped open at the salutation. He's only letting me down gently. She looked away from the note until her heart stopped galloping.
I must have trained you too well, Ness. I would like to think I'm too old to fall for the trick of being seduced by a beautiful woman and then robbed, but apparently I'm not.
Her forehead furrowed as she read his note. Was he accusing her of stealing something? Wracking her memory, she couldn't think of a single thing she had taken of his. She had left behind a substantial pile of septims to cover his cost for her convalescence.
The bag of septims, while greatly appreciated, does not come close to covering the cost of the item you filched and I am afraid I must ask you for further recompense. You see, Ness, you stole my heart and then broke it.
The shadows won't be cover enough for you, lass. I intend to recover the item you stole and I ask to be given the opportunity to even the score and steal yours from you.
Nessa stared blankly at the message, trying to absorb the meaning. "I stole his heart?" she murmured. Slowly the meaning sunk in and a smile began to form on her face even though she still didn't believe it. The rejection must be yet to come, he was just flattering her.
You have played me false, sweet Ness. There is only one remedy for a wrong of this magnitude. Name the city and the date. I promise I will be there.
I am awaiting your reply,
Brynjolf
She reread the message again, more closely. She must have missed something, misinterpreted a word, read something into it that wasn't there. But on the second reading, and the third, the words stayed the same and slowly the realization dawned on her.
He wants to see me again?
Like a shaken bottle of mead, something erupted within her, releasing its effervesce into her blood. No, it was something sweeter than mead: bubbling ice wine from grapes kissed by frost. A smile spread over her face and she couldn't stop smiling. She couldn't sit still. She bounced off the bed, still clutching the letter, and headed for the dining hall.
She rounded the corner, not really noticing anything around her, but completely absorbed in her happiness, and ran into Arnbjorn going the opposite direction.
"Oof!" She teetered and nearly fell, only catching herself at the last moment. The letter fluttered out of her hands and settled to the floor landing in front of Arnbjorn.
"Careful, bit!" He helped her right herself and then saw the paper and bent to retrieve it. The shadow mark in the sealing wax caught his eye. Her anxious glance at the note, her cheeks flushing, he pieced it together. "Thief marks." He held out the message out to her. "Your thief?"
Looking up at him, she shook her head. "My thief? I don't know what you mean." She reached for the letter but Arnbjorn pulled it back.
"No? A girl walks down the hall with the silliest grin I've ever seen, her head in the clouds, and rams into me. I'm thinking it might have something to do with this." He waved the message at her. "Can I read it?"
"Read it? Why?"
Turning, he put an arm around her shoulder and began walking with her to the dining hall. "I want to know more about this man who seems to be turning your brain into mush."
She wanted to say "no", but perhaps Arnbjorn's perspective would be valuable. Still, it might be awkward, given that they'd been lovers and their emotional and physical entanglement had been so complex.
"You won't tell anyone? Not even Astrid?" she said quietly.
"Not a soul," he swore.
"And you won't laugh?"
"That I can't guarantee. It depends on what he wrote."
They walked into the empty dining hall together and she filled a bowl with some stew simmering over the fire and sat down with him at a table. "Why do you want to know?"
He handed her the letter. "You're my guild sister. It's my duty to protect you."
Biting her lip to keep from laughing, she said, "If I'm your sister then…" She cocked her head and gave him an impish grin.
"It's a figure of speech, bit."
She handed him the letter. "All right then. Read it. Tell me if a relationship is even possible across such distances between a thief and an assassin."
"It wouldn't be the first time." He took the letter from her and unfolded it, reading slowly. He grunted as he read the salutation. "Seduced by a beautiful woman and robbed." He snorted, shaking his head. "Lays it on a bit thick, don't you think?"
Nessa scowled at him and reached over to pull the letter away. "Maybe he thinks I am!" she said sharply.
He pulled the letter out of her reach. "Of course he does, bit. He'd have to be blind. It's stating the obvious."
She rolled her eyes and gave up trying to snatch the message back.
"Stole his heart… broke it? You paid him? Hmmm… he wants to see you again. How big of a bag of septims did you give him?"
Her spoon clattered to the bowl and this time she snatched the letter out of his hands. "You think I paid him? Arnbjorn! He spent a lot of money trying to help me in Solitude. I left him my expense money to cover his costs." She carefully refolded the letter and put it into a pocket.
"I'm teasing, bit. I don't approve of him, but I doubt I'd approve of anyone you fancied."
Nessa smiled at him grudgingly. "He's a good man, Arn."
"He's a thief, Nessa. He's not a good man."
"And I'm an assassin. I'm not a good woman," she countered. "If anything, he's not as bad as I am. Perhaps he's too good for me."
"Hm, I suppose you have a point. Be careful, bit."
"I will." She got up and returned with a second bowl of stew and ate it with gusto.
"He's done wonders for your appetite, I have to admit," he said.
She smiled at him in between bites. "You always said I was too skinny."
"True. Listen, I hear you're going to Markarth on your next assignment. Why don't you meet him there? It is a romantic city. Waterfalls, ancient Dwemer architecture—lots of rain giving you a good excuse to stay inside all day."
Cocking her head, she examined him closely, her brows furrowing. "Why are you doing this?"
He shrugged. "I want to see you happy, bit. Between Astrid and me… Well, I know we've made you miserable at times. When you have a chance at happiness, grab it. It doesn't come around too often, morsel."
She nearly choked on a mouthful of stew. "You're lecturing me about happiness? That is rich." Laughing, she wiped off her mouth with a napkin. "I get it, though."
Taking a long drink of water she sat carefully and considered her options. The noble thing to do would be to forget about Brynjolf. Her life was too dangerous and complex. There was much she couldn't share with him. Then again, he wasn't asking her to marry him. He just wanted to see her again. What could that hurt?
"I think I will do it," she said, finally deciding. "Markarth, eh? What am I going to do there?"
~o~o~o~
It wasn't often that Brynjolf got a letter by courier. When he did it was usually bad news, but this letter felt different from the moment he took it from the boy. There was no distinguishing mark on the seal and he didn't recognize the legible, but plain script on the outside. He gave the boy a few septims and tucked the letter into his pocket.
Delvin was eating dinner when he got to the Flagon. He greeted his friend and seated himself at the table, fishing the note out of his pocket, and finally opening it.
"Who's that from?" Delvin asked.
"Let me read a moment and I'll tell you."
My dear Brynjolf—
It just so happens that I will find myself in Markarth on businesss, Midyear 9th. Depending on how things go with my tasks, I may be able to linger a few days to discuss your allegations of theft and vandalism and bring my own countercharges.
Brynjolf broke into a grin as he read the letter. "It's the lass. Didn't know she could be so cheeky."
Groaning, Delvin took another bite of his pot pie. "Didn't know you could be such a fool," he muttered.
I am ashamed to admit I often think back to our recent time together and find I have to excuse myself. I flee to my room where I bar the door and—shall we say—think, very hard about you and the things that passed between us.
My guild brother thinks I have lost my mind, but in truth, it was stolen. So, one mind for one heart? I think I have come out on the losing end of this organ thievery, but we can debate that in Markarth, if you can join me there.
I do hope you can make it. I will be staying at the Silver-Blood Inn.
Yours,
Ness
"Well?" Delvin asked when Brynjolf finally looked up, his grin having widened.
"It seems we're going to meet in Markarth, Del." He pulled on the end of his mustache, smiling in anticipation. "There's a little house I've rented before. Very picturesque. Ivy growing up the stone walls, planter boxes filled with flowers, and close to a waterfall. I think I'll get there early and rent that place if it is available."
Delvin snorted, but lifted his bottle of mead in a salute to his friend. "Well, you're not the first thief to fall in love with an assassin, lad. I hope you have better luck than I did."
"Who says I'm in love?" Brynjolf frowned at his friend.
"Right, lad. And that blue ribbon around your wrist that you haven't taken off in weeks is for what?"
"Luck."
"Luck?" Delvin echoed in disbelief.
"Yeah. My luck has changed. You've seen how good I've done ever since I saw her. I've been raking it in."
"You just got your confidence back is all. That's what making love to a beautiful girl does to a man." Delvin downed the last of his mead and set the bottle down. "There's nothing wrong with that, Brynjolf. Go to Markarth and find your luck between the legs of a lovely, young thing. Just keep in mind, she won't be leaving the Dark Brotherhood, not if she's the Listener."
Snorting, Brynjolf took a bottle of mead from Vekel and drank deeply. He sighed, wiped his lips, and set the bottle down, half empty. "By the gods, you're a gloomy one, Delvin. Maybe it's high time you found a lovely, young thing yourself?"
"Maybe you're right, Bryn. Send one my way with all that luck you've got now, eh?" He leaned forward and tapped his bottle against his friend's. "For luck."
~o~o~o~
After her anger and then cool aloofness, Nessa thought it was very strange how Astrid was fretting over her. The guild leader helped her pack her belongings, fussed over what clothes she should take, double checked her potions, and even braided her hair. It was almost… motherly.
"I realize this job might be difficult for you, Nessa," Astrid said as she wove her flaxen hair into small braids. "You're going to need to be brutal and that isn't in your nature. Of course, if you think of another way of getting the Gourmet's identity and location out of this Breton chef, then feel free to try, but it may boil down to simple threats and a bit of torture. After you find the Gourmet's identity and where he is, track him down, kill him and take his Writ of Passage. That will let us have someone pose as the Gourmet and finally get us access to the Emperor."
She wove the braids together as she talked and fastened them to Nessa's head in a fetching hairstyle. "We've never really instructed you in the art of interrogation, but I'm sure you can figure it out." Pulling Nessa around to face her she looked at her intently. "Are you up to it?"
Truthfully, Nessa was dreading it. The one valuable bit of advice Nazir had given her was never to talk to a victim and now she had to do it to extract information. "Yes." Well, why shouldn't she be able to do it? She'd done everything else they'd asked her to do, this was just a new… depth.
"And then you have to kill him, of course," Astrid said, looking stern but concerned for her young assassin.
"Of course."
Nessa hated it. Killing someone swiftly, preferably while they were asleep, was the best way.
"I think you're all set, my dear." She stood back, hands on Nessa's shoulders and smiled proudly. "You've certain grown a lot since you joined us, Nessa. You're becoming the formidable assassin I always knew you would be." She pulled her close, hugging her. "I'm so proud of you."
There was, in the other woman's embrace, a memory of what once had been. Nessa could never shake that, she was certain, but it also left her confused and eager to escape. Besides, Markarth was a destination she was very eager to get to. She said her goodbyes and ran up the long stairway to the entrance, finding Shadowmere waiting for her outside.
She fastened her packs onto the horse's saddle and then mounted the horse. "We're going to Markarth, Mere. Brynjolf is going to meet me there."
The grumbling sound that came out of Shadowmere was hard to mistake for anything but disapproval, and then the loud snort and violent head shake just confirmed it.
"Don't worry, Shadowmere. We're going to murder someone too, so it isn't all bad, boy." Nessa laughed at herself and urged the horse down the road.
~o~o~o~
The market inside the gates of Markarth was bustling with activity. The fair-haired Nord that entered the town with a basket of herbs on her arm was barely noted except by a few citizens with an eye for pretty young women. She picked her way through the market, idling over some of the goods, smiling pleasantly but skillfully avoiding conversation, until she finally went into the Silver-Blood Inn.
When Kleppr, the innkeeper, surprised her by addressing her by name, she nearly dropped the basket.
"Are you Nessa?" he asked.
She looked at the man a moment, hesitating before answering. "I am."
"A red-haired man left a message for you and asked me to be certain you got it." He fished around in the counter until he found the letter. "Here you are, miss."
What is this? She instantly painted a gloomy scenario in her mind, that he was sending his regrets that he couldn't meet her. All the way to Markarth she'd been fantasizing about this meeting, half believing something would prevent it, and now this. She opened the seal and read, holding her breath.
Lass,
15 Kynesgrove Way
Brynjolf
Her face lit up into a brilliant smile. "Where is Kynesgrove Way?" she asked the innkeeper.
"Up the northern most stairs, left at the top. Ask a guard if you get turned around. They're usually helpful if a girl is pretty."
What was 15 Kynesgrove Way? She had never been to Markarth before, but it was beautiful with waterfalls, stone aqueducts, hanging baskets of flowers, and mosses growing everywhere. There were so many pretty sights to take in, she nearly stumbled a few times over raised paving stones, but eventually she found the little street and the house labeled 15.
Holding her breath, she knocked, suddenly realizing she was nervous. There was only a short delay and the door swung open. Brynjolf was standing before her and words like "hello" or even "nice to see you" deserted her. He was wearing finer clothes than she'd ever seen him in, and his shirt wasn't buttoned to the top. A little patch of his auburn chest hair was visible. Her mouth opened and closed, as even the simplest greeting seemed impossible. It was foolish. All the things she thought she would say to him, even rehearsed during the trip, abandoned her.
"Lass," he said, his voice sounding a little hoarse. He grasped her forearm and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind her.
"Brynjolf." Her own voice, now that she found it, didn't sound steady either.
For an instant they stared at one another. His expression seemed to hold volumes of unspoken words and feelings. Was that line between his brows recrimination for leaving him? The raking gaze was easier to evaluate.
He reached out a hand to touch her cheek, gently trace it down the outline of her face to her chin. "Gods, I missed you, Ness."
There was a clunk as she dropped her backpack to the floor and flew into his arms. Her lips met his in a fierce, bruising kiss, and he, pushing her back against the door, pinned her body to it with his. Tongues met, twining together. A flurry of hands pawed at buttons, impatience lead to yanking and fumbling. His shirt, half-removed, still clung to one arm. Her dress was yanked down to her waist, his hands cupped her breasts, thumbs rubbing over her nipples, and his leg wedged between hers, rubbing against her.
"Never sneak away in the night again," he growled against her ear, his hands drifting down to her bottom, pressing her firmly against him. His hips swirled against hers, rocking them together. The door at her back, and his body pressed against hers, were the only things holding her upright; her knees wanted to buckle.
"I won't," she murmured against his lips. Her hands finally dislodged his shirt, and then worked their way in between their fused hips to run along his erection, looking for the laces to his pants. His moan at the friction was gratifying, but she never found his laces, instead he lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him, her dress still clinging to her hips, and clung to his shoulders.
His eyes only left hers to nip at her lips, her neck, and shoulder. There was something utterly possessive and primal in the way he claimed her and she knew she wanted him in the same way. If this were all she could have of him, the occasional tryst, then it would have to be enough. She would forever remember these desperate kisses, the feel of his soft hair entwined in her fingers, the confines of his strong arms that imprisoned her and yet felt so protective.
He began a half-stumbling walk with her clinging to him like a barnacle, barely able to see where he was going. They collided with the dining room table. It seemed like a suitable horizontal surface to Nessa.
"Here," she said. "Take me on the table." The idea struck her as being so improper it made her flush, but she wanted him and the bedroom seemed very far away.
A warm chuckle rose from him. "You do keep a man off-balance." He sat her down on the tabletop, and his fingers gathered the waist of her dress still caught on her hips. "He sees that sweet, innocent face and he forgets that the girl is a woman grown, with a woman's"—a firm tug removed the dress from her hips— "desires." He trailed off in bemusement. "Lass, did you forget your smalls to today?"
"Would you think me completely shameless if I confessed I left them off for you?" she asked, biting the corner of her lip and smiling shyly.
He hummed in this throat and ran a hand over her belly, toward the apex of her thighs. "Absolutely, and most devastatingly, shameless. For me, you say?"
His finger touched her sex lightly and she inhaled sharply, spreading her knees to give him better access. "Only for you, Brynjolf."
The comment sobered him. His pupils seemed to dilate with that statement and he leaned forward to kiss her again, pushing her backwards to lie on the table. "What can I do to make you scream for me, lass?" Kissing a path down her neck to her nipples, he awaited her answer.
"I want you to… fuck me. Hard. Right here on this table."
His hands only left her to unlace his trousers and release himself from its, now tight, confines. "As my lady commands," he said, his voice growing throaty.
Their coupling was not gentle. It was the product of their prior unfinished business and weeks of anticipation. There was anger too. He was angry that she refused to return to the guild, that she had left him in the night. She was angry that she could not choose her destiny. Both of them were well-marked with bruises and bites when they found resolution of the passion, the anger, and all the repressed emotions they carried with them.
~o~o~o~
"Did I hurt you?" he asked. His finger gently traced over an angry red mark on her shoulder as she drowsed against him. They had finally found the bed after their passion was spent on the table, and then again on a desk. Sleep had taken them quickly and hours later Byrnjolf had woken, finding his former protégé wrapped in his arms.
A contented murmur was all he got back until she found her voice again. "No…" her voice trailed off on the lie. "Yes, but in a good way." Twisting around, she turned in the bed to face him. "I know I hurt you." She gingerly touched the half-moon circles that she'd dug into his shoulders. "I'm sorry. I got a bit carried away. I can heal that up."
"No, lass. Every twinge from those scratches reminds me of how I got them. I'd gladly suffer a multitude more like it." He framed her face with his hands and kissed her gently but thoroughly. She returned his kiss, her eyes closing, and sighed softly. There was a soft pliancy to her now, nothing like the fevered passion that had gripped them earlier. It was like an arrow to the heart to know how fleeting these moments were.
"It seems we have a thing or two to discuss. Too much we've kept to ourselves. Let's play our hands face up, Ness. No secrets between us."
A guarded look crossed her face. "I can't tell you Brotherhood secrets, Bryn."
"I know, lass. I won't ask you for them. But will you answer my questions? I will answer yours."
She nodded slowly, a look of fear crossing her face. It wasn't much different from how he felt about his proposal. "All right. You start it off. Ask me a question."
"Did Delvin say anything?" she asked.
"About whether you could leave?" He nodded. "He said it was unlikely."
Closing her eyes a moment, she sighed and opened them again. "I knew that, of course. Foolish to hope—"
He put his finger across her lips to stop her. "Never foolish to hope. It's foolish to give up hope."
Smiling, she puckered her lips against his finger and kissed it. "I suppose you're right. Your turn."
"How long can you stay in Markarth?" he asked.
"I don't know. I have my… task. After that I might have to leave quickly. I should go do it tomorrow evening. I'll come back if I can."
Her expression darkened. She looked decidedly unhappy as she talked about it. He wanted to ask her more, whether it was a dangerous job or not, but he'd promised not to question her about Brotherhood matters. Perhaps he could get her to talk about it later.
"Your turn, Ness."
Her eyes met his and she looked hesitant. "Why did you write to me?"
It was his turn to feel uncomfortable. His natural reaction was to evade, deflect. He had the instincts of a con man. The truth was rarely his friend. "Why did you sneak away in the night?"
"Why did you bother to save me in Solitude?" Her face settled into a frown. Her brows contracted. "You didn't answer my question."
"Why did you let me believe you were dead?" More evasion.
She squirmed in his arms, trying to escape his embrace. "You're not answering questions!" Nessa looked confused and angry. "Why are you making up rules for a game you're unwilling to play?"
"Stop, Ness." He grabbed her arms before she could elude him. "I… All right. This isn't easy for me, okay?"
Her anger changed into curiosity and she stopped struggling. "You said you wanted to play with our cards face up, but I have yet to see a card."
He sat up in bed and leaned against the headboard. "I know. Let me try to explain." Reaching for her, he pulled her against him and rested with his chin on the top of her head. The only way he'd get through this was just to talk and not think about the words too closely.
"I felt responsible for you and when I learned you died, I nearly lost it. I didn't tell you, but I followed you in Solitude because I wanted to beat the crap out of a Dark Brother because they had killed you. Then you disappeared on me again leaving me a note telling me to forget you. I…" He trailed off, swallowing hard.
"Go on," she urged him.
He exhaled with a whoosh and took a deep breath. "It seems, lass, I've become fond of you. The thought of not seeing you again makes me a little crazy. Do you think I'm a complete fool?"
"Gods, no, Brynjolf." She hugged him tightly and met his eyes with hers. They were clear blue pools, soft and warm with understanding. "You know how I feel about you. How I've always felt about you, right? I felt so foolish after Solitude. I know women are always throwing themselves at you."
Putting his finger under her chin, he pulled her eyes back to his when she looked away. "How you always felt about me? I think you might need to explain that a bit more."
She snorted nervously. "You're not serious, are you? I was so taken with you I could barely speak in your presence. You didn't even notice?"
"I thought you were just shy, lass. I had no idea." Truly, he had always thought of her as a shy, slightly awkward, but beautiful girl. He had no idea that he was the source of her discomfiture.
"Well, now you know." She blushed and turned away, a little of her shy awkwardness returning.
He looked at her wondering how he had missed it. What would he have done differently had he known? Granted, he had always found her charming and lovely, but she had seemed so young back then, just a girl. He wasn't a man to lust after young, inexperienced girls. Discovering her as he did in Solitude, matured and more self-confident, had made all the difference.
Chuckling at his own blindness he traced a hand along her hip, enjoy the firm, smooth feeling of her body. "It would seem I'm not as good at reading people as I thought I was."
She settled back against his chest and sighed. "So," she said haltingly. "Where does this leave us now?"
Hand now drawing circles around her belly, running across her hip bones, he mused over his word choice. It was more than a dalliance. You don't run after an assassin, hot-blooded with vengeance, like he had in Solitude, for a mere dalliance. There was more to this, perhaps much more, but he couldn't bring himself to name it.
"Did you mean what you said before?" he asked her. "Only for me?"
She nodded. "There is no one else."
"You're mistaken about one thing, Ness. Women don't throw themselves at me. Well, not all that often." He moved her hair off her shoulder and bent down to kiss it. "And if one should happen to, I'll tell her 'no thanks'. There's a lass I'm meeting up with in a hold soon and I'm all hers."
She turned in his arms so she could kiss him, her eyes smiling as she did. "That lass is very happy to hear it."
"Good! Now, I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Let's go to the Silver-Blood Inn for a nice dinner and a few meads."
After dinner they had a long, leisurely soak in the large stone-carved tub in the little house Brynjolf had rented. Their love-making later that night changed from frantic to sweet. They'd awoken together as the sun hit their window and blinded them with its brilliance. Nessa wanted to awaken like this every morning, feeling Brynjolf's arm draped over her waist, and his sleepy green eyes looking into hers.
The day passed too quickly as he showed her around the hold, taking her to the shops and visiting each of the waterfalls the town is famous for. At her request they did not go to the Understone Keep. Her target was there and it wouldn't do to be recognized.
Finally evening came and they had another dinner at Silver-Blood Inn and a slow, reluctant walk back to their lodgings.
"You'll come back, won't you?" Brynjolf asked her as he unlocked the door.
"I intend to. I don't think there's any danger of being seen. I'll be back as soon as I can," she said. She went into their bedroom and searched through her belongings for a comely dress, ribbons, and a few other fripperies.
"Lass, don't you wear armor for your… job?" he asked.
She smiled grimly. "Not always, no. I need to get information and… well… sometimes asking for it nicely over a bottle of mead is the best way to get it."
"Seduction?" he asked, his brows contracting.
"No. Flirtation." She put the dress on, laced a corset over it pushing up her breasts into small hillocks just barely peeping over the neckline of the dress. She daubed a drop of the perfume Angeline had designed for her behind each ear and wove the ribbons into her braids. Finally, she strapped a wicked looking dagger onto her thigh. Looking up from her preparations, she saw Brynjolf looking at her with a stony expression.
"Bryn," she sighed as she pulled the dress down and stood upright. "Nothing will happen other than me filling a man's ears with lies he desperately wants to believe and getting him a little drunk." She crossed the room to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"I'm just worried, lass. Men can be beasts. Your teasing him and leading him on might not work out how you hope."
"I'm an assassin, remember?" She kissed him lightly on the lips and went to finish her preparations, but he pulled her back to him, his arms wrapping around her waist.
"I know. I will worry, though. There's no help for it." He kissed her softly. "Hurry back."
"I will."
Rifling through her pack she tucked a generous packet of sleeping draught into her pocket. There was another packet she hesitated over and then decided to take: a poison that killed more quickly than an excess of sleeping draught. It was an experiment that Babette had wanted to test, distilled from the poison that Nessa had milked from the jaws of Lis, the tame frost spider. It was an agonizing death, Babette had told her. That was quite the opposite of what Nessa was planning for the hapless cook she had to interrogate, but she took it anyway.
One more kiss for luck and she was out the door. A fair Nord girl left the little house on Kynesgrove Way with a basket of potatoes on her arm, a dagger strapped to her leg, and two packets of death—slow and silent, swift and horrid—tucked into her pocket.
~o~o~o~
The best laid plans often go awry, but Nessa couldn't really claim to have had much of a plan. Get the man alone and question him about the identity of the Gourmet. She definitely had him alone, but he had a much different agenda than talking. His groping hands had nearly found the dagger she had strapped to her thigh and he hadn't bothered to answer her questions. That was when she resorted to doing something she had never done before. She slipped a little of the packet of poison Babette wanted her to test, the viciously painful one, into his mead.
"Come on now, girl. I don't have all night. Hike up your skirts and I'll show you my fine Breton sausage. Then if you want to chat, we'll have us a nice chat."
"Why don't we have a little more mead first, Anton?" Nessa said, handing him his bottle.
He took an impatient swig and set it down, grasping for Nessa once again. This time she stood up and backed away from him, waiting for the toxin to take effect.
The chef glowered at her. "You're playing a stupid game, girl. Why'd you lure me in here like a common trull and now you're acting an innocent maiden. Ungh!" He doubled over, gripping at his stomach as the poison hit.
Nessa pulled her skirt up and drew her dagger, moving in to hold it against the Breton's neck. "All right, listen closely Anton. That poison you've just swallowed is a vicious toxin distilled from the glands of a frostbite spider. I estimate you have five minutes to live, unless I give you the antidote."
"Please!" The chef staggered, tried to pull himself upright but fell to his knees. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want to know the name of the Gourmet and where he is," she said, making her voice as menacing as possible. "Give me that, and you can live."
He was gripped by more spasms and Nessa feared she had given him too much poison and it would kill him before she could get the information she needed. He writhed on the floor, panting, and whining piteously.
"Now, Anton! Before it is too late."
"All right! The Gourmet is Balagog gro-Nolob, he's an orc! He's staying at the Nightgate Inn. That's all I know! Please, give me the antidote."
For a moment she considered stabbing him to end his pain quickly, but it never hurt to make a death look natural. She pulled out the packet of sleeping draught and held it out to him.
"Here. Swallow it all. You'll feel very sleepy, but the pain will stop soon."
"Thank you. Oh, thank you! I promise I won't tell a soul." His sweaty hand took the packet from her, and poured the powder into his mouth. She gave him her mead so he could wash it down. Meanwhile she took the poisoned mead from him and poured it out the window.
He relaxed almost immediately as the sleeping draught hit. She pulled him to a wall and helped him sit up against it.
"Feeling better?" she asked.
"Bet-ter," he said, drawing out the word. "So sleepy..." They were his last words. His head tilted to one side and he seemed to be fast asleep.
Nessa looked around the little storage room and cleaned up any traces she was there. Cracking open the door, she looked out to make sure no one would see her and crept out quietly. Leaving was just as easy as coming had been. A pretty Nord girl holding an empty basket left much the way she came in.
Someone would find Anton Virane's body, but probably not until morning. Most likely they would assume he had died of natural causes, perhaps from eating his own food.
~o~o~o~
When she returned Nessa seemed distant. She talked and smiled, carefully avoiding any reference to where she'd been or what she had done, but there was something guarded in her eyes. It wasn't until they'd gone to bed and he was holding her in the dark room that a hint of what she'd done leaked out.
"Have you killed anyone?" she asked, turning over in the bed to look at him. Her eyes glittered as the moonlight caught them.
"I have a couple times." He ran his hand along her side soothingly.
"But probably because you had to, right?" There was an unmistakable look of sorrow in her eyes now. "To save your life, or an accident?"
"Hm. Something like that." He kissed her gently between her brows. "Do you want to tell me about it?"
"I'm not a good person, Brynjolf." Now her eyes were glittering with unshed tears. "I do it for money." She gasped and then held her breath, tears finally streaking down her face. "I'm even good at it."
"Shush." He held her close and stroked her back. "My soul isn't exactly stainless either. I've been on the wrong side of the law since I was a lad. I did it to survive at first, then it became a profession. If anyone is called to account for your sins it would be me. I'm the one who recruited you and I let the Dark Brotherhood get to you."
Brynjolf knew the abyss that lay at the center of such speculation. You start to tally up the wrongs you've done and you might well jump in. He wasn't just whispering platitudes to Nessa. When he recruited her, he knew she wasn't a thief, but she was hungry and alone. He'd exploited that to get someone he could train, someone who didn't look like a thief—the best sort of thief. The Dark Brotherhood had seen the same thing in her. She'd been used by them all. Her only fault was needing a place to call home, a family, and needing it too badly to turn it away when it was offered.
"You're not responsible for what I've become," she said. "Don't try to make me feel better by taking the blame."
He sighed and stroked her hair, wishing he knew what to say. "Do you suppose Ulfric Stormcloak, or the Emperor, spend much time considering how many good men they've sent to their deaths? Yet they're heroes.
"It's the biggest swindle on Nirn, Ness. No, if you ask me, you and I are small time, compared to the high and mighty lords, robbing the poor to make themselves wealthier, killing anyone in their way, starting wars over which gods they want people to worship, killing anyone who wants to worship some other way. The Dark Brotherhood and the thieves' guild are two institutions that have been used to keep the powerful in check. We might not be what we once were, but we have our roles to play. Sometimes important ones."
The tears stopped, but she still looked doubtful. "I guess I wouldn't mind if I were killing nobles who deserved to die, but I've had to kill innocents. A bride at her wedding… and others. I kill them because they're a step to getting to the real target."
"I know, lass. It happens to me too. I follow Mercer's orders even when I don't like them. It's best not to think too much. A wise man once told me to take pride in a job well done, no matter what it is. Don't think about the details too much. Keep the bigger goal in mind. If that doesn't work…" He smiled in the dark and drew his hand along her thigh. "There are other ways of deflecting the mind from midnight musings on such weighty topics."
Finally she smiled. "I think I'd like to learn those ways."
"Then I'll teach you. I always liked how eager you were to learn, lass."
He used every trick he'd learned over his thirty some years and coaxed her back from the edge of the abyss. By the time they fell asleep, the sun was just coming up, but the expression on her face was serene.
~o~o~o~
Notes: I didn't get quite as far into the plot as I thought I would. I was enjoying writing about their budding relationship and the difficulties someone like Nessa would have with her profession.
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